Preacher Sam

by Cassondra Windwalker

  “Chelsea will let you bow out?”

  “This is more of a girl thing, I was just going to be on display for general manliness.”

  Sam snorted. “Then I guess we should definitely get you out of there. What time does the meeting start?”

  “Seven.”

  “As it happens, I may have a pressing need to see you about six-thirty. Want to meet me at LaJolla’s?”

  “Hell, yes. I’ll see you later.”

  Sam turned the key and sat in the car for a long moment. He knew he should go in. He wasn’t expected at the dinner table, exactly, but Parker and Dani would be glad to see him if he were there. Dinner was an informal affair—Dani usually had something or other on the stove, and Parker and Sam would add to it as they liked. Like most single moms Sam knew, Dani kept her pantry and refrigerator well-stocked with ingredients and snacks that could easily be thrown together into something resembling a meal. The TV was usually on, and there were no rules regarding polite conversation.

  So ambling in and making a plate would be anything but high stress, but still, Sam couldn’t bring himself to do it. Parker and Dani would both be needing him to be available to them in ways he just couldn’t right now. Somehow it was easier to stand in the face of terrible grief and try to reason his way through a murder investigation than to face the emotional quagmire that was his sister and nephew right now.

  Tomorrow morning he would be back and all in. But not tonight.

  Sam threw the car keys in his pocket and hit the sidewalk instead. He had about two and a half hours to kill before meeting Tony. It was a beautiful fall afternoon. The leaves had turned, and that was no small event in Indiana. Purples, reds, yellows, oranges, and browns stained the sky and littered the ground. A breath of cool wind had taken the humidity out of the air. Sam’s long legs ate up the sidewalk as he headed toward Broad Ripple Park.

  You never knew what you’d see there. Bicycle polo, medieval re-enactors, families, bums, bikers, runners…the park’s rolling green hills and playground and fitness equipment made it a natural magnet for city-locked citizens. Indianapolis had a fair number of impressive parks and museums, but its status as a major transportation hub meant getting on the interstate to get almost anywhere in town. Neighborhood parks were at a premium, and the Broad Ripple community did itself proud with its bars and cafes, trails and parks, its musical venues and art galleries.

  Some people found the city suffocating, but Sam liked the sensation of disappearing into the masses when joined the current of bodies. It was the commonality that appealed to him. People talked all the time about diversity, but Sam found most of the elements of so-called diversity to be disappointingly shallow. People might differ in appearance, in expression, in norms and taboos. But at their core, people were all the same.

  Mortality, thought Sam. Mortality was the great equalizer. Because of mortality, all people felt the weight of time on their back getting lighter and lighter until there was nothing holding them to the earth. Because of mortality, all people grieved, all people feared. Because of mortality, some people dared and danced and overcame. Because of mortality, art and poetry and music and science all held a sort of urgent fascination. Because of mortality, people who thought themselves irreparably divided would come together to comfort and console one another.

  So when Sam set his pace to join the bodies jostling on the city sidewalk, he saw more than just tight faces engrossed in tiny screens, more than the annoyance and arrogance and apathy lining their expressions. He saw broken hearts and lost souls, aching spirits whose questing minds sought answers to the same questions as his own. The crush another man might have found unbearable, he found affirming. They were all in the same boat. There was no good reason not to help each other row.

  The answering percussion of the earth beneath his feet, the expense of energy as he walked briskly along the arbor-shaded paths, somehow unwound the tension that had been coiling in his body. After he met with Tony, he’d walk to the gym and burn off any residual stress on the weights. One way or another, he was going to get some sleep tonight.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sam ordered the cheese enchiladas with mole sauce. Tony, unsurprisingly, went for the carne asada. Sam didn’t know if the other man ever sat down to a meal where meat wasn’t the main feature.

  Tony raised his lime-topped Corona with a lop-sided smile. “To Broad Ripple’s very own murder pastor.”

  Sam choked on his own beer. “Gee, thanks,” he said sarcastically. “To be fair, I’m not a pastor anymore, and this is only the second murder I’ve been even very remotely connected with.”

