The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,187

wedding expert we have.

Thankfully some of my frustration comes through because, even though I’m not Catholic, Vicky softens a little to my plight. “No dear. If you go down to the courthouse today, you should have everything you need in a week or so.”

“Can you…” I stop for a second, make it look like I’m calming myself. “Can you please just check if you do have Trinity’s records? With my luck, I’ve come to the wrong church.”

“Oh, you’re in the right place,” Vicky says, mothering mode now fully engaged. “But it’s a good thing you ask, because some of our records were destroyed in a fire a few months ago.”

And there it is. That’s why she was so uneasy seeing a stranger in the chapel. There’s a shadow in Vicky’s eyes that wasn’t there before.

She goes over to a metal filing cabinet and opens it, her back to me. “What is her date of birth?”

I check on my phone, give it to Vicky.

I’ll be pushing it if I ask, but it’s burning me up. No pun intended. “A fire?”

At first I don’t think she’s going to answer, but then she lets out a sigh and closes the cabinet. I already have my suspicions before she starts talking, and when she’s done, they’re confirmed.

“Terrible thing,” she murmurs. I can’t help but notice she’s empty-handed as she adjusts her glasses and takes a seat. “The police ruled it as a botched robbery or something.” Vicky purses her lips. “Father Quinn was here that night. He often stayed late. Said he liked the quiet in the chapel. He lived close to the railway tracks, so I understand why.”

“Father Quinn?” I say. “Trinity never mentioned him.” The next almost sticks in my throat, but I force out the words as smoothly as I can. “She only ever spoke about Father Gabriel.”

Vicky lights up like a billboard. “Oh, Gabriel.” She nods a few times, a smile deeply etched on her face now. “Yes, they were close. He loved the Malones.” The smile fades a little. “But no, he’d left years before that. Father Quinn took over the flock from him. Good man, if a little…studious.”

An introverted priest? Downright unnatural.

“So Father Quinn was here when they broke in?” I nudge her, seeing as she’s no doubt still daydreaming about Gabriel. I get it, the guy’s good looking. But if she knew a shred of what his rotten heart was capable of, she’d be shitting herself right now.

“Yes.” She drops her gaze, takes off her glasses. “They came in, shot him, searched the place, and then…” She shrugs. “They said it wasn’t arson. The police. Said a candle had fallen on some papers. But this isn’t the eighteenth century.” She laughs a little, but it’s sad and hollow. “It’s not like Father Quinn sat here reading by candlelight.”

I let a little silence pass. But I have to be on my way, because her empty hands mean I was right.

“So…those records?”

She looks up and blinks like she forgot I was sitting here. “Oh. Sorry. No.” Shakes her head. “They must have been—”

“Destroyed.” I cut in. “In the fire.” I rub my eyelids as I let out a heavy sigh that’s not nearly as much acting as it should be.

“It’s okay,” she says. “I know Trinity. We can recreate the records. Most of the congregation still lives around these parts. Miss Langley was there. I know that for a fact. She comes to all the baptisms and first communions.”

“Miss Langley,” I reply, nestling that bit of information in my head. I’m not exactly planning on canvassing the town, but who knows what a name could—

“She babysat for Trinity,” Vicky says, beaming as she gets lost in a past that I’m guessing was much more bearable than the present. “Not often, of course. Just when her parents went out of town.”

My hackles rise up like a motherfucking rebellion.

“Out of town?”

“Oh, Trinity didn’t tell you?” Vicky cocks her head a little.

“She…doesn’t talk about them very much.” And thank fuck I can even think clearly at all with how my mind is scrambling.

“Yes, of course.” Vicky’s brow creases. “Terrible thing, that.”

A lot of terrible things happen around these parts. If I didn’t know any better, I’d tell her to go looking for the Indian burial ground this town was built on.

I mentally plead with Vicky to carry on talking.

For once, the Universe is on my side.

“Her father was a missionary,” Vicky says. “Her mother went on one or two missions with him,