[Grant County 05] Faithless

by Karin Slaughter

  She shrugged. “Where are Mama and Daddy?”

  He patted his pockets, pretending to look for them. Sara loved her cousin, she really did, but his inability to take anything seriously made her want to strangle him sometimes.

  She glanced at the apartment over the garage. “Is Tessa home?”

  “She’s wearing her invisible suit if she is,” Hare told her, slipping his sunglasses back on as he leaned against her car. He was wearing white slacks and Sara wished for just a moment that her father hadn’t washed her car.

  She told him, “We’re supposed to go somewhere.” Not wanting to endure the ridicule, Sara didn’t tell him where. She looked at her watch again, thinking she would give Tessa ten more minutes, then go home. She wasn’t particularly excited about going to church, and the more she thought about Jeffrey’s concerns, the more she was beginning to believe this was a bad idea.

  Hare slid down his glasses, batting his eyelashes as he asked, “Aren’t you going to tell me I look pretty?”

  Sara was unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes. The thing she detested most about Hare was that he wasn’t content to be silly by himself. He always managed to bring out the juvenile in others.

  He offered, “I’ll tell you if you tell me. You go first.”

  Sara had dressed for church, but she wasn’t going to take the bait. “I talked to Jeffrey,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Y’all married yet?”

  “You know we’re not.”

  “Don’t forget I want to be a bridesmaid.”

  “Hare—”

  “I told you that story, didn’t I? About the cow getting the milk for free?”

  “Cows don’t drink milk,” she returned. “Why didn’t you tell me he’d been exposed?”

  “There was some oath they made me take after medical school,” he told her. “Something that rhymes with step-o-matic . . .”

  “Hare—”

  “Super-matic . . .”

  “Hare,” Sara sighed.

  “Hippocratic!” he exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “I wondered why we all had to stand around in robes eating canapés, but you know I never pass up an opportunity to wear a dress.”

  “Since when did you develop scruples?”

  “They dropped around the time I was thirteen.” He winked at her. “Remember how you used to try to grab them when we took baths together?”

  “We were two years old when I did that,” she reminded him, giving a disparaging downward glance. “And the phrase ‘needle in a haystack’ comes to mind.”

  “Oh!” he gasped, putting his hands to his mouth.

  “Hey,” Tessa called. She was walking down the street, Bella at her side. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “That’s okay,” Sara told her, relieved and disappointed at the same time.

  Tessa kissed Hare’s cheek. “You look so pretty!”

  Hare and Sara said, “Thank you,” at the same time.

  “Let’s go up to the house,” Bella told them. “Hare, fetch me a Co-cola, will you?” She dug around in her pocket and pulled out a key. “And get my shawl off the back of my chair.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, sprinting toward the house.

  Sara told Tessa, “We’re running late. Maybe we should—”

  “Give me a minute to change,” Tessa said, darting up the stairs to her apartment before Sara could bow out gracefully.

  Bella put her arm around Sara’s shoulder. “You look about ready to collapse.”

  “I was hoping Tess would notice.”

  “She probably did, but she’s too excited about you coming along to let that get in the way.” Bella leaned on the railing as she sat on the front steps.

  Sara joined her aunt, saying, “I don’t understand why she wants me to go.”

  “This is a new thing for her,” Bella said. “She wants to share it.”

  Sara sat back on her elbows, wishing Tessa had found something more interesting to share. The theater downtown was running a Hitchcock retrospective, for instance. Or they could always learn needlepoint.

  “Bella,” Sara asked. “Why are you here?”

  Bella leaned back beside her niece. “I made a fool of myself for love.”

  Sara would have laughed if anyone else had said it, but she knew her aunt Bella was particularly sensitive where romance was concerned.

  “He was fifty-two,” she said. “Young enough to be my son!”

  Sara raised her eyebrows at the scandal.

