Mr. Kiss and Tell by Rob Thomas

Fighting Fitzpatricks were Neptune’s most notorious crime family, though their influence was fraying. They seemed almost quaint these days compared to the savagery just ninety miles south in Tijuana. According to Keith, Liam had managed to stay out of prison in the last decade only by throwing more and more of his underlings to the wolves. The PCHers weren’t even afraid of them anymore.
    Veronica was distracted by the sound of a familiar voice. She glanced to the other side of the aisle. Halfway back she saw short red hair that she recognized as Gladys Corrigan’s. A younger woman with sandy-blonde curls sat close next to her—a daughter, maybe, or niece.
    Without warning, the organ let out a few bombastic bars of music. The parishioners rose in one fluid motion, making it all but impossible for her to see anything. She stood too, a half second too late. Then they all started to sing.
    “Immaculate Mary, your praises we sing. You reign now in splendor with Jesus our King. Ave, Ave, Ave Maria…”
    Next to her, a tiny, wizened-looking woman in a pale pink suit leaned over, holding her hymnal so Veronica could see the words. Veronica gave her a grateful smile and joined in.
    Father Patrick Fitzpatrick—yet another of Liam’s brothers—made his way down the aisle in vestments of emerald green. Bull-necked and florid, he looked more like he belonged on a bar stool at the River Stix than in the sacristy. But as far as Veronica knew, he really was on the straight and narrow. She wondered just what Ma Fitzpatrick had done differently with him.
    The crowd sat down as he took the podium.
    “The Lord be with you.” His voice boomed out over the nave.
    “And also with you,” chorused the congregation in a practiced, rote manner.
    “I invite all who are gathered here in worship to take a moment to contemplate our need for salvation.” Father Patrick’s eyes moved along the pews. It might have been Veronica’s imagination, but she thought his gaze lingered for an extra second or two on Liam and the other members of Clan Fitzpatrick. “Let us pray.”
    Mass went on, punctuated with hymns, prayers, and recitations. Father Patrick read several passages from Scripture, including good old Matthew 19:24, which to Veronica’s mind bore witness that Neptune might actually be hell: “Again I say to you, it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for one who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” There was a short homily about greed, followed by Communion. The whole thing took about an hour.
    Finally, Father Patrick gave the final benediction. “May almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
    “Amen,” replied the crowd.
    And then everyone was on their feet. Some people wandered to the statue of the Blessed Virgin standing over the bank of votive candles and lingered to pray; others gathered in the aisles, talking to friends. Veronica watched as Liam Fitzpatrick—followed by the bulk of his crew—made straight for the door. A few tweedy older women surrounded Father Patrick, fluttering their eyelashes and basking in his attention.
    “Veronica?”
    She jumped at the sound of her name. When she turned, it was to look into the face of Jade Navarro. She stood in front of Veronica with her little girl in her arms. Valentina had just turned four, and she peered at Veronica with enormous, shy eyes fringed with long lashes that were unmistakably her father’s.
    “Hey, Jade. Hi, Valentina.” Veronica adjusted her purse over her shoulder and tried to look natural.
Just another sinner on Sunday—nothing suspicious here
.
    The little girl hid her face against Jade’s neck. Veronica gave Jade an apologetic smile. Jade didn’t smile back.
    “What are you doing here?” she asked. “I’ve never seen you at St. Mary’s before.”
    “No, I…I haven’t really been before.”
Well, except for the one time I planted a hidden camera in the confessional. But that was a special