“Did he tell you why?”
“He only said he was sorry for everything that had happened over the past few years. He promised never to treat me like that again, and asked my forgiveness. I gave it to him, of course. And tried to ask what had happened when he quit. He wouldn’t say, other than that he was glad he had quit when he had.”
“Do you remember when that was?”
“It was in 1988.”
Mentally, Cass linked the date to the year that Lenny Scarborough took possession of the book. “Did you ever learn who else was involved?”
“No. From the little he told me, I understood that it was a small group. Influential, he called it,” she said, snorting in derision. “I could never be sure, but I believe that the robe came home soiled not only with mud, but with blood on occasion.”
“And you never knew why?”
“I asked him about it, telling him I needed to use the right cleanser so the stains wouldn’t become permanent,” she smiled slyly, “but he didn’t believe that for a minute.”
“Ma’am, was John Earl ever involved?”
Mrs. Shepherd shook her head abruptly. “Mr. Shepherd valued his reputation too much to involve John Earl in anything that could damage it. He loved his son, but he also knew his weaknesses. And John Earl has many of those,” she added, sighing into her mug of tea. She lifted her eyes to Cass and Truman. “I’m afraid this hasn’t been much help.”
Cass stretched her arm across the table and grasped the older woman’s hand. “It’s been incredibly helpful, ma’am.”
“Could you, I hate to ask, but can you keep Mr. Shepherd’s name out of this investigation, whatever it is?”
“We’ll do our best,” Cass assured her, and then smiled at a rustling in the hall.
Big Momma bustled into the kitchen, cinching a robe around her tiny waist, the soft smell of baby powder trailing her. “I thought I saw that red hair reflected in the window. Come here.” The tiny woman wrapped her birdlike arms around Cass, gripping her granddaughter’s shoulders tighter than she could’ve imagined. “I heard about that business down at the courthouse today. Lord have mercy, what’s happening around here?”
Cass hugged the fragile woman gently. “This is Officer Scott Truman. He’s working the case with Mitch and me. Truman, this is my maternal grandmother. We call her Big Momma.”
Big Momma reached to squeeze Mrs. Shepherd’s hand then sat down next to the young man, peering intently into his face. “Scott Truman. You’re Bernard’s boy?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good man, Bernard. He’ll be right proud of you deciding to become a police officer.” She squinted at him. “I see your grandmother in that fair hair and those hazel eyes.”
“You know my family?”
Big Momma waved a hand. “Of course. Your grandmother made the best peach cobbler in these parts. She passed on a few years ago, didn’t she?”
Truman smiled. “Yes, ma’am. And she did make a good cobbler.”
“I never did get her recipe. Shame that. Well,” she said, standing abruptly. “I imagine you have business to tend to.” She patted Truman on the shoulder and pecked Cass on the cheek. “Come for a visit when you’ve got time, sugar.”
Cass chuckled as her grandmother hurried from the kitchen. “We’d better be going. Mrs. Shepherd, thank you for being so candid. We will do our best to keep Mr. Shepherd’s involvement quiet.”
“Thank you, dear. That was a very difficult time in our lives. I’m just grateful that they let Mr. Shepherd go the way they did.”
“What do you mean?”
“When Mr. Shepherd got home that last time, he was so relieved. I think that’s why he cried like he did. He told me that members were required to join for life. And that life meant…” She paused. “Well, life. I had the impression that he was lucky to walk away with his.”
CHAPTER 60
CASS GLANCED UP AT a movement reflected in the squad room’s windows. Night had fully fallen, only the occasional headlight sweeping around the square or the glare of a reporter’s light easing the gloom. She was sprawled at her desk, long legs kicked out to the side, one hand tangled in her mass of fiery hair. The Church of the True Believer lay open next to her, and she glanced at it occasionally as she read through the file open on her lap.
“Hey,” she called, stretching and enjoying the popping of her spine as Kado and Mitch crossed the room, cups from The Golden Gate Café in their hands. She swept some papers into a pile, clearing a space for the extra coffee Mitch carried. “Heaven,” she muttered as she lifted the lid and dumped in cartons of cream, mesmerized as the thick liquid swirled and lost its form to the rich roast. “Did you go out?”
