Free Last Breath by Rachel Lee Page B

back, and paced to the window. The day outside was insultingly beautiful. “Ah, yes. The return of Christ to the church.”
    “Father?”
    “You know, Merv, I’m a post-Vatican II Catholic.”
    “Yes, Father.”
    “I’m too young to really remember the Mass in Latin. But I’m not so young I don't remember a time when all Catholic churches had a crucifix on the altar. Don't you find it a little bit strange that we now have to be
told
we must have a corpus?” In the burst of ecumenism, many Catholic churches had abandoned statues of any kind.
    “Well, yes,” Merv admitted. “We're Catholics.”
    “Exactly. And while many non-Catholics may be deluded enough to think we actually
worship
those statues, the fact remains, we know better, don't we, Merv?”
    “Yes, Father.”
    “So we never should have bowed to that pressure.”
    Merv was silent, apparently wondering where this was going.
    “I love the fact that St. Simeon's is old enough to still have statuary. I loved that beautiful crucifix behind the altar.”
    “So did I, Father.”
    “But you know what, Merv? We are never going to have another like it, not while I am pastor here. I couldn't bear it. In fact, I don't want that cross to go back up, even when or if we get it back.”
    The old pendulum clock on the wall ticked away the silent seconds. Finally, Merv said, “I understand, Father.”
    “Thank you. But you're right, we need to have the corpus. So do me a favor, Merv, whatever you decide to do about it, please ensure that it's … different.”
    “Yes, Father.” Merv left, taking his coffee with him. Moments later, the phone rang and Brendan answered automatically. “Father Brendan.”
    A whispery voice came across the line, pouring into his ear like corrosive acid.
    “You're next, Father.”

Chapter 7
    The meeting held that evening in the rectory parlor wasn't convened for spiritual purposes. Brendan was there, of course, but so were Sister Phil, Chloe, and Matt Diel.
    Brendan had been troubled by the call that morning. Initially he'd been inclined to dismiss it as a crank call, but as the day had worn on, it had niggled at him more until he finally mentioned it to Phil, who had stopped by after school let out for the day. It was she who had sent up the flares, calling Chloe at once. Chloe had then called Matt. Dominic had wanted to be there, but he was needed at the hall for a meeting of a grief support group.
    “I’m probably making too much out of a crank call,” Brendan said, giving a half smile. “I’m just jumpy.”
    Matt spoke. “I’d agree with you except for what's happened here. Yes, it may just be a sick twist, taking advantage of the situation to scare you. Then again …” He didn't need to complete the sentence. “There's been a possibility from the outset that this was a message crime, which makes it possible that you were the intended recipient.”
    “A message saying what?”
    Matt shrugged.
    Brendan studied him for a moment. “You also think there's a possibility I’m making up the phone call.”
    Matt merely looked at him.
    Brendan sighed. “I’m glad I don't live in your world.”
    Chloe smiled faintly as she watched Matt bristle.
    “Somebody's got to live in my world, Father,” he said simply. “Because not everyone out here believes in yours.”
    “I wasn't putting you down, Detective,” Brendan said kindly. “I’m just remarking that I’m glad I don't have to live in a world where I have to question everything and everyone. Where I have to suspect every statement may be a lie.”
    Matt leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “You'd better listen to me, Father. Because right now you
are
living in my world. You need to be suspicious of everyone.
Everyone.
Because if that phone call wasn't a prank, if it was from the killer, then you've got somebody after you. A very vicious somebody with one hell of a grudge.”
    Brendan drew back slightly, as if in distaste over what Matt was saying, but he