A Sounding Brass (3 page)

Ray smiled inwardly.

The D.A. ran Ray through his testimony with concise competence. Name, rank, and serial number. How long he’d been with the
OCTF. The circumstances of the arrest. The contents of his depositions and the lab reports that had proven both Dinah Traynell
and her younger sister’s child, Tamsen, were both the daughters of Phinehas. The D.A. sat alone at the plaintiff’s table;
he’d remain alone until Tamara and Dinah were brought out of the private room in which they sat until it was their turn to
testify. Personally, Ray was just as happy he didn’t have to watch the teenaged Tammy’s face from the stand. He didn’t want
to give the impression he was emotionally involved.

Because everyone else in the courtroom certainly seemed to be. Nobody talked, but the intensity of their gazes and their focus
on every word of testimony was eerie. It was like their survival depended on the verdict.

For all he knew, maybe it did.

The defense had a few questions on cross-examination about the chain of evidence, but Ray had made sure that everything having
to do with the lab and the DNA results was airtight. Then it was time to put Tamara on the stand.

Ray could have made his way into the gallery to watch, but he decided not to. He had all the gory details in the deposition
if he wanted them, and watching her say the words was not going to help his peace of mind or the case.

Tamara’s mother, Elsie, sat directly behind the railing dividing the audience from the active members of the court, and as
he slipped out the door, Ray saw Tamara reach over it and clutch her mother’s hand for a moment before she took the stand
to be sworn in.

Good luck, princess
.

A fast walk took him back to the D.A.’s office and the desk where his paperwork sat. He folded himself into the chair and
reached for the phone.

“Harmon,” his sergeant barked when the call rang through.

“It’s Harper.”

“Are you finished dazzling that hack D.A. out there in the sticks?” Harmon and the D.A., George Daniels, had been partners
back in the Dark Ages, before Daniels had dropped out of the force to go to law school.

Ray grinned. “He sends his love, too.”

“So, when can I expect to see you back here doing some real work?”

“I finished giving my testimony just now. I can head back tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong with this afternoon? You think my budget has endless nights of hotel rooms built into it for you?”

It was a good thing Ray knew Harmon’s bark was worse than his bite. “I have a couple of things left to do. And I want to check
out a lead on this Boanerges thing. One of the lonely hearts he ripped off gave me a tip he might be over this way.”

“Sounds pretty vague.”

“It
is
vague. The whole case is vague, and you know how I hate that. But if he’s crossing county lines, that puts him in my case
load, so I’ll do what I can.”

“I’ll expect you back tomorrow.”

“Sooner or later.”

Fortunately Harmon hadn’t pressed him on his “things-to-do” list. There was only one thing on it of a personal nature. Julia,
his partner Ross’s wife, had asked him to take one of their framed wedding pictures to her former landlady, Rebecca Quinn.
He’d met her at their tiny wedding, but he hadn’t seen her in the courtroom. Not surprising. The lady apparently ran her own
business, and driving ninety miles to hear the trial proceedings wouldn’t make her a living.

He’d do pretty much anything to make Julia smile, and if that meant playing delivery boy, then that’s what he would do.

Then he’d blow this popsicle stand and get back to work.

N
UMBER 1204 GATES PLACE
was a big, sprawling house with Craftsman lines and Victorian sensibilities that had been built for a railroad executive back
in the twenties, when the town of Hamilton Falls had been founded. It could have housed a family of twelve comfortably, and
had at one time, but now all that was left of the original Quinn family in the area was Rebecca.

Rebecca was not the kind of woman to sit back with nothing to do but dust the sepia photographs of her ancestors. She had
braved the storms of both gossip and disapproval and, after her brother Lawrence’s death, taken over management of his bookstore.
Over time, Quill and Quinn had gone from being a dark, dusty place for boxes of used books to a tourist’s delight, stocking
wholesome new novels and books of local interest, and featuring the odd piece of art or craftsmanship by local artisans. The
shop was bright, welcoming, and full of plants and Rebecca’s practical, cheery personality.