Mitch shook his head. “Elaine called over for some coffee and Sally brought it in. Sounds like The Golden Gate’s hopping with reporters tonight.”
“She have any gossip?”
“All sorts of stupid theories going around. Satanic rituals, ultra conservative Christian sacrifices and,” he snorted, “some reporter from Shreveport suggested a terrorist got hold of Garrett and crucified him.”
A laugh tumbled from Cass’s lips. “Why on earth would a terrorist target Arcadia for that kind of thing?”
“We are in the buckle of the Bible Belt. Maybe he thought some nut was trying to scare all the good Christians around here.”
“No alien abduction theories?”
“Not yet,” Mitch grinned.
“How’s it going?” Cass asked, flashing a glance at Kado over her coffee, disturbed to again feel her stomach flutter when his gray-green eyes touched hers. His lips curved into a brief smile that disappeared into a wide yawn.
“Just sent those samples off for DNA analysis,” he answered, handing another cup to Truman and leaning against a nearby desk.
“How long will it take?”
“They’ve got a rush on it. Should be tomorrow afternoon.”
“Anything from the bandage?”
“A few more bits of leather.”
“Can you do anything with them?”
“If the DNA matches between the leather from the tree and the spit or urine, I might be able to link that leather to the tiny pieces we found on the cross and in the bandage.” Kado yawned again. “If this guy is in the system, and we get a hit, you should be able to tie him to killing Garrett.”
Mitch struggled, gave in and yawned as well. “What’re you two working on?”
“Truman’s typing up our notes from Mr. Peavey and Mrs. Shepherd.”
“Anything useful?”
“Truman?” Cass asked.
He finished tapping at the keyboard and saved the document, and then stood to stretch and join them. “Nothing much from Mr. Peavey. He did remember that his daddy had a briefcase like Lenny Scarborough’s, but didn’t know what happened to it after his father died. He let us search the house but we didn’t find anything.”
“You don’t think he’s involved?” Kado asked.
Truman glanced at Cass and shrugged. “He seemed genuinely surprised by the whole thing and only remembered that his father might’ve been involved when Cass mentioned the briefcase.”
“What about Mrs. Shepherd?”
“She gave us the same story that Angie did,” Cass answered, pausing to sip her coffee as she told them about the conversation with Mrs. Shepherd. “He had the cut on his chest, got it when he joined that group and wouldn’t tell her what happened. Only difference between Lenny and Mr. Shepherd is that Mr. Shepherd quit while he was still alive. From what we can tell by the dates in the book, the others remained members until they died.”
“Why did he quit?”
“She put her foot down. Said it was that group or her. Check your notes, Truman,” Cass said. “What did she say about the night Mr. Shepherd quit?”
“Mr. Shepherd told her that members were required to join for life, and that life meant life. She thought he was lucky to walk away with his.”
“A lifetime commitment,�
� Mitch said, considering. “Do you think John Earl’s involved?”
Cass shook her head. “No, and neither did Mrs. Shepherd. Apparently Mr. Shepherd valued his reputation too much to involve John Earl in something so elite. I tend to agree with her, but we can check it out if you want.”
Mitch finished his coffee and leaned into the desk opposite, pulling gently on his lower lip. “Let’s see what you get from Jed Salter. Are you planning to see him tomorrow?”
“As soon as the bank opens.” She yawned and stretched. “Did anybody see how Garrett ended up leaning against the war memorial this morning?”
“No. We have officers lined up to interview the breakfast crowd tomorrow morning.”
“Is Sheriff Hoffner still here?”
“He’s gone out to see Garrett’s wife and his folks.”
“Anything happen this afternoon?”
“He held another press conference.”
Cass struggled to contain a smile. “How did it go?”
