Chapter 5 #2
“No. Not without you.” Then she grinned and smacked his shoulder. “But I’m not your prisoner or your slave. We need to make a go of Beachcomber Investigations. That’s the deal.”
“Then let’s get that ferry ticket.”
On the boat they sat inside. It was his concession to her because it was cold out on the water.
“What’s the plan?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” He loved the annoyed look he got.
“You know—our cover.”
“We’re a couple—looking to get married at the church.” He paused to take in her reaction. She stiffened and then went cool and suspicious and gave him the stop being a twelve-year-old look.
“We need to be careful. We need to assume the shooter is watching the church and waiting for a second chance at the baby.”
“Unless he followed Father stupid Lothario to Martha’s Vineyard.” She looked miserable at the prospect and glanced out the ferry window in the direction of the fast-fading island.
“Don’t worry. Not likely. The oversexed priest made some mistakes but he moved fast to get the baby out of town—the shooter fled and probably didn’t return to the scene for some time.
He’d assume the police would be called and that he’d need to stay away for at least several hours—maybe the whole day. ”
“What if there’s more than one person involved?” She twisted a strand of hair and had that worried mother face. Heartbreaking in its beautiful angst.
But he wouldn’t soft sell her. He was her partner, not her—anything else.
“Then we’d better warn Cap to be extra vigilant.”
She pulled out her cell phone and pressed one number.
When she finished her redundant warning call to Cap, he asked, “What else did you find out about Father Donahue in your research?”
“He comes from money. His family is wealthy and powerful—some politicians along with captains of industry in his family tree.”
He nodded. He’d found the same thing.
“Anything personal?”
“I didn’t get that far. I had to attend to the baby. What did you find?”
She was smart enough to know he would have done his own homework. She was getting used to being tested by him. It didn’t seem to especially annoy her or unnerve her anymore.
“He was heading up a new initiative for unwed mothers—ironically—with volunteers from the ranks of wealthy society blue bloods. They were trying to set up a house and services with the usual high-end fund raising and that’s why Mrs. Governor was there and happened to see the baby.”
“Maybe it’s not so ironic. Maybe that’s how his unwed mother found him.”
“Bingo. Exactly correct. Which means she lives somewhere within the parish or within the area where they were recruiting their unwed mothers. We’ll have to ask about that.
I have no idea how one would go about finding down-on-their-luck unwed mothers to give help to.
I didn’t even know it was a thing anymore since single motherhood is generally accepted. ”
“You’re right. Usually those services are for teens. Maybe Father Lothario knew more about this baby than he let on and he had a guilty conscience?” Shana said.
“I don’t want to kill your speculation party, but I bet we can find out more about the project if we talk to Madeline Grace.”
“Then do it.” She jutted her chin up. He kept his smile to himself and made the call. They had another fifteen minutes until the boat arrived and then a long drive. No way were they going to let the church pick them up. It would ruin whatever cover they might try.
Madeline answered her phone on the second ring.
Dane had a special number and a special identifier on her and the governor’s end ever since he’d gotten back to the States from his last international mission over a year ago.
The Douglases were good friends. Both of them, even though he’d only met Madeline well after he’d known Peter. Peter chose well. Madeline did too.
“Hello, Dane. I was expecting your call,” Madeline said in her warm, inviting, yet sophisticated voice. She exuded complexity and compelled interest and trust. Damn but she would have made a knockout governor. Peter was luckier than she was.
“We’re en route, but I had some background questions for you before we get to the church. Shana and I are an engaged couple looking to arrange a wedding.”
“What a perfect cover. Give Shana my condolences.” She said it straight and he laughed.
“What can you tell me about this home for unwed mothers project?”
“Besides the fact that it’s oddly old-fashioned and Father Donahue’s brainchild?
What’s more odd is the level of embracement by the church’s volunteer community.
I’m involved because it’s been expanded to include divorced or abandoned mothers and that automatically includes abused women.
I’m not saying that there aren’t lots of non-teenaged women who get pregnant and need to raise children on their own, and I’m not saying that they couldn’t use some help, but the concept is not necessarily serving the most needy—the pregnant teens and teen mothers are specifically excluded.
Father Donahue thinks there are already plenty of places serving them.
But the teen pregnancy rate bumped up to eight percent in recent years and there are only three homes in Boston to provide shelter and training to teen mothers. ”
“You think he’s out of touch.”
“I think he has a personal agenda. Especially now.”
“I tend to agree. What’s the plan?”
“He wants to rehab a house with a training facility and make services available. The community responded because he wants to use pro bono services from the parish. Everyone would donate a few hours of their time weekly or monthly. This parish is chock-full of professionals. We have doctors, nurses, psychologists, lawyers, teachers—you name it. It could work.”
“What are you donating?” He couldn’t resist.
She laughed. “Why, my sparkling personality, of course. Seriously, my stamp of approval was all that was requested—and cash. And connections. I get to make phone calls. It’s awkward—or would be—I need to wait until I have a better handle on what to say.
I need to crunch the mission down to one succinct line before I call anyone. ”
“Good luck with that.”
“Don’t worry—I’m a message cruncher from way back.”
He laughed. Shana nudged him. She wanted the phone so he gave it to her and stood. He needed to go outside for some of that rejuvenating sea air. He needed to think.
What the hell was Father Donahue doing? What was he hiding and who the hell was this mother who needed his help? And most importantly—who the hell wanted to steal the baby so badly they’d shoot a nun?
Maybe it was for money. Maybe Father Donahue was being blackmailed. That would definitely be something to hide.