The Silent Shooter E-Book

Susan Mathis

• Herausgeber: Mercy and Justice Mysteries
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

The Pope’s decision to allow Father Tom Greer and Detective Helen Parr to marry captures the imagination of the entire world. Finally, after having to hide their relationship from all but a few close friends (and one particular six year old girl), Tom and Helen can openly proclaim their love for each other, and celebrate with their parish family their future lives together.

But not everyone, it seems, is happy with their plans.
 
First come the letters, threatening Helen with divine justice if she persists in her plans. Then, on live television, someone takes a shot at Tom and Helen. It soon becomes apparent that someone’s decided to stop them at any cost.

But Helen  already knows who wants her dead. It’s someone from her past as a Detective in Washington, D.C. A serial killer who sees himself acting as God’s instrument to kill impure women.
With little to go on besides the letters of a lunatic and a possible connection between the killer and a fanatic priest with his own agenda, Tom and Helen are in a race against time to find a killer . . . before the killer finds them first.

And then, without warning, Tom and Helen face a crisis worse than any they’ve experienced before, one that could end their future before it even begins.

Leseprobe

The Silent Shooter

The Father Tom Mysteries, Book 6

By

J. R. Mathis and Susan Mathis

Copyright © 2021 by James R. Mathis and Susan S. Mathis

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

––––––––

Second Printing October, 2021

Contact: [email protected]

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Cover Photo: Adobe Stock Photos

Cover: Millie Godwin

Editor: Anna Palmer Darkes

Also by J. R. Mathis

The Father Tom Mysteries

The Penitent Priest

The Framed Father

The Redemptive Return

The Buried Bride

The Defining Decision

The Silent Shooter

The Purloined Paintings

The Slain Saint

The Perfect Patsy

The Haunted Heritage

The Fatal Fall (Coming Soon)

The Father's Family (Coming Soon)

The Mercy and Justice Mysteries

The Honeymoon Homicide (Coming Soon)

The Maligned Marine (Coming Soon)

Standalone

The Reluctant Rector: The Father Tom Mysteries Books 1-3

Watch for more at J. R. Mathis’s site.

Also by Susan Mathis

The Father Tom Mysteries

The Penitent Priest

The Framed Father

The Redemptive Return

The Buried Bride

The Defining Decision

The Silent Shooter

The Purloined Paintings

The Slain Saint

The Perfect Patsy

The Haunted Heritage

The Fatal Fall (Coming Soon)

The Father's Family (Coming Soon)

The Mercy and Justice Mysteries

The Honeymoon Homicide (Coming Soon)

The Maligned Marine (Coming Soon)

Standalone

The Reluctant Rector: The Father Tom Mysteries Books 1-3

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By J. R. Mathis

Also By Susan Mathis

Authors’ Note

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

A Sneak Peek at The Purloined Paintings

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Authors’ Note

THE SILENT SHOOTERbegins about thirty minutes after the end of The Defining Decision and contains spoilers for the earlier book.

This book takes place in a time and place very much like our own.  In  the book’s world, however, COVID-19 doesn’t exist; hence our characters wear no masks, shake hands, hug with abandon, and gather in groups of more than 10 people.

All the places and characters in this book are the product of the authors’ imagination and research. Any resemblance to actual places or persons is entirely coincidental.

To Theresa K. Bowers,

Susan’s favorite friend of over thirty years,

the first person other than Susan to ever read a Father Tom Mystery,

one of our beloved beta readers,

and the inspiration for Helen’s huge tote bag.

One

SHE SAID YES.

Standing in Saint Clare’s before the altar, I had asked her the question I’d never expected to ask.

And she said yes. Helen Mason Parr is going to be my wife.

A priest’s wife.

Driving to the restaurant, she delights me by continually admiring her ring, the same blue sapphire ring I’d given her before and told her to keep when I left. With Gladys’ help, I retrieved it from her apartment.

“So you’re not disappointed that I didn’t get you a new one?” I ask.

“Of course not!” she says, her eyes still fixed on the sparkling gem. “This is the only ring I’ve ever wanted from you. My only question is, how did you get it?”

“Yeah,” I say sheepishly, “funny story. You remember how Gladys dragged you to your apartment to help you get dressed?”

“Yes?”

“Well, that was for two reasons. First, I really wanted you to be wearing this dress when I proposed. And second, it was so that she could steal the ring at the last minute and get it over here to me.”

“So that’s why she had to leave so suddenly, right before I was ready to go. I thought she had a hot date with Nate.”

“Maybe she does, but if so, she dropped by the Rectory on her way and handed the ring off to me first.”

