by Becky Durfee
“Maybe you can come visit,” she said cheerfully. “Maybe Jeremy can bring you out here sometimes, and you can visit the doe yourself.”
He frowned as he nodded. “A visit sounds nice.”
Just as Jenny felt a bit of optimism at his words, her cell phone chirped. She lifted her phone out of her purse, talking a quick look at the screen. The text was from Kyle.
I’ve got Artis Blakely’s contact information. If you can let him know your suspicions, maybe he can talk to Mark. Hopefully he is as non-violent as he seems, and he’ll be able to get Mark to turn himself in. Or, at the very least, not kill again. A phone number followed.
In her tired state, it took Jenny an extra moment to remember who Artis Blakely was—but then it hit her. He was the leader of the religious sect that Mark had belonged to back in Pennsylvania. She was excited to get that information, and a little bit disappointed in herself that she hadn’t thought to ask for it. If anybody could have gotten Mark to stop the killing, it would have been Artis Blakely.
Although, this new information meant she may have to postpone that nap she wanted so desperately. Oh, well, she thought. Save lives first; sleep later.
She dropped her phone back into her purse, returning her attention to Sir Walter James Southerland the Third and Zack, who had been chatting while she wasn’t paying attention. Behind them, in the distance, she saw Jeremy heading in their direction. “Is that your breakfast, Sir Walter James Southerland the Third?”
He glanced down the trail, announcing, “Yup. That’d be it.”
After Jeremy got a little closer, Jenny waved to him, and he raised the bag of food as a return hello. His smile was broad—perhaps seeing Jenny and Zack there gave him hope that they were actually going to fulfill their promise and provide his friend with a home.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully. “I was hoping to see you two here today.”
“We’re here,” Jenny replied. “I’m not sure how awake we are, but we’re here.”
Handing a bag over to Sir Walter James Southerland the Third, he said, “One biscuit with sausage and eggs.”
“Thank you, kindly.”
“And one jug of water.”
“Thank you again.”
“And now for a little scripture. What would you like to hear today?”
After a moment of thought, the homeless man suggested, “How about a little something about friendship, in honor of my two new friends?”
“Okay,” Jeremy said, “friendship it is.” Bowing his head, he said, “Two are better than one because they have a good return for their labor. For if either of them falls, the one will lift up his companion. But woe to the one who falls when there is not another to lift him up.”
Jenny felt her breath catch as she thought about Mick and John and their quest for sobriety.
Her sentiments were short lived, however; the homeless man’s voice snapped her back into the present. “Nice one. What was that?”
“Ecclesiastes four, nine and ten,” Jeremy told him.
“I like that one.”
“Me, too.” Jeremy opened up his breakfast wrapper and took a bite of his sandwich.
“We were just telling Sir Walter James Southerland the Third about the possibility of living indoors,” Zack explained to Jeremy. “He seems like he might be on board with the idea.”
Jeremy’s expression was a mixture of awe and happiness. “This is unbelievable.” Turning to his friend, he asked, “You up for that?”
Sir Walter James Southerland the Third frowned and gave one emphatic nod. “I don’t see why not.”
“I’d like to show you the place I found for him, if that’s okay,” Zack said to Jeremy.
“I’d love to see it.”
Pulling out his phone, Zack scrolled and swiped as he said, “It’s called White Oak Psychiatric, and it’s about twenty minutes from here.” After a few more taps, he held out his phone for Jeremy to see. “Here’s a picture of the place; it looks like a nice facility.”
Jeremy raised his eyebrows, appearing to battle tears. “A lot better than the accommodations he has now.”
Zack smiled and clicked a few links, turning the phone back to Jeremy. “Here’s a picture of the rooms; they’re dorm style. They’re pretty small, but he’d have a bed and a private bathroom. There’s a nurse’s station on every floor, and they have a cafeteria in the lobby. They are also fully staffed with doctors to monitor his progress and medications.”
