Page 33 of Dead to Rites

I thanked her, and then I went out to the Mercedes and got in. The car started up smoothly the way it always did, and I drove home slowly, thinking over everything I’d seen and heard during the past couple of hours. The people at Sacred Heart felt like a real community, a group who’d known one another for years and probably knew each other’s quirks and foibles.

Was one of them Father Frank’s murderer?

I didn’t want to think that, wanted to believe his death had been a random act of violence, but something in my gut told me this had been personal.

Even if I still couldn’t understand why anyone would want to kill such a kind, lovely man.

Hazel was in the entry when I got home, Chauncey wagging his tail at her feet. “Well?” she asked.

I knew that single syllable was her way of saying, Tell me everything.

So I did. I talked about the service and how poignant it had been, how the real funeral wouldn’t be until Wednesday because the medical examiner hadn’t released Father Frank’s body yet. Hazel nodded, but I noted the way her mouth tightened.

She didn’t like the mental image of him at the medical examiner’s any more than I did.

Then I mentioned how Diane Lindley had taken me under her wing, and Hazel made a small, considering sound.

“Yes, I knew Diane slightly. She married into the Lindleys. They’ve been in Prescott since its territorial capital days. I think Meg Lindley, Diane’s mother-in-law, taught half this town to read, but she’s been retired for years now.”

I frowned then, recalling the older woman I’d seen in the navy cardigan. “Does she have a grandson she’s close with?”

“Yes,” Hazel said. “Diane’s son Wes. Did you meet them?”

“No,” I replied, wondering a little at that omission. Diane’s own son and mother-in-law had been standing across the room, and yet she hadn’t bothered to introduce us. Maybe she’d decided that Meg was too upset by the loss of Father Frank to meet any strangers that evening.

A small silence followed my reply, and then Hazel said briskly, “Well, it’s getting late, and you need to be at the bar tomorrow. Best you get to bed.”

By then, it was a little after ten o’clock. Usually, I stayed up much later than that, but I realized I was more tired than I’d thought.

So I went upstairs and did my usual nighttime rituals, then helped Chauncey onto his perch at the foot of the bed before I climbed in myself and pulled up the covers.

I thought of all the people I’d seen that night, the ways they’d interacted with each other. No real suspects, not yet, but my brain kept going back to Hal Pruitt for some reason. There’d been an odd brusqueness to his manner, as if he hadn’t wanted to talk to me for too long lest he let something slip that might arouse my suspicions.

Well, I’d just have to keep an eye on him.

Chapter 9

Cats and Confidences

I didn’t sleep well that night. That could have been the fault of the second cup of coffee I’d drunk at the reception, or just the way the faces of the people I’d met kept floating around in my brain, each one a possibility.

Or it could be that I was on entirely the wrong track, and none of them were guilty at all. I hadn’t heard a peep out of Joe Ruiz over the weekend, but maybe he didn’t work on Saturday or Sunday.

It could also be that he was pursuing his own leads, none of which he’d share with me, for obvious reasons.

The only thing I did know was that it was barely six-thirty in the morning, and usually I didn’t roll out of bed until eight.

Time for more coffee.

I put on my robe and slippers and headed downstairs, Chauncey wagging his tail the whole way. My being up early meant he’d get his breakfast early, and he was just fine with that.

First, I put his cup of food in his bowl, and then I got a pot of coffee going. I hadn’t seen Hazel, which meant she was probably in the parlor.

Sure enough, she was sitting in her wingback chair and looking at me expectantly. Her journal sat on the side table next to her where I’d left it the day before. She couldn’t seem to read it herself — just another facet of the ghostly trouble with physical objects, I guessed — so she had to wait for me.

As soon as I entered the room, she said, “I want you to look for some specific things for me in the journal before you go to work.”

I crossed my arms. “Good morning to you, too.”