One Deadly Sin (14 page)

F
rom the cab of his pickup James Drennen watched the front of the parsonage. Nothing had moved in the quarter-hour James had sat there. The door was closed and the drapes over the windows pulled tight.

But that’s the way the right Reverend Kenneth Parsley liked it. Dark. As dark as his soul.

In all his years as police chief, James had never actually been inside the parsonage. He’d driven by often enough on patrol, and every time the house was the same. He often wondered what the electric bills were like, given that Parsley seemed so averse to natural light. Or maybe it was just light itself and the house was as dark and gloomy inside as it appeared from the street.

Then again, secrets didn’t do well in the light, and the reverend had a few whoppers to keep.

James brooded over that hard truth, remembering Parsley’s desire to confess. There were only two of them now. Two who knew what had happened. Two who could tell the truth. But that truth would destroy James. It would rob him of his son’s respect and the town’s esteem. It would make everything he’d ever stood for a joke. It would make the town ashamed of itself.

His clammy palms slid over the plastic of the steering wheel. He couldn’t let that happen. Nothing was more important than keeping that from happening. Nothing and no one.

Not even a man of God.

When Wednesday night rolled around, Edie wished more than anything that she hadn’t agreed to the date with Holt. She stared at the rack of clothes that constituted her wardrobe. Couldn’t think. Didn’t want to. Because all that circled her head was that single harsh word. Dead.

Would Holt know? Would he smell it on her like some lethal perfume? She’d drenched herself in deodorant but still she wasn’t sure she’d obliterated the stench.

That was crazy talk, though, wasn’t it? The smell of death wasn’t on her. She wasn’t seeing things, people, ghosts. Communing with the spirits. Yet she felt haunted. Pursued. By whom? What?

She punched the wall with a fist, ignoring the pain. Who was out there?

She looked around wildly, sucking at her knuckles. Heart racing. Sweat on her upper lip. No one. Nothing. She was alone. Utterly alone. She swiped at her face. Had to get ready. Wear… something. Holt would be there soon.

What did he know? What should she tell him?

Nothing. Nothing! She would not make a big deal out of this date. She would not shave her legs, smooth lotion over her arms and knees so she’d smell enticing. She would not primp or spend time on her hair for once. She would resist. She’d been stupid to take him to that concert. She had to resist all the temptation Holt Drennen symbolized. The cute kid, the real family, true love and all that crap.

And if she was stupid enough to give in, the least she could do was use the occasion to extract a little 411 out of him.

But that’s what she’d said last time. And the minute she’d felt those arms wrap around her waist, she’d forgotten every bit of sense she had.

Not tonight. Tonight she’d keep her distance. Aware of the danger, she’d stay in control. The thought sent a blast of icy calm through her. Control. That’s what she needed. The upper hand. Steer the conversation her way. He’d promised to tell her the town’s secrets. What did he know about what had happened twenty years ago? About the black angels? About her? Most important, could he lead her to whoever was out there watching her every move?

It was weird the way Holt’s chest hummed thinking about his date with Edie. He hadn’t felt so wrought up since high school. Even his mother noticed, and finally said something that afternoon.

“You’ve been jumpy all day. Whatever is going on with you?” She was standing at the open door of his room. How long he didn’t know because he’d been too absorbed to notice.

He laughed, shrugging it off, but silently cursing his nervousness. “Nothing’s going on.” His love life was none of her business, much as she tried to make it so.

“Nothing my eye. You’ve been standing in front of that open closet for days.”

In truth it had only been a couple of minutes, but even that was unusual for him. He sighed. She knew he was going out tonight. Had to make sure someone would be home for Miranda or he’d get a sitter. But he hadn’t told her or James where he was going or with whom. The concert was still his little secret. He’d told them he was going to a movie, alone, a thing he’d done before.

Now, he looked at his mother and thought, better get it over with. She’d only hound him the rest of the day if he didn’t.

“Got a date,” he said.

For a moment, his mother was dumbstruck. She stared at him open-mouthed.

“Ma, you okay?”

Suddenly a bright smile broke out over her face. “A date? Really?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, really.”