“You scoundrel,” she says, slapping me playfully on the shoulder.

“Yes,” I say, taking her hand and pulling it to my lips. “But seriously, I didn’t want to get it too soon, because I didn’t want you to think it had been stolen and start roughing up perps.”

“Like I would do something like that. Sweet little me?”

“My darling, you are the most beautiful woman I know, my long-awaited dream come true, but you are neither of those two things.”

“Watch out,” she laughs, “or I’ll get mad and hit you with my shoe.”

“Which is one of the many reasons why I now insist that you wear soft flats. In case you do give in to your more violent tendencies, I don’t want to find myself impaled by a spiked heel.”

“Fair enough. So, where are we having dinner?”

“Sadly, nowhere nearly nice enough to honor this momentous occasion. Just Captain Pettit’s, that seafood restaurant near the Archbishop’s residence.”

“I love that place. It's one of the few buffets in the area that includes crab legs.”

“Exactly, which is why I chose it,” I smile. “I know how much you like them. I thought I’d take you somewhere nice in Myerton on Monday night. Maybe that new Italian place just outside town.”

Helen hesitates. “But, is that a good idea, Tom?  I mean, someone might see us.”

“Need I remind you that by Monday our big secret will be out?” I say with a grin.

“Oh, my gosh,” she laughs. “I forgot. Tom, do you have any idea what exactly the Archbishop has planned for the announcement?”

“Not a lot, but here’s what I know so far. You know that His Eminence sent word several weeks ago that he would be visiting the parish on Sunday?”

“Oh, yes, I know. I have no less than a dozen emails in my inbox concerning the food for the visit, as well as seating arrangements, serving, etc. I’ve barely seen or spoken to Anna this week, she’s been in such a tizzy getting everything ready.”

“Well, you see my darling, Anna may have been avoiding you because she knew that he was coming here for us.”

“Wait, how long have you known?”

“Only since Monday. I wanted to propose to you right away, but he asked me to hold off lest word leak out. He’ll tell us more tonight. There’s someone from the Vatican Press Office who’s going to be there to coordinate everything.”

“So this is it. We’ll make the formal announcement on Sunday?”

I hear a certain hesitation in her voice that gives me pause. “Helen,” I say, “if you’re not ready for this, I will tell him no.”

“No, you won’t, nor will I,” she says with determination. “Remember, I am not some blushing twenty-something. You and I know full well, or at least as well as anyone can, what we’re getting ourselves into. We’ve talked it to death. Yes, I wish we could have a little more time for just us, but on the other hand, once the word is out, it will be wonderful not to have to sneak around anymore and be constantly afraid that someone will say something.”

“So, you’re OK with everything?”

“Tom, I’m an adult woman with good sense. I doubt I’ll ever be OK with everything. Only imbeciles are ever OK with everything.”

“Stop being difficult and tell me if you’re OK making this public on Sunday!”

“Yes, Tom, I am ready,” she says, slipping her hand under my arm. “Ready to let the whole world know that I’m going to be your wife.”

We ride along in joyful contentment for a while, then I say, “There is one thing I should tell you, before you find out from the Archbishop.”

“What?” Helen asks, a little concerned.

“When His Holiness called the Archbishop to tell him the news—”

“Wait!” she exclaims. “The Pope called the Archbishop to tell him personally?”

“That was my reaction,” I chuckle. “Anyway, the Holy Father said he was looking forward to meeting us after we are married.”

Even out of the corner of my eye, I can see Helen’s shocked expression. “The Holy Father—the Pope—the Pope—he—he—he wants to meet us?” she sputters. “Wha—what—what the hell!”

I can’t help laughing. “Not exactly the most appropriate reaction, I think. But yes, a private audience to impart his apostolic blessing on our marriage. We’re part of his legacy, my darling, and a big part of how his papacy is judged will depend on us.”

Helen blows out a big breath. “Huh, no pressure!”

“Oh, no, none at all!”

We both laugh and I say, “But you’re ready, Helen? For whatever happens.”

She leans across and kisses me on the cheek. “Tom,” she whispers, “I’ve been ready since the day you walked back into my life. All I want now is what I wanted then—for us to be together. And God has given us that. I’m ready, no matter what happens.”

Helen lays her head on my shoulder as we approach the skyline of Baltimore, and she stays that way until I park the car at the restaurant.

As I have observed on more than one occasion, I love Helen’s voluptuous curves, and I love taking her out for dinner or eating with her on any occasion. That being said, watching Helen eat snow crab legs is a slightly scary experience. She seems to lose all her normal inhibitions when she gets them in front of her, and she has a method that should be patented for getting the entire leg out without breaking it.

