Kicking the Habit (5 page)

A little zing zipped
through her at the sound of her name on his lips. She pushed the feeling aside,
determined not to lose focus. “Not a thing, Detective.” Not a thing she would
voice out loud, anyway.

She’d learned that
little lesson the hard way.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been
one day since my last confession. Pathetic, I know, but I can’t help it. Seeking
truth and justice for all is not an easy task, mind you. And it’s not like I actually
did the breaking; I simply did the entering. Trust me, I wasn’t the only one. Someone
else needs to have a talk with you as well. Maybe you could send him a sign and
tell him, because he doesn’t seem to be listening to me.

Cece ate lunch with
Candy that afternoon at Millie’s Diner on Salvation Lane. Well, Cece ate. Candy
had been chatting for ten minutes on her cell phone. Candy pulled the phone
away from her ear. “Gran wants to know if Jackass has a tail?”

The diner was remarkably
empty, given the town was swarming with people. Probably,
because Mrs. Sloan had opened her house to all for a reception following the
service. To all except Cece, that is. She’d made it quite clear
that
particular nun was not invited.

Apparently, neither was
Eleanor Meriwether, because she was the only other patron in the diner. Come to
think of it, she hadn’t been at the wake either, yet supposedly she had a thing
for the senator. Several people suspected she was the one the senator had been having
an affair with, but nothing had ever been confirmed. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to
cause a scene by showing up at the wake and making Mrs. Sloan uncomfortable.

Just then, a man Cece
had never seen before came into the diner and sat down at Eleanor’s table. He
looked to be around her age—mid-forties—with salt-and-pepper hair and glasses.
He wore khakis and a sweater vest over a button-down shirt—basically, your
everyday average Joe. Eleanor looked up and the sad expression on her face was
instantly replaced with a beaming smile. The question was: What did it all
mean?

“Earth
to Cece. I said Gran wants to know if Jackass has a tail,” Candy repeated.

“Huh? Oh, sorry. Just a sec.” Cece pulled out her prayer book and used the
monogrammed pen Granny and Candy had given her to jot down on one of the pages
a note to herself to follow up on Eleanor. Cece had to have some place to put
the information she gathered, and she figured no one would think to look in her
prayer book, especially Detective Jackson. She stuck her pen in the loose bun
at the back of her head and tucked the book back in her tote bag, then focused
on her sister’s question. “Yes, a donkey has a tail. Why?”

“Not a donkey, ya goof.”
Candy jerked her head to the man eating a sub in the truck parked out front on
the street. “Detective Jackass.”

“Would you stop calling
him names, Charity?”

“Would you stop calling
me Charity?”

Cece pursed her lips, deciding
to choose her battles. “About the tail. What is Granny
talking about?”

“Hang on.” Candy asked
Gran, and after a moment, burst out laughing. “She cast a spell and wants to
know if it worked.”

Cece glanced out the
window and caught Ace staring at her. The man was determined; she’d give him
that. It appeared now he was following her every move. She chose to be the
bigger person and ignore his smirk as she turned her attention back to her
sister. “The last I checked, Detective Jackson’s hindquarters looked just fine
to me.”

Candy’s eyelids lowered halfway.
“Sorry, Gran. Maybe you need more gunpowder or a
bigger squirrel. But please, for my sake, keep trying.” She hung up and zeroed
in on Cece, making her squirm in her seat and lose her
appetite. And she’d really wanted the rest of that burger, darn it. “Oh. My. God.” Candy gaped at her. “You like him, don’t you?”

“Well, of course I like
him. Everyone has good in them; you just have to dig
deeper to find it in some people.” Cece leveled her sister with a pointed look.

“Don’t give me that load
of crap. Unlike you, I haven’t been sheltered, babe. I know lust when I see
it.” Cece looked at her sister in disgust, but Candy just kept steamrolling
ahead. “I just can’t believe it’s over … him.” She flung her hand to the side
and made a stabbing motion toward the window.

Ace saluted Candy as he
ripped off a hunk of sub with his teeth, making her bare her own canines back
at him. His shoulders shook as though he were chuckling, most likely having the
time of his life, making her miserable.
If
only they could work out their differences,
Cece thought, but she had a
feeling he and Candy were too much alike.

“You’re nuts, you know
that?” Cece said, facing away from the annoying detective. That brief insane
moment where she’d thought he might be her dream man must have been a trick of
the light and the result of post-traumatic stress disorder.

