SUICIDAL SUSPICIONS: A Kate Huntington Mystery (The Kate Huntington Mystery Series Book 8) (21 page)

Sister Michelina shook her head. Too quickly. “Not that I recall.”

That’s funny. Your memory was excellent a minute ago.
Kate let out a small fake laugh. “I’m surprised you remember Josie at all.”

The sister gave her a faint smile. “Oh, well, she was a very sweet girl.”

No doubt the nun had encountered many sweet girls in her career as a schoolteacher and principal. “What made Josie stand out?”

“Oh, she was so bright and friendly… and…” Sister Michelina’s eyes flicked in Kate’s direction.

The confident, no-nonsense personality had morphed into something else. Kate wasn’t sure what, but she was sure that the nun was lying. “So sweet?” she prompted.

“Yes, sweet.” Sister Michelina rustled in her chair. “That’s really all I remember about her.”

Why were priests and nuns suddenly lying to her? The obvious answer popped up. Josie was at St. Bart’s in the early nineties. It was quite conceivable that the Catholic Church was still hiding sexual abuse cases involving clergy then.

Father Sam?

Kate’s chest hurt at the thought.

Sister Michelina cleared her throat. She was now watching Kate intently.

Kate leaned slightly forward. “Who else was at St. Bartholomew’s back then, who might remember Josie?”

The sister looked away again. She was silent for so long that Kate thought she wasn’t going to answer. Finally she said, “Father Bill. I can’t remember his last name at the moment. He was assistant pastor and worked with the youth. But not usually with the younger children.”

Kate had a hunch. “Do you remember any older man there, a parishioner maybe or staff member, who had a rather scraggly beard?”

Sister Michelina shot her a sharp glance. “No,” she said, again too quickly.

Kate rose. “Well, thank you for your time. If you remember anything else about Josie, give me a call.” She held out a slip of paper with her name and cell phone number on it.

The nun looked at the slip for a beat, then took it and stood. She tucked the paper into a pocket in her skirt.

“Thanks for the tea, and tell Sister Mary Francis I thoroughly enjoyed her cookies.”

“Take some for the road,” Sister Michelina said.

“I think I will.” Kate picked up two cookies, one with pink icing and one chocolate. She wrapped them in a napkin from the tray.

The nun led the way to the front door of the building. “Let me know what you find out. I’d, uh, like to… I don’t want to believe Josie committed suicide.”

Kate thought about the note that had greeted her at her office earlier. “Sister, I am quite sure she did not.”

Out on the sidewalk and headed for her car, she had that prickly feeling on her neck. But this time she knew who was watching her. She pulled out her phone and hit Manny’s speed dial number.

“Yo.”

“Are you behind me?” she asked.

“Half a block back,” Manny said in a low voice.

She didn’t have to ask if he’d seen anyone else following her. He would have said so right away. “Do you like chocolate?”

“Uh, yeah. Why?”

“I’m leaving you a present on that bench up ahead. A little thank you for having my back today.”

She disconnected, pocketed her phone and then extracted the pink iced cookie from the napkin in her other hand. Tucking the napkin around the chocolate one, she dropped it on the bench without slowing her pace.

As she was climbing into her car, her cell phone rang. She answered.

“Wow. Where’d you get that cookie?”

“Retired nun baked it.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup.”

“Wonder if she’d break her vows and marry me.”

Kate chuckled and disconnected. She started her car and headed for the Baltimore Beltway.

She hadn’t felt this positive in a long time. It wasn’t like she had some hot lead, but at least she was making progress. And the note, as scary as it was, offered proof that someone had killed Josie. Someone who didn’t like it that Kate was investigating.

A shiver ran down her back.

She would take the note to Judith tomorrow. Maybe now the homicide lieutenant would be willing to re-open the case, and Kate could “stop poking her nose” into things.

Another chill ran through her. She should ask Manny to follow her around tomorrow and make sure no one else was tailing her.

She rounded a curve and the remnants of her good mood evaporated. The rush hour traffic had been heavy but moving steadily along. Now brake lights were blinking on a few hundred feet ahead. All four lanes of cars slowed to a crawl.

