The Silent Shooter

One

One

SHE SAID YES.

Standing in Saint Clare’s before the altar, I had asked her the question I’d never expected to ask.

And she said yes. Helen Mason Parr is going to be my wife.

A priest’s wife.

Driving to the restaurant, she delights me by continually admiring her ring, the same blue sapphire ring I’d given her before and told her to keep when I left. With Gladys’ help, I retrieved it from her apartment.

“So you’re not disappointed that I didn’t get you a new one?” I ask.

“Of course not!” she says, her eyes still fixed on the sparkling gem. “This is the only ring I’ve ever wanted from you. My only question is, how did you get it?”

“Yeah,” I say sheepishly, “funny story. You remember how Gladys dragged you to your apartment to help you get dressed?”

“Yes?”

“Well, that was for two reasons. First, I really wanted you to be wearing this dress when I proposed. And second, it was so that she could steal the ring at the last minute and get it over here to me.”

“So that’s why she had to leave so suddenly, right before I was ready to go. I thought she had a hot date with Nate.”

“Maybe she does, but if so, she dropped by the Rectory on her way and handed the ring off to me first.”

“You scoundrel,” she says, slapping me playfully on the shoulder.

“Yes,” I say, taking her hand and pulling it to my lips. “But seriously, I didn’t want to get it too soon, because I didn’t want you to think it had been stolen and start roughing up perps.”

“Like I would do something like that. Sweet little me?”

“My darling, you are the most beautiful woman I know, my long-awaited dream come true, but you are neither of those two things.”

“Watch out,” she laughs, “or I’ll get mad and hit you with my shoe.”

“Which is one of the many reasons why I now insist that you wear soft flats. In case you do give in to your more violent tendencies, I don’t want to find myself impaled by a spiked heel.”

“Fair enough. So, where are we having dinner?”

“Sadly, nowhere nearly nice enough to honor this momentous occasion. Just Captain Pettit’s, that seafood restaurant near the Archbishop’s residence.”

“I love that place. It's one of the few buffets in the area that includes crab legs.”

“Exactly, which is why I chose it,” I smile. “I know how much you like them. I thought I’d take you somewhere nice in Myerton on Monday night. Maybe that new Italian place just outside town.”

Helen hesitates. “But, is that a good idea, Tom? I mean, someone might see us.”

“Need I remind you that by Monday our big secret will be out?” I say with a grin.

“Oh, my gosh,” she laughs. “I forgot. Tom, do you have any idea what exactly the Archbishop has planned for the announcement?”

“Not a lot, but here’s what I know so far. You know that His Eminence sent word several weeks ago that he would be visiting the parish on Sunday?”

“Oh, yes, I know. I have no less than a dozen emails in my inbox concerning the food for the visit, as well as seating arrangements, serving, etc. I’ve barely seen or spoken to Anna this week, she’s been in such a tizzy getting everything ready.”

“Well, you see my darling, Anna may have been avoiding you because she knew that he was coming here for us.”

“Wait, how long have you known?”

“Only since Monday. I wanted to propose to you right away, but he asked me to hold off lest word leak out. He’ll tell us more tonight. There’s someone from the Vatican Press Office who’s going to be there to coordinate everything.”

“So this is it. We’ll make the formal announcement on Sunday?”

I hear a certain hesitation in her voice that gives me pause. “Helen,” I say, “if you’re not ready for this, I will tell him no.”

“No, you won’t, nor will I,” she says with determination. “Remember, I am not some blushing twenty-something. You and I know full well, or at least as well as anyone can, what we’re getting ourselves into. We’ve talked it to death. Yes, I wish we could have a little more time for just us, but on the other hand, once the word is out, it will be wonderful not to have to sneak around anymore and be constantly afraid that someone will say something.”

“So, you’re OK with everything?”

“Tom, I’m an adult woman with good sense. I doubt I’ll ever be OK with everything. Only imbeciles are ever OK with everything.”

“Stop being difficult and tell me if you’re OK making this public on Sunday!”

“Yes, Tom, I am ready,” she says, slipping her hand under my arm. “Ready to let the whole world know that I’m going to be your wife.”

We ride along in joyful contentment for a while, then I say, “There is one thing I should tell you, before you find out from the Archbishop.”

