Betrayed (Rosato & DiNunzio, #2)(70)
“Miss, Miss, please don’t go back there!” the traffic cop called, catching up with her. “Miss, excuse me!”
“Officer, I just wanted to see.” Judy gestured at the flowers, and the chubby face of the traffic cop softened under his cap.
“Condolences, but you can’t be leaving your car where you did, Miss.” The traffic cop waved his flashlight toward her car. “Please, move it out.”
“Can’t I just take a minute and look around?”
“No, you may not. You’re creating a traffic hazard.” The traffic cop waved her off again. “You want to pay your respects, you’d be better advised to do that in the daytime, when it’s safer, or to head on over to the church tonight. I hear there’s plenty of folks there, doing the same thing.”
“Good idea. Thanks, Officer,” Judy said, meaning it. She turned around and jogged toward her car, wondering why she hadn’t thought of it herself.
Half an hour later, she was slipping into the back pew of the beautiful Madre de Dios Church, near where she had sat just yesterday morning, when she had come to Mass with her aunt. The lovely altar, with its simple crucifix and graceful marble statuary, was vacant now. It seemed impossible to fathom that Father Keegan had conducted that very Mass and shown such kindness to her and her aunt, as well as comfort to his congregation, and now, he was no longer here.
Tears came to Judy’s eyes, but she didn’t bother to blink them away, because she felt as if she belonged here, for the first time. It was emotion that connected her to the congregation, and it was her heart that connected her to all of the other hearts in the church. Grieving families filled the pews, their expressions stricken and their heads bowed, sniffling as they knelt with rosary beads hanging between their fingers, some praying silently and others whispering their prayers in Spanish or English. Women lit candles in front of a statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe near the altar, and a young priest went from one parishioner to the next, putting an arm around them and engaging them in quiet conversation.
Judy watched him, wishing again that she had some sort of religion, because she could see before her eyes the power that the priest had to comfort people and to ease their pain. The only thing she believed in was love, and that came close to a spiritual belief, maybe as close as she would ever get. The second thing she knew that she believed in was the law, and she felt her emotions slip into default mode, anger at the injustice of a crime as heinous as murder, especially of Father Keegan, a man of goodwill and open heart. She couldn’t stay out of it, no matter what Detective Boone had said. She wouldn’t rest until she learned the truth.
Judy kept an eye on the young priest and wondered if he could have information about what Father Keegan had been up to today, or know something else that could help her. She worried briefly that this wasn’t the time or the place, but decided that there was no better time or place. She stood up, made her way out of the pew, and walked down the wide, tiled aisle of the church toward the priest.
He was speaking with an older woman near the altar and appeared to be finishing up, because he caught Judy’s eye with a sad smile. He was short and stocky, and the shine in his round brown eyes betrayed the grief he was undoubtedly keeping inside. He looked in his thirties, with a head of thick black hair and no wrinkles in his wide face, just a smattering of pitting in his cheeks. He was dressed in a simple black uniform with a collar, not the vestments of a formal Mass.
“Hello, welcome to our church,” the priest said, when he turned to Judy. His voice sounded soft with pain, and his English was perfect. “I’m Father Oscar Vega.”
“Thank you, I’m Judy Carrier, and please accept my deepest sympathies on the loss of Father Keegan. I didn’t know him well, but I can see that he was a remarkable man.”
“He was, he was, truly.” Father Vega winced, evidence of his grief. “I came to this parish two years ago, and he took me under his wing. He was old-school, but at the same time such an innovator, working hard with the outreach groups with parenting education, literacy education, and substance-abuse counseling. We won’t see another one like him.”
“I’m sure that’s right. I came just yesterday, for the first time. It’s so hard to believe that Father Keegan is gone, that quickly.”
“I understand how you feel.” Father Vega nodded, buckling his lower lip. “I feel the same way, and he mentioned to me that he had met you, Ms. Carrier.”
“Please, call me Judy. He did?”
“Yes, and your aunt Barb is a very kind person. My sympathies to you both on the loss of Iris. Your aunt must be very upset.”
“Thank you, she is.” Judy had to find a way to get to the point, because the women in line behind them kept glancing over, wanting their turn.
“We will have to endure these tragedies with prayer and supporting each other. We have to remember times like this that God doesn’t send us more than we can bear. He knows our strength more than we do ourselves.”
“That’s right.” Judy saw her opening in the conversation. “Did Father Keegan mention to you that he spoke with me about Iris?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Did you see him today, at all?”
“Yes, in the morning.”
“Where was that?”
“At the rectory.” Father Vega blinked, and Judy could see he didn’t understand why she was asking, so she lowered her voice, not to be heard by the women in the line to light candles.