Erin Solomon Mysteries, Books 1 - 5

by Jen Blood

“The time has come, my friends. I know you’re here tonight for hope. You’re waitin’ on me to tell you that there’s still time for you to save your kin, to change your ways, to do all the things you been promisin’ the Lord you’d do all these years. But tonight I don’t have a message of hope. If you ain’t with us now, friends, you gotta get with the Lord this second. Now. There’s no more waitin’ on Him to come…”

  Barnel mopped his sweating brow with the back of his arm. His face was flushed. A baby cried in the back, but otherwise the tent was quiet. Barnel grabbed his mic and took a couple of steps toward the congregation, leaving his pulpit.

  “Jesus Christ himself spoke to me this week, brothers and sisters. Clear as day. Clear as I’m talkin’ to you here and now. And he told me that I am the bringer of light. That’s right—you heard me. He said, ‘Jesup T. Barnel, it’s up to you now. You gotta get this ball rollin’.’”

  I looked at Diggs, who just shook his head like the whole scene was beyond nuts. His composure made me feel marginally better; the rest of the crowd was freaking the crap out of me.

  “The clock is tickin’, brothers and sisters. Forty-eight hours: that’s all you got. At midnight this very night—just thirty minutes from right now—a series of events will start up to bring you to your very knees, right here in Justice. I don’t know what they’ll be, but I know it’s my job to see us through as best I can. Which is why after tonight, the Lord has told me it’s time for me to leave y’all for a little while.” There was a collective gasp from the crowd. A woman started crying.

  “Don’t y’all worry none, though. We’re gonna be reunited on them golden shores. And my soldiers are right here. They know their place—I’ve passed the Lord’s message on to them, and they know what they’ve gotta do. And you know what you’ve gotta do.”

  Based on the way everyone seemed to be holding their breath at once, I was guessing I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t totally clear on that, actually.

  “You’ve gotta repent,” Barnel finally clarified. “You’ve gotta hole up, protect your loved ones, and get down on your knees and pray to almighty God. Those standin’ with me know what’s what: they know who’s not worthy. Orders have been given from on high, and there will be those in this town—those among you this very night—who will be taken. And forty-eight hours from now, the final cleansing will be done. And those still standing will be taken to the Kingdom of the Lord, to live with Him for all eternity. Let me hear you say, ‘Amen.’”

  A chorus of “amen”s rose up around us. Diggs looked at me, then back at the man on the pulpit. Barnel raised his hands, and everyone fell silent once more.

  “Are you on the right side, brothers and sisters? When He passes judgment, will you be found wantin’… Or will you set at his right hand?”

  People were starting to freak out. It’s all well and good to know that Armageddon’s headed your way at some unappointed date in the near or distant future. It’s something else entirely when a crazy old preacher with a branding iron tells you the end times are kicking off at midnight, so you best be ready.

  “I think we should get out of here,” Diggs whispered to me. “I’m not getting a great vibe.”

  Didn’t have to tell me twice. The “amen”s and “hallelujah”s reached a crescendo as Diggs and I made for the exit, doing our best not to attract undue attention. As it was, we were almost home free when Barnel called after us.

  “You run, Daniel Diggins—you know which side you done landed on. You run as far as you can, but you can’t outrun the Lord. He’s comin’ for you.”

  Diggs turned back around to face the preacher. Their eyes held, and I wondered for the eighteenth time since arriving in Kentucky just exactly what in hell had happened between them. An old woman in an ankle-length green dress started singing “I’ll Fly Away.” Others joined in.

  Diggs took a step toward Barnel.

  Before he could get any farther, a sound like the cracking of a whip shattered the night. Someone screamed. Barnel’s eyes widened. A starburst of blood blossomed on his left shoulder as he fell to his knees. The big guy who’d been guarding him earlier—Brother Jimmy—dove in front of him just as a second shot rang out, hitting the younger man squarely in the chest.

  There was more screaming, even as the old woman who’d first begun resumed her song. People fled in all directions, their screams echoing through the night. Still, the old woman sang. Another woman joined in. Diggs grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the way before we were both trampled. My heart slammed against my ribcage.

