Catch of the Day (Gideon's Cove #1)(53)

“Well, I’d best be getting back,” Father Tim announces, putting down a dollar for the waitress. “Thanks, Maggie, for the nice chat. You’re a lovely friend.” He squeezes my shoulder. “The church’s doors are always open to you, you know. God is waiting, and His patience never wears thin.” He grins and winks, ever campaigning.

“Okay. Thanks. Nice to see you, Father Tim,” I say, slipping another couple bucks for the waitress, glad that he’s back to his normal, chipper, priestly self. I get into my newly clean car and head for home, but the trickle of discomfort remains. Why would he ask about Father Shea? Why would he ask me, in particular? Surely the dragon Plutarski would give him every salacious detail at the merest flicker of interest.

By the time I get back to Gideon’s Cove, the sky glitters with stars overhead, the air so clear that I can see the Milky Way swirling above me. Standing on my front porch, I take a deep breath. The smell of wood smoke from the many fireplaces and stoves mingles with the faint smell of pine and sea, and to me, it’s the best smell there is. I suck in another breath, then jump at the sound of the door behind me.

“Maggie, dear!”

“Oh, hi, Mrs. K. You startled me,” I laugh.

“Dear me, I’m terribly sorry.” She motions for me to come in, and I obey. “There was a man here earlier,” she says. “That dark man who came over the other day. The tall one.”

I am simultaneously thrilled and nervous, which seems to be the hallmark combination of emotion Malone evokes. “Malone? He was here? When was that?”

“About an hour ago, dear.” She shuffles over to her chair and lowers herself carefully into it. “Maggie, would you find the remote control? There’s nothing on tonight, nothing! Three hundred channels and nothing worth seeing!”

The remote sits in plain sight on the coffee table. I hand it to her. “So, um, did you talk to the…to Malone?”

“Well, I must say, I tried. He didn’t say much in return, Maggie. He seemed quite angry, if you ask me.” Mrs. K. flips through the channels.

“Angry? Are you sure? I mean, I can’t think of why he’d be mad.”

Mrs. Kandinsky stops on a station. Linda Blair’s head rotates around as Father Damian looks on in horror. “Oh, look, Maggie! The Exorcist is on! Damn it all to hell, I’ve missed the first part!”

“Mrs. K.,” I say, trying to steer her back to our conversation, “did Malone say anything?”

“Hmm? Oh, the angry man? Malone, you say his name is? Well, yes, I told him I didn’t know where you were, and he said he’d see you soon.”

“That doesn’t sound angry,” I say.

“Oh, my! Isn’t she hideous,” Mrs. K. croons appreciatively. “My word.”

“Okay, well, this one is too scary for me.” The priest, however, is quite good-looking, but I have enough good-looking priests in my life. “I’m gonna go, Mrs. K. Enjoy the movie.” She doesn’t acknowledge me as I kiss her goodbye, too engrossed in the terror on the telly. I head up to my apartment.

There’s no note or phone message from Malone. I pick up the phone book, look up his number and call. The line is busy. Fifteen minutes later, I try again. Still busy. The idea that Malone can speak for this long is somewhat surprising. Certainly, he never speaks to me that much. No, we seem to have other things to do than speak.

Well. He said he’d see me soon. Maybe he wasn’t angry. What does he have to be angry about, anyway? It’s not like I was out with my boyfriend…Father Tim is a friend, and I don’t have to feel guilty about having a cuppa joe with him. Besides, he needed me. He was lonely. We spent an hour talking. Just talking. Nothing to feel guilty about at all.

Out of curiosity, I check the Internet dating site I visited last time. The messages haven’t changed. The god is still seeking his goddess, the angry husband is still angry.

“Come on, Colonel,” I say to my dog. “Let’s go to bed.”

I take the phone into the bedroom with me, but Malone doesn’t call.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“FOOSH,” Violet says, patting Colonel. “Mubba.”

“That’s close, honey,” I tell her. “It’s doggy. Can you say doggy?”

She opts to kiss Colonel instead, leaving him with a large wet spot on his side and her with a mouthful of fur. Colonel wags his beautiful tail as Christy swoops in with a tissue, smiling and grimacing at the same time.

“You love Colonel, don’t you, Violet?” she asks. “He’s a nice dog.”

“Maggie, for heaven’s sake, don’t let the baby lick that dirty animal,” my mother says.

“Colonel is not dirty,” I snap. “He’s immaculate. Look at that coat. People stop us in the street to tell me how beautiful he is. I brush him every—”

“Christy, there’s still a hair on her lip. There you go. Come here, Violet.” My mother appropriates the baby, taking her off to an area free from germs and dog hair. We’ve gathered for our command family dinner, and while my mother is a fine cook, I feel as welcome as a cockroach in a salad. Dad is in the den, reading and hiding, and Will, Christy and I sit in the living room, waiting for our summons to the table.

“She’s really on my case these days,” I tell Christy.