"I don't," she insists. "I don't know anything. I'm just a housewife. I clean and cook. I don't know anything about finances or bank accounts."
I have a feeling that usually her last statement is true, but she knows something about that thousand dollars.
"Vanessa, look. I know your husband isn't always the nicest guy, but—"
I hear the door swing open. We both turn to see Sarah walking into the house. Her cheeks are flushed and one of her hands is clenched in a fist. Once she spots me, she scowls, and walks past us and toward the kitchen. I listen to her go through the cupboards.
Is she uncomfortable around me because I helped to save her from the mine, or could she have known that I was following her before? There's no way. She would have asked me why I was following her if she had. Donovan is supposed to be checking into the Alpha and Omega Temple, so hopefully we'll figure out what they're about before they brainwash Sarah.
"Sarah," Vanessa calls out. "Why don't you sit with us?"
Vanessa gives me a quick glance—fear still vibrating off her like a sound wave. I know she wants Sarah to act as a buffer between us in the hopes I'll stop talking about the secret thousand dollars per week her husband had likely been receiving.
"Sure," Sarah says. "One minute. Just getting some chips."
I'm not going to get anything out of these women if they're both this uncomfortable and the last thing I need is one of them running back to Latham to tell him an FBI Agent is still asking questions about him.
"You know what? I should get going," I say as Sarah sits down next to her mother with a bowl of barbecue chips. I grab my business card organizer and flip through it until I find the card I'm looking for. I pull it out and slide it over to Vanessa.
"This is a women's shelter in Anchorage. If you ever want to leave your husband, it's all in your hands."
"I don't want to leave my husband?" she says, framing the statement like a question, so I don't know if I can believe her.
"Keep it in case you change your mind." I turn to Sarah. "I've been meaning to ask, Sarah, how are you dealing with Nick's death?"
Her eyebrows raise and her face goes completely blank. It's as if she hadn't thought about Nick in a long time, but after a few seconds, she recovers with a small smile.
"Oh, you know…some days it's hard, some days it's easier. I'm dealing with it the best that I can."
"Really?" I see my opening. "Because if you need help with coping. I know this great church tyou should look into. It's called the Alpha and Omega Temple."
Sarah becomes so pale that, for a second, I think she's going to faint. If she noticed a car was following her, she didn't realize it was me. Maybe she just didn't think I would bring it up.
"What? A temple?" Vanessa asks. "We're not Jewish or…Buddhist or whatever. We're Christian."
"It's a Christian church," I tell her. "Alpha and Omega is a reference to Jesus. Or so I'm told."
Sarah turns her head as if listening to someone speak. She looks at the corner of the room for a few seconds before looking straight back at me. Her face is completely composed again.
"I've never heard of that church," she says. "And I have no interest in joining one. Thank you for the information though."
She just straight-up lied to me. Sweet, innocent Sarah lied to me about the church. Why would she do that unless she was doing something she shouldn't? And how did she lie so well?
"Right. Well, I'm going to hit the road now. It was nice talking to both of you."
I leave, thinking about Sarah's strange history since I met her, and how death seems to follow her everywhere she goes. First, her two kidnappers were killed—though we're fairly certain that was her brother Mason—then her co-worker Brianna, her boss, Junior, her boyfriend, Nick, and LaPonte is connected to her father.
It's possible that Judge Latham is responsible for the murders—he could have murdered Brianna in an attempt to frame LaPonte and when that failed, he killed LaPonte. He could have killed Junior for being too physical with Sarah, which is why the word pervert was carved into his skin, and he could have killed Junior because he didn't like someone getting close to his little girl.
But something in my gut tells me that Sarah could be less innocent than we had all presumed.
Chapter Twenty
Aaron (Monday afternoon)
After Pastor Renard leaves, I stumble back into my house and try to fall asleep on the couch. I flip over and over, trying to get comfortable and not feel like my brain is expanding in my skull.
