by E. C. Diskin
“And the girl . . . do you think that’s the woman you told me about yesterday? Ginny Smith?”
“I’m afraid so,” Wilson said. This story was going to rip his friend’s family apart. If they were all lucky, Woods would reconsider doing that stupid movie.
“Well, then I guess it’s pretty clear that this screenplay could be the motive for shooting Woods—assuming we can establish that anyone around here has read it.”
“Yeah. Meet me at the station at ten, okay? I gotta do something first.”
Wilson hung up the phone and drove to Burns Memorial to visit his friend. He owed him that.
When he got to the room, John was sitting up, eating breakfast.
“Two visits in two days,” John said. “Now that’s a good friend.” John’s color was good—he was sitting taller in the bed, getting stronger.
Wilson smiled and sat in the chair beside John’s bed. “Hey, bud, I need to talk to you about somethin’.”
“Sounds serious,” John said, putting his fork down. He pushed the tray away. “Awful stuff.”
“There’s something I need to tell you,” Wilson began. “Do you remember Darius Woods?”
John’s face seemed to tighten as if he were fighting against any reaction. “Should I?”
“Black kid in class with Eddie and Ginny back in high school. He’s become a famous movie star . . .”
“Oh yeah,” John said, nodding slowly. “I think I heard something about that.”
“He’s written a screenplay about his life in Eden.”
“And?”
“I guess that means you haven’t heard about it?”
John crossed his arms. “Wilson, I don’t have the foggiest idea where you’re going with this. Get on with it.”
“I’ve read the screenplay. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but it may mess with your family.”
John turned to the window and said nothing. He didn’t press for more. Did he already know what Wilson was talking about?
There was so much in there that could hurt, Wilson suddenly didn’t know how to proceed. “There are some scenes between a couple of characters—one of whom I believe is Ginny, and the other . . . well . . .”
“Come on, Wilson,” John barked, finally meeting his gaze. “What are you trying to say?”
“Do you remember that pastor from First Hope that led the youth group?”
John looked genuinely perplexed. “Pastor Gary, of course. He was a good friend to this family. Still is.”
“You’re still in touch with him? Even since he left First Hope?”
John tilted his head, that one eyebrow going up a little higher. He was searching Wilson’s eyes, trying to pull it out, like a mind reader. Wilson didn’t have the heart to say any more. “Maybe you better read the screenplay.”
“O-kay.”
“John, someone tried to kill Darius Woods the other day.”
John held his gaze, waiting for more.
“Last Sunday evening. Same night you fell. Same night Ginny came to Eden and found you on the floor.”
John turned toward the window as if trying to remember last Sunday. Wilson let the silence fill the air between them.
Finally, John looked at him. “We’ve been through enough. I’ve already lost Bonnie. Please . . . don’t let that boy destroy my family.”
The two men looked each other in the eyes.
“You wanna tell me what happened last Sunday night?” Wilson asked. “Off the record?”
“Nope.”
“Do you remember last Sunday night?”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“No, I’m not suggesting. Ginny just told me you’ve had some memory issues.”
He scowled. “Yeah, she’d like that, wouldn’t she?”
“What do you mean?”
John just tilted his chin down. “Come on, let’s not do this. Is Woods gonna make it?”
“Not sure yet. I think so.”
John looked out the window. He didn’t seem happy about it.
“It’ll be okay,” Wilson said. “I’ll do what I can.” He stood and patted his friend’s shoulder. His envy of John had vanished. Suddenly his problems with Eddie seemed far less daunting than John’s problems.
Wilson left the hospital, wondering how he could help. Donny was taking over as sheriff tomorrow. Wilson needed him to move on or at least keep his eyes off John’s family. They needed to focus on the one man in that screenplay who deserved the trouble it would bring.
He grabbed Donny from the station and arrived at First Hope around ten fifteen in the morning. Being a Friday, it was pretty quiet. Wilson removed his hat as they walked into the main nave. A minister was up at the altar, practicing a sermon to an empty room, but he stopped and waved at the men standing in back.
“Sorry for interrupting,” Wilson said. “But could you answer a couple of questions for us?”
“Of course,” the man said, stepping down and walking up the aisle to join them. “How can I assist you gentlemen?”
“We’re looking for information on a Pastor Gary Nichols.”
“I’m not familiar with that name.”
“He was working here from at least 1999 to 2006.”
“I’ve only been here five years. But given those dates, I’m sure Reverend Thomas could help. He’s been here since the early nineties.”
“Great,” Wilson said. “And where do we find him?”
“California, right now. His youngest just graduated from school out there.”
“What about some records?” Donny asked. “We’d like to find out where Pastor Gary is working now.”
“Just head on over to the office. The secretary should probably be there by now. She comes in around ten. I’m sure she can help you out.”
They left the church and walked the grounds toward the adjacent building, where a woman was unlocking the office door. Wilson and Donny jogged over. “Ma’am?” Wilson shouted.
“Just the woman we wanted to see,” Donny added.
The woman turned and froze. Perhaps two officers coming at her first thing in the morning was a bigger jolt than coffee.