When she dips it in butter and places the whole thing in her mouth, I have to avert my eyes.

When she has finally eaten all the crab legs she wants, she daintily wipes her mouth and then whispers, “OK, I’m going to slip into the ladies’ room and change into what I brought to wear to see the Archbishop.” I want to say something like, “You really don’t need to bother,” but we both know that the red dress she’s wearing is in no way suitable for a meeting with His Eminence.

I pay the check and run out to the car to get the huge tote bag she always has with her. As usual, it weighs a ton and I wonder again why she needs so much stuff just to make it through a day. I bring it back to her and she slips into the restroom. I wander around aimlessly for a few minutes and then decide to go pull the car around. I text her where I am and she joins me in a surprisingly short amount of time.

When she gets in the car, I ask, “Helen, do you have your backup with you?”

“Yes, Tom, I do,” she says, “and it is safely tucked away where it always is. We are going through some sketchy parts of Baltimore and I thought it was a good idea.”

“OK, just checking,” I say, pulling out into evening traffic. “Thigh holster tonight?”

“Hmm, I’ll let you speculate, Father,” she says breathlessly.

I chuckle even as I feel my face grow warm. “I meant to ask, how’s life as Acting Chief?”

She sighs. “Fine, I guess.”

“You guess? You don’t sound too enthusiastic.”

“Well, basically it’s a lot of paperwork and saying, ‘we can’t decide that until we get a permanent chief,’” she says. “I can’t make any real changes, or big decisions. Plus, it’s never pleasant when we have to investigate a fellow police officer, even one who looks as corrupt as Lowden does. From what they’ve found, it goes far beyond favoritism in the Richard Davenport case.”

“Who are you getting?”

“Well, since the city counsel wanted an independent investigation to see if Lowden’s corruption affected the Police Department as a whole, they asked the State Attorney to assign an investigator.”

“Who did Angela assign?”

I see her look at me out of the corner of her eye. “Brenda Epping.”

“Oh? She’s getting a higher profile.”

“Well, Angela’s impressed with her. I am, too. I’ve ordered the entire department to cooperate with her.” She pauses. “She’s interviewing me next week.”

“Why you?”

She turns and looks out the window. “I was one of the last people Lowden hired,” she says. “And you know the only reason I got this job.”

“Because you were the best detective to apply?”

“I’d like to think so, but really Lowden owed the D.C. chief a favor. Remember, I was pretty much considered damaged goods back then.”

“But you’re not in any trouble?” I say, concerned.

“No,” she says, still looking out the window. She turns to me. “But darling, I don’t want to let this cast a cloud over us. Tonight, I want to bask in the glow of God’s miracle.”

I smile. “Me too, my dearest love, me too.”

Two

WE ARRIVE AT THE ARCHBISHOP’S home, a stately Georgian mansion situated on ten acres of well-manicured grounds. I pull in the driveway and stop in front of the front door.

Looking at Helen, I grasp her hand. “Ready?” I ask.

With her chin up and a twinkle in her eyes, she says with a smile, “I’ve been ready, Tom.”

The door opens almost immediately after I ring the bell, revealing a jovial Archbishop Walter Knowland, flanked by his assistant Father Wayne wearing his usual scowl—only this time I detect a slight smile on the ex-Marine chaplain’s lips.

“Tom,” His Eminence says with a smile. “Helen, my dear. Please, come in.”

We walk into the entry hall of the residence. The Archbishop grasps my hand in a firm and vigorous handshake. He pulls Helen into a big bear hug and kisses her on the cheek. Father Wayne gives me a firm handshake and a quick, “Congratulations.” To Helen, he does the same, except he adds, “Hope you can do something with him.”

“Oh, I think I can whip him into shape,” Helen replies with a grin. Father Wayne nods his head, then turns quickly and ushers the three of us down the hallway into the Archbishop’s library. There is champagne on ice, and a steward quickly appears to pour us glasses.

Looking at us with unbridled joy, the Archbishop raises his glass and says, “To Tom and Helen. May you find that your love for each other brings you ever closer to Christ and His Church.” We toast to this, the first acknowledgement from anyone other than ourselves of our happy news.

“Please,” Archbishop Knowland says, indicating two armchairs side by side in front of his own. Behind us, I hear the door open. “Ah, Angelo, there you are,” he says. A young man in his late twenties with a David Niven moustache appears by his side, dressed in a nicely tailored suit.

