“Were you aware of a murder of a little boy in the Wood River area just before you left?”

“Vaguely. I’m not sure I understand your line of questioning, Sheriff. Are you accusing me of having some knowledge about these murders?”

Still, there was no alarm in his voice, no defensiveness, only concern.

“I’m just checking as many leads as possible.” Suddenly, Nick felt ridiculous. How could Maggie ever have led him to believe that a Catholic priest was capable of murder? Then it hit him. “Father Keller, how did you know I served mass for Father Francis at the old St. Margaret’s?”

“I’m not sure. Father Francis must have mentioned it to me.” Again the priest avoided Nick’s eyes. A sudden knock at the door interrupted them, and Father Keller quickly got up, almost too quickly, as if anxious to escape. “I’m certainly not dressed for company.” He smiled at Nick as he tucked in the lapels of his robe and tightened its cinch.

Nick took the opportunity to escape the fire’s heat. He got up and paced the large room. Huge built-in bookcases made up one wall, on the opposite were a bay window and window bench used for green plants. There were few decorations-a highly-polished, dark wooden crucifix with an unusual pointed end. It almost looked like a dagger. There were also several original paintings by an obscure artist. Quite nice, though Nick knew little about art. The swishes of bright color were hypnotic, swirling yellows and reds in a field of vibrant purple.

Then Nick saw them. Tucked away around the side of the brick fireplace that jutted out into the room was a pair of black rubber boots, still plastered with snow and sitting on an old welcome mat. Had Father Keller lied about being out this evening? Or perhaps the boots belonged to Ray Howard.

From the foyer Nick heard voices raised, a hint of frustration in Father Keller’s and accusations from a woman’s voice. Nick hurried to the entrance, where he saw Father Keller trying to remain calm and cool while Maggie O’Dell assaulted him with questions.

Chapter 56

At first Nick didn’t recognize Maggie’s voice. It was loud, shrill and belligerent-this from a woman who appeared to be the essence of control.

“I want to see Father Francis now,” she said and pushed past Father Keller before he could explain. She almost ran into Nick. She backed away, startled. Her eyes met his. There was something wild and dark in hers-something a bit out of control to match her voice.

“Nick, what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Don’t you have a flight to catch?”

She looked small in the oversize green jacket and blue jeans. Without makeup and with her windblown hair, she could have passed for a college coed.

“Flights are delayed.”

“Excuse me,” Father Keller interrupted.

“Maggie, you haven’t met Father Michael Keller. Father Keller, this is Special Agent Maggie O’Dell.”

“So you’re Keller?” There was accusation in her voice. “What have you done with Father Francis?”

Again, the belligerence. Nick couldn’t figure out this new approach. What happened to the cool, calm woman who usually made him look like the hothead?

“I tried to explain…” Father Keller tried again.

“Yes, you do have some explaining to do. Father Francis was supposed to meet me at the hospital this afternoon. He never showed up.” She looked to Nick. “I’ve been calling here all afternoon and evening.”

“Maggie, why don’t you come in and calm down?”

“I don’t want to calm down. I want some answers. I want to know what the hell’s going on here.”

“There was an accident this morning,” Nick explained, since she wouldn’t allow Father Keller to speak. “Father Francis fell down some basement steps. I’m afraid he’s dead.”

She was quiet, her entire body suddenly still. “An accident?” Then she looked up at Father Keller. “Nick, are you sure it was an accident?”

“Maggie.”

“How can you be sure he wasn’t pushed? Has anyone examined the body? I’ll do the autopsy myself if necessary.”

“An autopsy?” Father Keller repeated.

“Maggie, he was old and frail.”

“Exactly. So why would he be going down basement steps?”

“Actually, it’s our wine cellar,” Father Keller tried to explain.

Maggie stared at him, and Nick noticed her hands clenched into fists. It wouldn’t have surprised him if she took a swing at the priest. Nick couldn’t figure out her angle. If she was playing bad cop, good cop, he wished she’d let him know.

“What exactly are you implying, Father Keller?” she finally asked.

“Implying? I’m not implying anything.”

“Maggie, maybe we should go,” Nick said, taking her gently by the arm. Immediately, she wrenched it from his hold and shot him a look that made him take a step backward. She stared at Father Keller again, then suddenly pushed past both of them and headed for the door.

Nick glanced at the priest, who looked as embarrassed and confused as Nick felt. Without saying a word, he followed Maggie out the front door. He caught up with her on the sidewalk. He reached for her arm to slow her down, but thought better of it and simply increased his pace to stay alongside her.

“What the hell was that about?” he demanded.

“He’s lying. I doubt that it was an accident.”

“Father Francis was an old man, Maggie.”

“He had something important to tell me. When we talked on the phone this morning, I could tell someone else was listening in. I’m guessing it was Keller. Don’t you see, Nick?” She came to a halt and turned to look at him. “Whoever was listening decided to stop Father Francis before he had a chance to tell me whatever was so important. An autopsy may show whether or not he was pushed. I’ll do it myself if-”

“Maggie, stop. There’s not going to be an autopsy. Keller didn’t push anybody, and I don’t think he had anything to do with the murders. This is nuts. We need to start looking at some real suspects. We need to…”

She looked as though she would be sick. Her face went white, her shoulders slumped, and her eyes were watery.

“Maggie?”

She turned and hurried off the sidewalk into the snow, back behind the rectory and out of the bright streetlights. Shielded from the wind and clinging to a tree, she bent over and began retching. Nick grimaced and kept his distance. Now he understood the belligerence, the loud accusation, the uncharacteristic anger. Maggie O’Dell was drunk.

He waited until she finished, standing guard in the shadows, keeping his back to her in case she was now sober enough to be embarrassed.

“Nick.”

When he turned, she was walking away from him, behind the rectory toward a grove of trees that separated the church property from Cutty’s Hill.

“Nick, look.” She stopped and pointed, and he wondered if she was delusional. Then he saw it, and immediately he, too, felt sick to his stomach. Tucked back in the trees was an old blue pickup with wooden side racks.