Life Support (41 page)

“Where did you find the car?” Alexia asked.

“In a Wal-Mart parking lot on the north side of Charleston County.”

“Is it okay?” Rena asked.

“Yeah. But we need to check it out completely before you pick it up. Anytime an officer is killed in the line of duty we turn over every stone.”

“What happened to the patrolman?” Alexia asked.

The detective snapped shut the ink pad. “Broken neck. He died instantly. He sent a radio message that he'd stopped a red convertible with a single occupant for speeding. The radio transmission wasn't clear, and the dispatcher didn't write down the complete license number. We weren't able to identify Mrs. Richardson as the owner of the car until she notified the police that the vehicle had been stolen. As soon as the description came across the system, we suspected it would match. An officer spotted the car in the parking lot thirty minutes later.”

“Did the deputy who died describe the driver?” Alexia asked.

Rena's eyes grew wide, and she held her breath.

“We're not sure. We're going to send out the tape of the radio transmission for deciphering, but I didn't hear anything when I listened to it. There was no sign of a struggle. Apparently, the thief pushed the deputy down, and he hit his head on the edge of the pavement. If the carjacker was a kid, he probably panicked and took off. We'll find him. Someone who saw something will come forward after they watch the reports on the evening news. We'll keep you informed. Thanks for your help.”

After the detective left, Rena said to Alexia, “Come out to the kitchen while I wash my hands.”

When she finished cleaning up, Rena poured each of them another cup of coffee. The two women stood on opposite sides of a large island in the center of the kitchen. Overhead, an expensive set of pots and pans hung down from a rack suspended from the ceiling. The island was covered with hand-painted, imported tiles.

“Do you think the detective was trying to blame me for what happened?” Rena asked anxiously.

“What made you think that?” Alexia asked with surprise. “You're a victim, too.”

Rena sighed. “I know, but I can't shake the horrible feeling that the police are after me. Why did he ask me all those questions?”

“He's trying to find out who stole the car. You don't have anything to worry about.”

“I hope you're right.”

Rena put a little more sugar in her coffee. “I forgot to ask him when I could pick up the car.”

“I'll call him on Monday,” Alexia said.

After Alexia left, Rena went upstairs and retrieved the notebook she'd taken from the dead sheriff's deputy. She started a small fire in the living room fireplace and burned it. The taxi driver who drove her from Charleston had let her out of his car four blocks away, and there hadn't been a public trash receptacle where she could throw it away before arriving home.

She anxiously watched the evening news from Charleston. The report on the death of Officer Dixon was the primary news item for the show. It included a file photo of a slightly slimmer policeman taken several years before. He was a Marine Corp veteran who had served on the local police forces for thirty-one years. Following the picture of the officer was a photo of Rena's car and a description of what the police believed might have happened. The segment concluded with an interview of Detective Devereaux in which he asked anyone with information about the case to contact the sheriff 's department. Rena was nervously playing with a heavy glass ashtray and wanted to throw it at the screen to get him to shut up.

A few minutes after the show ended Rena's cell phone rang. She jumped at the sound and looked at the caller identification. It was Jeffrey.

“I guess you saw the news,” she said.

“Yeah. Are you okay?”

“No, I'm a nervous wreck.”

“When was the car stolen?”

Rena told him, and Jeffrey began an interrogation not unlike the one conducted by Officer Devereaux. Rena answered a few questions about the car but then began to wonder what the guardians sent by Jeffrey had told him about her activities. They might know whether or not she'd walked to town, and she didn't want to get caught in a lie.

“Why are you asking me questions?” she responded when Jeffrey asked what she had been doing all day. “Get a report from the people who are watching me all the time. Maybe they know who stole the car.”

“Okay, relax. I'm sorry.”

“Do you have any information for my lawyer?” Rena asked.

“Not yet. I've been on the golf course all day, and I have a date tonight with someone I met in California. I'm driving to the airport to pick her up in a few minutes.”

Rena grunted. Jeffrey had exhausted the local stock and was importing a new girlfriend. She couldn't believe she'd actually considered him as a suitor when they went to dinner in Greenville.

