Saturday Evening

"It works, it's cheap, and it doesn't need electricity," said Steve with a shrug.

"I'm sorry about what's going on," said Derick as he sat down on the coffee table bench. "We didn't mean to leave you out."

"It's ok, you guys are family, I'm not even Italian... I'm just the..."

Derick stopped him by grabbing his wrist. "Stop. It's not about being Italian. It's about Maria. And no one is going to call you whatever it was that you were thinking."

"Boy toy."

"Stop it!" demanded Derick. "That demeans yourself and Maria." Derick was a handsome businessman, the kind of guy that polo shirts were invented for. He should be playing golf at some swanky country club and schmoozing investors, not mourning his mother-in-law's death in a senseless mob hit. "Maria never thought of you that way, if you were some boy toy late life crush she wouldn't have told my Jeannie everything about you since day one."

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean..."

Derick topped off Steve's coffee and said, "is there any friend you can call?"

"There's Bruce, but he's the cop investigating the case and I tried to call Father Ewen."

"Friend of yours?"

"He married us and took our confessions..." gears that Steve didn't like were starting to mesh in Steve's mind. He grabbed his phone and called the rectory again. "Hello Estell, it's Steve Anderson again, can I speak with Deacon Gronchi?"

"Yesterday was his last day, he returned home to New York last night."

It was then that he remembered Father Ewen's habit of calling everything an appointment and marking his calendar, something that Steve tried to emulate. "Can you check Father Ewen's calendar please? He may have had an appointment out of town."

"Let me check," Steve heard Estell fighting with Father Ewen's balky desk drawer, the lock on the desk needed a shot of WD40 but Father Ewen never got around to that, he always seemed to enjoy the fight to get the drawer open. Steve finally heard Estell pick up the phone and say, "It just says "Conf. AG" at ten PM, why would he have a conference with the attorney general at ten PM?"

"Thank you Estell, I'm sure he had his reasons."

Derick sipped his coffee; he had a few gears meshing also. "Deacon Gronchi?"

"I know..." groaned Steve. "If someone had told me about a certain family feud I would have dragged your mother-in-law to Las Vagas and have an Elvis Impersonator perform our wedding." He hit speed dial and soon he heard Bruce McLaren's exhausted voice.

"Why don't you ever call my desk phone?"

"Because you don't answer it, look Leonard, our priest is missing."

Bruce's shoulders sagged, Steve never uses his real name, everyone calls him Bruce after the Formula One racing car driver Bruce McLaren. Even in Afghanistan with bullets flying past them Captain Stephaton Anderson only called him Leonard once, and that was before that stupid private set off the IED. "What's going on Captain?"

"Father Ewen MacCailein of Holy Mother of God church, the priest who took our confessions and performed our marriage, is missing. The last entry in his calendar was last night a ten pm conf. with AG."

"Shit," muttered Detective McLaren, "What else?"

"The deacon who was at our wedding was Alfeo Gronchi."

"Shit!" sputtered Bruce. "What else do you have for me?"

"Alfeo Gronchi is missing also.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit...."

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Detective McLaren arrived at the church at 9:30, fifteen minutes into the 9:15 mass. The parishioners of the Holy Mother parish weren't happy that Father José Lopez was saying the mass without forewarning. People are creatures of habit, they come to the 9:15 service because they've always come to the 9:15 service even though masses are also said at 6:00, 8:00, 10:30, and 12:00. Also, they were here to hear their weekly homily delivered with the soft Scottish voice of Father MacCailein and not the staccato delivery of Father Lopez. Some had chosen to come back for the 10:30 mass hoping that Father Ewen would be there.

Bruce McLaren rang the doorbell again at the rectory front door, a Spanish mission style building with stylish black iron bars over the windows. Finally, a distraught looking woman answered the door. "May I help you?"

"Mrs. Neil? I'm Detective McLaren from the Vero Beach Police Department, this is my partner Detective Lisa Clark, we're concerned about Father MacCailein, and Steve Anderson asked us to take a look into his whereabouts."

"Please come on in," said Estell Neil. "I've been here taking care of Father Ewen for years now and I've never seen him miss saying a mass, and now we can't find him." Miss Neil led Bruce and Lisa to Father Ewen's office where the office was neat and clean, and incredibly orderly. One wall was covered with the works of Charles Spurgeon.

"Now why would a Catholic priest study the works of a man that hated the Catholic church?"

