by Judy Clemens
“Dot’s waiting in the sanctuary. Not feeling the best. You ready?”
“Okay if I sit with them?” Casey asked Nell. “They did invite me first.”
Nell looked up at her grandfather. “Can I sit with Casey, Poppy?”
Casey didn’t think Nell was aware of the sudden tension. Vern stared at the floor, his jaw bunched.
Nell’s grandpa gazed at her for a moment before saying, “So, Vern, is there room on your bench for two more?”
Vern met his eyes, his stance softening. “Sure. Sure there is.”
Bill nodded, and the four of them moved toward the door to the sanctuary. Bill gestured for Casey to go ahead of him and Nell, and she took a bulletin from the usher, following Vern. He slipped into the very back bench, where Dottie sat in the center. She smiled up at him, and then Casey, but the smile froze when she saw the other two.
The eyes of the back half of the congregation were on them, too. Nell seemed not to notice—or care—but her grandpa moved stiffly. He sat ramrod straight, eyes forward, gazing over the top of the crowd toward the pulpit.
“What are they doing?” Dottie asked, loud enough Casey could hear. “It’s a little late, isn’t it?”
He patted her knee. “Casey brought them.”
It was actually the other way around, but Casey wasn’t going to argue with a conversation she wasn’t part of.
Dottie’s hands clenched, her fragile fingers reminiscent of a bird’s wings, which could be broken with a single touch. Her emotions were probably just as delicate after fifty years of whatever this town had done to her.
Casey hoped she wasn’t going to see a display of any of that while she sat there, trapped like a rat in a cage, in the middle of a church pew.
Chapter Twenty-one
Despite Casey’s fears, the service ended up being your typical Christian hour. Hymns, prayers, scripture, a sermon. A few things caught her attention—in good ways and bad—but mostly she let her mind wander, as well as her eyes.
Flower Pants and her friend were there, far enough forward that FP couldn’t flirt with Vern. The crabby cappuccino woman sat on the outside aisle halfway up, along with her daughter Annie and the man Casey supposed was—or wasn’t—her husband. Officer Whistler filled out the row across the aisle from Nell’s grandpa, beside Officer Austin, his hair slicked back and his cheeks rosy. Roger, freed from Vern’s cash register, snuck in during the first hymn and sat beside Dottie, which pleased Casey. Other than those few Casey could name—or at least nickname—many of Vern’s other customers were scattered throughout the room. Even Lance Victor was there, sandwiched by his parents. He spent most of the service with his eyes cast down and his neck and face red, as if assuming everyone in the church was judging him. Casey wasn’t sure how many of the congregants even cared about what he had done, but she hoped the theme of the morning—loving your neighbor—made an impression on him. She doubted it would.
Nell sat close, her boot against Casey’s sneaker, her shoulder brushing Casey’s. Casey didn’t mind. Having the trust—or admiration—of a child was something you couldn’t force. It felt…nice.
Neither Vern nor Dottie stood up during sharing time to confess their sins from forty-five years ago. Casey watched the people seated around them for any sign they were waiting for some kind of reckoning, but no one turned around or made awkward eye contact, or even seemed to be thinking about the people in Casey’s row.
Before she knew it the final hymn was being sung. Casey stood with the rest of the congregation, but as soon as the music began, Vern and Dottie gathered their things and made to leave.
“We’re heading home,” Vern whispered. “You coming?”
Casey had no desire to stick around. “Be right there.” She leaned down to Nell. “I guess we’re going. Thanks for inviting me, and sitting beside me.”
Nell frowned. “But it’s not over. And there’s Sunday School.”
“I think Mr. And Mrs. Daily need to get home so he can open the store in time for everyone who needs it. I should help him.”
“But you’re not supposed to work on Sunday.”
“But what would somebody do who needs to get gas, or forgot to buy hamburger buns for lunch? I’ll see you soon. I promise.”
“All right. Bye.” She shifted her boot away from Casey and turned toward her grandpa. Casey hoped she hadn’t irreparably damaged their new friendship. Nell looked back over her shoulder and shot Casey a grin.
Casey grinned back and excused herself as she scooted past Roger. He blinked up at her and she hesitated for a moment, wondering if he was going to be all right on his own. But then, he had gotten there on his own, so he should be able to do the reverse. She blinked back at him and exited to the lobby, past the usher.
Vern and Dottie had already left. As soon as Casey was alone in the hallway, her skin prickled. Someone was there. Something in the air felt…still. She held her breath and listened. It was too silent, as if she weren’t the only one trying to be invisible. She studied the hallway and saw it—a shadow around the corner by the front door. A big shadow.
“Beware.” Death hissed. “A foe awaits.” Death was dressed in Uma Thurman’s shiny yellow body suit from Kill Bill, one of the few movie references Casey was likely to get.
“How do you know they’re waiting for me? Maybe they’re just waiting for the service to be over.”
Death’s eyes widened. “Spidey-senses.”
Casey nodded. She had also gotten chills when she saw the shadow, and felt watched as she’d walked to church. She hadn’t been imagining things.
“Who is it?”