“Not great,” Mitch admitted. “There’s nothing new to give them, at this point. And there’s a woman reporter from Dallas that’s giving him a hard time over the two unsolved Hispanic murders, Angie killing Lenny without being arrested, and that missing old woman.”
“How did she get hold of all that?”
He shrugged. “Must’ve heard something out on the lawn. They’ve been there all day.”
“Did you learn anything from Charlene or Mo?”
“Garrett was sleeping with Mo. She said it started sometime last spring but he ended it earlier this year.”
“Why?”
“He just told her that it was best for everybody.”
“Had Charlene found out?”
“Mo didn’t think Charlene knew, even said Garrett was afraid that she’d find out. But Charlene says she knew all along.” Cass raised her eyebrows and Mitch shrugged. “Something to do with how he smelled when he came home. I didn’t ask too much more. Both of them said Garrett started acting funny around Christmas time. Charlene said he thought somebody was watching him.”
“Who?”
“She didn’t know, but she felt that way on occasion, as well.”
“What about the money?” Truman asked.
“Charlene claims she didn’t know where it was coming from, just that she was happy to spend it. Considered it punishment for Garrett’s affair with Mo. She did say that Garrett mentioned blackmail to her once, that he had no idea how profitable it could be.”
Kado frowned. “Garrett was blackmailing someone?”
“It kinda adds up,” Mitch said, “given the unexplained cash hitting his bank account. What else could it be?”
“If he wasn’t working on the side,” Kado said slowly, “maybe that does make sense.” He ran his fingers through his curly black hair. “What if somebody knew about him and Mo? Maybe he was being blackmailed.”
Cass gasped. “The briefcase.”
Kado nodded. “That would explain why Garrett took it. And why he took the inventory of Lenny’s house from Elaine’s desk Sunday night.”
“Maybe he was being blackmailed by someone from The Church?”
Mitch frowned and pulled the diagram Bernie had drawn earlier from beneath the heavy book. “He wasn’t part of The Way? The ones who help, but aren’t part of The Church?”
Kado shrugged. “I guess he could’ve been, and might have taken the briefcase and inventory voluntarily. But it’s possible that this was simple blackmail. If somebody found out that Garrett was cheating on his wife, they could’ve used that as leverage. And if one of the goals is to limit the number of people who know about The Church, then blackmail over infidelity is pretty powerful.”
Cass yawned again, scraping the papers on her desk into folders and slotting them into her desk. “I can’t think straight. Y’all staying?”
Mitch shook his head. “We should all get some rest.” He turned toward the window as a camera’s flash pulsed blue-white. “I don’t think tomorrow’s gonna be any better.”
CHAPTER 61
THE FRONT DOOR OPENED at the sound of her wheels on the drive, and Abe’s lean form was framed against the hall light. He ambled down the porch steps and across the lawn to meet her, wrapping her in a long hug. Cass relaxed into his strong embrace, breathing deeply against his chest, grateful that she smelled no booze on him, letting weariness settle in. Abe pulled back to look at his daughter in the faint glow of the porch light. Her face was drawn and her eyes bright with fatigue.
“You all right?”
“I’m fine. You heard about Chad Garrett?”
He pulled her against his chest, cradling her head with one hand. “It’s been on the news all day.” Drawing a deep breath, he led her across the damp grass toward the house. “I guess it was pretty bad.”
“About as bad as I’ve seen,” she answered as Abe pulled the front door shut behind them.
Bruce came to meet them in the hall, heavy brow drawn in concern. He hugged her briefly. “Had any supper?” he asked.
Cass sniffed the air. “Leftovers out at Heavenly Hills. What’s that smell?”
“Made another one of Big Momma’s chocolate cakes,” he grinned. “This one didn’t fall. Come on.”
____________
SETTLED AROUND THE KITCHEN table, Cass felt the comfort of home wrap around her, easing the stress from her shoulders. The microwave dinged and Bruce served giant pieces of warm cake while Abe poured milk. At last she allowed images of Garrett’s body staked to the cross and later laid out on a cold metal table to flash through her mind, and she trembled before steadying herself. They were incongruous with the familiar room where she now sat, surrounded by people who loved her. This is what Garrett should be doing, she thought, instead of growing colder on that slab in the morgue. She shook herself mentally and watched her father and brother work.
