Chapter 6
Dane rapped the knocker on the rectory door while he held an arm around Shana’s shoulders. She reached out and pressed the doorbell button. He heard the chime from deep behind the substantial door.
“They’d never hear you knock on this fortress.”
“I was going to try the doorbell next. I like knockers.”
She turned to him and squinted. He grinned and squeezed her in, smelled her hair, and whispered, “Especially yours.”
The door opened, saving him from whatever abuse she would have subjected him to.
Disappointment wafted through him like a mild breeze as he drew on his mask for the business at hand in the form of a pleasant, bland smile.
Shana did the same and she leaned into him in a submissive way that was all pretense. He knew this for a fact.
*****
They finally met with Father Donahue again.
This time he wore his priest uniform with the white collar and black short-sleeved shirt starched and formidable-looking.
Sister Anne—or so Dane presumed—sat in a side chair.
There were two additional vacant guest chairs ready and waiting for him and Shana.
He let Shana sit while he stayed standing.
She gave him a very subtle lift of her brow, but accepted his tactics, whatever they were.
At least in this he could count on her letting him take the lead without a struggle.
“This is Sister Anne,” the priest said without preamble. Sister Anne nodded at them. That was the end of the introductions. Evidently, Sister Anne already knew all about who they were.
“Thank you for taking the time to talk with us, Sister.” Shana was deferential and sincere—and therefore at her best, in his opinion.
Sister Anne smiled. Shana would have another conversation with the good nun—without Father Donahue chaperoning, and Dane had no doubt the nun would confess all to Shana—recognizing a fellow female protector.
Dane couldn’t help the swell of pride in spite of the complete inappropriateness of the timing.
He didn’t come out of character for anyone else to see, but he reined himself in and turned to Father Donahue with his no-holds-barred business look—others referred to it as the shark look—and spoke.
“We’ve done a little research on you, Father. I need you to be completely honest and forthcoming with all the details or we will advise the governor to send in the officials. Today.”
The priest visibly gulped, but he said nothing for a few beats. Almost long enough for Dane to ask the ladies to leave.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Would you like me to spell it out for you?” Dane slipped a look at Sister Anne.
“I thought you wanted to speak with Sister Anne. If not, then perhaps we should speak alone.” He sounded stilted and nervous but resolute, maybe still partly in denial. Clearly, he prioritized saving his reputation. Maybe at all costs.
But not at the cost of any harm to a baby—not on Dane’s watch.
“Father, we know you’re being blackmailed.”
In his peripheral vision, Dane could see Sister Anne’s eyes go wide.
Father Donahue jumped to his feet. Dane wasn’t sure if he was going to jump over his desk and attack him, but Donahue was apparently too worried about Sister Anne’s sensibilities—and his very precious reputation.
The priest looked at the nun and said, “Excuse us, Sister Anne, please leave us for a few minutes. I’ll call you back in when—”
“Don’t worry. I’ll go with Sister Anne and talk with her,” Shana said as she stood, reaching for Sister Anne’s arm as a helpful escort.
“I don’t think—”
“Don’t worry about Sister Anne, Father,” Dane said with enough steel in his voice to draw the priest’s attention back to him and the matter at hand.
Shana’s instincts were good. Sister Anne might know more than Father Donahue wanted her to talk about.
The priest was worried. Dane saw the sweat popping out on his otherwise perfectly groomed temples.
“Have a seat,” Dane said, and he pulled one of the visitor’s chairs up close to the desk, front and center, and leaned forward, invading the priest’s space. The priest sat, slowly.
“You’re here at my invitation. I want you to protect Paulette. There is no need for—”
“Lying. There’s no need for lying or hiding things from me.”
That deflated the priest and he fell back against the cushions of the very cushy chair and looked at Dane with misery in his eyes.
That gave Dane a momentary spark of empathy, but it evaporated as he thought of Paulette and her mother and the shooter and whatever Father Lothario was hiding.
“I suppose you’re right. I can’t very well call you in to help and only give you part of the story. I either trust you or I don’t.”
“That’s right. And besides that, Shana and I—we’re good at our jobs, so we’ll find out everything anyway.
