Page 24 of Priestly Sins

“Father?”

“Sean.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Was out for a jog and saw your lights on. Saw a couple of meaty-looking guys leaving and wanted to check on you.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” She stares at my bare chest and then her eyes trail to my abs before they snap back up to mine. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Everything okay, Sirona? Your back door was unlocked. You know it’s not safe in this city to do that.”

“Delivery guys screwed up orders.”

She’s lying, and I know it. I hold her gaze and wait. Nothing! She wants me to buy her story. I don’t but she doesn’t need to know that.

“Shame. When are they coming to make it right?”

She fumbles over her words before becoming defiant.

“I told them to fix it immediately.”

She’s still lying but I can’t do anything about that now.

“Well, so long as you’re good… I’ll be on my way. Have a good day.”

I pivot and slide my glasses back on and hit the bar on the back door to exit. My sunglasses fog up immediately when I hit the humid air and start my run on pace again.

I still feel like shit. The churning in my gut steps up a notch as does the slow thudding in my head. But to add to it, I know two things. One, Henry is messed up in some bad shit, and two, Sirona is lying about her involvement.

Fourteen

Ihave UberEats deliver lunch from Camellia Grill, a greasy spoon and Big Easy staple. It’s been a New Orleans icon and a local hangover cure since the forties.

I get the turkey, bacon, and corned beef sandwich and an order of their breakfast hash browns. I’ll surely regret this tomorrow, but today, it’s delicious. Besides, the smell of alcohol oozing from my pores is enough to gag me. Might as well experience the trifecta.

I chug as much water as I can during the day to flush away the bad decisions I’ve been making. It doesn’t work, but my head no longer pounds.

I fix a salad and tuna steak for dinner. It’s a simple meal, but healthy, and I grab a book off my shelf and settle into the red chair. Stephen King never misses the mark and his twisted mind is a great place to visit, though I’m sure I wouldn’t want to live there.

I’m sucked intoBag of Bonesand Mike Noonan’s venture to Sara Laughs when my cell phone ringing interrupts.

“Hello?”

“Is this Father O’Ryan?”

“Yes. May I help you?”

“This is Sergeant Cox with the New Orleans Police Department. I have a detainee who requested you be their one phone call.”

My pause must herald his confusion because he begins again before I can reply.

“Henry Tremaine said you would post bail for his B&E.”

“Henry? Yes, of course. Where is he?”