by Geri Krotow
“To have closure.” He spoke the words quietly, yet they seemed to have the power of a thousand men shouting them.
Closure.
Could she ever truly have closure from a cult that had all but ruined her childhood? “Zora.” His voice brought her back.
“No. Not happening.”
“This isn’t the time, with this case on our shoulders. But once we have the killer... It is Christmas, Zora.”
“No.”
“You’re playing the part of a minister. Isn’t atoning for the past part of preparing for Christmas? Advent? Maybe Edith wants to atone for her sins.”
“You’re a detective, a very good one from what everyone says. Why don’t you stick to that and leave the counseling to me? Besides, she can’t take back what she did. Ever.”
“O-kay.” She recognized Bryce’s concern in his careful reply.
“I’ve heard you, Bryce. And it’s not as if I don’t have thoughts about my mother from time to time. It’s why I hired the PI. As I’ve gotten older, I realize that she had no one to lean on. She was ripe for an addiction of some type. Hers happened to be bad religion. There’s good religion out there, and I hope she’s found it, or whatever else she needed. But I couldn’t be with her anymore, Bryce. Living with her was unbearable. She was complicit in the abuse that went on.”
“Did she know about all of it?”
“No, no one did. I didn’t even. But I knew enough.”
“And you did the right thing. You put away a lot of terrible men.”
“Some good it did if they’re all getting out over the next several months.”
“Not all of them.” Bryce’s voice maintained a neutral tone.
“Do you have any idea what I lived through, Bryce?”
“What you’ve told me, and what I read in the case study. Have I lived through it? No. But I knew you right after.” It was his turn to drift off, and as she watched his expression she thought she could almost see the memories playing across his mind.
“I must have looked pretty lost to you.” She remembered the first time she saw him. He’d been washing his family’s station wagon with his father in the blacktop driveway. They had a mixed-breed dog that was barking and begging them to squirt him with the garden hose. She’d been fascinated by the sight, since she’d never known her father, and the men at the compound had never played with the children. Playing was only allowed with other children and only up to a certain age. Once the girls were ten, they were expected to take up their mothers’ chores as helpers. Playtime went by the wayside.
“You were quiet, and you were too clean in all the new dresses and outfits Anna bought you.” Bryce smiled. “But you weren’t afraid to get them dirty. You joined every game and sport with as much gusto as any of the guys in the neighborhood.”
“My favorite was when we played flashlight tag all night.”
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t play it right away. It took until the end of that first summer.”
“With the fireflies.”
“The fireflies, yes.”
The warmth of that summer night was unforgettable, as had been the sight of what seemed to be thousands of blinking lights floating above their yards and the distant farm fields. In upstate New York fireflies came out only on the rarest of nights. But in the depths of the Central Pennsylvania countryside they sparkled in midair like the stars in her favorite cartoon films.
Anna and Adam had allowed her to play flashlight tag as long as she stayed near the houses their friends lived in. Now, of course, she realized Anna and Adam had been on the front porch the entire time, as had the other parents, looking out for them. But when she was running across the lawn, the glittering backdrop of fireflies all around, she’d felt like the star of her very own fairy tale. She’d felt her first taste of freedom.
With Bryce.
She looked at him and wondered how she’d been able to walk away from him all those years ago. After all the time they’d spent sharing long afternoons and deep confidences as easily as if they’d grown up together from birth.
Fear of allowing him to see her too well, to know her too deeply, had driven her to escape Silver Valley without looking back.
Until now.
“Thank you for lunch, Bryce. I think I’d better get ready for the pageant practice. Will I see you there?”
“Yes, later. I need to stop in and see my parents. I haven’t had a chance to spend any of the holiday season with them yet.”
“It’s hard to believe Christmas is less than a week away.”
And they still hadn’t caught the killer.