  “Details, schmetails,” Tony rejoined. “Your story is so much more interesting when I tell it. Besides, I’m pretty sure most preachers’ murder experience amounts to zip. Speaking of which, have you been telling your story to any lovely ladies yet?”

  “I’m a married man, Tony.”

  “Barely. I know you were a preacher, but you’re no priest.”

  Sam shook his head. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to talk about Melanie without this sick pain in his stomach. “I’ve been thinking about a divorce, to be honest. Not for my sake, but for hers.”

  Tony looked at him evaluatively as he dunked his tortilla chip into a bowl of green salsa. “Well, that would be a start. What does Melanie say?”

  Sam grimaced. “I haven’t said anything to her yet.”

  “Ah. You know, it’s easy to back out of something you never admit to.”

  “I know, I know. I just—I need to let her out of this limbo. I don’t want out myself, but I know this can’t go on forever.”

  “You know what I think. Punishing yourself forever accomplishes nothing. And it looks a little weird on a guy who used to talk about God’s grace and forgiveness all the time.”

  Sam knew Tony was right, but he wasn’t sure that he was punishing himself. If this driftless limbo was as close to Melanie as he could get, he was loath to give it up. Maybe he was indulging himself instead.

  That line of thinking brought him right back to the divorce papers he didn’t want to file, so he changed topics.

  “So, what does Chelsea think of all this business with Amy and Amanda? If anyone in that church knows what’s going on, it’s your wife.”

  “Right? That woman terrifies me. But—and she’d never admit it—this floored her. She was as stunned as the rest of us when we found out.”

  “Raul and Melanie have both asked me to try and help Amanda. But she won’t tell me a thing. In fact, the few things I’ve heard make her sound more guilty, not less.”

  The waitress delivered their food with a flourish and a warning not to touch the hot ceramic. Sam breathed in the cheesy, peppery aromas with a smile. A few moments of silence commenced as both men concentrated on their food.

  “So that’s what you think?” Tony eventually asked once his plate was half-empty. “That she did it?”

  “Actually, somehow, I think she definitely didn’t do it. But it’s hard to say if the truth will matter at this point. All the evidence seems to incriminate her and only her. And she’s not doing a thing to help her own defense. It’s as if she’s already resigned to prison. Which is a strange place in her head for a young mother to get to.”

  “What possible motivation could she have? You think she’s protecting somebody?”

  Sam grinned reluctantly. “You know, I was supposed to be getting information out of you, not the other way around. I thought you were my inside guy!”

  “Hey, I’m just the guy trying to escape his wife’s committee meeting. When the hens start clucking, I duck out.”

  Tony had not just missed the politically-correct memo, he’d balled it up and thrown it out the window.

  “Okay, okay. But Raul seems to think there is something weird about how Clay is handling things with the kids. I guess he sent them to stay with their grandparents. Have you heard anything about that?”

  Tony wiped his mouth and leaned back in the
booth, draining the last of his beer and setting it on the edge of the table of flamboyantly as he could. “Doesn’t seem weird to me. Chelsea and I dance circles around each other every time the in-laws offer to take the brats off our hands. And I doubt he’s in any shape to take care of them right now, anyway.”

  Sam nodded. “I agree. But Raul said Amy had been out of town right before the murder—that she’d pulled the kids out of school and gone to see her folks.”

  Tony shrugged. “That’s kind of weird, I guess, but even if she and Clay were having trouble, I still don’t see him killing her. He’s not the sort of guy that gets worked up about stuff. And why would Amanda protect him? I always felt like they tolerated each other at best.”

  The waitress swung by and replaced Tony’s empty bottle with a full one. Sam smiled and waved her away from his own glass. Too much beer before a workout would have some unpleasant unintended consequences.

  “You really are useless to me.”

  “Why are Raul and Melanie putting this on you, anyway? Wouldn’t it make more sense to hassle Ffaukes? He’s the one around these days. Or—and I realize this is way too practical—just leave it to the cops? They kind of have experience at this sort of thing.”

