The Pastor’s Jezebel Lover

by Nic Saint

  The rope where Jack’s body had hung suspended was still attached to the tree limb, and a ladder had been placed against its trunk, probably to retrieve the body from the noose.

  Covered by a single blanket lay the man who had haunted her memories for years now, and when finally Burt slipped away enough to reveal Jack’s face, she winced at the sight of him.

  She hadn’t laid eyes on the man for five years, and time hadn’t been kind. Neither had death, of course, for he now looked cold and frozen, his eyes sunken in their sockets, but even beyond the blanket of death she could see that his face had been gaunt and his skin parched and wrinkled.

  Old before his years, she thought, as she nodded to Burt, indicating she recognized her ex-husband in this stone-cold corpse.

  Jack had always been one for hard living, drink, drugs and cigarettes his best friends. And women, of course. He’d always had a penchant for debauchery, though he’d hidden it well throughout their early romance. Only when they’d finally tied the knot and he’d dragged her home to his castle, had she discovered the true nature of the man she’d married.

  She hadn’t seen much of him after that, his days devoted to the business and his nights to his mistresses. The weekends were spent with his buddies, of whom he had many, and when they’d celebrated their first wedding anniversary, she realized those friends had probably seen much more of her husband than she had.

  When she confronted him with the sad facts of their married life, he’d merely snarled his dissatisfaction with her complaints, a wife having to know her place and be there when her husband needed her. When she’d dared raise her voice against him, he’d merely slammed the door in her face, and she hadn’t seen him for a whole week.

  Looking down upon the wreck that had been the handsomest man in Brookridge, she saw that he’d literally drunk himself to an early grave, and that if he hadn’t taken his own life, the bottle would have very soon.

  “Are you all right, Eileen?” a voice sounded beside her. Leaning her head against Ramon’s shoulder, she nodded.

  “I’m fine,” she murmured. “Just sad.” Seeing Jack’s face again had reminded her of all the years she’d lost, prey to a bottomless sadness that had stretched to the bone. Even now she couldn’t tell if she would ever be able to shake that terrible crippling sense of depression, and for a moment she envied Jack. He had at least had the courage to leave this life behind, and had chosen to go in search of a better place.

  Perhaps, she briefly thought, she should do the same?

  But then she felt the warmth of Ramon’s embrace, and the bone-chilling sensation dissipated, and hope stole into her heart once again. If this man could love her, perhaps so could she…

  “What does this mean for our case?” Ramon asked.

  He and Frank had distanced themselves from the horrid scene to discuss the consequences of what had just occurred, Eileen staying behind to sign the necessary papers.

  “Nothing. The case still stands, I’m afraid,” Frank replied. He turned to watch Jack’s body being put on a stretcher. “In fact, it just became a lot worse.”

  “Worse? How do you reckon that?”

  “Jack was the one who set this up, remember? Or at least that’s the assumption we’ve been working under. Now that he’s gone, there’s no way to know what happened exactly. To us, he was a valuable witness. In fact you might say he was our only lead. Now that he’s gone…” Frank raised his shoulders.

  “I can’t wrap my head around this, Frank. Why would a man like Jack Rafter commit suicide? He’s not the type. Men like him…”

  “They stick around. I know what you mean, and I agree wholeheartedly. He’s the one driving others to suicide, not himself. Too selfish and narcissistic for something as mundane and plebeian as taking his own life.” The lawyer stroked his chin thoughtfully. “No, there’s something else going on here.”

  “Murder?” ventured Ramon.

  “Could be. But who would lay a hand on Jack, huh?” He shook his head. “We’re absolutely nowhere on this, Ramon. And this setback just cost us our only good lead.”

  Ramon looked over to Eileen, as she morosely signed her name to the document Burt had thrust into her hands. She’d squared her shoulders, but it was obvious from the strained expression on her face her ex-husband’s suicide had cut deep. “Look at her, Frank. The woman has suffered so much at the hands of this man, and yet she cried for him. Real tears.”

