"So you took it upon yourself to leave without having him replaced?"
"Lieutenant gave me the go, sir. He asked me where I intended to go this morning, knowing I was working on the Rehak case. I told him. He asked if I required assistance for the interview, and when I told him I didn't, he gave me permission to go out alone."
She heard Snowden sigh on the other end, only it was a little closer to a groan. She'd followed procedure and he knew it. She couldn't be disciplined because her assigned partner came down with strep.
"You knew I didn't want you going out alone, Sergeant."
"Sir, we're trained on how to make decisions based on the information we have at hand. When information or situations change, we must be able to take the next step and adjust." She cruised in the left lane, going 65 miles per hour. Cars pulled into the right lane to let her go by even though she didn't have her siren and lights going. It was a power thing she loved about being a cop.
"So you adjusted?" Snowden said.
"Yes, sir."
To her surprise, he chuckled. She let herself smile.
"You're headed to the plant to see the personnel manager now?" he asked.
"Already been there, sir. Turns out Mr. Carpenter, the personnel manager, is in the hospital after having his appendix out Saturday night. I called him and he agreed to see me there."
"So you're headed to the hospital and then where?"
"Depends on what he tells me, sir. If there's any evidence that Mr. Leager and Miss Rehak were an item, I'm thinking I need to go have a chat with Mr. Parson again and then maybe Mrs. Leager."
"Listen to me, Swift, I want you to call in after you talk with the personnel manager. I don't want you conducting any interviews until I speak with you, do you understand?"
"I'm to call in after my interview." She made a left at Five Points and headed into Lewes. "Yes, sir."
"And there'll be no adjusting for circumstances this time, Delilah."
She heard the phone click and disconnect before she could respond. "Yes, sir," she said, grinning as she punched the end button on her phone.
* * *
Delilah walked down the wide hospital corridor, following the room numbers on the wall. She was surrounded by the usual sights of a hospital—nurses dressed in bright tops and white clogs hustling down the hall, techs pushing carts from room to room, doctors seated at nurses' stations filling out patients' records. She heard the squeak of cart wheels on the tile floor, the beep beep of IV pump alarms and the hushed murmurs of patients and employees. Reaching Mr. Carpenter's private room, she heard voices inside, and she halted near the door. A white curtain that fell from the ceiling to within eighteen inches of the floor was half-drawn, blocking her view so she couldn't see who was inside, but she guessed at once, by the chubby feet in sensible shoes. The Bread Ladies.
Every town had them. Gossips clothed in well-meaning neighbors' garb. She hadn't been in Stephen Kill two days when they were knocking on her door bearing a frozen lump of pumpkin bread and a grueling interview on the particulars of her life before she arrived in town.
"Just making our morning rounds, Mr. Carpenter. Glad to see you're on the mend."
Delilah recognized St. Paul's church secretary's voice. It was higher pitched than her sister's.
"It... it's very nice of you to stop by," a man said.
Had to be Mr. Carpenter.
"The banana nut bread is very thoughtful."
"Alice made it herself, didn't you, Alice?"
The room was quiet for a moment, and Delilah took the opportunity to knock on the open door. She knew, from experience, that this conversation could go on for hours, and she didn't have time to wait. "Mr. Carpenter, Sergeant Swift here."
"Come in," the male voice called.
Delilah walked in to what was a typical single-bed hospital room and stepped around the half-drawn curtain. A gentleman in his early to mid-sixties lay in the bed, his hair neatly combed. In three chairs, lined up against the far wall, sat The Bread Ladies.
And who said her powers of deduction weren't keen?
"Well, just don't sit there staring, Alice," Cora Watkins was saying. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"
Delilah glanced at Alice Crupp, who lived next door to the Watkins sisters. She was sitting in the chair between the other two women, staring straight ahead. She didn't look like there was anything wrong with her to Delilah. Probably just bored out of her skull with the sisters' chattering.