"Because they agreed on everything else," said Estell without a pause.

"So many candles!" gasped Detective Clark. She was starting to wonder if there were rituals taking place in the office.

"He liked the pure light of the flame," said Estell.

"Nothing better for reading than a kerosene lamp," said Bruce as he looked through the papers on the Priest's desk, touching them with the tip of a pen knife and not his hands. He noticed the strange looks he was getting from Lisa and said, "What. Ain't you ever been camping?" The detectives gently taunted each other over the advantages of propane lanterns versus kerosene hurricane lanterns, then Bruce put on the surgical gloves and opened the desk drawer to find the priest's schedule. "Does he keep his data on a computer?" Bruce asked Miss Estell.

"No, he hand writes everything and gives it to me to enter in the computer. He doesn't like computers; he says they take the humanity out of writing."

Bruce pulled Father Ewen's leather bound planner and slowly paged through it. Ewen's handwriting was neat and orderly. "I wish I could write like this, this is a work of art. My handwriting is chicken scratches."

"No shi... uh, no kidding," said Lisa.

"Careful!" teased Bruce as he turned to today's date in the planner. It was nice and neat, he was planning to say 8:00 AM mass, 9:15 AM mass, and the noon mass leaving the 6:00 AM and 10:30 masses for Father Lopez. Bruce flipped through the planner and saw future appointments, meetings, classes, and every Tuesday and Thursday he saw Conf. scheduled at a few points throughout the day. "Miss Estell, what happens every Tuesday and Thursday at 10:00 AM?"

"That's when confession is heard."

Bruce flipped back to yesterday's schedule and saw at 10:00 PM Conf. AG. Reading over his shoulder Lisa asked, "He does confession for the Attorney General?"

Bruce tightened his lips and said, "Miss Estell, please don't touch anything in here, we're going to have Crime Scene look through here."

"Do you think that Father Ewen...?" Estell couldn't bring herself to say "murdered" but she's watched enough TV crime dramas to know what the term "crime scene" implied.

"Miss Estell no, we prepare for the worst," said Lisa, "then if he's found with a broken down car on US 1 after giving someone a lift to the airport and we all feel better."

"What do I do?" asked Miss Estell.

"Do what you always do... which way to the sanctuary?"

Estell led the two detectives to the church building where Father Lopez was preparing the altar for the 10:30 mass. "Father José," called Bruce as he approached the altar. "Where does Father Ewen prefer to hear confession?"

"That would be that side," said the young priest pointing to the left side of the church.

"Thank you," said Bruce and he led Lisa toward the back of the church. In the rear corner was three doorways covered with curtains. "The priest sits in the middle room and the parishioners go into either side and they speak through a window to the priest."

"How do they know the priest is in there?"

"When the priest sits down there's a switch in the seat and the kneeler which turns on the light above the door so you know if someone is in there."

'You mean like that one?" Lisa pointed to the right corner in the back of the church where there was an identical set up. There were three curtained doorways and a light was glowing dimly over the center door. They walked quickly to confessional on the right hand side of the church and Bruce parted the curtain and peered through the opening. Father Ewen's body remained in there, still slumped against the side wall.

"Call it in, I'll talk to Father Lopez," said Bruce. As Lisa called their dispatcher Bruce turned and saw that Father Lopez was approaching and was almost there. Bruce intercepted him and said, "Father Ewen has passed away, you need to call the Bishop and do whatever he says, but we are going to treat the building as a crime scene.

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As it often happens in this section of Florida, rain was pouring from the sky by late afternoon. Steve spent the day fighting back the tears, not speaking to anyone except Nadia, and to her he occasionally said, "This is my fault, I'm sorry." Nadia rarely said anything but by the time Detective McLaren arrived at Steve's campsite she was ready to scream "Will you shut up about it?"

The girls Anna and Emma were playing in the warm downpour and splashing in the puddles while the adults sat under the awning that Steve erected earlier that morning. Folding his umbrella under the awning Bruce took a cup of coffee that was offered him and he sipped it. "Lifer juice," he grumbled.

"What?" asked Jeannie.

"It's an Army thing, old timers who were in the military for life drank strong coffee, we called it lifer juice," Bruce explained.

"We said it in the Air Force too," said Lisa who snapped her umbrella open and closed to release drops of rain before folding it up.

