Bogeyman

by Gayle Wilson

  There were few others she recognized. Even Ruth had declined her invitation to accompany her, and neither her grandmother nor any of her friends would voluntarily miss a funeral. This one, of course, had been placed beyond the pale, not only by its location, but by the reputation of the deceased.

  As the man Blythe assumed must be the minister, simply because he was wearing a suit, walked to the front of the church, Cade Jackson passed her along the aisle, slipping into the pew directly in front of hers. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch his shoulder, concentrating instead on the man now standing before the small crowd.

  His graying hair had been swept straight back from his round, florid face and was long enough to curl against the collar of his blue-gray polyester jacket. Under that he wore a dark blue shirt and paisley tie, a combination that had come straight from the eighties.

  He began the service by reading from the Bible he held open in front of him him. His hands gave an appearance of strength at odds with his age.

  Blythe didn’t recognize the passage, which seemed inappropriate for the situation. As did his delivery, more suited to a fire-and-brimstone sermon than a funeral. After a moment, despite her good intentions, her eyes focused again on the man sitting in the row in front of her.

  It was the first time she’d seen Cade in dress clothes. The navy wool blazer he wore emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. His hair, so dark in contrast to the collar of the white oxford-cloth dress shirt, displayed a tendency to curl she’d never noticed before.

  Slightly disconcerted by her slavish attention to every detail of his appearance, she forced her thoughts back to the service. The minister was in the act of closing the Bible, which he then laid on the front pew. When he straightened, he launched into what should have been, given the situation, a eulogy.

  “You all knew Brother Abel. You know what he suffered in this life. How he was condemned by many in this community for the death of his daughter. How he was as much a victim of those that took her precious life as little Sarah was. And now, praise God, he’ll finally get to see her again. He’ll be able to press her to his bosom and feel her loving arms close around his neck.”

  Considering the accusations of long-standing sexual abuse that had been levied against Comstock, the words seemed even less appropriate than the scripture choice had been. They were greeted, however, by a murmur of amens from the congregation.

  “And those who caused their suffering,” the minister went on, warming to his theme, “those whose perversions demanded the sacrifice of that sweet innocent, may they, like the rich man whose crumbs sustained Lazarus, look across that vast void between heaven and the earthly hell they created for themselves to watch Abel and Sarah rejoice in their reunion.”

  A stronger chorus of amens answered the rise in volume of the preacher’s voice. Suspecting those would only encourage him to continue in that vein, Blythe glanced at the former sheriff of Davis County to see how he was responding to this assessment of the crime he’d been unable to solve.

  Hoyt was sitting with his face tilted upward, as if studying the yellowed acoustic tiles that formed the ceiling of the building rather than the minister. Of course, he’d heard all this before. The devil worship and the sacrifice theory would be nothing new to him. Or to Cade, she realized, her eyes refocusing on the back of that dark, well-shaped head.

  Had the two of them come here to pay their respects to Abel or to observe those who were attending his funeral? Did they expect the person who’d shot Comstock and butchered Sarah to show up here today? A tradition like the murderer revisiting the scene of the crime? Was that what had happened the afternoon Abel had been killed?

  Unable to answer those questions, Blythe again tried to concentrate on the words of the minister. He was expounding on his theme, intent on exonerating his former parishioner by laying the blame on those he was convinced deserved it.

  “They took that baby’s innocence, and then they took her life. All in the service of their dark master. And to those in this town, those charged with bringing justice to little Sarah, those who couldn’t admit to the possibility of Satan’s minions living among us, I say to you that here is your proof.”

  He turned, laying his right hand on the pine casket that contained Abel’s remains. “In the same place where they stole Sarah’s life, they have claimed another sacrifice. Do you deny still the evil that lives among us? Will you tell me now, as you did then, that what took place in that forsaken place Lucifer has long claimed for his own wasn’t a sacrifice?”

