by R. L. Syme
If he had lived, would he have tried harder to make it up to Claire? Had he tried to make it up to her, in the intervening years?
Would he have tried to meet Austin? Be a father?
I wanted to believe that he would have, that people could change. It was the bedrock of my faith…redemption. But I didn’t know enough about him to make any pronouncements.
I looked up again, glancing out the window and closing my laptop screen. As my eyes adjusted, I saw that there was light coming from the front of Malcolm’s house, likely from his living room. It faced the street, not my house, so I couldn’t tell for sure. Through the side window that did face my house, I could see the glow of light in a hallway, but all the activity appeared to be in the front of the house.
I went back to Norman’s sermons, and the opening prayer was all about Auggie Krantz. Most of the sermon was about Auggie, too, in some way. Norman would be doing the funeral, according to his sermon, though it would be held at the Catholic Church. A real ecumenical outpouring for the fallen hero. His parents were going to Delaware to meet the body, and there would be a burial at Arlington National Cemetery. The funeral in Saint Agnes was to be on Saturday, and the Krantzs would return for the event.
Oddly, no mention of Nikki at all.
The following week’s sermon included another prayer for Auggie, as did the final week in August, but the town seemed to be recovering from the tragedy. I knew enough about the aftermath of death to know the family hadn’t recovered as fast.
September began with another prayer for the Krantz family. Then there was nothing about the tragedy until the first week of October, where there was another large-scale prayer for the parents of Auggie Krantz and their daughter-in-law, Nikki, who was newly pregnant. A grand, eloquent prayer about the baby being Auggie’s salvation. The one thing he’d always wanted. A family.
There was another reference to Auggie’s baby in the sermon—which was about Moses bringing Isaac to the mountaintop, a father offering his son as a sacrifice. Norman was unusually eloquent about the son being the father’s redemption, about him being preserved as a promise. It was downright Hopkins-esque. I was proud.
But it was also a little strange. I’d read many of Norman’s sermons at this point, and he was rarely this loquacious.
I read and re-read his prayers from August, the quick mention of the tragedy in September, and then the sermon in October. It was a clear shift, and it felt like he was riding a wave rather than creating one. Typically, a big tragedy like a fallen soldier was big news when it happened, and then it would be replaced in the community consciousness by something else. But something else was sustaining the wave.
Perhaps Nadine was awake. She had, by her own estimation, sat in the front pew every Sunday for forty years, listening to her husband deliver sermons. If anyone was likely to remember the shift in tone, and what had brought it about, it would have been Nadine.
I checked my watch as I grabbed the keys to the Tank. It was just coming on eight o’clock. I didn’t have a big window if I wanted to catch her before she closed down the house for the night.
The church directory was programmed into my phone, and I looked up Nadine’s address while I buckled into the Tank. I set my phone into the cradle, so I could see the screen, and called up the directions.
As I drove by Malcolm’s, I noticed that the truck was gone, and I slowed my car for a moment in front of the driveway. I still felt like I should tell Malcolm in person about what I’d learned from Justin Brent. Part of me was afraid he’d accuse me of something or get me into even bigger trouble with Peter. A bigger part of me wanted to make sure justice was done, but I felt like I was in over my head.
A car came around the corner, and I glanced at the driver. It was Jenna Van Andel, driving a car I didn’t recognize, so I waved at her with a smile. Her eyes rounded, but she caught herself and waved back.
I continued on my way to Nadine’s house, pausing just a touch at the corner. Jenna made a U-turn in the little dead-end past my house, then pulled into Malcolm’s long drive. If only I could be a fly on the wall for that conversation. I still wanted to know why she had given Derek that bag, and why a knife, which I was still convinced was the murder weapon, had been right on top of the contents. I couldn’t ask her, though, not straight out.
Nadine’s house was on the road to Rolo, which I found to be particularly ironic, given that this was where all the trouble had started. At the last corner before the canyon, I took a right turn off the winding road and the cell service cut out, so I had to navigate on my own from there. The screen still contained the turn-by-turn directions, but I had to scroll through them myself. In the pitch black, on a road with no lights, this was no easy task.
By the time I made it to the last turn, I was considering pulling over and setting up camp until sunrise. But there it was, a little sign above the mailbox that read Nadine Winters. I turned in.
Nadine didn’t answer her door at first, and I was worried that I’d come too late—until I heard a faint voice calling to me from the back of the house. The door was open and I stuck my head inside.
“Hello?” I called out.
“I can see you, Vangie. Come on in. I’m in the kitchen.”
I made my way through the small, spare house. The last set of doors opened up into a long, narrow kitchen. Nadine stood at the sink, hands wet up to her elbows, humming.
“Sorry I couldn’t come to the door,” she said, between bars of a familiar hymn. “Don’t you just love this song?”
I was puzzled for a second, but there was a little radio on the windowsill in front of her and a cord reached from the radio to her ear. Perhaps she’d forgotten that she had the headphones in.
