Page 77 of Priestly Sins

Me:The fuck?

“Sorry for the late call! What the fuck?” I say in lieu of greeting.

“Sorry. What’s up your ass?”

“Fuck, man! Not you.”

“What is it?”

“The pink daisy—there was one on Sirona’s mom when they found her body. It’s a calling card.”

“What the …. Back up. What am I missing?”

“Sirona’s mom. Enzo killed her and left a pink daisy on her body. There was a white one at the threshold of the church after her funeral. I locked up and was the only one there. I assume it was left for me as a warning.”

“Damn. I had no idea.”

“Why would you? Besides, Enzo’s dead. So, what’s with this now?”

I begin pacing, lost in this new discovery.

“Missing? Yes. But dead? Where did you hear that? Reputable source?”

“Let’s just say I’m positive he didn’t leave that flower.”

“Oh-kaaaay,” he drawls. He doesn’t ask, but he knows. I read his message in his silence. He continues, “Who’s number two in his organization?”

“No clue. I can poke around a bit, but the debt Sirona ‘owed’ was to him, not to the mob.”

“Want me to ask some questions?”

I stop dead in my tracks.

“No!” My answer comes out harsh, but I don’t care. “No. Please don’t. I mean that—don’t. If from beyond the grave that man is still torturing me, I don’t need him doing the same to you. I’ll see what I can find out and keep you in the loop.”

I pause, shaking my head even though he can’t see me. “You think there are any cameras around there that would see who placed the daisy?”

“Police chief and the fire chief did so as a standard matter of business. Nothing they saw was out of the ordinary and caught their attention. We’ll settle up the insurance claims ASAP and I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks, Bobby, and, man, be smart. Something about this feels very, very wrong. I don’t like it at all.”

“You too, brother.”

We hang up and I get back on the treadmill in the cold garage to hammer out another painful two miles. I don’t feel either of them, although I certainly will tomorrow.

What the fuck is going on?

Thirty-Eight

“Congratulations, you’re a father.”

His words stop me cold. It’s just a weird adage when you haven’t, until recently, had sex and aren’t with a doctor.

“Yeah?”

“Yup! Congratulations, my friend. There are some final loose ends to tie up and it won’t be official for another eight to ten weeks. Clara’s biological father signed away his rights upon her birth and has no reason to contest it now, so the petition for adoption will go forward with no legal objections. That is always the biggest hurdle. I’ll keep you posted but now it’s just a matter of getting it onto a docket.”

I wish I could say I have eloquent words but I don’t. “Okay then,” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “So, what do you need of me?”