Unholy Shepherd by Robert Christian (classic literature list .txt) 📗

“Not to be rude, Sir, but why call me on this? Last I checked, I’m just your errand boy. I mean, that is why you stuck me with the directory assignment, isn’t it?”

“I’m calling you, Detective, because I want you there when we interview Mr. Lowes and Mrs. Locke.”

His stomach turned a somersault. “You want me there for what?”

“I’ll let you know when I see you,” came the reply. “In the meantime, keep going on the church angle just to be thorough and be at the Sheriff’s Department at 10:00 a.m. on Thursday. If I need to speak to you beforehand, I’ll call you.”

The line clicked and Manny stood for a moment staring at his phone. An invite from the Bureau to help break the case. It was the chance he’d been looking for. He slid his phone back into his pocket and headed into the living room.

“I’ve noticed that you like your baseball,” Maureen said, pointing at the television as he sat down on the couch. “Thought you might want to watch. Should I grab some beers?”

“Yeah, sure,” Manny said, surprised at her offer.

Maureen jumped off the couch, ran into the kitchen, and was back in a moment with four beer bottles stuck between her fingers. She popped the top off two of them and handed one to him.

“So which team are the good guys?” she asked as she sat down and curled her feet under her. “The ones in red or the other ones in red?”

Her ignorance of the game made him laugh. Manny had no clue why Maureen was being so friendly all of a sudden, but she was putting him at ease. He leaned back on the couch and decided to put his assignment out of his mind until the game was over.

“The good guys are winning,” he said, and it was true. It was already the seventh inning and the Cardinals were well ahead of Cincinnati.

They watched the rest of the game in silence and after it was over, Manny got up. “I should probably get to bed.”

“But it’s still early,” she said.

“I know, but I still need to call my mom back about tomorrow, and I know she’ll want to meet earlier for brunch than I would like. I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Maureen.” Manny turned and began to walk to his bedroom. He was just turning the corner to enter the back hall when he heard her voice.

“Goodnight, Manny,” it called softly.

The sound of his name finally coming from her lips almost made him turn back.

TWENTY-EIGHT

“In times of tragedy, it is easy to ask why,” Father Patrick’s voice boomed throughout the church. “It’s easy to question God’s plan for us. But, as difficult as it is, sometimes it is necessary for us to face forward and allow His plan to unfold. We cannot hope to understand the mysteries of God. But what we can do is hold our brothers and sisters close and enfold them with Christian love. For love is the true weapon against evil. Love is what can give us all the courage to go forth into the world and change it for the better. So I encourage all of you, before you allow these horrific occurrences to lure you into anger or hate, please reach for love instead.

“Thank you, Father Preston, for allowing me these few moments to speak to our congregation before your sermon this morning. I want to conclude by letting all of you know that if anyone is in need of council or special prayer, we are extending office hours tomorrow, Tuesday, and Thursday for an extra two hours in the evening. No need to ask for an appointment, simply come to the church office, and we will be happy to meet with you and offer whatever assistance you require.”

The old priest stepped down and yielded the pulpit to his younger counterpart. Maureen looked on from the rear of the church where she leaned against the frame of the large double doors that provided the main access to the nave. She felt incredibly conspicuous, but she didn’t have the stomach to enter the church and sit in one of the pews while the actual Sunday Mass was going on. The last time she had done that was a lifetime ago, and she had been forced by medieval means to do it. There wasn’t a power on earth that could make her participate in a service again.

So, then, why was she there? After Manny dropped her off at her apartment that morning, she felt a compelling need to walk down to Main Street when she heard the bell tolling from the steeple of the church, signaling the beginning of 10:00 a.m. worship. Maureen had come with the crowd, taken up her place standing in the entryway, and watched. That was that.

Father Preston, now at the pulpit, was droning on about the Gospel reading they had just heard. She could tell that he didn’t have the oration skills that Father Patrick clearly had. His tone was almost businesslike, as if focused more on the accuracy of the words than on inspiring any kind of spiritual awakening in his audience. Maureen couldn’t even zero in on a central message. It seemed to her like he was just restating the chapter they had read. Mark, if she heard correctly. Something about an argument with the Pharisees over hand washing. She had no mind for biblical details.

Father Preston finished his sermon and stepped down from the pulpit as she continued to stand in her place and observe the holy display in front of her. The crowd’s constant shift from standing to sitting to kneeling and back brought to mind the physical urgings of her mother when she was a small child to comply when all she wanted to do was sit in the pew and color. She shuddered with the memory. Four-year-olds shouldn’t be held to the standards