  Once we were outside, I saw a red pickup that had been parked behind the tent tear across the field, spitting mud from under the tires as the driver raced for the open road. The rain came down in sheets. A couple of teenage girls in the requisite neck-to-ankle dresses ran past us. Diggs called after them.

  “Did you see who did it?” he asked.

  They were both crying, eyes wide, when they turned to answer. “No way to tell—crowd was too big, and everybody up and panicked soon as the reverend went down. The devil hisself could’ve been in there, you wouldn’t see him.”

  Within half an hour of the shooting, the cops descended—flashing lights, screaming sirens. A cold rain continued to fall, the sound of the faithful few still singing hymns clear in the distance. I could tell Diggs was torn as to whether we should stay or go, but ultimately I think curiosity won out. We walked back up to the tent as Sheriff Jennings himself arrived with Deputy Buddy on his heels.

  A pudgy guy in glasses knelt by Brother Jimmy’s lifeless body—the coroner, I assumed. A paramedic tended to Barnel’s shoulder while he prayed with a slew of his followers. Buddy Holloway strung up crime-scene tape and pushed everyone—including Reverend Barnel—back to the other side of the tent with the order that we were all to stay put until we’d left our names and contact numbers. Diggs and I chose a couple of folding chairs in the back, and waited.

  Before the sheriff could begin questioning anyone, Barnel called him over. They had a whispered confab, and then I watched as the reverend shuffled off into the night with the rest of his entourage, without so much as a backward glance.

  I thought of Barnel’s proclamation earlier about not being around for a while. It seemed to me that, if we really were facing the end times, it might be a good idea to keep tabs on him more closely than the sheriff seemed inclined.

  With Reverend Barnel now out of the way, Sheriff Jennings turned his attention to the crowd.

  For some reason, when Diggs had described the sheriff the night before, I’d pictured someone...older. And smaller. Someone vaguely inept, soft around the middle, with a poorly fitted uniform and not much going on upstairs. Barney Fife with a sheriff’s star. Instead, Harvey Jennings was Diggs’ age, and he was the closest thing I’d ever seen to a real-life Marlboro Man—minus the Stetson hat. His uniform was pressed, his hat perfectly centered, his boots shined, his jaw square. He had a full-on Burt Reynolds moustache, and stood about six foot two. If there was anything soft about him, I sure as hell wasn’t seeing it.

  “Now,” Jennings began, addressing the crowd. “I want y’all to try and stay calm. A tragedy’s happened here tonight—we all know that. But you can rest easy knowing I won’t stop till I find the evildoers that targeted the reverend and took Brother Jimmy from us.”

  I looked at Diggs, who stayed focused on Jennings, tensed and waiting.

  “I got some more deputies on their way here,” Jennings continued, “and they’re gonna ask you what you seen. I just want everybody to think good and hard on that. If there was a vehicle of any kind drivin’ away from the scene—a truck, maybe?”

  He waited, leaving the question open.

  “What the hell’s he doing?” I whispered to Diggs, as one of the teenage girls we’d seen earlier piped up.

  “There was a red truck!” she said.

  “A Tacoma,” a man shouted. At a nod from Jennings, Buddy wrote it down.

  Diggs tensed beside me. “Why don’t
you just tell us what you want to hear, Harvey?” he asked. “You give us a description, we can just smile and nod.”

  Jennings strode toward us too fast, his eyes boring through Diggs. “You got something you wanna say to me, Diggins?”

  Diggs didn’t move, gazing up at Jennings with a slow, cold smile. “I heard you found Jesus, Harvey,” he said. “I’ll be sure and tell Sarah the next time I talk to her.”

  Jennings went full-on puce. Buddy grabbed his arm. “We got something,” he said to the sheriff, lowering his voice—though not enough that I couldn’t make out that they’d found the murder weapon, discarded out in the field. Jennings returned to us before he and Buddy left for whatever their next move was.

  “You seen your nephew here tonight?” Jennings asked.

  “No,” Diggs said shortly.

