One Deadly Sin

by Annie Solomon

  Holt dove into the cookies, and no one said anything for chewing. Edie had never felt so hungry in her life. They’d fed her in jail, but this was ambrosia compared to the institutional stuff she’d been picking at for the last seven days. And that was nothing compared to the years of bad food that could be waiting for her. She shuddered and pushed the crumbs around on her plate. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, Mrs. Lyle.”

  “But you want to know why I did it?”

  She risked a glance up. The other woman’s face was calm and kind. “I hope it’s not… well, not because of what happened at Red’s. I thought we settled that.”

  “We did.” Amy clasped her hands on the table. “But after we met at Bradley’s office I pulled every scrap of paper my husband had saved over the years. And I have to tell you, it didn’t make me feel better. Something happened when you were a child, some terrible thing, and to be honest, I didn’t want to admit this, but I think my husband knew something about it. And he wanted to make it up to you somehow. That was his wish. How could I let you stay in jail when I had the means to help?”

  “Does that mean you don’t think I killed anyone?”

  She hesitated. “Let’s just say, I’m willing to suspend judgment. And in the meantime, you need a place to stay and I have plenty of room.”

  “Mrs. Lyle, you’re pitting yourself against the whole town.”

  She patted Edie’s hand. “Call me Amy. Please. And that’s how small towns work. Kind of a mob mentality until someone takes a stand. Of course, it has to be someone of, shall we say, stature? I’m taking you under my wing, Edie Swann, so don’t you worry about the town. You’ll see.” She rose to take the dishes to the sink. Edie gathered up the cups and followed her.

  “There’s one thing more,” said Holt.

  Edie handed the cups to Amy, who put them in the dishwasher. “No more, please. I don’t think I could take another kindness today.”

  “Well, brace yourself, darlin’, because one’s coming. Mrs. Lyle—Amy—found the connection between our victims.”

  “It was simple, really,” Amy said, her hands full of dish towel. “If I’d known you were looking so hard, I would have said something earlier.”

  Edie looked from her to Holt and back again. Anxious. Expectant.

  “The city council,” Amy said. “They all served on the city council together.”

  Edie frowned. She’d expected something… what? Diabolical? An underground cult? A Skull and Bones secret society? The city council was so mundane it was almost laughable. Yet here they were in an ordinary kitchen surrounded by dish towels and cookies, a place where meals were planned and prepared, where family gathered to be nurtured by them. And the three of them were discussing murder. Did the roses seem to wilt, the sunshine-yellow walls grow dim? Was it the darkness she carried with her? Or was it just the hidden truth of the universe? That evil was everywhere. Even here, in an everyday, sunny kitchen. Or a small-town city council.

  “There must be dozens of people who’ve been on the city council,” Edie pointed out.

  “Not in 1989,” Holt said.

  A chill shook Edie. Nineteen-eighty-nine. The year her father died.

  Was the shock on her face? Amy exchanged a concerned glance with Holt. “There’s a lovely gazebo in the backyard,” she said quietly. “Holt, why don’t you show Edie where it is?”

  She didn’t feel like a stroll in the garden, but she didn’t want to stay in the yellow kitchen either. Holt slung an arm around her shoulders and she let herself be guided out the back door into the warm summer evening. A cutting garden off to the side was a jumble of color, and the scent of newly mown grass hung in the air.

  Edie inhaled, and the fragrance seemed to give her strength. “Pretty back here.”

  “Not as pretty as you.”

  But Edie wasn’t up to compliments. She said nothing, just continued tramping over the yard, silent, shuttered.

  The gazebo was a sweet thing with gingerbread trim and a bench inside. Edie couldn’t make herself go in. She wanted quiet, loneliness, not this tricked-up terrace. She slid along the curved outside wall until she was at the back, facing a thick clump of woods bordering the property. It was dark back there, dark and cool and quiet, and she leaned against the side, head back, eyes closed.

