Chapter 17 #3
Sarah glanced over her shoulder.
Oh, hell.
Not good.
Two news vans roared into the lot, then screeched to abrupt stops around her car.
A blond female reporter hopped out of one and hurried toward Sarah as fast as her high heels would carry her through the snow.
Before she could reach Sarah, another, this one male, also blond but no heels, sprinted from the second van.
“Sarah, what’s your assessment of the situation here in Youngstown?” This from the female.
Sarah held up her warm, gloved hands. “I have no comment.”
“Come on, Sarah,” the male reporter said as he elbowed his way in next to Conner. “You must have some conclusions. All we need is one sound bite.”
“You’ve been here more than twenty-four hours,” the female urged. “Our viewers would love to hear anything you’ve learned.”
Cameramen, equipment directed on Sarah, crowded up behind their respective reporters.
The sound of more vehicles arriving had Sarah’s attention swinging back to the entrance of the parking lot she’d thought was a secluded spot no one would notice. Another news crew in an SUV and one of Youngstown’s official police cruisers. This just got better and better.
“Back off.”
Sarah turned back to Conner, who was ready to exchange knuckle imprints with one of the cameramen.
“Sarah!” The blond guy. “Do you think there’s any merit in the curse that has folks in Youngstown shaking in their snow boots?”
Cute. “If you knew me,” she said, cutting him a look that let him know how inept she considered his propaganda hype tactic, “you would know the answer to that question without having to ask.”
“Did you lead the local police to the truth, Sarah? We all know your debunking reputation. You knew there was no hocus-pocus going on here before you came. Did you help the police understand what they are really dealing with?”
“The evidence led the Youngstown authorities to their conclusions,” Sarah answered. “I’m only an observer.”
“No ghosts in the mist, Sarah?” the newest reporter to join the fray shouted.
Whatever possessed her at that moment, Sarah couldn’t name. “No ghosts,” she said to the reporter. “Just the devil.”
The realization of what she’d said sank in instantly. Her words fueled the frenzy.
Sarah held up her hands stop-sign fashion. “That’s it. No more questions.”
“Is it true,” blond boy persisted, “that you bribed a morgue tech for copies of the crime-scene photos?”
Conner jerked her car door open. “Get in. I’ll take care of this.”
Was that fury throbbing in his rock-hard jaw?
Sarah didn’t waste time mulling over the idea. She scooted behind the wheel, dug out her fob and tossed it on the passenger seat, and started the car.
With Deputy Karen Brighton’s assistance, Conner cleared a path for Sarah to drive away.
Okay, so now he’d rescued her twice.
That earned him a second chance. Maybe he hadn’t known about the press conference. It could have happened just as he said.
She slowed at the inn, got a glimpse of a news van in the parking lot, and opted not to turn up the drive. She decided to pay the minister a visit first.
Five minutes later she was still driving around.
Where was that church? She’d passed it at some point since her arrival.
Taking a right onto Central Street, she followed it until it intersected with High.
The church with its soaring steeple sat in the pie-shaped spot carved out of the community by the angled intersection of Central and High Streets.
The house nestled next to the church, she assumed, was the minister’s home.
Only one way to find out.
She parked in the church lot and took her time strolling toward the house next door. The parking area as well as the nearby sidewalks had been cleared of snow. Proud stained-glass windows flanked the church’s double-entry doors. The church looked about as old as everything else around here.
The house, too. Cedar-shake siding, and six-over-six windows.
Two wide steps up put her on the stoop. She pressed the doorbell and waited. A car sat beneath a carport at the side of the house. Hopefully someone was home.
The door opened and a teenage girl peeked out. “May I help you?”
Brown hair and eyes. A little plump. Dressed in the expected preacher’s-daughter attire. Loose-fitting jeans and a bulky sweater.
“Hello.” Sarah produced that pleasant smile folks expected. “I’m Sarah Newton, and I’m here to see Father Mahaney. Are you his daughter?”
“No, I’m his niece.” The girl blinked, seemed to consider her options, then opened the door wide. “Come in. I’ll let my aunt know there’s a visitor.”
At least Sarah was through the door.
“Wait here, please.” The girl gestured to the sofa.
“Thank you.”
As the girl walked away, Sarah took in the decorating. Simple. Wood floors, the occasional colorful rug, subtle blue flowers in the wallpaper. Fireplace blazed, making the room overly warm. Homey.
“How can I help you, Ms. Newton?”
Sarah turned to the woman who’d entered the room. Middle-aged. Same brown hair as the niece except sprinkled with gray. Different eyes. More green than brown. That she wore gloves indoors seemed odd.
“I’m here to see Father Mahaney.” Sarah thrust out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Deborah Mahaney.”
The woman barely touched Sarah’s hand, but even for that fleeting moment Sarah felt the gnarled digits hidden by the gloves. Arthritis?
“I’m sorry,” Deborah said without the slightest remorse, “but the reverend is out visiting an ill member of our congregation. Is there something I can help you with?”
Father, reverend, whatever. Sarah could never keep up with that stuff. “Actually, you might be able to.” Sarah paused, expecting the invitation to sit. Didn’t come. “I was hoping to learn a little more about Valerie Gerard.”
The lockdown couldn’t have been any plainer if the reverend’s wife had closed her eyes and taped her mouth shut. “What would you like to know?”
