Snow Globes and Hand Grenades (13 page)

“Oh, I just started the book,” Patrick said, “It has something to do with police working hard to catch some bad guy.”

“I understand that where Dillinger is buried, his grave marker has often been stolen,” Father Ernst said, “Some people admire him. They think of him as a Robin Hood. Do you admire him?”

“Robin Hood?”

“No, Dillinger, do you admire the exciting way he broke the law and often got away with it?”

“Me? No, I hope they catch him. But please, don't tell me how it ends.”

“Do you believe the basic fact that no man can escape death? That someday we'll all have to face judgment?”

Patrick thought maybe a scientific answer to a religious question might throw him off. “I know that's one theory. But I also know a lot of our top scientists, men who can name all the planets, are working on cures all the time.”

“A cure for death?” Father Ernst said.

“You never know.”

Father Ernst shook his head and regrouped. “Tell me why you would choose to read this sort of book, a book about Public Enemy Number One, a bank robber.”

“My Dad gave it to me for Christmas.”

Detective Kurtz jumped in, cracking his knuckles and clearing his throat. “Are you in love with Mimi Maloney?”

Patrick felt his face get hot.

“You're blushing kid,” Detective Kurtz said, “is that why you raised your hand, to protect her? Did she do it?”

“No, I don't think she did.”

“So, why'd you raise your hand?”

Patrick told him the truth. “Because Tony's girlfriend broke up with him and his dog died.”

Detective Kurtz and Father Ernst looked at each other.

“Tony was the second kid who raised his hand. Why did he raise his hand?” Kurtz asked.

“I don't know.”

“Did he do it?”

Patrick laughed, a big fake laugh as loud as he could. Then he gulped some air down. “No, it wasn't Tony, believe me, if Tony did it I think I would know. Besides, he's very religious.”

This seemed to interest Father Ernst. “What makes you say he's religious?”

“Oh, lots of things. Mostly, I guess, we were altar boys together, me and Tony, and he always got there on time, even for 6:30 Mass.”

“Are you both still altar boys?”

“No, we moved on. I mean, they like to bring in some fresh talent.”

“I see, well, how do you think the snow globe got up there in Mary's hand?” Father Ernst asked.

Patrick got set in his chair for the big lie. He wanted to look a little nervous to go with what he was about to say, but also he wanted to make sure he started right to look not too eager to say his theory. “I don't know if it's right for me to tell.”

“Tell, what?” Detective Kurtz said, “Do you know who did it or not?”

“I know who did it.”

Father Ernst and Detective Kurtz leaned forward. The room was crackling with anticipation. Finally a lead was about to emerge from a morning of fairy tales. Patrick could hear Father Ernst moving his tongue around in his mouth, like he was starving and somebody brought him a toasted sandwich jabbed with toothpicks and olives. Detective Kurtz started drumming his fingernails on the desktop with a snare-drum tension leading up to Patrick's answer.

“It was Father Maligan.”

The investigators both reared back in disbelief. “Father Maligan? The old priest? What are you saying?” Detective Kurtz said smirking.

“How in heaven's name could this be possible?” Father Ernst said.

Patrick lowered his voice to a kind of secret fort whisper, so no one else in the world would be in on the secret except the three of them in the room.

“Well, here's what I know. Along about Holy Week, maybe it was that day they wash your feet—”

“Holy Thursday?” Father Ernst said.

“That's right, it was on a Thursday. They had all of in class go over to the church for confession. Miss Kleinschmidt was with us and she went in
first. She went in to tell her sins to Father Maligan. Now, I shouldn't say this, because it's probably wrong, but some of us near the door were listening to hear what she might say.”

“Did you hear anything?” Detective Kurtz asked.

“Not right away. She was in there telling her sins real quiet and nobody knew what they were, except Father Maligan, because—”

Father Ernst bucked back and held up his open palm. “Please stop! Stop this very instant … if you intend to reveal to us any of Miss Kleinschmidt's sins you overheard. It is against my vows to even talk of such things.” He rubbed his face with his hand like a man whose vows were always after him.

