Trial by Fire (4 page)

“My point is, I can hurt just as easily at home as here. Except for the fact that they haven't finished torturing my legs yet, and the infernal internal bleeding…”

She grinned again. “At least your sense of humor is holding up better than your voice. So why are you in such a hurry to go home?”

“I have to take care of things with the church,” he said. “It's gone, you know. The whole building…gone.”

She knew, for she had gone back by the site several times during the day. There was nothing left of the building. They would have to clear the land and start completely over.

“You'll rebuild,” she said.

He shook his head. “Don't know if I've got it in me.”

Issie pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down, trying to look relaxed. But she didn't feel relaxed. “Come on, Nick. Where's your faith?”

He grinned then. “
My
faith?” he asked. “Coming from you…”

“Yeah, kind of a left-field question, huh?” she asked. “I just thought I'd throw you off guard a little.”

He smiled again, and this time the smile made it to his eyes. He looked at her for a minute, and she realized that he was seeing her, not as a colleague who'd just shown up at the hospital, but as a pretty woman sitting in his room.

Something about that satisfied her. Yes, she still had it. She could turn men's heads, even if they were preachers. “But really,” she said finally. “There's not much you can do for the church tonight.”

“I have people to see,” he told her. “I need to talk to my church members, maybe call a meeting.”

“Where would you meet?” she asked.

“That's another thing,” he said. “I've got to find a place to hold services. And there's a funeral coming up.” His voice cracked, and he put his hand over his face. “Susan and Ray…have to…bury their child. Got to figure out where to hold the service. Got to talk to them, got to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Issie asked. “For what, Nick? You didn't do anything wrong.”

He turned his head and looked out the window again. “I left the church unlocked. I thought we should have an open-door policy, twenty-four hours a day. I didn't know somebody would die—”

Issie reached out to touch his shoulder, but stopped her hand before it made contact. “Nick, there's more to this story than we know,” she said softly. “There was nothing you could have done.”

“I don't know that for sure,” he said. “If I'd listened to the deacons and locked the church, maybe it would have never been burned. Maybe Ben would be alive. Maybe none of this—”

“Stop it,” she said.

He turned around and looked in her eyes. She hadn't seen him without his glasses very often, if ever, and she hadn't realized his eyes were quite that blue. They glistened with moisture from the pain he had endured today. She could still smell the smoke in his hair.

“You can't do this to yourself,” she said. “You and I, we rescue people all the time. For every life we've lost, there's a hundred that we've saved. Some things just happen, Nick. We can't control them.”

“Have you talked to Ray and Susan?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Susan and I aren't very close, and I figured Ray didn't want anybody around. Word is he's taking it really hard.”

“'Course he is,” Nick said. He closed his eyes. “Ben had just been home from LSU for the summer. A friend of his, who was spending the summer on a special job in London, had offered him his apartment while he was gone. Ben had gotten a job and was doing construction work for the summer. Even though he'd eaten almost every night at home, he'd seemed to enjoy having his own place. He was happy. Right on the cusp of so many things.”

His voice broke, and he cleared his throat, reached for the ice chips again.

Issie sat there for a moment, silence hovering between them. He was, after all, the kindest man she knew, and it didn't seem right for kind, gentle men to suffer so much guilt. Before she realized what she was doing, she touched his shoulder.

He didn't seem to notice. “I failed the church,” he said. “It was under my care.”

His guilt made her angry. “Nick, look at me.”

He met her eyes. His were red, tired.

“You didn't fail that church. In fact, you're probably the only one who's going to hold it together.”

“I don't know if I can,” he said. “Now that we don't have a building, the church could just disperse and go to other congregations where their preacher isn't so distracted with fires and shootings and domestic quarrels.”

“Oh, so now you're beating yourself up because you're bivocational? Like that's your fault? You're right, Nick,” she said with sarcasm. “If you'd been demanding a full-time salary, none of this would have happened.”

“I might have been in the church when it happened,” he said. “I might have been there when Ben needed somebody.”

“Even if you were full-time, you wouldn't have been there all night. It's not your fault. I want you to say that after me. ‘It's not my fault.'”

Nick couldn't say it. He just turned back to the window.

A knock sounded on the door, and Issie turned to see Stan Shepherd leaning in. He nodded at her, then moved closer to the bed. Nick took a deep breath and wiped his eyes. He grabbed his glasses from the night table and shoved them back on. “Hey, Stan,” he said in a rasp. “How's it going, man?”

Clearly, Stan couldn't make light of such a horrible day. “Been better,” he said. “I hear you've been better too.”

“Me? I'm fine,” Nick said. “I oughta be home.” He studied Stan's face for a moment. “Have you talked to Ray and Susan?”