  Sam raised his hands. “I don’t know. I mean…as far as Raul goes, sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone who’s completely on the outs. At least I can relate to feeling like I can’t go anywhere or face anybody without gossip following me. As for Melanie, I don’t think she really knows Ffaukes.”

  Even as the words left his mouth, something in that last statement nagged at him, but he pushed the discomfort aside without examining it too closely.

  “Dude. There’s a little difference between occasionally checking out some dirty pictures and having your wife ice her best friend.”

  Sam winced. “You know it was more than that.”

  Tony shrugged. “I know I didn’t get it then, don’t get it now. I don’t see what the big deal was. But in any case, it’s not exactly murder.”

  “That’s fair. But it was embarrassing to have people talking everywhere I went, and Raul is dealing with that, too.”

  “Yeah, he hasn’t been back to church since it happened.”

  Sam thought of the clutches of well-dressed people tucked in close, mouths to ears, careful smiles plastered on painted lips. “Can’t say I blame him. If nothing else, he probably doesn’t want Tomas to hear anything.”

  “He’s kind of on his own out there. I guess it’s just as well he’s reaching out to you, even if it’s grasping at straws.”

  “Way to build me up, man.” Sam laughed without rancor. Tony was absolutely right. What could he possibly do that the police couldn’t? He didn’t even have access to all the evidence they did. Raul, Melanie, even Amanda…they needed to feel connected to their fates—to feel like they had some kind of control over what was happening. Over what had already happened that they could never change. Asking Sam for help was just a futile attempt to seize a life raft that wasn’t there. He wished it weren’t true, but the best he could hope to do here was offer come kind of comfort when the swamping tides finally receded.

  “So what now?” Tony asked, his eyes no less shrewd for the two beers he’d downed in double time.

  “I have a visit scheduled with Amanda in a couple days. I’m pretty sure she’s still not going to tell me anything. But at least I can tell Raul and Melanie I did my best. That they’ve done the best they can for Amanda, too.”

  “And don’t forget you did save me from a fate worse than death tonight. You’re not completely worthless as a human being.”

  Sam laughed as he picked up his ticket. “Try to convince Chelsea of that.”

  “Oh, hell, no. We might be friends, but we’ll never be that good of friends. My wife doesn’t hate you—she despises you. So much worse.”

  “I guess I’ll go to the gym and try to work off my broken heart over that. Or at least work off these enchiladas.”

  “Sam, men don’t work off their food. They convert it to muscle mass. Stop talking like a girl. You’re spending too much time with that sister of yours.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sam lifted the visitation phone as Amanda approached the glass. She looked worse than last time, he reflected. He imagined the realities of life behind bars had sunk in. Her dark hair was lank, her brown face pale. He hadn’t been sure how she’d respond to seeing him again, or if she’d even show up, but her eyes warmed at the sight of him.

  “Hi, Preacher,” she said on a sigh she tried too late to swallow. Sam didn’t have the heart to correct her.

  “Hi, Amanda. How are you holding up in there?”

  “Pretty well,” she lied baldly. “How is Raul? Tomas?”

  “You still haven’t seen them?”

  Her eyes glinted with unshed tears. “I can’t.”

  “Help me understand this, Amanda. Whatever has happened, whatever you did or didn’t do, I know you love your husband and your son. But you’re breaking their hearts. And that’s not like you.”

  Amanda shook her head. When she spoke, her voice was so low, Sam could hardly hear her. “I’m not strong enough, Preacher. I can’t get through this if I see them. But can you tell Raul that I love him? That I’m so sorry?”

  Sam nodded. “Of course. He asked me to tell you that he loves you too. And that—I’m quoting here—he’s fucking furious with you.”

  Incongruously, Amanda laughed a little weepily. “That sounds like Raul.”

  “Tell me how I can help you.”

  Amanda suddenly looked lost. “I don’t know. I don’t know how anyone can help me.”

  “Are you at least talking to your lawyer?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. We pled not guilty a few days ago. Now we wait for the next court date.”

