The Sins of Father Riley

By Gary Tutty

Is Father Riley hiding an affair, a murder, or both? Father Thomas Riley is a parish priest who is beloved by many. He is respected for his ability to help those who have suffered the loss of a loved one. Unfortunately, Father Riley gets too close to some of the females in his grief counseling groups. When one of the women in the group is found murdered, Father Riley becomes the chief suspect. Despite all the good things he is hearing, Detective Wilcox believes that Father Riley has not only betrayed his vow of celibacy, but in order to cover it up, has committed a murder. When Father Riley is sent to the Vatican on a special assignment, Wilcox is only further convinced of his guilt. At first, Father Riley is concerned about his vocation, as a woman threatens to tell the bishop about their affair. When she is found dead, he is more concerned about a life behind bars, or worse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outskirts Press
• Release date: Dec 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781977208620

Gary Tutty

Gary Tutty is a retired Superintendent of Schools. He was named a Distinguished Alumni at the State University of New York at Oneonta, from which he earned both his Bachelor's and Master's degrees in English Education. During his career, he taught English at the high school and college levels. Between his years as a teacher and school administrator, he was a sales representative, regional manager, and national sales and management trainer for a major medical company. He is also the author of The Sins of Father Riley. He lives in Ilion, New York and Newport Beach, California.

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Prologue

Escaping from the institution was much easier than he had thought. He slipped along the narrow corridor leading to the loading dock exit. He knew his way around this area since he had always been a model patient and had worked in the food service for the past year. The doctors thought that working with his hands would help the sickness in his head. As he looked down at his hands, he could see blood from the orderly whose neck he had deftly sliced from behind.

When he first arrived at Pleasant Hills, no one would have dared turn their back on him, but he had proven to everyone that he was no threat. After all, he had never killed anyone. Maybe he had lost control a few times when he was angry, but he had never hurt anyone at the institution, until tonight.

He had come to Pleasant Hills through the help of his lawyer and his family. He had been accused of rape, but his lawyer had done an expert job of proving that the woman was a consenting partner. He had known the girl in school. He might have even called her a friend. When he went to trial, no one other than his family and lawyer knew that he had been accused of beating women before. Each time he was accused, he expertly displayed a show of repentance. His lawyer had worked out a deal this last time so he could plead to a lesser charge but would agree to spend time in Pleasant Hills to get help with his anger. He went along with this plan even though he thought of the place as a prison since he could not leave the grounds. He believed there was nothing wrong with him. These girls were asking for it. They always acted friendly at first and then when he tried to get close to them they cried rape.

But in just a few minutes he would be out on the loading dock door and out of this prison. They had told him that after a short time he could leave at anytime but over a year had passed and they always had a reason for him to stay a little longer. It had been time to take charge of securing his freedom.

He looked up and down the hall and saw no one. It was three in the morning. There were no patients up and about. Due to moneysaving measures, there were only a few night personnel on duty in the entire building. The psychiatrist was on call but not present. They put the patients on extra medication before bedtime to insure quiet, non-eventful nights. But beginning a few weeks ago he had started to slip his medication under his tongue and spit it out when the nurse left.

He was able to open the loading dock door from the inside. He went into the cool night and jumped off the loading dock platform. He was not far from his family’s house. His mother and father were in their seventies, and they had moved to a smaller house that was closer to Pleasant Hills so that they would be able to visit him often. He would need money from them, and maybe he could borrow their car temporarily. He would have to convince them that he was legally released and move on quickly as the authorities would be looking for him. He thought it would be great if they understood why he escaped and would help them. Killing the orderly had not been part of the plan, but he would be gone by the time they found out. He did not want to hurt his parents, but they could not get in the way of his freedom. Tonight was his night. This was the night he was taking back his life, and he felt sorry for anyone who got in his way.

Chapter One

Christmas Midnight Mass was always one of the highlights of his year, both as an altar boy and now as a priest. The manger, the large red and white candles surrounded by beautiful poinsettias, incense rising to the celestially-painted ceilings high above the altar, created a special feeling for him, unparalleled at any other time of the year. As Father Riley approached the altar tonight, he recalled the starched collar with large, red bows the nuns would place around his neck in the school auditorium before his boyhood Christmas liturgies. He also recalled the early-evening nap his mother made him take so he would not fall asleep at the mass. He wished he had taken a nap tonight because he was tired.