Jeremy ran his hand over his dreadlocks, which were neatly pulled back in a band. “I don’t even know what to say.”
Jenny couldn’t help but smile at how touched he looked. “He does have some concerns, though,” she added. “He’s a little worried about not getting to see the fawn after it’s born. Would you be willing to take him back here from time to time so he can say hello?”
“Of course I would. I’m not going to forget about him just because he’s got a roof over his head.” He softened his voice so that Sir Walter James Southerland the Third couldn’t hear. “I think I’m the only one who visits him.”
Jenny wanted to hug Jeremy, but she used restraint. She also wanted to hold a big, neon sign over his head that said, If you are smart, you will marry this man, complete with flashing arrows and light bulbs pointing in Jeremy’s direction. For a moment, she wondered how many Jeremys she had walked past in her youth while she was arm-in-arm with a selfish football player, feeling like she’d hit the relationship jackpot because the guy next to her was popular and had muscles. Oh, to go back in time and kick herself in the head.
“But, how is he going to afford this?” Jeremy asked, snapping Jenny out of her train of thought.
“Don’t worry about that,” Jenny replied. “It’s not an issue.”
Jeremy reached out and touched her shoulder, patting it a few times in different places. When she looked at him curiously, he replied, “I just want to make sure you’re real.”
Laughing out loud, she said, “Yes, I’m real.” She explained her unique situation of having received a sizeable inheritance, with the explicit instructions that she use the money to help people. “Your friend, here, is the perfect candidate, if you ask me. He seems like such a kind soul, but he doesn’t have the means to take care of himself.”
“You got it,” Jeremy said. “That’s him to a T.”
“You guys are doing a lot of talking over there,” Sir Walter James Southerland the Third said as he took a bite of his breakfast.
Jeremy smiled. “We’re trying to arrange it so you can have a place to stay.”
The homeless man held up his sandwich. “Carry on, then.”
With a genuine laugh, Jeremy focused his attention back on Jenny. “Have you noticed how well-spoken he is? He doesn’t always make the most sense, but his grammar is excellent, which leads me to believe he is a highly educated man.” He shook his head. “I wonder who he used to be before he came to live out here.”
If Jenny hadn’t already resolved herself to helping him, she would have been heartbroken by the comment. “I have come into contact with the mentally ill in the past, and I learned that a lot of the disorders are adult-onset. It’s so sad to think that a kid grows up, goes to college or learns a trade, maybe gets married…only to have it all fall apart. It’s unimaginable to me, really. We have a baby at home, and he seems perfectly healthy—but there’s a chance that thirty years from now he’ll be out here living in the park?” She, too, shook her head. “I can’t wrap my head around that.”
“Well, hopefully, you won’t ever have to,” Jeremy said.
She crossed her fingers, looking intently at him. “Life is such a crap shoot. So far, I’ve managed to come out on the lucky end of just about everything…I don’t know how.”
“God is good,” Jeremy replied with a smile.
“God is good,” she agreed, “but there are still men like Sir Walter James Southerland the Third walking the earth.”
“And there are people like you to h
elp him,” Jeremy pointed out. “You will never convince me that God didn’t have you cross paths for a reason.”
She wasn’t about to argue with such a wonderful man, but the reason she was in Bennett, Missouri to begin with was to catch a serial killer. What could possibly have been the explanation for that? Did God make mistakes, just like everyone else?
Jenny stopped that train of thought. Now was neither the time nor the place for such negativity. Instead, she smiled politely and said, “The same can be said for you, my friend. In case no one has said it before, thank you for everything you’ve done for him.”
“It’s the Christian thing to do.”
This time, Jenny couldn’t resist the urge. “Come here,” she said, reaching her arm up and around Jeremy’s neck. “You are such a sweet soul.”
They engaged in a friendly embrace for only a short time before they heard Sir Walter James Southerland the Third say, “It looks like there’s a lot of love around here.”