  “I heard tell y’all fought with the reverend today. Out to Wyatt’s funeral.”

  “Danny didn’t have anything to do with that,” Diggs said. “That was all me.”

  “That boy’s got a temper,” Jennings said. “Everybody in town knows it. More than one person heard him threaten the reverend today. I got a mind to go on out there myself right now and see what he’s been up to tonight.”

  Diggs stood. He was a good two inches shorter than Jennings, but he was broader, and based on what I’d glimpsed when he’d taken his shirt off this afternoon, he hadn’t been idle these past six months: he had muscles on his muscles, his chest and arms more defined than I’d ever seen. It seemed I wasn’t the only one preparing for battle while we’d been apart. Bottom line? I wouldn’t bet against him if it came down to a fight between him and Jennings.

  “Mae buried her husband today,” Diggs said. “Half the vehicles on the road here are red trucks—you go out there tonight without reasonable cause and I’ll make it my life’s work to pry that badge out of your cold dead hand.”

  A vein throbbed in Jennings’ forehead. “A great man was gunned down like a dog tonight. I don’t care who they buried today—if Danny had somethin’ to do with this, I’m taking that boy down. You just stay out of my way and let me do my job.”

  “I might if you had the first clue how to do it—”

  Buddy called the sheriff again, abruptly ending the pissing contest between him and Diggs. When Jennings was gone, Diggs sat back down. His body was humming, anger coming off him in waves.

  I shook my head. “I never thought I’d be the one telling you this, but your interpersonal skills could use some work.”

  “Bite me.”

  “I rest my case.”

  When we got to the car, Diggs blasted the heat and pointed us back toward the Durham homestead. He hadn’t spoken since we’d left Jennings at the tent.

  “You don’t think Danny had anything to do with this, do you?” I finally asked, breaking the silence.

  “Of course not. Jennings was just trying to piss me off—he knew that would do the trick. Every idiot and their brother has a red truck around here. Trust me, that’s the last thing I’m worried about right now.”

  I let it go. There was still a long line of cars parked along the side of the road, barely visible in the darkness. In the rearview, I saw one of them pull out just seconds after we had. It U-turned after us and was soon no more than a car length behind.

  As we passed by the flashing lights, I checked behind us again. My heart sank like a stone. The same dark blue sedan I’d spotted on the way to the funeral was back.

  Diggs caught my reaction, glancing behind us at the same time.

  I thought once more of the scenes I’d flashed back to when we were in the tent: baptisms and prayer meetings, my father on his knees, women crying, a child screaming… All of it part of the Payson Church and the mystery of my own past. My theory had been that the Paysons were innocent victims, murdered for reasons I still didn’t understand by a nameless man in a hooded cloak who visited my darkest dreams on a nightly basis—a man I’d hoped to see the last of when I told him I’d stop asking questions if he would just let Diggs live.

  I’d known then that it was too easy. He’d be back.

  “Do you think it’s him?” I asked.

  Diggs didn’t answer, but I had no doubt he knew exactly who I was talking about. I waited for him to hit the accelerator—to keep moving, as fast and as far as we could go.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “I think you’re a liar,” I said. “He’s the one who’s been following us since we got here, and you know it. With you and me here together, he thinks I’m digging into my father’s past again…”

  I hated the weakness in my voice—that little shred of panic I couldn’t shake. My entire life, I’d been fearless, willing to take on anyone, anything, for the truth. For the sake of the almighty story. That had changed last summer, with Diggs by my side while we ran for our lives. I felt the same cold dread that had all but paralyzed me for the first two months out of the hospital after our escape.

  “It might not be him,” Diggs said. He’d never sounded less convincing.

  He drove for another two minutes before he glanced at me, muttered “Screw it” under his breath, and slowed down. The car behind us got closer.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  His eyes were steady on the road. “If it’s him, I’m not running. And neither are you. I’m done.” He hit the brake, hard, and jerked the wheel to the left.

  Whoever was following barely avoided hitting us.

