The Disenchanted Widow (36 page)

Have had the most Gad-awful month. My poor Bubba came down with a virus. Had to take him to the Woof Woof sanctuary out on Twenty Seven till he got himself better. I’m sure glad he did get himself better, otherwise I might a been fixin to get him a plot at the pet sematary. It’s all down to Pastor Cooperman. He came and said a prior over him.

“Said a
what
over him?”

“I think she means ‘prayer.’ She writes the way she speaks sometimes.”

Then if that gaddamned Cuban broad of a cook Rosalia I hired last month didn’t go get herself banged up on solicitation charges. Didn’t know a cotton pickin thing about it till the darn law enforcement shows up with an arrest warrant. Transpires she was dealin drugs and turnin tricks at Betty Mae’s Cat House out on Forty Nine ’tween doin shifts for me and old man Chamberlain at Number Eight. I tell ya this, Etta, if I could get me a decent live in maid I’d be happy.

“My goodness,” Etta said in bewilderment, teacup halfway to her lips, “what
is
she talking about? Why was the cook playing tricks?”

Mercifully, the phone rang at that moment.

“I’ll get it.” Lorcan went out into the hall.

A couple of minutes later he was back in the room.

“Sorry, have to go out for half an hour.”

“Who was that?”

“Er…umm…It was Father Cassidy’s housekeeper, Mrs. Halstone.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you knew her.”

“I don’t…not really.”

“Is she in trouble, son?”

“Trouble? No, nothing like that.”

But Lorcan had a feeling, judging from the tone of Bessie’s voice, that a great deal of trouble was just about to come his way.

Chapter forty

T
hanks for coming over,” Bessie said, showing Lorcan in, “but I couldn’t tell you on the phone.”

“Don’t worry. It’s sometimes a relief to get away from my mother for a bit. May I?” He took off his hat and motioned to an armchair.

Bessie felt awkward, not used to this level of politeness in a man. “Oh, sorry…yes, please sit.”

He handed her a brown paper bag. “For you. I bet you could use some, given what you’ve been through.”

Bessie opened the bag and, to her surprise, drew out a bottle of fine Hennessy brandy. She rarely received gifts and was so overcome she didn’t know what to say. She turned her back on him and mumbled her thanks.

Then: “Maybe…maybe you’d like some?”

“Yes, but only if you’ll join me.”

Bessie needed little persuading. She found two tumblers and poured a generous measure into each.

“Where’s Herkie?” He accepted the rather full glass wondering how he was going to manage it.

“I sent him to bed. He was misbehaving.”

Herkie had been reprimanded for fibbing about Ned Grant’s hospitalization.

“I’m not surprised. He must be bored silly here.”

Bessie sat down on the sofa. She had tried to make herself presentable. Had put on makeup. Changed into her brightest dress: the red one. But the stress of recent events showed all too readily in her face. Insomnia and worry had done their wicked work, dimming the light within.

Lorcan raised his glass, trying to keep the atmosphere light. “Well, here’s to better times.”

“Yes, better times,” she said halfheartedly.

He took a discreet sip. “Did you find your passport?”

“Yes.”

“That’s great news!”

“Yes, but you see, I couldn’t take it. I—”

“You couldn’t?”

“No, I couldn’t—because I found it in Father Cassidy’s bedside locker.”

“Oh…I see.”

“I panicked, for if I’d took it he…he’d know I’d been in there. He keeps his bedroom locked, ye see. I—I only went in because…well, because Herkie found a…found a…” He saw her predicament. Wondered what was coming next. “I mean something lying outside the bedroom door, and…and when I tried the door handle, it opened.” She took a large gulp of brandy to help with the next embarrassing revelation.

“R-right.” Lorcan was mystified.

She opened her handbag and rummaged in it. He saw her draw something out, then promptly thrust the item back in again. “I just can’t believe he’s like that!”

“Like what?”

“And him a priest…it’s just unbelievable!”

There was a disquieting pause. Bessie coughed politely, trying to fill it. But not Lorcan. He was a man rarely daunted by silences,
who could fully inhabit the lull in a conversation with a therapist’s ease. While others babbled he sat and listened, absorbing everything. So he waited now for Bessie to entrust him with this nugget of information about Father Cassidy. She would tell him eventually, and he was in no hurry.