She couldn’t help but laugh, looking affectionately at the man whose life was about to change dramatically. “Yeah, there is a lot of love out here.”
The foursome spent the next twenty minutes talking logistics, ending with Sir Walter James Southerland the Third going back into the woods to retrieve his things. While Jenny wondered what his things could have possibly consisted of, she realized his possessions were probably dear to him, and they should absolutely go with him to his new home. Jeremy agreed to drive him to White Oak Psychiatric once he returned from the woods, and a quick phone call from Jenny arranged the first payment.
Sir Walter James Southerland the Third emerged from the trees with an old blanket used like a sack to contain clanking items inside it. “You ready?” Jeremy asked. “I think some wonderful opportunities await you.”
He squinted as he looked back into the trees. “Yes, I do think I am.”
Jenny blinked back her tears once they all reached the parking lot. She bid her goodbyes to the two men, sincerely wishing them both the best of luck in the future.
Her heart sang as she watched the soon-to-be-not-homeless man load his things into Jeremy’s trunk. Once inside the car, Jeremy helped Sir Walter negotiate the seatbelt into place before hooking up his own. When Jeremy spun around in the driver’s seat so he could reverse the car, he looked up at Jenny and Zack one last time, giving them a broad smile and a peace sign before focusing on the road.
Waving goodbye, Jenny watched the car back out of the space and drive off down the road. And just like that, they were gone. Sir Walter James Southerland the Third was about to begin a new chapter of his life.
Taking one more second to enjoy the moment, she sucked in a deep breath, releasing it slowly. She just needed a few more seconds of this feeling before she focused on the horrible matter ahead of her.
After giving herself a little time, she turned to her husband and asked, “Do you mind driving to the electronics store?”
“No, I don’t mind. Do you trust me?”
She was positive this was a reference to his previous speeding ticket. “Drive slow.”
She tossed him the keys from her purse as she pulled out her phone. Plopping into the passenger seat, she jotted down the contact information Kyle had sent in his text. After pressing a few buttons, she held the phone to her ear and heard the male voice answer, “Reverend Blakely.”
Chapter 20
“Hello, Reverend Blakely, my name is Jenny Larrabee, and I am calling from Bennett, Missouri.”
“Well, what can I do for you this fine morning, Ms. Larrabee?”
For the millionth time, she found herself wishing she had rehearsed something before she dialed the phone. She wondered if she’d ever learn. “I wanted to discuss one of your parishioners with you, if you don’t mind.”
“Well, that depends who you are and what you want to know.”
Jenny hadn’t started this off very well. “I am working with the police here on a murder investigation; my goal with this conversation is to save some lives.”
“Well, then, I’m happy to help...although, I have to admit, I don’t know how a member of my congregation would fit into a murder investigation in Missouri.”
She closed her eyes tightly, realizing there was no tactful way to state the reason for her call. “It’s about Mark Neighbors, who lives in this area now, and he’s…”
“Mark Neighbors is not a Messenger of God.”
Jenny sat speechlessly for a moment, wondering how to respond to that. The reverend’s tone suggested that Jenny hadn’t simply been mistaken, but rather there was hostility involved. “I’m sorry; I was under the impression that he was.”
“He used to be, but he most definitely is not anymore.”
“May I ask why he is no longer a member?”
His voice sounded professional and rehearsed. “Ms. Larrabee, we Messengers of God live by certain doctrines; there are acceptable behaviors, and there are unacceptable behaviors. Mr. Neighbors clearly showed no regard for our principles here at the church, and, for that reason, he has been dismissed as a member.”
Dismissed. That certainly explained some things, although, to Jenny, one aspect remained unclear. “I realize your beliefs don’t permit drinking or divorce, but I am fairly certain that Mark doesn’t drink, and the divorce wasn’t his idea.”
“I suppose you are hearing the story from Mark’s point of view.”
