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Peter knelt at the candles until he heard the confessional door open. He then stood, turned, and faced Father Morales. “I’m ready to see Annie.”
The priest said, “As I said, I don’t know when or if she will come.”
“You know how to reach her.”
“She is aware that you want her to return.”
“Then you’ll call her.”
“I don’t feel comfortable putting pressure on her. Let’s go to the rectory and talk.”
Was he playing a game? Why did he want to leave? Why did he look nervous?
“Call her. Right here, right now.”
“I don’t have my cell phone.”
Peter pulled out his phone.
“I don’t know the number from memory. Mr. Carillo, please, I’ll make us some coffee and we can discuss steps to take to repair your marriage. I believe in the Sacrament of Marriage. I detest divorce, and have worked with couples to save their marriages when it’s possible. Let me help you.”
Sixty
Margo Angelhart
“How long is he going to be in there?” I hated this new plan. It put Uncle Rafe right in the path of danger. The Kevlar wouldn’t protect him against a head shot.
I hadn’t really liked the old plan, either, but we had a lot more control in the rectory.
I had Jack on speaker while I sat in Uncle Rafe’s car on the far side of the church, my Jeep parked next to Jack’s truck two blocks away. “What if Uncle Rafe can’t get him to the rectory? What if he suspects something?”
I wasn’t usually so jumpy, but this was my uncle. Someone who abhorred violence, who was compassionate and kind and sometimes I thought I saw a halo over his head during Mass.
“Have faith.”
“Really? You’re pulling the faith card on me? God helps those who help themselves. And yet we’re trusting Uncle Rafe’s life to an abusive rapist.”
I took a deep breath. What Jack really meant was to calm down, and so I forced myself to calm. Deep breath in, hold it, breathe out slowly. Repeat. I could practically feel my heart rate drop by the third deep breath.
“The door’s opening,” I said. “Okay. Uncle Rafe’s walking with him toward the rectory. I’m calling Sullivan.”
I ended the call with Jack and called Detective Sullivan.
He didn’t answer his phone.
I was perplexed; I hadn’t considered that he wouldn’t be reachable. Rick had confirmed that he was on duty until six, which was one reason we planned this time.
I left a message. “This is Margo Angelhart, we spoke the other day about Annie Carillo. I am worried that her husband is following me. My uncle is a priest at St. Dominic’s, and Carillo is here. Please call me back. I’m scared.” I didn’t sound scared, I sounded angry. But he didn’t know me, so I thought it might pass as fear. I rattled off my number and the address of the church.
I texted Jack the status and watched as Carillo and Uncle Rafe walked toward the rectory. I didn’t like Carillo’s body language. He seemed...suspicious. Had he seen me, this far away? I didn’t think so, not from this angle, but I could be wrong.
Had he cased the neighborhood, seen my Jeep? Maybe.
They stopped walking and Carillo said something to Uncle Rafe. They stared at each other. I couldn’t read lips this far away. Something was definitely wrong.
Suddenly, Uncle Rafe turned with Carillo and walked toward Carillo’s minivan.
No, no this wasn’t in the plan—what was Uncle Rafe doing?
