What She Never Said

by Catharine Riggs

Milo’s entry is unlike the others. It wasn’t whispered at the time of death. It’s a listing of criminal activities. Drugs stolen, monies pinched, champions tortured. Even the rape of an undocumented kitchen worker, who was then threatened with deportation if she ever spoke out. This is followed by an accusation of blackmail but no further explanation of that particular crime.

  I flip through more pages and come across the names of the five destitutes who died in recent weeks. Their entries support Ember’s claim that the pastor had a hand in their sudden deaths. The final entry is Kate Harrington’s. But that’s impossible. She was murdered just this morning. How could she have relayed her secret? Unless . . . ? I almost drop the book.

  “May I help you?”

  “Pastor Sam,” I say much too loudly. “I didn’t hear you come in.” The woman looks as tense as a coiled snake, her jaw clenched tight like a fist.

  “Windy night,” she says, holding out her hand. “May I?” The light above us shivers and fades, casting shadows across the pastor’s waxen face. I hand her the book, my hand shaking.

  “What’re you doing in my office?” she asks, her eyes boring into mine.

  I take a few steps back. “I . . . I wanted to speak with you.”

  “And snoop?”

  “I’m sorry; I thought . . .”

  The pastor settles at her desk and positions the book exactly where it sat before. “No need to explain. My fault. I shouldn’t have left the door unlocked. I didn’t expect to be gone so long. Mrs. Harrington’s stepsons have arrived, and they are quite distressed, as you can imagine.” She nods at my chair. “Will you please take a seat?”

  I wave my cell phone. “I’m sorry, something’s come up. I need to leave.”

  She eyes the phone with a thin-lipped smile. “No, actually, you don’t.”

  I consider and then slip the phone back into my pocket and perch on the edge of my chair.

  “Thank you. Now, what is it you wanted to speak to me about?” She fingers her jeweled cross.

  “Nothing important,” I lie. “I mean, it can wait.”

  “Really?” she says. “That seems strange. I thought you might be here because of Zach. He and Adam have gotten themselves into a bit of a mess, haven’t they?”

  I try to sound firm, but I hear my voice shaking. “It’s all a mistake. They didn’t do anything wrong.”

  She leans back and eyes me like I’m a puzzle she can’t understand. “Unfortunately, the police don’t seem to agree with your assessment, and I can’t say I blame them. You have to admit that the evidence is quite strong. Photos have cropped up of their clandestine encounter with Nurse Milo. And poor Kate went as far as to write Zach’s name on the ground in her own blood.”

  “You know as well as I do that Zach didn’t commit murder,” I say, feeling strength in my words. “You’re the one who said there’s a serial killer on the loose. He must be trying to frame Zach.”

  “You think?”

  “Of course, I think. And you should too. Remember? You said this killer murdered Milo and possibly others. You need to give that information to the police.”

  She slowly shakes her head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “My dear,” she says. “You do understand any explanation to the police would implicate me in my work as the ambassador. And that’s something I just can’t have.”

  A spark of anger ignites my next words. “That’s enough of your lies,” I say. “I know you aren’t the ambassador. You’re the Angel. You’re the one that’s responsible for the deaths of the Goodnight Club members and more.”

  “That’s quite an accusation,” she says, narrowing her eyes.

  “It’s true. And if you won’t help me, if you won’t tell the truth, then I’ll . . . I’ll share what I know with Detective Ruiz. He’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “So . . . would you mind telling me who’s accusing me of being the Angel?”

  I hesitate but then decide it’s best to lay my cards on the table. “Ember,” I reply.

  She nods. “Ah. My sweet little Ember? I’m surprised she’d tell such a lie.”

  “I don’t believe she’s lying.”

  “Actually, she is, and I can prove it.”

  I get to my feet. “Don’t waste your time. Either way, I’m going to the police. They can be the ones to sort out the truth.”

  “You do understand they’ll arrest the girl,” she says in a calm voice.

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  “So you’re willing to throw your son’s lover to the wolves?”

  “If it means saving my child and Zach, yes.”

  “What a selfish woman.”

