One Was a Soldier

by Julia Spencer-Fleming

  * * *

  Russ took Tony down to Albany to catch his morning flight. It was the least he could do. “You sure you don’t want to stay for the wedding?” he asked, pulling into the departures lane.

  Tony grinned. “The opportunity to see you doing the Chicken Dance is tempting, I must admit, but I better get home and start covering my ass.”

  Russ threw the truck into park. “I’m sorry about all this.”

  “Stop apologizing.” Tony dug his travel voucher out of his coat pocket. “You’re the one who taught me it’s better to have backup and not need it than the other way around.”

  They both got out of the cab. Tony hoisted his bag from the truck bed. “If anything else like this comes up, anything involving the army, I want you to give me a call, okay? Even if it’s just to bounce ideas off my thick skull.”

  Russ balanced on the edge of the curb, stretching his legs. “Forget it. My normal caseload consists of drunken fights and shoplifting from the Stewart’s, not military justice violations. The nearest base to us is Fort Drum, and that’s three and a half hours away.”

  Tony shook his head. “Your little burg’s not a military town, that’s true, but it’s the kind of town where the military comes from. Small, rural, not much opportunity. Right? How many of your young people join up to get away?”

  Russ thought of Wayne and Mindy’s boy, Ethan. Of himself, all those years ago. “A few.”

  “Uh-huh. And how many of your officers and EMTs and firefighters got their training in the Guard?” He lifted his bag from the walk. “There are a lot of Millers Kills all over this country. It’s where people like you and me come from, and sometimes it’s where we go back to. As long as that’s true, you’re going to keep crossing paths with the Big Green.” He held out his hand, and Russ shook it, hard. “You take care, Chief. Have fun being the preacher’s husband. Send me and Latice the baby announcement when it’s time.”

  Russ laughed. “Sorry, no kids. How ’bout you send me and Clare an invitation to Kanisha’s graduation?”

  “Invitation, hell. We’re selling tickets at fifty bucks a pop. You’ve got to think creatively when it comes to funding college.”

  * * *

  Evonne Walters’s greeting that morning was so enthusiastic Clare felt guilty for not visiting sooner. She brought out a loaf of pumpkin bread warm from the oven, and they settled on a sofa in a room Grandmother Fergusson would have called “the good parlor.” Photo albums and boxes of tissues suggested that this had become the place to meet and mourn and reminisce.

  Clare placed her mug on the coffee table and picked up an album.

  “That’s Mary in high school,” Evonne said.

  Clare flipped the cover open. A long-haired, makeup-wearing Tally McNabb smiled up at her. There were pages of friends and teammates, slumber parties and snow forts and the beach at Lake George. Tally in her prom dress, escorted by a boy in an ill-fitting tuxedo. “Is that Wyler?”

  “Oh, yes. They dated all through high school and got married right after.” Evonne flipped to a picture of Tally and Wyler leaning against the hood of a muscle car. “I don’t mind admitting I was against it at the time. Wyler didn’t even have a diploma, and I didn’t want Mary to have as hard a life as I had. But she was crazy in love with him.” She turned another page. Tally, in a white dress and veil. “They had their ups and downs. When she enlisted he was right ticked. Wouldn’t leave Millers Kill, though it wun’t like he had a regular job to keep him.” Evonne sighed. “He took his own sweet time growing up. Then he got hired by BWI Opperman, and they got the house and all, and I figured he just needed some extra baking time.”

  “Were you worried when she signed up?”

  “I always figured, what harm could come to a girl pushing a pencil?” Evonne made a quavery attempt at a smile. “Who knew the trouble would come after she got home?”

  “Sometimes…” Clare searched for the right words. “Sometimes the hard part is coming home. When you’re in, you know exactly what’s expected of you. After … you’re on your own.”

  “But she had me, and Wyler, and her friends. She had that group of yours. She had the job with BWI Opperman, and money to burn. She could’ve done anything.” Evonne blinked hard. “Somehow she just got smaller and smaller inside herself. Like she was hiding.”

  “From what?”