Chapter 14
Bryce pulled into the town house community where his parents had moved two years ago and smiled to himself. It always seemed like Mayberry here—the neatly trimmed lawns and shrubbery, and the traditional yet contemporary design of the river-stone fronts. The best part of the deal was that his parents didn’t have to do any of the garden work as it was all handled by the community.
The same community that would provide assisted living care, if needed, for his parents, who at the moment showed no signs of slowing down. His father had retired last year from a long career as a police officer and then superintendent of police for Silver Valley. His mother was still teaching music at the high school but was eligible to retire in two years.
He parked the car and walked up to their door, noting that his mother had been at it again with her decorative touches. Fir garlands framed the door and a large wreath with red berries gave off the aroma that can only be described as “Christmas.”
The door burst open before he finished ringing the bell and he was enveloped in his mother’s arms, the scent of her favorite perfume, Chanel No. 5, wafting through the small entryway.
“Bryce! Great to see you, honey. Come on in, it’s too cold to stand here with the door open.”
He walked over to his father, Ed, whose blue eyes assessed him steadily. “You doing okay, son?”
“Yes, Dad.”
Ed Campbell nodded and opened his arms to give Bryce his trademark bear hug.
Never short on affection, his parents.
A tiny yipping caught his attention and he laughed.
“That is the sorriest excuse for a dog, you guys.”
“Hey, watch it. This here’s my baby.” Ed bent his huge frame to reach the little white ball of fluff and brought the dog to his chest. “Don’t listen to him, Itsy Bitsy. He’s just jealous that he’s not living with us anymore.” Ed’s gruff voice was at odds with his silly words for the dog.
“She’s the light in his day, let me tell you.” Fran Campbell headed down the hall toward the kitchen. “Come on back and talk to me while I finish up our dinner. It’s your favorite!”
His “favorite” was absolutely anything his parents made him. As the three of them made their way to the kitchen he felt what he always did in the presence of his immediate family—love, lots of it, and a little bit of sadness.
The sadness had been there ever since his sister had died of cancer at age three. He’d been ten years old and it had all but broken his parents. Somehow they’d rallied, for him, and gone on to live a meaningful life together and individually. Only now as an adult could he appreciate it.
“Smells good, Mom. What is it?”
“Chicken potpie—you know, a healthier version for your dad. And I’m making up a nice bowl of salad. You can pick your own dressing.”
“I like yours best, Mom.”
“Suck-up.” His father stood next to his mother with that froufrou dog in his bulky arms, frowning at Bryce. The brightness of his eyes, the same shade of gray-blue as Bryce’s, gave away his mirth.
“I don’t get Mom’s cooking as much as you do.”
“Lucky for you. She’s gone all no fat, no salt, no taste on us.”
“That’s not true. Bryce, don’t listen to him.”
“Dad, Mom tells me you’ve got to watch your blood pressure.”
“Humph. Let me tell you,
it was a lot higher when I was on SVPD. The doctors... Sometimes I think they’re just looking for ways to keep us alive past our expiration date. We’re not supposed to live forever, you know.”
“We want you nice and healthy while you’re here.” Fran chopped a carrot as she spoke, her deft hands as good with a chef’s knife as they were on the piano keyboard.
“How’s the musical going, Mom?”
She waved her knife in the air, at which Ed, still holding the dog, made exaggerated dodging motions.
“Whoa, woman! Put down your weapon.”
“Take that beast out of my cooking space and go sit next to your son.”
Fran waited until Ed was seated on the counter stool next to Bryce before she answered.
“The stage mothers are in a tizzy because there weren’t enough roles for the girls. The boys are stretched to the limit, believe me, but after having so many female-focused productions, we needed something more suited to the talents of the high school boys.”
“You could’ve picked a girl for Peter Pan.”
“We could have, yes, but none of the girls fit the part as well as Jeremy. That kid’s going to be on Broadway someday, trust me.” She pointed her knife at Bryce.
“I trust you, Mom. What about the flying apparatus?”
“That’s where the angst all started. The stage moms raised the money for the equipment, and then most of their girls got cast in the ensemble. A few of them were none too pleased.”