  “I suppose I am.” I turn to leave when the overhead light shivers and snaps off. I’m enveloped in a velvety darkness. I knock my chair backward trying to reach the door.

  “Stay right where you are,” the pastor orders. “I’ll flip the circuit breaker. I wouldn’t want you to trip and get hurt.”

  I hear her get up from her chair and tip-tap across the floor. “I think I’ve got it,” she says. “Hold on. Let me check the light.” The tip-taps start up again, and I fumble for the doorknob, propelled by a wave of fear. A hand grabs my shoulder, and something stabs my neck. I drop to the floor, wrenching my back. “Help me,” I say. My tongue grows thick, and my thoughts cloud. There’s a scratch of a match, and the light illuminates the pastor’s devilish face. She begins to move, wobbling in circles like a drunken top.

  “Sorry about the injection,” she says. “I know it can be quite uncomfortable, but not for long.”

  “I can’t breathe,” I whisper. The light fades into darkness, and I slip into a deep sleep.

  Four

  Wednesday, October 2

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  I awaken to the sound of water driving knives into my head.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  I’m locked in a musty darkness. Where? Why? Am I underground? In a grave? That’s it, I’m in a casket. I’ve been buried. Please, God, I’m not dead. No. No. No. Wake up. You’re in a dream. But no, I’m not. There’s no air. I can’t breathe. I can’t open my mouth. My hands are stuck to my sides. It’s a stroke. That’s it. I’ve had a stroke. I can’t move. My heart may blow through my chest. Gorge rises in my throat. Stop! If I puke right now, I’m dead.

  I turn my head to the left. Light bleeds from beneath the door. Calm down. Now. Light. I see light. Think! I haven’t been buried. I’m on the ground. I’m deadweight. It’s a stroke. It must be. That’s why I can’t move. Can’t speak. Can barely breathe.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  I stare at the light in search of calm. I time my breathing to the beat of the drips. My heartbeat begins to slow. Someone will find me. Soon. Yes. But where am I? Not at home. At work? Yes. I must be at work. But where? The drops sound like they’re coming from a leaking sink. I concentrate on the light and begin to discern the texture of the floor. Rock. Gray rock. Covered in dust bunnies. Flagstone? Yes, flagstone. Absolutely. And the musty smell? My memory is jogged just the slightest bit, and my body sizzles with electricity; I’m wired so tight it hurts.

  The chapel. Dear God. I’m in the chapel. I’m in Pastor Sam’s underground lair. The lights. The sting in my neck. She did this. She hurt me. I rock back and forth. The walls are closing in. Where am I? In a closet? There’s barely enough room to move. This is no stroke. She’s done something awful. I can’t breathe. There’s no air. I’m dying. This is the end.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  Breathe to the beat of the water. Work to gain control. I rock onto my side, my back seizing with pain. That’s right. I fell. I remember that. That’s good. That’s okay. The pain will keep me awake, and that’s what I need to save myself. I worm my way closer to the light until I can see the outline of my legs and feet. There’s black duct tape wrapped around my shins. I peer closer. It’s also wrapped around my waist. Oh my God. That means it’s wrapped around my mouth. Please God, no
! I can’t breathe.

  Noooooooooo! The gorge rises fast; I can’t stop it. A sour taste floods my mouth. This is it. It’s the end. I’ll suffocate. The most horrible way to go.

  “Ruth?” a voice calls, sounding muffled and far away. “Ruth?”

  I swallow. It can’t be the pastor. She knows where I am. It’s someone coming for me.

  “Ruth?” The voice fades, and I hear a door open. No! Don’t go! I bring my knees up to my chest and shove my feet against the door. Thump. Pain roars up my spine. Thump. I try again.

  The door’s thrown open, and there’s a blinding light. “Ruth?”

  All I can see is a melted face, but I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful in my life. Ember drops next to me. “What’s happened? What is this?”

  I moan as loud as I can.

  She takes hold of the tape and rips it from my mouth. I gasp at the air. So happy to breathe I can’t talk. I suck deep until it fills my lungs. “Hurry,” I pant.

  “Who did this to you?”

  “The pastor.”

  “Pastor Sam? But why?”

  “There’s no time for explanations. Cut the tape!”