“We need help with some church records. We heard you’d be the one to talk to about a former pastor of the church,” Wilson said.
“O-kay,” the woman said slowly. The corners of her mouth turned up, and her eyes widened, as if a crime-related mystery would add great interest to the day ahead. “What’s going on?”
“We just want to find out where he is now. He might be able to help with something we’re working on,” Wilson said.
“Well, that’s easy enough,” she replied. “Can I ask what you’re working on?”
“You can,” Wilson said with a smile, “but I can’t tell you.”
“Figures.” The woman’s smile faded, and she unlocked the door. She hit the light switch, hung up her coat, and plopped down in her chair behind the desk. “Gonna take just a minute to get the computer going.”
The men both sat in the chairs in front of her desk. “No problem,” Wilson said.
“Have you been with the church a long time?” Donny asked.
“Oh, sure. I grew up in this church. Married here. Raised my kids here. My daughter even brings her kids here.”
“That’s great,” Wilson said. “So you must remember Pastor Gary Nichols.”
She smiled. “He was darlin’. Sorry to see him go. He was so great with the kids. Pastor Neil, he’s a nice man, of course, but between you and me, the kids don’t really connect with him the same way.”
“Mm-hmm, and do you know where Pastor Gary was reassigned when he left?”
The woman looked at the screen. “Okay, here we go,” she said, scrolling the mouse across the screen. “Let’s go to staff . . . Oh. He’s not too far. He went to Good Samaritan over in Harrisburg. Just about thirty minutes from here.”
Ginny lived in Harrisburg. There had to be several Baptist churches there, but Wilson’s dread returned. He did not w
ant to find out she was still connected to that man.
After Ginny got the kids off to school, she went to the nine o’clock AA meeting at her local public library. She didn’t share with the group, other than expressing gratitude for one day of sobriety and the will to finally do something she’d needed to do for a long time. She walked out with a little more strength than she’d walked in with and drove directly to Good Samaritan.
Pastor Gary was in his office, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. It felt like one sign in her favor. At least she didn’t have to speak to him while he was in his collar. Something about that ring around his neck was like a superhero force field. It had intimidated her from the time she was a little girl.
“Isn’t this a nice surprise,” he said, rising from his desk. “It’s a bit early for one of your visits, but I’m always happy to see my favorite girl.” He shut the door behind her.
She sat on the edge of the couch, and he sat beside her, draping an arm around her shoulders. “You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” he said, moving that arm down, stroking her hair.
She took a deep breath before beginning. She was done letting him touch her. She was done letting him do whatever he wanted in order to repay the never-ending debt for the gift of giving her children. She’d prepared this speech all night long. “Gary,” she said, turning to look him in the eyes, and dropping the “Pastor,” “I’m going to tell Simon the truth about the kids.”
Pastor Gary blinked slowly, his eyes widening as the rest of his body froze. His cheeks flushed as he stood and walked away, returning to the chair behind his desk. “Ginny,” he finally said, tone firm, “you can’t possibly do that. You’ll destroy your family.”
“My family is already destroyed. He’s going to find out anyway.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t even know if Darius will survive. I saw a mention of it on the news last night. It sounds like he’s still critical.” His tone lifted, as if Darius’s death would be a welcome turn of events.
“Do you hear yourself? You’re supposed to be a man of God. Besides, he’s going to be okay. He texted me again early this morning. They’re releasing him on Sunday.”
Gary said nothing. He stood and paced the room in silence. Finally, he stopped in front of her and looked down, as if determined to wield his power. “Ginny, you can’t let Darius make that movie. You need to talk to him.”
“As if he’s going to do me any favors after everything I’ve done. It doesn’t matter anymore. I need to come clean with Simon. There’s no other way.”
“There has to be.”
“Listen to me,” Ginny said, finally raising her voice to him. “I’ve thought about this all night. Simon wants a divorce, and he’s going to try and take my kids. He says I’m unfit.” The tears came. Just the thought of losing those kids felt like her limbs were being pulled away, tearing muscle, popping tendons. She would never survive. “I’m not unfit! I’ve done some terrible things, but those kids are the only good thing I’ve done in the last twenty years. I can’t lose them.”
Gary turned away. He went back to his desk and sat, staring at the papers in front of him. “You can’t do that, Ginny,” he said, his tone flat, unsympathetic. “You’ll ruin me. I’ll lose my job. I may never be able to minister again. I thought you understood. I was trying to help you. I never did anything you didn’t want . . .”
“What?” she said incredulously. She finally had the courage to say it. “I was sixteen.”
“Stop!” he yelled. “It wasn’t like that. You were attracted to me, Ginny. Come on!” he pleaded.
The tears fell from her eyes as she recalled every encounter between them back in high school, including the last time they’d been alone together. He’d played that Prince song “I Would Die 4 U,” explaining how the song was about Jesus, how sexuality was linked to worshipping God, how his desire of her was holy and that he wanted to help her express her faith.
She couldn’t say any more.
He slammed his hand against the desk. “You’re not a victim, Ginny. You were an adult when I got to this church. I helped you! I thought this was our special bond.”
