Free Make them Cry by Keven O’Brien

that money.” He couldn’t say anything more. He thought about the evidence down in the catacombs—and the string of so-called lovers Johnny was supposed to have. This was her baby brother. She didn’t need to hear these things now—especially when he wasn’t even certain they were true.
    He sipped his beer. “I’m still interviewing and investigating,” he said. “As soon as I find out something definite, I’ll let you know, Maggie. I promise.”
    She reached over the table and placed her hand over his. “I’m counting on you,” she whispered.
    “Can I get you folks another round?”
    It was the waitress.
    Maggie pulled her hand away. “Nothing more for me,” she said.
    “We’re fine, thank you,” Jack said.
    Maggie watched the waitress amble back toward the bar. She sighed and looked down at her near-empty glass. “I’ve had too much to drink.”
    “You better not drive,” Jack said. “Why don’t you get a room here at the inn tonight?”
    She nodded. “Good idea.”
    “Is there someone you need to call?” he asked. “Someone who should know where you are?”
    “No,” Maggie said. “There’s nobody.”
     
    Maggie Costello seemed to glow under the amber neon light in the tavern’s window. She looked quite pretty tonight. He could tell, even at this distance. He stood behind the shack where the Lakeside Inn rented fishing and boating equipment for its guests. He knew she couldn’t see him amid the shadows outside.
    He turned up his jacket collar from the damp cold near the lake. He’d been watching Maggie in that window for almost two hours. She’d had three drinks, and one little crying jag. He knew the reason behind her tears, and he had to smile. He liked to make them cry.
    Father Murphy had arrived about twenty-five minutes ago. Even at this distance, he could tell the good father wanted her. It was so obvious. The people in the bar probably saw it, too. Poor love-starved, love-struck Father Murphy.
    He watched Murphy pay for the drinks, then help Maggie to her feet. They started to move away from the table—and out of his line of vision.
    Nothing would ever happen between those two. Murphy didn’t have a chance.
    He would see to it. He would make Maggie Costello his. And once he was through with her, he would keep a lock of her beautiful red hair—along with the usual souvenirs.
     
    The middle-aged woman at the registration desk kept glancing at Jack, then at his priest’s collar, then at Maggie. Her stare—from behind a pair of cat-eye glasses—graduated from curious to disapproving; so by the time she handed Maggie the room key, the woman was almost scowling at them.
    “They’ll be gossiping about us tomorrow,” Maggie said, as Jack walked with her down the inn’s second-floor corridor. She was weaving a tiny bit.
    He kept his hand poised by her arm, ready to catch her if she stumbled. “Let them talk,” he said.
    She shrugged. “I’m used to it anyway. When I left my husband, I was the bad guy, the talk of the parish. Everyone loved him. No one knew what an asshole he was to me.” Maggie stopped by the door to the room. “Can I tell you something kind of crude?”
    “Sure,” Jack said.
    “I’m going to send Ray a cactus plant on his birthday every year—just to remind him of what a prick he is.”
    Jack laughed.
    “Only I’m not sending him any cacti until I’m in a relationship myself. That’s a must. I don’t want it to be like I’m bitter. I want to do it when I’m happy. In fact, I won’t even tell Ray it’s because he’s a prick. That’ll be a private joke between me and my significant other. When I can laugh about it, that’s when I’ll send him a cactus plant on his birthday.”
    Jack managed to smile. “Good idea.”
    “He and Johnny didn’t get along,” Maggie said. She handed Jack the room key. “I don’t really believe it was an accident. Johnny was a good swimmer. I taught him to swim. Did you know that?”
    “No, I