  “Not guilty?”

  Color rose in her pale cheeks. “My attorney says there is a difference between moral guilt and legal guilt.”

  “Well, that’s certainly true. But what about your confession?”

  She waved a hand weakly. “He wants to get it thrown out.”

  “On what basis?”

  She shrugged. Sam floundered for a new direction. He could sense her shutting down, but then she spoke.

  “How are the kids?”

  “Amy’s kids?” Of course Amy’s kids, he scolded himself silently. “I haven’t seen them. I think they’re still with Amy’s parents. I don’t know if they’re going to enroll them in school there or if they’ll be coming home soon enough they don’t have to worry about that.”

  “No. They have to enroll in school there.” Amy spoke flatly, almost involuntarily. Sam’s eyes narrowed.

  “Here’s what I don’t understand, Amanda. Walk me through this. If you didn’t kill Amy, then you’re protecting whoever did. Which makes no sense, because Amy was your best friend. And the only other person who would otherwise be a prime suspect, is a man everyone knows you barely tolerate. So he can’t be the one you’re protecting.”

  Something suspiciously like anger flashed in Amanda’s eyes, and her knuckles tightened on the phone. “I am not protecting Clay,” she gritted.

  “Does Clay need protecting?” Sam pushed.

  “I am not protecting Clay,” Amanda repeated stubbornly.

  “Then who are you protecting?”

  “Jesus said we have to take up our cross and follow Him. This is my cross, Preacher. Don’t try to take it from me.”

  “Jesus also said that His yoke is light and easy to bear, Amanda. There’s nothing light about this yoke on your neck. I can’t believe that Jesus wants you to be buried under a weight not your own.”

  “Please don’t make this harder than it already is. You’re the only person I can see right now, but if all you’re going to do is try to change my mind, then I can’t see you either. I don’t want to be alone in here.”

  Sam relented. “Okay. I’m sorry. What can I do to help?”

  “Tell me how Tomas is doing.�
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  “Well, I think he’s been spending a lot of time hanging out with his dad. Business still seems to be good at the shop. When I went by the other day, he looked pretty happy watching TV in his dad’s office and eating popcorn.”

  Amanda smiled bleakly. “He loves popcorn. Sometimes I just feed him popcorn, apples, and a little hard cheese for dinner. Then Raul and I can have real food that Tomas refuses to eat—like anything with flavor or color.”

  Sam laughed. “Yeah, my nephew Parker thinks grilled cheese sandwiches are gourmet fare. God forbid you add a tomato.”

  “Right? It’s amazing kids grow at all with the crap they eat. Amy –” Amanda stumbled but went on. “Amy was one of those moms who made her own baby food. Her girls think avocados are special treats. Tomas would never eat anything that green.”

  Sam thought of Dani and all the pressure parents put on themselves to meet the expectations of schools, churches, other parents, the latest parenting craze on social media….“Tomas seems like a good kid to me. I think he’ll come through the eating-crap phase just fine. And the girls’ grandparents are probably keeping them on a steady diet of fried chicken and chocolate pudding, so there’s that.”

  Sam was glad they’d switched topics as Amanda’s face brightened a little more. “Yeah, how is it that grandparents always take the opposite bent of their kids? If you’re granola, your parents are bound to be Southern-fried, but if you have an occasional indulgence, then your parents will be health nuts. It never fails.”

  “The kids probably think it’s awesome. They can play both sides against the middle, get the best of both worlds.”

  “Oh, no doubt. Nobody manipulates like a three-year-old.”

  “True enough.”

  Sam’s gaze strayed to the clock on the wall behind Amanda. Five more minutes.

  “Amanda, I brought a verse I thought might help. Can I read it to you? Then maybe we can pray together before you have to go back?”

  Bleakness winked over the desperation in Amanda’s eyes, and he had the sudden sensation that she was clutching at him with her gaze. He was worried about her, worried about her isolation, worried about the possibility of despair. Facing prison could drive people to contemplate choices they would never otherwise entertain.