“Riiight. You always turn the
color of beets, break out in a sweat, and ‘Hello, little sisters’”—she waved to
Cece’s breasts. “Nip out after just one look from the guy. He’s hot, I’ll give
you that, but he’s such a pain in the ass. Why does it have to be
him
?”

“Charity, please, enough
with the language,” Cece said, thinking her sister had lost her mind.

“Sorry, babe, but I’d
even prefer you getting all hot and bothered over his partner, Rockstar.”

“It’s Rocco.”

“Whatever.” She shoved
her hands through her hair. “Detective Hardass is not the right man for a woman
like you. As your big sister, I’m just looking out for you.”

“Well, you don’t have to
worry about that. I didn’t leave the church to find a man. Especially
not one like the detective.”

“Why
did
you leave the church?” Candy tipped
her head to the side and squinted as she studied Cece.

Cece hadn’t told anyone
other than Father Flannigan about her sexy dreams, and something told her
telling her sister was not a good idea. Besides, she refused to believe her
dreams had anything to do with the detective, and she had bigger things to
worry about. “Let’s just say I’ve always been different from the other nuns. I
felt like something was missing, like maybe I wasn’t doing something right. I
just thought I could help more people from outside the church, that’s all.”

Candy snickered. “Right. And that’s why you blush every time you so much as
mention Big Boy’s name.” Cece started to protest, but Candy held up a hand. “Enough about Jackass. I’d like to get through lunch without
indigestion, and I wanted to give you a housewarming present.” Her blue eyes
sparkled as she reached in her enormous purse and pulled out a bottle of Jack
Daniels. “To us, baby! How ’bout a threesome with Jack back at your place? We
can celebrate renewing our bond.”

Cece choked, feeling as
though she were about to hyperventilate. She snatched the bottle and stuffed it
in her canvas tote bag, glancing around to make sure no one saw as she caught
her breath. “Wow, um, thank you for the gift, but honestly, Charity, you’re
going to give me a heart attack yet.”

She didn’t want to hurt
her sister’s feelings, but they were vastly different people. She couldn’t
throw the gift away, but she knew exactly where she’d put this little token. It
would warm the house, all right. Right inside the cupboard
high above her kitchen sink, where no one would find it.

Candy chuckled. “You really
need to loosen up.”

“And you need to come to
church.”

Her sister studied her. “I’ll
make you a deal.”

“I draw the line at
threesomes of
any
kind.”

“I get that, even though
you don’t know what you’re missing.” Candy laughed. “You let me give you a
makeover, and I’ll go to church with you.”

“Yayyyy!” Cece squealed and
clapped her hands. She would do anything—okay,
almost
anything—to save her sister from the path she was on. “It’s
a deal.”

“By the way, did you
find out anything more about who might have killed the senator?” Candy asked,
digging into her Caesar salad at last.

“Just
that the police are leaning toward a disgruntled husband or boyfriend. They think the senator
was having an affair since he does have a reputation for being rather fond of
the ladies. It always surprised me that Mrs. Sloan put up with her husband’s
indiscretions.”

Candy snorted. “I don’t
think his wife had to worry.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say the senator
frequented the club a lot.”

“That’s not surprising.”

Candy leaned forward
with a sly grin. “What is surprising is that for such a ladies’ man, I heard he
couldn’t get it up.”

“You’re kidding!” Cece
sat back, stunned. “Maybe his wife never left him because she knew she didn’t
have to worry. I don’t think the senator was having an affair; I think he was
impotent and trying like the devil to cure himself.”

“Hmph. I never thought about
it that way. You just might be right.” Candy shrugged, then
went back to eating her salad.

“Hey, I just thought of
something I have to do. Can you cover for me? I only need about twenty
minutes.”

Candy’s smile
disappeared. “What are you up to? You’re not thinking of looking into this case
yourself, are you?”

“Don’t be silly. I just
need some space to clear my head, and well, darn, you’re right. That ole Jacko
is a pain in the keister.” Cece snapped her fingers.

“You are so full of bull, it’s not even funny—but whatever. Any chance to pull
the wool over Jackass’s flattop, I’m game.”

“Great. I owe you.”

“I know.” Candy’s eyes
sparkled, and Cece decided she’d worry about that look later.

“So how are we going to
pull this off?”

“Wait—I have a plan. I
know the owner, and she has long brown hair too. Not hair
like yours, but long enough to pass, especially since you have yours up
in that god-awful librarian bun. Sit tight.” Candy slipped into the kitchen and
spoke with a woman behind the counter for a moment, then reappeared with a big,
floppy straw hat. “Here, put this on.”

“Why?”