She bolted into his room, squeezed his arm. “Christy Hale said she saw you talking to Bunny Carter on Saturday, but I had no idea.” She clasped her hand to her chest. “Oh, Holt, this is wonderful. Bunny is such a—”

“It’s not Bunny, Mother.”

“—nice— What?”

“It’s not Bunny. I’m not going out with Bunny.”

The expression on Mimsy’s face cooled. “Oh?” But only for a minute. Eagerly, she warmed up again. “Who is it, then? Patty Jane? I didn’t think you liked her that much, and she does go on and on, but still she makes the most glorious peach cobbler and if she’s the—”

“It’s not Patty Jane.”

His mother faltered to a stop. She crossed her arms and drilled him with a look. He knew that look.

“You sure you want to know?”

“And why wouldn’t I?”

He smiled. Kissed her forehead and escorted her gently to the door. “Because she hasn’t been vetted yet. And I don’t think she likes peach cobbler, let alone knows how to make one.”

“But—”

“It’s Edie.”

“Edie?”

”Edie Swann.” And at her astonished expression, he added, “And I promise the world will keep spinning. That is if I can get back to getting ready.” Quietly, he closed the door and went back to thinking about where in the world to take Edie Swann tonight.

There wasn’t a decent restaurant in Redbud. If you wanted heavy silver, a white tablecloth, and good wine you had to go into Nashville. Which wouldn’t be so bad except he wasn’t sure Edie Swann was ready for a romantic dinner with him. And he didn’t want to scare her off when he’d barely started. He could go to Ashland City. Take her for catfish and fries. Or the roadhouse out on Highway 20. But the chances of running into someone from Redbud in either of those places was high, and he didn’t want their date to be the latest topic of conversation at Claire’s.

Once again, a ripple of nerves ran through him, and he laughed at himself. Could he get more adolescent? Was he this nervous when he took Cindy out for the first time? But then, he’d known Cindy all his life. And it was during school and Friday night was basketball. Easy decision. Basketball, Dairy Queen. A Redbud tradition. But it was summer now, and school was out. No basketball. And the Dairy Queen was way too public.

But the memories of high school rolled over him and suddenly he knew exactly where he’d take Edie Swann. He’d promised her secrets. Tonight, he’d deliver.

James ambled into the kitchen from the garage. Kissed Mimsy on the cheek. She was setting the table for supper.

“Where’ve you been, Jamie?”

He waved a hand vaguely. “Oh, here and there. Stopped in at Claire’s for coffee.”

“And what’s the hot topic today?”

“Black angels. Dennis Runkle. What’s going to happen at the plant now that Fred’s gone.”

“I don’t know why you bother. You’re retired. You don’t have to keep your ear to the ground anymore. Just more worries than you need.”

“Still my town, Mimsy girl.”

She paused in setting out the silverware. Shot him a fond smile at the long-standing term of endearment. “Always will be, I guess.”

Her face softened, and the moment lengthened. James thought of all the years he’d given to his town. The things he’d done, and would do again. They all came down to this moment, this woman. His family.

Mimsy seemed to understand. Then again, she always did. She crossed over from the table, put her arms around his neck, and looked up at him with the green eyes that had hooked him from the moment he’d seen them.

“I love you, James Drennen.”

He bent to kiss her, and her sweet, familiar lips softened under his.

“Yuk.”

“Hey—no lovin’ in the kitchen, you two.”

James smiled as he and his wife broke off their embrace. His son and granddaughter stood in the doorway, the little girl high in her father’s arms. Lord, she favored Mimsy. Everyone said she took after Cindy, but James knew better. Miranda had Mimsy’s beautiful green eyes, her golden hair, and that stubborn chin. He could almost see God’s hand working the gene pool and extending the strength of the generations down one more link in the chain.

“No place better,” Mimsy said, and kissed him on the cheek again. “As for you,” she laughed at Miranda, “come over here, you scamp. Help your old grandma get supper ready.”

“You’re not old,” Miranda said, jumping down from Holt’s arms and skipping over to Mimsy.

“Well I’m glad you think so. Here.” She handed Miranda the napkins. “One at each place.”

“Who’s not eating tonight?” James asked, looking at the three plates.

