“Sounds good,” he said, forcing a smile. “What’s your pleasure?”
“How about a burger at the Union Jack?”
“Suits me.”
“Shall we walk?” Rufus suggested.
Sam snapped back his look of surprise just in time. He hadn’t thought the portly older man would volunteer to walk anywhere. The pub was only a few blocks away, but still.
“Sure.”
Sam needn’t have worried about keeping up a conversation on the walk over. Rufus managed that single-handedly, filling Sam in on the all the latest happenings at church as if he’d just been out of the town for the weekend and not shunned for the last year and a half. Church life was like a soap opera, Sam reflected. No matter how long the hiatus, dip your toe back in the water, and all the undercurrents are the same.
Not that that was necessarily a bad thing. Sam knew that for a lot of people who were disenfranchised from church life for one reason or another, disappointment had sprung from learning that all the same troubles and griefs and flat-out annoyances existed inside the church walls as outside them. For Sam, the idea was comforting instead of discouraging. No matter the language you spoke, the color of your skin, the length of your skirt, the title of your holy book—every human being faced the same struggles and sorrows, the same longings and desires. The difference as Sam saw it was how Christians were supposed to deal with all those common conditions of mortality. The hope that they clung to for themselves and offered to others.
Of course, Sam wasn’t sure where he stood in relation to that hope these days. Was he just the kid with his nose in the corner who nonetheless remained firmly inside of the family house? Or was he the stray dog, slinking around the backyard trying to catch scraps and avoid kicks? He knew what Dani would tell him. He was the idiot, period. The only thing more dangerous than an all-powerful God was the gaggle of petty, appearance-obsessed minions who claimed to be carrying out His will.
Lost in the ramble of his own thoughts and Rufus’ breathless narrative, Sam was surprised to find they’d arrived at the Union Jack. The popular pub was packed for the dinner rush, dim lights gleaming on scratched wood and awash with the comforting aromas of grease and cheese and beer. They opted for seats at the bar so they wouldn’t have to wait.
Sam ordered the All-American Burger. He swallowed a laugh when Rufus explained he was getting the Cajun Turkey Burger for the sake of his health. He didn’t have the heart to tell the man that the word “turkey” wasn’t meant to convey anything remotely granola. He figured Rufus’ devotion to his heart health wasn’t meant to be taken too seriously, anyway, when Rufus ordered a plate of bacon and cheese fries for the two of them to start with.
Although the pub offered an extensive beer offering, Sam opted for what he knew and stuck with a straightforward Guinness. Rufus ordered some kind of cider. The older man took a long swallow, before looking at Sam with eyes that were far cannier than his running litany of gossip would have indicated.
“So, how was Amanda?”
“I don’t know what you’ve heard, Rufus, but just because one guy picked me as his confessor a year ago in probably the saddest story of a murder I’ve ever heard, that doesn’t mean I actually have some special gift when it comes to people who kill other people.”
Rufus nodded cagily, and Sam had the oddest feeling that he’d been manipulated into bringing up the Chuck Hargrove case.
“It’s interesting to me that you use the term gift. Why do you suppose Chuck confided that truth only in you?”
Sam sighed. “Probably because I was the only person who bothered to go see him. Maybe because he saw me as a fellow outcast.”
Maybe because he was desperate for someone, anyone, to hear just one time what he’d never been able to say aloud before. What he’d never said again. Just hours after ensuring that Sam would learn the truth about his supposedly estranged wife and baby, Chuck Hargrove had hung himself in his jail cell.
“Maybe because you have a quiet spirit. It’s not a common trait for people in our profession, you know, Sam. Most of us have a bit of bluster in us. Even some arrogance. It’s one of the pitfalls of the job. When people are being blown about by the storms of life, they don’t seek refuge in another loud, rattling wind. They look for a quiet place. A refuge where they are safe from attack. Whether you understand it or not, that’s what you offer people. And it has nothing to do with your fall from grace, or whatever you want to call it.”