“Just trust me for once,
would you? You asked for my help, so let me help.”

Their eyes met, and Cece
felt a pang of hope. “Okay.” She put the hat on. “Now what?”

“Now
wave to Jackass so he sees you with it on.”

“Oh-kay.” Cece did, and Ace
studied her, with a goofy half-smile looking out of place on that chiseled face
of his.

“Now go to the
bathroom,” Candy broke into her thoughts.

“But … I don’t have to.”

“Duh. And we are sisters
how?” Candy wrinkled her nose. “Never mind. Just
pretend to go to the bathroom, then slip into the kitchen and give Millie her
hat back.”

“And that is going to
help me how?” Cece said in the same tone her sister had used.

“Simple. Jackson will
see Millie come back out and think it’s you, which will keep his ass planted in
his truck for a while. I can’t guarantee how long, so you’d better work fast.”

Cece’s smile stretched
clear across her face. “You’re brilliant, you know that?”

Candy shrugged. “I have
my moments.” But her eyes still showed her refusal to believe she was smart. Cece
wouldn’t stop trying until she found a way to change that. Candy interrupted
her thoughts with, “Well, go on if you’re goin’.”

“Roger dodger.” Cece
giggled, and Candy rolled her eyes. There was a reason opposites attracted, and
at the moment Cece wouldn’t have traded her sister for anyone else in the
world.

Ten minutes
later, Cece made her way around the corner from
Millie’s Diner on Salvation Lane to the building the senator used as a campaign
office on Main Street. Once inside, she noticed most of the other rented spaces
were empty, as everyone was either at Mrs. Sloan’s house or out to lunch.

A moment of doubt crept over her as she stood outside the office
door, yellow police tape blocking the entrance. If she stepped over the
threshold, she’d be headed in a direction where there was no turning back. But
she’d already decided the path to truth and justice would not always be an easy
one.

Or sin free.

The door was ajar, which meant she wouldn’t exactly be breaking
and entering—just entering. She glanced around but still didn’t see anyone, so
she plunged ahead and refused to look back.

The police had already gone over this room with a fine-tooth comb,
so she reasoned whatever evidence they were looking for, they’d probably
already found. But she couldn’t get those politicians’ words out of her mind.
They’d said the senator had organized a secret meeting, using his connections
at some undisclosed location. And if he’d “smelled” trouble, he should have
come to them first. Cece wondered if this trouble had
anything to do with his impotence or the illegal matter the senator was
involved in.

She had no clue what she was doing, but she couldn’t go to his
house with his wife home. And because the tip had come from politicians, she
figured the senator’s campaign office was at least someplace to start. She was
sure the Feds had covered every inch in a thorough manner, so the chances of
her finding something were slim, but still—she had to do something.

Cece spent the next several minutes searching the room for clues. She
checked files, the closet, his desk—everywhere—hoping
to find something that seemed out of place, but found nothing. Standing in the
middle of the room, she turned around in a slow circle, checking off a mental
inventory. Filing cabinets, desks, office equipment, family pictures, nothing
out of the ordinary.

She spotted his Bible on the floor. The senator had been a
God-fearing man. Had attended church every Sunday. Had gone to confession regularly with Father Flannigan—except the
one time, of course. Religion had played a big role in his life.

She wondered …

Dropping to her knees, she picked up the Bible and examined it,
then smiled. Just as she thought. A
secret compartment, the same as Father Flannigan’s. Easy to miss if you
didn’t know what you were looking for. She fiddled with the Bible, but nothing
happened. It wasn’t a secret compartment; it was just a defect. She should have
known that would have been too easy.

She started to get up, but her special pen fell from her loose bun
and rolled across the floor, then slipped down into the heating vent.
Scrambling over on her hands and knees, she stuck her fingers through the
slotted cover to the air vent, but realized they’d never reach her pen. She had
to get her pen back. It meant a lot to her, and besides, it was monogrammed with
her name. Not a very smart thing to bring with her while trespassing.

Tugging hard, she thanked God for forced-air heating. The cover to
the vent pulled right out of the floor. Sticking her hand down into the vent,
she reached as far back as she could, but found nothing. Then she realized the
vent made a sharp turn to the left. Who knew? There was another advantage to
being small, after all. She could just bend her hand at the wrist and squeeze
it through. Yes! She’d found her pen.

Scrunching up her face, she realized her pen wasn’t the only thing
down there. It felt like a small book. Pulling her hand out, she blinked. It
was
a book, but not just any book. It
was the senator’s little black book. The police must have missed it. A tingle
of excitement shot up her spine. Maybe now she’d find out whom the senator was
having an affair with. Although, according to her sister, he had trouble
getting his “little friend” to rise to the occasion.

