Dead Wrong Read Online Free

vanished. Priests were now frequently on a first-name basis with their flock. “Father Jack” was one of the boys who happened to be ordained and had a supernatural aura only when vested and supervising worship.
    Koesler, however, could not be or become “Bob” or even “Father Bob.” His clerical roots were deep in the pre-conciliar Church. From his seminary days on, he saw the priesthood in an extraterrestrial dimension. Priesthood for Koesler—and for many of his contemporaries—shared in the mission of Jesus Christ and was a sublime vehicle for helping others. Emphasis was on the role and not on the individual. So he was uncomfortable when anyone attempted to burrow into his personal life. Not that there was anything in it of which he was ashamed. But the intrusion seemed to him counterproductive. The familiar level was completely open to his family, and fellow priests and personal friends. But when he was operating professionally, as he was now with Charles Nash, he was more comfortable with recognition of his professional character.
    However, in the hope that Nash’s promise or relevancy would finally emerge, Koesler was now willing to humor the man and follow his lead. “What was it again you wanted to know?”
    “Your cousins … tell me about them.”
    “Uh … okay. There are three of them—about my age, in their fifties and sixties.”
    “Old maids.”
    “Maiden ladies. They never married.”
    “Names?”
    “Oona, Eileen, and Maureen Monahan.”
    “Irish.”
    “My mother’s family was Irish.”
    “Children?”
    “They’re unmarried.”
    “Doesn’t mean they couldn’t have children.”
    Koesler suppressed irritation. “Not these women!”
    “How about the last one? Maureen?”
    Koesler tipped his head sideways, as if taking a fresh look at Nash. “This is where you’ve been going all the while, isn’t it? You already know about Maureen—and her two girls. Maureen took them in to live with her. If you knew of their existence, you have to know they were adopted—maybe not technically, but for all intents and purposes.”
    “I want to know more about them. Then you’ll know why I sent for you.”
    Koesler knew he’d reached the end of his tether. “I think we’ve delved into my life far enough, Mr. Nash,” he said firmly. “I don’t know what there is about me or my relatives that piqued your curiosity, but I see no point in continuing this conversation.” He stood up. “If ever I can really help you sometime, feel free to call. Or,” he added, “you might consider calling the parish that serves this area. Which, incidentally, is St. Charles—”
    “Wait!” Nash said, with more animation than he’d shown previously. “Wait, don’t go.” He turned his head and looked out the window for a moment. Then he turned back to Koesler. “All right, all right: I know your background. I know about your cousins. And I know about the young ones—Maureen’s children.”
    Koesler sat back down, but he still was far from satisfied with continuing this conversation. “They’re not Maureen’s children—not her natural children; they’re adopted.”
    Nash hesitated. “I know about that. But they’re as good as hers. She raised them.”
    “Not from their earliest years. They were foundlings. No actual parent can be completely responsible for every decision children make, especially as they become adults. Still less if the child is not in the care of the adopting parent during the child’s early, most formative years.”
    Nash almost smiled. “You know where I’m heading, don’t you?”
    “You’re going toward a rumor, nothing more.” Koesler had been maneuvered into a defensive position, and he did not like it at all.
    Nash spread his hands, palms up, as if he were speaking an irrefutable if unpleasant truth. “It is no rumor, Father Koesler. Your cousin Brenda is the paramour of my son Teddy. You know that’s true, don’t you?”
    “No, I don’t know it’s true. I