She couldn’t deny her culpability. She couldn’t defend her actions, even though she’d been broken and drunk that first time before Mikey. But she was done living under his unspoken repayment plan. She’d never again lie on this couch or drink his alcohol or let him touch her. She’d made a mess of countless lives, but she loved Mikey and Lyla and she couldn’t let Simon take them. They would suffer. They needed her.
Telling Simon the truth was her only hope. His notions of family never included raising someone else’s kids. His outrage over Bonnie’s request that Brooklyn be a flower girl in their wedding all those years ago made that clear enough. He’d said the role was intended for family and Brooklyn didn’t look like anyone’s family. He’d left the room, angry, and Ginny had looked at her mom, terrified. She didn’t know him at all. “I can’t marry that man,” she’d pleaded.
But Bonnie had taken her hands and said, “You must, he’s a good man. Brooklyn doesn’t need to be in the service. She’s only three. She probably wouldn’t want all the pressure anyway.” Bonnie had held her by the shoulders, shaking her, warning her that she was not to blow it.
Ginny took a breath and stood from the couch. There was nothing left to say. She walked to the office door.
“Ginny, stop, please.”
She paused, her hand on the doorknob.
“We have to protect each other,” Gary pleaded.
She opened the door and turned back to look at him one last time. “I can’t do this anymore,” she said.
“Do what?” a voice said from behind her.
Every hair on her head turned to needles as she turned around.
Sheriff Wilson was standing in the doorway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
GINNY WAS THE LAST PERSON Wilson wanted to see in Pastor Gary’s office. It meant she’d never gotten away from this scumbag. Her face lost all color when she saw him in the doorway. Donny probably noticed it too.
“Well, isn’t this a coincidence,” Wilson said.
“Hi, Sheriff.” Ginny’s voice was barely audible. “Are you looking for me?”
“Not right now,” Wilson said. “Actually, we’re here to talk to the pastor.” He watched Ginny look back at Pastor Gary before returning her gaze to him.
“Well, I’m in a rush then. I’ll see you later,” she said.
“Sounds good,” Wilson said as she left. He didn’t want Ginny to hear what he was about to say to this guy, and he’d rather talk to her again without Donny around. If she was tied up in this mess, he couldn’t help her if Donny knew too much.
Wilson stepped inside, and Donny followed. Pastor Gary remained seated at his desk, offering only a determined look of nonchalance.
“Sorry to bother you, Pastor,” Wilson said. “We need a few minutes of your time.”
Pastor Gary leaned back and smiled. “Sure, gentlemen. Come on in. How can I help you?”
Wilson sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Donny did the same. “Pastor, do you remember me?” Wilson asked.
The man smiled, squinting, as if this were a game.
“It’s been twenty years, so I was probably twenty pounds lighter, my hair wasn’t quite this white, and of course, no beard,” Wilson said.
The pastor tilted his head to the side, carefully examining his face.
“Remember that shooting at the women’s clinic a few miles outside Eden back in ’99?”
Pastor Gary sat forward, his expression serious. “Oh, yes. Okay. Right,” he said nodding. “That was an unfortunate misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding?”
“You—thinking that sweet girl could have had anything to do with that shooting. It’s absurd, really.”
“Absurd,” Wilson repeated. “You said she’d been with you the morning in question, remember?”
“That’s right.”
>
“And what brought you to this church?”
“I go where I’m needed. It’s the nature of the work.”
“And you were needed here?”
“I suppose I was.”
“Small world that Ginny Anderson, now Ginny Smith, is a congregant here as well.”
“True. I believe I said the same thing the first time I saw her at a service.”
“And obviously you two are still close.”
“She’s a wonderful girl. She’s really helpful to me, still. As a volunteer.”
Wilson looked over at Donny, who seemed content as spectator, before leaning forward and lowering his voice. “I find it interesting that you refer to Ginny as a girl. She’s almost forty years old.”
Pastor Gary smirked and nodded, relaxing into his chair back. “You’re right. Well, I guess since I’m fifty, I think of everyone younger than me as a kid. I’m sure you understand.”
Wilson sat back and crossed his arms. “Actually, I think you need to understand that Illinois recently wiped out the statute of limitations on sexual assault of a child. We’re treating it just like murder these days.”
Pastor Gary sat upright. “Excuse me, are you implying something?”
“Actually, I am.”
The pastor’s focus left the men suddenly, and he looked at the door behind them. Wilson turned. There was no one there, though he imagined the pastor wished someone would arrive to interrupt.
“I don’t know what you’ve heard, Sheriff, but I assure you, I’ve never behaved inappropriately with a child. I’m horrified that—”
The feigned indignation lit a fire under Wilson. He was out of his chair quicker than he’d have believed possible, leaning over the desk, his face now spitting distance from the pastor’s. “I’ve known Ginny Anderson since she was a baby.” He put his finger in the pastor’s face. “You mighta been able to keep her mouth shut when she was a teen, but I’m betting all that might change now.”
The pastor leaned back, away from Wilson, and stood, walking toward the door. “Sheriff, I don’t know what you think you know . . .”
“Oh, I know all about you,” Wilson said.
The pastor pushed the door shut and turned around.