Cece opened the book and raised a brow.
Hmmm.
All the names of the women
were stage names like her sister’s, and there was a rating next to each one:
Hot lips: 2 stars; Glitter: 3 stars; Luscious Legs: not worth a star; Creamy: 5
stars and an exclamation point to boot. Obviously the senator’s little friend
had no trouble rising to the occasion at—Cece
squinted to read the name of the club—Woody’s. Funny, she’d never heard of a
strip club called Woody’s, not that she knew anything at all about strip clubs,
even with a pole-dancing sister.

Cece had a feeling the club wasn’t local, which would make sense because
the senator had a family who lived in town. That’s probably why he had, um,
“trouble” saluting the women at The Pole, where her sister danced. Speaking of
her sister, Cece would have to ask her if she’d ever
heard of this club. Cece had a feeling that if she
went there, she’d find some answers. In the meantime, she had to get out of the
senator’s office; Candy could only hold off Detective Jackson for so long.

She closed the book, and it flipped out of her hands by accident.
When she picked it up, a piece of paper fell out of the back. She opened it and
inhaled sharply.

A note.

Oh, boy, she’d done it now. All of this was evidence, and she
didn’t want to obstruct justice. She simply wanted to help it along. The
problem was her prints were all over both the book and the note. For that matter, the whole room. Hey, it was her first
attempt at snooping. She hadn’t exactly planned ahead or thought to put on
gloves. The rest of the room had already been dusted for prints, except for these
items. So for now, she would have to take them with her until she figured out
what to do with them or solved the case. Then, hopefully, it wouldn’t matter.
Squinting, she read the scrawled handwriting first.

Been to that old, abandoned farmhouse of yours out
in the country lately? You might want to make a road trip and check out the
barn.

Cece stuffed the note in the book and shoved it down deep in her back
pocket. Maybe the senator’s farmhouse had to do with something illegal? Or
maybe it was the undisclosed location for that secret meeting.
Hmmm.
Maybe it was
time she took a road trip herself. The senator’s properties should be easy
enough to find, assuming she could ditch a certain detective. She pulled out
her prayer book and scribbled.

“Christ almighty, tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re
doing?” a deep voice said from behind her.

Cece scrambled around on her knees, facing the imposing figure that
filled the doorway. Thinking fast, her eyes traveled up the impressive length
of him. He had Scary Cop Guy down to a tee, but she knew the perfect way to
freak him out.

She made the sign of the cross as she said, “In the Name of the
Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost,” then raised her hands to the
ceiling and started swaying back and forth. “‘Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy name—’”

The detective stumbled back a step, as though she’d punched him in
the gut. “Wh–what the hell are you doing?”

She crawled on her knees toward him, spreading her arms wider and
raising her voice. “I’m praying, Detective. Come join me. Cleanse this place of
all evil.” She locked her gaze on his. “Cleanse your soul.”

He gaped at her. “Huh?”

She thrust her prayer book out at him, and he flinched. “‘Thy
kingdom come; thy will be done on earth as it is in
Heaven,’” she continued.

“What are you doing? Blessing this place so the senator won’t
haunt the next person to rent the space?” He looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“Exactly. ‘Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our
trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.’”

He hesitated, then put his hands on his
hips, his discomfort changing to disbelief. “Wait a minute, are you—”

Crawling closer, she spoke louder. “‘Lead us not into temptation …’”
Her voice trailed off when he frowned and pulled out his cell as though he were
going to turn her in.

He took a step toward her, and she grew desperate. She shoved her
hand in her pocket and yanked out her rosary beads, flinging them high in the
air. His eyes popped, and he clutched his chest like he was going to have a
heart attack on the spot.

She continued, “‘But deliver us from
evil.’ Amen. Come. Bow your head, Detective. Let us pray.”

He shoved his phone back in his pocket. “I—I’ll just wait in the
hall. Hurry up, Sister. The last thing I need is Beavis and Butthead raising
hell with me.”

The last thing she needed was to dig herself
in any deeper. Unfortunately, the day wasn’t even close to being over with yet.
Lord only knows what kind of trouble she could get into in the next twenty-four
hours.

“So, tell me again, Mayor Evans. Where were you on the morning of
October twentieth?” Ace opened his notebook as he sat beside his partner on the
black leather couch in the mayor’s office later that day.