“Father Tom Greer, Mrs. Helen Parr, this is Angelo Risetti from the Vatican Press Office. He’s here to see you two through the next several weeks.”

“Father Greer,” Risetti says in perfect though accented English, shaking my hand. “Ah, Ms. Parr,” he says with a smile, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. “So very nice to meet you both,” he continues. “I bring you greetings from the Holy Father, and may I also extend my congratulations to you both. You’re embarking on a truly exciting adventure, a new chapter in the history of the Church.”

“And that’s why I wanted to meet with you tonight,” the Archbishop says. “You’re making history, and the whole Church will be watching you. Your unique situation calls for us to make some plans. As you both know, I will be at Saint Clare’s on Sunday. Following the Mass, I will ask everyone to be seated and make the announcement. At the same time, in Rome, a press release will go out to the international media announcing the new policy and your selection as the first couple to be granted a dispensation. After I finish my remarks, I will ask as many of the faithful as possible to either join us in the basement for a celebratory meal or depart by the back door. While they do this, the three of us will go out on the front steps where I will make a public announcement to certain members of the press. This is all being coordinated by Mr. Risetti here. They will no doubt want pictures of the two of you and some of the three of us together. You will not speak. I will do all the talking and inform them that the two of you will be available for interviews at a later time.

“We will remain with the press for about 10 minutes and then go back into the church and take the inside stairs down to the basement. Any questions?”

Before I can say anything, Helen asks, “What should I wear?”

Without missing a beat, Risetti jumps in, “Ms. Parr, since Sunday is the feast of Pentecost and the good Father will obviously be wearing black, I would suggest something red. It will photograph well and should be very attractive with your coloring.”

“You don’t think it will make me look . . .”

“Large? No, not at all.”

I see Helen’s jaw clench. “I was going to say ‘like a bad woman’ but, OK,” she says evenly.

Noticing her irritation, Risetti quickly says, “Oh, Ms. Parr! No, no, no, I apologize. I meant no offense at all. You are a very attractive woman. But understand, I so often work with silly European women who equate beauty with being skin and bones. I forget that there are members of the gentler sex who are able to recognize why the painter Rubens remains so popular. Myself, I believe that the bone is for the dog and the meat is for the man.”

She melts at this and I see now that she is putty in his hands. “Oh . . . oh, that’s all right, Mr. Risetti. Just a simple misunderstanding,” she says with a slight giggle.

Risetti flashes a set of perfectly white teeth and says something in Italian, followed by, “Yes, and please, call me Angelo.”

“Angelo,” she says, a flush creeping up her cheeks. “You must call me Helen.”

“Very good, Helen, then,” he says, still smiling. “To answer your question, I would recommend that this dress, and everything you wear to future public engagements between now and the wedding, follow the guidelines we recommend for women visiting the Vatican. No mini-skirts, short shorts, sleeveless or low-cut tops. Basically, you want to make sure your knees and shoulders are covered at all times, as well as everything in between. Obviously, what you wear on your own time is your own business, but never forget that people are likely watching, at least in these early days.”

“Speaking of which,” Archbishop Knowland says, “now that you are engaged, you may of course go out together in public and even display the type of affection one would expect an engaged couple to display IN CHURCH. That is to say, don’t do anything in public that you would not do in front of your congregation, Tom, and do not do anything in private that you would not do in front of Jesus. Anna has agreed to stay on through the wedding to keep everything above board and avoid creating scandal. I have every reason to believe that you two will continue to show the respect for each other, God, and the Church that you have up to now. The only difference is that from now on, every move you make will be under scrutiny. No matter what you do, you will be criticized, so strive to honor God and let them wag their tongues. And, if you fail privately, get yourselves to confession. If you fail publicly, get yourselves to me, because I will probably know about it before you can pick up the phone. Any questions?”

Before I can ask what’s on my mind, Angelo speaks up. “I’m sorry, Your Eminence, but we need to talk about their first public interview.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” the Archbishop says with a smile. “I almost forgot about that.”

“Interview?” I say. “The news hasn’t been made public yet. How could we have an interview already?”

“We offered Heather Andrews an exclusive interview,” Angelo says. “She’s currently traveling the country as part of a series of shows on NBS called ‘The Summer of Love,’ and your interview will kick it off!”

“OK,” Helen says. “So, we’re going to Baltimore, or . . . “

“Oh, no. She’s coming to you. Her advance crew will arrive Wednesday to set up a stage near Saint Clare’s. It will be a week from Monday in front of a live audience.”

We look at each other. That’s a hell of a way to make our first public appearance.