And it’ll cost you more. And, this is the most important part, Father, if you’re lying and delays cost the harm of one hair on that baby’s head, you will have us both as enemies for the rest of your life.
” He spoke quietly in his best killer voice, but without anger, with only resolve.
Father Donahue’s skin turned the shade of milky oatmeal, which Dane remembered from childhood and had seen on more than a few men’s faces in his lifetime. Never a good sign. He waited for the priest to compose himself.
“I—I’ll tell you what I know and what I suspect. But believe me when I say, most of this is a mystery to me and I’m counting on you to help—to protect every hair on Paulette’s precious head.”
Dane nodded. “Good. First question. What means more to you—your reputation or Paulette’s safety?”
“What? Why—of course, Paulette’s safety.” He’d hesitated enough to set up a permanent distrust in Dane’s mind. There was no guarantee that Father Donahue was telling the truth about that—to himself or Dane. He nodded again.
“What kind of question is that? It should be—”
“But it’s not obvious.” Dane finished for him. “When the rubber hits the road and we may need to take chances with your reputation in the name of preventing harm to Paulette, then we need to know we can count on you.”
The priest remained silent and grim.
“Question number two—not really a question—give me the note.”
“I already told you—”
“Give it to me. I’m a trained professional. One you hired to do a job. I need to see the note for myself.”
Father Donahue pushed back his chair and stood.
His face remained grim—and a little resentful, like a recalcitrant pupil.
Dane felt like grinning, but then he remembered baby Paulette—and that this man was her father.
He wasn’t sure how well that would turn out—for either of them.
But he reined in his resentment and watched the priest go to an antique chest of drawers—small drawers, like an old apothecary cabinet.
It was black and ornate but handsome with the kind of patina you couldn’t fake. He slipped a key from his pocket—a very small key—and put it in the keyhole in the top center drawer, turned it, and pulled the drawer handle. He took a slip of white, lined paper from it.
Dane smelled the perfumed paper from across the desk. Donahue sat and held the note for a beat first and then reached out and put it down in front of Dane. It was still folded.
Dane read it. Aside from the mildly embarrassing reference to “their song,” it was a desperate plea for help. The writer never said Paulette was Donahue’s daughter, but it was implied—like it went without saying. She asked him to protect Paulette. He looked up at the priest.
“Question number three. Are you being blackmailed?”
“Yes. You already knew that—or figured it out.” Donahue bit the words out. Dane waited for more. Because he knew there’d be more.
“I got careless. Stupid. I got what I deserve.” Father Donahue spoke reasonably, almost academically. “But not Paulette. She doesn’t deserve this.”
“Tell me everything that happened. From the beginning.”
“That morning—two days ago--I was in the church, clearing the altar after morning mass.” He paused and pressed his lips together.
If Dane could see inside the man’s head he figured there’d be some kind of war going on.
The good guys had better win the battle because Dane didn’t relish the idea of getting tough with a priest. But Father D looked across the room at nothing in particular and carried on.
“I’d just come out of the anteroom. I heard a baby and thought someone had come in so I stepped down off the dais.
And right there in front of me, in the front pew, I found the baby.
It didn’t register at first that she was abandoned.
I looked around for her parents. It was apparent she was a girl—all dressed in pink with a pink blanket.
I remember thinking I wouldn’t have much time to spend with the new mother because I had Madeline Grace about to visit at any moment.
I sat down next to the baby and couldn’t resist lifting her from the carrier.
That’s when I noticed the note. I read it and was stunned.
I was so taken aback. I didn’t know what to do.
I should have known—I’d been paying blackmail for several months, but it never occurred to me then.
The connection didn’t occur to me.” He stopped talking and his eyes wandered to the distance like he was looking back at his life and not liking what he saw.
Or maybe that was Dane passing judgment. He heaved a deep sigh. In truth, he had no right to judge. Using a more tolerant tone, Dane prompted the priest to go on with his account.
“I sneaked the baby into the rectory through the backdoor, but that’s where I ran into the governor’s wife.
I stopped mid-stride. She was approaching me from the gate to the front drive.
I had the babe in my arms and she had a question in her eyes.
Right until she stepped up to me and took the baby from my arms and looked down into her face.