Sara Paretsky - Killing Orders

I blinked a few times. “Back? Back here, you mean? No, she hadn’t told me. I came… I came to see if you could give me any information about a Catholic lay organization called Corpus Christi.”

“Hmm.” Father Carroll took my arm. “You’re shivering- let’s get to my office and have a cup of tea. You can have a nice chat with your aunt. Father Pelly and Father Jablonski are there, too.”

I followed him meekly down the hall. Jablonski, Pelly, and Rosa were sitting at a deal table in Pelly’s outer office, drinking tea. Rosa’s steel-colored hair was as stiffly waved as though made, in fact, from cast iron. She wore a plain black dress with a silver cross at the throat. She was listening attentively to Pelly as Carroll and I came in. At the sight of me her face changed. “Victoria! What are you doing here?”

The hostility was so obvious that Carroll looked astounded. Rosa must have noticed this, but her hatred was too fierce for her to care about externals; she continued to glare at me, her thin bosom heaving. I walked around the table to her and kissed the air by her cheek. “Hello, Rosa. Father Carroll says they’ve brought you back-as the treasurer, I hope? How splendid. I know Albert must be ecstatic, too.”

She looked at me malevolently. “I know well I cannot make you be quiet, or stop you harassing me. But perhaps in the presence of these holy fathers you will at least not strike me.”

“I don’t know, Rosa. Depends on what the Holy Spirit prompts you to say to me. Don’t bet on anything, though.”

I turned to Carroll. “I’m Rosa’s brother’s only surviving granddaughter. When she sees me, it always chokes her up like this… Could I trouble you for that cup of tea?”

Glad of something to do to cover the tension, Carroll bustled with an electric kettle behind me. When he handed me a cup I asked, “Does this mean you’ve found who was responsible for the forgeries?”

He shook his head, his pale brown eyes troubled. “No. Father Pelly persuaded me, though, that Mrs. Vignelli really could not have been involved. We know how valuable her work is, and how much it means to her-it seemed unnecessarily cruel to make her sit at home for months or years.”

Pelly put in, “Actually, we’re not sure they will ever clear the matter up. The FBI seems to have lost interest. Do you know anything about it?” He looked questioningly at me.

I shrugged. “I get all my news from the daily papers. I haven’t seen anything in there about the FBI dropping the investigation. What has Hatfield said to you?”

Carroll answered, “Mr. Hatfield hasn’t told us anything. But since the real stocks turned up, they don’t seem to be as interested in the investigation.”

“Could be. Derek doesn’t talk too much to me.” I sipped some of the pale green tea. It was warming; that was the best that could be said for it. “I really came out here for a different reason. A friend of mine was shot last week. Saturday I learned Father Pelly was a friend of hers, too. Perhaps the rest of you knew her-Agnes Paciorek?”

Carroll shook his head. “Of course, we’ve all been praying for her this week. But Augustine was the only person out here who knew her personally. I don’t think we can tell you much about her.”

“I didn’t come about her. Or not directly about her. She was shot while tracking down some information for an Englishman I introduced her to. That would make me feel responsible even if we hadn’t been good friends. I think she was looking at something connected with a Catholic lay organization called Corpus Christi. I wanted to know if you could tell me anything about it.”

Carroll smiled gently. “I’ve heard of it, but I couldn’t tell you much about it. They like to operate secretly-so even if I were a member I couldn’t tell you anything.”

Rosa said venomously, “And why do you want to know, Victoria? To sling mud at the Church?”

“More mud? Sorry, Rosa. Just because I’m not a Catholic doesn’t mean I go around persecuting the Church.”

“No? Then why do you involve yourself in protest meetings on abortion? I saw you at that demonstration last year outside the diocesan offices.”

“Rosa! Don’t tell me you were out there with the fetus worshippers! Were you the old woman who spat at a girl in a wheelchair?”

Rosa’s teacup clattered from the deal table to the uncarpeted linoleum floor. The institutional mug was too heavy to break, but tea spilled everywhere. She leaped to her feet, ignoring the tea dripping down the front of her black dress. “Figlia di puttana!” she shouted. “Mind your own business. Leave the business of good Catholics alone.”

Carroll looked shocked, whether from the unexpected outburst or because he understood Italian I couldn’t tell. He took Rosa’s arm. “Mrs. Vignelli. You’re letting yourself get overexcited. Maybe the strain of this terrible suspicion has been too much for you. I’m going to call your son and ask him to come pick you up.”

He told Jablonski to get some towels and sat Rosa down in the room’s one armchair. Pelly squatted on the floor next to her. He smiled chidingly. “Mrs. Vignelli. The Church admires and supports those who support her, but even ardor can be a sin if not held in check and used properly. A good Catholic welcomes all questions about the Church and the faith. Even if you suspect your niece of scoffing at you and your faith, treat her with charity. If you turn the other cheek long enough, that’s how you’ll win her. If you abuse her, you’ll only drive her away.”

Rosa folded thin lips into an invisible line. “You’re right, Father. I spoke without thinking. You will forgive me, Victoria:

I am old and small things affect me too much.”

The charade of piety made me faintly ill. I smiled sardonically and told her that was fine; I could make allowances for her enfeebled state.

A young brother came in with an armful of towels. Rosa took these from him and cleaned herself, floor, and table with her usual angry efficiency. She smiled bleakly at Father Carroll. “Now. If you will let me use the phone I will call my son.”

Pelly and Carroll ushered her into the inner office; I sat in one of the folding chairs at the table. Jablonski was eyeing me with lively curiosity.

“Do you usually rub your aunt the wrong way?”

I smiled. “She’s old. Little things get to her.”

“She’s extremely difficult to work with,” he said abruptly. “We’ve lost a lot of part-time people over the years because of her-no one can do anything perfectly enough for her. For some reason she listens to Gus, but he’s the only one who can make her see reason. She even snaps at Boniface, and you have to be pretty thin-skinned not to get along with him.”

“Why keep her then? What’s all the anxiety to bring her back?”

“She’s one of those indispensable battle-axes,” he grimaced.

“She knows our books, she works hard, she’s efficient-and we pay her very little. We’d never get anyone with her skill or dedication for what we can afford to give her.”

I grinned to myself: served Rosa right for all her anti-feminist attacks to be the victim of wage discrimination herself.

She came out with Pelly, backbone as straight as ever, ignoring me pointedly as she said good-bye to Jablonski. She was going to wait for Albert in the entrance hall, she announced. Pelly took her elbow solicitously and escorted her out the door. The only man who could get along with Rosa. What a distinction. For a fleeting moment I wondered what her life had been like when Uncle Carl was alive.

Carroll came back into the outer office a few seconds later. He sat down and looked at me for a while without talking. I wished I hadn’t let myself get caught up in Rosa’s anger.