After creeping along for fifteen minutes, the source of the problem came into view. Blue lights flashed ahead, next to a tractor trailer that was stopped at an odd angle in the far left lane.

 Loud rumbling. Movement flashed in her peripheral vision. Kate jumped in her seat. A tow truck rattled past her on the shoulder. She blew out a breath and willed her heart to settle down.

The traffic stopped moving completely. Up ahead, the tow truck jockeyed around the tractor trailer. Certainly they weren’t going to try to tow that semi with that little truck!

She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and mentally went back over the interview with Sister Michelina. The woman’s demeanor had changed completely when discussing Josie’s time at St. Bart’s.

Kate needed to track down this Father Bill the nun had mentioned. She suddenly sat up straighter in her seat.

Wait!
Father Sam had implied that the youth director back then was a woman. He’d said he could see her face but couldn’t remember her name. Had he been thinking of Sister Michelina and was confused about who was in which role? That was certainly possible considering his other memory gaps.

But he’d remembered that young Katie O’Donnell had loved puzzles. Memory certainly did get fickle with age.

Kate glanced at the dashboard clock. Another ten minutes had ticked by.

Crap!
She was going to be late for dinner. Well, Skip couldn’t blame her for a traffic jam.

She squinted into the sun setting on the horizon. It looked like some vehicle was being winched onto the tow truck’s flat bed. When she registered its squished condition, she felt guilty for cursing her own fate.

Better to be stuck in traffic than to be the driver of that car. She said a silent prayer that its occupants were okay, but she doubted they were.

She considered calling home, but decided to wait. If the traffic cleared out quickly enough she might still make it by six. Once she was rolling again, she’d call and explain about the accident and give Skip her ETA.

A voice in the back of her head said,
You don’t have to say you were working on the investigation. You could just say you were running an errand.

The lie was tempting but she told the voice to shut up.

Her stomach growled. She fed it the remaining cookie. It rumbled again, letting her know that was wholly inadequate. She told it to shut up too.

The cars ahead of her started easing forward. Slowly she crept toward the accident scene. As she got closer, she saw that it wasn’t as bad as it had seemed. No one looked to be bleeding, but there was debris across three of the four lanes. Cars crawled past in the far right lane, the drivers’ rubbernecking slowing the process further.

She glanced at the clock again. Five after six. She was now officially late for dinner. But even with the Bluetooth she didn’t want the distraction of making a call until she was past this mess.

Her cell buzzed. Her dashboard screen read
Manny.

She answered it. “Hope you didn’t have a hot date tonight.”

A low chuckle. “Skip just called me. Wanted to know if I was with you. I told him you’d gone to interview some nun over in Essex and we were now stuck in traffic.”

So much for the option of lying about where she was coming from when she encountered the backup. Not that she would have anyway. She’d never outright lied to Skip before, and now wasn’t a good time to start.

But why hadn’t he called her if he was worried?

“There is hope,” she said into the phone. “I can see the accident scene now. Maybe another ten minutes tops and we should be past it.”

“Good.”

“Hey, Manny, can you stick with me tomorrow?”

“Sure. Where we going?”

“Just to my office. Meet me there in the morning, say at eight-forty-five. I’ll explain then.” She didn’t want to get into the note right now, as her turn to edge past the accident was rapidly approaching.

“Sure. You want me to follow you home now?”

She hesitated, hating to tie him up any longer. “No. Head on home.”

“Okay. See ya tomorrow.”

Once she was past the accident and sailing down the highway again, she instructed the Bluetooth to call home.

“
Hola
.” Even after nine years in the U.S., Maria still answered the phone with the Spanish greeting.

“Hey, Maria. I got stuck in a traffic tie-up, but I’m on my way now. You all go ahead and eat without me. Just stick a plate in the oven for me.”

“Skip eat already. He leave for PTA meeting a few minutes ago.”

Holy shit! His presentation’s tonight!
How could she have forgotten that?

