The Grave Soul (13 page)

“Ah, hi,” said Guthrie. He wasn't prepared for this. Stumbling around in his mind for something to say, he finally offered, “I'm not Catholic. I'm Lutheran.”

“Yes,” said Father Mike. “A lot of that going on around here.” He stepped farther away from the door and motioned for Guthrie to do the same. “Beautiful night,” he said, looking up at the starry sky. “May I ask what you're doing here?”

“I came to talk to Kira. I'm not leaving until I do.”

“I see. Forgive me, son.” He placed a hand on Guthrie's shoulder. “I know you don't know me, but allow me to give you some advice: I don't think this is the best time.”

“I don't care. I'll break the door down if I have to.”

“Right. Well. You're admirably clear about your intentions.”

“Damn right I am.”

“Is there any way I can talk you out of this?”

“Look, how well do you know the Adlers?”

He seemed puzzled by the question. “They've been members of Saint Andrew's parish since I first arrived in New Dresden, some thirty years ago. Where does the time go?”

“No, I mean, do you know them personally?”

“I like to think I do.”

“Well, you don't.”

“I can tell that you're angry. Maybe you'd like to talk about it. I'm a good listener.”

“If you want to help me,” said Guthrie, lowering his voice, “you'll go back inside and tell Kira I'm out here. Don't let anyone else know. I just need a few minutes alone with her.”

“You're sure that's all?” asked Father Mike, tucking his hands under his arms to keep them warm. “You're not going to do anything rash?”

“Like what? I love her, man.”

“And from what she said to me, I believe she loves you, too.”

“Then do us both a favor and go get her.”

The priest gazed up at the stars once more, appearing to think it over. Nodding silently, he went back inside. A few minutes later, Kira slipped outside.

They flew at each other, kissing with a hunger that made words unnecessary. Finally, Guthrie whispered, “Come home with me.” He tried to release her so that he could look into her eyes, but she held on, unwilling to let him go.

“Oh, Kira,” he whispered, his hand caressing her hair. “What's going on? You can tell me anything, you must know that.”

“I do,” she whispered back. “I'm freezing. Let's go sit in your car.”

*   *   *

Guthrie started the engine and turned up the heater. Climbing into the backseat, they entwined their arms, holding each other so tightly it almost hurt.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” said Kira.

“I can think of more comfortable places,” said Guthrie, kissing her hair. “Tell me why you can't come home with me.”

She hesitated a second, then said, “It's my grandmother's bad news. I didn't want to get into it on the phone. I mean, it's all so painful, so scary. She was diagnosed with cancer a few weeks ago. After New Year's, she's scheduled to start chemo. Once a week for twelve weeks. Someone will have to drive her to Eau Claire each week, stay with her overnight because she has to be seen the next day. And then bring her back here until the next round the following week. It will be a grueling time for her. She's going to need a lot of help. She didn't ask me, Guthrie. She wouldn't do that. I offered. I want to be here for her. I plan to stay at the house for at least a few months—possibly longer, depending on the outcome. I've already called my advisor, told him I won't be attending next semester.”

Guthrie could hardly argue with her decision. And yet, selfish man that he was, he wanted to. “But we can still see each other. I can come visit. Stay here just like I did at Thanksgiving. I'm sorry about your grandmother, truly I am, but it doesn't mean it's the end of us.”

“No,” she said, though her voice sounded tentative.

“What?” he asked, pulling back. “There's something you're not telling me.”

“You won't be able to stay here at Gram's house.”

“Why not?”

“It just won't work.”

“Are you saying she disapproves of us? Of me? Of our relationship?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Then I'll stay in a motel. Surely you can be away from her for a few hours.”

“Guthrie, sweetheart, you've got to give me some time to get things straightened out here.”

“What needs straightening out?”

“Organized. I need to figure out what needs to be done. What my role will be.”

There was a subtext in her words, something he didn't understand. She wasn't giving him the full story.

