CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE #2
A sarcastic grin came with that. Connor felt like this was going nowhere and they had a whole list of names to get through.
Connor stood. “If you remember anything useful, you call us.”
Duane scooped Gideon up again. “I’ll pray for discernment.”
“Do that,” Connor said.
Outside, Arnold shut the SUV door and started laughing.
Connor looked at him. “Why are you laughing, Arnold?”
“He said raccoons in his crawlspace like he was Job. Like it was the end of the world.”
Connor pulled away. “Don’t encourage him. On to the next one.”
The third interview took them to a roadside diner where two others, Vicki and Len Barlow, had agreed to meet. “Agreed” turned out to mean Vicki had suggested it loudly over the phone while Len had tried to resist in the background.
Vicki arrived first in a pink sweatshirt that read BLESSED AND CAFFEINATED. Len shuffled in behind her carrying a pie box and the expression of a man long past resistance.
Connor barely had time to introduce himself before Vicki leaned over the table and said, “I’ll save you time. If this is about that preacher, you’re wasting it. We’ve heard people asking questions.”
“That helps,” Connor said. “We can all go home.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Or you can answer a few questions and help us rule people out from a triple homicide?”
Vicki narrowed her eyes. “You’ve got a slick mouth for a sheriff.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Len set down the pie box. “I brought lemon meringue.”
Arnold brightened. “For us?”
Vicki swatted her husband’s arm. “No, for my sister. Don’t be soft.”
The waitress took coffee orders and lingered just long enough to enjoy that the sheriff was involved.
Connor opened his notebook. “How long have you two been attending Croft’s revivals?”
“Three counties’ worth,” Vicki said.
Len nodded. “He’s got a gift.”
“For what?” Connor asked.
Vicki answered first. “For putting steel back in people.”
Connor watched her. “And what do the people around him have a gift for?”
A snort escaped her. “Terrible parking. One of the security boys blocked me in at Greene County and I told him if he did it again, I’d key the bus.”
That’s very Christian of you, Connor thought.
Arnold looked impressed. “You actually told him that?”
“Oh, yes. I don’t shrink from nothin’ or no one.”
“I can tell,” Arnold replied.
Connor brought them back on track. “Anyone in Croft’s orbit strike you as unstable or shifty?”
“No,” Vicki said.
“Any women hang around the group more than they should?”
Vicki gave him a long look. “You asking as a cop or a man?”
“Cop.”
“Then yes. Lonely women always hover around revivals. Men, too. Everybody wants to be seen by somebody they think can fix them.”
That was the sharpest thing anybody had said all day.
Connor said, “You know Lauren Gimble, Brenda Colter, or Tara Brennan?”
The humor dimmed.
“Oh, I knew Lauren a little,” Vicki said. “So sad what happened. Pretty girl.”
“Was she the type to hook up with people at the revival?” Connor asked bluntly.
Len nearly choked on his coffee.
Vicki only folded her arms. “This county assigns people reputations by nineteen.”
“Did you ever see Lauren speaking with Croft?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. Once after a service,” Len said quietly. “She was near the platform. I remember because she had a beautiful cotton dress on and it caused a bit of a stir.”
Vicki turned to him. “In your pants or in the crowd, you old perv?”
“Calm down,” Len answered. “Nothin’ like that. I just saw others lookin’. Can’t remember who.”
The waitress returned with refills. Nobody spoke until she left.
Connor leaned in. “What did you see exactly?”
Len stared into his mug. “Not much. She was waiting in line with others. The preacher put a hand on her shoulder, prayed over her maybe. That was all.”
“Anyone else nearby?”
Len thought. “Just his entourage. But they’re always there. You should interview them.”
“We will, we’re waiting on something first.” Connor made a note.
Vicki’s tone cooled as she watched him write. “You’re still not getting what you want from us.”
“And what’s that?”
“A reason to put this whole murder business on Preacher Croft.”
“No,” Connor said. “What I want is whoever killed those women.”
For the first time, her expression slipped. Underneath the attitude sat fear.
“Then find them,” she said. “But don’t go after the preacher just because he’s easier than believing the truth.”
“What truth’s that?”
Her smile came back too fast. “That evil likes church same as anybody else.”
Outside the diner, Arnold climbed into the SUV more quietly than before.
Connor started the engine. “You’ve gone thoughtful.”
Arnold stared ahead. “That’s three interviews and we have nothing.”
“No. We have something. All of them think he’s worth protecting.”
“But over murder? Why?”
“That,” Connor said, pulling away, “is what I’m starting to wonder.”
The fourth interview took them farthest out.
Arnold had nearly suggested leaving it for morning until Connor saw the address and recognized the road.