“I didn’t mean to bother you…” I said, hoping she would take out the headphones. I was having flashes of various accidental radio-in-water scenarios.
“It’s no bother.” She swayed back and forth, placing the big, white dish she’d just rinsed in the full wooden dish rack. “What can I do for you?”
“I was just going through Norman’s sermons.” I walked around the little island and came to stand beside her. Through the front window, I could see the edge of the moon glinting off the hood of the Tank. There were neither yard lights nor porch lights on, so the entire front of the house was dark.
“How far have you gotten?”
“I just finished October of 1998.”
Nadine’s hands stilled for a second, both in the water. She had been digging for something. Glancing up at me, she said, “I suppose you’re here about the second funeral.”
“The second funeral?” I leaned against the counter, trying to fake my way through my surprise. “Yes. The second funeral. That’s why I’m here.”
Nadine pulled her hands out of the water, along with a plunger, and the sink began to drain. She dried her hands and took the earphones out, placing them on top of the little silver radio.
Something caught my eye out of the window—a light moving outside in all that darkness. It was one light only. Not quite slow enough to be someone walking. Was there a headlight out on her neighbor’s car?
Nadine walked to the breakfast nook on the far side of the house, flipping the button on the electric teapot as she passed it. She gestured for me to follow, but I couldn’t stop watching that one lone light. It moved past the driveway, then I couldn’t see it anymore. Either it had gone behind something or gone out.
“Come and sit with me, pastor.”
I finally followed, checking the outside road one last time. Nothing.
Sliding onto the bench opposite Nadine, I was aware of the tiny buzzing sound that the kettle made. It seemed to be the only sound in the entire house.
“Pastor Findlay asked me the same question, when he was reading Norman’s sermons, you know. He’d never heard of anyone doing such a thing. There were several people in the town who didn’t approve of it, including the pastor where the Barnetts attended.”
“I’ve never
heard of such a thing, either.” I folded my hands on the table, hoping to hide just how interested I was in this little piece of gossip. The gurgling of the water increased just enough that it made my heart beat a little faster. The rising pitch lent a strange, sinister air to the conversation.
“I told Norman he shouldn’t do it. But Nikki insisted. Audric and Clara Krantz reluctantly gave their permission.”
The tenor of the water crescendoed and I sat forward just a touch.
“You mean, he’d already been buried in Washington, D.C., and they had a second service here?”
“Oh, no.” Nadine shook her head and tight gray curls bobbed against her scalp. “He did the memorial service when the Krantzs came back from Washington, and then Nikki asked for a second funeral in October.”
I cocked my head to one side. That was a very strange request. “Was it at her house?”
“No, they had a veteran’s parade with a color guard, and it ended at our church. They did the burial at Nikki’s house, though. She got a permit, of course, although I don’t think any of his remains are actually buried there, because they would all have been interred at Arlington like his parents wanted, after he passed. I think the city gave her a special easement.”
“Was this for Veteran’s Day?”
“No. I think it happened on Halloween weekend. It was after Nikki got back from overseas. She wasn’t there for the first funeral, of course, since she was still in Europe, or wherever she’d been staying while Auggie was in Kenya.” The water bubbled furiously and Nadine rose to walk to the counter. She raised her eyebrows. “Would you like some tea, Vangie?”
“Yes, please,” I said, vaguely. “Peppermint if you have it.”
She made me a cup and brought it over, setting her own cup in front of her on the table.
I sipped at my tea, feeling a slight burn on my tongue, but I needed some time to think. My curiosity was piqued by the notion of the two funerals, and I wanted to know the whole story.
“I had come across the prayers about Auggie in Norman’s sermons,” I said, setting the cup down. “I intended to ask you about his renewed fervor over Auggie’s death in October, but this seems to explain it. Was it because Nikki was arranging the second funeral?”
“Well, that and the baby.” Nadine picked the teabag out of her mug and placed it on a china plate that sat in front of the clear salt and pepper shakers near the edge of the table. “Everyone was so thrilled when they found out about Austin, they wanted to do as much for Nikki as they could.”
“I got that sense, too.”
“It was a shame she went back East, though.” Nadine said the words like an afterthought, but they perked a memory.
“Where back East did she go?” I asked, trying to remember all the dates on those pictures from Frances Barnett’s house.
“Her aunt lived somewhere in the Midwest, I think.”
That clinched it for me. She had gone to Minnesota, where Claire had clearly been sent to have her baby, and then she returned with a little one in tow who wasn’t her real son.
Frances had probably considered it a good trade, given her attitude toward Claire.
My stomach turned sour. My heart broke for Austin. I knew what it was like to grow up without one of your parents. Austin had never known the man he’d always believed to be his father, and now he’d lost his biological mother and father in a matter of days.
I thanked Nadine for the tea and left. But when I turned onto the dark road again, I was completely and totally lost. The turns on my phone were gone, and I had no visual point of reference. I made a couple of turns, trying to backtrack, and ended up at the edge of the river, in what looked like a little turnout.
