The Stone of Sadness (An Olivia Miller Mystery Book 3) (8 page)

“Emily sounds to have had a tough time with it,” Olivia said. “Two clashing personalities. Are you and your sister close?”

“We keep in touch, but we aren’t close. There was the ten year age difference separating us…we were always at different stages in life. Emily thought I was the favored one, but I just knew how to keep my mouth closed and go along with things. She and I are opposites in just about every way. She was at the top of her class, a great athlete. She thinks I wasted my life taking care of my husband and children and not having a career. Our father did very well with investments that he made over the course of his working life. When he died, he left my mother, Emily, and me very wealthy women. Emily didn’t have to work a day in her life but career has been her focus. She’s very driven. Her business is everything to her. She owns some strip malls and office buildings. We don’t have much in common. She works out every day. Runs marathons, goes rock climbing, does triathlons. I enjoy cooking and gardening and quilting. Emily turns her nose up at those things. She thinks I’ve squandered my life. And let’s me know it. ”

“Different choices,” Olivia said. “Emily never wanted to marry?”

“I suppose she did early on, but things happened that turned her away from relationships.”

“Kenny?” Olivia asked.

“Well, Kenny, yes. That must have been frightening to be dating someone who is suspected of murder.” Angela paused. “There was something else though. Emily was in a serious relationship with a young man from town. It started shortly after Overman left Howland. The young man had been in her high school class. He came from a good family. The Martins attended our church. Mother was pleased. James was in youth group with Emily. He had a crush on her. After Overman took off, Emily started dating James. They went out for about a year.”

“They broke up?” Olivia asked.

Angela sighed. “James died.” She cleared her throat. “He drowned in his family’s backyard pool.”

“How awful,” Olivia said. “The poor family. Poor Emily.”

Angela nodded. “Emily was there when it happened.”

Olivia’s eyes widened.

“James’ parents were out. Emily and James had spent the evening barbecuing and swimming. They were drinking. It got late. Emily went inside to use the restroom and when she came back out, James was at the bottom of the pool. Emily was frantic. She tried to pull him out of the water. She called the police but he was dead by the time they arrived.”

“That’s terrible.”

“I think Emily really loved him,” Angela said. “She never seemed the same towards relationships after that. She became very driven and focused on becoming successful.”

Olivia had a faraway look in her eyes. “So sad,” she whispered.

“A couple of years later, Emily was engaged briefly to a man from town but she broke it off. He was in Emily’s classes all through school. They knew each other from the time they were little.”

“Do you know why she broke off the engagement?”

“She just said he wasn’t for her,” Angela reported.

“Her former fiancé went to high school with her?”

Angela nodded.

“Is he still around? I wonder if he would talk to me about Kenny. It might be helpful to talk to a classmate. He might have some insight.”

“His office is in Chestnut Hill. Name’s Don Chandler. He’s an attorney. It must be easy to find his number.”

“I might look him up,” Olivia said.

“It couldn’t hurt. Let me give you my cell number in case there’s anything more we can answer for you.”

Olivia added Angela to her contacts.

“Thank you for your time, Angela. I appreciate your help.”

During their chat earlier in the week, Olivia learned from Lydia Andrews that Pastor Mike Sullivan had been at St. Catherine’s Church since before the murders and that maybe he could shed some light on the crime.

Olivia knocked on St. Catherine’s parish house door. She hoped to have a talk with the priest. After a few minutes, an older woman opened the door and peered out at Olivia. The woman was small and stooped with silver gray hair. She was wiping her hands on her apron.

“Yes?” she asked politely but seemed slightly put out that she had been interrupted from her work.

“I’m Olivia Miller. Is the pastor available?”

“Father Mike is in back tending the garden. You can go around to see him if you like.” She indicted the back of the house with a wave of her hand.

“I’ll do that, thanks. Sorry to bother.”

“No bother, hon.”

Olivia found Father Mike bent over a row of soil. He was placing seedlings in small holes that had been neatly dug down the row. He was sitting on an overturned bucket.

“Father Mike?”