The suite on the top floor of the house had long been converted and rented to a succession of single Elect girls, the most
recent of whom was Claire Montoya. When she’d learned that Dinah wasn’t interested in moving in, Claire had comforted herself
with the fact that at least she was going
somewhere
, even if it was just across town. Not that she was desperate to get out of her parents’ house or anything.

Well, okay, she was.

Her folks were great people, and she loved them, but the fact of the matter was that they were what Alma Woods liked to call
“half-and-halfers.” Other, nicer people might say “Elected but not perfected,” implying that there was still hope. No matter
what the expression, Claire always cringed. Her folks had come to the Elect later in life, after she and her sister, Elaine,
were born, and instead of embracing the lifestyle and traditions of godliness with a whole heart, they had maintained some
outward appearances and not others—and told no one about the television on a rolling cart in the bedroom closet. Late at night
Claire could hear them laughing at some program, and it became like a canker, sitting in the heart of the house like a great
big lie.

Maybe that was why she tried so hard to live up to the standards the Elect set. So okay, she wore up-to-date outfits, but
they
were
black. And she worked in public, which not many of the Elect women did. But no one worked harder than she did at schooling
her words, keeping her temper, saying nice things to Alma Woods when all she wanted to do was snap back something that would
silence the old crow for good. She always had a smile and an offer of help, even when she didn’t want to give either one.

Maybe deep down she thought these things would offset her parents’ behavior in the eyes of the congregation. Maybe they’d
think,
That Claire, now, she’s really got it. She’s a hearty one, being such a good example to her parents
. Or maybe they wouldn’t, but at least it made her feel as though she were doing her best to serve God.

In any case, at least Claire was nominally on her own. The furniture might be Vintage Garage Sale and the dishes her grandma’s
second set, with prim little rosebuds that were the last thing Claire would have chosen had she had any money, but the space
was hers to do with as she would. She could jump on the bed if she felt like it. Eat cereal lying on the couch. Wear colored
pajamas.

No, scratch that.

A woman could wear color in the privacy of her own bedroom, but for Claire, the sacrifice had to be complete. Her nightie
was black flannel, and every night she put the desire for red silk pajamas on the altar of sacrifice, where it belonged.

Tonight, though, she was down in Rebecca’s suite, dressed in black as usual, with Dinah soon-to-be-Nicholas and her sister,
Tamara Traynell. They were both staying with Rebecca until the trial was over, making the ninety-mile commute to Pitchford
every morning and evening in Rebecca’s car. Claire and Rebecca drove to work in Claire’s car, one going to the bookshop and
the other to the bank across the street.

“But where’s the baby?” Claire asked Dinah as they finished their dessert. Court had gone right to five o’clock before the
judge had dismissed everyone, and after driving an hour and a half back to Hamilton Falls, the Traynell girls had been starving.

Dinah licked ice cream from her spoon with relish. “I thought it would be better to leave her at home, with Matthew,” she
said. “If I’m on the stand, there’s no one to look after her, and we thought this whole thing would be emotional enough for
Tamara.”

Privately, Claire wondered how on earth Tamara could have given up her daughter Tamsen in the first place, but she’d never
say that out loud. After all, what did she know? If she were in Tamara’s situation, knowing that her daughter was the child
of rape, could she be the kind of mother the child needed? Maybe Tamara had been right to place the baby in Dinah’s custody.
To make a new life for herself up in Seattle.

“Besides,” Dinah went on, “Matthew adores her, and she loves him right back. He’s teaching part-time at a junior college until
we’re married, and his friend’s wife has a newborn so she looks after Tamsen while he’s in class.”

“Good for you,” Rebecca said with a smile. “And I’m looking after your other babies.”

Claire grinned.

“You were so kind to give them a home,” Dinah said affectionately, speaking of her beloved flock of hens. “I could take Schatzi
and the five most senior, but it was a bit daunting to find a place for twelve. One of the perks of staying here is seeing
them again.”

“It’s not just six anymore,” Claire said. “She made the mistake of going to the feed store and looking at the little peeps.”

“I only brought home two.” Rebecca’s tone was virtuous. “We had chickens around here as children, but I’d forgotten how much
fun they are. I’m having a little difficulty establishing that the rose bushes are out of bounds, but I’m sure I can convince
them eventually.”