Finally, she made up her mind and decided to get it over with. She dipped into the handbag again and dropped the packet of condoms onto the coffee table.

“
They
were in his bedroom. What do you make of that?”

Lorcan studied the Durex. There was another long pause.

“It’s disgusting!” She gulped more brandy, aware that Lorcan had barely touched his, but she didn’t care. The cognac was giving her some much-needed courage.

“What d’you think it means?” he said finally.

“Well, I think it’s bloody obvious, don’t you?”
This Lorcan must lead a very sheltered existence.
“He’s having an affair with somebody…and not just anybody, either. I mean I wouldn’t mind if it was a woman, but it’s a…it’s a…”

“A man?”

Why does he not look shocked? Oh, God, maybe he’s that way inclined, too. Christ, what have I got myself into?

“Some ruffian called Chuck something. I only met him today. Didn’t even know he was in the house until—”

“Chuck Sproule.”

“That’s him. Do you know him?”

“Local bad boy. His bark’s bigger than his bite, as they say.” He swirled the brandy in his glass. “Why does Father Cassidy lock his room?”

“The safe is in there. Also, he holds the Temperance Club meetings there.”

“Ah, the famous Temperance Club! In his
bedroom
, though?”

“Well, not exactly. His bed is in a smaller room off it. The main area is a kind of sitting-room-office kind of thing.

“I need to have a look in there.”

“Why?”

Lorcan got up and stood by the window facing onto the backyard. “God, this takes me back. That old well…I used to play there as a child. Dora Grant used to warn me if I fell down there I’d end up in China.”

“Funny, Gusty Grant said the same thing to Herkie.”

“Bit dangerous having it exposed like that. D’you want me to replace the cover?”

Bessie got up, feeling quite light-headed, and looked out.

“Damn, Herkie’s always doin’ that. No matter how many times I tell him to leave it alone.”

“Shall I?” Lorcan gestured toward the back door.

“No, no, don’t bother yourself with it. I’ll do it when I’m bringing in the washing.” She went back to the sofa.

“Can I ask you a personal question, Lorcan?”

He resumed his seat. “Of course.”

“Well, I wondered if you’d…if you’d ever been—”

“Ever been married? No.”

She waited for more, but Lorcan simply sat there, being his calm, unreadable self. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be nosy,” Bessie said, plugging the awkward pause again.

“Would you recommend it?”

“What?”

“Marriage.”

“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “Marriage was a prison sentence for me.” She drained the brandy glass. Felt the tingle of threatening tears. Excused herself and went into the kitchen. At the sink she poured herself a glass of water. Held it to her flaming cheek.

“All right?” Lorcan asked from the kitchen doorway.

“No, I’m far from all right! I’ve no money and my job’s as good as gone. My uncle in England said he’d give me a job, but I wrote to him ages ago and he didn’t have the manners to answer my letter. The police are accusing me of I-don’t-know-what. If the Dentist finds me he’ll kill me. I’ve nowhere left to go. Oh, God, what’s the use?” She broke down and wept into the sink.

Lorcan went to her, took her gently by the arm. “Look, Bessie,” he said. “I’m going to help you out of this. I—”

“God, I had such plans for Herkie and me.” She allowed herself to be led back to the sofa. “I thought we could go away—somewhere, anywhere. God, I even dreamed of us going to Amerikay. Can you believe that?”

“And you can still do that, Bessie. Dreams come true, if you hold on to them.”

“Well, a fat lot of good that’s done me so far! I’ve been holdin’ on to useless dreams since I was ten!”

Into the silence came a bee, zizzing at the window.

“Don’t give up. You’ve shown nothing but courage so far. You left Belfast, your home, and you made a new start here. You will go far. I
know
you will. Trust me.”

No one had ever talked to her like that before. Offered words of praise. Acknowledged her efforts. Lorcan Strong could have been the last spectator in the theater, the one who stood applauding her when all the rest had given up and gone.

She leaked a tear. Dropped her gaze.

“Now, it was good that you didn’t take the passport. It means Cassidy won’t have suspected anything—yet. As I say, I need to have a look in that room.”

“But now he knows that I’m not who I say I am! Sproule called me Mrs. Lawless…if
he
knows, then Cassidy knows. Who’s to say
he hasn’t reported me to the police already? Then they really will think I stole the bingo money.”

