Platte City, Nebraska

Nick Morrelli washed down his mother’s potato salad with iced tea, wishing the tea was something stronger. Not a good sign before noon. He couldn’t believe he had taken off the entire week, handed over his role as lead prosecutor on the Carlucci drug case and even given up Red Sox tickets. Okay, maybe the Red Sox tickets weren’t such a big deal, but still, all for what? To come back to Nebraska, stay at his sister’s house and attend events like this for a whole week?

“Why are you hiding over here?”

His older sister, Christine, startled Nick, suddenly appearing behind him, invading his corner of the backyard. He wasn’t hiding. The old rattan chair happened to be quite comfortable despite needing a new cushion and a fresh coat of spray paint.

“I’m not hiding. Someone needs to keep old Ralphie quiet.” He patted the dog’s shaggy head, keeping his paper plate up and out of Ralphie’s reach, even though the old dog was fast asleep.

“Yeah, he looks like he’s enjoying your company.” Christine sat down in an accompanying rattan chair, wincing when it wobbled a bit.

“You know Mom says guys never came to these things in the good ole days.” He looked around their parents’ large backyard, crowded with people, only a few he recognized.

“The good ole days? I think you mean back in the Dark Ages,” his sister told him. “I thought this was all a part of that new leaf you were turning over. You remember, your attempt at becoming a mature responsible adult.”

She offered him a zebra brownie, pristine, untouched and unlike when they were kids and her goodie offerings came with a bite removed. So how could he refuse? He broke a piece off and stuffed it into his mouth.

“I don’t think being a mature responsible adult is all that much fun,” he said with a mouthful as if to emphasize his point that perhaps he wasn’t adult material. “There’s hardly anyone here I know.” But now he realized he sounded a bit pathetic. He expected his sister to say, “When has that stopped you before?” Instead, she decided to stoop to his level.

“Mom and I wanted to limit the guest list only to those…shall we say, friends who you haven’t slept with. You know, out of respect for Jill. Sorry, if that left only Hal, Timmy and Father Tony.”

“Ouch,” he said, faking his best imitation of being sucker punched. And yet, he knew he probably deserved that. He had spent much of his bachelorhood perfecting the art of one-night stands, so perhaps he deserved a reminder now and then.

“Seriously, Nick. I don’t get it.” This time she waited for his eyes, and he knew the horseplay was over. “You claim this is what you want. That Jill Campbell is the best thing that’s happened to you. And yet, here you are at your own engagement party hiding out in the corner of the yard with an old, sleeping dog.”

He didn’t know what to tell her. Of course this was what he wanted. His eyes left hers to find Jill, making the rounds from one group of guests to another. She almost glided instead of walked, her yellow dress making her look like a model instead of an attorney. She wore her blond hair loose today, letting it brush her shoulders. In court she usually pulled it back or wore it up, attempting to add years and authority to her smooth, youthful face.

He told her time and again that she had saved him from himself, never really explaining, presuming that she already knew that there had been someone else he was trying to forget. But instead of pressing him for details, she seemed to take it upon herself to be the one who would finally replace the other woman she had never met.

“There you go again,” he heard Christine say and immediately he knew he had missed something. Before he could respond, she added, “You’ve been doing that a lot, Nicky. You never seem to be where you’re at.”

He rolled his eyes at her as if that was the most ridiculous, incoherent thing he had ever heard, but he knew exactly what she meant. He hadn’t been able to focus in months. His friend and co-worker, Will Finley, claimed it all began the day he and Jill had set a date for the wedding. Or to hear Will tell it, the day he surrendered to Jill.

At the time Nick joked that of course he couldn’t focus. “After all, wasn’t that what happened when you fell in love and decided to take the plunge?”

His friend had just done the same thing, marrying Tess McGowen, the love of his life, only months before. He expected Will to understand. He expected Will, of all people, to sympathize. Instead, his friend’s reaction felt like a sting. “Plunge?” Will had laughed. “You refer to marriage as a plunge and then you wonder what your problem is?”

Nick took another gulp of the iced tea as if needing to wash away the memory. What did Will Finley know anyway? People who were happy quickly forgot what misery felt like.

Misery?

What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t miserable. Jill had saved him from his misery. Suddenly, he realized he had done it again—strayed off. He glanced at Christine, expecting to see her impatience, but she wasn’t looking at him. He followed her gaze, only now seeing the black-and-white in the driveway.

“If this is one of those strip-o-grams, I know it was your idea, not Mom’s.”

But Christine wasn’t smiling.

“I’m not sure what’s going on.”

Two uniformed officers were talking with Father Tony. Nick’s first thought was that there had been a car accident or something awful that required a priest and last rites. He watched Tony’s head bob in agreement then watched him swing around, looking for and finally finding Nick. Nick attempted to wave to him that it was okay for him to leave the party, but Tony made his way through the crowded backyard, guests parting for him like a sea of pastels.

“What’s going on?” Christine asked, but Tony only shrugged, his eyes meeting and holding Nick’s.

“Omaha police want me to come down to the station to answer some questions.”

It took Nick by surprise. “To answer questions? About what?”

Tony shrugged again, and he reminded Nick of when they were boys. That same shrug came anytime they got into trouble and an adult asked for an explanation.

“Monsignor O’Sullivan was found dead in a restroom at the airport last night.”

“Oh my God,” Christine said. “And it wasn’t just a heart attack or they wouldn’t have questions.”

Nick shot her a warning look. He could hear her shift into reporter gear, probably already taking notes in her head.

“I hate to take you away from your own party, Nick. But can you come with me?”

“Of course,” Nick said without hesitation. He and Father Tony Gallagher had been friends since kindergarten when the two of them got deathly sick after eating almost a whole jar of paste. He thought he knew his good buddy pretty well, and unless it was his imagination, he didn’t think Tony looked all that surprised about the monsignor being dead.