Doppelgangster - Laura Resnick [45]
“Now get lost,” said Lucky.
“Someday, Lucky,” Buonarotti said with a cold look, “you’ll go too far.”
“You can count on it.”
Buonarotti’s glare grew threatening. Then with a suddenness that I found chilling, he banished the look and turned a cheerful smile on me and Max. “Miss Diamond. Dr. Zadok. A pleasure to meet you both.”
As we watched Don Michael Buonarotti leave, Max murmured doubtfully, “That man comes here to pray?”
Lucky snorted. “He comes here to hit on the widow. Ever since his wife got sick of his skirt chasing and dumped him.”
“The Widow Giacalona doesn’t exactly strike me as a ‘skirt,’ ” I said.
“Of course, she ain’t! But Buonarotti wants a new wife,” Lucky said with a dark scowl. “In addition to his skirts.”
“And he’s pursuing her in church?” I said.
“I don’t question why people enter the house of God,” Father Gabriel said. “I just give thanks that they do. Especially in this neighborhood, where there has been so much bloodshed over the years. Such as the other night.” He took my hand and gazed at me with concern. “I can only imagine how distressing the events at Bella Stella must have been for you, Esther.”
Those events were worse for Charlie, obviously, but I nodded and said, “I was very upset.”
“To see a man killed in cold blood right in front of you . . .” The priest shook his head. “How dreadful for you.”
I didn’t want to keep reviewing Charlie’s murder, so I changed the subject. “Lucky says there’s a weeping saint here?”
Taking my cue, the priest smiled and gestured to the stone statue of Saint Monica. “Yes, we’re very proud of it. Of course, only Elena Giacalona has seen the saint’s tears so far. She’s very devout, you know.”
“Prays to Monica twice a day, every day, I gather,” I said.
“Elena’s life has been plagued by tragedy and loss,” the priest said sadly.
I glanced at Lucky. “Indeed.”
“She’s had three husbands,” the hit man muttered. “I only killed one.”
“All the same, Lucky, you don’t think it’s maybe a doomed courtship?” I said. “And also not in the best possible taste?”
Father Gabriel looked at the ceiling and remained tactfully silent. As did Max, whose two marriages, centuries ago, had left him with a strong preference for bachelorhood. Which was just as well, since, for mystical reasons that weren’t entirely clear to me, his vocation encouraged celibacy. Much like Father Gabriel’s vocation, I realized.
“Elena will come around,” Lucky said. “I just need to give her time. But never mind that now.” Glancing from me to Max, he said, “I got someone you need to talk to.”
“And I should prepare for vespers,” said Father Gabriel. “If you’ll excuse me?”
“Of course,” I said.
After the priest exited through a side door, Lucky took my arm. “Let’s take a walk.”
“Oh, good. We’re going to sit in the pews?” My feet hurt. I don’t usually wear high heels.
“Not this time, kid. We gotta talk in the crypt.”
“The crypt?” I tried to pull my arm out of his grasp. “I don’t want to go into the crypt. Could you possibly suggest a creepier meeting place?”
“A perfectly understandable reaction,” said Max, nodding. “An underground vault, with all the inherent fear of suffocation and smothering that such places naturally engender in mankind.”
“You’re not helping, Max,” I said.
“And there’s no denying that a crypt is a shadowy and mysterious chamber rife with negative mythology,” he added. “Not to mention the atmospheric hint of dark rituals far older than Christianity itself!”
“Nah, it’ll be fine,” said Lucky prosaically. “They got electricity down there and everything.”
“Why can’t we talk up here?” I demanded.
“Because whatever’s going on, we gotta be discreet,” said Lucky. “Or whoever’s behind this situation might figure out that we’re sniffing him out.”
Since this made a certain amount of sense to me, I sighed and agreed to go into the damn crypt.
“Watch your language,” Lucky said. “You’re in church.”
9
St. Monica’s was more than one hundred years old, but the crypt was less intimidating than I had imagined. Possibly because there were about one hundred