“No one I’ve seen before, or noticed, anyway.”
“A guy?”
“Yes. A large one.”
The shadow moved, but remained on the other side of the wall.
Casey spied another door at the far end of the hallway and trotted toward it. When she looked back, there still wasn’t anyone visible, so she hustled outside. The door spit her onto a side street. Cars were parked all along the curb, as they had been in the front.
“Back way?” Death said.
“No. I’d rather see who it is and have him in front of me when I choose, than when he chooses.”
“How right you are. It’s all about control.”
Casey rounded the corner toward the front of the church and stopped, causing Death to pass through her. She shivered.
“That’s a big-ass truck,” Death said.
Casey frowned at the vernacular, but had to agree. A rash of goosebumps raced over her skin. “Is it the truck from Beltmore? Is the guy one of the three drunks?”
Death swooped to the truck, then blew back. “Not the same license plate. If it were one of those guys, I’d recognize him. This one is different. It might not even be his truck.”
“It wasn’t here when we arrived, and we were the last to get here, other than Roger, and I can’t see him driving that.”
“Okay. So it’s probably the guy’s. What are you going to do?”
Casey strode up the front sidewalk until she could see the man through the glass front doors. He saw her, gave a start, and came out onto the steps. He was big, but definitely not Crash. This guy was in his forties, freshly shaven, wearing a crisp suit. He also didn’t reek of cheap beer.
Casey looked up at him, her arms relaxed, breath even. “You looking for me?”
He squinted toward her, the sun in his eyes. “Are you Casey Maldonado?”
“I am.”
He came down the steps. Casey backed up to leave a good ten feet between them.
He held up his hands. “I didn’t come to cause trouble.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Will Spears. I’m the Chief of Police in Beltmore.”
“Ah,” Death said. “The new guy who didn’t want to think badly of his
officers before having a chance to catch them himself. Maybe he’s starting to see what douches they are, after all.”
Casey had a hard time not glaring at Death. The Grim Reaper was not supposed to sound like a teenager. But Death was right.
Casey studied the cop. Pastor Sheila had wondered aloud what kind of chief would come to an armpit of a town like Beltmore, and had ventured a guess he was escaping some kind of scandal. Looking at him, Casey couldn’t see it. At least not on the surface. He reeked of seriousness, his mouth firm and his movements measured. But his eyes were bookended by laugh lines, and his stance respectful and watchful, but not intimidating.
He still held his hands in a non-threatening pose. His eyes wandered over the blooming bruise on her face. “I was wondering if I might have a word with you about Thursday night.”
“A word?” Death scoffed. “How about many words? I’d be glad to offer them.”
Instead of answering Casey said, “Did you follow me to church?”
“No. Although I did see you arrive. I checked at the Dailys’ home first, but you’d already gone.”
So her own Spidey-senses hadn’t deserted her. Someone had been watching. “Why didn’t you talk to me then?”
“Didn’t want to interrupt church. I figured I’d wait in the vestibule.” He checked his watch. “Can we talk now?”
“What do you want to know?”
The door behind him slapped open, and a young family burst out, the father with a tight grip on a squirming, red-faced toddler, the mother holding the hands of preschool twins.
The chief stepped to the side to avoid a collision. “Looks like church let out. Is there somewhere we could go?”
The door opened again, and more people emerged, including Flower Pants and her buddy, who gave Casey and the chief an intense study as they passed. Casey and Death stepped into the grass, letting the stream of non-Sunday School attendees make their way home.
Just when Casey thought they’d seen the last of the crowd, Officers Whistler and Austin strode out the door, laughing. They trotted down the steps and their laughter faded. Their smiles didn’t.
Whistler frowned, studying the chief’s face. Casey saw a subtle change in her demeanor, as if she clicked into work mode. “Wait. Aren’t you Chief Spears? From Beltmore?” Whistler looked from the chief to Casey and back again.
Casey raised her eyebrows, but Whistler shook her head, like I didn’t do it.
“I am,” Spears said. “And you are?”
“Officer Nance Whistler, Armstrong PD. Off-duty today.”
“Nice to meet you, Officer.”
Whistler gestured to her partner. “This is Officer Austin, our newest recruit.”
The two men shook hands.
“Everything okay?” Whistler asked.
“Yes, fine,” the chief said.
Whistler looked at Casey, who gave a little shrug.
After a few seconds of awkward silence, Whistler took a step forward. “Well, then, I guess we’ll be going. My mom’s cooking, and I invited Austin over since his folks are in Hawaii on some cruise.”
“She warned me about her mom’s cooking, though.” Austin grinned.
Casey laughed. “Bad?”
Whistler shook her head. “Horrendous. We figured we can always order pizza once she’s out of the kitchen. See you later, then? Nice to meet you, Chief.”
“And you.”
“Sir,” Austin said.
The two young officers headed toward a silver pickup. Whistler scooted behind the wheel. She hesitated, meeting Casey’s eyes, and Casey waved her on. Casey wasn’t feeling an immediate threat from Spears, partly because he was sober and his eyes held an intelligent spark, and partly because they were standing in the open on a public street.