Old mission house above Miller’s Creek, one of those places the county forgot unless a storm took a roof off.
The name attached to it was Ruth Ann Bell.
Arnold’s notes marked her as a regular who had followed Croft through at least five stops.
The house sat apart from everything.
Pines crowded close around it. Wind moved through them with a long needling sound. The porch light was already on when they came through the gate, as if someone had been watching the road.
Ruth Ann answered the door in a plain blue dress buttoned to the throat. Late forties maybe. Hair braided tight and pinned up. No jewelry. No makeup. Her face held no welcome and no fear. Just stillness.
“Sheriff Chase,” she said. “Deputy.”
Connor showed the badge anyway. “Mind if we ask you a few questions about Elias Croft?”
“You’ve already asked enough of him. I heard you near damn ran him off the road.”
Connor felt Arnold glance sideways at him.
“We’re asking you now. Three women are dead and all were connected Croft’s revival. Do you want there to be a fourth?”
Ruth Ann stepped back and let them in.
The front room had almost nothing in it. One couch. Two wooden chairs. A lamp on a side table. No television. No family photographs. Bare walls except for a framed verse from Isaiah above the mantel.
Connor remained standing. “How long have you known Croft?”
“Years.”
“Socially or through the ministry?”
“There is no difference.”
Arnold shifted.
Connor said, “Three women attended those revival meetings and ended up dead.”
“I heard. Some of the other flock called and gave me a heads-up.”
“You have any idea who might be responsible?”
“Yes.”
That sharpened everything.
Connor kept his voice even. “Who?”
“Someone the Lord will deal with.”
“I want to deal with him first. The Lord can have him later.”
Ruth Ann’s pale eyes met his. Unblinking. The kind that made silence feel deliberate.
“You arrested Preacher Croft today,” she said. “That was a sin.”
Connor ignored it. “Did you know Brenda Colter?”
“No.”
“Lauren Gimble?”
“No.”
“Tara Brennan?”
“No.”
“Did anyone in the traveling group take special interest in women at the revival?”
“I don’t concern myself with the weak places in others.”
Connor took a step closer. “Then concern yourself with this. Three women are dead. If Croft or somebody around him is dangerous, now would be a fine time to stop protecting them.”
Ruth Ann did not move.
“You think we need protecting from you,” she said. “That’s pride.”
“No,” Connor said. “I think someone in your crowd has blood on their hands. And he’s going to keep killing until he’s stopped.”
At that, the faintest smile crept in. It felt almost vindictive.
“If Elias Croft asked it,” she said, “I’d die for him. That’s all you need to know, Sheriff.”
This was sounding like much more than a simple revival.
Arnold spoke before Connor could. “What?”
Ruth Ann looked at the deputy as if he were a child interrupting adult.
“I said I’d die for him.”
Connor held her eyes. “That’s a strange thing to admit.”
“No. It’s only strange to people who don’t understand devotion.”
“You think everybody in that revival feels that way?”
Ruth Ann folded her hands. “All of his flock would.”
A small sound came from Arnold then, almost like he’d forgotten to breathe quietly.
Connor did not look away. “Flock.”
“That’s what we are.”
“You hear yourself?”
“I hear you,” Ruth Ann said. “You’re frightened because you can’t tell the difference between faith and obedience.”
Connor felt something cold settle at the base of his spine.
This was no longer a room full of lonely believers or county oddballs finding comfort under canvas. Something in the center of it had hardened past that. Maybe not in all of them, but in enough.
“Did Croft tell you to say this?” Connor asked.
“He doesn’t have to tell the faithful how to love him.”
That was enough.
Connor put his notebook away. “If you think of anything useful, you call the office.”
Ruth Ann inclined her head. “I won’t. My communication is with the Holy Spirit.”
Outside, the porch boards creaked under their boots. The sun had gone low enough to turn the pines black at the edges. Arnold walked all the way to the SUV before speaking.
“Sheriff?”
Connor opened his door.
“That lady was nuts. Can we call it a day?”
Connor looked back at the house. Ruth Ann still stood in the doorway, one hand resting lightly on the frame, not waving, not moving, just watching them leave.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “But I don’t think nuts covers it.”
Arnold followed his gaze. “What do you think it is?”
Connor got in and started the engine, but for a second, he did not put the SUV in gear.
Four interviews. Three eccentrics. One fanatic. All of them circling the same center. Protecting the same man. Speaking about him in tones that had less to do with worship than surrender.
By the time he pulled away from the ridge, one thought had begun to press harder than the rest.
This wasn’t just a religious congregation.
It was starting to look like a cult.