Patrick looked at Detective Kurtz then back at Father Ernst. “OK, I won't tell you any of her sins, because really we couldn't hear any verbs. But we did hear her whispering away with her cigarette voice. She smokes quite a lot and sucks down coffee like a kitchen sink, so her voice kind of scratches your ears even when you can't hear the words.”

“Get to the point,” Detective Kurtz said.

“All of a sudden,” Patrick whispered, “Father Maligan said to her, loud enough for everyone to hear it, ‘WHAT DID YOU DO
THAT
FOR?'”

Patrick leaned back, satisfied with his story so far.

“I don't see what any of this has to do with the snow globe,” Father Ernst said winding his watch impatiently.

“It has to do with how she got real mad at him, telling him, ‘
Shhhhhhh
.' And then he said back to her, ‘Do you want people to think you're a lush?' I asked Tony about that and he said that's somebody who gets drunk a lot. He's got an uncle—”

“Everybody's got an uncle, kid, but what does this have to do with the snow globe?” Detective Kurtz said.

Patrick drew a breath to make it sound awful. It was true, but he wanted to make it sound bad enough that Father Maligan might have put the snow globe in Mary's hand. “Well, then, we heard Miss Kleinschmidt say to him, real loud and bossy, ‘I don't know why I even came to you. Everyone knows about you and your best friend, Jim Beam!' After that, she came out the door and went outside to smoke a cigarette and never did come back in to get her feet washed. And nobody would go to Father Maligan for confession, so he came out after a while, head down, and went back to the priest house. He was real sad. Everyone felt sorry for him.”

“That's an interesting story, if it's true,” Detective Kurtz said, “but are you saying that would make this old priest sneak into her classroom and—”

“He does have keys to the school.”

“But why, pray tell, would he take Miss Kleinschmidt's snow globe and put it in Mary's hand?” Father Ernst asked. “What good would that do him?”

Patrick hadn't thought of that, so he nodded with chin in hand. “I don't know. Maybe just to get her in trouble for not keeping her desk decorations off the church roof.”

Detective Kurtz groaned and pushed his chair back to stretch his legs. “OK, that's all for now,” he said.

Patrick thanked them and got up to leave when Detective Kurtz threw out one last question. “What do you know about Richard Nixon?”

“Nixon?” Patrick thought of the Nixon mask he wore during the mailman robbery and his face got hot again. “He's in some kind of trouble, I heard, but I don't follow the news. It's too depressing.” Detective Kurtz noticed him blush and picked up his pencil. Patrick nodded goodbye and opened the door and left. Detective Kurtz put a star by Patrick's name and wrote “mailman robber.”

MONSIGNOR O'DAY was alone in his room, practicing his tap dance number for the Mary Queen of Our Hearts Spring Follies. This year's musical, which O'Day had written himself, was about an Irish priest who prevents World War III by tap dancing before the United Nations. Kitchen calendars across the parish were marked for the event, because he had worked it into all his recent sermons. The show was an annual fundraiser in the gym with a cash bar and two intermissions, an evening of song and dance featuring Monsignor and the Mothers' Club volunteers.

Looking out his bedroom window while he danced, O'Day could see the rain falling on the empty blacktop playground. A reading lamp on his desk made the gold frame shine around a photograph of his late mother. She had white hair in a bun and smiling eyes that seemed to be watching her son's dance routine. With brisk footwork between the bookcase and the bed, Monsignor attempted a George M. Cohan kick off the wall.

He fell on the floor with a loud thud.

Before he could get up, there was a knock at the door.

“Are you all right in there?” It was Gerty the housekeeper wiping her hands on an apron and leaning into the door to hear if he was dying.

“I'm OK,” O'Day said lying on the floor, “What is it?”

“You have a visitor,” Gerty said.

He got up and put on his regular priest shoes and his black sports coat
and went into the living room. Sitting on the edge of a green sofa in the sunken pit living room was a man who looked familiar. He wore a long blue raincoat, wet on the shoulders after walking in the rain from the car with no umbrella. His face was tired and he looked down at the rug. Monsignor O'Day couldn't remember who he was.