“You can always say no,” Angelo says. “I mean, I know it’s a lot to ask—”

“What do you think, Helen?” I ask.

“Tom,” she says, “if we’re going to start, we might as well start with a bang.”

I smile. “OK, then, Angelo, we’ll do it.”

“Fantastico,” he says as he pulls out his phone. “If you will excuse me, I will call her and let her know the good news.”

After Angelo leaves, the Archbishop asks, “Any other questions?”

“Your Eminence,” I say, “I know that we must go through the six months of marriage preparation prescribed by the Church. Given that, do you have any idea how soon we might set the date?”

“Of course you are anxious to begin your new life together, and frankly, I am anxious not to have to keep tabs on you as much.” He smiles and his eyes twinkle. “That being said, Sunday is May 23. Six months after that would be November 23. That brings us right up to the edge of Advent. I very much want you two to have a long honeymoon, because by then, you’ll have earned a well-deserved break from the spotlight. That being said, Tom, I don’t really want to take you away from your parish during Advent. So, what about Sunday, December 26, the Feast of the Holy Family? We would have to have the readings from that day because it is in Christmastide, but I think it would have some lovely symbolism.”

I look at Helen and say, “This is your day. What do you think.”

Taking my hand firmly in hers, she looks in my eyes and says, “This is OUR day.” Turning to the Archbishop, she amazes me by saying, “All of ours. Tom is already married to the Church. If I am marrying him, I am marrying the Church, too. The Feast of the Holy Family sounds wonderful.”

I am shocked to see tears well up in the Archbishop’s eyes. “I knew you’d say that, Helen,” he says. “I just knew it.”

Three

AS WE WALK BACK TO the car, hand in hand for all the world—well, at least the Archbishop if he is looking out his window—to see, my mind wanders back to the other two times that we have strolled up this walk. The first time was just before Ash Wednesday, when the world was buried in the cold and decay of winter. The second time was just after Easter, when we could see the first signs of spring as flowers put forth buds and daffodils began to burst forth through the now-warmed soil. Now May is here, and the earth and air are becoming warmer. Everything is in full bloom as spring begins to give way to summer.

As we get in the car for the long drive back to Myerton, I say to Helen, “You know, you really are one woman in a million.”

Looking confused, she replies, “How so?”

“Only one woman in a million would sacrifice control of her own wedding to a male-dominated bureaucracy, even one that does represent Christ on earth.”

“Or,” she says with a smile, “maybe a woman who wants to marry the man she loves would see that she is joining his world as much as he is joining hers, and would be willing to make any sacrifice necessary to be with him.”

I smile but she continues, “Tom, I meant what I said. I am marrying the Church, but you are marrying the Myerton Police Department, and that also comes with certain limitations, especially while I am Acting Chief.”

“I know that, of course. It would be the same even if you were still Chief Detective.”

“No, I don’t think you’re hearing me, Tom,” she says. “You’re not going to be able to tag along on investigations like you used to, at least not as much. And I’m going to make decisions you won’t agree with, and I can’t let that influence me.”

“You mean like when you decided to send Gladys into Richard Davenport’s with a wire to get him to confess to murder?”

“Yes, just like that. Tom, I love you. I’m so thankful you’re going to be my husband,” Helen says, “but you can’t have a say in decisions I make for the police department, any more than I can about decisions you make for Saint Clare’s.”

“Fair enough,” I say, nodding.  I’m really wondering why we’re even having this conversation, and want to change the subject back to us and our plans. I ask, “So, what do you want to do tomorrow?”

“I’m going to the Hagerstown Outlet Mall to try to find something decent to wear on Sunday. You can do what you like.”

“Fortunately, I cleared my schedule for tomorrow in the hopes of spending it with you. If that means going dress shopping, I say, let’s go dress shopping.”

Helen leans over and kisses me on the cheek. “I was hoping you’d say that. We’re going to have so much fun!”

***

I’M NOT ENTIRELY SURE how much fun I’m having, but I do enjoy the sight of Helen emerging from the dressing room at the high-end women’s clothing outlet store to model one dress after another for my approval.

Ah, it’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.

Her first task, she told me on the drive over, is to find just the right red dress to wear to Saint Clare’s tomorrow for the announcement.

“But you already have a red dress I love you in,” I had said.

“Yes, Tom, I know you love it. I know why you love it,” she grins. “But it’s too low up top and too short down below. I need to find something appropriate, like Angelo suggested.”

Unfortunately, the selection of red dresses is somewhat limited. Fortunately, the third one she comes out in is a real show-stopper. It has elbow-length sleeves that end in a deep ruffle. The V-neck is high enough to satisfy anyone. The wrap-type skirt falls well below her knees and is sewn up the side to prevent any embarrassing accidents.