“He won’t report you, believe me. I have a feeling that the RUC are the last people he wants to get involved with. Now, it’s very important that I have a look in that room. There’s something not right about this.” He threw a glance at the packet of Durex. “And those…they’re not what you think they’re for. But, first, I need to make sure that my suspicions are correct and you need to get your passport. Can you get me in there tomorrow morning?”

She nodded. “He says Mass at half eight, according to his timetable.”

“Right. So what time would he leave the house?”

“No later than a quarter past. He’s very punctual when it comes to Mass times.”

Lorcan got up. “Good. I’ll be there at twenty past eight, on the dot. I’ll knock on the back door.”

“But I don’t have a key for his bedroom.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

“But you haven’t finished your drink,” she said, not wanting him to leave.

He sensed her unease, leaned over and took a swig, just to please her, for solidarity.

“Now, you get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, twenty past eight, sharp.”

After another sleepless night, Bessie was up with the Kilfeckin Manor rooster, and at the parochial house by the appointed time. She let herself in through the back, just as Father Cassidy was exiting by the front.

Lorcan, sitting in his car within sight of the parochial house and idly scanning the newspaper, was alerted by the sound of a gate opening. He lowered the paper and watched as the priest
stepped onto the curb, busied himself with the latch, and strode purposefully toward St. Timothy’s, cassock flapping in the breeze.

“Now what are you up to?” He checked his pocket for the paper clips, put on his gloves, and left the car.

The house was eerily quiet when Bessie let him in. Wordlessly they climbed the stairs and proceeded down a long corridor to the last door on the right.

She tried the handle. “Locked. What now?”

“No worries.” Lorcan dropped to his knees and removed his gloves. He drew two paper clips from a pocket and began unbending them. “A little trick I learned as a necessity in my digs. My landlady, a rather absentminded lady, would sometimes lock me out.”

She watched in fascination as he raked the lock a few times before pushing in the second paper clip. Seconds later an audible clicking sound.

“Now, that’s what I like to hear.”

The door opened.

“It’s just like it was yesterday,” Bessie said, going in first. “But the door of that was shut,” she added, pointing at the safe.

“Not very tidy, our good Father, is he now?” Lorcan sniffed the air. “That smell?”

“It’s drink, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but there’s something else.”

He scanned the room. Went to the safe and peered in. Empty.

“Keep a watch by the window. Just in case.”

He went to the closet and jiggled the central knob back and forth. It wouldn’t budge.

“Aha, there’s something in here he doesn’t want us to see, and it’s not his ceremonial robes.” He looked about. “Now, the key. Where would that be, I wonder.”

“Maybe in his bedside locker. I thought I saw a key in it yesterday. Will I get it?”

“No, you stay there. How’s the time?”

Bessie checked her watch. “Nearly half past.”

Lorcan rummaged through the locker drawer. “My passport, can you—”

“Have it, already.” He found the key.

After several tries the key turned in the closet lock. With difficulty he pulled the doors open.

Bessie, looking out the window, noted that Lorcan had gone quiet. She turned to see him staring down at something in the wardrobe.

“What is it?”

“Come here.”

She followed his pointing finger. In the bottom of the closet sat a large carpetbag. And not just any old carpetbag. No, this bag was a one-off. The garish emblem of the Virgin of Guadalupe was unmistakable. He took it out and unzipped it.

Empty.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “It’s just a bag.”

“Perhaps, but even empty, it puts Cassidy in the frame. It’s the one I put the bingo money in.”

He shut the closet doors and turned the key. He crossed to the desk and tried the drawer.

“No, everything’s locked. It was—”

“It isn’t locked. Just old.” He yanked the drawer open. A glance inside confirmed his worst suspicions. There were several timer switches, a bottle of colorless liquid, and packs of condoms.

“I was right! Come here.”

Bessie looked in the drawer. “I don’t understand.”

He carefully uncapped the bottle and sniffed. “Sulfuric acid.”

“What’s it for?”

“These,” he held up one of the condom packets, “are used to determine fuse delay. The time it takes the acid to dissolve through
several layers of those is regulated by”—he lifted one of the timers—“one of these, which gives our terrorists an idea of how long it will take to ignite an incendiary device.”