Devil in the Deadline

by Walker, LynDee

  “Oh, I believe.” She smiled. “In normal circles, I’d be considered a zealot. But I believe in Jesus and Heaven and the Bible. And I’m not sure the reverend believes in the same ones. I’ve just never been able to decide if I’m right. What if it’s Satan planting seeds of doubt about the mission? Jasmine…” She trailed off, her voice breaking.

  I laid a hand on her arm. “There are too many people looking at this for it to go unanswered, Elise. We’ll figure it out.”

  “She deserved better,” she said.

  I nodded. I’d never seen a murder wrapped in quite so much intrigue, but every dead end made me more determined to dig up an answer. The boyfriend and Wolterhall jostled for top of my suspect list.

  “So, where do we start?” I asked, following her into the main building.

  “You know how to make a latte? Two of the ministers are always up early on Saturdays. Even without your makeup, I have a feeling they’ll want to talk to you.”

  I grinned and quickened my steps. I would leave Way of Life with some answers today. I could feel it.

  28.

  The right path

  Few things are creepier than a big, empty building. Except maybe a big, empty building full of ginormous, razor-edged gold crosses.

  I followed Elise to the coffee bar. She made me a white mocha while I followed her prompts to punch it into the touch screen register. “Three-twenty-six?” I asked.

  “You’re hired.” She grinned.

  I sipped my coffee and studied her.“I gather you haven’t always been so suspicious of the reverend?”

  “Oh, no. The first year I was here saved my life. I found purpose.” She made herself a coffee and took a sip, pulling a worn Bible from her bag under the counter and laying it on the bar. “I found faith. We never went to church when I was growing up. Funny, they say kids who grow up with religion rebel by leaving the church. Like Jazz. I guess the grass is always greener.”

  “What changed for you?”

  “I still didn’t fit in,” she said. “Everyone is always nice, because it’s unchristian to be mean. But I’m the odd duck. Jasmine was my first real friend. Some of the things she said, put together with things I saw when I worked in the office and things I see here every day—I’m just not sure the reverend is as invested in everyone’s spiritual well-being as he professes to be.”

  “Why?”

  She sighed. “The revival started it. Once, during a summer revival, they asked for extra volunteers to pray over the donations. People came from all over that week, and the reverend touched so many of them with God’s grace. It was amazing. People walked for the first time in years after he laid hands on them. Miracles left and right for three straight days.”

  “Wow.”

  “We’re supposed to pray for those who made donations at the end of every service. I mean, we do it at the academy, but to be in the room while the reverend blesses the donations and prays for the people who gave, that’s a big deal. I wanted it so badly. I prayed all week. And I was chosen.” Her tone took a left into darkness, her fingers moving to rifle the edges of her Bible’s pages.

  “What happened?”

  “There was a thirty-second plea for God to bless the generous souls, and then we sat at tables and counted while his assistant reported the totals to him every few minutes. There was so much money. Too much money. I counted thirty thousand dollars in small bills, and there were twenty other people in the room doing the same thing.” She looked up, her eyes screaming questions I had no answers for. “If you read this book, Jesus didn’t have much. He was a simple man. He talked about the poor and meek being blessed. The people with the money were the ones who killed him, right? How can it be Godly to take in that much money?”

  Oh, boy. “I suppose it depends on what you do with it,” I said.

  “They don’t use the majority of it to help those less fortunate than themselves, that’s for sure,” she said. “Which is something else Jesus said. But when I started asking questions about it, at first they told me God wanted to bless them for their hard work and faith. Then they just asked me to leave them alone. Questions aren’t favored around here, I warn you.”

  Of course not.

  People who have something to hide never like questions.

  Before I could consider that further, the door to the office across the hall opened and the young minister who’d introduced Golightly on Sunday stepped to the counter. He flashed a Colgate-commercial grin and asked Elise for a caramel latte.

  She whipped it together and passed it to me, blessing him and poking me, her you’re-on look barely registering.

  Nothing registered, really—because for the first time in my life, I was staring into eyes that looked just like mine.

  I scanned his face, running mentally through my bio file. Brady. The guy’s last name was Brady. And he was the only minister on the staff who was younger than me.

  Tall, well-built, amazing hair.

  And the eyes. Holy freaking mirror image, Batman.

  Elise poked me again, and I shook my head. Maybe he wore contacts.

  And maybe Richmond had a serial killer. Eight years at the crime desk had taught me true coincidences are few and far between.

  Brady smiled. “Good morning. How are you on this beautiful day the Lord has blessed us with?”

  I jabbed at the register screen. Focus. They were just contacts. Right? What had Elise said to that wretched woman the other day?

  “Blessed and favored of the Lord,” she chirped. “Oh, I’m sorry, sir. Leigh, I think he was talking to you.”

  “Blessed and favored of the Lord.” And confused as hell. “Three-twenty-six, sir.”

  He handed me a five and told Elise to keep the change.

  “You’re blowing it,” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

  What? I looked up as he turned for the offices, searching the facts I had.

  Brady was the one Jasmine worked for. Double hell.

  “Pastor,” I blurted. All this work to get in spitting distance of these guys. I couldn’t let him leave when he was right there.