  “Left me for a forty-one-year-old chippie,” Bella said sadly. “A redhead.” Sara’s expression must have shown some sort of solidarity, because Bella added, “Not like you.” Then, putting a finer point on it, “Carpet didn’t exactly match the drapes.” She stared out at the road, wistful. “He was some kind of man, though. Very charming. Dapper.”

  “I’m sorry you lost him.”

  “The bad part is that I threw myself at his feet,” she confided. “It’s one thing to be dumped, quite another to beg for a second chance and have your face slapped.”

  “He didn’t—”

  “Oh, good Lord, no,” she laughed. “I pity the wayward soul who tries to raise his hand to your aunt Bella.”

  Sara smiled.

  “You should take that as a lesson, though,” the older woman warned. “You can only be rebuffed so many times.”

  Sara chewed her bottom lip, thinking she was getting really tired of people telling her she should marry Jeffrey.

  “You get to be my age,” Bella continued, “and different things matter than they did when you were young and fancy-free.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like companionship. Like talking about literature and plays and current events. Like having someone around who understands you, has gone through the things you have and come out at the other end that much the wiser for it.”

  Sara could sense her aunt’s sadness, but didn’t know how to alleviate it. “I’m sorry, Bella.”

  “Well”—she patted Sara’s leg—“don’t worry about your aunt Bella. She’s been through worse, I’ll tell you that. Tossed around like a used box of crayons”— she winked— “but I’ve managed to maintain the same vibrant colors.” Bella pursed her lips, studying Sara as if she had just noticed her for the first time. “What’s on your mind, pumpkin?”

  Sara knew better than to try to lie. “Where’s Mama?”

  “League of Women Voters,” Bella said. “I don’t know where that father of yours got off to. Probably down at the Waffle House talking politics with the other old men.”

  Sara took a deep breath and let it go, thinking now was as good a time as any. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Shoot.”

  Sara turned to face her, lowering her voice in case Tessa had her windows open or Hare was about to sneak up on them. “You mentioned before about Daddy forgiving Mama when she cheated.”

  Bella cast a wary glance. “That’s their business.”

  “I know,” Sara agreed. “I just . . .” She decided to come out and say it. “It was Thomas Ward, wasn’t it? She was interested in Thomas Ward.”

  Bella took her time before giving a single nod. To Sara’s surprise, she provided, “He was your father’s best friend since they were in school together.”

  Sara couldn’t remember Eddie ever mentioning the man’s name, though, considering the circumstances, it made sense.

  “He lost his best friend because of it. I think that hurt him almost as much as the possibility of losing your mother.”

  “Thomas Ward is the man who runs this church Tessa is so excited about.”

  Again, she nodded. “I was aware.”

  “The thing is,” Sara began, wondering again how to phrase her words, “he has a son.”

  “I believe he has a couple of them. Some daughters, too.”

  “Tessa says he looks like me.”

  Bella’s eyebrows shot up. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m afraid to say a
nything.”

  Above them, Tessa’s door opened and slammed shut. Her footsteps were quick on the stairs. Sara could almost feel her excitement.

  “Honey,” Bella said, putting her hand on Sara’s knee. “Just because you’re sitting in the henhouse, that don’t make you a chicken.”

  “Bella—”

  Tessa asked, “Ready?”

  “Y’all have fun,” Bella said, pressing her hand into Sara’s shoulder as she stood. “I’ll leave the light on.”

  The church was not what Sara had been expecting. Located on the outskirts of the farm, the building resembled pictures of old Southern churches Sara had seen in storybooks as a child. Instead of the huge, ornate structures gracing Main Street in Heartsdale, their stained glass windows coloring the very heart of the town, the Church for the Greater Good was little more than a clapboard house, the exterior painted a high white, the front door very similar to the front door of Sara’s own house. She would not have been surprised if the place was still lit by candles.