Frustrated, I pulled all the way into the flat graveled area, and made to turn around. I saw a flash of something behind me, and I turned off the Tank’s engine. Only a few seconds later, a single light flickered behind me, clearly on the front of a vehicle. This time I could make out the outline of a motorcycle, and my skin pebbled in fear.
What was Derek Hobson doing following me out to Nadine Winters’ house?
Or into a dark, secluded…
Crap on a communion wafer.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Without cell service, I had no way of signaling anyone if anything went wrong, so I didn’t want to startle Derek by seeming suspicious. I smiled and rolled my window down, like I had expected to meet him here, like there was nothing peculiar about seeing him in the pitch-dark night in the middle of nowhere, but my right hand searched through my purse for something that could double as a weapon.
Nothing.
He stopped his bike beside my car. The fact that he wasn’t parking behind me, which would’ve trapped me in, gave me at least a little relief. Not much, but a little.
My heartbeat thudded out heavy beats. “What are you doing here?” My tone was a little too saccharine, but I couldn’t fix that. I was lucky the words had come out at all. He had my nerves good and jangled.
He took off his helmet. “I think the better question is, what are you doing out here?”
“I had to make a visit. I am her pastor, after all.”
“Oh.” Concern lined his features. “You mean you’re not out here about Henry’s case?”
“I’m not a private detective, Derek. I’m just doing my job.” My fingers finally closed around something cylindrical. Febreeze. My little travel-size scent neutralizer, for hiding the cooking smells when I need to go in public. If this turned out to be a shakedown, I could probably get close enough to spray him in the eyes.
“Okay, I answered you,” I pressed. “Now, why are you following me?”
“Because you seem to be able to talk to anyone in this town, which means you might be the only one who can get answers.” He spread his hands out, indicating his biker-y-ness. “You think they’re going to talk to me if I come to the door?”
I shrugged, relaxing my fingers from around the Febreeze bottle. “No. But you’re an asset if I ever need to B&E.”
In the glow of his lone headlight, I could just make out the outline of his face and his lips cracking a smile. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“I probably should have called you earlier,” I said, with a little shiver. The air was cold, and I was only wearing a light jacket. “I found someone, a delivery guy, who said he saw Henry drive away from the convenience store while Claire was still alive. So I called the police and told them.”
Derek’s brows pulled together. “So he really didn’t do it.”
“It doesn’t appear that way, no.”
“And Scarlet didn’t do it either.”
“You thought it might be Scarlet?” I snorted just a little, reaching down to start my vehicle. I turned the heat up to full blast and aimed it at my feet and body. The night was not getting any warmer, but I still wasn’t sure it was safe to invite Derek into my car.
“I don’t know who it was, Vangie. I suspect everyone.”
I nodded. I could understand that; I felt the same way.
I looked around the little clearing. We were right at the edge of the river, parked on a bank that sloped down to the water. There were little patches of snow at random intervals along the bank, but it had been warmer recently and there hadn’t been snow since January.
“Do you know where we are?” I asked.
“I think you took a wrong turn back there. This is the parking lot for the Running Elk trailhead. It’s a dead end.”
“I don’t like how dark it is.”
“I don’t like that you’re out here by yourself at this time of night.” There was an edge of protectiveness in his voice that made me relax even more. If his intent had been nefarious, he certainly could have lured me out of my car and boxed me in and killed me. He could have dumped my body in the river, and chances were, no one would ever have known. I’d seen enough Sherlock to know, it was always the body disposal that was the hardest part of murder.
That’s what had stumped me so much about C
laire’s murder . She had been posed. Left out for someone to find. Left out for Henry to be framed. That box had been put in her hands—setting off a whole chain of events that had brought Malcolm to me.
If killing Claire had been premeditated, then why not dispose of the body?
“What’s going on in that head of yours right now?” Derek asked, leaning on the handlebars of his bike. “I can tell you’re thinking about something.”
“I have…” I stopped, not wanting to push him too hard. He’d just lost his wife. “I shouldn’t be bugging you about this stuff.”
“Hey, don’t worry about me,” he said, holding up his hands. “I have nothing to hide.”
“Well, when you talked to Malcolm, when he questioned you, did he ever consider you a suspect?”
“I think he assumed I was involved. I mean, cops always think guys like me are involved when there’s a crime involved.”
“Did he interrogate you?”
“Not hard-core, no. He asked about the bruising on her neck, which…” He stopped, his voice breaking. “I asked her about that myself, when I saw it.”
“What did she say?”
“She just brushed it off, like she brushed everything off. But that was why I wanted to talk to Nikki, instead of Claire going over there. I was worried someone was threatening her.”
“And you told the sheriff about this?” I asked.
“Yeah. I mean, he asked me about where I was, too. But I had an alibi for the time when they think she was… I was working on my bike at my house, and probably ten people saw me.”
“Then why give you the murder weapon?”
“It wouldn't have occurred to me it was the murder weapon if you hadn’t pointed out the similarities between the knife and the wounds. I never saw the…” He choked again.
“You didn’t identify Claire’s body?”