“I wish I’d known her.”
“She wasn’t born fearless. It took her decades of trusting God. No one’s born fearless in the face of evil. Unless there’s something seriously wrong with them, and she was quite sane.”
I laughed.
“Look at it like this.” He set down his cup and leaned forward. “Nickle’s chess moves are limited. His favorite opening? He smiles, says something considerate—often with a twist—and then zeroes in on what he thinks your greatest vulnerabilities are. It’s how he gets you to doubt yourself and God. What he doesn’t know is that his limited moves are his Achilles’ heel, not his strength. Once you realize how limited he is, he can’t get to you in the same way again.”
“What if he knows things he shouldn’t?”
He took a slow sip of coffee. “Draper, a former client of ours, gave Lebec your business card. Then Lebec gave it to Nickle. Keep in mind that Lebec has been watching me for years and knows many details about my life. She knew your name, too, even before Draper gave her the card. She used the card as an innocent-looking way to suggest Carissa call you. My name, and yours, aren’t secrets among occultists. They talk among themselves, and they can do an internet search as well as anyone. Teagan Mae Doyle’s is hardly a common name. I’ll bet even I can find out all sorts of things about your life in one internet search.”
Not anything about that summer day eighteen years ago, I wanted to say. Not possible.
But was it possible? Could the Nickles or others go back that far? “Are you telling me the Nickles don’t have inside information?”
“No, unfortunately. I wish I were. They’re dangerous, and I’d rather you didn’t to talk to either of them again without me being there.” He took another sip, set down his cup, paused. “Did Nickle attack you at one of your greatest vulnerabilities?”
I shrugged.
“Then he said the same thing Hattie did in the Quick Mart. Am I right?”
“But like you said, an internet search or their contacts could explain that. Speaking of contacts, is that Wells officer one of yours?”
Berg let out a frustrated sigh. “I hope one of these days you’ll trust me. No, my contact is in Fort Collins, but he knew someone who knew someone else in Wells homicide.”
I took the donut bag down from the cabinet, where I’d hidden it from Nickle’s disgusting mouth, then drank the rest of my Coke while leaning against the counter, tossed the can, and tucked my laptop under my arm. “I never noticed before, but Nickle smells like moldy mothballs. It’s revolting.”
“Don’t let someone’s appearance, or smell, for that matter, sway you one way or the other. Lucifer himself was stunningly beautiful. But in Nickle’s case, if the smell fits . . .”
We were making our way back to the sanctuary, debating what to do next, when Berg heard back from Dennis Reft. I laid the donuts and laptop on my pew, and while Berg took the call, I walked to the front of the sanctuary, around the red paint, for another look at the stained-glass window.
The size of it, and the intricacy of the pattern, took my breath away. Beyond the rich, vivid colors—evident even through the gloom of the early afternoon—both Michael and the dragon were electrifying. One breath of God and they could have leapt from the glass to the sanctuary floor. Living, terrifying creatures, both of them.
Having seen many stained-glass windows in many churches, I knew this was a superior example of the craft. What puzzled me was that this craftsmanship, this art, had been installed in an obscure Methodist church in a small Colorado town. Surely the artist who created this masterwork had been in high demand.
How did the church get him? How did the church afford him?
In Berg’s pew I found the history book he’d taken from the office and started searching for information on the window. As I soon learned, the window was not original to the church but had been installed, at great expense, not to mention tricky limestone work, in 1947.
The artist, Joseph Fremont of Fort Collins, was well known and in high demand throughout the West, but at his wife’s request, he’d created Archangel Michael Defeats the Dragon for St. Michael’s. During World War II, Margaret Fremont, an army nurse, was taken prisoner by the Japanese and interned at the Santo Tomas Internment Camp in Manila. While there, she saw a mighty angel above the camp, guarding it with his sword, just prior to the nurses’ liberation in 1945. She later concluded that the angel had been Michael.
In gratitude for his wife’s vision and safety, Joseph agreed to craft the window of the aptly named St. Michael’s for only the cost of his materials.
“Reft came through on Lloyd, and he’s working on the Nickles,” Berg said, walking back into the sanctuary.
