no doubt about it, though the police had never been able to prove it or even name a suspect.
Father Willie felt glum at the memory, and suddenly got it in his head to tease Mrs. Hansen out of her snit.
"Well, I'm not going to let anything happen to you, dear, you can be sure of that!"
He pulled out a shiny black Kimber .45-caliber semiautomatic, and waved it overhead.
"Silver bullets! In case it's a werewolf!"
Mrs. Hansen, who well knew about the Father's gun, rolled her eyes and turned away, smiling in spite of herself.
"You put that thing away before you hurt yourself!"
"The Lord will keep me safe; it's the werewolves who better watch out."
Father Willie was no stranger to firearms, as Mrs. Hansen and everyone else who worked at the church knew. Father Willie was an avid sports marksman, and the gun had been a Christmas gift from his youngest brother. Having gotten Mrs. Hansen to smile, Father Willie slipped the pistol into his jacket, caught up to her in the hall, and saw her out to her car.
Set back from the main road and surrounded by pines, the small parking lot seemed deserted with only two cars remaining, one being his Le Baron, the other her four-wheel-drive Subaru. Father Willie had always thought the middle darkness of early spring lent his church a cloak of isolation, though now the parking lot seemed unusually dark.
She said, "Don't you work too late. You're not a young man. And don't get into that port wine until you're home. I don't want the police finding you on the side of the road."
"Drive safely, Mrs. H. I'll see you tomorrow."
Father Willie held the door for her, then watched her drive up the narrow road into blackness. He snuggled his hands into his pockets, his right hand just naturally finding the pistol's grip. As Mrs. Hansen's headlights disappeared, he saw his breath in the moonlight and suddenly realized why it was so dark-the two enormous security lamps that automatically came on when it got dark, hadn't. The lamps were perched on their poles like two dead owls.
Father Willie made a mental note to tell the custodian in the morning, then started back to his office.
"Father?"
The voice startled him, but then Father Willie saw the man's embarrassed smile. The smile put him at ease.
"Gosh, Father, I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you saw me."
The man was large and fleshy, with a receding hairline and soulful eyes. His hooded sweatshirt made him appear even larger, standing in the shadows like he was, with his smile floating in darkness. Father Willie smiled awkwardly, too, because he was so startled that he was sure he squirted a whiz. Age brought a weak bladder.
"I know we've met, but I don't recall your name. Sorry."
"Frederick - Frederick Conrad, not Freddie or Fred - I work for Payne Keller, myself and Elroy Lewis."
"That's right. Payne."
Father Willie remembered. Frederick had once come to Mass with Payne, and when they were introduced, Frederick had pointed out that his name was not Freddie or Fred, but Frederick. Now Frederick shuffled closer, and Father Willie thought his eyes seemed lonely and cold.
"I know Payne's been seeing you, Father, and I'm hoping you know what's going on."
"What do you mean, son?"
"Payne's missing. He hasn't been home and he didn't tell me or Elroy he was going, and we're left with his station to run. Tell you the truth, I'm worried. It's not like Payne to just up and go like this. I'm scared."
Father Willie stood thinking. He had no wish nor right to share the matters of counsel with a parishioner, but Payne had spoken often of Frederick Conrad, and Father Willie himself had grown concerned about Payne's absence. Payne was a troubled man, so deeply troubled that Father Willie often probed him for the possibility of suicide.
Father Willie saw the concern on Frederick's face, and weighed what he could offer.
"Payne didn't tell you he was going away?"
"No, sir, and I'm getting scared. I'm thinking I should call the police."
Father Willie
Father Willie felt glum at the memory, and suddenly got it in his head to tease Mrs. Hansen out of her snit.
"Well, I'm not going to let anything happen to you, dear, you can be sure of that!"
He pulled out a shiny black Kimber .45-caliber semiautomatic, and waved it overhead.
"Silver bullets! In case it's a werewolf!"
Mrs. Hansen, who well knew about the Father's gun, rolled her eyes and turned away, smiling in spite of herself.
"You put that thing away before you hurt yourself!"
"The Lord will keep me safe; it's the werewolves who better watch out."
Father Willie was no stranger to firearms, as Mrs. Hansen and everyone else who worked at the church knew. Father Willie was an avid sports marksman, and the gun had been a Christmas gift from his youngest brother. Having gotten Mrs. Hansen to smile, Father Willie slipped the pistol into his jacket, caught up to her in the hall, and saw her out to her car.
Set back from the main road and surrounded by pines, the small parking lot seemed deserted with only two cars remaining, one being his Le Baron, the other her four-wheel-drive Subaru. Father Willie had always thought the middle darkness of early spring lent his church a cloak of isolation, though now the parking lot seemed unusually dark.
She said, "Don't you work too late. You're not a young man. And don't get into that port wine until you're home. I don't want the police finding you on the side of the road."
"Drive safely, Mrs. H. I'll see you tomorrow."
Father Willie held the door for her, then watched her drive up the narrow road into blackness. He snuggled his hands into his pockets, his right hand just naturally finding the pistol's grip. As Mrs. Hansen's headlights disappeared, he saw his breath in the moonlight and suddenly realized why it was so dark-the two enormous security lamps that automatically came on when it got dark, hadn't. The lamps were perched on their poles like two dead owls.
Father Willie made a mental note to tell the custodian in the morning, then started back to his office.
"Father?"
The voice startled him, but then Father Willie saw the man's embarrassed smile. The smile put him at ease.
"Gosh, Father, I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you saw me."
The man was large and fleshy, with a receding hairline and soulful eyes. His hooded sweatshirt made him appear even larger, standing in the shadows like he was, with his smile floating in darkness. Father Willie smiled awkwardly, too, because he was so startled that he was sure he squirted a whiz. Age brought a weak bladder.
"I know we've met, but I don't recall your name. Sorry."
"Frederick - Frederick Conrad, not Freddie or Fred - I work for Payne Keller, myself and Elroy Lewis."
"That's right. Payne."
Father Willie remembered. Frederick had once come to Mass with Payne, and when they were introduced, Frederick had pointed out that his name was not Freddie or Fred, but Frederick. Now Frederick shuffled closer, and Father Willie thought his eyes seemed lonely and cold.
"I know Payne's been seeing you, Father, and I'm hoping you know what's going on."
"What do you mean, son?"
"Payne's missing. He hasn't been home and he didn't tell me or Elroy he was going, and we're left with his station to run. Tell you the truth, I'm worried. It's not like Payne to just up and go like this. I'm scared."
Father Willie stood thinking. He had no wish nor right to share the matters of counsel with a parishioner, but Payne had spoken often of Frederick Conrad, and Father Willie himself had grown concerned about Payne's absence. Payne was a troubled man, so deeply troubled that Father Willie often probed him for the possibility of suicide.
Father Willie saw the concern on Frederick's face, and weighed what he could offer.
"Payne didn't tell you he was going away?"
"No, sir, and I'm getting scared. I'm thinking I should call the police."
Father Willie
Similar Books