  “Yes. Yes. Of course.” She looks around. “I’ll have to find something.”

  “No!” I hiss, hysteria mounting. “The pastor could be back any second. My pocket. Try my left pocket. You’ll find a knife inside.”

  Ember reaches into my pocket and extracts the credit card knife. She stares at it a moment. And then she begins to saw at the tape that binds my arms until it snaps.

  A shadow looms above Ember, but only a moan escapes my mouth. The shadow reaches between its breasts and yanks a knife from its hidden home. Oh my God. Her cross is a weapon. How could I have missed that clue? Pastor Sam raises her hand high.

  “Move!”

  The pastor drives the knife into Ember’s neck. Ember’s eyes open wide, and she whimpers like a puppy that’s been hurt. And then she collapses onto me, blood running across my chest.

  “Well, well. How sweet is that,” the pastor says. “The saint helping the sinner.”

  “How could you hurt her?” I gasp. “You said you loved her like a daughter.” My knife shines through her blood. I cover it with my hand.

  “Did I?” The pastor shoves Ember aside with her foot and eyes me, her face pinched and worn. “I honestly did love the child, but she betrayed me in the end.”

  “Please,” I beg. “She doesn’t deserve this. Please, don’t let her die.”

  The pastor shrugs. “Don’t feel bad. She’s a good person. God will cradle her in his arms.”

  The knife. How to use it? I’ll only get one chance.

  The pastor prods my stomach with her foot and then presses hard until I scream.

  “That’s what I love about the basement,” she says. “No one can hear you down here.” She drops to her knees, her jeweled cross reflecting the light.

  “You used that cross to kill Milo?”

  “Convenient, don’t you think?”

  “And Kate?”

  “Of course.” She holds up the shiny blade. “It’s such a wonderful instrument. One part heaven. One part hell.”

  “By why Kate? What did she ever do to you?”

  The pastor screws up her face. “She did nothing to me personally, although she was a sinner in God’s eyes. An adulteress like you. She told a lie to save her man. So I had no qualms when I made the decision to divert suspicion to Zach. First I sent the damning photos. Then I iced the cake with Kate.” She chuckles. “I like how that sounds.”

  “But we promised we wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “Of course I didn’t believe you. I was just buying some time, and I assume you were doing the same.”

  “But we would’ve kept our promise.”

  “You threatened me, remember? You threatened to go to the police.”

  “I didn’t mean it.”

  “Of course you did.”

  I rack my brain for words that might persuade the pastor to set me free. “But Zach knows about you. Kate told him everything and more. He’ll tell Detective Ruiz.”

  “Tell them what? That I’m some angel’s ambassador? I’ll deny it all, of course. And with Zach’s history of abuse and deception, no one will believe him anyway. I do have regrets about poor Adam. Wrong place. Wrong time. If only he hadn’t purchased the Adderall. What a foolish choice. But who knows. Maybe they’ll be lenient, and he’ll get out of jail in five or ten years. I hope he does.”

  “Please . . .”

  “Enough. I’ve got a lot of packing to do.”

  “I promise I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go.”

  “And how would we explain poor Ember?” She holds her hand to her ear as if she’s listening for my answer. “Exactly. Now, enough with the useless chatter. You understand I could’ve killed you with the injection, but that would’ve precluded a new entry to my journal. So I’ll offer you two options for your crossing in exchange for a juicy secret. Would you prefer suffocation or fire?”

  I position the knife between my fingers. I’ll only have one chance. Aim for the eye? The neck? Could my stubby weapon pierce her heart? “You already know my secret. You told me so yourself.”

  “For your sake, I’m hoping there’s something more.” She moves away for a moment and returns with a roll of duct tape. “I think suffocation might be worse. Or a combination of both? What if I wrap this tape around your nose and mouth but don’t seal it completely? I’ll leave enough of a gap that you won’t die, at least not right away. The fire will take care of the rest. Or I suppose I could stab you and end things quickly. That’s not a bad way to go. But you must reveal your secret. The one that makes you tick. And please don’t lie to me. It’ll only make things worse.”

  “You already know my secret!”

  She rips off a foot of tape. “Here we go . . .”