“What?” Helen asks, a little concerned.

“When His Holiness called the Archbishop to tell him the news—”

“Wait!” she exclaims. “The Pope called the Archbishop to tell him personally?”

“That was my reaction,” I chuckle. “Anyway, the Holy Father said he was looking forward to meeting us after we are married.”

Even out of the corner of my eye, I can see Helen’s shocked expression. “The Holy Father—the Pope—the Pope—he—he—he wants to meet us?” she sputters. “Wha—what—what the hell!”

I can’t help laughing. “Not exactly the most appropriate reaction, I think. But yes, a private audience to impart his apostolic blessing on our marriage. We’re part of his legacy, my darling, and a big part of how his papacy is judged will depend on us.”

Helen blows out a big breath. “Huh, no pressure!”

“Oh, no, none at all!”

We both laugh and I say, “But you’re ready, Helen? For whatever happens.”

She leans across and kisses me on the cheek. “Tom,” she whispers, “I’ve been ready since the day you walked back into my life. All I want now is what I wanted then—for us to be together. And God has given us that. I’m ready, no matter what happens.”

Helen lays her head on my shoulder as we approach the skyline of Baltimore, and she stays that way until I park the car at the restaurant.

As I have observed on more than one occasion, I love Helen’s voluptuous curves, and I love taking her out for dinner or eating with her on any occasion. That being said, watching Helen eat snow crab legs is a slightly scary experience. She seems to lose all her normal inhibitions when she gets them in front of her, and she has a method that should be patented for getting the entire leg out without breaking it.

When she dips it in butter and places the whole thing in her mouth, I have to avert my eyes.

When she has finally eaten all the crab legs she wants, she daintily wipes her mouth and then whispers, “OK, I’m going to slip into the ladies’ room and change into what I brought to wear to see the Archbishop.” I want to say something like, “You really don’t need to bother,” but we both know that the red dress she’s wearing is in no way suitable for a meeting with His Eminence.

I pay the check and run out to the car to get the huge tote bag she always has with her. As usual, it weighs a ton and I wonder again why she needs so much stuff just to make it through a day. I bring it back to her and she slips into the restroom. I wander around aimlessly for a few minutes and then decide to go pull the car around. I text her where I am and she joins me in a surprisingly short amount of time.

When she gets in the car, I ask, “Helen, do you have your backup with you?”

“Yes, Tom, I do,” she says, “and it is safely tucked away where it always is. We are going through some sketchy parts of Baltimore and I thought it was a good idea.”

“OK, just checking,” I say, pulling out into evening traffic. “Thigh holster tonight?”

“Hmm, I’ll let you speculate, Father,” she says breathlessly.

I chuckle even as I feel my face grow warm. “I meant to ask, how’s life as Acting Chief?”

She sighs. “Fine, I guess.”

“You guess? You don’t sound too enthusiastic.”

“Well, basically it’s a lot of paperwork and saying, ‘we can’t decide that until we get a permanent chief,’” she says. “I can’t make any real changes, or big decisions. Plus, it’s never pleasant when we have to investigate a fellow police officer, even one who looks as corrupt as Lowden does. From what they’ve found, it goes far beyond favoritism in the Richard Davenport case.”

“Who are you getting?”

“Well, since the city counsel wanted an independent investigation to see if Lowden’s corruption affected the Police Department as a whole, they asked the State Attorney to assign an investigator.”

“Who did Angela assign?”

I see her look at me out of the corner of her eye. “Brenda Epping.”

“Oh? She’s getting a higher profile.”

“Well, Angela’s impressed with her. I am, too. I’ve ordered the entire department to cooperate with her.” She pauses. “She’s interviewing me next week.”

“Why you?”

She turns and looks out the window. “I was one of the last people Lowden hired,” she says. “And you know the only reason I got this job.”

“Because you were the best detective to apply?”

“I’d like to think so, but really Lowden owed the D.C. chief a favor. Remember, I was pretty much considered damaged goods back then.”

“But you’re not in any trouble?” I say, concerned.

“No,” she says, still looking out the window. She turns to me. “But darling, I don’t want to let this cast a cloud over us. Tonight, I want to bask in the glow of God’s miracle.”

I smile. “Me too, my dearest love, me too.”