  “Sadness or joy?” intoned Frank gruffly, then immediately seemed to regret his harsh words. “Let me take that back. She’s suffering, that much is true, but in my opinion she should be rejoicing. The man who submitted her to so much heartache is finally dead, and by his own hand no less.”

  “I don’t think she sees it quite that way. Eileen doesn’t have an evil bone in her body. She could never rejoice in the misfortune of another human being, even if he treated her as badly as Jack Rafter did.”

  “I can see now why you love her, my friend.”

  Ramon smiled. “That obvious, huh?”

  “Crystal clear to the most careless observer.” Frank’s face suddenly tightened. “And that’s why I feel I need to warn you. When I went to visit her in prison, she…”

  Ramon looked up sharply. “She what?”

  “She came on to me.”

  Chapter 22

  “What?”

  Ramon quickly looked up to see if his exclamation had drawn Eileen’s attention. It hadn’t.

  “That first time I went to visit her, just after you hired me? She practically threw herself at me, man. I mean—”

  “That’s not possible,” declared Ramon, his lips a thin strip of fury.

  “I swear. She mashed those tits of hers against me as if she was going to go down on me right there.”

  Ramon squeezed his eyes shut, as if this would drown out Frank’s voice. “She would never do such a thing.” But even as he said it, he knew it to be a lie.

  “I’m sorry. I just thought you should know.”

  “It’s fine,” he barked, but it wasn’t, and both he and Frank knew it. All the words others had spoken about Eileen came crashing into his mind. She’s a whore, they’d said. She’ll sleep with any man just to get what she wants. Look at the doctor. She almost ruined his marriage by seducing the poor man.

  Poor man my ass, he’d thought. No man can be seduced unless he wants to. Now he wasn’t so sure. He strained to throw his mind back to that first day. She’d been the one to insist they meet in the sacristy, or had it been him that had invited her? Yes, now he remembered. He’d taken pity on her, after the way those two old hags had treated her, and when she’d offered to quit the choir, he’d opted to convince her otherwise.

  And then he’d taken her into his arms. He had done that. She hadn’t thrown herself at him, had she?

  Of course, women like that had their ways—their tricks. They knew how to make a man feel pity for them and extend a helping hand, and more…

  He hated that these horrible thoughts swirled in his mind, but he couldn’t stop them. Was Eileen Stoker… a whore? Had she seduced him and used him for her own purposes? Which were… what?

  His blood ran cold as the first doubts started creeping into his mind. Had she really killed that poor woman after all? And tried to put the blame on Jack?

  His eyes swiveled back to the stretcher, now being pushed into the waiting ambulance. Had she killed her husband too?

  No. Impossible. She’d been with him all this time, hadn’t she? Of course she had. A wave of relief washed over him, and he felt deeply embarrassed for having doubted her for even one moment.

  “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” he heard himself mutter to his friend. “She must have felt lonely in there, lost, with no one to turn to. Then you came along and offered to help her and she merely wanted to express her gratitude.”

  Frank eyed him curiously. “She has a very funny way of expressing her gratitude then, buddy. I mean, she practically threw herself at me
.”

  Ramon held up his hand. “Let’s… not talk about it anymore, all right?”

  “Suit yourself. I just thought you should know before you get in over your head here.”

  Ramon cast a dubious eye at his friend. “You having second thoughts about defending her?”

  Frank sighed deeply. “Honestly? I have.” He quickly added, “But I know she’s your friend, and as long as you want me to continue I will. But only for your sake, Ramon, not for her. Let me be very clear about that.”

  “Crystal,” mumbled Ramon. So if he dropped Eileen, so would Frank. He stared over at the fragile form of his lover, the woman he’d declared his love to and to whom he had proposed marriage. Did he doubt her? To his consternation he found that he did.

  Then he decided to follow his heart, and found that deep inside, he knew he had to stand by her no matter what. His mind might throw up excuses and label her an adulteress and fraud, but in his heart he knew this not to be true. He’d seen into Eileen Stoker’s soul and knew that only goodness lived there.