“Everything in my life now has to do with the choices I made.”
“I’m not going to hide from what your demon had you doing, Sam. But from everyone I’ve talked to, you were a confidant, a trusted haven for a lot of people in that church long before they knew about your personal struggles. If anything, that’s probably why they reacted as poorly as they did when they discovered you have feet of clay after all. It can be difficult to accept that the person you relied on for strength had weaknesses of their own that you never guessed at.”
“God forbid the preacher be human too, is that it?” Sam set his glass on the bar with a conscious effort not to slam it down. He had no interest in dredging up the past or talking about himself. “Well, Amanda didn’t share your faith in me as a confessor. She had nothing new to share with me.”
“You know, you’re not the only visitor she was willing to see.”
“Did she finally agree to see Raul?”
“No, indeed. Her only other visitor was the man we just left drinking himself into a stupor in his living room.”
“Clay? Really?” Sam struggled to picture that. He didn’t know how he would have the mental fortitude to face Melanie’s killer if throttling the person to death was not an option. Talking calmly to her from behind a glass wall would be an impossibility.
“I always had the feeling that Clay and Amanda barely tolerated each other for Amy’s sake,” Sam mused aloud.
Rufus nodded. “I had the same impression. Not exactly two peas in a pod.”
“There’s no way something was going on between Clay and Amanda,” Sam asserted firmly.
“Definitely not,” Rufus agreed. “If anything, rumors in the church would have Amy and Amanda in a romantic relationship before Clay and Amanda.”
Sam snorted. “That’s a bunch of hooey.”
Rufus nodded, unperturbed. “No doubt. But you know how popular that sort of thing is now—everyone wants their own lesbians. And lesbians running a textile shop together…well, I imagine some folks would have thought that was a real jackpot. But as far as I could see, Amy and Amanda had been as close as sisters since they were kids. Nothing more than that.”
Sam knew what Rufus meant. Some people collected drama like other people collected commemorative plates. And Broad Ripple had been an arts district for decades, growing comfortable with diverse lifestyles long before the rest of the city had. It was no surprise that some of the more entrenched suburbanites would be titillated by the idea of a gay mascot for the church, even if it had to be a murdering gay mascot. Sam sighed unwittingly.
“People be crazy, right?” Rufus seemed to be reading his mind.
“I’m surprised Clay went to see Amanda. He didn’t look like he’d been in shape even to drive since he found out.”
“Murder is a powerful motivator.”
Sam considered that. “But—prosaic as it sounds—the murder was over by then. Maybe he just wanted to confront her. Ask her why. I wonder if he got any more answers out of her than the rest of us did.”
Rufus shook his head. “Not according to what he told the police.”
Sam looked at him, surprised. “You were there?”
“I offered to stay with the grieving husband while they questioned him. For spiritual support.”
Ha. Nosy old bugger, Sam thought without malice.
“I imagine that was a recording the police are itching to listen to,” Sam said. “The murderer confronted by the husband?”
Rufus nodded sagely. “I’m sure. Of course, when t
hey do, I doubt they’ll tell us what they hear.”
Sam noted the “us.” Clearly Rufus had decided they were in this together. Whatever this was.
“It was right after his meeting with Amanda that Clay called the grandparents to come pick up the girls,” Rufus went on.
“Are you saying you think Amanda had something to do with that decision?”
“Just makin’ an observation. Thank you, honey,” Rufus said to the bartender with a wink as she slid a basket of bacon and cheese fries their way. He dug in with relish. Sam joined in with no hesitation.
Sam considered warning him that up here in Yankee territory, calling random women “honey” was likely to get him into trouble, but decided against it. Sam had the feeling that most of Rufus’ slips of the tongue were deliberate. Might as well let him reap what he wanted to sow. Sam owned a slight feeling of disappointment when the bartender favored Rufus with an indulgent smile instead of an angry glare.