When I finally find my voice, I say, “Beautiful!”

Looking at herself in the mirror, Helen says, “You like it?”

“Like it? It’s perfect!”

Helen rewards me with a beaming smile. A store clerk comes up to her and asks, “Find what you were looking for, ma’am?”

“Yes, this is just the one,” she answers.

“Great choice. It looks so good with your coloring. And, at 40 percent off—”

“Wait,” Helen says excitedly. “It’s on sale?”

She nods “Everything in the store is at least forty percent off.”

“Wonderful,” she says. “Tom, you know, I’m going to need several new outfits, with everything going on. Might as well get them now.”

In spite of the fact that we’ve already been here an hour, it’s getting near lunchtime, and I’m beginning to get hungry, I yield to the impeccable logic of my bride. So, I spend the next hour and a half looking at Helen in one dress after another.

Again, not a bad way to spend a Saturday morning. And it’s my own fault for not eating more at breakfast.

Finally, she brings her selections to the counter to check out. When the final total flashes on the small register screen, I manage not to gasp or pass out.

Helen’s spending more on dresses than I earn in a week.

Sensing my discomfort, she whispers, “Tom, I haven’t bought anything new in a while—except for that red dress. I need these to give people a good impression.”

“I guess I’m just not used to spending so much on clothes.”

“You only wear black, darling, and unfortunately I don’t have that option unless you want me to look like a nun.” She leans closer and says in a low voice, “Is that what you want me to look like?”

“No, no, no,” I say quickly. “This is just fine.”

The store clerk hands Helen her purchases in a dress bag and we’re soon on our way, again hand in hand. We both know there’s a slight chance that someone might see us, but since it soon won’t matter, neither of us are in the mood to be too cautious.

We’re just too happy together.

I have done my research and know that one of Helen’s favorite chain restaurants is nearby, one best known for the wide variety of cheesecake that it offers. We make our selections—traditional New York-style with strawberry sauce for her, turtle for me—and I ask our waiter to bring us a bottle of wine. He soon returns with the wine and our cheesecakes, uncorks the bottle and pours the burgundy into our glasses.

I raise my glass and say, “To our one-day secret engagement.”

Helen responds, “To the start of our public life together.”

Then, I take advantage of the fact that we are over an hour from home and do something I would not normally do. I lean across the table to kiss her right in front of God and everyone in that restaurant.

***

AS WE’RE DRIVING BACK to Myerton, Helen suddenly says, “Tom, we need to tell Clark and Vivian before tomorrow.”

“You’re right,” I say, “we really do. Call them and see if we can stop by for a few minutes this evening.”

Vivian assures Helen that we are not only welcome but that she already has a pineapple pound cake in the oven that will be just cool enough to eat by around 7 p.m. I look at my watch and realize we’ll have about an hour to kill once we get back to Myerton so we decide to pull off at one of the overlooks and watch the sunset over the mountains. I park the car and Helen unfastens her seatbelt, scooting over by me so I can put my arm around her shoulder.

“Happy?” I ask.

She nods her head, adding, “And content. A rare combination for me.”

I nod and settle back to watch the mountains go from a patchwork of light greens to darker greens on their way to purple as late afternoon transitions to twilight.

“You know, I can’t believe there was a time I thought I’d never see you again,” I say.

“Me neither,” she says. “Then one day, you show up in my office.”

“I think we were both shocked that day,” I chuckle.

When Helen doesn’t say anything, I say, “Everything all right?”

She sits up and looks at her hands. “Tom,” she says, “there’s something I haven’t told you. Something you deserve to know, especially now that we’re getting married. And I don’t want there to be any secrets.”

“OK,” I say, my stomach beginning to twist in knots.

She sighs. “Oh, I am not proud of this at all, Tom. But . . . it wasn’t entirely a surprise to me that you were a priest.”

I furrow my brow. “You knew I’d become a priest? How?”

Helen sighs and won’t look at me, “A few years ago—while I was still in D.C.—I sort of conducted a background check on you.”

I snort. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Oh, I wish I were. I mean, John had been dead for years, and I wasn’t dating anyone, and I got to wondering what happened to you. I thought maybe we could . . . reconnect?”

“I see,” I say, and I think I really do.

“I had your full name and your date of birth, so it wasn’t that difficult.” She swallows. “I . . . I found out you’d been married. I found out about Joan. And, I found out you’d entered the priesthood.”

“So you knew about Joan being murdered before I visited you?” I say.

