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to
Montriano a few years earlier. He was fresh out of seminary, his cheeks beaming
his innocence. With clear olive skin and dark eyes, he was tall and trim, a
perfect build for his clerical robes.
    “I think that one is headed for
trouble,” Sister Clara once noted.
    “What do you mean?” Sister Angela asked,
taken aback by her fellow teacher’s reaction.
    “I’m surprised you don’t see it,” said
Sister Marcella. “You seem to think you know everything else going on in this
village.”
    “That man is far too handsome to be a
priest,” Sister Clara said. “I probably wouldn’t have taken my vows if one like
him had shown any interest in me.”
    “And I have heard he came to us with a
trail of rumors concerning his vows,” Sister Marcella said. “Maybe the bishop thinks
it’s okay for priests to break theirs, but I can assure you, it only brings
trouble to the rest of us.”
    Sister Angela agreed there was something
about him, though not necessarily trouble. Her vow of chastity had never kept
her from admiring some of God’s other work whether the man wore a collar or
not. She looked at the young priest as if she were studying a painting. Was he
trouble?
    The young women in the parish admired
him too, whispering among themselves, hushing each other when Sister Angela
passed. And she had heard her own students talk about him. Yes, he was
attractive and not much older than a boy.
    Father Domenic did not appear to be
distracted by the attention he received, however—did not even seem to notice
it. With the retirement of Father Augustus and the reassignment of a number of
interim pastors that followed, Father Domenic’s confidence grew. The parish had
been between priests now for three months, and he was forced to fulfill the
pastor’s duties in addition to his own. He seemed to do it easily. But the
diocese probably would not promote him yet. Not only was he still too young,
but as Sister Marcella pointed out, there were rumors about his past that had
to be cleared up.
    Rumors about attractive priests were
nothing new, of course. Scandals seemed to blossom in most of the dioceses worldwide.
Did Sister Angela think many of them were true? Probably. The vow of chastity
was contrary to human nature. It was difficult to imagine any of them sticking
to it. Was it impossible? Of course not. Sister Angela managed though she found
it easier as the years progressed. Did she believe Father Domenic had broken
his vow? If his sins did not emerge now, they would come out in the next world.
All Sister Angela could assure everyone was that sins committed against the
townspeople of Montriano would not be covered up for long.
    When it came to rumors, Church policy
moved like a hundred-ton truck—it plodded, tremors radiating out, and everyone
felt the effects. Nonetheless, barring the release of more evidence, Sister
Angela recognized he would soon be ready whether or not his superiors were. His
face was more chiseled now, his forehead wrinkled in thought. But he still looked
like a prince, and every single female in the parish lingered, perhaps hoping
he would attempt to whisk her away.
    “Father Domenic,” DiMarco said, “maybe
you could fill in Sister Angela on your movements and how you found the body
this morning.”
    “As I always do, I walked into the
church at five-thirty this morning,” he began.
    “Through the front door?” Sister Angela
asked, needing the picture right in her mind.
    “No, no,” he said. “I entered by means
of the gate and then through the sacristy.”
    “Was the gate locked this morning?”
    “Yes. I had the key.”
    “Was the sacristy locked too?”
    “It’s never locked,” the priest said.
“There’s no lock, you see. The door was closed, though. There was no sign
anyone had entered there.”
    “And was there anything amiss in the
sacristy?”
    “I noticed nothing out of place.”
    “When did you sense something was
wrong?”
    “I already told this to the police,
Sister.