"Miss Alice?" Delilah said, taking another step forward, her handcuffs on the back of her belt jingling. "Are you all right, ma'am?"
Alice blinked and looked up at Delilah. "H... hello, officer."
"Are you feeling all right, ma'am?" Delilah asked, although she could see that the woman was fine.
"Yes, yes, of course." She looked at Cora and then Clara. "But I suppose we should be going, shouldn't we? I don't think the hospital allows more than three guests at a time." She rose from her chair.
"Actually, I have some business with Mr. Carpenter," Delilah explained.
"Do you?" Alice Crupp's penciled-in eyebrows shot up.
"How do you do," Delilah said crossing to the bed to extend her hand. "I'm Sergeant Swift, and I take it you're Mr. Carpenter?"
"Nice to meet you." The pleasant-looking gentleman in the bed shook her hand firmly. He shifted his gaze to the three women, two of whom were still planted in the chairs. "It was very nice of you ladies to stop by, and again, thank you for the banana nut bread." He smiled in Alice's direction, his gaze lingering on her. "It's my favorite."
Alice's cheeks pinkened as she took a side step toward the door. "Take care of yourself, Mr. Carpenter, and do enjoy the bread."
She reached the door before the other two women reluctantly rose from their seats. "Have a good day, Mr. Carpenter," Cora said. "Take care of yourself."
"Be sure to follow doctor's orders," Clara warned, waggling a finger.
Delilah gave a wave and waited until the women had disappeared down the corridor before she turned back to Mr. Carpenter.
"Please, have a seat, Sergeant." He directed her toward one of the chairs.
"Thanks, but no." She held up her hand. "I'll be brief. I apologize for even asking if I could come by the hospital, you just having had surgery—"
"No, no, it's fine. Gettin' out today, soon as that pesky doctor shows up and releases me."
Delilah smiled down at him and then let her smile fade, putting on the cop face she had practiced in front of the mirror as a rookie. "The reason I contacted you, sir, is that I'd like some information on two of your past employees."
"Johnny Leager and Pam Rehak. Soon as I heard 'bout Pam, I knew I'd be hearing from the police." He grimaced, sitting up a little farther in the bed. "Both good workers. Hard to believe they're dead. Hard to believe things like this can happen around here." He shook his head. "Terrible world we live in."
"Yes, sir, it is." She glanced at a homemade get well card tacked to a corkboard on the wall above the chairs. A child had drawn it, obviously. Had to be a grandchild. "Thing is, sir, what I need to ask you is a bit delicate. Not... not something I'd want you to share with others."
"Of course. I handle delicate matters with our employees all the time. Medical conditions. Child support issues. People on parole. What passes between us in this room, Sergeant Swift, is in strict confidence."
She nodded, looking down at the clean tile floor and then back up at him again. "What I need to know, sir, is, to your knowledge, what the relationship was between Mr. Leager and Miss Rehak when she worked at the cup plant."
"Relationship?" His broad brow furrowed.
"On what level they would have interacted." She gestured. "If they worked together directly or indirectly, that sort of thing."
He was still frowning. "They weren't even in the same departments."
"They weren't?"
He shook his head, thrusting out his lower lip in consternation. "He was in shipping. Pam worked
the lid line."
"Same hours?"
"Sometimes, but Pam was doing shift work. Johnny only worked days. Then she left; went to the chicken plant, I heard." He stared at her. "You don't think their murders had anything to do with—"
"We try not to speculate, Mr. Carpenter." She rested her hand on her hip, trying to think. She'd come here anticipating that he would say they worked together, were in close contact on a regular basis. Now what?
She looked at him again. "So they had no regular contact at the plant when Pam worked there?"
"I'm not saying they never ran into each other, I just—" He halted, looking down at his feet as he thought for a moment. "Wait, they did work together once upon a time, though." He looked back at her. "But that's been years."
She could almost see a light going off inside her head. "They actually worked together?"
"Yeah, but like I said, that's been years ago."
She pulled her notepad from her pocket. "Do you know when?"