  “If I knew that, I mighta been able to help her.” The older woman sliced the pumpkin bread and held it out toward Clare. Take, eat, she thought. This is my body, given for you. They ate the bread together. It was warm and sweet on Clare’s tongue.

  “You were a chaplain,” Evonne said.

  “No. I flew helicopters. I was regular army for ten years before I became a priest.”

  “Then you must have seen action. Is that the right word? Fighting, I mean.”

  The pillar of smoke, before her, beneath her, around her. Blood on concrete. The screaming. The smell. “Yes,” she said.

  “Well, you came through fine.” Clare almost laughed, but Evonne went on. “That’s the part I don’t understand. She was an accountant. The worst thing that should’ve happened to her was a paper cut. How did she get hurt so bad inside the only thing could cure it was a bullet?” Her voice broke. Clare held out her hands, and the older woman took them, squeezing tightly.

  “I don’t know. All I can tell you is that being over there changes you. War makes you different, and you can’t go back to who you were before.”

  “I feel so…” Evonne shook her head, as if trying to rattle the words free. “Angry. At her. At Wyler. At the counselor. At the army.”

  “Not at BWI Opperman? They were going to send her back to Iraq with the crew.”

  “You know, she never did tell me that. I didn’t find out until Wyler spoke to me.” Evonne released Clare’s hands and reached for a tissue. “I can’t believe that was what made her … she could’ve just quit. She already had a couple good offers when BWI Opperman came after her.”

  “Came after her? She hadn’t already applied?”

  “Nope. The owner himself asked her, is what she said. Wyler greased it, I figure.” She flipped back to the page where Tally and her new husband stood in their finery, eternally young, eternally happy. “He had his faults, but he was good to her. He always said he wouldn’t have his job with BWI Opperman if not for her.”

  * * *

  Clare’s phone rang as she was rattling down Route 137 on her way back to town. A number she didn’t recognize. Maybe Eric had uncovered something good already? “Clare here,” she answered.

  “Clare Fergusson? This is Dr. Stillman’s office. We’ve scheduled your tests at the Washington County Hospital Outpatient Clinic. Are you available at one this afternoon?”

  Oh, God. Her brain whited out. How many pills had she had this morning? Did she drink last night? No, she’d come home from group and fallen asleep.

  “Ma’am?”

  Clare snapped to. “What?”

  “Are you available?”

  “Yes. Of course.” Her voice sounded scratchy in her ears. “Where is that, exactly?”

  The receptionist gave her directions to the outpatient clinic. She thanked the woman automatically and let her phone drop unnoticed onto the passenger seat. She stared sightlessly through the windshield at the still-green pastures ahead, bordered with lichen-stained stone walls or sagging barbwire fences. She was over the dosage on the Dexedrine, she knew she was. She had been going to call Trip, let him know what she and Will and Eric had talked about at last night’s meeting. Now … She bit her lip. She’d have to think of what to say. Maybe she could get him to postpone the test for twenty-four hours. Which completely obviated the purpose of the test, so she’d have to have a damn good reason. Which would be what, exactly?

  The phone ringing again cut off her downward-spiraling thoughts. She opened it without checking the number. “Clare Fergusson here.”

  “Hey, Reverend Clare, it’s Will.”

  Clare chucked
her own issues into the backseat and focused on Will. “Hey. What’s up?”

  “I talked to Olivia last night. After our meeting. I told her it looked like her mom might have been involved with Tally McNabb and her husband.”

  Clare slowed for a truck lumbering toward her across the narrow span of Veterans Bridge. “How did she feel about that?”

  “She was kind of upset. I mean, I tried to soft-pedal it and all, but there’s no nice way to say your mom could have been on the take. Anyway, she gave me permission to look in her house for anything that might tell us more.” He paused. “I mean, for you and Eric to look in the house.” His voice faded. “I don’t think the place is handicapped-accessible for me.”

  “How do we get in if she’s away at college? Spare key?”

  “She said you could call Roxanne Lunt, the Realtor. She’ll let you in.”

  “The house is up for sale?” Her heart sank. Lord knows what had been tossed out to prepare the place to be shown.