She nods. “Not everything. I knew she’d been killed in Myerton, but frankly, I never looked at her case after I moved here.”

I sit back, staring out the window. “Why tell me this now?”

“Because, Tom, I can’t start our marriage with a secret.” Helen looks at me. “Are you mad?”

I sigh and smile. “No, I’m really not. Frankly, if I’d had the resources you had, I might have tried to track you down.”

“Thank you,” she says, breathing a big sigh of relief.

“Any other big secrets?” I say with a wry grin.

She gets an embarrassed grimace on her face. “Welllll, actually, there is one more. I know how much you love my black hair.”

“Yes,” I say. “It’s just as black as it was when we were together.”

“Ah, no, it’s not. I, ah, I’ve been dying my hair for years.”

I laugh. “Oh, Helen, come here!” I pull her into my arms and give her a kiss. The kiss deepens, and I pull her even closer to me, running my fingers through her hair, her hands rubbing my chest through my shirt.

After a while, she pulls back. Breathlessly, she whispers, “Oh, it’s such a long time until Christmas.”

***

WE’RE ALMOST TO MYERTON when Helen asks, “Tom, you say the Liturgy of Hours every day, right?”

“Most of the time,” I answer. “I mean, it is always a goal to say all the hours, and I did, faithfully, when I was Archdiocesan Archivist. But since becoming a parish priest, I am a lot busier and so while I usually say Morning and Evening Prayer, as well as Night Prayer right before I go to sleep, I don’t always get around to the Daytime Prayers. Why do you ask?”

“Because I believe it’s important for us to try to be roughly equal in as many areas of our life as we can. You’re always going to have an advantage over me in the spiritual department, but I want to try to even the playing ground.”

“Well, it would not be hard to say Evening Prayer together after dinner now that we’re engaged. Morning Prayer might be a bit trickier since we’re not typically together in the early mornings.”

“At least not yet,” she says playfully.

“Seven months, three days and an odd number of hours, my darling.”

“I know. But we talked about being part of each other’s world and you have done a wonderful—some in the department might even say excessive—job becoming part of my world. I want to become more of a part of yours.”

“OK, well, let's start tomorrow night. That will give me a chance to get my mind around how we should proceed.”

I pull into the driveway at the Applegates and we walk to the door hand in hand. I ring the doorbell, and soon Vivian greets us with a cheerful smile.

“Tom,” she says, giving me a hug. “Hel—” she stops when she spies the sapphire ring on Helen’s left hand.

“Is that what I think it is?” Vivian squeals. Helen nods, and Vivian throws her arms around her. “Oh, I am so happy for you! Tom, you too,” she says as she turns to me and wraps me in a hug. “Clark! Get out here! And bring the champagne!”

From the kitchen, Clark yells, “Is it what we thought it was?”

“If you thought we’re here to tell you the Vatican said yes,” I shout with a laugh, “then you’re right!”

Clark comes from the kitchen and places the champagne on the coffee table before hugging Helen and then me. Once we’re all in the living room, Clark deftly uncorks the champagne with a resounding pop and pours the glasses, handing them around.

“Tom, Helen,” Clark says, “you have both been in our prayers since you shared with us the possibility that you might marry. The Lord has answered your prayers, and ours. Vivian and I are so happy for you, and we want you to know you have our love, support and continued prayers as you embark on this new chapter in your lives.”

We drink, then sit down. For the next hour, we tell Clark and Vivian everything that has happened and is going to happen in the coming days and weeks.

“I would expect, Clark, that as a local pastor, the press will want to talk to you,” I say.

“I’ll just let Viv handle that,” he says, patting his wife on her shoulder. “She’s the professional, after all.”

“Speaking of the press,” Vivian says, “need any help with that?”

Helen says, “Not right now. The Vatican Press Office sent someone, Angelo Risetti, to coordinate our press contacts until things begin to settle down.”

I say, “I know that you have your own obligations Sunday morning, Clark, but we’d love to have you and Vivian at the reception afterwards.”

“We’ll try to be there,” Clark says, “probably well after it starts, you understand.”

“Oh, we’re not going to be there at first anyway,” Helen laughs. “The Archbishop is announcing the engagement to the press right after Mass ends. We have to pose for pictures, you know, look like the happy engaged couple we are.”

“But,” I say, “we won’t have to answer questions.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Helen says. “The first performance of the Father Tom Greer and Detective Helen Parr Dog-and-Pony Show is next Monday morning, live from beautiful downtown Myerton.”

“What?” Clark asks, looking a little startled.