Steve was sitting at the picnic table with Nadia since their horrible meeting twenty hours ago they've become inseparable. To Bruce they looked like a glum picture of Steve and Maria, both mourning the sudden amputation of the central focus of their lives. "Hey Bruce..." said Nadia, her voice cracking from hours of weeping.

"...what do ya got?" said Steve, completing the sentence, his voice hoarse also.

"You know I hate that," grumbled Bruce. He was about to read off his notes but he was interrupted by another clone of Maria, Jeannie Tamaro. Both women were a snapshot of Maria captured in time, Nadia the young Maria, getting ready to step out into the world, young, sexy, looking for a man. Then Jeannie was a picture of Maria after several years of responsibility were placed on her shoulders, marriage, children, a job. Still beautiful but a touch of exhaustion setting in, her features show a knowledge that the young Nadia has yet to learn.

"Hold on for Aunt Fabbi," said Jeannie. "She just called and said she found the park."

"Who is Aunt Fabbi?"

Steve shrugged and Nadia didn't react so Jeannie answered Lisa's question, "she's Maria's older sister, she's the matriarch of the family." She went on to explain how Fabrizia Bellini-Scordato ran the show while Bruce was watching Steve and Nadia.

There was a pack of cigarettes on the table and with trembling hands Nadia reached for the pack and extracted one smoke but fumbled with the matches. Steve gently took the book of matches out of her trembling hands and struck the match four times then gave up and tried a second match which finally lit on third try. Cupping the match in his shaking hands they got the cigarette lit, then they gently swapped the smoke back and forth, each taking a trembling puff. He wasn't sure about Nadia, but Bruce knew for a fact that Bruce quit smoking years ago when his last tour in Afghanistan ended.

Bruce turned so his back was to Steve and motioned Lisa closer. In a soft voice he said, "When I brief them on the shootings keep an eye on Steve and Nadia for me."

"You suspect them of something?"

"No, as a friend I want to know what is going on between them." When Lisa looked at him with a scolding glance Bruce said, "I don't know if Steve can get through this on his own, maybe Nadia can help and vice versa."

Just then a black Mercedes-Benz S Class pulled up and parked across the drive leading to the campsite. The driver got out dressed in suit and tie, then opened an umbrella, opened the back door, and assisted Fabrizia Scordato out. He held the umbrella for Fabbi as she walked up to the camp site, she stood a full head taller than her younger sister but the resemblance to Maria was unmistakable. Fabbi was slimmer and was wearing an elegant black dress and a single string of pearls. Bruce felt like he was standing in a crowd of clones. Even the young girls Anna and Emma had a resemblance to Maria... or did they all resemble Aunt Fabbi?

As Jeannie and Derick welcomed Fabbi, the matriarch's only greeting was, "where is Benny and Sal?" she received blank stares from everyone there. "Benny and Sal were supposed to be there," she demanded as Derick set out a folding chair for his wife's aunt.

Finally, Bruce stepped forward and said, "We have eight bodies in the morgue that haven't been identified yet. You're welcome to come see if your people are with them." Fabbi merely glared at Bruce from her folding nylon and aluminum throne. "I'm Detective McLaren and this is my partner Detective Clark."

Fabrizia Bellini-Scordato glared at Bruce for a few moments then said, "Did you know my sister?"

"Yes, I am glad to have counted Maria as one of my friends. If Steve had made their wedding a little more public I would have been his best man."

"And you would have been dead too. I suppose you are investigating this occurrence?"

Bruce looked at her strangely, her sister is laying in the morgue and to her it's an "occurrence?" "Yes, I am the lead investigator."

Fabbi looked over at Steve and Nadia and they both looked like they were in shock, neither has spoken since she got here, neither has participated in the obligatory "Greet the Matriarch" event that Giannina, Derick, Anna, and Emma Tomaro all performed. "Do you have any information for us Detective McLaren?"

"I have nothing good. We're still trying to identify the eight males that were found dead in Maria's house, it looks like they were tourists, they all had separate flights on Southwest from Orlando back to NYC for tonight, all were dead from gunshot and shotgun wounds. Darlene died of multiple gunshot wounds, and Maria had two gunshot wounds but died of a heart attack we believe brought upon by loss of blood. If it's any consolation, she wasn't conscious when she died."

"When can my brother-in-law and his stepdaughter move home?" asked Fabbi.