Sam rolled over the coincidences Rufus had pointed out as he munched on the fries. If anything, they made Amanda look more guilty, maybe with Clay as a complicit party. He and Rufus might consider the possibility of an affair between Amanda and Clay laughable, but he imagined the police could easily picture a scenario where two lovers get rid of the wife and then divest themselves of the troublesome kiddos in one fell swoop. After all, Amanda hadn’t had any contact with her own husband—or son—since the murder, either.
Maybe he didn’t know Amanda or Clay as well as he thought.
No. He dismissed the idea. Frankly, it was easier to picture Amanda blowing Amy away than it was to picture her wrapped up with Clay. He’d never known what had drawn Amy to her husband, but at least they’d looked like a matched set in photographs. Clay’s personality sparkled only in the sense that it was hard with a lot of sharp edges, and Amanda had always been too busy living life to worry about what someone else thought about how she looked while doing it. Not to mention, she and Raul had seemed devoted to each other.
He guessed they’d have said the same thing about him and Melanie, once upon a time.
Sam didn’t realize how long he’d been quiet until the sandwiches showed up.
“Figured it all out yet?” Rufus asked him with a smile. Sam still couldn’t decide if he liked this man or not.
“Not even close. I’m not sure there’s anything to figure out. The only question here seems to be why, and I don’t know if we ever really understand what motivates one person to take another person’s life. The fact that the murdered person is most often beloved of the murderer only makes it harder.”
Rufus nodded. “It certainly looks cut-and-dried.”
Sam bit into his burger. You really couldn’t argue with a slab of beef and melted cheese, he decided. Burgers had to rank as one of life’s greatest pleasures. Idly he wondered how often Satan had used the distraction of a perfect burger to trip someone up with temptation. Probably a lot, he decided.
Still, Sam couldn’t help feeling he was missing something. One of the pieces just didn’t fit, and he wasn’t sure which one it was. He thought back to Amanda’s voice, the desperation with which she had asked about forgiveness. The thing was, she didn’t act like a woman seeking forgiveness. As far as he could see, she hadn’t repented of anything. She wasn’t trying to make amends. If anything, she was making this harder on everyone by refusing to cooperate or even communicate in any way.
Maybe the forgiveness she sought wasn’t for herself.
Chapter Thirteen
Since he was a strong advocate of beginning as you mean to go on, Sam was now committed to dragging Parker’s grumpy butt out of bed as early every morning as if he were going to school instead of downstairs to work on his homework at a café table. Sam bitterly regretted his shortsightedness, but forced himself to follow the track he’d laid. Unsurprisingly, Parker was no happier with him than he was with himself. Sam suspected that whatever was fueling Parker’s anger would not be improved by the week of suspension. Plus, as much as he loved his sister and knew she loved Parker, he wouldn’t wish this punishment on any kid. All Dani had to do was look at Parker and remember how much trouble he was in. Her face darkened, his face darkened, and Sam hightailed it out of there.
Sam hadn’t made it to the gym last night. His supper with Rufus had sucked all the motivation right out of his marrow. He hated to admit it, but he was homesick—homesick for a place that didn’t exist anymore. Somebody said you never step into the same river twice, and however familiar the tales of drama and woe and even hilarity that Rufus had relayed from the church last night, Sam knew you never stepped into the same church auditorium twice either. Knowing it didn’t help to miss that life any less.
He missed the regular irregularity of it. He knew better, but just for a moment, he closed his eyes and remembered.
Rolling over in the predawn to rest his hand on Melanie’s hip and press a kiss to her shoulder with no fear of waking her—she’d have only crawled into bed a few hours earlier, and she slept like the dead she cared for. Getting dressed with the lights off. Programming the coffee maker to start a pot for Melanie in a few hours. Walking down the city sidewalk to his office at the church. Turning on the lights in the quiet building and heading to the bookshelf-wrapped room where he could lose himself in the Word of God. His own little crappy coffeepot bubbling and perking in the corner. The possibility—or rather the likelihood—of someone ringing the phone or stopping by and changing the whole course of his pursuit with a question or a need or a broken heart.