Just as I feel myself beginning to fade into unconsciousness, there's three hard knocks on the door. That quick, successive, loud knocking could only mean it's a police officer at my door. Unfortunately, that could mean it's important.
I drag my feet as I get to the door and jerk it open. Greg Stalinski stands on the other side, texting on his phone. He puts his phone into his back pocket.
"Hey, Aaron, could I talk to you for a quick second?"
"No. I'm trying to sleep."
"Right. That wasn't really a request because the FBI told me they want to question you, and I'm supposed to make sure you get over to the police station."
"Are you kidding me?" I spit out. "Question me about what? LaPonte's murder?"
"Actually…I don't know if I'm supposed to keep this a secret…but it's about Nick's, Junior's, and LaPonte's murders."
I shake my head. "I'm not going. I'm hungover and they're just trying to make me into their scapegoat."
I try to close the door, but Greg pushes it back open and I'm too nauseated to fight against him.
"Be sensible, Aaron. They'll just interview you and you can prove your innocence."
"I've told them repeatedly that I didn't do it." I snarl. "They won't listen to me because they're hell-bent on blaming me, so that it looks like they accomplished something to their superiors."
"Aaron…" Greg takes a deep breath. "The other police officers…they're beginning to think your wife's and daughter's deaths caused you to…go over the edge…and it's just manifesting now, or the disappearance of Sarah—since she used to be Lisa's best friend—caused it to trigger. They're beginning to suspect you've killed these people, too."
"Well, tell them to go fuck themselves." I bite out.
He shakes his head. "Should I call the FBI office and get ahold of Teresa? Will it make you feel better if she's the one who talks to you?"
"No. It'll make me feel worse because she'll probably feel like it's justifying her decision to go undercover."
"She's going undercover?"
"Yeah. Which means that we have to break up because we're not going to see each other for months."
"Well…no offense, Aaron, but the two of you never had much of a relationship to begin with. Your whole relationship revolved around murder and sex. It's a bizarre combination, but once you take those two things away…you don't know each other at all."
I step back as if I'm going to let Greg inside. As he smiles, lowering his hand from the door, I slam it shut. If the FBI wants to get to me, they'll have to call in a SWAT team.
Chapter Twenty-One
Teresa (Monday afternoon)
After receiving a call from Greg, I knock on Aaron's door. When he doesn't answer, I twist the doorknob. It's unlocked. He must not have thought of locking it after slamming it in Greg's face. I step in, closing the door behind me.
"Aaron, it's me, so don't shoot!" I call out. I hear a grumbling sound, so I follow it to the living room. Aaron is lying on the couch with his arm over his eyes and one of his legs draped over the edge of the cushion. He lowers his arm and raises his head to look at me.
"Greg called you? He did, didn't he? That asshole doesn't know when to mind his own business."
"That asshole was concerned, but he had to get back to the station," I say, sitting down on the couch near his feet. "The FBI just wants to feel like they're making progress, Aaron. It's stupid, but they feel they should have a suspect by now. You happen to be
the common denominator."
"So, you don't think the same thing?" He sits up.
"Of course not."
We stare at each other. His eyes are a little bloodshot and puffy while his whole body seems to be gravitating toward the floor.
"Do we need to talk about our relationship and the fact that I'll be going undercover in a week?"
"What is there to talk about?" As he throws his hands into the air, I move to sit closer to him and place my hand on his knee.
"Aaron, I don't want to end our relationship. I don't. But I don't want you to spend all this time just waiting for me. I want you to be happy," I say. "And…with this job…I'll be pretending to fall in love with another man and I don't think that's fair to you."
He rubs his eyes. "I know this isn't your fault. It's an opportunity for you. I should be happy for you—and I am—but it's just going to be hard without you. I can deal with it though."
"It doesn't seem like you're dealing with it well. Is my announcement why you're drinking again?"
