While Larson set the table, Farber removed the lid from the dish and placed a serving spoon in it. “There are soft drinks in the fridge, or you can get ice and cold water from the dispenser in the door.” The pastor stopped and looked directly at Larson. “I don’t have any wine or beer in the house.”
“I . . . I couldn’t drink it anyway,” the detective said. “I’m an—”
“I know what you are,” Farber said. “You told me the last time we were together. And I’m an alcoholic as well. I presumed from what you said on the phone you were troubled. I suppose I was testing you to see whether you had fallen off the wagon or were teetering on the edge trying to hang on.”
Larson filled two glasses with ice and water, then placed them beside the two places he’d set at the kitchen table. “The latter, I guess. I’m sure a lot of people have figured out that I’m an alcoholic. Even though there’s an AA chapter here in Jameson, for whatever reason, I haven’t attended those meetings. But at times like this I wish I had, because I sure could use a sponsor.”
“I haven’t gone to the meetings either,” Farber said. “Despite the ‘Anonymous’ in the name, sometimes information slips out. I’d prefer to keep it as much a secret as possible that the pastor of Jameson’s First Community Church is a man with a drinking problem. The elders know, and probably some of the congregation suspect, but I don’t like to advertise it.”
The two men sat down, and the pastor immediately bowed his head. Larson followed suit. After a brief blessing of the food, Farber said, “So you’re having problems an alcoholic would understand. Is that about right?”
“I’ve been clean and sober for over ten months. It never gets easier, but a day at a time I move on. Then tonight . . . tonight it dawned on me that my wife and son have been gone from my life for almost a year. For some reason that hit me hard—harder than most things. And I wanted a drink as badly as I ever have in my life.”
Farber helped himself to a large serving of the casserole, then passed the dish to Larson. Both men tasted their food and nodded approvingly.
“The casserole is good,” Larson said.
“One of the women of my congregation brought it over earlier in the week. I think they feel like they can cook their way into heaven by feeding the pastor.” He took another bite, chewed, and swallowed. “I’m certainly not going to give them an involved theological explanation of why they can’t. But I will be preaching tomorrow on faith and works.”
Larson smiled. “I may try to shake loose to come hear that sermon.”
Farber’s expression became solemn. “Do you want to talk about your divorce . . . about your family . . . about how your drinking affects them?”
“I recognize I’ll always battle my addiction,” Larson said. “I know it was the reason for my marriage breaking up. And I keep hoping that my staying clean and sober will convince my ex-wife to give it another try.”
The pastor put down his fork and dabbed at his mouth with a paper napkin. “Bill, you’re doing a good thing by staying sober. And maybe it will help heal your failed marriage. But it’s possible your ex-wife won’t come back. And if she doesn’t, it won’t be because of a failure on your part. And if she does, you’ll still need to stay sober—not for her, but for yourself—to be all that God intended for you to be.” He put down the napkin. “End of sermon.”
“Thanks . . . Thanks, Steve. I guess I needed to hear that.”
“Good,” the pastor said. “Now how about we finish this casserole? And I think there may be half a peach pie in the fridge, from another one of the ladies of the congregation.”
Larson smiled. “I haven’t paid as much attention as I should, I guess. Are there any unmarried ladies in the church who are good cooks?”
There was a smile on Farber’s face and a twinkle that his glasses didn’t hide when he said, “One of them made the pie. We’ll test it out.”
* * *
The doctor was supposed to be working in the emergency room tonight, but it never hurt to be careful. When he drove by at eight in the evening there were two lights on in Dr. Gordon’s house—lights in what he assumed to be the kitchen and the front room. At ten, those same two lights were on. He could see no movement behind the closed blinds in the front of the house. Time to see if she’d forgotten to arm the alarm system again. True, it was probably too much to hope for, but he’d check anyway. Sometimes you get lucky.
He parked down the street and strolled casually toward her house. There was no sign of anyone else out and about. He walked up the sidewalk, but before he could step onto the porch he heard a new sound—the low growl of a dog. The growl quickly became a bark, and the barking came closer until he guessed the dog was just inside the front door. No need to test whether that door was locked or the alarm armed—he didn’t want to confront the animal that was inside.
As he walked to the side of the home, the barking seemed to follow him. The animal was probably going from room to room, tracking him by the sounds he made or perhaps by his scent. A fence prevented his reaching the back of the house, but he’d seen enough.
The dog presented a new problem. Not one he couldn’t solve. Just one he’d need to think about. He pressed the button to illuminate the dial of his watch. Ten fifteen in the evening. The doctor probably wouldn’t be home for at least another hour, perhaps longer.
He thought about scaling the fence into the backyard, but that wouldn’t help. He couldn’t force his way into the house, and if he did, the dog was still a barrier to whatever he might want to do. He thought about what it would take for her to keep a dog. From the sounds he’d heard, the dog was large, so a pet door big enough for it to go out would allow a prowler in. No, she probably depended on letting the dog out into her yard after she came home. If that was the case, he knew just what to do.
He headed back to his car, careful not to run. A man walking in the neighborhood wouldn’t attract attention, but one running might. He reached his car without incident, eased into the driver’s seat, and pulled away from his parking place. He’d be back—with yet another surprise for Dr. Gordon.
