Free Death Goes on Retreat by Carol Anne O'Marie

decision was his business.
    Little seemed to be considering Eileen’s suggestion. “Let me think about it,” he said, and everyone, including the monsignor, seemed satisfied to wait.
    The food was passed around the table a second time and appetites and conversation both began to pick up. Even Beverly let down some of her guard. One of Eileen’s “old sayings from back home” came to Mary Helen. “Men are like bagpipes. No sound comes from them till they’re full.” At this table it was certainly proving true.
    Helping himself to more spaghetti, although Mary Helen wondered how he could eat another bite, Ed Moreno told his latest Hillary Rodham Clinton joke. The men laughed uproariously and Mary Helen managed an indulgent smile. If the truth were known, she thought that Hillary jokes were wearing very thin.
    Adroitly, Little won their confidence, put them at ease, and knocked down any barriers they might have to being interviewed. Mary Helen would lay odds that this detective with his deceivingly boyish grin was one of the Sheriff’s Department’s leading homicide investigators. He wore the air of a natural confidant, a talent that defied logical explanation, even hers.
    On the other hand, his partner, Kemp, did not have such luck. He sat stiffly. Mary Helen watched his cobalt eyes sweep over the priests like searchlights. It was absurd, almost blasphemous, to think that he suspected one of these men. They were upright men, dedicated men, good and holy men.
    The monsignor had spent a lifetime of service in the Church. Ed Moreno, quick-witted and always ready for a joke, used his humor to brighten the lives of those ofGod’s children who had ended up in jail. Tom Harrington, with his trademark crooked smile and that soothing voice, adroitly spread the Gospel message of love and forgiveness. His radio and television shows went out to literally thousands of listeners and viewers all over the country. Most of them received peace and consolation from his words.
    Then there was Andy Carr, whose zeal impelled him always to be available for a chaplaincy. Mary Helen wondered if sometimes, late at night, he lay awake, fed up with the entire bunch of organizations he served, and imagined himself free of them all. Mike Denski, with his whole life before him, had solemnly and generously offered it to God’s service.
    It was outrageous to imagine one of them as a murderer, yet she was unable to shake Beverly’s earlier taunt. “I wonder which one of you did it? You were the only ones here.”
    After all, they were all human. Under pressure, the monsignor had shown his hair-trigger temper. Tom was a bit too showy and glib to be completely genuine; Andy, too eager to please. Mike had all the earmarks of a mama’s boy, and funnyman Ed would be a psychologist’s delight. Did he use humor to cover his real emotions?
    None of them was perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but—murderers? “Corruptio optima pessima,” St. Thomas Aquinas had declared centuries ago. “The best things corrupted become the worst.” And no one had yet proved him wrong, Mary Helen thought gloomily.
    Looking toward Eileen, she wondered what her friendwas thinking. At the moment, Eileen was preoccupied with wiping spaghetti sauce off her chin.
    Without warning, the door to St. Jude’s banged as if pulled by a fierce wind. All heads turned toward the entrance where Laura Purcell stood frozen.
    Her auburn hair billowed wildly around her face, which was as white as the shorts and halter top she was wearing. Her eyes were wide.
    “Sorry, Sergeant.” A red-faced Deputy Foster appeared behind her. “I told her no one was allowed in the crime scene, but while I was explaining that to the occupants of the next vehicle, she jumped out of her car and ran by me.”
    Little raised one large hand to the deputy, dismissing the slip up as unavoidable. Foster relaxed. “This is one popular place,” the deputy said, truly amazed. “I had to turn back at