“Briefly.”

“How are they taking it?”

“Just as you'd expect.” Stan took a chair across the room and sat down with his elbows on his knees. “Nick, I've got to crack this case before anything else happens.”

Nick started to sit up, then remembered his bruised ribs and dropped back. “Something else?”

Stan stood up and paced across the floor, his head down, then stopped and turned back to Nick and Issie. “If you want to know the truth, my gut feeling is that this was some sort of hate crime, racially motivated.”

Nick's mouth fell open. “No way.”

“Think about it,” Stan said. “Our congregation is mixed. We have blacks, whites, Creoles, Indians, Chinese, Hispanics. We never discouraged anybody from walking through our doors. We're right at the beginning of this investigation, but I got to tell you, Nick. It's all pointing to that.”

“But who?” Nick asked.

Issie shook her head. “Does Newpointe really have people like that? People who are hateful enough to destroy the building people worship in because their skin is a different color?”

“The KKK group in Newpointe has been quiet for several years. But you can bet I'm gonna be all over them to get as much information as I can.”

Nick looked thoughtfully at Stan for a moment. “It could very well be what you think,” Nick said. “But a thought keeps nagging me, and I can't let it go.”

“What thought?”

“Remember that kid who was coming to our youth group, stirring things up? Him and his sister?”

“Yeah. Cruz and Jennifer Somebody.”

“Well, just a few weeks ago, when I broke up his party at that gay ball at Mardi Gras, he threatened to get even.”

Stan got to his feet and began to pace as he rubbed his chin. “I had forgotten all about that.”

“What?” Issie asked. “Who is this kid?”

“Well, it's kind of a long story,” Nick said. “See, back around the first of the year, he and his twin sister started coming to church. Everybody called this kid Cruz. They were eighteen, pretty popular, instantly likeable. Seemed like good kids. Claimed to be Christians. They seemed real interested in our doctrine, but they started challenging the Sunday school teachers. The teachers got frustrated and asked me to talk to them. So I did. I went out to their house, hoping to answer some of their questions so they wouldn't have to keep interrupting their teachers. But as soon as I got them alone, I started to realize they weren't quite the upstanding, likeable kids I thought. They had an authority problem and didn't think I had a thing in the world to teach them. Their mother was just as much of a smart aleck as they were. Said they knew the Bible inside out and didn't need the likes of me snooping around trying to change their thinking. I left there kind of baffled.

“But I started noticing that the kids were following this boy around like he was their leader or something. I mean, the pied piper kind of thing. They started missing youth group functions because they were with him. It was almost like this ingenious recruitment effort, you know? Like he was only there to win our kids over one by one.”

“Win them over for what?” Issie asked.

“Well, that's what I wasn't sure of. When I tried to get to the bottom of it, I got vague answers about how he was mobilizing them to win Newpointe for Christ. Sounded fine, except it didn't ring true. The kids I had tried to get through to weren't the spiritually conscientious types. And then I heard through the grapevine that he had rounded up a group of them to go protest during Mardi Gras, outside one of the gay balls. I got worried and decided that I'd show up and see what this was about. And lo and behold, there they were. Most of my youth group were following this kid around in circles like puppies on leashes, and they were holding some of the most contemptible signs I've ever seen.”

“What did they say?” Issie asked.

Stan slid his hands into his pockets. “They were vicious, hateful signs that claimed God hated homosexuals.”

“That's right,” Nick said. “And I lost my temper.”

Issie was confused. “Why? I thought you Christians believed that.”

“Well, you thought wrong. God doesn't hate anybody. He may hate their sin, but he hates mine too. So I got out of my car and stormed to their picket line and started grabbing those hateful signs out of the hands of my kids. I was so mad that I smashed them against a brick wall and broke them. Then I told that Cruz fellow that God didn't hate anyone, and I wouldn't allow him to fill the minds of my youth with lies and hate.” Nick stopped and went for the ice chips again, coaxing his voice into finishing. “I told him he wasn't welcome back in my church if all he wanted was to lure my kids into this kind of activity. I loaded all those kids into my van, and it was a real tight fit. He cursed at me and yelled threats as I got them in. Before we drove off, he yelled to me that it wasn't over. He told me he'd get even, that my ‘heretical' church and I would be sorry for what I'd done.”

“Maybe I'd better see what I can find out about this kid,” Stan said.

“I'm not saying he did it. He was mad, not crazy. I can't see anyone burning down a church and murdering somebody just to get back at me.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Stan said.

“Yeah,” Issie agreed. “It sure wouldn't hurt to look into it.”