  He paused, looking at Hoyt as if expecting him to answer. The former sheriff continued his concentration on the ceiling, ignoring the break in the rhetoric.

  “I told you what had happened,” the minister said, his voice lowered dramatically, “and you turned your face from the truth. I tell you now that they are still among us. They live among us, disguised as God-fearing Christians, when in fact they are anathema to Him and to all those who worship Him. Outcasts from hell, they carry on with their obscene rituals while you deliberately close your eyes to the truth.” The volume increased as he warmed to his text.

  “Abel Comstock’s blood is on your hands, just as his daughter’s was. And I tell you that for your disbelief, one day you, too, will be standing on the other side of that void, begging Brother Abel for one drop of water to quench the fire of your eternal damnation. And he will ignore your suffering as you ignored his.”

  Another smattering of amens greeted the last promise, which was almost shouted. In contrast, the following’s “Let us pray” was spoken in a normal tone, as if, done with the theatrics, the minister was ready to get back to the business at hand.

  Despite the almost universal bowing of heads among the congregation, Hoyt Lee’s face remained tilted toward the ceiling. Smiling at that show of defiance, Blythe bowed her own head, observing that Cade had done the same.

  The prayer was, thankfully, more conventional than the eulogy. The minister exhorted the Lord to welcome Abel with a “Well done, my good and faithful servant,” and committed his soul into the Almighty’s keeping. The congregation’s amens, echoing the one that closed the prayer, seemed anticlimactic.

  Blythe kept her seat as the men and women of the Holiness Brotherhood donned coats and jackets. Two by two, they filed down the narrow aisle, following the casket that the pallbearers would carry to the small cemetery adjacent to the church.

  As the minister passed, he nodded to Cade. Then he paused, his eyes focused briefly on her face. Unable to imagine what he intended, Blythe continued to look up at him.

  “If you need my services, Ms. Wyndham, any of them, they’re available to you. You don’t have to be one of this flock to call upon the name of the Lord.”

  Unsure what that was supposed to mean, Blythe murmured a thank you. The minister held her eyes a few seconds longer and then moved on.

  As soon as the last of the small procession reached the back of the church, Cade stood, turning to look at her. Belatedly she, too, got to her feet.

  “Where’s Maddie?” he asked.

  “At home with Ruth and Delores. Your deputy’s there.”

  Just as one of them had been since she’d agreed to remain in Crenshaw. That was a decision she had questioned during the last three days, but the fact that Maddie hadn’t had a nightmare since she’d made it had gone a long way toward quieting her doubts. Even the fleeting ones she’d had about leaving Maddie at home today.

  “I didn’t expect you to bring her,” Cade said. “Actually, I didn’t expect you to be here.”

  “It just seemed the right thing to do. What do you think he meant by that?” Blythe glanced back at the door through which the minister had disappeared.

  She couldn’t help but remember that long-ago gossip about exorcisms. If Abel’s minister was implying she should allow him to do something like that for Maddie, he was sicker than that bizarre eulogy had suggested.

  She turned back, but before Cade could comment on her questi
on, Hoyt came up behind him and put his hand on his shoulder.

  “So what’d you think?”

  “I think I know why I stopped going to church,” Cade said.

  “Gotta say something at a funeral, I guess. And there wasn’t much good to say about old Abel, now was there?”

  “I don’t believe the minister thinks much of your investigation into Sarah’s death, Hoyt,” Blythe said.

  She had meant to commiserate with the old man over those highly prejudicial remarks, but her statement hadn’t quite come out that way. Before she could think of something to mitigate what must have sounded like criticism, Lee smiled at her.

  “You ain’t changed a bit, girl. Still as pretty as your mama. And that’s a real compliment.”

  “I take it as such,” Blythe said, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “It’s good to see you, Hoyt. Even in these circumstances.”

  “Yeah, old Clarence ain’t liked me much since I refused to push for an indictment of the bogeyman. I’d probably have had as much luck getting one for him as I would ’a had getting one for Abel. God rest his soul.”