"I'd have to see my files for exact dates, but had to have been six, seven years ago. I been with the plant twenty-nine years come November, you know."
"I see." Delilah made a notation. "And can you recall..." She let the sentence die, trying to think of the best way to work her question. "Were there any rumors about the two of them?"
"You mean together?" He was frowning again. "Shoot, no, Sergeant. Now, I'm not sayin' we don't see a little monkey business at the plant now and then, but Johnny Leager, he was a good guy. He'd never have jeopardized his job to have a fling with another employee, especially him bein' a supervisor. We got strict policies against that."
"And there was never even a whisper about the two of them? Lunchroom gossip?"
"Not that I heard, and believe me, it all gets around. Everyone knows everybody's business at that plant, whether people like it or not."
She folded the cover down on her notebook, realizing it was silly to be disappointed. "Would it be possible, once you get back on your feet and back in your office, of course, that I could have the names and phone numbers of the other employees who worked the same shift they did? Saw them together?" She tucked the pad and pen back into her breast pocket.
"Sure. No problem. I can go right in today when I leave here and—"
She held up her hand. "Really, Mr. Carpenter, I'm sure this isn't going anywhere. Just get it to me when you return to work." She glanced at the card on the bulletin board again. "Nice."
He looked at it and grinned. "Granddaughter. A joy to me since my Mary passed on last year."
She smiled. "Quite the artist." She turned back to him, offering her hand. "Thank you again, sir, for seeing me. Again, I apologize for barging in."
"No problem at all, Sergeant." He pumped her hand. "Pretty young thing like you, don't mind helpin' out at all."
She turned for the door. "Take care, sir."
Delilah waited until she was in the hall and then muttered under her breath, "Shoot, there goes that idea."
But just because no one at work knew anything about the two of them having an affair, that didn't mean it hadn't happened, did it? After all, if they had any sense, they wouldn't have let anyone know, would they? Not with him being married, both of them needing their jobs.
Delilah took the elevator down to the ground floor, her mind racing. So, who would know? Who would he tell? Who would she tell?
Best friend? Bartender? Minister?
Delilah barely had the door closed on the car before she was dialing up Snowden. She didn't give him a chance to speak. "Far as the personnel manager knew, no one at work knew anything about an affair between Leager and Rehak. Not even a whisper of impropriety. She wasn't even working at the same plant at the time of their deaths," she told him, starting the engine. "But they did work together a while back, so here's what I'm going to do, Chief. I'm going to get a list of people they came in contact with back then, especially friends, talk to them, and I'm going to talk to the bartenders in town, any ministers they might have come in contact with. People they might have confessed a dirty little secret to."
Snowden was quiet on the other end of the line, so quiet she wondered if they'd gotten disconnected. "Sir?"
"You think you still need to pursue this?"
She sat in the cruiser, her hands on the wheel. She knew he wasn't arguing with her, he just wanted her to see her thought process clearly. "Yes, I do. The Bible verses, Chief. No one knew about the first one except us and the family. Now a second? Can't be a coincidence."
"I agree. See the widow, talk with her and find out who his male friends were, especially back then. Then go have a chat with the boyfriend, do the same, and I'll see you back here at the station."
"Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?"
"Yeah. I need to officially put someone on this case, along with me, of course." A silence lingered between them for a moment. "If I cut your patrol hours, you interested?"
"Yes, sir." She was still grinning like a debutante who just received an invitation to her first cotillion when she ended the call.
* * *
It was close to one o'clock by the time Josh dropped Noah off at the end of the driveway. He offered to take him up the lane, but Noah felt like he needed a minute or two to himself before he reached the house and the fragile circumstances of his life there right now. With every passing day, passing hour, he found himself more attached to Mallory and the woman he had once vowed to love and protect for the rest of his life. He didn't want to walk into the barnyard carrying any of the shame he had felt in his parole officer's office, answering the questions, providing names and phone numbers if his PO chose to check up on him. He wanted to be able to offer Mattie and Mallory and Rachel more than that. They deserved more than that.