  Nineteen-eighty-nine. Two thousand nine. Her father dead. Her friend dead. She couldn’t shake the portentousness of the dates, the parallels, the threat. What else did the black angel have waiting for her? Once again she felt the bike under her shimmy, heard the scream of skidding tires, the nauseated helplessness of flying through the air. Who wanted her dead?

  “Shit,” she mumbled. The grief and fear inside her hardened, and her voice rose. “Shit, shit, shit!!”

  “Edie.” Holt’s voice was soft, his face gentle as he reached for her.

  She shoved him away. “Don’t!”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Go all soft and cheesy on me. I need you hard and strong and angry as shit. Someone killed Lucy!” She grabbed her head as if that could somehow contain the impossible and make it real. “Oh, God. Oh, God.” She was shivering uncontrollably, looking around wildly for an explanation, except there was none. Only her own misguided search for revenge.

  “I’ll find them. I swear.” As if to confirm the vow, he wrapped his arms around her.

  At first she fought the cage, struggling against his embrace. She had to hold on to her fury. Only that could overwhelm her terror.

  But he wouldn’t let go. He crooned and murmured and held her tight, and finally, like a pathetic, broken thing, she collapsed in his arms, pounding his chest as if to stop the sobs. The emotion turned her inside out, her heart raw, her bones aching. She sank to the ground, and he cushioned her, rocking and hushing and soothing.

  Holt did for Edie what he did for Miranda. What he’d do for any lost child. He held her. Let her know there was one thing in her world that was solid and wouldn’t go away. And when she was done, she leaned against him on the grass in the shadow of the woods. He stroked her hair, her neck, down her arms. Heard her breathing calm.

  Then, minutes later, it picked up again. Only this time there was a different rhythm to it. An awareness. Of the two of them alone in the evening. It jacked up his own breathing. That was no child he held, but a true woman, heart and soul and curves that fit his hands. She twisted to face him, all dark, turbulent eyes and mass of hair, and her hand was on his jaw, her breath on his face.

  And without a word, she pulled his mouth down to hers.

  Heat fanned into a firestorm, an inferno he hadn’t known he’d missed until he felt it again. Aah, this was what it was like. To want someone, to need her. To love her.

  He lay them down, pulling her on top of him. Her breasts against his chest, her legs wrapped between his. How long had he waited for this? Eternities.

  Her hands found his skin under his shirt, and he could wait no longer. He didn’t have to. She pulled off his shirt, then her own. Slithered out of those amazing jeans, and got his off as well. Kissed him, fondled him, and slid him home inside her with a groan of pleasure that melted into his own.

  Within two minutes he was ready, and he clutched handfuls of grass to keep from coming. But she sat up on top of him, primal and wild, her eyes closed, hair tumbling down her arched back. Her breasts bounced, her nipples jutted, and if it was possible to get harder, he did. She sucked her fingers, in and out and over again, and he clenched that grass tighter. Then she touched her breasts with those wet fingers, fondling the taut nipples, and the pleasure was so intense he couldn’t take it. Not another minute, not another second, not another—

  Unfair, his mind screamed as he exploded inside her. Unfair, as she pulled him into ecstasy.

  He didn’t know how long he lay there incapable of speaking, unable to move. Finally, she collapsed on top of him. Her hands roamed everywhere, gentle and sweet, and he drifted off holding her against him.

  A soft moan woke him.
He opened his eyes to the velvet gray of twilight. The air had cooled and a breeze blew against his bare skin. Edie was beside him on her back, one leg draped over his belly, the other spread wide. Her hand was deep between them, and she was squirming with pleasure.

  A jolt of electricity hit him when he realized what she was doing.

  He stroked her hair, fingers sinking into the thickness. “Want some help?”

  She grunted. “I do all the work tonight,” she said.

  “Aw, let me.” He nudged her hand aside, and she cracked open an eye.

  “Just sit back and enjoy the show. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

  He accepted her gift the way he accepted everything about her—as new and exciting. He watched her hips move, her fingers dance. It was rhythmic and beautiful. And one of the sexiest things he’d ever seen. When she came, he watched her body pulse and contract, beckoning his own.