“Will you be coming to the hearing in Greenville on Friday?” Rena asked.

“No. I've not changed my mind. You and your lawyer are doing everything backwards. Baxter isn't a threat to anyone. The power of attorney is your enemy. You need to convince Lindale that the best way to help you is to go after my father.”

“I just don't want Baxter to suffer,” Rena said. “It's not right.”

“I've got to go,” Jeffrey responded.

After she clicked off the phone, Rena went to the medicine cabinet and took out a bottle of prescription sleeping pills. She didn't want to stay awake and continue to worry. Shaking a couple of pills in her hand, she swallowed them with a gulp of water and went to bed.

34

Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them. For it is shameful even to mention what the disobedient do in secret.

EPHESIANS 5:11–12

T
ed always sat on the piano bench until it was time for the sermon. The order of worship at Sandy Flats Church was the product of a committee, and Ted had specific, nonnegotiable duties. To do something other than what was printed in the Sunday morning bulletin would be tantamount to editing the Ten Commandments. Ted provided as much spiritual vitality as possible within the rigid guidelines, but it has always been difficult trying to breathe life into dry bones.

During the first hymn, he looked out at the congregation and saw Marylou Hobart. She was wearing a yellow-and-green dress, and her hair was wound in a tight, gray bun. She was holding a hymnbook and her lips were moving. Mrs. Hobart wouldn't be able to hear the piano well enough to keep pace with the melody and the rhythm, and Ted could only imagine the sounds that were coming from her lips. He inwardly chuckled at the thought of her making a joyful noise to God. During the third verse, he glanced toward another part of the sanctuary and saw Alexia. She was dressed in an elegant, dark green dress, more feminine than the clothes she'd worn during their previous meetings.

The service followed a course as steady and predictable as a river winding its way through an old valley. The layman assisting in the pulpit read a list of announcements, and John Heathcliff led the congregation in the Lord's Prayer. The prayer was followed by the offertory. While he played, Ted saw the shiny brass plate pass in front of Marylou Hobart, who deposited several wrinkled bills. She looked up, saw Ted, and rewarded him with a gap-toothed smile.

Ted played the piano during the anthem and simultaneously directed the choir. When he needed to emphasize a choral transition, he maintained the flow of the melody with his right hand and signaled entrances and cutoffs with the left. The last note by all the voices was crisply stopped with a flick of Ted's hand.

Rev. Heathcliff spoke on the parable of the talents. After listening for ten minutes, Ted set his jaw firmly to stifle the yawns that threatened to pry open his mouth. John Heathcliff wasn't a bad minister, but his skills at maneuvering his way through church politics were more highly developed than his ability to preach the truths of Scripture. Precisely at 11:55 A.M., Rev. Heathcliff finished the sermon, and Ted resumed his seat at the piano for the closing hymn. If the song had four verses, the insistent call of Sunday dinner usually required that the third verse be omitted. Sandy Flats Church was not located near the main restaurants in the area, and most members of the congregation didn't want to be penalized in their race to the buffet line by a long closing hymn. Ted timed the final note perfectly as watches beeped the top of the hour all over the sanctuary.

He was playing the postlude when Alexia and Mrs. Hobart converged across the altar rail from the piano.

“Hello!” he shouted at Mrs. Hobart.

At the sound of his voice, Alexia stopped and took a step backward.

“You don't have to yell,” she said.

“I'm talking to her,” Ted replied, taking his left hand off the keyboard to gesture toward Mrs. Hobart. “I'll be finished in a minute!” he shouted.

Mrs. Hobart gave him a wrinkled smile. “I'd like to go out to eat. I haven't had any fish to eat in ages. Could we go together?”

Ted nodded. “Yes!”

“I'll tell the woman who brought me to church to go on home.”

The old woman turned and walked toward the back of the sanctuary. Ted finished playing the piano with a run from the bottom to the top of the keyboard and then swiveled on the bench toward Alexia.

“Mrs. Hobart is mostly deaf,” Ted said. “Would you like to join us for lunch? I think we're going to eat fish.”

Alexia laughed, and Ted could see joy shining from her eyes.