  “How can you be so cruel?” Stupid question, but I’m trying to buy some time. “There must’ve been a point in your life when you were a good person. Remember your girlfriend? Stacy? How much you loved her? Cared for her?”

  “Oh my.” The pastor laughs and prickles my lips with the tape. “Wasn’t that a sweet story? And I told it so very well, I almost believed it myself. But no, I’m afraid Stacy was not a good friend. I mean, yes, for a short time she was my lover, and we made all sorts of silly promises to each other. But the truth is, there was no melanoma. No sad story to end our love. It was something more crass than that. Like you, Stacy was a cheater. An adulteress. We had made promises to each other, and then she traded me in for a man.” She caresses her cross. “In the end, she paid the price. The two of them died in a tragic accident at Grand Central. Tsk. Tsk. Someone pushed them in front of a moving train.”

  “Someone . . . ?”

  “Her parents were suspicious, but they could never prove it was me. Anyway . . .” The pastor bows her head and sighs. “Now, that’s quite enough of your stalling. We don’t have much time.”

  The tape edges toward my mouth and nose. “No!”

  “Go ahead,” she says. “I’m listening.”

  “It’s just . . .” I take a huge sobbing breath. “All right. I’ll tell you. I hurt myself when I was a little girl.”

  The tape edges closer. “Hurt?”

  My words spill out. “When I was ten, I fell down the stairs at my home, and I broke my arm.”

  Her face falls. She looks disappointed. “What kind of secret is that?”

  “I didn’t trip. I hurt myself on purpose.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought it might make my parents love me.”

  “They didn’t?”

  “No,” I say in a small voice. “They didn’t.”

  The pastor makes a guttural sound. “So that’s it? That’s your big secret? God, spare me from boring people. On a scale of one to ten, your secret rates a zero.” She tries to tape my mouth shut, but I jerk away.

  “You won’t get away with this,” I say. “Kai knows I
’m here. He’ll know it’s you that hurt us.”

  “I’m fairly certain you’re lying but, no matter. I’ve already covered that angle. I’ve repeatedly told the housekeepers they must be more careful with the varnish. But they refuse to listen, and even now, there are oily towels piled up in the closet. They can combust on their own, you know, although in this case, I’ll give them a nudge. Not right away, mind you; I want you to have time to contemplate your end. First, I’ll write your final entry in my crossing journal, boring as it is.” The pastor presses the tape against my mouth, and with every ounce of remaining strength, I plunge the knife deep into her neck. Her eyes grow wide, but she continues to struggle, so I stab at her eye and twist as hard as I can.

  “Ruth!” a man’s voice calls, and Detective Javier Ruiz appears overhead.

  “Help me,” I beg. “Help Ember.” I don’t remember much after that.

  Epilogue

  Labor Day Weekend

  One Year Hence

  Alice relaxes on one of the new lounge chairs I purchased last month. They match the new teak outdoor dining set that seats eight to ten. I’m excited to be hosting a Labor Day barbeque to show off my backyard remodel. It’s nothing flashy, just a new fence, trimmed trees, and a resurrected lawn. I replaced the fountain, tore out the roses, and added a French kitchen garden. I paid for it with the bonus I received when Serenity’s former owners begged me to return. The bad press had been too much for Lost Horizons. The company sold the campus back to the founders at a steep discount after the pastor’s murders were exposed.

  I think about Pastor Sam on occasion, especially when I come across a pink Post-it Note. Wonder what drove her to her killing spree—was she a Dr. Jekyll turned Mr. Hyde? Was there a good person locked inside her? Or was she a monster who used false empathy to mask her need to kill? If my knife hadn’t nicked her artery, we might know the answer. Instead, she died in a pool of blood that night, her motive forever locked away.

  “You need any help?” Alice asks.

  “No. I think I’m good. The salads are ready, and Zach should be back any minute to light the barbeque.” It’s been nice having Alice pop into town every week or two. I’ll miss her when she goes back on tour, but I’m careful not to bring the subject up. Touring is a part of her life, and she’s been clear she wants my support. Voices spill from the front room, and moments later, Adam walks onto the porch, holding Ember’s hand.