Mickey Riley was a former usher who had left the parish six years ago. Now, without warning, he was back to confess his sins and turn himself in. He stood up and they shook hands. Monsignor O'Day offered to take his coat. “I won't stay long,” he said, “I don't deserve to take up your time.” Monsignor sat down on the recliner next to him and tossed a TV guide with the Waltons smiling on the cover onto the end table next to a black telephone. They were alone. The room was lit by picture windows facing the prayer garden where Father Maligan practiced his nine iron shots on sunny days. But today the rain was falling on the window glass and the garden was empty and the room was dim and quiet. Above the stone fireplace was a modern art crucifix of made of twisted iron. There was no fire today. It hadn't been lit for a while.

“You may not remember me, but years ago I was an usher in the balcony.”

“Ah! I remember you now. Mickey Riley, right?”

“Yes, that's right, Monsignor.”

“How you been?”

“Well, not good. I'm here on a very grave matter.

“Is someone sick?”

“No.”

“What is it?”

Riley rubbed his hands together and drew a big breath. “I want to turn myself in for what I did wrong. I was driving by the church looking for a sign for what to do and when I saw the police car out there—”

“Police car? Oh, that. Yes, we've had some trouble at the school.”

“Well, maybe it's a sign, because when I saw that car, I knew I had to come admit to the crime.”

Monsignor O'Day's eyes widened. He leaned forward and put his hand on Riley's shoulder.

“Was it you who put the snow globe up there?”

“I'm sorry, Monsignor, what?”

“Never mind,” he said settling back. “What was it you wanted to confess?”

Riley started in on his sins, about how he used to be a good parishioner going to Mass with his wife, but then he bought a boat, a fourteen-foot long boat with an enclosed cabin. He kept it up at Alton harbor.

“Sounds like a lot of fun,” Monsignor O'Day said.

“Well, it was at first, but boats are expensive.” Riley explained how one Sunday when he was passing the collection basket in the balcony he realized he didn't have any money to fill up the boat that afternoon, so he borrowed a twenty-dollar bill from the basket. “I put it in my pocket when no one was looking as I was coming down the staircase from the balcony.”

“So, the old balcony stair case trick?”

“What?”

“You're probably not the first one. But it was just a twenty, don't feel bad.”

Riley cracked his knuckles and scratched his nose. “It wasn't just that one twenty. It was lots of twenties, and tens, and fives.” He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Monsignor O'Day. “I added it up to be about $600 worth of stolen cash over the years.” He started crying. Monsignor O'Day looked at the envelope, which was quite wrinkled from being gripped with anguish. “I sold the boat. Now, I want you to call the police and turn me in,” Riley said pointing to the phone. “I'll give the police a statement.”

Monsignor O'Day picked up the phone. He dialed the number. “Hello, Gerty, what's for lunch?” He cupped the phone and turned to Riley. “She's making grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup. Is that okay?”

Riley nodded with his mouth open.

“Okay, Gerty, please make an extra lunch for our visitor, Mr. Riley. He's come to rejoin the parish.” Riley took off his coat and followed Monsignor O'Day down a hallway.

For lunch they went into the dining room where Father Maligan was already seated slurping soup above a white-laced tablecloth. Monsignor O'Day didn't say anything to Maligan about Riley's confession. The three men talked about spring and baseball and what it would be like to be young again. “Those kids at the school here have it easy,” Maligan said wolfing down his grilled cheese. “They've got nothing on their minds but having fun.”

After lunch Monsignor O'Day walked Riley to the door to say goodbye. “Your sins are forgiven, but I haven't given you your penance yet.”

“Anything, what is it?”

“Here.” Monsignor O'Day gave him back the envelope full of money
and told him to take his wife on a summer trip. “Maybe go down to the Ozarks, take her out to dinner, go dancing on one of those lakeside pavilions with the Japanese lanterns. You like dancing?”

“Edna does, but I'm not any good.”

“Oh, I almost forgot, here, for you and Edna.” He gave him two free tickets to the Spring Follies and told him the plot was about an Irish priest who prevents World War III by being such a good dancer. Then Monsignor O'Day did a little bit of his dance routine, but not enough to give away the show. Riley put the tickets in his pocket and hugged him. Monsignor O'Day shut the door and went back to his room and sat on his bed to switch back into his tap dance shoes to practice some more. Through the rain-drenched window, he noticed Riley dancing across a puddle to his car.