“Where’s Harry?” she asked.
“One of the girls is sick,” Abe answered, a gentle chuckle escaping his lips.
“What’s wrong?”
“Phoebe had an upset stomach,” Bruce answered. “Sounds like Carly don’t do vomit, so Harry went over to clean up and put the girls to bed.”
“You’re joking,” Cass said. “She can’t clean up after her own kids?”
“Or won’t,” Bruce agreed, forking a mountain of cake into his mouth. He glanced at their father as he swallowed. “Saw both of Sheriff Hoffner’s press conferences today. He didn’t come across very well.”
“I didn’t see either one. What was wrong?”
“He looked nervous, and some reporter caught him off guard about your Arkansas skeleton, another unsolved murder, the Scarborough killing and some missing woman. Dug into him pretty good about whether people should feel safe here.”
“Ouch. That points at everybody on the force.”
“Yeah, but he’s the only one in front of the cameras, isn’t he?” Bruce smirked.
Cass grinned involuntarily. “He always wanted the limelight.”
“Any reporters talked to you?”
“Nope, and that’s just fine with me.”
Abe cleared his throat. “Cass, are you in any danger from whoever killed that officer?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is somebody targeting the police?”
Cass sat back in her chair, fingers dancing in the condensation on her milk glass. “I don’t think so. We know what happened to Garrett, just not who did it. There’s nothing to indicate that this is the start of something bigger.”
He nodded at her reply. “You still sleep with your gun by the bed?”
“Of course. I’ve always got it with me.”
“Did you run with it this morning?”
“No,” she answered slowly, reading the concern on her father’s face. “But I will tomorrow.”
____________
HIS HEADLIGHTS PIERCED THE curtain of night in the backyard and Mitch started as they swept across a pale form. He pulled into the carport and
cut the engine. Breathing deeply to try and force the smells of death from his lungs, he opened the pickup’s door, closed it quietly behind him, and walked across the grass to where Darla sat. She was in an Adirondack recliner, wrapped in a throw from the couch, head tilted back to drink in the night, lanky greyhound sprawled on the ground beside her.
Without looking up, she patted the empty recliner next to her. Mitch squatted and stroked the dog’s silky ears, then sat next to his wife. Her dark hair held a faint gleam and her skin was washed with alabaster moonlight. He was struck again by her beauty, by how fortunate he was to have her in his life. Taking her hand in his, he tilted his head back and gazed up at the sky.
“I hate days like today.” Darla’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. “I heard it on KOIL, around seven o’clock this morning. They didn’t say who had been hurt, or how. Just that an officer was down on the courthouse lawn.”
Mitch dug his fingers into his eye sockets, realizing that he hadn’t spoken to her at all today. “I should’ve called.”
“I got through to Elaine at about eight o’clock and she told me it was Chad Garrett.” He turned to look at her as her voice caught in her throat. “I feel so terrible.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. My God, I’m so awful,” she said, swiping at her cheeks. He looked closer and realized that her face was puffy and the tip of her nose reddened. “I was so relieved to hear somebody else’s name come out of her mouth. Anybody else’s name. I was desperate to know it wasn’t you.”
Mitch sat up and pulled his wife out of her chair and onto his lap. Her normally soft form was stiff against his chest. “I’m sorry, Darla. I can’t believe I was so stupid. It didn’t even cross my mind to call. Things were so…” He drew in a deep breath of her citrusy scent and dug his fingers into her silky hair. “It was bad. And things just moved so fast after that, I didn’t think to call.”
She pulled back to look at him, running a wrist under her nose and snuffling loudly. Her eyes blazed. “Don’t you ever do that to me again. It’s bad enough imagining what could happen every time you leave the house. But when a cop is injured, Mitch Stone, you call. You call and tell me you’re safe.”
The Devil of Light (Cass Elliot Crime Series - Book 1) Page 26