“So,” Spears said, “about that talk we were going to have.”
“Come this way,” Casey said. “I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”
She led him to Vern’s, where she offered him one of the fresh donuts delivered that morning. Casey chose a Boston cream. The chief declined and sipped black coffee.
“He’s no fun,” Death proclaimed.
“So I got a call from Armstrong’s Chief,” Spears said.
They sat at one of the tables in the deli. Casey took a bite, hoping the chief would continue. He did.
“Chief Navarro claims my Beltmore officers are looking for you. I asked them, but they deny having made inquiries.”
Casey could see Officer Justus being firm with a denial. She didn’t have to make inquiries into Casey’s whereabouts. She had Casey’s contact information, should she want it, along with Casey’s real name. The other guys, however…
The chief took another sip, and Casey another custardy bite.
“I have the feeling,” Spears said, “that something is going on I’m not a party to.”
“Maybe he’s smarter than the rest of them.” Death sat in a third chair at the table, chin on fist, wearing a Dunkin’ Donuts outfit.
Casey wiped her mouth. “You’ve seen the police report from Thursday night?”
“I have.”
“And you realize that’s me.”
“I do. However, I also realize your contact information somehow isn’t on the police report, and Officer Justus has been tight-lipped about the incident.” His eyes again roamed over her black eye. “I was able to get her to speak with me after the call from Chief Navarro. I promised Justus I would not disclose your location to anyone else in the department until I spoke with you personally.”
“I appreciate that.”
“So, why don’t you tell me what happened Thursday? I’ve read Officer Justus’ report, but I would like to hear it from you.”
Casey set down the last few bites of her donut and licked a splotch of chocolate from her index finger. “Are you recording this?”
“No. We already have documentation written up by Officer Justus. Her work and the word of Pastor Sheila have me thinking I need to research my department and the behavior of some of its members. I’d like to make things right.”
“Believe him?” Death asked.
She did.
She carefully folded her napkin. “How are they doing?”
“The men from Thursday night?” Spears took another sip of coffee, then rested his elbows on the table. “A little sore. One has a concussion.”
“From whacking the firepit,” Death guessed.
“But really, they’re mostly mad. And frightened. Which worries me. When guys like this get scared, they do stupid things.”
“As opposed to the smart things they did Thursday?”
“Yeah. They are pretty dumb, aren’t they?”
Casey smiled. “Really dumb.”
A smile flickered on Spears’ lips, but he grew serious again. “So what happened? In your own words?”
Casey told him. She walked him through sleeping under the pavilion, the guys’ arrival on the scene, and her fight to get away. She ended with her sanctuary in the Harvest Church of the Saints, Pastor Sheila’s plea to charge the guys with assault, and Officer Justus’ professional attitude.
Chief Spears was a good listener. He asked pertinent questions, and his focus never wavered. When Casey was done, he took another sip of coffee, but made a face. “Cold.”
Casey dumped out the dregs and poured him a new cup.
“So, question,” Spears said after thanking her.
Casey anticipated the usual inquiry. “I’m just traveling through.”
“Yeah, I got that. What I want to know is how you could fight like that? Not many women—none in Beltmore, from what I know—could have defended themselves like you did.”
“Blackbelt in Hapkido.” She took a last bite of donut. “If those guys had left me alone, they wouldn’t have gotten hurt. I might have taken their ke
ys and called the cops, but I wouldn’t have…you know.”
“Kicked them in the balls?” Spears’ eyes sparkled.
“Well, yeah.” Casey let out a short laugh. “If I’d thought fast enough, I would have just run away. That’s always the best option.”
“So now things are making sense,” Death said. “About your life, I mean.”
The front door jangled. Vern strode through the deli and unlocked that door, too. “You two doing okay? Need anything?”
“You notice he didn’t inquire after my well-being,” Death grumbled. “Or even include me in the head count. But then, with Dottie’s condition, he’s terrified of me right now.”
“We’re good,” Casey said, “unless…” She looked at Spears.
“I’ve got what I need.” He held up his mug. “Thank you.”
Vern stopped by the third chair, where Death was sitting, and rested his hand on its back. He shivered, then glanced at the ceiling vent, pulling his hand away and sticking it under his other arm. He gave Casey a meaningful look, and she smiled. “I’m fine. Really.”
“All right. I’ll be up front if you need me. I open in ten minutes, but people sometimes come early. I guess that’s my own fault if I unlock the doors…” He ambled away, still talking.
Spears twisted his mug on the tablecloth, making little semi-circles. “The Beltmore guys…there are all kinds of stories about their history of assaulting women. And driving drunk. And generally being assholes. We don’t have actual documentation—”
“Because of favoritism from certain police officers.”
He rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “I’m working on that. If people like you are willing to get them in the system, we can make changes. Give them what they deserve.”
Casey searched his face for signs of weakness. She didn’t see any. She wondered what he’d done to end up in a place like Beltmore. Others had mentioned scandal, or the hint of one, anyway. She didn’t want to think that, because she liked him.
“They were here looking for me on Saturday. One of your cops, I mean.”
“He didn’t see you?”
“No.”
