“Well, I suppose we can rule you and your wine out, but I do have a question,” Destiny said. “The night Martin took the poor box, do you recall if any glass was broken? Before he became violent.”
Father Mulligan frowned. “How strange you should ask that. I spoke with Tim and he told me that he had given Martin medicine, and the glass of water dropped onto the floor as Martin handed it back. Tim said Martin just stared at the slivers of glass, shoved Tim out of his way and left their apartment. Evidently, Martin came straight here to the church.”
“Has Martin ever used the little clinic, the one just down from Mary Ann’s office?”
“Yes. There’s a doctor who comes twice a month. He’s noted for being brilliant in pain management. Martin was in a terrible accident a couple of years ago, shattered all kinds of bones and twisted his back. He had been going to the doctor for help, and it seemed to be working. But Tim said they had some kind of falling-out and Martin decided not to go back. It was too bad, because his pain was under control.”
“Do you have any idea what the falling-out was over?” Destiny asked. Seeing the priest hesitate, she continued. “I wouldn’t ask, but I think the doctor may be involved in all of this in some way. The more information I have, the easier it will be to solve the entire mess.”
“It had to do with their business. Tim and Martin are planning a community for older citizens. They are trying to make it unique and safe and yet affordable. A great deal of money is involved. The doctor wanted to be added to the staff for a high consultant salary. Martin overheard him treating an elderly patient and thought his manner impatient and insulting. I heard several complaints about his treatment of the elderly, and when Martin asked me my opinion, I told him what some of my parishioners had said.”
“So at his next session with the doctor, Martin probably told him politely they would pass on his services,” Destiny mused.
“I don’t want to give you the wrong impression,” Father Mulligan said. “The doctor may not be very good with the elderly, but he’s helped others tremendously. I know he visits poor little Blythe Madison on a regular basis. I’ve seen him leaving when I go to see her.”
“Is Blythe an attractive woman?” Nicolae asked.
“Strikingly so,” Father Mulligan answered readily.
“Just as Helena is,” Destiny pointed out. “Is Harry as crazy about his wife as everyone claims he is?”
“Absolutely,” Father Mulligan said. “He’s devastated. Not a single day goes by that he doesn’t visit her at the hospital. He’s begged her to come home to him, but he says she’s become even more withdrawn.”
“Perhaps we should pay him a quiet visit,” Nicolae suggested. He held up his hand when Father Mulligan might have protested. “Do not worry, he will not even know we were there.”
“Thank you for taking care of Sam, Father,” Destiny said. “I’m sorry I had to turn him over to you.”
“I don’t mind. Nicolae helped the social workers see things my way, so I think we have Sam’s future well taken care of, including a trust fund that Nicolae set up for him. The couple who want him are wonderful people, and we’re cutting through the red tape nicely.”
Nicolae. It always came back to him. His thoughtfulness. His attention to detail. For some reason, the thought made Destiny blush wildly and she had to duck her head to conceal her thoughts from the priest. There was no concealing them from Nicolae.
Details are important, he agreed in his black velvet voice, implying all sorts of things. Lightning is going to strike you if you keep that up in front of a holy man. Let us go where I am much safer, then. But first we must stop by The Tavern.
Destiny murmured a goodbye to the priest, brushed back Sam’s hair once more and started for the door.
“Go out the same way you came in,” Father Mulligan pleaded. “Just one more time, for me.”
Destiny glanced at Nicolae, who raised an eyebrow at her. His lips twitched with suppressed laughter. Together they melted into vapor, then rushed out beneath the small crack in the door while the priest laughed delightedly.
Harry had already closed The Tavern and had climbed the stairs to his apartment above the bar when they arrived. He was slumped in a chair with a framed photo in his hands, his forehead resting on the glass. He sat there unmoving, clutching the picture of his wife. The sight of him sitting so alone and unhappy wrenched at Destiny’s heart.
We
will fix this, Destiny. Now that we know what Blythe looks like, we can find her. I feel as if we are very close to solving this mystery. The doctor is very much involved in these attacks.