Game, Set, Murder

By Jerome Dugas

Roman Catholic priest Jerry Rome is looking forward to a relaxing sabbatical at Loyola University in Chicago. Hes set to take a summer course entitled Sexuality and the Ministry, and he anticipates the entire experience will be pleasant, informative, and filled with his favorite out-of-church pastime, tennis. When a fellow student is murdered, though, the real games begin.

The victims body is found in strange condition, and the authorities are stumped. Luckily, Jerry already befriended a local Chicago police detective named Joyce Jackson. Maybe theyll be able to solve the case together, but it soon becomes apparent that things are a lot more complicated than good guy catches bad. What at first resembled a relaxing vacation is turning into a dark storm of unforeseen events.

Not the least of Jerrys concerns is the sensual Juanita Cabalero, a dark-skinned and strikingly beautiful Colombian who may threaten Jerrys priestly vows of celibacy. In order to catch a killer, Jerry and Joyce must use careful, skilled strategyeven when Juanitas odd affections get in the way. Jerry may discover the truth about the Loyola murders, but will he survive to win the final, gory match?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 8, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462030262

Jerome Dugas

Douglas Jerome was born in Louisiana in 1935, the tenth of eleven children. He entered the seminary at fifteen and was ordained a Roman Catholic priest in 1962. He served as an associate pastor from 1962 until 2003, when Parkinson’s disease forced him to retire. He is the author of From My Side of the Net, a collection of weekly church devotionals.

Book preview

1

Dark of night

Night had long since descended on the Loyola campus. The daytime hustle, even the muted evening version was gone. Midnight was history. Hall lights were off and evidence of students still up leaked from under only one door on the floor. In that one, a student ardently studied. A knock at the door wrenched the student from the depths of concentration. Who could it be at this time of night?

Who’s there?

Only a mumble came from the other side of the door. In a few seconds, another knock. Pushing the chair back on the tile floor made a sound that seemed foreboding to the student. At the door he said, Yes?

Are you… ?

Yes, do you know what time it is?

Can I talk to you for a minute?

The student hesitated. I guess so. Come on in.

A knife flashed. It found its mark—under the ribs, up into the heart. One thrust, then another. The murderer let the student slide to the floor soundlessly, quietly shut the door, and withdrew the knife. In seconds, the student’s life lay in a pool of blood, totally spent.

Carefully, the murderer removed the student’s clothes, dragged the naked body across the floor, and taped it to the desk chair. The murderer applied a final gruesome touch, and careful to step over the blood, departed.

2

Juanita

My name is Jerry Rome. I am a 45-year old Catholic priest on sabbatical from my parish in Louisiana in the summer of 1990. My plans for my sabbatical are to take a three-week course of studies at Loyola University in Chicago and then do some traveling, some private study and whatever I have a strong desire to do for three months or so.

When I arrived at Loyola I had some difficulty checking in. I was early and hadn’t checked my instructions carefully. There was no one in sight that looked like they belonged to the University. After walking around for a while, I finally reread my instructions and went to the proper place to check in. I got my room key and started to unload my things. I had made two trips to my room (which, by the way, was nothing to brag about) when I saw her.

I was hot and sweaty. My hair was blown in four different directions by the famous Chicago wind when she appeared. She wore a black dress which reached only to her mid-thighs. Her legs were gorgeous. Her complexion was dark and her eyes and hair were jet black. She reminded me of Gabriela Sabatini, the strikingly beautiful tennis star from Argentina. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties.

I’m lost, she said with frustration in her voice. My car stalled. I need a mechanic. Can I use your telephone?

I’m new here mahself, I replied. The phones in this building won’t be connected ’til Monday.

What am I going to do? I am supposed to be at Loyola for summer school, and I don’t even know where Loyola is.

I smiled. These apartments are owned by the university. Loyola proper is jus’ around the block, so you’re not really lost after all.

That’s the only good news I’ve heard so far. But what about my car? It stalled on me down the block.

Let me look at it. Maybe I can get it going.

We walked about half a block to her car. I tried my best, but couldn’t get it started. I could see it was a rental from Budget Rent-A-Car.

No problem. We’ll just call the place you rented the car from, and they’ll take care of it.

As we walked about a block farther down the street to a convenience store to make the call, we talked.

Where are you coming from?

From Bogata, Columbia, she said. I’m here on scholarship. My name is Juanita Caballero.

My name is Jerry Rome. I am a priest from south Louisiana. I’m up here taking a three-week course on sexuality and ministry. Her English was perfect. Her accent added to her attractiveness. Her beauty struck me as having an innocence –a vulnerability– about it that was captivating.

When we got to the store, I called Budget.

No problem, the receptionist said. We will bring you a replacement car; it shouldn’t take but 30 or maybe 45 minutes, and we’ll tow the other car back in.

While we were waiting, I bought milk and cereal and we talked. I asked her about herself. How did she get a scholarship? As I was asking her questions, she was doing the same to me. Who was I? What was I doing in Chicago? She said she liked my Cajun accent though I thought it only slight. I told her that my mother had Spanish blood. I thought that might win me some points, and I believe it did. We seemed to hit it off. We spent nearly 45 minutes waiting for the replacement car, but it seemed like much less. When it came, we transferred her things. By then it was getting dark.