The snow was falling lightly on the church roof. This was truly how Christmas was meant to be. The fact that the pastor gave him the honor of being the main celebrant at this Midnight Mass made the picture perfect.

As he turned to face the congregation, he felt a special peace and happiness he had not experienced in his years as a priest. He had served five parishes since his ordination, but St. Mary’s was special to him. He was drawn to these people. He sensed that they loved him, too. Looking out into the congregation, he could see the faces of individuals and families that he had helped through varied hardships and tragedies: job loss, bankruptcy, marriage problems, separation or divorce, abuse of a spouse, death of a spouse, kids on drugs, and alcoholism. While he did not have the powers to eliminate their problems, he seemed to be able to reach beneath their troubled exteriors and bring them the peace only a life centered on knowing their God could bring.

His reveries had made him sleepwalk through the first part of the service as his handpicked lectors handled the first readings. It was already time for the gospel and the sermon. His parishioners had labeled him a good speaker. This was high praise from a group who had been highly critical of his unprepared, long-winded predecessors. If they knew the truth, he spent very little time preparing sermons. He wanted to, but he never seemed to have the time. But on days such as Christmas, he tried to have something prepared, even if it was from a textbook of sermons or his old sermons used at previous parishes he had served. Tonight’s sermon was a combination of previous homilies and recent thoughts and he felt good about the result.

It is Christmas. The day that Christ, our God, came into our world. He came as a babe in a manger. That is not where his mother and father wanted him to be born. It was in a manger because no one would open his or her door to this holy family. This might seem heartless and mean to turn away a pregnant mother. But do you think if they had known that they were turning away the Mother of God and Jesus, the Son of God, that they might have opened their hearts and their doors? Of course.

As he scanned the congregation, he realized that they were listening attentively. He saw many unfamiliar faces. Every Christmas and Easter even the many who no longer went to church on Sunday would come to mass. They were finally relaxing just a little after a flurry of shopping for last-minute presents, wrapping them, preparing meals for family, friends and relatives, trying to get to mass early to secure a parking space and a seat. These good people were hanging on each of his words. They certainly were his people, and it was important that he make his point while he had them. There was no time for added stories or anecdotes that always seemed to pop into his head and lead him away from his main point. Tonight he was prepared and so were they.

How many of us have opened the door of our hearts to Christ? That’s right. Before we condemn our ancient brothers and sisters, we need to ask ourselves if we aren’t just as guilty of sending away our God when he comes knocking to enter our hearts and souls. As you prepared for his birthday this year, did you spend time reading scripture and sharing family favorite holiday stories or was the bulk of your time spent perusing department store catalogs, sales brochures, or on-line sites?

He could see many heads nodding in agreement as these good souls examined their behavior as instructed. It did not matter to them that they had been admonished for this many times before by former parish priests. It was okay to hear it again. Father Riley never used an accusatory tone. They knew that they could do better. While it was not the goal of Father Riley, they also knew that their pastor wanted them to stay in a giving mood at least through one of his favorite events, the Christmas collection.

The sermon continued for another ten minutes. Father Riley knew that while the congregants were attentive at the beginning of the sermon, after ten minutes they would be lost. A few coughs and some yells from restless children brought Father Riley to the realization that it was time to end.

Folding his sermon he looked out to them and spoke from his heart: When I think of Christmas, I think of giving, just as God gave us His Son. I am not referring to the gift of money. We need to give the ‘gift’ of ourselves to each other. I do not know how much I am able to give to you, but I do know what a gift you are to me. I thank you for that, and I thank God for that. I hope that your Christmas is as merry for you as you have made it for me. God bless you and Merry Christmas.

The remainder of the mass was a joyous, yet restrained celebration. As Father Riley recessed down the center aisle to Joy to the World, many of the people reached out to shake his hand. He, in turn, searched for the younger members of the parish to let them know how happy he was to have them around him. The Church was losing many people and with them went their children, the Church’s future. He also sought out some fathers he knew he would not see again until Easter to let them know they were welcome. On this night, they were a truly joyous people.

Despite the snow, he went outside to shake more hands. He received many hugs and wishes for a Merry Christmas. His hair and liturgical hood were white from the snow as he returned to the warmth of the now empty church. He had done the early evening service, too, so he could sleep in a little later Christmas morning. He could feel the warmth of his bed calling. But that was not to be as he heard a familiar voice calling his name.

Chapter Two

F ather Tom, Father Tom.