“Okay, stick that plate in the fridge instead.” Her stomach protested loudly. “I’ll go straight to the meeting. You okay with the kids?”

“Sure. We doing homework now.”

“Thanks a million.” Kate disconnected and wondered again how they would get along without Maria if she decided to marry Eduardo.

Damn, I can’t believe I forgot the PTA meeting.
Guilt twisted her already unhappy stomach.

And she noted that she’d been cussing a lot lately, if only in her own head. Half an hour ago, she’d been feeling good about her investigation, but now…

She should let this go. Especially in light of that note!

She shook her head. She knew she couldn’t. If her suspicion about a child abuse cover-up at St. Bart’s was true, there was more at stake here than justice for Josie.

But the potential price tag for finding Josie’s killer was starting to scare her.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The principal was introducing Skip when Kate slipped into the school auditorium. She moved down a side aisle and found an empty seat.

Skip stepped up to the podium on the small stage.

She gave him a little wave. He looked her way and his jaw clenched.

Her stomach churned.
He’s pissed.
She could hardly blame him.

He squared his broad shoulders and leaned forward toward the microphone. “Y’all might not believe this but I used to be the shortest kid in my class.”

A ripple of chuckles rolled through the room. Despite her anxiety, the corners of Kate’s mouth quirked up.

“I was picked on a lot. One kid, the leader of the bullies, particularly hated my guts. It wasn’t until recently that I realized it was because he envied me, and felt threatened by me.”

His delivery was smooth, like he was chatting with the audience.

Kate was impressed. He’d obviously practiced the presentation carefully.

Where had she been while he was doing that?
Not paying attention obviously.

“I went back home for a high school reunion last summer,” Skip said. “It was very enlightening. The bullies were still pushing people around, making trouble. They had made my life miserable from the age of eleven until I graduated from high school, but for the first time I realized they were miserable too. My psychologist wife…” He paused, looked her way.

She couldn’t quite read his expression.

“She could tell you better than I can the dynamics of bullying. All I know is it’s born out of insecurity, and it breeds insecurity. Both the victim and the bully suffer.” He cleared his throat.

“My daddy tried to advise me on how to handle the bullies. But this was back in the days when adults figured kids should ‘work it out for themselves.’” He made air quotes.

“Well, we didn’t work it out, because bullies have no desire to work it out. Eventually I had a growth spurt and I was bigger than them. They left me alone after that. But my entire adolescence was marred by the experience. I came east to college and never moved back home. That hurt my folks, that I was so far away, but I couldn’t bring myself to go back there and deal with the bullies again.

“Last summer, I realized they were still overgrown adolescents, now in their forties. One was successful. Two of them weren’t. But they were all unhappy. The insecurities that had caused them to become bullies had never been addressed.” He looked around the room that had fallen silent. All eyes were on him.

“Again, I’m not the best person to tell you how to stop the bullying, but it needs to stop. Both the victims and the bullies need some kind of intervention. It’s not a little thing, or something kids can work out for themselves. It’s a big thing. It damages the victims, and leaves the already damaged bullies without the help they need.”

He ducked his head. His hair fell down onto his forehead. He skimmed it back with a long slender hand. “Thank you for your attention.” He walked down the steps from the stage and headed Kate’s way.

Her chest felt like it might burst with pride.

The people next to her scooted over, leaving an empty seat. Skip stepped past her and lowered himself into it.

She took his hand. He tensed.

It felt like he’d slapped her. She pushed words past the lump in her throat anyway. “That was great.”

He glanced sideways and relaxed a little. He squeezed her hand, then let it go.

.

It was almost eight-thirty by the time they got home. The PTA meeting had run long as a lively discussion ensued on how to address the bullying issue.

Kate had wished she could contribute more, but Skip had already said most of what she would have pointed out, that bullies were insecure and they needed help as much as the victims did. She made a mental note to search out some research on best practices for bullying intervention programs and send it to the principal.

Skip’s SUV pulled over to the curb in front of their house. She parked behind him, and they both climbed out. They walked up the porch steps in silence.