“Holt has a date,” Mimsy emphasized the word “date.”

James raised his brows at his son, but Miranda answered before Holt could.

“He’s going on a play date with the swan lady.”

“The swan—?”

“Mama knows all about it,” Holt said with what James sensed was a certain forbearance. “You can talk it over all during dinner. And after dinner. And in bed tonight. I got a feeling it’s going to be a big topic of conversation. But I’ve got a few more things to do before I pick her up. So—” He swooped down to pick up Miranda. “You be good to Nannie and Pawpaw, okay?”

“I’m always good,” she said, and everyone laughed at that whale of a tale.

Holt winked at the group and fled out the back door. It was good to see him that happy, even if it was with the mysterious “swan lady.”

“Okay, you two. Wash hands, and we’ll eat.”

James ushered Miranda into the bathroom, and while they were drying their hands Mimsy popped her head in.

“Almost forgot,” she said. “You got a call while you were gone. Amy Lyle.”

The name set off a thundercloud inside him. But he met his wife’s eyes in the mirror with as much calm as he could muster. “Problem?”

“She wouldn’t say. Just asked you to call her back at your convenience.”

They walked back to the kitchen together. “Sure hope it’s nothing.” Mimsy helped Miranda to her place at the table. “That woman’s been through enough just now.”

James’s thoughts roiled. They’d all sworn never to tell anyone. Had Fred Lyle broken his word? An odd aching cramp rumbled in his stomach. What else could Amy want? And why now?

Dinner was nearly unbearable. He managed to get enough food down to keep Mimsy from asking questions. He helped clear the table as he always did, and loaded the dishwasher while Mimsy put away the leftovers. They left the pots soaking and Mimsy took Miranda upstairs. And finally, he was able to make that phone call. Shoulders tense and neck tight, he punched in the number Mimsy had scrawled on a piece of scrap paper.

Amy Lyle’s voice was low and soft. “Oh, Chief, thank you for getting back to me.”

James had long ago stopped correcting people who still called him Chief, and he didn’t do so now. Besides, if Amy Lyle proved troublesome, he could use whatever power the title conferred on him.

And yet there’d been neither anger nor accusation in her voice.

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Lyle?”

“Oh, please, call me Amy.”

“All right, Amy. How can I help you.”

“It’s about Fred.”

James tensed up again. “What about him?”

“Chief, can I speak in complete confidentiality?”

“Of course.”

“I’d like to hire you. To investigate something for me.”

“I’m not licensed for investigation, Amy. I’m retired.”

“I know that. But you must have lots of contacts. And this is a family matter. I want someone I can trust. Someone that knew Fred, and—”

“Why don’t you tell me what it is you’re trying to find out.”

Her voice lowered. “Its… it’s his will. He left a… a bequest to someone. I’d like to find this someone and see why Fred did such a strange thing.”

“Can you tell me who it is?”

“Do you agree to help?”

James hesitated. It was likely this had nothing to do with the secret he’d shared with Fred. Then again… whatever stones needed unturning, better he did it than anyone without a vested interest. “All right, Amy. I’ll see what I can do. So who is this person?”

“Her name is… Eden. What kind of name is that? It sounds like a… like a stripper’s name.” Amy Lyle’s voice cracked. “And Fred left her… he left her a lot of money.”

James sucked in a breath, rocked once again by a past that wouldn’t let go.

“I’m afraid, Chief. I’m afraid my husband may have had a…” She swallowed. He heard tears in her voice. “A secret life. I need to know. I need to know if my whole married life has been a lie.”

He could have reassured her. In fact, he was surprised she hadn’t recognized the name herself, given the publicity that had surrounded that name twenty years ago. Then again, most people had long forgotten the details. They hadn’t happened to them, after all. And he didn’t want to remind anyone either. So he didn’t say those reassuring words to Amy Lyle.

“Okay. Give me a few days,” he said instead. “Let me see what I can find out.”

“Thank you.” She took a long shuddering breath. “I won’t have any peace until I know the truth.”

He set a date for a second meeting, hung up, and sat back in the old desk chair.

Damn Fred Lyle. What the hell had he been thinking?

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