“’At’s right.”
“Well, how did you mean that?”
Pete frowned. “Just what I said. He studied his religion, he went to Mass regularly, said his prayers—that sort of thing. And he was, I will say, a Christian gentleman in every sense of the word.” There was irritation in his voice, as though Mike had impugned the memory of a friend.
“Don’t get huffy, Pete; he struck me as a pretty nice person, too—”
“Until he flipped his lid,” said Pete. “But that might happen to anybody.”
“Sure. But what I want to know—and don’t get sore—is, did he show any kind of—well, instability before this last outbreak?”
“Like what?”
“I mean, was he a religious nut? Did he act ‘holier than thou’ or—well, was he a fanatic, would you say?”
“No, I wouldn’t say so. He didn’t talk much about it. I guess you noticed that. I mean, he didn’t preach. He smoked some and had his glass of wine now and then—even had a cocktail or two on occasion. His views on sex were orthodox, I reckon—I mean, as far as I know. He’d tell an off-color story, if it wasn’t too bad. But he’d get up and leave quietly if the boys started tellin’ about the women they’d made. Fornication and adultery just weren’t his meat, I’d say.”
“I know he wasn’t married,” Mike said. “Did he date much?”