  He paused, the jumbotron smile turning back to face me. “Yes?”

  “I was wondering, if you, um, could maybe pray with me about something?” The words flowed out as fast as I could think them.

  His smile widened. “Of course. I’m never too busy to pray with a young sister in the Lord.”

  I glanced at Elise, and his brow furrowed. “Would you be more comfortable speaking in confidence?”

  I nodded, and he motioned for me to follow him.

  Point Nichelle.

  Now, what did I need prayers for that wasn’t catching the killer? Lying to a minister felt—well, like I’d go to Hell, no matter how honorable my intentions. Southern Baptist Sunday school lessons whispered through my thoughts as I followed Brady to his office.

  Which was…damn. I had to bite my cheek to keep from whistling. The Oval Office had nothing on Way of Life in terms of opulence. Polished floors, Persian rugs, a stone fireplace, and dark, heavy furniture filled the space. Pentagonal beams outlined a star in the ceiling, a crystal and bronze chandelier dangling from the center.

  Brady shut the door and gestured to the sofa in front of the fireplace. “Please. I hope you’re well.”

  “I’m just worried,” I said.

  “Phillippians chapter four: Don’t worry about anything, instead pray about everything.” He smiled, sitting in a chair opposite me. “Tell God your needs and don’t forget to thank Him for His answers. If you do this you will experience God’s peace.”

  “Maybe worried is the wrong word. I guess I’m feeling a little lost.”

  “How?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes laser-focused on me. He was charming. And all in this conversation. Could he have killed someone?

  I returned the stare. My creep radar said no. I groped for an honest reply. “I just…how can we find our true path with certainty?” I actually wanted
the answer to that more than I’d thought when I walked in there.

  “Ah.” He nodded. “I hear this from many students every year. I was lucky, I guess, because I never questioned the path. I was always headed for the ministry, and I’m right where I want to be.”

  “But how did you know?” I pressed.

  “I was raised for it,” he said. “My parents—they were deeply religious people. My father was very involved in several ministries in California where I grew up. He and the reverend developed a friendship, and I came here to the Academy when my mom and dad went home to Jesus.”

  I flinched. His father was dead? And from California? “I’m—I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m not. Death is the last obstacle to eternal peace. I really believe that, but I know not everyone has my faith.”

  “I think that’s lovely,” I said, perfectly sincere. The idea of losing my mother terrified me to my bones. I admired Brady’s ability to have peace with his loss.

  His loss. Not mine. Even if the universe had a seriously skewed sense of humor here, I’d never met my father, and never had any desire to.

  He nodded, opening a book on the coffee table to reveal a hollow interior filled with chocolates. He plucked one from the pile and nodded to me. “One of my weaknesses. But they make me happy.” He winked.

  I took one and returned his smile. “Thank you.” I paused, drumming my fingers on my knee. I wanted to ask him about Jasmine, but wasn’t sure how far to push. On one hand, Elise said they didn’t like questions. On the other, I was here. What did I have to lose?

  “That is comforting,” I said. “Especially when we lose friends young. Like Jasmine. She and Elise were close, but thinking of her being with the Lord makes it easier.”

  His face fell, but he recovered the smile before most people would have noticed. It didn’t reach his eyes.

  “I wasn’t aware anyone was still in touch with Jasmine.” He blinked hard, clearing his throat. “She was a good assistant and a sweet young woman. Heaven has gained another angel if she’s no longer with us.”

  I left it. Either he’d inherited some acting skills from my mom’s old flame, or he really didn’t know she was dead. Elise said they told the Academy students TV and newspaper would cloud their faith. Maybe Brady practiced what he preached?

  I switched gears before my brain could get too mired in the possibility of this guy being my half-brother. Remote? I couldn’t say for sure. The evidence certainly appeared stacked in favor of it. Not that I knew how to start that conversation, even if I’d wanted to.

  “You’re very sure about God’s purpose for you.” I leaned forward, clasping my hands in front of me. “But you look so young. How old are you? Can I ask?”

  “I’m twenty-seven,” he said. Two years younger than me. My stomach did a slow somersault as he went on. “I was raised for this. Chosen. Age has no bearing on destiny. By the time Jesus was my age, he had performed many miracles.”

  “When you put it that way, I feel like a slacker.” I smiled.

  “Everyone who seeks faith will find their way to it,” he said. “That’s something the reverend says often, and I believe it.”

  In my experience, the truth works the same way.

  He smiled and bowed his head. “Shall we pray?”

  I closed my eyes and listened to his strong baritone, asking silently for some insight into Jasmine’s murder.

  “Amen,” I said in unison with Brady.

  “Go with God, washed in the blood,” he said as I turned to leave.

  I stumbled at the words. Washing in blood was a thing with these folks. Could that have something to do with the horror scene—and cow’s blood—in the switch house?

  29.

  Pandora’s box

  I pulled Brady’s door shut behind me, so deep in trying to finagle a connection I didn’t hear the other door open.

  “Good morning.” A smooth baritone pulled my attention back to the present, and I tossed my hair back as I looked up.

  At a grinning, gray-at-the-temples Edwin Wolterhall.