* * *
The doctor scheduled to relieve Sarah arrived in the ER on time, and after they spent a few minutes reviewing what had gone before and the patients still waiting for lab work or X-rays, he told her to go home.
“I can stay for a bit and help if you’d like,” she said.
“No need,” he told her. “Go home and get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
Sarah felt foolish asking the security guard at the ER front desk to walk her to her car, but as before, he assured her he had no problem with it. She unlocked her car, got in, waved to him, and started out for home. As she drove, she thought about the German shepherd waiting for her there. Was this a foolish idea? Would he provide a greater sense of safety, or simply require more effort on her part?
Then her thoughts drifted to the comparison she’d made in her mind earlier—the dog was like a child. It depended on her for things. But she depended on Prince, too. She depended on him to guard her and provide protection. I guess we’re good for each other.
She disarmed the alarm system, opened the garage door, then reversed the process once she was inside the garage. When she opened the kitchen door, Prince was right where she’d left him—facing the door, looking at her as she entered. She could almost see the synapses connecting. I was told to guard. This woman belongs here. I won’t challenge her.
“Good boy.” What was the command to relax after guarding? Oh, yes. She gave it, thankful she’d been able to memorize the few German words with which Hunter had trained the dog.
In response to the command, Prince rose to his feet, trotted to the back door, and stood patiently. Well, I guess you deserve some yard time. Sarah opened the door, turned on the backyard light, and stood for a minute watching Prince tear about. She’d need to exercise him more. Maybe she’d hire a dog walker—but that would mean allowing someone else access to her home while she was
away.
Sarah stepped away from the door. She was hungry but didn’t know what she wanted. Finally, she picked up an apple from the bowl of fruit on her kitchen table and took a bite. She sat down, chewing thoughtfully, and let her mind wander. In a few moments, she found that she’d finished the apple. However, she hadn’t come to a conclusion about how best to take care of Prince.
She rose and went to the door, opened it, and called, “Here, Prince. Time to come in.” Instead of the scampering feet of her dog, she heard him barking, loudly and repeatedly. Before Sarah could venture outside to see what was going on, she heard what sounded like a loud pop. Prince gave one high-pitched yelp, followed by soft whining.
As Sarah hurried to the furthest reaches of her backyard where she’d last heard Prince’s barks, she thought she heard the sound of running feet in the alley. Never mind that. What had happened to her dog? She scanned the dark area not reached by the light over her door, and finally she saw him. Prince was by the fence that separated her backyard from the alley. He lay on his side, panting. There was blood on his coat. The whining sound he made tore at her heart.
16
Kyle stood at the back of the First Community Church and scanned the congregation. People flowed around him to enter the sanctuary in small groups, filling it with the muted noise of conversations, while a melody from the organ provided a counterpoint. Then he saw her, sitting by herself in a pew about midway from the front of the church.
“I thought about checking to see if you’d like me to come by for you this morning. Unfortunately, I never got around to calling.” Kyle slipped into the pew next to Sarah. “Glad you made it. Two Sunday worship services in a row. That’s great.”
She turned to look at him, and he frowned. Sarah’s dark hair was neatly styled, her lipstick was perfectly applied, but there were dark circles under her eyes that her makeup couldn’t fully conceal. Her brown eyes were bloodshot. Faint lines radiated from the corners of her mouth. Obviously, there was a problem here.
Kyle debated whether to mention what he noticed. Finally, he said, “You look tired. Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“I told you about Prince,” she said. “Right?”
“Yes, the dog you got from Harry’s father. What about him?”
“I left him in the house when I went to work yesterday afternoon. I was going to feed him when I got home, which I figured would be around midnight. When I came in, I decided to let him out into the yard first. After all, he’d been in the house for ten hours or so. I’m not used to caring for dogs. I didn’t know . . . ”
“Take your time,” Kyle said. “What happened when you let the dog out?”
“I let him run for a while, and then I heard him barking. That was followed by a noise, sort of a pop. Later I realized it was a gunshot. Anyway, I decided to check on him. I went into the backyard and found Prince lying next to the fence, bleeding.”
“That’s terrible. What did you do?”
“It looked like he’d been shot in the shoulder. The bleeding was already slowing down, but I couldn’t tell the extent of his wound. Whatever it was, I knew he’d require more care than I could give. So I wrapped him in a towel and rushed him to an all-night veterinary clinic.”
“Is the dog all right?” Kyle asked.
“The tech on duty called a veterinary surgeon who operated last night to remove the bullet and control the bleeding. They’ll probably need to keep him for a few days, but he should recover.”
“Did you—”
“As soon as I found out Prince was going to be okay, I called Bill Larson, and he met me at my house with a couple of uniformed officers. They didn’t find any clues, but he said he’d be back to have another look in daylight.”
Kyle shook his head. “That’s tough. But I’m glad you made it here this morning.” The choir entered and took their places in the loft. The organ played a bit louder, and the music made him lean closer to her to talk. “Would you like to have lunch after the service?”