“Actually, I’m getting it from more of a third party.”
“Perhaps your third party is a little bit biased in their assessment.”
Jenny silently waited for him to elaborate.
He let out a sigh before he continued, this time in a much more vulnerable tone. “Yes, his wife had issues with alcohol addiction. Yes, his wife filed for divorce. However, his wife was also the victim of domestic violence—at the hands of her husband—which is something we will absolutely not tolerate amongst our parishioners.”
In an instant, Jenny’s view of the Messengers of God changed completely. Perhaps they weren’t as fanatical as she had once thought; maybe they frowned upon drinking and divorce, but they wouldn’t necessarily banish someone for those offenses. Violence, on the other hand…
Reverend Blakely went on, “Don’t get me wrong; we tried to help him. What we found, however, was that every time we suggested he have a counseling session with me, not only would he refuse, but his wife would show up the next day with fresh bruises. Of course, she always made some kind of excuse for them—you know, she fell down the stairs or whatnot—but we all knew the truth. Mark Neighbors was a wife beater, plain and simple, and we will not allow that here at the Messengers of God.”
“From what I understand, he doesn’t have a criminal record,” Jenny noted. “Does that mean he never faced any charges?”
“We could never get his wife to admit he was violent. Without her testimony, no charges would have ever stuck.”
“I guess that does make sense,” Jenny said with defeat.
“You say this is about a murder investigation,” the reverend added, more like a statement than a question. “Are you under the impression that Mark killed somebody?”
“Several people, actually. Women who drink a lot. Women who, I assume, remind him of his soon-to-be-ex-wife.”
“Sadly, that doesn’t surprise me,” he replied softly. “We actually feared he would end up killing his wife, which is why we wouldn’t allow him on the premises. We let his wife stay here at the church so she could be safe, and we kept him as far away from her as possible. He ended up moving away, I’m guessing to Missouri. I’m just sorry that you all have to deal with him now.”
“You and me both,” she muttered. “I was actually calling you to see if you could have a talk with him. I was hoping he’d listen to you considering how strong his religious beliefs are and how respected you are among the Messengers of God.”
“He’s already proven that he won’t listen to me—or to anybody else, for that matter. Any conversation we had wit
h him only did more harm than good.”
The disappointment was obvious in Jenny’s voice when she replied, “I kind of figured.”
“Pardon me for asking this,” the reverend began, “but if you know he’s killing these women, why don’t you just arrest him?”
“The problem is that I know he’s killing these women,” Jenny said, “but I’m not a police officer. The police are under the impression that it’s somebody else—a man who confessed yesterday. I’m trying to gather enough evidence so the cops will know they have the wrong man, but in the meantime, I’m also trying to make sure Mark doesn’t kill anyone else. That’s why I was hoping you could talk to him.”
“Considering my talks always have the opposite effect, I’d rather not.”
Jenny shook her head. “I know. I don’t expect you to. I was just explaining my reasoning behind the call.” She wiped her eyes with her free hand, realizing she had officially struck out. She did, however, hope to gain something from the call. “Can I ask you something else, while I have you on the phone?”
“Absolutely.”
“How long have you known Mark?”
“His whole life,” the reverend said.
“Then, what happened? I mean, how did he end up this way? Do you have any idea?”
Reverend Blakely let out a sigh. “I’ve asked myself that question many times. His parents are lovely people with three other children that have grown into wonderful, productive citizens. There’s something about Mark, though, that has always been off. From the time he was little, something about him has been not quite right. His parents have known that, too, but they’ve never been able to put their finger on the problem.”
“I’ve had a little experience with mental illness, so I understand,” Jenny replied. “Although, I don’t really think mental illness applies here. Mark doesn’t seem to be withdrawn or incomprehensible or anything like that.”
“Oh, I don’t think he’s mentally ill, either,” Reverend Blakely said emphatically. “I think what we’re dealing with here is a man who is just plain evil.”