Ben ignored the gibe. “Any word on the cause of death?”

Mike strolled down the sidewalk parallel to the parking lot. Most people would be drawn to the prayer garden, particularly lovely this time of year when the flowers were blooming. But Mike avoided it. Too many unsettling memories, Ben supposed, of the last time he’d been to this church-also to take charge of a corpse. “Oh, you know how coroners are. They don’t want to say anything useful until they’ve had three weeks to write reports and run every test known to man.”

“What have you learned about the victim?”

“Name’s Kate McGuire. By all accounts a lovely mild-mannered young woman. Member of the vestry-senior warden, actually-which I’m told was greatly at odds with Beale and had been trying unsuccessfully to have him removed. And-get this-she was engaged to be married for the first time.” Mike paused, then stared up at the sky. “She was in love. But that marriage will never happen.” He took another deep breath, as if he needed some oxygen coursing through his system. “For the sword outwears its sheath/And the soul wears out the breast/And the heart must pause to breathe/And Love itself have rest.”

“Very lovely. But what do you think? About the murder.”

“You know perfectly well what we think. What does everyone think?”

“Listen to me, Mike. I’ve known Father Beale since I was a kid. He wouldn’t do this.”

“Yeah, that’s what you told us the first time someone turned up dead here.”

“I was right then and I’m right now.”

Mike shook his head and inhaled another gulp of the coffee. “Well, I can tell you this, pal. It doesn’t look good for him.”

“I noticed you haven’t arrested him yet.”

“Give us a minute. This is going to be a very high profile case. Before we bring charges, we want to make sure we can make them stick.” He took another swig of java, then crumpled the Styrofoam cup in his hands. “Still, at least half a dozen witnesses tell me he had an altercation with this woman just before the wedding. Two witnesses saw him after the wedding with blood on his hands. And the body was in his office.”

“Which is a good point in his defense.”

Mike chuckled. “Only a lawyer with your imagination could turn that into a good point in his defense.”

“Seriously, Mike, think about it. If he planned to kill the woman, why would he do it in his own office?”

“I don’t think he planned anything. From what I’ve been hearing, he has an uncontrollable temper. Explosive and sometimes violent. I’m told he was ordered to get some therapy. I figure the woman came to his office to continue the argument, and he lost his grip and did her in.”

“You can’t prove any of that.”

Mike thrust his fists into the pockets of his trench coat. “Not yet, my friend. But give me a couple of hours.”

“You really want Beale, don’t you?”

“What I want is the same thing I always want, Ben. You remember what Shakespeare said in the thirtieth sonnet?”

“Oh, stop waving your English degree in my face and just tell me.”

“ ‘All losses restor’d and sorrows end.’ In other words, justice.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Is that so much to ask?”

Once everyone had been thoroughly questioned, names and addresses had been taken, and all had been cautioned not to leave town, most of the guests and the wedding party disappeared. No speed was too great when one was escaping a horror of this magnitude, Ben supposed. Only a few of the church diehards remained; some who had been at the wedding, and a few, Ben noted, who showed up as soon as they heard about the new tragedy. Ben thought he should stay as long as Father Beale did, in part, to lend his support, and in part, to make sure the man didn’t say anything he shouldn’t.

To suggest that Beale was not at his best would be a pitiful understatement. He was shaken, spiritually ruptured, to a degree that was immediately evident to anyone who came near him. In that condition, Ben knew even the most innocent man might say something foolish that would haunt him ever after-especially on the witness stand.

“Ben,” Beale said at one point, away from the ears of the police officers, “we-we need to talk.”

“You’re right,” Ben answered. “But not here and not now. Tomorrow morning, in my office.”

Beale’s lips moved slowly, as if finding each word was a major struggle. “I-have a vestry meeting tonight.”

“You’re not still planning to go through with it!”

“I have no choice. The bishop’s review council arrives tomorrow and-and-” He turned away, his head trembling. “We have to appoint someone to replace Kate.”

Ben placed his hand on the troubled man’s shoulder. “Come on.”

Ben found Father Beale a quiet room in the rear of the church where he could try to get a grip on himself, somewhere he would be safe from prying eyes and probing questions. Then he returned to the crime scene, hoping he could overhear some of the remaining interrogations.

Ben spotted Ernestine Rupert, once again on the arm of her nephew.

“Truly, Aunt Ernestine, we should leave. You shouldn’t be subjected to this macabre business. Let me take you home.”

Ernestine slapped his hand away. “Don’t be a ninny, Bruce. I can’t leave now, not with all this trouble about. I have a responsibility to the church.”

And besides, Ben thought, you might miss something good.

“But Aunt Ernestine, you shouldn’t be associating with all these police and-”

“Balderdash. The church needs me. I am becoming a bit parched, though. Would you fetch me a club soda?”

“They don’t keep club soda in the kitchen, Aunt Ernestine.”

“The convenience store down the street will have it. Please hurry, dear boy.”

He let out a long sigh. “Yes, Aunt Ernestine.” And disappeared.

Ben spotted two of Mike’s lieutenants quizzing Paul Masterson, the choirmaster. He appeared to be quite agitated about something. Probably attributing the murder to the fact that he was forced to play the Wedding March.

Not far away, he saw Christina, and clinging close behind her, Alvin Greene, the Altar Guild guy. Was this love at first sight, or was he just making sure she didn’t forget she promised to help clean up?

Ben grabbed Christina’s arm and tugged her aside. “Learn anything useful?”

She shrugged. “Lots of church gossip. I don’t know how useful it is. But there certainly seems to be a lot going on here at St. Benedict’s.”

“We’ll compare notes later. Jones and Paula?”

“Halfway to Eureka Springs by now.”

“Good. I didn’t want this to spoil their honeymoon. I’m sure it already spoiled their wedding.”

“Oh, I don’t know. They’re certainly going to have some interesting stories to tell their grandchildren.” She smiled. “So what do we do now?”

“Unbelievable as it may seem, there’s a vestry meeting tonight, and it isn’t being canceled. I have to be there with Father Beale. God only knows what will happen. Why don’t you start seeing what you can dig up about Kate McGuire?”

“Anything in particular?”

“Yeah. Why someone might want to suffocate her.”

“Ben.” Christina gave him a concerned look. “You realize that to most people… this looks like an open-and-shut case.”

“That’s why God invented defense attorneys, Christina. So people wouldn’t be convicted on ‘looks.’ ”

“Still… are you sure you’re entirely… impartial on this one? After all, Father Beale was your childhood priest. And technically speaking, still is.”

“As a matter of fact, I’m not impartial. I’m totally partial. In his favor. Which is what a defense lawyer is supposed to be, remember?”

“Yes, but-” She reached out tentatively. Her fingers brushed against his hand. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Don’t worry about me, Christina. Worry about Father Beale. He’s the one who has problems.”

“Of course.” She slowly withdrew her hand. “It was a lovely wedding, though, wasn’t it? While it lasted?”