Applaud the Hollow Ghost by David J. Walker Read Free Book Online Page A

went to her room to talk on the phone and when her father was late she was bored and decided to walk home. But she would never do such a thing. She is very bright, and a good child. She would not have left her uncle’s house without a reason.”
    â€œAre you telling me…”
    â€œIn my heart I know it was not this Lambert. It was … it must have been Dominic who did this. The child’s uncle. The husband of my other daughter, Tina.”
    â€œYou’ve got to tell Steve.”
    â€œSteven and Dominic have become close over the years. Even so, he would kill Dominic if he knew the truth. But if I even hint that it was not this Lambert, Steven becomes enraged. His mind is made up. He cannot accept something different. He is a man unable to look deeply into anything. He has filled his soul with hatred for that boy, and his mind will never change now, no matter what. This man, Steven, I warned my poor daughter not to marry him. He drank too much even then. He is a man of cruelty and violence, which gets worse as he gets older. He is Irish—not one of us—but he is so much like Dominic, it is as though they were brothers—brothers in evil.”
    â€œBut if you won’t speak out, why are you telling me all this?”
    â€œI must protect my grandchild. But I do not wish to be responsible, before God, that something terrible happens to an innocent one. So, as I must protect Trish, you must protect this Lambert.”
    â€œBut that means he has to beat the charge. You know that. If he goes to jail, they’ll kill him in there, or worse.”
    â€œI understand. But even to win the case will not be enough. Steven is nearly insane with anger at this Lambert. I have learned that my brother Gustavo will prevent him from acting until—”
    â€œGustavo? Your brother? You mean—”
    â€œGustavo Apprezziano. He brings me shame, but he is my brother. He will hold Steven back until the court case is over. But then…”
    â€œThen what?”
    â€œThen, if this Lambert is not convicted, Steven Connolly will kill him—or worse, as you say.”
    â€œJesus Christ, I—”
    â€œQuiet!”
    â€œSorry, it’s a holy—”
    â€œNo. Listen.” She paused. “The rosary is almost over. I must go now or my friends will see me.”
    â€œWait. There’s something else I need to know.” But she was gone.
    A moment later, the praying from the front of the church had stopped. I could hear people moving down the center aisle, pushing through the doors. Footsteps were even coming down the side aisle. As soon as I was sure they were all gone, I’d—
    The rustle of clothing—soft, but unmistakably coming through the grate beside my ear. Then harsh, labored breathing.
    My own breath froze in my chest.
    â€œBenedite mi, Padre.” The voice of another woman, probably older than Rosa.
    â€œPlease, I…”
    â€œPadre, parli Italiano?”
    â€œUh … Si, si, ” I lied, hoping to keep her where she was.
    â€œAh, buono. Ho peccato, Padre.”
    I stood up, still not daring to breathe.
    â€œSono passati due mesi dalla mia ultima confes—”
    I slipped silently through the curtain and out of Our Lady of Ravenna.
    Driving away, I passed four women in black, headed home from Mass. Women walking carefully, avoiding the slippery spots, gesturing, shaking their heads. One of them may have been Rosa. There was no way to tell.
    Too bad, because there was a question remaining, something I needed to know. Who had told Rosa who I was, and that I was helping Lammy? If I was guessing right, it was the woman who’d called during the night and set up my meeting with Rosa, a woman whose voice had a hard veneer of bitterness and cynicism that couldn’t cover up its underlying soft southern drawl.
    And, while I was at it, I’d guess that the woman—whoever she was—had a fondness for