  Blythe couldn’t tell if the last was sarcasm. After the ambiguity of her initial comment, she decided to leave it alone, allowing an awkward silence to build between the three of them.

  “Any progress in the investigation?” Lee finally asked.

  For a second, Blythe thought he was asking about Sarah’s murder. Then she remembered Crenshaw now had a second homicide investigation underway.

  “Not yet,” Cade said. “The slug the coroner removed from the body was a .45. Most people who have handguns in this state use that caliber. All I know for certain is that the tire impressions we took on Salter Road don’t match the tires on Abel’s truck. Since I’m not even sure those are connected to the arson at the Wright house, I don’t know what that tells us.”

  “That, just like with Sarah, we ain’t got much to go on. How’s your girl?”

  Hoyt meant Maddie, Blythe realized when she saw the blue eyes focused on her face. “She’s fine. She’s with her grandmother today.”

  “And how is Ruth? Been a coon’s age since I seen her.”

  “Then you haven’t darkened the doors of First Baptist in a while,” Blythe said with a smile.

  “You got that right. And the more Clarence ranted and raved, the more I knew why. Hell, I don’t have to get up early on Sunday to be told I’m going to hell. Folks been telling me that since I was a kid.”

  “At least you’ve proved them wrong.”

  “So far,” the old man said, eyes twinkling. “So far.”

  “I take it neither of you take the good reverend’s theory seriously,” she asked.

  “Somethin’ that was going around back then,” Hoyt said. “Just not in Crenshaw.”

  “He sounded pretty convinced,” Blythe said.

  “Always was. Don’t mean there was ever anything to it.”

  “Was he ever more specific?” Cade asked.

  “Had a whole list of folks he suspected of being involved in devil worship. Most of ’em were people who didn’t show up here every time the doors were open, mostly cause they were visiting Otis’s on a right regular basis.”

  Otis Wolfe was the legendary local moonshiner. If he was still alive, like Lee, he’d be well into his sixties by now.

  “Mostly it was Clarence’s way to deflect attention from a suspect who was part of his flock. Abel’s methods of discipline were right down these folks’ alley. Spare the rod and spoil the child. I don’t doubt they encouraged him in that. Preached beating the devil out of your kids from the pulpit.”

  “You said Doc treated some of the Comstock kids for suspicious injuries.” Cade’s comment was serious as compared to Lee’s mockery.

  “A couple. Both boys. They seemed to bear the brunt of Abel’s anger when he was drinking.”

  “Either still around?” Blythe asked, wondering if those two could shed any light on what was going on now.

  “Not since they were old enough to hightail it on out of here. ’Course when their sister was killed, I talked to all of them. Including Rachel, by the way. The one that was sleeping in the bed with Sarah that night. None of them gave me any information that helped.”

  “Maybe they would now that Abel’s gone,” Cade suggested.

  “If anybody knew how to get in touch with them. Rachel’s dead, and the boys…Hell, I doubt even their daddy knew where they are.”

  “I thought they might show up for the funeral.”

  Which probably explained why Cade had come, Blythe realized. No matter what he’d said, apparently he wasn’t totally convinced of Abel’s innocence.

  “Didn’t see them. You all going out to the cemetery?” the old man asked.

  “Might as well,” Cade said. “As long as we’re here.”

  “I went to Sarah’s funeral,” Lee said. “Same reasons you’re here today. Didn’t do much good since the whole town showed up for that one.”

  “You think whoever shot Abel is going to come to his funeral?” Blythe asked.

  “It’s a possibility you can’t discount.”

  “Or count on,” Hoyt said. “But when you ain’t got nothing else…”

  “I better get out there,” Cade said.

  “I’ll walk with y’all. Don’t think I’ll join you for the burying, though. I’ve paid Abel all the respect that’s called for in his case, I reckon. I’m heading home to get out of this cold.”

  “I think I’ll do the same.” Blythe looked at Cade, almost hoping he’d ask her to stay. Of course, he had more important things to attend to.