“Don't be angry,” said Kira, touching his face. “We'll work it out. This has been a hard few days. I'm feeling overwhelmed. Gram's in a bad way and if you were here, my attention would be divided. It would stress Gram—and it would stress me. Please, Guthrie. Don't push. Give me the space I need. This won't last forever.”

Of course it wouldn't. Why would she even need to say that? The fact that she had made him uneasy. The entire situation continued to set off alarm bells deep within him. “Maybe I should go in, tell Evangeline how sorry I am. That if there's anything I can do—”

“No, you can't. I mean, this wouldn't be a good time.”

She'd said the words so quickly, with such vehemence, that Guthrie was once again left with the sense that she was hiding something.

“I better get back inside,” she said, starting to pull away.

“No,” he pleaded, holding her, refusing to let go. “Not yet. There's so much I need to tell you.” It was the wrong time and he knew it, and yet he couldn't help himself. Maybe if she understood what her family had done she might not be so willing to devote herself so totally to such a deceptive old woman. Gazing into her eyes, searching for the right words, an idea struck him. Did she already know the truth? Is that why she felt overwhelmed? Had these last few days been about more than just Evangeline's illness?

“They told you, didn't they?” he said. The words came out matter-of-factly, though that wasn't how he felt.

“Told me what?” she asked. Fear flooded her eyes.

“About your mother. That someone in your family
was
responsible for her death.”

She blinked. Then blinked again. “That's ridiculous. It was just a dream I had, Guthrie. A nightmare. It doesn't mean anything.”

“What if I told you I'd found proof?”

“I'd say it's not possible.”

“Someone sent me photos of the crime scene—your mother in the ravine. If you look closely, you can see strangulation marks around her neck.”

As her eyes locked on him, they both jumped at the sound of a rap on the window. Guthrie had to crack the door to see who it was because the windows were covered by the steam from their breath.

“Hi again,” said Father Mike. “Kira? I think you better get back inside. Your grandmother's looking for you. It's time to open presents.”

“Kira, no,” said Guthrie.

“I have to go,” she said, kissing him, looking into his eyes ever so briefly with an unreadable expression, then opening her door and climbing out.

“Good to meet you, son,” said Father Mike, slipping his arm around Kira's shoulders and walking her back toward the front porch.

Guthrie felt like he was in a tug of war with Kira's family.

“Merry Christmas,” called Father Mike.

“Screw you,” Guthrie shouted after him. “And screw Christmas. This isn't over.”

 

19

“I know I have no right to be here,” said Guthrie, sitting at Jane's kitchen table the next afternoon. “I'm ruining your Christmas.”

Jane had been in her living room, playing charades with her family and friends, when she'd heard someone bang on the front door. Cordelia had been standing in front of the fireplace, flapping her arms wildly and hopping up and down off a footstool. They were doing
movie titles
. Jane had guessed it was Alfred Hitchcock's
The Birds,
but since she wasn't on Cordelia's team, she kept her mouth shut. Ducking under Bolger's arm, she'd gone to the door and found Guthrie outside looking frantic.

Leading him back to the kitchen, she'd closed the door. Everyone continued to shout in the living room, so she figured she wouldn't be missed, at least not immediately.

“I'm sorry to interrupt your Christmas,” said Guthrie, wringing his hands. “You've already spent two days in New Dresden. I can't pay you what you probably charge, and even if I could, you've made it abundantly clear that you don't have the time to work on any of this. But I'm desperate. I don't know where else to turn. I need someone to figure out what's really going on with Kira. I know it has something to do with her mother's murder.”

Over the next few minutes, it all tumbled out. His second trip in five days to see Kira last night, his feeling that she was keeping something from him—a secret that could, if he wasn't able to get her to open up about it, eventually break them apart. “It's like her family has closed ranks around her. Like they're sucking her into something she may only vaguely understand. I liked Evangeline so much when I first met her, but now I'm beginning to see a different side to her. She's manipulative. I'm not sure she has Kira's best interests at heart. Maybe I'm wrong, but I think she's using the secrets surrounding Delia's death to bind Kira to her. The more information Kira is given, the more danger she's in if she ever decides to break free and leave.” Dropping his head in his hands, he said, “I don't even know if I believe Evangeline has cancer. It could be a ruse. I don't trust any of them.”