Dinah laughed, but Tamara looked far away, as though the mention of Tamsen earlier had been hard for her. Claire was dying
to ask how it had gone in court today, but outside the courtroom both girls were sworn to secrecy.

The doorbell rang, its gentle peal shivering into silence. Rebecca put her napkin on the table and got up to answer it. “Why,
Mr. Harper,” Claire heard her say in welcoming tones. “Come right in.”

“Harper?” Dinah straightened in her chair.

“Hey, Ray,” Tamara greeted him as Rebecca led him into the dining room. Claire wished she could be as casual. The guy was
a couple of inches over six feet, with the kind of controlled power that no doubt came from chasing down criminals in dark
alleys or arresting drug lords. His wavy brown hair flopped into eyes that didn’t miss a thing and only believed half of what
he saw. They softened when he looked at Tamara.

“Tammy,” he said. “How’d you make out today?”

“Good,” she responded. “Nice job with the defense counsel. Mr. Daniels said they couldn’t get a thing past you.”

“Sounds as though you were playing hockey,” Rebecca said. “Mr. Harper, have you eaten dinner?”

“I grabbed a burger in Pitchford.”

“Then please have dessert with us. I never met a man who could say no to my apple pie.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to, Miss Quinn. I can’t socialize with the other witnesses. Conflict of interest. I just stopped by
to ask Dinah a few more questions and to drop something off for you.”

“For me?”

“Julia sent it.” Ray handed Rebecca a package. “It’s their wedding picture. She thought you’d like something besides snapshots.”

Rebecca’s faced flushed with pleasure as she tore the wrapping off. “Oh, isn’t this beautiful.” She held up the eight-by-ten
frame.

“Look at that dress,” Claire breathed.

“She’d never be allowed to wear something like that if she were still Elect,” Tamara observed. “Good for her.”

In the photo, Julia sat with her wedding bouquet in her lap, Ross behind her with a hand on her shoulder. His other hand rested
on the back of his daughter Kailey’s neck, and all three beamed at the photographer. Julia’s dress was a simple waterfall
of cream silk that puddled on the ground at her feet. Her arms were bare from the elbows down, and she wore a string of pearls
around her throat. She looked more beautiful than Claire could ever remember seeing her, and she regretted now that she hadn’t
gone to the wedding.

But how could she have gone? That would entail telling her folks and the people in Gathering where she was going. That might
work when she could camouflage a visit under a business trip, but to go to a worldly wedding? It would be impossible to explain.
Their own were sober affairs. A bride didn’t even wear a white dress, because there was nowhere she could wear it afterward.
Her wedding outfit was a practical black.

Cream silk and pearls
. Claire sighed. Clearly, clothes were the cross she had to bear.

“I appreciate this so much, Mr. Harper.” Rebecca set the picture on the sideboard and returned to the table. “Are you going
to be with us long?”

“Nope, I’m done. Should be heading back to Seattle after I make my final report tomorrow.”

“Is it too late to say thank you?” Dinah asked. “After all, you interrupted the Testimony of Two Men that night and saved
me from being Silenced for seven years.”

“I have no idea what that means, but no, it’s never too late.” He gave her a smile that, to Claire, seemed out of place on
the face of such a dangerous-looking man.

“Dinah was about to be shunned for telling the truth about Phinehas,” Rebecca explained calmly while Claire tried not to choke
on the last bite of her pie. Dinah was to have been Silenced? How come she hadn’t heard a word about it? “Fortunately the
only people who know about that besides her mother and Owen are right in this room. And it will stay in this room.”

She glanced at Claire, and her blue eyes and cloud of silver hair reminded Claire of the steely flash of a sword.

Claire cleared her throat. “Absolutely,” she said.

Not that this news mattered, anyway. Dinah had gone Out of the Elect, forsaking their fellowship, and now most of the Elect
simply treated her with the casual formality they’d give to, say, a gas-station attendant.

Claire had always been taught that an Elect person couldn’t have fellowship with someone who was Out, that there would be
no freedom of spirit between them. But for some reason this didn’t seem to be the case. The more she knew of Dinah, the better
she liked her.