Waking the Dead. Heather Graham
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determine exactly what it is.”
“You mean someone was trying to break in?”
“Break in—or break out. I’m not sure which,” Quinn replied. But he immediately thought of the Garcia murders and the evidence that might have been taken from the house....
“Look for a little glass jar,” he said. “Like a vial.”
“What’s in it?” Larue asked.
“I don’t know, since it was empty—except for a trace of...something. Anyway, Grace and I felt it needed to be tested. But, whatever it was, I think the killer brought it to the house with him. And I’ll bet it’s gone.”
* * *
Danni returned to the shop, but she didn’t stay. She smiled cheerfully at Billie and Bo Ray and promised she’d be back—and they should plan for a nice dinner party. Billie just nodded. Bo Ray, relatively new to their team, still looked anxious.
She told them she was going to drop in on Father Ryan and invite him over for dinner. She could call him, of course, but this way, even if he couldn’t come that evening, she’d get a chance to see him.
Bo Ray, who’d gained a life thanks to the priest, seemed to like the fact that Father Ryan might be coming to visit.
They’d actually met Bo Ray because he’d been a suspect when people started dying during the Pietro Miro case. Sadly, he’d become caught up in it all, an alcoholic in the early stages of liver failure. Quinn had a good eye for people, just as Father Ryan did. They’d both seen that Bo Ray could be saved. He’d become a great asset to the store—and to their lives, Danni thought.
With Wolf in the car this time, Danni started out.
Father Ryan ministered well to his flock, gave great sermons, tended to the poor and downtrodden and did everything that a priest should do. He even looked like the perfect priest. Middle-aged with snow-white hair, big and brawny but possessing a gentle manner, he seemed to inspire trust. He was also a no-nonsense man, unafraid to take a stand. Willing to confront the unknown...
Father John Ryan was standing at the front door of the rectory, almost as if he was waiting for someone, when Danni drove up and parked on the street. He didn’t seem surprised when she and Wolf got out of her car and approached him.
“You knew I was coming,” she said.
“I did.”
Danni offered him a curious half grin. “You speak with the Almighty?”
“I do.”
“Oh?”
He smiled ruefully. “I speak with Him the same as you and every other man and woman out there, Danni. Actually, I knew you were coming for a far more mundane reason—Natasha called me.”
“Ah! But I didn’t tell her I was going to see you.”
“That’s where instinct kicks in,” Father Ryan told her. “But I had a feeling you or Quinn would be by soon enough. I heard about the massacre this morning.”
“I believe the police are looking into Garcia’s financials and other records,” Danni said. “It’s the type of thing that could happen if a big drug deal went wrong.”
Father Ryan shook his head fiercely. “There was no drug deal gone wrong, Danni. I’m sure of that.”
“How?”
“You and Wolf come on in. I’ll tell you what I can.”
“You know something?”
“Let’s have tea, shall we?”
Father Ryan didn’t want to be rushed. She and Wolf followed him into the rectory kitchen. First, Wolf got treats; Father Ryan kept them on hand just for him. Then, he put the kettle on and took his time setting out cups. Only when the tea was brewed and they sat down to drink it did he start talking. “James and Andrea Garcia were my parishioners. I’ve already been called in by social services—I’m helping place the children with relatives. This is a terrible blow. There are three children left behind—a ten-year-old, an eight-year-old and a five-year-old. The two older kids were James and Andrea’s and the youngest was the aunt’s little girl. Luckily, Andrea has another sister and brother in the city and they’re doing their best to comfort and care for the children, but...well, the only good thing about the situation is that the children weren’t there.”
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea you knew these people,” Danni murmured.
Father Ryan nodded. “There was no drug deal,” he said again. “And don’t tell me we don’t know what people are really like. James Garcia was a hardworking man. He was with the same company for years. He made deliveries for one of the most trusted services in our city and there was never a single complaint against him. His wife took care of her family—her parents lived with them—and neither Andrea nor James ever minded any burden put upon them. That family did nothing wrong.”
“The police are investigating. It won’t ease things for the children, but hopefully justice will be done.”
“And what are you doing about it?” Ryan demanded, looking her hard in the eyes.
“What can I do? There’s no indication that an object might be involved, not like the Pietro Miro case, Father.” Before Father Ryan could protest, she continued. “Quinn just got back last night. He was called to the scene this morning. But that’s why I’m here. Can you come to dinner at my place around seven tonight? Quinn wants all of us there to discuss what happened.”
”Yes, of course,” he said. “I promise you this isn’t a random murder. Nor is James Garcia part of it. Something isn’t right here—aside from the obvious, I mean. James Garcia was a good man who spent his life hauling packages and received commendations from his employer. His wife was a model of virtue. And the parents...hard workers, retired, enjoying their last years with the grandkids. The old man didn’t have much time left as it was—cancer. They’d given him six months.”
“I’m so sorry, Father Ryan,” Danni said again.
He drummed his fingers absently on the table. “What I’m afraid of is that we all may wind up much sorrier. Danni, we have to find out what the hell is going on here.”
* * *
“Dr. Hubert is a descendant of the Hubert who painted the original of the giclée at your friend’s gallery,” Quinn told Danni, setting plates on the table. The meal Billie had prepared, his version of the classic jambalaya, simmered on the stove.
She stopped patting dry the lettuce she’d just washed and looked over at him. They’d decided to get dinner ready and wait until Natasha and Father Ryan arrived to discuss the situation, so she was surprised that he’d brought up the painting. She’d reported that Father Ryan had known the Garcia family well and that he strenuously denied they could’ve been doing anything illegal. And Quinn had said only that the autopsy reports had yielded nothing they didn’t already know.
“A direct descendant,” he added.
“Really? How interesting.”
He nodded pensively and didn’t say any more.
“You okay?” she asked him.
He gazed at her for a long moment, then smiled, and walked over to her, slipping his arms around her. “I’m going to be more okay later on,” he whispered huskily.
They were pressed tightly together. It suddenly felt like months rather than weeks since they’d stood this way. She was acutely aware of his body heat and the strength of his muscles. Memory reflexes were going to kick in hard any minute. The urge to do far more than stand together was almost overwhelming.
They looked into each other’s eyes and backed away at the same time. He smiled ruefully. “Sorry.” He might have intended to keep his thoughts to himself a while longer, but touching her had obviously