Jan Burke - Liar

“I wish I could have seen his face when he realized who was walking next to Rachel,” Travis said.

But I wasn’t in such a triumphant mood about McCain. I kept wondering what it was he thought he had on me, and if it would amount to enough for an arrest. I was innocent, but I’m not so naive as to believe that only the guilty get brought to trial-let alone convicted. And defending one’s innocence can be expensive.

Charges alone would make my job as a political reporter extremely difficult-even if the charges were dropped, I could see my sources drying up, people hesitating to open up to someone accused of murdering her aunt. For a reporter-perhaps especially on that beat-if you aren’t trusted, you aren’t talked to, and you soon have nothing to write.

I didn’t want to think about how it might affect Frank’s work if his wife faced that sort of accusation.

I tried to look at things as McCain might. My alibi was a solid one, but maybe he thought I had hired someone to kill Briana. He often mentioned the will, but why would I pay someone to kill a woman who had nothing? Nothing other than that will tied me to her though, so… so she had to have some money somewhere, or something so valuable, McCain thought I’d kill her to gain possession of it.

I could think of only one way that Briana could suddenly have come into a lot of money. It meant that Dr. Curtis hadn’t made a mistake on the death certificate; that Arthur hadn’t lied to him. Maybe Briana had married-or remarried-into money.

“Travis, you said a priest helped you move furniture into your mom’s apartment?”

“Yes. Father Chris, at St. Anthony’s.”

“St. Anthony’s, here in Las Piernas?”

“Yes. My mom liked him, even though she didn’t follow much of his advice.”

“What do you mean?”

“He kept telling her to forgive me and my father.”

“He knew your father?”

“Yes, they both kept going to St. Anthony’s, although never to the same Mass. She always went to the ten o’clock Mass on Sunday. My dad said he never wanted her to feel uneasy about going to church there, so he’d always go to an earlier or later Mass-never the ten o’clock.”

“I think she finally listened to her priest.”

He just shook his head. “You’re still on that kick about the death certificate?”

“Yes. Mind if we try to see the priest before we visit Mr. Ulkins?”

He shrugged, took out the cell phone and called information. He asked for the number for St. Anthony’s rectory and pressed a couple of buttons to put the call through from information. He spoke to the housekeeper, who was apparently someone he had met before.

“Thank you, Mrs. Havens,” I heard him say. “Yes, I’m glad I had some time with him, too… No, I didn’t know you had known him that long. Listen, Mrs. Havens, I need to speak with Father Chris. Is he in?”

There was a wait, then Travis said, “Hi, Chris? Can my cousin and I come by to talk with you for a few minutes? Thanks-you’re sure this is an okay time?”

An elderly woman greeted us at the rectory door. She exclaimed and fussed over Travis, asking several times if she could bring him anything, until a handsome, dark-haired man of about thirty came into the room. He was wearing jeans, work boots and a flannel shirt, and said, “Thank you, Annie.” She left with some reluctance, and only after Travis assured her he would visit again soon. The man in the jeans turned to us as the door closed behind her, and said to Travis, “She used to work for your father, you know.”

“So she’s been telling me. How are you, Chris?”

This was Father Chris?

“I’m all right, Travis,” he was answering. “Doing better now that I know you’re back.” He turned to me. “You must be the cousin?”

Travis apologized and introduced me to Father Christopher Karis, who, we learned, had climbed down off a roof to talk to us.

“Happy to be called away from roof repairs,” he said, extending a hand. “Which side of the family are Kellys?”

“His mother’s,” I said.

He smiled. “So she did contact her nieces. At a time like this, it must be such a comfort to Briana to have Travis back, and to be seeing her sister’s children again. Travis, what happened to your hand?”

Travis looked as if he had been punched. “Chris…” He couldn’t manage more.

“I’m sorry,” I said to the priest. “Briana was killed three weeks ago, in a hit-and-run accident.”

We didn’t rush things after that. We gave Father Chris what few details we had regarding Briana’s death. His shock and grief kept either of us from asking him any questions for a time, but he quickly became more concerned with Travis.

“But-then you don’t know! Travis, they married!”

Travis looked at me, then back at Father Chris. “Why?”

“Why? The best reason in the world. They loved each other.”

“But she was so bitter-”

“She let go of that, Travis.”

“She forgave him?”

“Yes. Yes, and asked his forgiveness. And I know she sought yours, too. She saw that all of this had been hardest on you, who hadn’t done a thing to deserve it. She came to regret those years-”

“I understood!” Travis said. “Didn’t she know that?”

“I think she did. She told me that after you started traveling, she started thinking. You brought them back together, you know.”

“No, you know she just finally listened to you. But there was so much wasted time!” Travis said.

“Yes, I suppose there was. But does that matter now? Both of your parents found some happiness together. Both were good and generous people-human and imperfect, yes, but good at heart. I sincerely believe they’re together now, in a life without pain or suffering, without separation or loneliness.”

“Yes,” Travis said after a while, “I guess I believe that, too. I just wish- I wish we could have all been together, a family again, even for a little while.”

“I know, Travis. And I’m sorry that you weren’t able to have that. But you aren’t without family-” He glanced toward me. “You have your cousins; perhaps other members of your family will be reconciled. And you have a family here-this parish will always welcome you.”

They agreed to meet again soon, and Father Chris told Travis to call him anytime-day or night-if Travis needed to talk or if he could be of help to him in any way.

Travis didn’t talk much as we left, other than to give directions to his father’s office-his office, too, I reminded myself. The office was in a beautiful old brick building, one that had once belonged to an insurance company. It stood with dignity between two taller, newer and less lovely structures, separated from them by more than the narrow alleys on each side. Travis told me that his father had bought it for a song, made a few repairs and brought it up to earthquake code. The offices took up the entire top story-the ninth floor, he said. Most of the rest of the building was rented out to other businesses.

There were a few people walking around on the downtown street that Saturday morning, but far less than the usual crowd. It wasn’t hard to find a van-sized parking space.

“I know what’s bothering me,” Travis said as I turned off the engine. “But what’s bothering you?”

“Beyond seeing how hard all of this is on you?”

He nodded.

“McCain. If your mother received anything-community property, anything-after your dad died, and that holographic will was the last one she made, I’m going to be suspect number one.”

“Ulkins will probably know what the situation is,” he said. “Mr. Brennan can help us with any legal hassles.”

I was out of the van when I realized that although he had opened his door, he was having trouble unfastening the seat belt using one hand. I had just stepped around to his side of the van when we heard glass shatter.