The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3 Read Free

didn’t really mind.
    “I hope I didn’t stare too noticeably.”
    “Just enough to make me glad I chose to wear this today.”
    Was he flirting with me?  “I’m surprised you chose to wear
your cassock traveling.  It can’t be too comfortable.”
    “No, it isn’t, but I wear it for the perks.”
    “And what perks are those?”  I had barely finished my
question before it was answered.  A flight attendant had materialized at Father
Michael’s elbow.
    “Father, we have a couple of first class seats available. 
How about a free upgrade?”
    “Would it be possible for my, er, associate to join me?” he
beamed at her angelically.  The flight attendant visibly melted.
    “Sure, we have two side by side.”
    He looked at me expectantly, and though I was a bit
surprised by the offer I nodded my assent.  I grabbed my bag and followed him
to the front cabin, silently questioning my motives.  He stood aside giving me
the window seat, and as he folded himself into his own chair he said pointedly,
“Perks.”
    Amy, our flight attendant and new best friend requested our
drink order.
    “Two whiskeys on the rocks,” Father Michael responded and
glanced at me, “Okay?”
    “ Scīlicet ,” I answered in Latin.
    He left it up to Amy to select the brand of whiskey, and
after she left he indulged his curiosity.  “You know Latin?”
    “A bit.”
    “Any reason why?”  His words were tinted with a touch of
impatience.
    “Oh, alright.  I was reading Joyce’s Portrait of the Artist
...”
    “At gun point?” he interrupted.
    “By choice.”  I could have explained that my daughter Noelle
bought the book for my birthday.  She was reading Ulysses , and seeing my
interest thought I should read a smaller amount of Joyce to start with.  When I
was ready she would loan me her dog-eared, notes-in-the-margin copy to enjoy or
cry over.  But I didn’t tell him. Nor did I tell him I had recently taken a
course called “Dead Languages.”  I wanted him to wonder.
    Our drinks arrived, and I enjoyed my first sip in peace and
quiet.  My seat partner was indeed a whiskey drinker because he likewise sipped
slowly and leaned back into the seat and closed his eyes.
    “So, you read Joyce.”
    “It may be why I know you’re a Jesuit.”
    “You don’t hold it against me?” he asked still keeping his
eyes closed.
    “I think you must be quite amazing.  If any of what I read
is true, it was one hell, oh, uh, heck of a hard road you traveled.  Scīlicet,
Rēs mē nihil contingit – of course it’s none of my business – or,
as the French might say, ce ne sont pas tes oignons .
    “Show off,” he said with a smile.
    The flight attendants went through their safety spiel, and
soon the jet lifted off the ground.  Father Michael and I were enjoying our
second drink before our conversation turned away from the polite small talk and
onto more interesting ground.
    “So Joyce explains the Latin.  What about the French?”
    “My daughter.”
    “Your daughter is French?”
    “No, just speaks it.  Actually, she speaks quite a few
languages.”
    “Ah, a linguist.”
    “Nope, an academic, well, a student of literature.”  I
winced inwardly as my daughter would skin me alive if she heard me call her an
academic.  Lately, she’d been having an adverse reaction to the nasal
pontificating of her peers and their insincere and endless networking.  But
maybe she and I tend to get a little too caught up in attaching labels to
everyone and everything.
    “Really, where is she attending?”
    “University of Exeter.”
    “Hmmm, that’s part of Oxford?”
    “No, not Exeter College...it’s a university in Devon.”
    “So this explains the trip to England?”
    “Partly.  I will be seeing her there.  Not in Exeter but out
in Cornwall.”
    “What’s the other part?”
    His questions were more insistent than I would have liked. 
Was he interrogating me or was it just my imagination?
    “Don’t leave me hanging,” he