W
hen Issie returned to Newpointe it was still too early to head over to Joe's Place, so she went home. The phone was ringing when she came in, and she snatched it up. “Hello?”

“Issie, it's Mike.” Her brother sounded irritated. “Do you know where Jake is?”

Issie hadn't seen her sixteen-year-old nephew in a couple of days. “No. Why would I know?”

“Well, we thought maybe he had dropped by your place.”

She knew where he probably was, but wasn't about to tell them. She and Jake had a special bond. He was just like she had been at his age, and she knew that his occasional tastes of the wilder side of life were harmless. She had even aided and abetted them on occasion. “I haven't seen him,” she said.

“Well, if he does happen to drop by your place, give us a call, will you?”

“If I see him, I'll call.” She hung up the phone, knowing she had no intention of doing any such thing.

She thought about it for a moment and realized that her brother did have a right to know where his son was. She supposed that was a father's prerogative, though she couldn't rely on her own experience, since her father had never cared about anything she had done.

She checked the clock and saw that it was only eight. Where would Jake be at this hour? He could be at one of his friends' houses, but usually they didn't go there until after the parents were all in bed.

No, if she had to guess where he was, she would start with the old vacant house over off the highway. The grandmother of one of his friends had died, and his parents had kept the house until they could get the place cleaned up enough to sell it. That was where he and his friends liked to hang out when they wanted their privacy. She knew because Jake had taken her there a time or two. The kids felt independent sitting out in the backyard or in the stale rooms, smoking cigarettes, cursing and necking where nobody could stop them. He'd recently gotten into a band and told her they used the house for practice.

She went back to her car and drove to the wooded outskirts of town to the vacant house, and as she pulled into the driveway, she realized that she'd been right. Jake's ten-year-old Escort sat in the garage, and some of his other friends' cars were on the street.

Since the front of the house looked dark, she walked around to the back. There was a bonfire back there and three guys stood near it, but inside she could see a light.

“Hey, guys,” she called down to the bonfire, “is Jake here?”

The kids all turned, but none of them answered. One of them stepped out of the crowd.

She tried to see his face, but he was silhouetted against the bonfire. “Who are you?” he called.

“I'm Jake Mattreaux's aunt,” she said. “I'm looking for him. Is he here?”

He came closer, looking her over. As the dim light from the house caught his face, she realized she had never met him before. He looked like a lifeguard and wore a tank top and a pair of camouflage pants. He came too close, squinting down at her with blue eyes that might have mesmerized her if she'd met him in a bar. “How long have you been here?” he asked.

“I just got here,” she said, puzzled by the suspicious question. “Do you know where he is, or do I need to go in?”

He didn't answer, just kept looking down at her, as if wondering if she was friend or foe. “This could be very serious,” he said, and a chill went through her at his tone.

“What could?” She was beginning to feel like she had stumbled into a national security meeting.

“She's awright, Cruz.” Instantly, she recognized the name. This was the guy Nick had told Stan about. And her defender's voice was familiar. She looked behind Cruz to see Peter Benton, Jake's best friend and the one whose family owned the house. He was draped in shadows, as the kid behind him was. Only Cruz had come close enough to separate from the light of the fire.

Around this Cruz person was an aura of respect, a held-breath kind of anticipation, that seemed to keep Benton and the other kid a few steps behind him.

She stuck out her hand. “I'm Issie Mattreaux. And you are…?”

He glanced down at that outstretched hand but didn't take it. “Benton, go in and get Mattreaux out here.”

She watched as Jake's friend retreated into the house. She looked up at the lifeguard/leader and tried to keep things light. “So what's the bonfire for?” she asked. “Roasting marshmallows?”

He grinned then, and she saw a perfect row of bleach-white teeth. “Didn't you hear us singing ‘Kum Ba Yah'?”

She breathed a laugh, and tried to sound unconcerned. “Really, what's it for?”

“Call it a pep rally,” he said.

“Oh?” She glanced at the fire, wondering if anyone was watching it. She hoped no sparks flew into the nearby trees. They hadn't had enough rain lately.

The screen door opened, and Jake bolted down the back porch steps. A tall girl with long blond hair sashayed out beside him.

“Issie!” Jake came toward her. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.”

The girl stepped up next to Cruz with an authority that set her apart from the rest. Issie noted that she stood as tall as he and had the same compelling eyes. She wore a cross around her neck, but her neckline scooped too low, and her shirt was at least two sizes too small.

Issie realized Jake would be mortified if she acted like an older aunt who had come to tell him his mommy was looking for him, so she tried another tact. “I didn't have anything to do so I wanted to hear your band practice. But I didn't know about the pep rally.” She grinned and shoved her nephew playfully. “Since when have you had school spirit?”