  “What’s she going to do with a house? Even if her mom had lived, Olivia probably wasn’t going to be living there anymore except for a few weeks in the summer.”

  “No, I understand. It’s just…” She shook the explanation away. “I know Roxanne. I’ll call her.” If her mom had lived. “Will, it would have been an awkward question to ask, but were you able to get a sense of how well-off her mother left her? Was there an unexpected amount?”

  “I thought of that,” Will said. “There wasn’t much. Some retirement stuff and the house. If she hadn’t gotten the scholarship, she’d be carrying a ton of student loans right now.”

  “Mmm. Of course, that doesn’t mean there wasn’t payoff money. Just that it’s somewhere Olivia and the estate executor couldn’t find it.”

  “Or maybe it’s like you and Eric said. Maybe she was set up to have an accident so nobody would have to pay her anything.”

  * * *

  Ellen and Olivia Bain’s house was one of a string of 1920s workingmen’s cottages along Meersham Street, small, pretty, with deep yards and spreading, now leafless, trees. Roxanne Lunt waved to Clare from a front porch decorated with corn shocks and pumpkins. Clare had offered to pick up the key from the Realtor’s office, but Roxanne turned her down. Clare sensed a sales pitch in the making. Roxanne had been showing properties on and off to Russ since he had gotten rid of his house—the house he shared with Linda, her brain helpfully supplied. Clare and Russ were planning on living in the rectory for the time being, but he had to invest the money from the sale of his last home soon or pay taxes on it. A fact the Realtor was well aware of.

  Roxanne held out her arms as Clare mounted the porch steps. “There you are! Only four more days to go, am I right?”

  “Till what?”

  Roxanne stared at her. “Until the wedding?”

  “Oh. Yeah,” Clare said. “Don’t remind me. I’ve got—” An MKPD squad car turning onto Meersham caught her eye. It swooped down the street, scattering dry leaves in its wake, and tucked in behind her Jeep. She knew, before he got out of the cruiser, that Russ was the driver. He always parked in a way that suggested the vehicle in front of him was about to get ticketed.

  “And here comes the groom,” Roxanne caroled as Russ crossed the corner of the lawn and climbed the porch steps.

  “What are you doing here?” Clare realized she could have sounded more gracious.

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Good question. Roxanne called me. She said you wanted to look at a house?” The crunch of more tires against the curb made them all turn. Clare watched with a sinking heart as Eric McCrea got out of his SUV dressed in his Guard uniform for some reason. He stopped halfway around the hood of his truck, looking at the assembly on the porch.

  “With … Eric? Gee, Clare, is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Clare began.

  Roxanne smiled brightly. “I’ll just open up and turn the lights on, shall I?” She unlocked the front door and whisked out of sight.

  Russ glanced up at the flawless blue sky. “Yeah, we’d better have the lights on.”

  “I’m sorry she called you,” Clare said. “You can go on patrolling or whatever.” She flapped her hand toward his squad car. “This has nothing to do with you.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. “Why do I have the feeling that’s not entirely true?”

  Eric had squared his shoulders and walked up the driveway. He climbed the porch steps like a man climbing to the guillotine. “Chief.” He cut his eyes toward Clare. “Will called. Said I should join you.”

  “Will?” Russ said.

  “Will Ellis.” Clare crossed her arms.

  Russ frowned. “Will Ellis.” He looked at her. Then at Eric. Then back at her. His face changed. “Oh, for God’s sake. This isn’t some sort of—this isn’t about Tally McNabb, is it?”

  “What if it is?” Clare knew she sounded like a five-year-old, but she couldn’t help it.

  “Whose house is this?”

  “It belonged to Ellen Bain,” Eric said to the floorboards.

  Russ frowned. “Who?”

  “Ellen Bain.” Eric lifted his head. “She was the fatal auto accident back in July. Out at the juncture of Sacandaga and the resort road?”

  “I remember. What’s the connection?”

  “She and Tally had the same job,” Clare said. “Keeping books for the construction crews that went overseas.”