"No…" he says. "I was just near a bar…and then a liquor store. I suppose with all the drunks and addicts I've met, I should've known I couldn't just quit cold turkey."
"Well…you can always keep trying. Just start your sobriety again today. If you fall off the wagon again…that's okay, too. Just keep trying."
He snorts. "That might not be a problem if I'm going to prison because the FBI thinks I'm a crazy serial killer. They think Sarah's disappearance triggered me to go insane and start killing people."
I tilt my head. "It's interesting that you mention Sarah. Something happened as I've been investigating her father."
"Did she do a cheer routine for you?" He jokes, but there's no joy in his voice.
"Well, if the FBI thinks Sarah's kidnapping triggered you to lose your mind, don't you think it's possible that with her being stuck in the mine that she went crazy as well?"
"What?" he blurts. "You think…what? That Sarah is killing people? Are we thinking of the same Sarah? Cheerleader, blonde…Sarah?"
"That had Mason for a stepbrother. Let me tell you what happened. I was talking to Judge Latham because Donovan found LaPonte was taking out a thousand dollars every week and we thought maybe he was paying Latham off for something—possibly his sister's murder—"
"Wait, wait," he says, rubbing his eyes. "So, you believe me now when I say I think LaPonte was involved in her murder?"
"Yeah. I think he killed her. Anyway, I was questioning Latham, and I noticed his wife seemed to…acknowledge with her body language that she knew about the thousand dollars per week. So, I thought of questioning her, but then Sarah was leaving the house and I thought I'd have an easier time with her since…we kind of saved her life. She had told her parents she was going to a friend's house, so Donovan and I followed her, except she didn't go to her friend's house. She went to this church called Alpha and Omega Temple—"
"Alpha and Omega…" he repeats. "Isn't that talking about Jesus?"
"Yes. From Revelation. And if you remember, LaPonte had a verse from Revelation carved into him. Coincidence?"
"There's no coincidences in police work," he says, perking up. "So, did you question the church leaders?"
"No, Donovan's been researching them because he wants us to know as much as possible before we rush in there. If they're crazy, we don't want to barge in on their privacy without as much knowledge as possible. So far, he's figured out that they popped up twenty years ago, they're obsessed with the idea of end times, hell, and an eye for an eye kind of punishment. Clearly, not the most stable church group, but Donovan's still trying to see if any other murders could be connected to the church or the founders, Jonah and Mary Walker. So…where was I? Okay…later, I was at the Latham house trying to get Vanessa to confess whatever her husband is hiding and Sarah came into the house. I made small talk before asking her if she had heard of the Alpha and Omega Temple. She said she hadn't. Don't you think that's a weird thing to lie about? Especially if the church is connected to LaPonte's murder? I mean, she must have known LaPonte through her father."
"I had actually thought earlier…do you think Sarah could have killed Nick? Is she strong enough?"
My jaw nearly drops. "You think she killed Nick?"
"I think she was the second closest person to him…and he was in a fisherman's hut. Assuming his killer didn't drag him there…why would he be there? Maybe he wanted to be somewhere secluded with his girlfriend?" he asks, his voice becoming angrier with every word. He grips a tuft of his dark hair. "But I don't know. I didn't think she would be strong enough to pull him up on the wooden beam he was hanging from."
"I wouldn't underestimate her," I say. "When I was in high school, there was a cheerleader who lifted this huge tree, which had fallen onto her car after a storm. Cheerleaders really aren't that wimpy. Remember, those at the bottom of the pyramid have to be able to hold the weight of everyone else."
"We've never asked her for an alibi," he says. "For any of the murders. She knew all of them, didn't she? She worked with two of them."
"Yeah. I thought of that, too. We never even suspected her. She could be our wolf in sheep's clothing."
"Junior had the word pervert carved into him. Brianna was gathering evidence that he sexually harassed and blackmailed the waitresses into sleeping with him. Maybe Sarah was one of them and she killed him for it."
