Death in the Church

[Peg Herring]

"I found her just as you see," the priest told Detective Corse. "I suppose it will be a simple funeral. No one will come."

"She worked here at the church?"

"Yes, she cleaned the place. We'd just had a wedding, you see, and the last I saw her, she was Hoovering up the rice. Makes a beastly mess, you know, rice." The priest examined the stone floor rather than meeting the detective's gaze.

"Looks to me like someone pushed her and she hit her head on the altar," a young detective reported to Corse. "Probably an accident, but the poor thing is dead, nevertheless." She moved off to resume her perusal of the room.

"Had she friends or relatives we can talk to?" Corse asked the priest.

The man's eyes still lingered on the dead woman. Fascinated with death or avoiding his questioner, Corse wondered. "No one. She often said we were her family, we were all she had."

Corse made a bold move. "Do you mean yourself, Father McKenzie? Did she say that you were all she had?"

The priest slumped in defeat, and his eyes filled with tears. "I have to admit it, don't I? But it was an accident!" His voice took on a pleading tone. "I felt sorry for her, really I did. She was so lonely. But she had become obsessive. She watched me from her window across the street. Everywhere I went, everything I did, Eleanor was there, silently pleading for attention, for love, for any scrap of affection. She wanted to cook for me, darn my socks, that sort of thing. I tried, I really did, to make her feel wanted, but a man--a priest--can only do so much for a woman like that."

"Tell me what happened today."

McKenzie turned once more to look at the dead woman. "After the wedding I was putting my things away. Suddenly there she was, on the chancel beside me. She took my hand; she kissed it. The wedding had made her desperate, opened up feelings that she'd hidden for years. She told me she loved me, told me she couldn't live without me any more. She said she was part of the church, and I'd married the church, hadn't I?"

His hands shook and tears coursed down his cheeks. "I didn't mean to hurt her. I suppose I was so shocked that I pushed her away too violently. She fell, and...hit her head. It was awful."

The young policewoman approached again. "We're finished with the body, Inspector. Shall we take it away now?"

Corse sighed, his own eyes now searching for somewhere to look where he met no one else's gaze. "Yes, take her away. I'm thinking she tripped and fell, that's all. I see no need for further investigation. She was getting on in years, and we don't always see clearly where to step as we age." He faced McKenzie squarely, sending a silent message of forgiveness, of absolution. "The Father is quite upset at losing such a valued employee."

Corse left the church, wondering about all the lonely people in this world. Where did they all come from?

[Peg Herring]

Glad you like it. If you've read the others, you'll see that I'm just old.

The stories-behind-the-oldies thing is fun. I'd love it if some other people took a turn!

[Michael Haskins]

Interesting post. I assume you are a Beatles fan! I understand the ending, being an Irish Catholic product.