He turned as he was unlocking his newly purchased Saab. The snow was falling harder now, and he could barely see the driver of the car that was pulling up along side him.

Father Tom, that was a great service. I kept crying.

Ah, Mary, I have been told that I have a special talent for making people cry when I speak. The driver of the car was Mary Clarke, a parishioner that Father Riley had spent much time counseling.

You know very well what I mean. Father, I know it’s late and you’ve probably had an exhausting day and probably have another mass tomorrow, but I would love to have you stop over for Christmas eggnog. What do you say?

While he wanted to decline, he instead said with a smile, Sounds great. I’ll be there in a few minutes. It was already after one in the morning. Riley only had thoughts of putting his head on a pillow. He knew that a few minutes at Mary Clarke’s would be pleasant. He had spent time at her home trying to help her through the rough period after her husband dropped dead in his office from an aneurysm. She was now a widow again with a young son and daughter and a nineteen-year-old stepdaughter, Patti, from her husband’s first marriage. Patti was only ten when her mother died from breast cancer. Her father married Mary just a year and a half after Patti’s mother died. Her relationship with Mary was never close. Patti seemed to abhor the thought of her father with someone other than her mother, especially so soon after her death.

Father Riley found Mary to be a wonderfully warm woman who always made him feel good about himself. His counseling sessions with her had become as therapeutic for him as they were for her.

He smiled as he drove to Mary’s house. His first pastor would have asked him to get permission from him before he visited any parishioner’s house. In similar circumstances ten years earlier, he would have made the visit, parked his car in the church parking lot away from the rectory on his return, and then walked to the rectory, tiptoeing up the back stairs to his attic suite. He always felt a little ridiculous, but his behavior never changed until he moved in with more of what he would call enlightened pastors.

Come in, Father. Welcome and Merry Christmas.

He surely felt welcome as he saw the beautifully decorated tree, heard the soft Christmas music being sung by Perry Como, smelled the coffee brewing, and felt the warmth of the fireplace. On the fireplace he saw Christmas stockings for each of the children and Mary, and even one for her late husband.

How are you, Mary? You look great. He reached out and gave her a strong embrace. Mary was just over forty, but in her tailored red dress, neatly cut hair, large blue eyes, and only the slightest trace of makeup, she looked closer to thirty.

I hope you didn’t feel obliged to come over. I have wanted to see you, but everything has been so hectic. Tonight is the first real quiet I’ve had in a month. The kids were so tired after mass they gave me no argument about getting to bed. Patti stopped by some friend’s house after mass. Please sit over here by the fireplace. It is nice and warm.

Near the fireplace was a comfortable looking reclining chair with wide arms and a high back. Next to it was an end table with an Irish crystal decanter filled with cordial alongside two crystal glasses.

Why don’t you pour us some amaretto, Father? My husband used to love to sit in that chair and have a final drink on Christmas Eve to celebrate the last toy he struggled to put together before Santa’s arrival. That is something you don’t get to do. But there is no reason not to enjoy the celebratory drink. Right? Do you miss not having kids?

As soon as she asked the question she regretted it. Wait. That is too personal, and this is not a counseling session. She laughed nervously.

"Oh, stop, Mary. It is a question I am asked often. One woman once told me the women in the parish considered me the most eligible, non-eligible bachelor in the village. In some ways I miss it and in other ways I do not. I am happy with my vocation, and I have many rewards that I could not have if I was a dad.

So now that you have asked me a tough question, it is my turn to ask you one. He poured the amaretto carefully into the crystal goblets and gave one to Mary. "How is Patti doing?

I would say not too badly most of the time. Patti is still having the hardest time accepting her father’s death. Maybe I should say she is still having a hard time accepting that her father married me. She has been trying her best to stay out of the house since she returned home from college at the end of the semester last week.

Riley tried to console Mary. Listen, she is still young and she has lost both of her birth parents. This is understandably hard for her to process. I have talked to psychologists who have said that children who experience the death of a parent at an early age can feel abandoned by that parent, even if that so-called ‘abandonment’ was caused by their parent’s death. It has to make her feel very vulnerable.

I know, Tom. I know. We have never been close and after the death of her father, this year has been the worst. We’ve done a lot of talking about this during our counseling sessions. But let’s dwell on some more pleasant things tonight.

Sounds okay with me. By the way, I have something for you. He reached into his black suit pocket and handed her a small, unwrapped box.