He missed being needed. He missed feeling like he actually knew what he was supposed to be doing. He missed purpose.
Oh, Dani would say she needed him, but the truth was that she only appreciated him. Sure, he made it easier for her in the shop and in dealing with Parker, but she’d managed just fine before he’d moved in. When—if—he moved out, she’d manage just fine again. She’d finally hire that help she’d been putting off, probably actually grow her revenue a little more without him.
He missed being needed by Melanie. No, scratch that, too.
He missed being wanted by Melanie. She probably still needed him somehow or other—she’d been no more anxious than he to sever their tenuous connections, even in her anger. But she didn’t want him. She could barely stand to look at him.
Sam opened his eyes. All right. That was all the maudlin self-pity he was allowed for one day. No gym meant no sleep, and he couldn’t face the prospect of another minute lying dry-eyed and aching in that damn bed tonight. He needed to get out of here.
Just then his phone rang, a brittle sound in the quiet hum of the deli.
He jumped. It was an uncommon enough occurrence that he often forgot to even carry the thing. He flipped it open, ignoring Dani’s look of derision from across the shop.
“Hello?”
“Preacher. Sam. This is Raul. Have I caught you at a bad time?”
Sam headed for a quiet corner behind a stack of books. “No, not at all. How are you doing?”
Sam felt the man’s shrug through the phone. “I have no idea,” Raul confessed, sounding unutterably weary. “Can we sit down and talk somewhere?”
“Yeah, sure. Absolutely. Where are you?”
“I’m at work right now.” Sam knew Raul had his own auto repair shop next to his house. He figured that had to be a godsend now, especially since Raul had sole care of four-year-old Tomas. Still, keeping a kid busy while trying to run a garage couldn’t be easy. Sam guessed it would call for copious amounts of DVDs and Cheerios.
“Actually, why don’t I come by?”
“That would be great.”
“I’ll leave here in just a few minutes.”
Dani approached when she saw he’d flipped his phone shut. “Are you ever going to get a real phone again?” she asked. “You look ridiculous with that thing. I can’t decide if it makes you look like an octogenarian or a drug dealer. Or an octogenarian drug dealer.”
Sam laughed in spite of his annoy
ance. “You know I’m not getting rid of it.”
“I’m just saying it would be a lot easier to communicate with you if you could text like a normal person.”
“You do realize there is nothing innately normal about texting, right? It’s a fairly recent innovation. Not that long ago, people actually talked to each other.”
“I’d like to point out there hasn’t been another world war since texting began.”
“Umm…I have no response to that.”
“I didn’t think you would. Are you headed out?”
“Yeah. Amanda’s husband wants to talk to me.”
“Murdery Amanda?”
“Yes, murdery Amanda.”
“Hmm. Well, have fun with that. Can you pick up some juice pouches on your way home? Parker is tearing through those things.”
“Are you sure it’s all Parker?” Dani had a weakness for ghetto-Sangria made of red wine and Capri Sun.
She stuck out her tongue at him and handed him a ten-dollar bill. “Juice pouches, not snarky comments.”
“Sure, sure, no problem.” He grinned at her as he left the shop.
Raul Garcia’s shop was outside of Broad Ripple proper, so Sam drove instead of walking. He was glad to see the garage doors open and a couple vehicles parked outside. The last thing Raul needed was for this scandal to impact him financially on top of everything else. Sam figured it was a good thing the name Garcia was so common in Indianapolis—maybe most people wouldn’t make the connection between Amanda Garcia, accused murderer, and Garcia Domestic Auto Repair.
Sure enough, Sam spotted Tomas’ dark little head behind his dad’s desk in the small, dingy office, his eyes fixed on something bright and loud singing from the television screen as his hand moved from a bowl in his lap to his mouth. Sam peered closer. Not Cheerios, though—popcorn. Close enough.
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