Giving a wave in Josh's direction as he pulled onto the road in his pickup, Noah started up the driveway. He'd gone to the courthouse, as Rachel had requested, and filled out the initial forms to begin the process of becoming Mattie's guardian again, but it had been all he'd been able to manage not to walk out.
It just didn't feel right, him taking over Mattie's care. He wasn't even sure he was equipped, not yet at least. But even worse than his self-doubts about his abilities was the tightness in his chest brought on by the idea of Rachel leaving the vineyard. Leaving him. Taking Mallory away from him.
Logically, Noah knew they were divorced. He knew Rachel didn't owe him a thing. He'd barely even seen her in the last five years because he'd been adamant that he didn't want visitors. He couldn't blame her a bit for wanting to get as far away from him as possible after what he did to their lives, to her life.
And Mallory, what right did he have to a single smile the little girl offered?
But somehow, in less than a month, they had become his world. They were his reason for getting up in the morning, his reason for not taking a drink, no matter how badly he ached for one. A crumpled leaf from Mallory's hand, a single glance or a smile from Rachel, was what he now lived for. Thrived on.
He kicked the ground in frustration, sending white oyster shells flying. He knew he had no right to happiness, but he was discovering that he wanted it, just the same. It was as if the shell he had been, the one he had existed inside for years, now was falling away. In a way it was frightening. In a way, it was easier to be that hollow nothing of a man. No one expected anything out of a washed-up priest, a divorced husband, a prison inmate. But a part of him was energized by the idea.
He was beginning to see possibilities in his life where there had been none before.
Still, he held back.
Sister Julie's words bounced around inside his head, as they did several times a day. She'd talked about forgiveness, forgiving himself. Didn't that mean allowing himself some happiness again?
The idea brought a cautious smile to his lips, and he walked a little faster. Mallory would be playing around the house. Mattie would probably be sitting on the porch, waiting for him to come home, the way he had been the last few days. Rachel would
be there, too. They'd agreed to walk the Pinot field together this afternoon and assess the grape blossoms.
Noah hurried up the driveway, approaching the house, expecting to see Mattie, maybe even Rachel and Mallory waiting for him. Instead, he spotted two black-and-white police cruisers, and as he slowed to a walk again, an undeniable shiver of dread crept up his spine.
Chapter 12
"So how's your mom?" Rachel asked Snowden.
She lingered on the top step of the front porch. He stood on the brick sidewalk leading to the steps. Even standing on the ground with her on the steps, he seemed like a giant of a man to her. Of course, the police uniform with its crisp seaming and epaulettes only added to the appearance of his size. Even the tiny Sergeant Swift seemed formidable in a uniform.
"She’s good." He nodded, seeming a little uncomfortable. He glanced in Sergeant Swift's direction.
Mallory had somehow managed to lure her away from the porch to the silver maple tree in the yard, where her tire swing hung. Apparently, there was a family of ants she was just dying to show the female police officer.
"Mom's slowing down a little, I think," Snowden continued. "Not wanting to admit it, of course."
Rachel smiled, her hands finding her waist as she wrapped them around her. Somehow this seemed awkward, talking to Snowden like this, now that Noah was home. She knew logically there was nothing wrong with it. They with two friends chatting in the yard for a moment, just like there had been nothing wrong with her stopping by his office a couple of weeks ago just to say hi.
So why did it feel so strange?
"Well, say hello to her for me." Rachel tucked a wisp of hair that had fallen from her ponytail back behind her ear. "I don't get much chance to get to the library this time of year, although Mallory has been driving me nuts wanting to get back and rent a new Wiggles DVD."
Snowden glanced out over the barnyard. She had the old pickup truck out that was tagged "Farm Use Only." The lawn tractor was out, too. She'd been hauling some new trellis posts to the Pinot field. Termites had done a number on several this spring, and she was just getting around to replacing them. At least Noah was.
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