"Crime scene will be working for another week, when they are done I would give a good contractor a week maybe two weeks to repair the damage those bastards made."

"I will handle the repairs," said Fabbi.

"What about that fat cop," asked Jeannie, "the one that pulled a gun on Steve."

"Patrolman Rivelli has lawyered up. Our organized crime unit says he may have been batting cleanup, if the target is missed then he takes a swing at it," said Det. Lisa Clark. "Steve you need to keep your head down."

"What about Father Ewen?" Steve's voice was dry and cracking, he was trembling again.

Bruce looked especially glum, he wasn't a church goer but he went with Steve a few times and got to like Father Ewen. "He was found in his confessional with two cranial bullet wounds. The shooter shot him through the screen then dumped his pistol under Father Ewen's body to imply it was a suicide."

"Are you sure it wasn't suicide?" asked Fabbi.

"The only prints on the gun were from a piece of human debris named..." he flipped a page or two on his clipboard, "Alfeo Gronchi. He tried to wipe down the gun but like everything in his life, he failed at that too and left several partial prints."

"Where do I find him?" asked Steve.

"New York somewhere, he flew to JFK from Jacksonville under an assumed name right after killing Father Ewen." Bruce snapped closed the lid on his clipboard and said, "look, if there's some kind of blood feud going on, I don't think I can help you, most of this stuff is getting turned over to the FBI."

"FBI," scoffed Fabbi's son Marco, but a raised finger from his mother stopped the laughter.

"I'm sure your department and the FBI will do some marvelous work, Detective. I'm going to make inquiries myself."

Steve heard none of that, all he could think about was poor Maria watching her friend getting shot to death while those bastards advanced on her, how she couldn't move out of the way, she could only watch them coming... then Father Ewen, killed by his own deacon, shot in the confessional... Steve suddenly felt the bile coming up and he turned and dashed to the palmetto bushes and undergrowth that surrounded the campsite and began to vomit, the acid in his stomach burning every inch of the way scorching the length of his esophagus then hitting his mouth burning it and leaving the foulest taste behind which caused more vomiting... the dry heaves is what his mother called it but she's gone too...

He finally stopped heaving and his entire abdomen ached, even his ribs hurt, then he heard a voice and turned and saw them all staring at him. He could see the hate, the accusation in their eyes telling him that he caused the whole thing, that he caused the death of someone very precious to them. He couldn't bear it anymore, the self-loathing, the hate, and the pain and terror he put Maria through, so he ran. The rain had let up and he had to get away from them, away from the memories, away from himself. He saw an opening in the underbrush and ran for it.

"Marco, Derick, go after him, don't hurt him. Nadia you come with me, Jeannie, keep an eye on the babies." Fabbi stood and saw Bruce and Lisa staring at her, "Detectives, you look dead on your feet, go home and rest."

"Ma'am, Steve is my brother," said Bruce, "I have to..."

"You have to catch those bastards." And she walked quickly after Marco and Derick, and Nadia practically had to run to keep up with her aunt that was three times her age.

"I can't believe you asked the police for help, Aunt Fabbi."

"I didn't ask them for help, I told them to do their jobs. Besides, they're not our enemy, they keep the worst of us in line, hopefully like those animals that killed your mother."

Nadia felt the weight at her hip reminding her that she was still armed, at some point in their ride up here she put her mother's ratkiller in its holster and clipped it to her belt and she remembered seeing Steve doing the same thing with the other 10mm Glock when he set up the camper. "Aunt Fabbi, he's armed."

"That makes things a little sadder," said Fabrizia as she led her niece through the path that was marked by walls of bushes, weeds, ferns, and palmetto plants. They came around a corner and saw Marco and Derick standing at the start of a narrow boardwalk that stretches out over the wetland then out to the St. Sebastian river.

Marco whispered, "he said, "don't come near" and it looks like he has a gun."

Fabbi hushed her son with a finger to her lips then slipped off her pumps and handed them to Marco then she motioned to Nadia to stay here. She started out onto the boardwalk with silent steps.

At the end of the dock Steve knelt, clutching his pistol to his chest, shuddering, trying to get the words out. Finally, his tears of anguish subsided and let him say his last confession; "Forgive me father for I have sinned, it's been one week since my last confession. I disobeyed my boss and fell in love with a patient and that caused the death of your servant Father Ewen. Please take him into your arms and tell my love I'll be there with her soon..."