  Diggs got out and slammed the door, striding toward our pursuer. If I hadn’t been so pissed, I would have been terrified. As it was, though, Diggs seemed to have annoyed the fear right out of me. I bolted from the car and ran after him.

  A man stood outside the driver’s side when we got there, waiting for us. He wore blue jeans and a yellow rain slicker. His hood was up, but rain still tracked down his thin face. I recognized him immediately—the same man who had chased me on a burning island when I was ten years old. The same man who had saved Diggs’ and my life the summer before. The man who threatened to murder Diggs, if I ever asked another question about my father’s past.

  The man from my nightmares.

  He smiled when he saw me. We stood close enough that I could see details I’d never noticed before: blue eyes; laugh lines; a scar above his left eyebrow. He didn’t look like a man who’d killed men, women, and children in droves over the years.

  “We meet again, Ms. Solomon,” he said pleasantly.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “This thing with Barnel—”

  “Is quite a spectacle, isn’t it?” he said. “But I’m more interested in the reunion between you and Mr. Diggins at the moment. Heartwarming, you two together again. I also wanted to remind you of our terms, lest you’ve forgotten.”

  “You didn’t need to do that,” I said. My mouth had gone dry. “I haven’t told anyone what happened last summer. I gave up looking for my father. Trust me, I remember the terms.”

  “Do you?” he asked, looking directly at Diggs. “Because I feel as though I was very fair. Very clear. There won’t be another pass like the one I gave you in Black Falls. We can’t allow that.”

  “We haven’t done anything,” I insisted, fighting a surge of temper. “I haven’t even seen him in six months, for Christ’s sake. And when the funeral’s over, we’ll go our separate ways again. He’s not a threat. Neither of us is.”

  The man looked at me. For a second, it seemed there was genuine sadness in his eyes. “I do hope that’s true.”

  We were still in the road, in the rain, in the middle of the night. The hooded man surveyed the scene before he turned his attention back to me.

  “I should be going. But if you don’t mind a friendly word of advice: This isn’t a good place to be right now. Jesup Barnel had some...unusual ideas about the world. He’s set some things in motion that won’t be good for this town. Or anyone in it.”

  He started to walk away. I’ve never been one to run for a fight, but this one tim
e, I was okay with letting him go. Backing off. Anything to avoid a repeat of the horror show Diggs and I had barely survived the summer before.

  Diggs wasn’t as amenable, unfortunately.

  The hooded man managed maybe three steps before Diggs caught hold of his arm.

  “You think you hold all the cards right now,” he said, “but that won’t always be true. This isn’t over.”

  The man stared at him coolly, his eyes locked on the spot on his arm where Diggs’ hand rested. And then, in a fast-forward blur usually reserved for superheroes or sparkly vampires, the man took Diggs’ wrist and twisted, forcing him to his knees.

  “I hope you’re wrong about that,” the man said. He stood above Diggs, his eyes suddenly dark. “I truly do.”

  He let Diggs go without another word, got into his car, backed up, and drove away.

  I was too pissed to speak when we got back in the car. Diggs glanced at me.

  “You should call Juarez and see if he can use his resources to get some info on that blue sedan. I’ve got the plate number.”

  “Isn’t that the exact opposite of what we’re supposed to be doing?” I asked. My voice was tight, but it was nothing compared with the way my body felt. “Maybe you didn’t get what he was telling us.”

  “No,” Diggs said, his own voice just as tight. “I was the one on my knees, remember? Trust me, I got it. How much have you told Juarez about what went down last summer?”

  I stared out the window. I was caught back in the woods of Maine again—standing at the lip of a cave while Diggs lay down below, bleeding, a lunatic standing over him with a very big knife.

  “I never told him anything,” I said. “They’ll go after him if I do. You already know everything—the best I could do for you was walk away. The best I can do for anyone else is keep my mouth shut.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out, then,” Diggs said. There was no mistaking the bitterness in his tone. I chose to ignore it.

  He glanced at me periodically during the rest of the drive, his forehead furrowed with concern or frustration or outright anger. I paid very little attention, too busy checking behind us for some sign that my worst nightmare was about to come true.