He stood just as Olivia spoke and he turned to her voice, his floppy straw hat shading his face. “Hello.” His voice was deep and kind. His face was lined and craggy and beads of sweat covered his brow. He took an unsteady step towards Olivia, his legs stiff from sitting on the bucket.

“I’m Olivia Miller. Sorry to bother you. I was wondering if you had a minute to talk.”

“Of course. Why don’t we sit on the bench.” He indicated a wooden bench placed in the shade of an apple tree. “I’d be glad for a break,” he smiled. He tottered a bit towards the seat, and Olivia reached over and took his arm.

“Not as spry as I once was but I keep active. It just takes time to get these old legs going once I’ve been sitting.”

When they were settled side by side on the bench, Father Mike wiped his face with a handkerchief and commented, “We haven’t met.”

“No,” Olivia confirmed. “I’m staying at my cousin John’s house for a couple of weeks. John Miller. He isn’t a church member so maybe you don’t know him.”

“I know who John is. We’ve served together on the town Recreation Committee for several years. Good man,” Father Mike said.

“He’s away right now,” Olivia said. “He’s having some work done on his house which happened to coincide with an unexpected business trip. So I’m keeping an eye on things for him and taking care of his dog.”

“I see.” His kind eyes met Olivia’s. “What brings you to see me, dear? What’s on your mind?” Father Mike asked.

“When we were cleaning out the attic at John’s house, we came across some old newspapers. Some of them have articles about the murders that happened here in town a number of years ago. A young mother and her daughter. They were our cousins.”

Father Mike winced. His shoulders seemed to slump and he looked down at the ground. “A terrible thing. That was a terrible day. I was the priest who said their funeral mass.”

“I didn’t know that. How long have you been a priest, Father?”

He straightened a bit. “Just over sixty years. The last forty-five years right here in Howland. Things have changed a good deal. Not so many men entering the priesthood today.”

“You’re the only priest here at the parish?”

“Yes. Time was, back in the day, there might be three priests at one parish. Not anymore. Some priests are even traveling between churches now. That’s hard. That makes it very difficult to get to know the people.”

“I imagine it does.”

“I’m lucky though. We have a strong group here, many active participants which makes for a nice community of people.”

“There was another priest here when my cousin Mary went to church here?”

“Yes. There were two of us, and then just before the murders, a third priest arrived to join us.”

“What were their names?”

“Father Paul Carlson was new. Father Anthony Foley had been with me here for maybe three years. Both were young men just starting out. The murders were trying for all of us.”

“Mary taught Sunday school here.”

“Yes she did. She had worked as a teacher in elementary schools before she had her own children. She was a natural with the kids, very sweet and kind. Mary did a lot for the church, helped out with funeral meals when she could, served on some committees. A hard worker. Cheerful, pleasant. Someone that people enjoyed being around.”

“I’m curious about my cousins…the case,” Olivia said. “I want to talk to people in town who lived here when it happened. I guess I’m trying to get a sense of them. Was Mary friendly with the other priests?”

“Father Paul was only here for a couple of weeks before the crime. Father Anthony was friendly with most of the young families. They would organize softball games, hikes, canoe excursions. Lots of activities that appealed to the younger crowd.” He chuckled. “Even back then, I preferred the spaghetti suppers and things of that nature.”

“Would you say Mary and Father Anthony got along well?”

The priest looked directly at Olivia. “Olivia, I know the talk that went around. I heard the gossip.”

“I’m sorry, but I have to ask. I’m just trying to understand what happened to my cousins.”

The priest said, “To my knowledge, there was nothing unseemly between them.”

“It would be quite an accusation. It would have hurt the congregation if something like that was true,” Olivia said.

“It would have been a blow, yes. But it wasn’t true. Mary was an upstanding woman. She wouldn’t have engaged in such behavior.”

“What about Father Anthony? I apologize for being blunt…but, what if he had had a willing partner?”

The priest’s face clouded. “Speculation is unfair, especially when a person is not available to defend himself.”

Olivia nodded. “He was transferred I understand,” she said.

“He was.”

“Very soon after the murders.”

“Yes.”

“Where did he transfer to?” Olivia asked.