“They’re not supposed to be raising money just so their daughters can have time onstage. It’s a group effort, right? And aren’t the kids the ones who should be upset?”
“You know how it goes, honey. Most of the kids are absolutely fine with it all. There’s one mother who’d love to tear my heart out, but her daughter is the sweetest thing. She’s just not the best singer in the world. It’s a shame, really, when her parents have paid for so much training.”
Bryce bit his cheek, trying not to laugh. The Silver Valley High School musical was a Big Deal each year and his mother had borne the brunt of stage mothers and their helicopter-parenting styles for ages.
“I’m involved with the Silver Valley Community Church’s Christmas pageant this week. I hope we don’t have any stage moms like you do.”
Of course, if they did, Zora would be dealing with them, in her role as interim pastor.
“Since when do you go to church?” Ed’s query was typical of his father: direct, honest and always looking for the next joke.
“Since there’s a killer murdering female ministers in town, or have you forgotten?”
Ed shook his head. “I saw the reports on the news, and put a call in to Colt. If you need me...”
“Dad, we can always use your experience and opinion. But we’ve got it, honest.”
“I don’t like you working in a church with such a crazy sick bastard on the loose,” Fran cursed as she chopped.
“Mom! Language.” He had to tease her; it was his job. His mother was the picture of the perfect high school music teacher—sweet, pretty, animated. But she could cuss like a sailor when she needed to. Speaking of sailors...
“Hey, do you guys remember Zora Krasny?”
“Remember? We play golf with Anna and Adam whenever the weather cooperates. This winter has been brutal so far, hasn’t it? We’ve been trying to convince them to move into Serenity Springs with us.”
“So you know Zora’s been back in Silver Valley for a while?”
“Hmm, I may.”
“Mom, why didn’t you say anything? Dad?”
“Son, your mother told me to stay quiet about it.”
“Bryce, honey, I know it was a painful time for you when Zora didn’t go to the prom with you.”
Bryce had to struggle to not roll his eyes. He couldn’t, not at his mom.
“Mom, I was a kid. And I still went.”
“With that cheerleader who turned out to be so shy, but, at least, thanks to you, she had a date.”
Sometimes having a mother who taught at the same high school he’d attended had its drawbacks.
“Mom, I’m almost thirty-four. I left high school a long time ago.”
“You’ll always be that handsome senior to me. Remember how excited you were when you found out you got into Penn State?”
“And he studied criminal justice, just like his old man.” Ed never missed an opportunity to emphasize what he considered the genetic gifts he’d given Bryce.
“I’ve inherited the best of both of you. You raised me in the best possible home.” He’d always trusted his parents. Even in the darkest days when Karen was sick and then died, he’d known his parents loved him with all their hearts. That he was safe.
Zora hadn’t had that.
“Why are you asking about Zora now, Bryce?” His mother’s quiet tone didn’t fool him, nor did the fact that she appeared not to be particularly interested in his response. She continued to roll out the crust for the potpie. Fran Campbell was 100 percent mother hen when it came to his love life, or what she perceived it to be.
Not that Zora was in that category.
“Oh, I’ve run into her. Mutual acquaintances and all. She’s a counselor now that she’s left the navy.”
“Yes, I think Anna mentioned that. Any chance you’ll be seeing more of her, honey?” Mom was blinking rapidly. Her eyes must have something in them. Or... “Spill it, Mom.”
Fran frowned for a split second—long enough that he knew she’d been keeping information from him on purpose.
“Anna asked me to not tell you she was back, because Zora swore her to secrecy. Zora wanted to get reacquainted with her old school friends on her own terms, if at all.”
“Most of us aren’t even in the area anymore.” The crowd they’d run with had all been the “geeks,” with many going to Ivy League and comparable schools that took them across the country and globe.
Fran assessed him. “No, you’re not. And I can’t help but thinking that maybe you were supposed to go out there, too. Find something bigger than what our town has to offer.”