  All the rest was merely talk of jealous women and jilted men.

  He regarded his friend. Had he tried to seduce Eileen and had she rejected him? That would explain a lot. No matter. He decided to talk to her about it and see what had really transpired.

  “Nothing has changed,” he announced when the silence started making Frank fidgety. “We’re still defending Eileen and we still believe firmly in her innocence.”

  Frank sighed. “If you say so, buddy.”

  “So what’s next?” He tried to sound businesslike, but knew the doubts would keep creeping back into his system. He decided to purge them once and for all by talking things through with Eileen. He owed her that much.

  “I’m going to pay a visit to some of Jack’s associates. Perhaps they can shed some light on his movements of the past couple of weeks. And if all else fails, there’s still Franklin Summers.”

  “Who?”

  “Franklin Summers. Jack’s partner. They started S&R together a couple of years ago, and made it into the number one consultancy firm in the country.”

  Ramon nodded absently. He’d heard of Franklin Summers before, of course, but had never made the link to Jack Rafter. “Let’s go together. I really want to get to the bottom of this.”

  “I think you better take care of Eileen,” said Frank softly. “After what just happened, she shouldn’t be alone.”

  Ramon stared at his friend, and the crazy notion Frank had come onto Eileen soured his mood once again. “Right. I’ll take her home and make sure she’s all right.”

  “I’ll keep you informed.”

  You better, Ramon thought as he directed his steps back to the clearing and Eileen. Though he doubted whether his friend would hit on a woman he’d so clearly declared off-limits, he still felt cold rage churn in his stomach at the thought.

  “We’re all through here, father,” declared Burt Howe. “You can take Miss Stoker home if you like.”

  Ramon took the hint. The policeman wanted them to clear out so he could investigate the scene of the crime. “Let’s go,” he said to Eileen, and they started walking back to his car.

  “Eileen? We need to talk, honey.”

  “Something’s come up?”

  Frank’s libido, Ramon thought bitterly, but waited for her to enter the car before he continued. “Frank told me something happened between you two.”

  She looked at him in confusion. “Happened? What do you mean?”

  “Frank said you tried to seduce him.”

  Chapter 23

  Frank walked up the drive to the mansion’s front door. It was rare that one was granted an audience with the likes of Franklin Summers after a mere introduction by phone.

  He’d have thought he’d need a greater scrutiny than merely mentioning his name and stating his business. But Summers’s secretary had connected him through to the big man himself, and here he was, about to meet the legend in the flesh.

  He didn’t know what to expect, exactly, but most certainly not this.

  The man opening the door was Franklin Summers himself. No butlers, no servants…

  He shook the man’s hand, acknowledging a growing sense of turmoil in his gut. Franklin Summers was a much smaller man than he’d expected, and he looked a lot older than his years. In his fifties now, the man whose hand he was pressing looked closer to seventy, a frailty about his posture that spoke of disease and decay. Remembering the pictures he’d studied on his smartphone before the interview of a lively and vital man, he was shocked at the sudden transformation.

  The hand he briefly held in his was weak and the face thin and lined, as if something was eating away at the man, aging him fast.

  “Mister Ruffalo. So kind of you to drop by the house.”

  He was ushered into a study off the entrance hall, and briefly the splendor of his surroundings etched itself on his retina. A grand hallway, atrium-style, with a staircase circling all the way up to a balconied first floor, he saw paintings lining the walls and sculptures placed around the atrium, light falling in from a skylight in the roof.

  Then he was bid to take a seat, and he took out his notes, his attention back on the issue at hand.

  “I, ahm, take it you’ve heard about the unfortunate demise of your associate Jack Rafter, sir?”

  The other man merely nodded, his face displaying no emotion.

  “Then perhaps you also know that Mr Rafter was engaged in litigation regarding his ex-wife Miss Eileen Stoker. It seems he accused Miss Stoker of several crimes, amongst which—”

  Summers waved a deprecating hand. “I know all that, Mr Ruffalo. Your point, please?”