He looked a little confused, but one look by Cruz seemed to set matters straight. “Yeah, well. We didn't practice tonight, so—”

“Bummer.” She shrugged. “Oh, well. Guess I'll find something else to do then. See you guys later. Oh, Jake, you might want to give your folks a call. They're looking for you.” She gave a flippant wave, then ambled back to her car.

She drove away without a look back, but she had no intentions of leaving. Something about the way that Cruz guy had looked at her, and the way Benton and the other kid had stayed silently behind him, and the look of anger and fear in Jake's eyes, all added up to something being wrong.

That was no pep rally.

She made a U-turn and headed back to the Benton property, but this time stopped before she got to the house. There were no houses for a mile or so on either side of the vacant house, so she doubted she would be seen as she slipped quietly out of her car. She cut through the pine trees and wild azalea bushes, stepping over fallen branches and tangled vines. She wished she could use a flashlight. She looked out at the bonfire and saw Benton and the kid she didn't know standing on the north side of it. Cruz, Jake, and the girl had apparently gone into the house.

She steadied herself on tree trunks and tried to push through the brush as she headed toward the fire. She had to see what they were burning. Kids didn't start bonfires, then stay inside. No, the two who were guarding it were watching something burn. What it was, she couldn't see.

As the ground cleared into overgrown grass that needed to be mowed, then dirt farther toward the back of the property, she stayed in the perimeter of the trees and made her way closer to the fire. She heard the popping, crackling sounds she had heard this morning at Nick's church. She hoped these kids didn't start a forest fire.

Afraid to get closer, she tried to see what they were doing, when something in the flames caught her eye. She strained to see it, but wasn't close enough.

Slowly, she inched closer…closer…

It looked like rolled up carpet, and a big dark spot stained it. She hunched over and ventured out of the trees, moving closer, until she was satisfied that it was, indeed, carpet. The stain was the color of blood.

What had Jake gotten involved in?

She retreated before they spotted her and went back the way she had come, but curiosity drew her to the house. She went to one of the back windows and peered inside. She saw a dozen kids sitting on a concrete slab.

The carpet had been pulled up.

In front of them, one hip resting on a wooden stool, sat Cruz, talking as if he was the teacher and they were his pupils. His tanned face was lit up in a smile, and his expression was warm, animated, nothing like the closed expression he'd worn when he stood face-to-face with her just moments ago.

Jake sat among those on the floor, next to the tall blond, leaning into her as if the mere brush of her shoulder warranted lies and secrets.

He had it bad for her, Issie realized. At best, the girl looked merely tolerant of Jake.

Issie stood at the window for a moment, trying to sort through the barrage of images and impressions. The bonfire, the bloody carpet, the way Cruz had blocked her from coming closer, the charismatic way he spoke to the group…

What was going on?

“Hey!”

The voice behind her spun her around, and she saw one of the kids from the fire running toward her. “What are you doing? Hey!”

She took off running back along the trees, back out to the street. She heard the screen door slam, heard voices yelling, heard them getting closer. She made it to her car and jumped in, quickly jabbed the key into the ignition, and screeched away before they had crossed the street.

She was over a mile away before she caught her breath and realized she might have been in danger.

She needed a drink.

Still shaking from the scare, she headed to Joe's Place.

The parking lot was full, as always, and as she walked in, the haze of smoke assaulted her. The bar didn't have the appeal that it usually held for her. The faces here were the same every night, and tonight the Cajun music grated on her nerves. Fiddles and accordions were not calming enough after a day like she'd had. She looked around for the other medics who usually showed up here around nine, but none were here yet. She went to the bar, took a stool, and looked up at Joe, the bartender.

“Where y'at?”

“Awright,” she said, returning the Cajun greeting as if it was second nature. She ordered her drink, then spun around slowly on the stool and scanned the customers. Already she'd caught the eye of several of the men across the room. There was no one here who particularly thrilled her.

R.J. Albright, one of the cops of Newpointe, sat at the end of the bar in his usual place.

“You heard anything about Nick?” he asked.

She nodded. “Saw him a little while ago.”

“How's he doing?”

“Worse than he'll admit,” she said.

Joe brought her the drink and she took a sip. Someone tapped on her shoulder, and she looked up to see one of the new electrical workers who'd come to town recently. She'd met him on a call when he'd been shocked on a job, and she had stabilized him and had rushed him to the hospital. It was amazing the number of people she met each day, and most of them never forgot her even though their faces became blurry in her memory. This guy looked better standing up than he had on a gurney, and she decided that the night had promise after all.