Costly Grace

From the hardcover dust jacket: BRIAN KANE relishes his stability: a job teaching writing at Newman College; a new love, research librarian Maria Valencia; and the prospect of a second published novel. When he reports Catholic priest Michael Mc- Coy missing and then the priest’s murdered body is found in the Mississippi River, Kane becomes a suspect. Mentored by the dead priest in his youth, Kane enlists a wary Maria as his sleuthing sidekick to clear his name and find the killer. Soon the pair uncovers information that points to Mc- Coy’s involvement in the sexual abuse scandal in the Church. Kane can’t imagine McCoy as a sex abuser, let alone envision who would kill a man of the cloth. After Kane annoys Church officials with his probing, his college dean warns Kane to tread lightly or else lose his job. The sheriff chafes at his amateur meddling. Even Maria finds fault with her lover’s methods. But Kane is persistent and soon several suspects with motives for murder emerge. With progress comes peril: Kane is blithely naive of the dangers ahead that threaten all he holds dear. Chapter 1 “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing? You’re a teacher, for God’s sake, not a cop. It’s lunacy.” The choices of words, emotion, even the flush face was familiar to me. Protestations in my defense would be useless. So I sat stone-faced, resigned. I figured that soon the fateful words, “Clean out your desk, you’re fired,” would spew from Kevin Lattimore’s lips, and I would stay drunk for a week. Kevin slapped his desk and said, “Are you listening to me, Kane?” “You’re coming through loud and clear, Dean Lattimore.” “Good.” He leaned back in his high-back executive’s chair and clasped his hands behind his head. “Let’s try to work something out if we can. Let’s be reasonable here.” I supposed Kevin became academic dean at Newman College by plodding down a path of accommodation and compliance with his superiors.That wasn’t my style. I could be reasonable, but I could also be stubborn. I abhorred ultimatums. “I’m agreeable,” I said. “Here’s the situation.” Kevin took a deep breath. “President O’Dell received a call from someone at the diocese asking about you; they were annoyed. You asked a lot of questions about Father McCoy. Is that true?” “That I annoyed them? I don’t know, apparently I did.” “Cute. Cut the crap, Kane.” “I thought my questions were simple, straightforward, the kind of things anyone writing a biography of Michael McCoy would ask his employers.” McCoy had mentored me twenty-odd years ago when I was a student at Newman, and my curiosity about his death required answers. This gave Lattimore pause. “So … let me get this straight.… You intend to write a book about McCoy?” I nodded. “Actually, I thought I would begin by doing a short profi le, something for the alumni magazine. Some of McCoy’s former students are successful enough by now to send a few checks in his memory.” President O’Dell spoke greenback fluently, and my con might work. “All right,” Kevin said, leaning forward, “I will tell O’Dell of your intentions and that you will apologize to whomever you off ended. Agreed?” The whole scene was as phony as a twenty-three-dollar bill. Kevin had to placate O’Dell, who had to bow down to some cleric with bruised sensibilities. Five years ago I would have spit in his face and headed for a bar. But more was at stake now. I had settled in, mellowed, and had a renewed teaching contract. Then there was Maria—our relationship a precious pearl. “I’ll get a note off to the good chancellor right away,” I said. If I remembered. Kevin stood, plastered a theatrical smile across his face, and reached out his hand to shake. “Excellent. Watch your step.” I stepped onto the empty quad in front of the administration building and luxuriated in the penetrating May sunshine. A few rising cumulus clouds dotted the sky, some dark enough to suggest a storm was brewing. I had dodged the ax—for now. Fr. Michael McCoy was not only dead, he was murdered dead. O’Dell and Lattimore knew as much; it would be a disaster if they discovered I was the prime suspect.