  Like finding the person who threatened Maddie.

  “I’ll come by and check on things later on,” he said.

  “Thanks. And good luck.”

  “That’s mostly what it’s about in this business,” Hoyt Lee said. “Luck and instincts. This one…” He put his hand on Cade’s shoulder. “This one’s got a good case of both.”

  And, Blythe thought as she allowed the former sheriff to take her arm, he was going to need them.

  22

  B lythe didn’t recognize the car parked behind Delores’s when she got home. Nor did she recognize the voice she could hear coming from the kitchen as she walked down the front hall.

  She hesitated as she approached, trying to identify the person talking. Although she had intended to make up for the coffee she’d missed this morning by attending the funeral, she was reluctant to interrupt if the housekeeper was entertaining a friend. Only when she heard Maddie’s distinctive treble did she step forward, pausing again when she reached the doorway.

  None of the three people seated at Ruth’s kitchen table seemed aware of Blythe’s presence. An attractive black woman, her hair in neat cornrows, sat directly across from Maddie. They were holding hands across the scarred wood, the little girl’s pale fingers a contrast to the long, dark ones closed around them. Although Delores was seated so that she was facing the door where Blythe stood, her attention was so tightly focused on the woman talking to Maddie, she seemed unaware of anything else.

  “And she tells you things?” the stranger asked.

  “Sometimes. But…” Maddie hesitated, the colorless brows pulling together as they did when she was perplexed.

  “Sometimes what?” the younger black woman prompted, smiling encouragingly.

  “Sometimes I just know what she wants to tell me.”

  “Without words.”

  Maddie nodded. “I just know.”

  “Are you ever afraid when she talks to you?”

  Maddie shook her head. “At first…At first I didn’t understand why she was there, but…I think she’s lonely. I think she just wants a friend.”

  As Blythe listened, a slow chill started up her spine. Her instinct was to step forward and put a stop to whatever was going on. It was countered by an equally strong inclination, fueled by her long frustration over not knowing what was happening, to listen. To understand at last the forces tha
t opposed the return to normality she so desperately wanted. Torn by those conflicting considerations, she must have made some sound or movement.

  The housekeeper’s eyes came up to find her hovering in the doorway. “Miz Blythe, this ain’t what you’re thinking.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Mama.” Maddie freed her hands and jumped down from the kitchen chair to throw herself against Blythe’s legs.

  She put her hand around the back of the little girl’s head, pressing her to her body. After a moment the child stepped back to look up into her face.

  Blythe could find no trace of fear or anxiety in the child’s eyes. Clearly Maddie had been glad to see her, but she didn’t seem to have been seeking a rescue.

  When Blythe lifted her gaze from her daughter’s face, both of the women who’d been seated at the table were standing. Delores’s hands were twisting together nervously, but the young woman to her left appeared perfectly calm.

  “What’s going on here?” Blythe asked again.

  “Miz Simmons thought that perhaps I could help your daughter. When she asked me, I told her I’d be glad to try, but there would be no guarantee, of course.” Although her accent was local, the words were clearly, almost carefully enunciated.

  “And who are you?”

  “My name’s Tewanda Hardy, Ms. Wyndham.”

  “And exactly how did Delores think you could help my daughter?”

  The dark eyes left hers to focus briefly on those of the housekeeper. Despite Delores’s obvious agitation, when they returned to Blythe’s face, their tranquility was undisturbed.

  “She said there had been some trouble. Nightmares. Even some incidents when…” For the first time the young woman’s assurance seemed to falter. After a second, she looked down at Maddie, who appeared to be listening to every word. “Incidents when Maddie had contact, even when she was awake.”

  Had contact.

  Blythe swallowed against the bile that rushed into her throat. “Contact with whom?”

  “I think you know, Ms. Wyndham,” Tewanda Hardy said softly. “I think we all know who’s trying to work through Maddie.”