“California. I can’t recall the specifics.”

“You aren’t in touch then?”

“At first we kept in touch. But then busy schedules got in the way and we no longer kept up contact.”

“You don’t remember what parish he was in?”

Father Mike sighed. “My memory isn’t what it was, I’m afraid.”

Olivia held his eyes.

“You could try the diocese office. I’m sure they have records.”

“I’m not accusing, Father, really I’m not,” Olivia said.

“And I’m not trying to protect him. Or conceal anything,” Father Mike said.

“I’m just trying to figure out what happened to my cousins,” Olivia told him.

“Anthony had a magnetic personality,” Father Mike said. “He was fun, witty, engaging. Everyone was drawn to him. He was a handsome man.” Father Mike paused, and then said, “I cautioned him to be wary of people’s perceptions. To be careful not to give the wrong impression to people…to the women, especially. Sometimes friendliness and caring can be misconstrued to be something other than it is. It’s a fine line and a delicate balance to maintain, especially for an attractive, young priest.”

Olivia said, “I can see that could be hard…to maintain boundaries.”

Father Mike looked down at his hands. “In some ways it seems very long ago and in other ways, it feels like yesterday. I remember the horror I felt when I found out. The terrible anger.” He looked at Olivia. “Mary and her daughter stopped in at the church hall sometime around 2:30pm that day. She dropped off some paint for the recreation hall.”

Olivia sat up. “Did you see them?”

“No. I didn’t.”

“How do you know they were there?”

“The new gallons of paint were in the rec hall.”

“But how do you know what time they brought the paint to the hall?”

“The police know that they stopped at the hardware store to buy the paint around 2pm that day. And they were killed between 3 and 4pm.” The priest sighed. “I often thought what might have been if I had seen Mary that day when she stopped by. Just a short conversation may have eliminated her encounter with the killer. A few minutes here and there may have made all the difference.” He paused. “It would be easy to lose faith when such a terrible thing like that happens.”

Olivia understood those feelings. “How do you cope with such a thing? How do you support your parishioners through that? I would feel so …so…” Olivia’s voice trailed off.

“Betrayed? Abandoned? Hopeless?” Father Mike said.

Olivia adjusted her position on the seat to face the old priest. “Yes, all of those things.” Her voice was soft. “Where was God then, Father? When they were having their throats slit?” Olivia looked out across the green lawn. “Where is God’s loving hand when someone decides to kill? Why doesn’t His hand stop it…keep it from happening…keep good people safe?”

“Do you believe, Olivia?”

She shook her head slightly. “No. I’m sorry, I don’t. I suppose I’m an atheist…or maybe an agnostic…or a humanist.” She smiled weakly, and Father Mike nodded.

“I understand,” Father Mike said. “Belief is…complicated. And, sometimes, infuriating. And there are times when I question…oh my, there are times.”

“But you still have your faith?”

He nodded. “I do. Through all I have seen, I come back to it. My belief remains.”

“In a way, I envy that,” Olivia said.

They sat in silence for a minute.

“I believe in everlasting life, Olivia. I believe that your cousins are at peace. I also believe that punishment may not be meted out in this lifetime, but that what needs to be accounted for…will be…in time.”

Olivia sighed and nodded. “Thank you for talking with me.”

Father Mike patted Olivia’s hand and said, “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Olivia sat hunched over one of the microfiche readers at the Howland Public Library. She had spent an hour looking through reels of old newspaper stories and found the information that Jackie’s father had shared about the guy who pulled a knife on two women from the next town.

The story reported that a month before the murders, two women were in Howland taking a walk on a wooded trail when they were approached by a man and a woman who asked for a ride to the next town over. They said their car had broken down. The women agreed.

Once they had traveled several miles, the man sitting in the back seat of the car pulled a knife on the women and ordered them to drive to the town north of Howland. The man and the woman got out near a bus stop and disappeared. The next day, that woman was captured and identified the man as an escaped convict who had been living for several weeks in the Howland state park near the old abandoned prison camp. The man remained at large but was picked up in another state on June 5 on a misdemeanor charge.