Dead Wrong by William X. Kienzle Read Free Book Online Page B

across from what had been the Stratford Movie Theater. They might just as well have been brother and sisters as cousins.
    Yet, as close as they had been as children, now they treated a visit from their priest relative as if Moses were coming down from Mount Sinai with the Ten Commandments. And they treated him not as the kid with whom they’d grown up, but as some sort of cultic abstraction.
    As far as she was concerned, she liked Bob Koesler—Father Bob. He had helped to get her the job with the archdiocese. That was more important than he realized.
    The snoring had stopped. There were sounds of stretching movements. Ted was coming around.
    Without turning, she knew he was standing in the kitchen doorway looking at her.
    “You know something?” The slur in his pronunciation was gone. “I couldn’t live without you.”
    “That’s nice.” She smiled. It was true: He couldn’t live without her.

C H A P T E R

    5
    T RAVELING SOUTH , a motorist would ordinarily take Interstate 75. However, this was weekday rush-hour traffic, so Father Koesler chose the alternate and ancient route of Jefferson Avenue. The traffic was not nearly as clogged as that on the freeway, the traffic lights were favorable, and it was the shortest distance between two points.
    The two points were downtown Detroit, where Koesler lived, and Grosse Ile, where Eileen Monahan lived and where the birthday party for Oona Monahan was to be held.
    Via Jefferson, he would drive through the heart of River Rouge, Ecorse, Lincoln Park, Wyandotte, Riverview, and Trenton. All old cities and all known by Detroit-area natives as “downriver.” All bordered on the Detroit River as it flowed toward Lake Erie, the next in the chain of the Great Lakes.
    Grosse Ile, an island just east of Trenton, was connected to the mainland by two bridges. In addition to mostly beautiful homes with plenty of lawn, the island also boasted a naval air station and a Catholic parish, Sacred Heart, coveted by many priests as a haven for virtually early retirement as well as for the access it provided to a fine golf course.
    Eileen had lived on Grosse Ile almost as long as Koesler’s memory stretched. Her home fronted on the river, across which lay Amherstburg, Canada. The house rested on the water’s edge. Its rectangular lot ran almost forty yards back to the road. Over the years, the property had been guarded by a series of dogs, with none of whom had Koesler been able to make friends.
    On his first visit to Eileen’s home many years ago, Koesler had pulled up at the garage displaying the numbered address. A high metal fence delineated the property. Koesler had wondered how to announce his presence; there was no sign of a doorbell. He had rattled the fence; instantly, a small but loudmouthed spaniel mix had hurled himself at Koesler as if the fence weren’t there. The dog, Koesler had reasoned correctly, was the doorbell.
    Eileen had appeared shortly after the dog announced Koesler’s arrival. She was distressed that the animal was making such a commotion. Assuring him that the dog did not bite, she opened the gate. Instantly, the animal dove for Koesler’s ankle. But before it could strike, Eileen scooped it up, whapped it across the snout, and admonished, “That’s Father Bob!”
    The spaniel proved to be the first in a series of anticlerical dogs owned by Eileen. Once it was established that, for whatever reason, there would be enmity between Koesler and Eileen’s sentinels, she routinely locked them away when her cousin was expected.
    Trenton. Almost there.
    Koesler thought again on what awaited him. He considered this type of family reunion more a duty than a pleasure. But since he was conscientious in the fulfillment of duty, he nearly always attended the gatherings.
    There would be six people. There were always six. None of whom had ever married.
    He, of course, had promised a celibate, or unmarried, life. There was no other way the Church would have ordained him.