Pious Deception by Susan Dunlap Read Free Book Online

community work, hard labor with a shovel,” Philip said. “I could have pulled strings, but I didn’t. He needed to feel the sting of the law.”
    Kiernan moved to the dresser. The jasmine scent of Grace Vanderhooven’s perfume filled the air, as if marking off territory. Kiernan stooped and opened the lowest drawer. Sweaters, what seemed like a lifetime supply for a Phoenician. “Did he do drugs?”
    “Never. Wasn’t that kind of kid,” Vanderhooven said.
    “Alcohol?”
    “No.”
    “Are you sure?” she asked, eyeing the stained desk blotter.
    Grace whirled to face her. “Of course we’re sure. The only time Austin ever drank was on that … that lark to Mexico. He learned his lesson then.”
    If Austin Vanderhooven had had a drinking problem, keeping it hidden from parents who lived in another state would not have been difficult. Kiernan turned and glanced questioningly at Bishop Dowd, who stood by the doorway behind Vanderhooven. But Dowd seemed to have tuned out the whole scene.
    Kiernan turned back to Philip Vanderhooven. “Were you surprised when your son decided on the seminary?”
    For a few moments—long enough for her to turn back to the drawer, finger each sweater, and satisfy herself there was nothing hidden beneath or in them—there was silence. Then Grace said, “You were, weren’t you, Philip? You didn’t think Austin cared about the Church. You thought he’d be like you.” Her voice was sharp and the undertone of triumph clear.
    But Grace’s accusation must have been a slice of a well-worn battle between the couple; her words seem to fly past him unnoticed. Answering Kiernan, he said, “Kid could have been a first-rate economist. Had the makings, the temperament. But he had a mind of his own. The boy had his wild moments, boys do, but he pulled himself together. And I’ll tell you, Miss O’Shaughnessy, he approached the priesthood as he would a business. He told me he could make a difference there, with his background. He knew their resources were invested poorly. He wanted to be with an institution that stood for something; he knew he could contribute.”
    So Philip Vanderhooven still saw his son as what he had wanted him to become, an economist, but one working within the Catholic Church. Kiernan opened the middle drawer—underwear, plain white jockey shorts, plain tank shirts, plain white socks, and to one side, six pairs of black nylon socks. She looked over at Grace beside her as she too eyed the drawer. “Were you surprised?”
    “Yes.”
    “What had you thought he would do?” she asked, feeling carefully through the piles, then pushing the drawer shut.
    “Finish school, live in New York, marry, I suppose.”
    “You seem hesitant about his marrying.”
    Grace pulled open the top drawer and stared down.
    “Try not to disturb anything, Mrs. Vanderhooven,” Kiernan said softly. “About Austin’s marrying, did you think that was unlikely?”
    “Marry?” Grace laughed, bitterly. “Why should he have bothered?” Grace ran a hand through her stiff hair, leaving thick ash-blond clumps thrusting out from her head. “That girlfriend of his, that Beth Landau, she lived with him while he went to school, right in San Diego. Oh, I know it’s done all the time now, but this was fifteen years ago. This was in the town we lived in, where his younger brother and sister lived. If it hadn’t been for her there would have been no bearer’s bond business. And she was the one who made him move that stolen property.” Turning her back to the room, Grace began rooting frantically through the drawer.
    Abandoning the effort to restrain her, Kiernan watched Grace snatch up and toss aside an eyeglass case and a rosary, a scapular, a fountain pen, some white handkerchiefs. Her hands shook; the discarded handkerchiefs fluttered into a heap. The smell of perspiration cut through the cloud of jasmine.
    “I thought—” Grace stopped, mouth half-open. “I was sure he’d marry that whore.”