In her peripheral vision, Sarah got a glimpse of the niece peeking around the doorframe leading into the hall.
“It’s my understanding,” Sarah said, refocusing her interest on the wife, “that until about a year ago, Valerie was a long-standing member of your church. Can you tell me what happened that prompted her to leave?”
“Every congregation suffers losses, Ms. Newton. Now and then one loses faith and falls away, lured by the sins of this old world, I’m afraid.”
Sarah paid particular attention to her eyes now. “Is that what happened to Valerie?”
A glance to the right, then a blink. “It’s difficult to say.
The reverend urged her to cling to her faith, but sometimes the best counseling and most earnest prayers aren’t in alignment with God’s intentions.
Our view is limited, and we must rely on His.
He always has His reasons, and ours is not to question why. ”
As expected. One of those. “So nothing happened in church,” Sarah redirected. “Maybe with one of the other members or with the reverend?”
Deborah’s eyes widened a fraction. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Sarah gave a little shrug. “You know. A falling-out or a misunderstanding of some sort. Things happen. People react.”
“I’m certain there was nothing like that.”
Emotionless. Her voice was dull, monotone. The self-righteousness she’d exhibited when Sarah first arrived was gone and replaced by absolutely nothing.
“That’s strange,” Sarah said, deciding to interject doubt. “Several people have mentioned that there was a falling-out. Maybe it was just a rumor.” She let the possibility dangle.
“I’ll let the reverend know you wish to speak with him about this.” Deborah moved toward the door. “I’m sure he can answer your questions better than I can.”
Definitely a falling-out, not a rumor. Sarah hesitated at leaving, looked the wife in the eyes to garner the most impact.
“It’s very important that any and all aspects of Valerie’s life be analyzed to get to the bottom of why she was murdered.
The smallest thing could turn out to be immensely important. ”
“I’ll have the reverend call the inn to make an appointment with you.”
“Thank you.”
Again Sarah delayed making the exit the woman wanted so desperately for her to make.
“Someone who knew Valerie did this,” Sarah reminded her.
“The reverend probably knows the folks who were most closely associated with her. Perhaps even those her family didn’t know about.
Young girls have secrets.” Sarah smiled.
“As a spiritual leader in the community, your husband keeps lots of secrets, I’m sure. ”
The flames of hell couldn’t have thawed the icy stare Sarah got for that remark.
“Have a nice evening, Ms. Newton.”
The door closed promptly behind her.
Sarah walked back to her car, got in and started the engine. As she backed out of the driveway, she glimpsed the front-window curtain falling back into place. Confirming she was leaving, was she?
Some would call Sarah’s tactics unconscionable. But that was the way this game was played. She planted the doubts and suspicions and then the reactions began. Just like tipping that first domino. All the rest were helpless to do anything but fall.
Sarah checked the street, started to back out, but a figure standing at the church doors drew her attention there.
Brown hair, bulky sweater. The niece.
She waved timidly to Sarah.
Sarah glanced at the house before pulling deeper into the church parking lot and getting out once more.
Once her car was hidden from view by the church, she climbed out.
“Hi.” Sarah presented a wide, friendly smile.
“I didn’t catch your name.” She didn’t rush toward the steps where the girl waited, didn’t want to startle her.
“Tamara.” The girl glanced toward the corner of the church as if she expected her aunt to appear, then she settled a wide-eyed gaze on Sarah’s. “My aunt didn’t tell you the truth.”
“About what?” Sarah asked carefully. Don’t lead. Even if anticipation was sending her pulse into overdrive. Let the girl tell her story.
“Valerie left the congregation because of something my uncle did.”
Sarah kept her expression schooled. “What did he do?”
Tamara bit her lip, looked toward the corner of the building again. “The same thing he did to me.”
Disgust welled in Sarah’s chest. “Can you be more specific?” She knew what the girl meant, but she needed her to say the words.
“Tamara!”
The aunt.
The girl’s eyes widened. “I have to go!”
Sarah reached for one of her cards. “Call me and—”
Tamara rushed away before Sarah could finish.
She dropped her hand to her side and waited until she heard the front door of the house slam before going back to her car and sliding behind the wheel again.
She exited the church lot, careful to ensure she stayed out of view of the house.
No need to get the niece in trouble. If Sarah could get a chance to speak with her again, alone, she would get the rest of the story.
Not that she needed another word to figure it out.
The reverend was a perv.
Fury charged through her. Had Alicia Appleton attended the same church? That would be easy enough to verify. Why the hell hadn’t someone checked into that and, more specifically, the reverend?
Because no one in this God-fearing village would ever suspect their divine communications link of such a thing.
Sarah abruptly slowed as she passed Bay View Cemetery. Dusk had chased the sun away. Another ten, fifteen minutes and it would be completely dark.
She couldn’t shake the idea of what that reverend might be guilty of. Sure, she could be jumping to conclusions but . . .
Sarah’s foot stalled on the brake. She squinted to peer through the gloom. Couldn’t be sure of what she was seeing so she pulled to the curb and got out of the car.
Like a curious kid, she bellied up to the big old iron fence and stared through the pickets.
Her seeking gaze found its mark. The witch’s headstone.
Sarah’s heart bumped hard against her sternum.
Two crows sat on the aged headstone.
Two dozen roses: one for the Gerards, one for the Appletons.
Two crows . . .
One for Valerie Gerard . . . one for Alicia Appleton.