Sarah shook her head. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I have to meet Bill Larson. I told you he wants to do another search of my yard and the alley behind it. Then I have to go to work.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me,” Kyle said.
Before Sarah could reply, the prelude ended and Pastor Steve Farber approached the pulpit.
Am I pushing too hard? I don’t want to do that. But if I don’t keep trying, Sarah might slip away from me. Kyle managed to give the appearance of participation as the service progressed, but his mind was elsewhere. It was on Sarah.
* * *
Bill Larson didn’t make it to worship services at Jameson’s First Community Church every Sunday, although he tried his best. Crime, it seems, didn’t pay attention to weekends and holidays. This morning he slipped in just before the sermon began and headed, as was his custom, for an aisle seat in a back pew. As he eased in, Bill wondered if he chose this location so he’d be able to leave unobtrusively if he was called away on police business, or if it represented the place he figured he rightfully should occupy—on the fringe of the congregation. Was he still paying, even subconsciously, for the years when he let alcohol control his life?
He’d really fouled things up, Larson thought. His family was in another state. Larson constantly feared he’d receive news that his wife had remarried. He battled alcohol every day. If he didn’t, he’d undoubtedly lose his job, and that was the only thing that gave him purpose now—well that and staying sober, hoping it would influence Annie to give their marriage another chance.
Larson made a mental note to call Annie tonight. It had been over a week since he’d talked with her. He wanted her to know he was staying sober. He wanted to talk with his son. Recently, he’d been daydreaming about starting over with someone who was the perfect woman. Then he began to realize that he’d been married to a woman who loved him all along, but his drinking had driven her away. Maybe he could salvage that. If he could, he wanted to make things right, repair that relationship.
As he sat, lost in thought, words from the pulpit penetrated his consciousness and caused him to look up and pay attention. Steve had said he was going to preach on faith and works, but Larson had no idea the message would have such a personal application.
* * *
Dr. Steve Farber glanced down at his notes. He didn’t read his sermons to the congregation. He simply used the notes he’d prepared to help him keep from skipping important points. This was one of those points.
He looked out at his congregation, and his eyes fastened on Bill Larson. Yes, this would apply to him, as well as to many others in those pews. But when the pastor wrote the words, he’d intended them for himself as much as for any specific member of the congregation. It was a struggle that he and probably many others fought on a regular basis.
“Last night, I said to a friend that some people seem to be trying to work their way into heaven through their actions. I was kidding, but that’s not really a joke. There are those among us who keep trying to pile up points with God by their good works. And if they’ve done something they consider to be terrible, they feel the need to work even harder in order to make up for past sins—to balance things out, so to speak. They say, ‘Oh, if I give to the church . . . ’ or ‘If I do enough good things . . . ’ or ‘If I can refrain from . . . ’ You can fill in the blanks. But, hard as it may be to believe, our salvation isn’t something we can earn. It’s a gift. And our own good works won’t save us . . . in this world or the next.”
Farber looked out at the congregation and saw Bill Larson nodding in agreement. His expression said, “I get it.” The pastor hoped he did.
“Now, don’t get me wrong,” the pastor continued. “Good works are . . . well, they’re good. But they’re the offshoot of faith, not vice-versa.”
He looked down, flipped a few pages in the Bible that lay open on the pulpit, and said, “Let’s look at some Scripture passages and see what they say about that
concept. We can start in the third chapter of the book of Romans.”
* * *
Bill Larson didn’t open his Bible—he hadn’t brought one. His was lying on the coffee table in the living room of his apartment and was probably covered with a layer of dust. But he followed the words as Steve Farber read them. And it seemed that what the pastor said was aimed directly at him.
It was true. What he’d really figured was that if he could stay clean and sober long enough, God would reward his actions by causing Annie to change her mind and give their marriage another chance. And was his very presence in church today because he felt a hunger for spiritual food, or was it simply an attempt to pile up bonus points with the Creator? Did God really take attendance?
Larson realized he wanted something, but this was different from the desires he had that separated him from the things he loved most in life. Despite the stress he’d been under trying to solve Dr. Sarah Gordon’s case, today he wasn’t looking for the solace he’d once found in liquor. The shame and hurt of a failed marriage wasn’t pushing him toward the relief he’d previously sought in booze. No, right now Bill Larson was interested in the gift his friend and pastor was talking about. It was time for him to put things right with God.
* * *
Sarah Gordon relaxed a bit as the final “amen” signaled the end of the church service. Although she’d made it through the past hour, she’d done so despite one particularly difficult flashback to the funeral for Harry and Jenny.
When she had walked out of the church after the funeral, Sarah didn’t plan to return—ever. How could she worship a God who’d let something like this happen? A few weeks later, she tried a couple of times, but she found she couldn’t stay until the end of the service. Now she’d managed to sit through services for two consecutive Sundays. Maybe this was progress of a sort.
In another indication of progress, Sarah had started reaching out to God. Although it gave her a degree of peace to do so, she’d heard no disembodied voice replying to her prayers. No moving finger wrote directions on the wall for her. And each night when she lay in the dark house in an empty bed, she still felt alone. She was better. But she wasn’t well.
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