“Yes. Fish sounds great.”

They walked together down the aisle to the narthex. Marylou Hobart was shaking John Heathcliff 's hand and talking to him. The minister had a puzzled look on his face. Ted introduced him to Alexia, and he perked up.

“I hope you'll come back.”

“I'm sure I will,” she said.

Ted, Alexia, and Mrs. Hobart walked down the steps together.

“Can we take your car?” Ted asked Alexia. “I'd rather not cram three people into my truck.”

“Sure.”

The older woman eyed Alexia as they walked across the parking lot.

“You're a pretty young thing,” she said. “What's your name?”

Alexia felt thirteen instead of thirty-two. “Alexia Lindale.”

“Alicia? That's a pretty name.” Mrs. Hobart looked at Ted. “It's a good name for a woman. No one will think you're a man!”

Ted rolled his eyes at Alexia.

“Should you avoid calling me Alexia while we're with her?” Alexia asked.

“No. Now that she thinks you're Alicia that's all she will hear.”

Mrs. Hobart sat in the backseat of Alexia's BMW and stroked the smooth, gray leather. “This is nice vinyl on your seats.”

“Thank you!” Alexia answered. Turning to Ted, she asked, “Where should we go?”

“Someplace where the fish is soft and easy to chew,” he answered. “How about Martin's Fish Camp?”

“Okay. I haven't eaten there in ages.”

The restaurant was famous for fried seafood, but unless the cooking oil was fresh, everything tasted similar.

“It was good to see you this morning,” Ted said. “You look very nice. The green dress makes your eyes shine.”

Alexia smiled at the compliment. “Thanks.”

“Did you enjoy the service?”

“Yes. Especially the sermon.”

“Really? Why?”

“He raised some questions that I need to answer. The idea of dedicating my talents and ability to God is very relevant to me right now. It's going to take time for me to sort it out.”

Ted nodded without comment, but it made sense that Alexia would have to deal with issues he'd faced twenty years before. The road of discipleship passes common landmarks.

Martin's Fish Camp was a rambling wooden building painted gray to give the boards a weathered look. It featured several open dining rooms. Patrons sat at simple long wooden tables with ladder back chairs. There was a large hole in the middle of each table and a trash can beneath it for debris. The setup was especially suited for oyster roasts. Iced tea was served in giant, clear plastic glasses. A teenage hostess led them to a table in the corner and handed them menus. Mrs. Hobart didn't open hers.

Ted leaned toward her better ear. “What do you want to eat?”

“I don't need to look at the menu. I want fried fish with hush puppies and slaw.”

“Do you want flounder?” Ted asked loudly.

Mrs. Hobart smiled. “Yes, I'm glad you found her!” Then, turning to Alexia, she said, “I've been tellin' him he needed to meet a nice girl. He's a good man. Very handy around the house. Did you know he fixed the leaks in my roof and stopped the toilet in my downstairs bath from run-nin' all the time?”

Alexia looked at Ted. “I'm impressed.”

Ted ordered the flounder for Mrs. Hobart and scallops for himself. Alexia chose a salad served with broiled seafood on top.

A waitress brought them tea. Alexia watched Mrs. Hobart deposit an extra bag of sugar in her glass.

“Does she know it's already sweetened?” she asked Ted.

“Yes, but not sweet enough. It's the secret of her longevity.”

“How old is she?”

“I've never been able to get a straight answer.” Ted leaned toward Mrs. Hobart. “How old are you?”

The old woman put down her glass of tea and gave Ted a strange look. “Don't you know? You're gettin' mighty forgetful. I'll be eighty-four next month. Harry and I were married fifty-four years before he died.”

Mrs. Hobart was sitting so she could see the main dining room of the restaurant.

“I enjoy watching the people,” she said. “You two go ahead and talk. If you want to tell me something, tap me on the arm, and I'll give heed.”

“Won't she be offended if we don't try to talk to her?” Alexia asked.

“No. She's been in her own world for so long that she's used to it. She knows I like being with her. That's all that matters. Sometimes when I visit her, we will sit and sip tea for fifteen minutes without saying a word.”