  She made no protest when he slipped inside her. The tail end of those fierce contractions still pulsed. Their mouths met, wet and needy, and this time, their hips worked together. The moon rose and their bodies heated, slow and gentle, a long, caring waltz that ended on a tender sigh.

  Afterward they lay looking up at the stars.

  “Think Amy knows what we’re doing out here?” Edie said.

  He held her in the crook of his arm and enjoyed the primordial sensation of night wafting over their bodies. The woods crackled with katydids and hid their noise and their bodies from the neighbors. The gazebo hid them from the house, but it wouldn’t be too hard to figure it out. “Probably. It was her idea.”

  Edie was silent for a long time, and Holt knew she was stewing about something. He waited, and she finally spoke. “Why do you think she’s doing this?”

  “She told you why.”

  “And you believe her?”

  “There are a few good people in the world, Edie.”

  She nodded, but it wasn’t convincing.

  “We could sleep out here,” she mused.

  “The last time I slept in the backyard I was ten.” He rolled onto his side to look at her, and she did the same. He ran a finger down her nose. “Besides, I have to take Miranda to camp tomorrow.”

  She sighed. “Okay. Another time.” She sat up, pulled her clothes over, and started getting dressed. He reached for his own stuff.

  “City Hall opens at ten.” He slipped his pants on. “Amy will take you and I’ll meet you there.”

  She shoved her head and arms through the black tank. “What’s in City Hall?”

  “Council meeting minutes.”

  “You think if they were planning to kill someone they’d take notes?”

  He shrugged. “We don’t know that’s what they did. And you never know.”

  He put his arm around her and walked her back to the house. It was full dark, the moon high and bright in the sky. He felt satiated and sleepy, as if he’d just consumed a huge meal and a full bottle of wine. He smiled to himself. Edie was like that. She filled him up, made him dizzy, and gave the world more luster.

  He kissed her at the door, lingering over good-bye. Then watched as she let herself into the now-dark house.

  45

  Redbud had been collecting the minutes from city council meetings since 1947, so there were boxes and boxes of them, stacked in the basement of the municipal building. The centricity made it easier to get to, especially with Holt there. No one questioned his right to explore city documents, and no one said a word when he ushered the prime suspect in the Black Angel murders and the wife of one of her victims with him. Amy Lyle put a possessive arm around Edie’s shoulders as they passed the city clerk, flashed her a cordial smile, and sang out, “Good morning, Barb. Choir practice this evening.”

  Barb nodded, gaze flicking back and forth between Amy and her companion. “S-see you there,” she said.

  Then they disappeared behind the basement door, the worst over with.

  “Let’s see how fast that gets around,” Amy whispered to Edie as they descended.

  Concrete floor and walls shielded the underground room from the summer heat. It was cool down there. Industrial shelving marched across the underground room, row upon row of similar boxes. But Holt led the way to the council shelves easily.

  “Reorganized when I had to make room for my case files.” He cruised the boxes along one shelf, then stopped. “Pretty much know where everything is.” He hauled down the boxes labeled 1980–1989.

  Council met once a month, which meant twelve sets of minutes. But there were eighteen in 1989. Six additional meetings seemed to give further proof that something monumental had taken place in Redbud that year.

  Holt divided up the file, handing each of them a small stack of pages, and they retreated to a corner where Holt had set up a card table and chairs.

  Edie glanced down at the papers but the words blurred in front of her. She glanced over at Holt because she couldn’t help it. The memory of the night before had stayed with her, a loving cocoon she didn’t want to leave. Inside that space she was safe and warm. Protected. A false security maybe, but one she grabbed at anyway.

  Holt looked up, caught her staring at him. Her heart expanded. That liquid electricity shot through her chest and between her legs.

  “Amy, will you excuse us for a minute?” Holt asked, still staring at Edie, who couldn’t tear her gaze away either.

  The older woman began to rise. “Of course.”

  “No, no, don’t go anywhere,” Holt said, then leaned over and kissed Edie. The contact charged her body, filling and swelling her. She grabbed his shirt, holding on, drawing out the feel of his lips.