Oh, Father, you shouldn’t have bothered getting me something. In the box was a gold chain and cross. It sparkled as it reflected the Christmas lights on the tree. She began to cry. It is beautiful, Father, Just beautiful.

Seeing her reaction surprised Father Riley. He had bought her the chain and cross weeks before and had left it in the glove compartment after buying it. He had hesitated to give it to her. He wondered if it might be considered too personal coming from a priest. He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected but seeing her cry made him wonder if buying her the cross was a good thing to do. You deserve a nice gift, Mary. You have been through a lot and have handled everything with such grace.

As Mary admired the beauty of the necklace, she could not help but think back to her last Christmas with her husband when he had been so excited about his gift for her. He kept telling her that she would be surprised. She expected maybe some pearls, maybe an exotic trip without the kids or even a not so exotic but fun trip with the kids to a popular resort like Disney. They usually opened their gifts on Christmas morning, but he had insisted she open hers when they came home from Christmas Eve mass. When she opened it, she smiled and thanked him with a hug. How thoughtful. It was a food dehydrator. She almost cried that night, too.

It is a 500 watt with ten dishwasher-safe trays and a power head mounted on the top, he told her excitedly.

Wow. That is so neat. She knew her husband meant well. After all, she did say one time that she would like a food dehydrator.

Looking down at the cross, she popped back to the present. Could you help me put it on, Father? I want to wear it right away. She turned her back to him, and he hooked the clasp on the gold chain.

How do you think it looks?

He could see their reflection in the mirror over the fireplace as he was standing behind her. She was smiling holding the cross in her hand. She let the chain hang on her chest. He could see her beauty. The gold chain only accentuated her good looks. He caught the scent of her perfume as they stood and stared at the mirror. The scent, the closeness, the warmth of the surroundings, made him perspire. He reached up and unbuttoned his Roman collar. He stepped away from her and reached for his cordial on the end table.

The cordial is delicious, Mary. I think I better drink up and hit the road before my pastor sends out the St. Bernard dogs.

But you didn’t answer my question, she laughed. How does it look?

Two things. What does a priest know about how jewelry looks, and I am the guy who bought it so I would have to say it is perfect.

Very funny. But please don’t go yet, Father. I have a present for you, too. She reached under the tree and handed him a neatly wrapped box with a beautifully tied bow. He slowly untied the ribbon and meticulously removed the paper.

Don’t be afraid to tear the paper, Father. I have no plans to reuse it, she laughed.

That’s a throwback to my mother. She always had us try to remove the wrapping without tearing it. I think she used the same wrapping paper for about five years in a row. She would even wrap the top of the box separately to make it easier for us to open and easier for her to put the empty, wrapped box back in the attic for the next year.

When the paper was removed, he could see three of the Joseph Girzone Joshua books. What a great present, Mary. He rose from the chair and hugged her. He held her for more than just a moment, and she held him tightly. As he moved away he put his hand on her shoulder and bent slightly and kissed her on the cheek. As he did, she turned her head and slightly brushed his lips with hers. He caught the slightest taste of amaretto. He was not sure if she intentionally kissed him or just happened to turn her head at an appropriate time for it to happen. He caught another whiff of her perfume. He forgot his priesthood for just a moment. But when he caught the sight in the mirror of his black suit and unbuttoned Roman collar sticking out to the side, he quickly regained his composure.

Mary, I must go now.

Are you sure, Father Tom? I haven’t felt this good in a long time.

He started to move towards the front door. Mary, I hope you have a fine Christmas. Be patient with Patti. Someday she will come around, and you might find the closeness you don’t have now. Just leave the door open to her. I cannot see how she could come to know the person you are and not love you and understand why her dad married you.

Thank you for the encouragement, Father. Thank you for everything. Can I hug you one more time? She reached out with both arms around his back and drew him closer to her. She laid her head against his chest. I thank God every day for you coming into my life at this time. I don’t think I would have made it without you.

Oh, Mary. You are a rock. You would have done fine without me. But I really must go. He separated himself from her and started out to the driveway and his car.

Your cross will be my favorite present, she yelled out as he opened his door.

He was surprised by a set of headlights coming into the driveway behind his car. It was Patti getting a ride home from her friend.

Hi, Father, nice mass. My friends all enjoyed it, too. You looked like a saint up there. Maybe even like a Hollywood star type saint.

Now, Patti, you are going to embarrass Father Tom, Mary said from the front