You have a place to stay tonight? I asked. It’s too late for you to check in today. The office closed about an hour ago.

I don’t know, she answered, with a worried look.

If I’m not being too bold, there are two beds in my apartment, that is if you trust me She smiled as if she had anticipated what I was going to say. That made me smile.  . . . .

She laughed. But do you trust me?

Well, I trust me, I think, I hope, I thought to myself.

She wasn’t traveling light—two large suitcases and a garment bag. As I opened the door to my room I said, it’s not much, but it will be better than spending the night in your car.

Her eyes flashed. It will be much better than spending the night in my car.

Nota Bene: I suppose that I should say it here at the beginning of this journal that my purpose in taking a sabbatical was certainly not to cherché la femme. But if anyone could put me to the test in that category, it was Juanita Caballero.

3

Nighttime

Seeing the apartment with Juanita, I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. The room was small with two beds, two desks, and two chairs. I had put my computer on one of the beds, and my suitcase was on the floor in the middle of the room. I quickly picked up the computer and placed it on one of the desks, without saying anything,

I said, Juanita, there are two sheets and a blanket. You take one sheet and a blanket and I’ll take the other sheet. I have a blanket in my car I used to cover my computer. I’ll use that one.

I’m really worn out, she said. Would you mind if I showered now?

Not at all, it will give me time to do some unpacking and make my bed.

As I finished making my bed, she came out of the bathroom.

I’ll help make your bed, I said. She didn’t respond but quietly grabbed one end of the sheet. When we finished with the sheet and blanket I said, I’m going to take a shower.

I grabbed my pajamas and shaving kit and went into the bathroom. The bathroom smelled of her perfume and soap. I quickly showered, brushed my teeth and put on my blue bottom pajamas and grey shirt. I wasn’t in the bathroom more than ten minutes. When I walked out Juanita was already in bed with her face to the wall. The lights were off and she seemed to be asleep. From the light in the bathroom, I could see my way to my bed without saying anything. As I pulled the blanket to my chin I said, Goodnight. There was no response. She seemed to have already fallen asleep.

I got into my bed but was far from being sleepy. My mind was busily thinking about all that had happened. Not that many hours ago I was still driving to Chicago for the first time. Then I met this gorgeous bombshell, and we were in my apartment together. Who was she? What was her background? What was this beautiful lady doing taking a course on a college campus in Chicago? She didn’t seem to belong here. Did I?

As I slept I dreamed. I was being chased by a big fat woman. The faster I ran the closer she seemed to get to me. Out of the corner of my eye I could see someone in a black dress calling me to go to her, that I would be safe. It looked like Juanita, but when I got to where she was, she was gone, and I was still being chased by this other woman. I woke up startled and afraid, only to realize I had been dreaming. It seemed like I had been sleeping for hours, but when I checked my watch it was still early in the night. I glanced over at Juanita. She was now on her back sleeping soundly and peacefully. I rolled over and once again closed my eyes.

I slept soundly for the rest of the night. I woke up at 7:00 a.m. and looked over at Juanita. She was still asleep. I got out of bed and went into the bathroom. I washed up, shaved, and put on gym shorts and a T-shirt. When I got out of the bathroom, I was surprised to find Juanita up and dressed. She was wearing light blue slacks and a pink blouse. Even first thing in the morning she looked like a model.

Had a good night’s sleep? I asked.

Wonderful. Many thanks for putting me up for the night, but now I must find my way to my own apartment.

It’s still early. Let’s have breakfast and take a look around campus together.

I don’t eat breakfast, and I really have some things I need to do alone. I’ll freshen up in your bathroom and then get out of your hair. Since we’ll both be in school here, I’m sure we’ll see a lot of each other.

Trying not to sound too disappointed, I said, I hope so.

After she’d left my apartment, I took a deep breath and sighed. What an experience, I said out loud. I’ll make it a point to stay in contact with her. I fixed my breakfast of cereal and milk, unpacked the rest of my things and decided I would take a walk around campus.

I picked up my wallet and keys and put them in my pocket. I picked up my money clip that I use when traveling and flipped through my bills. There were four ones, two fives and a ten. I had a hundred dollar bill in my clip, but it was not there. I paused for a moment. I didn’t remember spending it? I probably did although I was pretty sure I still had it when I arrived at Loyola. Then I thought of Juanita. Nah, I said to myself. No chance.

As I made my way around campus, I stopped for directions to the mail room. I had my mail box key, but as yet did not know where the mail room was located. I asked a young student for directions and out of the corner of my eye I saw Juanita go into the Granada Center. I called out to her, but she apparently didn’t hear me.

I excused myself from the student giving directions and ran after Juanita. As I entered the building, she was getting into the elevator. I knew that she saw me, but she did not try to stop the elevator door from closing. I stood at the door as the elevator started to ascend and wondered about this strange and beautiful girl, who called herself Juanita Caballero.

4

Classes begin

Iwoke up early. I didn’t want to be late for my first class in many years. I ate breakfast and showered. Ballpoint pen and notebook in hand, I left