Jane had been naive to think she'd seen the last of Guthrie Hewitt. Still, to help him—and she found that she did want to help—she needed to sort fact from feelings.

“Will you go back?” asked Guthrie. “We don't have a minute to waste.”

Cordelia bustled into the kitchen, waving air into her face. “They
finally
got it.”

“
The Birds
?” said Jane.

“Heavens, no. Birds tweet. Flap. They don't galumph their arms like I was doing.”

“Then?”

“
Rodan
,” she said triumphantly. “Hey, my man Guthrie. How's tricks?” She marched over to the refrigerator and removed a can of black cherry soda. After swigging half of it down, she smiled, then frowned. “Did I interrupt something?”

“I'm going back to New Dresden,” said Jane, not realizing she'd made a decision until the words left her mouth.

“Tonight?” asked Cordelia.

She had to clean a few projects off her desk before she could head out of town. “Probably can't go until late tomorrow afternoon.”

“But, wait now. Wait now,” said Cordelia. “I can't possibly go back to New Dresden with you this week. I have meetings, work that needs to get done before New Year's.”

“That's okay,” said Jane. “Might be better if I go back by myself.”

“Without
moi
?”

“Jane, thank you, thank you,” said Guthrie. “You're saving my life.”

“Who's going to save
hers
if I'm not there?” asked Cordelia.

“I doubt it will come to that,” said Jane. “Here's what I need you to do.” She turned to Guthrie. “Does Kira have any family photos?”

“Yeah, I think she has an album somewhere.”

“Find a picture of her dad, her mom, her grandmother, and anyone else you think might be important for me to know about. Label the back of each photo with the person's name and their relationship to Kira and to each other. I need you to bring the pictures over ASAP. Tomorrow morning at the latest. If I'm not here, slip them through the mail slot.”

“Will do,” said Guthrie, tapping his fingers on the table. “When you get to New Dresden, you might want to contact a man I met last night. He was over at Evangeline's house for Christmas Eve. Older guy. Name's Michael Franchetti. Calls himself Father Mike.”

“He's a priest?” asked Cordelia.

“The Adlers are Catholic. Who knows? He might be able to help. He's known the family for years. I mean, if you can't trust a priest, who can you trust?”

Cordelia lowered her glasses. “You've
got
to be kidding.”

“I'll look him up,” said Jane.

“Great,” said Guthrie. “And I promise, I may not be able to pay you every penny your time is worth, but I'll make it up to you. Someway.”

 

20

Father Mike often had breakfast with Evangeline on weekdays. On this bright, sunny morning after Christmas, he stood at the kitchen sink in the old farmhouse, Evangeline's apron tied around his waist, and finished up the dishes. He liked to do his part, especially when Evangeline made his favorite: a cinnamon-and-walnut coffee cake with a drizzle of maple frosting. At sixty-one, he understood the struggle to keep fit and not gain weight. Walking from St. Andrew's to the Adler's farm was part of his regimen, though this morning the frigid temperature had urged caution, so he'd driven instead of hoofing it.

Turning around at the sound of creaking floors, he offered an amused smile as Kira came into the kitchen. Not even the wonderful aromas emanating from her grandmother's stove had been enough to draw her downstairs for breakfast. How well fed we were these days, he thought, when bacon and fresh-brewed coffee didn't create a stampede.

Kira had slept in, but was now dressed in jeans and a gray wool sweater. She held car keys. She looked tired. Of all the members of the Adler family, Kira was the one Mike knew the least. She'd rarely come to church with her dad when she was young. Evangeline insisted she attend mass on major holidays, but Mike couldn't remember a time when she'd ever come to confession. He didn't hold it against her, any more than he did with Kevin or Doug. Religion wasn't for everyone. Perhaps he was too modern for the priesthood. He'd always believed that God understood a person's heart and that's what mattered most.