“Now, Fran, the boy’s doing what he wants to do.”
“Mom, Dad, I’m in Silver Valley because this is where I belong. I love it here. It’s not as if I don’t travel enough on my own.”
“You planning another big trip for your vacation time this year?” Pride boomed in Ed’s voice. He’d told Bryce he thought he was crazy for taking a trip on his own through Southeast Asia, but he knew his dad had been proud of him for doing it, too.
“Vacation is the farthest thing from my mind.”
“Why are you asking about Zora, honey?” His mother had her bone and wasn’t going to let go.
“Actually, we’re working together on a case. She was the counselor for the first minister who was murdered.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Has she given you any insight into why that particular reverend was targeted?” Ed’s detective face was back on.
“No, nothing yet. But we keep hashing it over, hoping something will come through before...before...” He glanced at his mother to see if she was still listening as she opened the oven door and put the potpie on the rack.
“Before he gets the next one.” His father spoke low and quiet, and Bryce met his gaze. Dad understood.
“Yes.”
Ed’s huge hand squeezed Bryce’s shoulder. “You’ve got the smarts for it, Bryce. You’ll get him. Just don’t let him get you first.”
“I’m doing my best not to, Dad.” He meant it, too, except his priorities had changed. Somehow, in less than two weeks, his number one priority had become to keep Zora safe.
Holy hell.
* * *
The day before Christmas Eve, Zora took a two-hour break in the late morning before the last big dress rehearsal. She had a newfound respect and compassion for cancer patients and anyone else who had to wear a wig all day. She couldn’t wait to get rid of her disguise.
Being undercover had its own challenges
as far as making sure she didn’t let any details from her real life slip out in conversation, and having to make certain she didn’t spend too long with any of the church members, in case someone looked at her for too long.
“Come on, Butternut. Let’s get a walk in.” She was grateful for the chance to escape the house in no more than workout clothes and her winter coat. The cover story they’d agreed on, that Reverend Hammermill was staying with her as they’d been college roommates, had been genius. As long as no one expected to see them together.
The police car at the foot of her drive was too familiar. She knew it took time to lure out a killer, and the Female Preacher Killer was no exception. Still, the long days made the almost two weeks they’d been working the case feel more like a year. She waved at the lone officer who sat in the car but didn’t stop to chat as she usually would. She’d left a dozen doughnuts with the detail this morning and hoped there were some left for the afternoon crew.
Snow fell in huge, fat flakes and she wondered if they might need to cancel the rehearsal. She’d been stationed in colder climates and of course had grown up here, so she wasn’t a stranger to snow and it rarely deterred her from her objectives. But the parents of little children didn’t need to take risks on the road for a simple church play.
“Over here, girl.” She gave a short tug on Butternut’s leash to keep the dog in sync with her own steps as she led them into the woods. It was a route they took regularly, one that allowed for a good hour’s cardio, covering well over three miles through the surrounding forest.
Butternut growled as if she’d detected Godzilla, and Zora laughed when she saw the reason—a squirrel raiding her bird feeder.
“That’s where all the seed is going.” The feisty gray ball of fur switched its tail in annoyance at her and Butternut’s interruption.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going to bother you.” Good thing the congregation couldn’t see her talking to a squirrel.
Once at the edge of the woods Zora paused to adjust her hat and enjoy the way the snow blanketed even the tiniest branches. She loved how the holly berries looked as if they were frosted with sugar.
Christmas.
She hadn’t thought much about the holidays, except for the church services, since the Female Preacher Killer case had taken over her life. Last year by this time she’d finished three operations in a month for the Trail Hikers and was counseling eight clients. Her father had helped her chop down a tree on her land, which of course was too big once they’d brought it up on the porch. With his judicious use of the saw on the bigger branches, and a lot of muscle, they’d wrestled it through the front door, and she’d decorated it with the ornaments she’d collected in her navy travels.