"This is all conjecture though," I say. "I could try to get a warrant for her therapist's notes, but it wouldn't work. The only way we could get it is if Sarah was still killing people and she had told the therapist about it. I don't even know if she's still going to therapy, but if this is her killing people…she's too manipulative to have told her therapist anything."
"Why don't we go check out the church? They seem to be connected to LaPonte's murder, and the church has a connection to Sarah."
"Yes. Absolutely. We should." A burst of energy courses through me. We finally may have found a way to figure out who's been behind the murders. I can see happiness radiating from Aaron, too—it's as if all of his tiredness evaporated. I lean forward and kiss him. I shouldn't—I should be trying to extricate myself from this relationship—but when I'm this happy, he's the only one I want to celebrate it with. He kisses me back, his hands lingering near my cheeks. I pull back.
"We should get going," I say.
"Right," he says, a silly smile on his face. "We should."
He said there are no coincidences, but I feel like life is strung together with coincidences, and it's our job to give them a purpose. I suppose it's my way of being in charge of my fate.
It's just that sometimes fate doesn't want to be controlled.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sarah (Monday afternoon)
"Okay, make sure the arrow is in the nock, nice and tight," Elijah says as I fit the cock vane of the arrow onto the crossbow. "Now raise it up to eye level, look through the scope, and aim at the elm tree."
I stare at the crosshairs in the scope, focusing on the target Elijah had spray-painted on the tree, my finger hovering over the trigger. After I left the bank, I bought this small bakery a few blocks away from The Charcoal Grill. I've never truly felt affectionate toward my mother, but I do feel like she deserves her dream of owning a bakery to come true. She has a sociopath for a stepson, a sociopathic daughter, and a sociopathic, abusive husband. She's the lamb in the savannah of predators.
My mother won't have enough money to actually start a business, but once my father is dead, she'll have all of his money and his life insurance. I figure it will be less suspicious if the actual building was bought before my father was killed, so the police will have less reason to suspect her. I bought her an alibi as well—front row tickets to the Alaska Center for the Performing Arts to watch a theatre production of Fiddler on the Roof, her favorite musical.
"Shoot, Sarah," Elijah mutters. I pull the trigger. The crossbow jerks back as the arrow shoots forward—Newton's third law, for every action there i
s an equal and opposite action. I hear the arrow pierce the tree before I lower the crossbow. "Very nice. A little too far to the left, but not bad."
He puts another arrow into the crossbow. As I lift it up again, his fingertips trace under my arms as he moves my left hand more to the front of the weapon.
"You want your hand at the center of gravity, not the center of the crossbow."
His hand moves to my spine and traces down my back.
"You need to relax. Not too much, but enough that you don't look like you're about to shatter into a thousand pieces."
"Well, if you keep touching me, I may fall into a thousand pieces," I whisper as he chuckles. His lips brush against my cheek and down to my neck. He plants a kiss above my artery and I can feel it flutter under his lips.
His hands wander down to my hips and I instinctively press my body against his. I can feel the heat of his cock on my ass and it takes all of my concentration to keep the crossbow up.
"ELIJAH!"
I nearly drop the crossbow, but reposition my grip before it hits the grass. Elijah and I both spin around to see Jonah, stomping through the tall grass, toward us. Elijah steps back, away from me.
"What's going on here?" he asks.
"I'm teaching Sarah how to use the crossbow for tonight. You said you wanted her to use it, so I figured we should practice as much as possible—"
"Yes, I know what I said. 'Like an enemy he has strung his bow; his right hand is ready. Like a foe he has slain all who were pleasing to the eye; he has poured out his wrath like fire on the tent of Daughter Zion.' Lamentations, chapter two, verse four. 'Though they plot evil against you and devise wicked schemes, they cannot succeed. You will make them turn their backs when you aim at them with drawn bow.' Psalms, chapter twenty-one, verse eleven to twelve. God has shown me that this is the right weapon because it symbolizes His judgement."
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