He glanced around the plush room and wondered how much these digs
cost. Solid oak desk, leather furniture, custom-made drapes,
and thick carpet. The mayor’s salary couldn’t be that high. Either he’d
inherited a bunch of money, or he had one hell of a side job, and Ace doubted
it involved real estate. The building he’d donated to Sister Cecelia wasn’t
worth squat. Ace jotted down a note to himself to check into the mayor’s background.

The mayor sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Look, gentleman, I’ve been
over this several times already, with every kind of law enforcement this
country has to offer. Can’t you people check each other’s notes?”

“Humor us. We’re not all that bright.” Rocco smirked at the mayor
and then winked at Ace, as he chomped on a piece of Nicorette
gum. When he snapped his gum, the mayor shot him a look designed to kill.
“Sorry. Trying to quit ain’t easy.”

“I wouldn’t know. Personally, I
think smoking is disgusting.” The mayor huffed.

“Ya don’t
say.” Rocco’s eyes, sharp as ever, zeroed in on the bar setup on the credenza,
and he pointed with his pen. “If you find it so filthy, why keep a pack of cigs
lying around?”

The mayor looked genuinely surprised
to see the pack of cigarettes lying next to his decanter of bourbon. “They’re
not mine.” He got up and walked over to the bar, reaching for the pack.

“Don’t touch them,” Ace said, crossing the room.

“Someone must have left them in here.”

“These are the same brand we found
at the shooter’s hideout in the woods between the bank and the mini-market.”
There hadn’t been any prints or DNA, just one clean cigarette, as though it had
fallen out of the pack and had never been touched.

The mayor’s forehead creased.
“People come and go through this office all day long. Those could be anyone’s.”

“True. But clove cigarettes are an
unusual kind.” Ace pulled out a baggie and, using his pen, swept the pack
inside. The Feds had already questioned the mayor. They would have taken the
cigarettes, which meant this was a fresh pack. “I’m sure there are a ton of
prints on this, but I’d like to talk to those people anyway.”

“Ya might wanna answer that question about where you were on the
morning of October twentieth, after all, pal.” Rocco sauntered over, snapping
his gum again for good measure.

The mayor’s voice took on a note of
desperation, and his color paled. “I told you, I was at La Crème de La Crème,
waiting for the senator to show up for our breakfast meeting. He agreed to the
meeting if I treated. When he didn’t show, I ate my breakfast and headed into
Boston for another meeting. The manager saw me; ask her.”

“Already did. Or at least that’s
what the other cops’ notes said.” Rocco sneered. “I checked.”

“We’ll be sure to do that, Mayor Evans.” Ace wrote in his notebook
and then flipped it closed. “That should about cover everything. Thank you for
your—”

“See, the problem is, you left before the senator’s murder and
arrived in Boston well after it, with plenty of time to have made a little pit
stop in between,” Rocco interjected, stepping between the mayor and Ace, getting
right in the man’s face. “You offed the poor bastard cuz he wouldn’t give you the funds for the town, didn’t
you, Evans?”

The mayor stumbled back a couple steps. “How dare you? The senator
and I—”

“Hated each other, I know. I didn’t care for him either, but that
doesn’t mean I’d want him dead,” Rocco continued.

“I’m sorry. My partner tends to get fired up when he’s working a
case.” Ace nudged Antonelli. “We’ll be going now.”

Rocco shrugged Ace’s hand off and hammered the mayor with more
questions. “Did he sleep with your wife too? Is that why you offed him?”

“I—I didn’t ‘off’ anyone.”

“Okay, so you paid someone to off him. Same
difference.”

“I’m telling you, the traffic was terrible getting into Boston.
That’s why I was late for my meeting. You can’t prove anything.” The mayor
scrambled behind his desk as Rocco stalked him like a bloodhound on the hunt.
“I’m calling my lawyer.”

“We were just leaving, Mayor Evans. Again, thanks for your time.”
Ace grabbed Rocco’s arm and pushed him toward the door.

“Hope your lawyer’s good,” Rocco
called over his shoulder. “You’re gonna need him.”

Ace pulled his sports coat closed to
shield him from the dropping temperatures and shoved his partner all the way
out the door into the waning sunshine. Neither spoke until they reached Ace’s
truck. “Next time, I get to be the bad cop,” Ace said. “Playing good cop is no
fun.”

“Not a chance, partner. You’re
having enough fun with that little nun of yours.” Rocco flipped up his pleather collar.

“She’s not ‘my’ anything.”

“Good. Then you won’t mind if I ask
her out.”

Ace gritted his teeth. “Never mind that. I think he’s hiding something.”