Out of Time 01 - Out of Time

increasingly uneasy thoughts, she walked over to the other woman. “What’re you doing here?”
    “Just sayin’ hello to the father,” Dix said, nodding her head in the direction of the large double doors where Father Cavanaugh stood talking to a young family. “Not that I’m religious or anything. Just droppin’ in, ya know?”
    Elizabeth recognized protesting too much when she saw it, but wasn’t about to pry. “We were doing the same,” Elizabeth said. “He offered some help a while back. We wanted to let him know we were doing okay.”
    Dix nodded, and her eyes darted to Simon and then back to Elizabeth. “Glad to hear it,” she said with a smile.
    Elizabeth could see the sadness tugging a bit too much at the corners of her mouth. Oh, Dix was happy for them, but her eyes had the look of a woman who wanted the happiness she saw and didn’t think she’d ever find it. Unrequited love was an albatross Elizabeth knew too well.
    They stood awkwardly for a moment, having run out of small talk and neither wanting to discuss why they were really there.
    “Well,” Simon said, breaking the stalemate. “We should say hello to the father before it gets too late.”
    “Yeah. I gotta be goin’ too.”
    “See you tomorrow, Dix,” Elizabeth said, as Simon led her away. She was about to say something to Simon about Dix when he called out to the priest.
    Father Cavanaugh said his goodbyes to the young family and waved them over. “Ah, good to see you two again. Elizabeth was it?”
    “Simon and Elizabeth Cross,” Simon said.
    A girl could get used to that.
    “Of course,” the father said with a broad grin. “What can I do for you?”
    “I was hoping to ask you about yesterday. I understand,” Simon continued, “you found the body in the butcher shop.”
    “Oh, yes. Terrible, terrible business.”
    “Did you get a good look at the body by any chance?”
    Father Cavanaugh was surprised at the question, but he hid it quickly. Curiosity and a tinge of concern colored his face. “And why would you be wantin’ to know about such things?”
    Not accustomed to having to explain himself, Simon stumbled for a reason.
    “He thinks he’s Sherlock Holmes,” Elizabeth added. “Trust me, it’s better to humor him.”
    “Ah, likes to play detective, does he?” the Father said with a wink.
    Elizabeth thought of all sorts of replies to that, but managed to merely smile.
    Simon ignored the byplay. “Can you describe the body? The markings on the neck seemed rather unusual.”
    Elizabeth could have sworn a flash of fear passed over the priest’s placid face.
    “I’m afraid people are always findin’ new ways to do each other harm,” he said noncommittally.
    “Yes,” Simon persisted, “but the wounds, were they slits or small and round like a snake bite?”
    There it was again, a brief glimmer of alarm. His eyes shifted from side to side, trying surreptitiously to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “A bite? Surely you don’t think a giant serpent is loose on the streets of New York City. Now that would be news,” he said with a laugh. “No, it was as the paper said; a sad example of the darkness some men find themselves driven to these days.”
    “Yes,” Simon said. “But the draining of the blood seems almost ritualistic.”
    “I’m afraid the newspaper man overstated that.”
    “But the photographs...”
    “To sell papers. I’m afraid they paint a more gruesome picture for effect.”
    “Really?” Simon said.
    If Father Cavanaugh noticed the skepticism in Simon’s voice he chose to ignore it. “We live in different times. Newspapers aren’t what they once were. Hearst and Pulitzer have seen to that,” he said, then offered them an embarrassed smile. “That was bitter, wasn’t it? Before the seminary I tried my hand at reporting. Fresh to America from Ireland and my first assignment was the Spanish-American war. Somewhat of a birth by fire.”
    “You were a reporter?” Elizabeth asked, trying to get her mind around a young Father Cavanaugh.
    “Ancient history.”
    “That is fascinating,” Simon said dryly, obviously recognizing a diversionary tactic when he saw one.
    Father Cavanaugh smiled genially again and checked his pocket watch. “Well, I’ve talked your ear off, haven’t I? I really should be going. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help, but it’s probably best to leave the evils of our society to the professionals, eh?”
    “Thank you, Father,” Elizabeth