  Frank, used to dealing with impatient clients, mentally skipped a few notes and arrived at the key question he’d come here to ask. “Do you think it’s feasible that someone other than Miss Stoker is responsible for the crimes committed, sir? As a close friend and associate of Mr Rafter, you were—are—obviously closely acquainted with both her and her husband.”

  For the first time since he’d set foot in the house, the older man smiled, his parchment face crackling at the cheeks. “I can assure you, Mr Ruffalo, that Eileen Stoker is in no way, shape of form capable of committing the crimes she’s being accused of.”

  “Oh? And how do you come to such a conclusion, sir, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  The old man rose from his seat, and walked over to the window. Frank caught a glimpse of a spruce tree, and wondered if Summers lived alone in this big house or if he had a family.

  “I know Eileen Stoker as if she were my own flesh and blood,” he croaked, and Frank was surprised at the frailty of his voice. “In fact it was me who brought them together. I’d known Jack for years, having gone into business together, and seen him flit from flower to flower, drinking deep and hard from any nectar he could find. I felt it was time for him to settle down and raise a family, hoping it would give him the stability he required.” He turned to face Frank and shook his head. “Bad call, sir. Very bad call indeed. You can’t turn a man into something he’s not. It was a lesson learned, though at the expense of a good woman.

  “Eileen Stoker.”

  “Yes. Eileen was a delicate flower when I met her, having been spiritually weather-beaten by most of the people she associated with. She worked as my secretary and I’d seen Jack develop a keen interest in her. Eileen is one of the few people in this world on whom the expression ‘heart of gold’ is still applicable.” He shrugged. “I figured she could make something of Jack. Could apply some of that rare alchemy and affect his warped soul. Of course the reverse was what happened. His deviant behavior only worsened, and Eileen was crushed by the weight of his despicable behavior.”

  “So you’re saying Eileen would never commit murder.”

  The old man whipped his head around. “Never, Mr Ruffalo, is correct. Eileen wouldn’t hurt a fly. She’s the purest soul I ever encountered and I still rue the day I ever allowed Jack to place his filthy ha
nds on her.”

  Frank sat back, puzzled by this sudden outburst. “It seems to me, sir, that you’ve developed certain… feelings for Eileen. Am I correct in that assumption?”

  If he’d expected the other to fly into a rage at this, he was mistaken. The man merely smiled serenely. “You’re quite right. I did develop certain feelings for Eileen, only not the ones you surmise. I felt like a father to that young woman. Protectiveness, not sexual attraction, is what defined our relationship.”

  Frank nodded, deciding not to believe the old coot. “So you must have been extremely disappointed when the marriage failed.”

  Summers let himself sink into his chair again. It seemed to dwarf him, which strengthened Frank’s opinion he’d been much a much bigger and stronger man before the disease—whatever it was—had eaten away at him.

  “I was not disappointed, sir. Not at all. I was pleased when Eileen finally screwed up her courage and filed for divorce.”

  “There’s some dispute about that. Jack claimed she never filed for divorce. He did, and she thwarted him.”

  The old man placed his hands together. “That’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it, sir?”

  Frank decided that it probably was, so he acknowledged by tapping his pencil on his notebook.

  “Jack loved his wife, Mr Ruffalo. As hard as it may seem to believe that simple fact, he did. In his own way, he was very fond of Eileen, and when she filed for divorce, he was both horrified and extremely upset. That’s why he did what he did. And that’s why we’re sitting here, talking to one another.”

  “I, erm, don’t understand, sir.”

  “I bet you don’t. It wasn’t Eileen’s fault that she married that monster, sir. It was mine. So I did what was necessary to ensure her release from the prison I’d condemned her to. I filed for divorce, and when Jack found out, he had a hissy fit to end all hissy fits.” A strange sound escaped the old man’s throat, and Frank thought it might be a laugh of sorts. “So, young man. Shocked, are you?”