Coldwater Revenge by James Ross (best e reader for android .txt) 📕

who serve such troubled people no doubt have complaint files a lot thicker than the ones for their peers in insurance defense.”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Dolan.

“But you see the sense of it.”

Dolan shrugged.

“I don’t have Bishop Mczynski’s gift for fund-raising,” Gauss persisted. “My specialty is counseling troubled teenagers. They come with problems, not cash; and their problems aren’t spiritual. Their lives are messed-up. They come from broken homes. They’re depressed or schizophrenic, but their families don’t believe in mental illness and refuse to get them treatment. Or they’re gay and trying to come to terms with that in a church that labels them sinners.”

“You said you had a point,” Dolan interrupted, visibly uncomfortable with being on the receiving end of an interrogation.

“And I think you get it,” said Gauss. “Priest or attorney: a file like the one you just drooled through is about what you’d expect of a professional who’s been working with troubled minds for thirty years.”

The young lawyer looked away.

“Look,” Gauss pressed, “I hope you find the misfits you’re after. They’re there, and they’re probably more of them than the Bishop wants to know about. But there should be some integrity to the process, don’t you think? There aren’t many of us left in the vineyard, and we’re getting old. Harassing old plow horses on their way to the glue factory isn’t just wrong, it’s pointless. If you’ve done more than a few of these investigations, you must know that by now.”

The young attorney’s expression had not changed, but Gauss could sense that his point had at least grazed the untested armor.

“And how would you go about finding these… misfits?” Dolan sniffed.

“I’d start with Bishop Mczynski,” said Gauss. “There’s a first-class mind behind all that glad handing and baby kissing. Not much gets by him, and he’s the one who keeps the report cards around here.”

“I’ve spoken with His Eminence. He’s the one who directed me to you.”

Gauss’s mind paused, but his tongue kept moving. “Then if I were you, and investigation was my specialty… then I might ask myself why?” Dolan pressed his fingers together as if he were about to respond, and touched them to his mouth as if to signal himself not to. “Have you been to the seminary yet?” Gauss pressed. “Have you talked to some of the delicate young men they’re taking in there these days?”

Dolan shook his head. Gauss’ eyes shone like Paul’s on the road to Damascus. “Ha! I get it. The seminary’s off limits, isn’t it?” When the lawyer still said nothing, Gauss took it as an admission. “Then your investigation is a fraud, Counselor. It’s not going anywhere, and it’s not meant to.”

Dolan’s lips buckled at the corners. “I wouldn’t count on that, Father Gauss.”

CHAPTER 11

Joe made it home in time for dessert, then apologized that he had to leave again. The girls pleaded for him to stay. “We’re practicing for a play! You have to hear our lines.”

“Your father’s got a job to do,” said Mary.

Bonnie stood to clear the table.

“Sorry girls. I’ll be back before bedtime.” Joe motioned for Tom to join him outside, where the sound of dishes crashing like percussion instruments was muffled. “Did you find out where that priest friend of yours was on Saturday night? Or where he says he was?”

“Quote ‘On my knees praying for skirt chasers in Smokey the Bear hats’ unquote. That would be Bonnie’s skirt, right? PDA in the back pew?”

“Knock it off, Tommy. He wouldn’t say where he was?”

“I don’t know about wouldn’t. He didn’t and I didn’t press. He pulled me up short with that skirt chaser line. Is everything okay with you and Bonnie? I’m sensing a certain tension.”

Joe sighed. “Bonnie’s pissed about the no help, no time off drill, that’s all. I’ve got to get back to the Grange Hall to deal with the troopers from DuBois who want in on the Billy Pearce investigation.”

“Good. You need help.”

“Don’t be naive, Tommy. They don’t want to help. They want to take over. No one in Coldwater is going to talk to an outsider. They know that. But they’ve got Paulie Grogan, my former deputy, with them now and they think that’s going to make a difference.”

“Joe…”

“Tommy, I’ve got to go. Don’t worry about the skirt chaser crack. People say all sorts of things to priests just to stir the pot.”

* * *

Tom escaped in Joe’s truck after everyone had gone to bed, intending to unwind from an eventful day by revisiting the watering holes of his youth. Instead, and within minutes, he found himself idling at the columned gates of the private drive leading to the Pearce estate. The question that buzzed in his head was one of those that are answered just by being asked. “What are you doing here?”

The main house was a three story, double winged Adirondack chateau with acres of slate roof, miles of copper gutter and sweeping lawns that undulated in triple terraces down to the edge of Coldwater Lake. How many times had Tom driven his clapped-out VW Beetle up that long, tree-lined driveway, never entirely certain if the rickety car would make it to the top? On summer weekends, the house would be ablaze with lights, like a small European hotel at holiday time. Music would drift gently from the piano room, and guests would stroll the lawns amidst the sounds of tennis balls being thwacked smartly under outdoor illumination. Weekdays, there would be a glow from the kitchen wing when Tom brought Susan home from their date, or if Dr. Pearce were up late, a single shaded lamp glowing from behind the six-paned glass of his study.

Tonight the house was dark. Tom leaned out the truck window to look for signs of occupancy. But all he saw was darkness and all he heard were crickets. Leaving the truck in front of the house, he followed a brick path through the hemlocks and around the kitchen wing to the back. No lights shown from