  When they broke off at last, his mouth twisted into a crooked grin. “Thought I’d better get that over with or we’d never get anything done.”

  Her face heated. She hadn’t blushed in a long, long time. Which only made her blush even more. She cleared her throat, peeked at Amy. The other woman’s eyes had welled with tears.

  Instantly contrite, Edie apologized.

  Amy shook her head. “Don’t you dare.” She rummaged in her purse, pulled out a crumpled tissue. Tamped her eyes with it. “It’s just—I remember that.” She gave Edie a watery smile that included Holt. “Lucky you.”

  Amy returned her tissue to her purse and they all returned to the twenty-year-old pages in front of them.

  But not for long. A few minutes later, Holt threw down what he was reading. “Wait a minute.” He looked at Edie, then Amy. “Who do you have present at your meeting?”

  They read through the list of names. Four council members and a secretary to take the minutes. Three of the members were the three men connected with the Black Angel murders. The fourth was the previous mayor, now deceased. But in those six extra meetings there was a fifth: James Drennen.

  “Your father?” Amy said.

  Edie sat still as possible, hoping ridiculously that Holt would forget she was there.

  “He was the chief of police,” Amy added. “Of course he would be at the meetings.”

  “No.” Holt shook his head. “That’s not true. I mean, it’s not normal procedure. I only attend those meetings twice a year. And that’s to give a brief crime report.”

  Holt and Amy frowned, puzzled.

  “Maybe in your dad’s day it was different,” Amy said.

  “I don’t think so,” said Holt. “And even if it was, this is six times over the course of”—he shuffled through the reports—“a month.”

  Amy leaned forward, excited. “Look, whatever the reason, this is good. We don’t have to go through the minutes. We can just ask James.”

  “The thing is,” Holt said slowly, then stopped. He looked at Edie. That gaze seared her like a brand.

  “The thing is what?” Amy asked.

  “The thing is, you’ve been looking for a connection between these three men for a while now,” Edie said softly.

  Holt said nothing.

  “Holt, it was years ago,” Amy said. “Your father probably
forgot.”

  “I’m sure that’s all it is,” Edie said. She put a hand over his, but he slid it away. She saw denial in his face, but also something else. Fear.

  “Who is…” He stopped. Licked his lips. Started again. “Who’s on your list?” he asked Edie.

  “What list?” Amy said.

  “You know who’s on it,” Edie told him. “Parsley, Runkle, Lyle, Butene.”

  “And?” Holt said.

  Edie clenched her hands below the table. She looked down at the council minutes, unable to look at Holt.

  “And?” he repeated. They all waited, the silence like dread.

  At last Edie looked into the clouded green eyes of the last man in the world she wanted to hurt.

  “And Drennen,” he said to her. “Right? Right? Say it, damn you.”

  “Yes, Drennen. Okay? Yes, he’s on the list.”

  “The only one left,” Holt said with disbelief. “No wonder you didn’t want to stay at my house.” He pushed away from the table. “Oh, my God.” How many times had he discussed the murders with his father? James had been the only one he’d told about Edie staying at the motel, too. A swirl of sickness overtook him. He grabbed on to the steel limbs of a bookshelf to steady himself.

  What had his dad done?

  And now, sweet Jesus, what was he going to do about it?

  His brain swirled, making him dizzy. He was falling down, down, down, into an endless abyss, and as the black hole swallowed him up, his phone rang.

  “I got those garages you wanted me to check,” Sam said briskly.

  “What?” His brain was too thick to make sense of what she said.

  “The full-sized pickups? Remember? You asked me to check all the garages in the surrounding counties. Think I found what you’re looking for. Black pickup over in Berding.”

  The shelving he was clutching bit into his hand even harder, but he couldn’t feel anything. His father had a black pickup. And last he heard, it was in a garage in Berding. “You sure that’s the only one?”

  “Yup. Why? Something wrong?”

  He could have laughed out loud. “No. Thanks.”

  “Want me to check it out?”