  Inside was another story. Red carpet lined a large center aisle and Shaker-style wooden pews stood sentry on either side. The wood was unstained, and Sara could see the cutmarks in the scrolled backs where the pews had been carved by hand. Overhead were several large chandeliers. The pulpit was mahogany, an impressive-looking piece of furniture, and the cross behind the baptismal area looked like it had been taken down from Mt. Sinai. Still, Sara had seen more elaborate churches with more riches openly displayed. There was something almost comforting in the spare design of the room, as if the architect had wanted to make sure the focus stayed on what happened inside the building rather than the building itself.

  Tessa took Sara’s hand as they entered the church. “Nice, huh?”

  Sara nodded.

  “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

  Tessa squeezed her hand. “How could you disappoint me?” she asked, leading Sara to the door behind the pulpit. She explained, “It starts in the fellowship hall, then we come in here for the service.”

  Tessa opened the door, revealing a large, brightly lit hall. There was a long table down the center with enough chairs to seat at least fifty people. Candelabras were lit, their flames gently flickering. A handful of people were sitting at the table, but most were standing around the roaring fire at the back of the room. There was a coffee urn on a card table under a bank of large windows along with what looked like the infamous honey buns Tessa had mentioned.

  Getting ready for tonight, Sara had made the grand concession of wearing panty hose, some long-ago admonishment from her mother about the connection between bare legs in church and burning in hell coming into her mind as she picked out something to wear. She saw from the crowd that she could have saved herself the trouble. Most of them were in jeans. A few of the women wore skirts, but they were of the homespun kind she had seen on Abigail Bennett.

  “Come meet Thomas,” Tessa said, dragging her over to the front of the table. An old man was sitting in a wheelchair, two women on either side of him.

  “Thomas,” Tessa told him, bending down, putting her hand over his. “This is my sister, Sara.”

  His face was slackened on one side, lips slightly parted, but there was a spark of pleasure in his eyes when he looked up at Sara. His mouth moved laboriously as he spoke, but Sara couldn’t understand a word he said.

  One of the women translated: “He says you have your mother’s eyes.”

  Sara wasn’t under the impression she had her mother’s anything, but she smiled politely. “You know my mother?”

  Thomas smiled back, and the woman said, “Cathy was here just yesterday with the most wonderful chocolate cake.” She patted his hand like he was a child. “Wasn’t she, Papa?”

  “Oh,” was all Sara could say. If Tessa was surprised, she didn’t show it. She told Sara, “There’s Lev. I’ll be right back.”

  Sara stood with her hands clasped in front of her, wondering what in the hell she had thought she could accomplish by coming here.

  “I’m Mary,” the woman who had spoken first told her. “This is my sister Esther.”

  “Mrs. Bennett,” she said, addressing Esther. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “You found our Abby,” the woman realized. She wasn’t exactly looking at Sara, rather somewhere over her shoulder. After a few seconds, she seemed to focus back in. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

  “I’m sorry there wasn’t more I could do.”

  Esther’s lower lip trembled. Not that they looked anything alike, but the woman reminded Sara of her own mother. She had Cathy’s quietness about her, the resolute calm that came from unquestioning spirituality.

  Esther said, “You and your husband have been very kind.”

  “Jeffrey’s doing everything he can,” Sara said, knowing not to mention Rebecca or the meeting at the diner.

  “Thank you,” a tall, well-dressed man interrupted. He had sidled up to Sara without her knowing. “I’m Paul Ward,” he told Sara, and she would have known he was a lawyer even if Jeffrey hadn’t told her. “I’m Abby’s uncle. One of them, that is.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Sara told him, thinking he stuck out like a sore thumb. She didn’t know much about fashion, but she could tell the suit Paul was wearing had set him back a bit. It fit him like a second skin.

  “Cole Connolly,” the man beside him said. He was much shorter than Paul and probably thirty years older, but he had an energetic vibe, and Sara was reminded of what her mother had always called “being filled with the spirit of the Lord.” She was also reminded of what Jeffrey said about the man. Connolly looked harmless enough, but Jeffrey was seldom wrong about people.

  Paul asked Esther, “Would you mind checking on Rachel?”