  My eyes flitted toward the ceiling. That was quick.

  “Good morning,” I said. “What a beautiful day the Lord has graced us with today.” I followed the words with a smile. The greetings they offered each other were nice, as long as they were sincere. The scripted vibe was the creepy part. It smacked of overlord-type control. I glanced at Golightly’s closed door.

  “It is indeed.” Wolterhall paused outside his door. “Can we help you with something?”

  “Pastor Brady was praying with me,” I said.

  His brows flew up, his eyes skimming over me before they went to the clock. “I see.”

  Somehow I thought he saw wrong, but I wasn’t sure how to correct that. Elise said Wolterhall was no stranger to mistresses, though his taste seemed to run ten or more years my junior.

  He put one hand on his doorknob.

  “We prayed for Jasmine,” I blabbed, my only thought to stop him from walking away. “For the people here who knew her. For her soul. She was murdered.”

  His whole face sagged, the polished mahogany door catching his body when it followed suit. “She what? She…No. She left. She wasn’t happy here. Didn’t want to be here in the first place.”

  Afraid to even breathe as I watched him talk through it, I felt a little more wind leave my sails.

  I’d walked through the door almost sure Wolterhall—or maybe Wolterhall and someone else—had killed Jasmine. And in less than ten minutes, these guys had both convinced me of their innocence. They didn’t even seem to know she was dead.

  I reconsidered my suspect list: someone from the streets? Maybe someone who knew enough about her past to set the scene in an effort to point here?

  Jealous Violet.

  But she was so tiny, I couldn’t see that unless she had help.

  Back home boyfriend Jared.

  He should be in custody by now, so if it was him, I’d know soon enough.

  I twisted my fingers together, wishing this were a less convoluted mess.

  “Did anyone know when she left or where she went?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t. I don’t know about anyone else. It was God’s will. Better for everyone.”

  “How was it God’s will for her to leave the path you provide here?” The question popped out before I could stop it, hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

  Wolterhall’s brow furrowed, his eyes searching my face. I kept it as neutral and naive as I could.

  “The Lord blesses us for our faith.” His face said the words were chosen with care. “In many ways. Jasmine was not one of our flock.”

  Then why would God send her there in the first place? I wanted to ask, but I also didn’t want to make him any more skeptical of my presence. Either he was a damned good actor, or he wasn’t my killer. But he was still a shady dude.

  And I was stuck for who killed Jasmine. And/or Cecilia, whose death may or may not be related. This story had more blanks than a Mad Libs.

  Wolterhall opened his office door just as my brain produced an idea.

  The mother.

  “Her family must be devastated,” I said.

  “I’m sure they’ll find solace in their faith,” he said. “Her parents are longtime members of the church. Staunch believers.”

  “Do they come for Sunday service?” I’d need a whopping disguise to come back the next day without them noticing something was off, but assuming I could slip under the shoe police’s radar, I could look for her folks. And Cecilia’s boss, too.

  “Her mother is housebound,” he said. “For physical reasons.”

  Well, crap.

  The abortion stuck out as motive. So did the possible blackmail.

  Had Elise found out who the Way of Life boyfriend was?

  Too many questions. I needed more coffee. And a notebook.

  A notebook.

  Jasmine’s journals.

  Someone who’d kept them so compulsively for so ma
ny years didn’t take a two-year hiatus. Elise said so—“she was always writing in them.” But they weren’t in the box.

  Except what if they were?

  What if her box worked like Brady’s hollow book?

  Because she’d written something worth hiding?

  I smiled at Wolterhall, who was lost in his own thoughts.

  “I will pray for her. And her loved ones.” Who may or may not claim her body. Those people needed some prayers, if you asked me.

  “We will, as well.” He turned and disappeared into his office without the customary blood-farewell thingy. I’d rattled him, but why?

  Halfway back to the coffee shop, I froze. What if Elise was asking the wrong people about who Jasmine was seeing?

  What if Jasmine had been seeing Wolterhall?

  Running the last few steps to the coffee bar, I spotted the teacher, Mathers, at the back of the line and dropped my hair over my profile before he could stare long enough to figure out why I didn’t belong. I tapped two fingers on the counter in time to Suspicious Minds as Elise made coffee for two hundred and thirty nine people. (Or five. Who took forever.)

  When Mathers took his latte and turned for the doors that led out to a gorgeous summer day, I leaned across the counter.

  “I need that box. The one Jasmine kept her things in.” I fought to restrain my voice. “I have an idea.”

  Counting doors in Elise’s hallway, I repeated “blessed and favored of the Lord,” in my head on a loop, hoping it would pop out of my mouth if someone asked me how I was.

  Elise couldn’t get away from the coffee counter in the middle of the morning, but she winked and told me which door was hers when I asked for a key.

  No locks. How could I forget?

  I held my breath for the second it took me to open the seventh door on the left and scan the room. I half-expected to find someone inside, searching for the journals. But they’d done that months ago. I hoped I was right about where they might be hidden.

  Shutting the door behind me, I scooted the chair in front of it for good measure before I knelt in the floor of the closet. The loose board was right where Elise said it was, the box nestled safely in the space beneath.