  “Tally was hired three days after Ellen Bain died,” Eric said. “Because the job was so critical, the human resources director said.”

  Clare interrupted. “Her mother said she got the offer directly from the CEO.”

  “However, two weeks after Tally died, they still haven’t replaced her. Despite the position being so important they were going to send her back to Iraq.”

  Russ held up a hand. “It didn’t occur to you that they might have difficulty filling a position that involved living and working in a war zone?”

  “Chief, you found the missing money at the resort, right? Doesn’t that argue for another person on the inside? Wyler McNabb couldn’t have been popping in and out of the Algonquin Waters all the time. He was part of the construction division.”

  “A bookkeeper,” Clare said. “Somebody in a position to retrieve the cash and launder it.”

  Russ shook his head. “That was Tally McNabb’s job.”

  “After the last bookkeeper conveniently died at the end of July,” Eric said. “That money was stolen at least five months before then.”

  “I’m guessing you’re the one who came up with some theory tying the two women together,” Russ said to Clare. “What is it?”

  “Ellen Bain was the third partner. She helped hide the money, and she greased the way for Tally to replace her.”

  “Why?” Russ said before she could continue.

  “A big payoff,” she said.

  “Another job,” Eric said. “She was long divorced, and her only kid was leaving for college. Nothing to keep her from moving somewhere bigger, with more opportunities.”

  “Do you know the Bain woman suggested Tally McNabb for her job?” Russ sounded skeptical.

  Eric rubbed the back of his neck. “No.”

  “Did the HR director indicate Bain had anything to do with Tally McNabb getting the job? I mean, as opposed to her husband, who was a foreman on their overseas construction unit?”

  Eric shook his head.

  Clare jumped in. “Tally’s mother says Wyler credited his wife with getting him his job.”

  “Uh-huh. And that fits in with your theory how?”

  She opened her mouth. Shut it again. “I haven’t had time to integrate all my facts yet.”

  “Did she rope you into this?” Russ asked Eric.

  Two cars driving past the house slowed nearly to a crawl, their drivers rubbernecking at the Bains’ porch. Clare realized they must look like the beginning of a shaggy dog story. A cop, a soldier, and a pri
est walk into a bar … Russ must have had the same thought, because he gestured toward the door. “Inside.”

  Roxanne, true to her word, had turned on every lamp and overhead in sight. The wide, wooden-floored living room and parlor were sparsely furnished, making the place look bigger than it must have when it housed mother and daughter.

  The tap-tap-tap of heels announced Roxanne’s descent from the second floor. “Well! Everything all straightened out?” Her smile wobbled a bit when she saw Eric was still with them, but she rallied. “What would you like to see first?”

  “Personal papers,” Eric said. “Checkbooks, tax records, bank and investment statements.”

  The Realtor’s professionally groomed eyebrows went up. “I beg your pardon?”

  “We have permission from Olivia Bain to look at any financial records her mother might have left behind,” Clare explained.

  Roxanne turned to Russ as if seeking a translation. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’m just a cop.” He frowned and turned to the other officer in the room. “Do you want to explain why you’re wearing your Guard uniform, Eric?”

  Eric opened his mouth. He paused. Shook his head. “No.”

  Russ glanced up at the ceiling as if seeking divine patience. He took a deep breath. “Listen. Colonel Seelye has taken custody of the money on behalf of the army.”

  “You let her walk away with it?” Clare said.

  “She was backed up by a platoon of MPs and a light bird from the judge advocate’s office. I didn’t have much say in the matter.”

  Eric sounded outraged. “But Lyle said you thought she was—”

  Russ cut Eric off. “I thought wrong.” He looked sidelong toward Clare. “I want you to note, I can admit when I’m wrong about something. Quentan Nichols was placed under arrest—”

  “Oh, no!”

  “—and I suspect Wyler McNabb will be in custody as soon as they can coordinate with the appropriate coalition authorities.” Russ hooked his thumbs in his gun belt, a gesture that never failed to get Clare’s back up. “The case, which was never ours to begin with, is closed. It’s all up to the lawyers’ wrangling now.”