Doppelgangster - Laura Resnick [112]
As I had noticed once before, many of the women here seemed to be dressed for a hot date rather than for church. Their eyes followed the handsome priest with enthralled interest, and a number of them were openly competing for his attention.
How ironic that a man with such sex appeal had chosen a celibate vocation. I was glad that Lopez hadn’t done the same, even though his being a cop was, once again, proving to be very inconvenient. As well as dangerous.
As I watched Father Gabriel deflecting subtle and not so subtle advances from these women with courteous skill, I wondered at the level of spiritual commitment that had led him away from the temptations of the opposite sex and the pleasures of marriage to dedicate himself to a solitary life of worship and devotion.
Realizing I was hungry, I crossed the room to examine the selection of cakes and little sandwiches that had been provided for the attendees. I was perusing the food with interest when my cell phone rang. The caller was Lucky.
“Hello?”
“Hey, you was supposed to warn us if she left the church,” he snapped at me. “What gives? Did she never show up there, or something?”
“Huh?”
“We were only in her place for maybe ten minutes when she walked in on us,” Lucky said angrily.
“What?”
“Talk about embarrassing. Max did his best to talk our way out of it, but I won’t be surprised if she calls the cops and files a complaint. She was real mad.”
I felt my eyes grow wide with horror as I stared at the widow, who stood about fifteen feet away from me. “You . . . you . . . she . . .”
“Anyhow, the job is done. Her apartment is tiny. She ain’t makin’ any doppelgangsters there unless they’re the size of mice. We were practically finished lookin’ around anyhow, when Elena walked in on us.”
“Lucky,” I choked out.
“So you and Max better be satisfied now is all I’m sayin’ about it.”
I turned toward the corner and covered my mouth so I wouldn’t be overheard. “Lucky, she’s here.”
“Who’s where?”
“The widow,” I said, keeping my voice lowered. “I’m at St. Monica’s. She’s here.”
There was a pause. “No, she’s not. I just left her in her apartment about thirty seconds ago.”
“She’s here, I tell you!” I stiffened when I saw someone glance at me. I mustn’t attract attention. In particular, I mustn’t attract her attention.
I looked cautiously over my shoulder. I saw her pouring herself a cup of coffee. “I’m looking at her right now.” Trying to keep my voice steady, I repeated, “Right now.”
He sucked in a sharp gasp of breath. “Holy shit.”
I heard him tell Max, and I heard Max’s exclamation of surprise. Then Max took the phone from Lucky and spoke to me.
“You’re still at St. Monica’s?” he asked.
“Yes. Where are you?”
“Right outside the widow’s apartment building.”
“You just saw her?” I asked, wanting to be absolutely sure. “Just now?”
“Only moments ago.”
“Holy shit,” I said.
An older lady standing nearby flinched at my language, then moved quickly away from me.
“You’re looking at her right now?” Max asked. “This moment?”
“Yep.”
“Have you got your knife with you? The one that Lucky gave you yesterday?”
I realized what he was about to suggest. I turned back to the corner, covered my mouth, and said as quietly as possible, “Max, I can’t do that! There are lots of people here.”
Unfortunately, Max had left Nelli at home. Since we thought Elena was the killer, it hadn’t occurred to us that we might have to identify her doppelgangster today. And Nelli wasn’t exactly an inconspicuous companion to take along for the stealthy search of a city apartment.
“Given the