“Oh, yeah,” I say. “Heather Andrews is interviewing us in front of a live audience. They’re going to be erecting a stage on the church lawn.”

“Well, we’ll be there,” Clark nods.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Vivian says, “But remember, the press is just doing their job, even when they ask questions you may find intrusive. Just be prepared for them.”

“How can we prepare for them when we don’t know what they’ll be?” I ask.

“Oh, use your imagination. What do you think people will want to know about the most?”

“Sex,” Helen and I say at the same time. We quickly look at each other and blush.

Clark laughs. “You’re probably right about that one. In this day and age, especially, people will want to know about your mutual commitment to chastity until you’re married—especially you, Helen.”

She nods thoughtfully. “They’ll probably want to know about how I fell in love with a priest,” she says.

“How I reacted,” I say. “About any conflicts, thoughts about leaving.”

Vivian nods. “I think you’re going to be more than ready. And if there’s a question out of left field you don’t want to answer, just brush it aside and change the subject.”

“That’s good advice,” I say. “Thanks.”

We chat for a few minutes about the goings-on in Clark’s church and their boys, as well as Anna and my Mom.

Looking at the time, Clark says, “You know, I hate to push you out, but you both have a long day tomorrow. You two better be getting home.”

Helen and I stand, as does Vivian. “But before you leave,” Clark says, “I’d like to do something that, frankly, I’ve never done before. Let’s kneel together so I can pray for the two of you.”

“That would be wonderful,” I say.

“Yes,” Helen adds, “that would be lovely.”

After helping Clark move the coffee table, we all kneel together in their living room while he prays for Helen and me and the beginning of our new life together. Helen and I hold hands during it, and I’m thankful that she and I have such friends to love us and pray for us during the months ahead.

***

WE DON’T GET BACK TO Helen’s apartment until after dark. As I walk her to the door, I kiss her and say, “Sweet dreams, my love. The next time we get to talk alone, the whole world will know.”

With eyes fired with determination, Helen smiles and says, “Bring it on.”

I am humming softly to myself when I get to the Rectory. Anna and I have already gone over everything for tomorrow, but I pop my head in the living room on my way up to bed and ask, “Are we still all set?”

“Everything’s in order, Tom,” Anna says reassuringly. “Just enjoy these last few hours of freedom. You’ll belong to the world tomorrow.” Then she pauses and adds, “I don’t want to pry, but what did your Mom say?”

“Oh, no,” I moan. “I forgot all about her. I’ve got to call her, right? I mean, I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Of course you have to call her, and tonight. You can’t let her hear about it on the news tomorrow.”

I groan inwardly as I head up the stairs, pulling out my cell phone as I go. She answers on the second ring and I say, “Hi, Mom. How are you?”

“Oh, hi, Tommy,” she says in a voice that’s like fingernails on a chalkboard. “I guess I’m OK. I haven’t been feeling well lately. You know, my life seems so empty without Sonya. Of course, it's nice to be able to buy stuff with all that money she left me, now that they finally agreed it couldn’t be tied to what those terrible people had her doing.”

“Right, Mom,” I say, “I’m sorry for your suffering, but I have some news that I hope you’ll like.”

“Are you finally moving back to Bellamy?” she asks with just the tiniest ray of hope in her voice.

“No, Mom, I’m not moving back to Bellamy. You see, the Church has granted special permission for me to get married.”

“What?” she asks. “You’re leaving the priesthood and getting married?”

“No, Mom, I’m not leaving the priesthood, but I am marrying Helen. The Vatican has given me a special dispensation.”

“Why would they do that? Is it because of your injury when you were here? Are you like some kind of eunuch now and she’s going to be like a nurse to you?”

“No, Mom,” I say as calmly as I can. “Everything healed up very nicely after the attack. We were initially committed to never being together as a married couple and thought we would have to remain just friends. But things have changed.”

“So why are they letting you get married? I thought you promised you wouldn’t do anything like that?”

“Because they decided that I could, Mom.”

“Well, why did they do that?”

“Because, Mom, it's a new program that they’re trying out. My Archbishop was involved in it, and so they’re using Helen and me as something of a test case.”

“So if it doesn’t work out with you, no other priest will be allowed to get married?”

I sigh. “That’s right, Mom, it’s all up to us.”

“Well, I hope that it works out then.  I’m not sure it’s a good idea for the Church in general, though I’m sure it’s hard to get young men willing to commit these days to really love God as much as the priests did when I was young.”

“I see what you mean, Mom, and I appreciate you taking time to talk to me. But listen, I have to be up early tomorrow. It’s going to be a busy day.”