I cleared my throat. “Father Xavier?”
“Listening.”
“Sorry to bother you, but I have some questions about Lenore Redfern and the package she sent you. I was hoping you could tell me about the circumstances.”
I thought he was formulating a response, but then his lips made a tiny sound as they parted with the next breath.
I waited a beat. “Just in your own words would be fine.”
No response.
I sat down beside him on the bench and checked my watch. It was just after the noon hour—12:17 to be exact. I surveyed the area, thinking how heartily Henry would have approved of the garden. The sun was hot. The earth surrounding us was largely hard-packed dirt. No grass at all. The plants were roughly divided between cacti and succulents. No sprinklers, no soaker hoses. I did see a birdbath, but it was empty. A chickadee, undismayed, enjoyed an extravagant dust shower and flew away. The air smelled like rosemary. I could do with a snooze myself.
I glanced at the office window, where Ms. Berrigan was acting out an elaborate pantomime of waking the priest, urging me to shake his arm. I couldn’t do it. I put a hand behind my ear as though I’d failed to comprehend. She turned and looked behind her, which I took to mean the phone was ringing or someone else had appeared in the office, requiring help.
I checked my watch again and saw that one whole minute had flown by. I took a quick look at Father Xavier, whose dark eyes were open. His face was pleated with wrinkles. His pupils were almost engulfed by the pouches above and below his eyes. He sat up, looked at me briefly, and then saw the mailing pouch.
“What’s that doing here? Mr. Wolinsky said he’d see that April received the contents as her mother intended. He promised he’d deliver it.”
“Pete was a friend of mine. He died in August.”
Father Xavier crossed himself and kissed the cross that hung around his neck on a chain. “My apologies if I was abrupt. I didn’t expect to see that package again.”
“I found it among Pete’s effects. I intend to pass the items along to April, but I wanted to understand the situation first. I drove from Santa Teresa this morning, hoping you’d explain.”
“Of course. It was good of you to make the trip, and I’ll tell you what I can.”
“It’s my understanding Pete paid you a visit a year ago. Why did he want to see you?”
“I believe he was interested in background information.”
“On Lenore?”
“No, no. It was Ned he was inquiring about. Something to do with a lawsuit. He’d come to believe Ned had serious psychological problems that might have showed up early in his life. He asked about Ned’s childhood. His family of origin.”
“Do you remember what you told him?”
“It wasn’t much. I wasn’t acquainted with his family. Ned wasn’t a Catholic. This is a small town, but it’s not that small.”
“You knew Lenore?”
“Oh, yes. From baptism to her First Communion and right up until her death.”
“I’m assuming she sent you these items because she wanted April to have her confirmation Bible and her rosary.”
“As keepsakes, yes,” he said. “You knew Lenore took her own life.”
“That’s what I was told. I had a conversation with Clara Doyle and we talked about that. I noticed Lenore included a card for April’s fourth birthday.”
“I believe that’s correct.”
“Do you think she bought the card because she knew she wouldn’t be around when the time came?”
“So it would seem. She sent me the package to hold on to until such time as April was confirmed. After Lenore died, Ned took the child and left Burning Oaks. I had no idea where they went, but I kept the mailer in the expectation I’d hear from him. I intended to place it in April’s hands myself once she was of an age to appreciate the meaning. To tell you the truth, I forgot all about it until Mr. Wolinsky showed up. He told me April was married and living in Santa Teresa. Ms. Berrigan was the one who reminded me the mailer was in storage, so I gave it to him to deliver. You’ll have to forgive me if I sounded cross when you first arrived. I thought Mr. Wolinsky failed to make good on his promise to me.”
“No need to apologize. I understand completely.”
“I appreciate your patience.”
“Clara told me Lenore died just before Easter. This was postmarked March 27. Did you realize the extreme emotional state she was in?”
“We were all aware of her distress. I spoke with her parents on a number of occasions. Naturally, they were worried about her and hoped I might intervene. I did what I could, but Lenore was very fragile by then, almost beyond reasoning.”
“So you weren’t shocked or surprised when she overdosed.”
“I was saddened. I took it as a failure on my part.”