  Esther seemed to hesitate, but she agreed, telling Sara, “Thank you again, Doctor,” before she left.

  Apropos of nothing, Paul told Sara, “My wife, Lesley, couldn’t make it tonight. She’s staying home with one of our boys.”

  “I hope he’s not ill.”

  “Usual stuff,” he said. “I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.”

  “Yes,” she answered, wondering why she felt as if she needed to keep her guard up around this man. For all intents and purposes he looked like a deacon at the church— which he probably was— but Sara hadn’t liked the familiar way he spoke to her, as if by knowing her job, he knew something about her.

  Putting a finer point on it, Paul asked Sara, “You’re the county coroner?”

  “Yes.”

  “The service for Abby is tomorrow.” He lowered his voice. “There’s the matter of the death certificate.”

  Sara felt a bit shocked that he had been forward enough to ask her, but she told him, “I can have copies sent to the funeral home tomorrow.”

  “It’s Brock’s,” he told her, naming Grant’s undertaker. “I’d appreciate it if you would.”

  Connolly cleared his throat uncomfortably. Mary whispered, “Paul,” indicating their father. Obviously, the old man was troubled by this talk. He had shifted in his chair, his head turned to the side. Sara could not tell whether there were tears in his eyes.

  “Just a bit of business out of the way,” Paul covered. He changed the subject quickly. “You know, Dr. Linton, I’ve voted for you several times.” The coroner’s job was an elected position, though Sara was hardly flattered, considering she had run uncontested for the last twelve years.

  She asked him, “You live in Grant County?”

  “Papa used to,” he said, putting his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “On the lake.”

  Sara felt a lump in her throat. Close to her parents.

  Paul said, “My family moved out here several years ago. I never bothered to change my registration.”

  “You know,” Mary said, “I don’t think Ken has, either.” She told Sara, “Ken is Rachel’s husband. He’s around here somewhere.” She pointed to a round-looking Santa
Claus of a man who was talking to a group of teenagers. “There.”

  “Oh” was all Sara could say. The teens around him were mostly girls, all dressed as Abby had been, all around Abby’s age. She scanned the rest of the room, thinking that there were a lot of young women here. She studiously avoided Cole Connolly, but she was keenly aware of his presence. He seemed normal enough, but then what did a man who could bury and poison a young girl— perhaps several young girls— look like? It wasn’t as if he’d have horns and fangs.

  Thomas said something, and Sara forced her attention back to the conversation.

  Mary translated again: “He says he’s voted for you, too. Good Lord, Papa. I can’t believe none of y’all have changed your registrations. That must be illegal. Cole, you need to get on them about that.”

  Connolly looked apologetic. “Mine is in Catoogah.”

  Mary asked, “Is yours still over in Grant, Lev?”

  Sara turned around, bumping into a large man who was holding a small child in his arms.

  “Whoa,” Lev said, taking her elbow. He was taller than she was, but they shared the same green eyes and dark red hair.

  “You’re Lev” was all she could say.

  “Guilty,” he told her, beaming a smile that showed perfect white teeth.

  Sara was not normally a vindictive person, but she wanted to take the smile off his face. She chose probably the most inappropriate way in the world to do it. “I’m sorry about your niece.”

  His smile dropped immediately. “Thank you.” His eyes moistened, he smiled at his son, and just as quickly as the emotions had come, he had pushed them away. “Tonight we’re here to celebrate life,” he said. “We’re here to raise up our voices and show our joy in the Lord.”

  “Amen,” Mary said, patting the railing of her father’s wheelchair for emphasis.

  Lev told Sara, “This is my son, Zeke.”

  Sara smiled at the child, thinking that Tessa was right, he was just about the most adorable boy she had ever seen. He was on the small side for five, but she could tell from his big hands and feet that he was due for a growth spurt soon. She said, “Nice to meet you, Zeke.”

  Under his father’s watchful eye, the boy reached out his hand for Sara to shake. She took his tiny fingers in her larger ones, feeling an instant connection.