“Fantastic. Tell me about it while I fix lunch. I’m starving again.” I left the book in the sanctuary and headed to the kitchen—it was swiftly becoming my favorite room in the church, partly because of the food and partly because it was the only place in the building that felt remotely warm—and while I whipped up some leftover egg salad for sandwiches and reheated leftover soup, Berg told me his news.
“Reft talked to a parishioner who’s pretty sure she saw Lloyd six weeks ago, in Ridgway, a little northeast of Telluride.”
Finally warm, I slipped out of my coat and hung it on the chair back. “Was he skiing?”
“No. Nor was he snowshoeing or hiking a fourteener. The parishioner noted that this man, whoever it was, seemed at home there. Not like a tourist. He was standing outside a small restaurant, talking to someone she didn’t recognize. She wasn’t positive of the man’s identity because he was wearing a beard and Lloyd had always been clean-shaven, and she didn’t tell anyone she believed it was Lloyd because her husband asked her not to. Lloyd was supposed to be dead or living in a foreign country, not walking around downtown Ridgway. And by the way, I let Reft know that Lloyd was murdered a month ago, not two years ago. Seemed like a reasonable time to tell him.”
“We can’t be sure it was Lloyd in Ridgway.”
“Reft did some more digging and found out that Lloyd’s sister lives there.”
I wheeled back from the stove. “You’re joking. Do the Wells police know this?”
“If they didn’t locate her after they identified Lloyd’s body, they will soon. Reft will see to that.”
“It sounds to me like Lloyd was in hiding.”
“We don’t know how long he was there. It could’ve been one day or two years.”
“Two weeks after this sighting, Lloyd was dead. Why did he come back to Wells?”
CHAPTER 18
With half an hour to go before the sun slid behind the mountains, light finally broke through the clouds. I was taking a break outside the church, pulling the cold, fresh air into my lungs, reminding myself that another world existed beyond the one behind the cranberry doors. A world without shadows and Ray and Hattie and demons.
After asking Berg to read Joseph and Margaret Fremont’s story, I’d left him alone in the sanctuary with his history of St. Michael’s.
Had Margaret seen an angel in Manila? She’d come close to death in that internment camp, and she hadn’t tried to benefit in any way from her experience. I’d read credible stories about angels on the battlefields in both world wars. In one famous instance, angels had appeared to British forces at Mons in 1914. Survivors of that battle talked about it until their deaths, despite being told they’d suffered from a mass hallucination.
How does that work? I wondered. A mass hallucination. Were they all drinking or snorting the same hallucinogenic drug? Did they pass around a cup or a pipe as bullets flew overhead? Were they listening to the same hypnotherapist in their earbuds?
Mass hallucination, my rear. That was something unbelievers said when things got too real.
I leaned against one of the doors and shoved my hands in my coat pockets. In a few minutes, Berg and I would leave for an early dinner at Bricktown Burgers. One more dinner, one brief respite from the church. Half an hour of ordinary comforts and
lights that didn’t flicker.
Then, rather than hunker down in the sanctuary, we would explore the building.
Another look at the office, the source of yesterday’s stench, was in order. And maybe the basement. Unless we uncovered something concrete for them to cling to, the Petersons weren’t going to give us another night in their home.
I went back inside, locking the door with Berg’s new key. After our dinner, I’d chain the handles again, like I had with the other doors after the locksmith had finished.
Berg looked up from his book when I walked into the sanctuary. “Are we ready?”
“You bet. I’m beginning to like Bricktown Burgers.”
He laid the book in his pew and pushed to his feet. “We should talk to Jenna and Nicole again.”
“I wonder if either of them knew Lloyd or Meyer. I doubt it, but you never know until you ask.”
I locked the door behind us, and as we headed down the steps to my SUV, I began to think aloud. “I wonder why Lloyd came back to Wells. Something brought him back. If he was in hiding in Ridgway—”
“An assumption.”
“Yes, but if he was, then he left safety to come to a place he knew was dangerous. If he wasn’t afraid of Wells, why disappear and go to Ridgway? What lured him?”
“All good questions. I’d like to talk to Lebec again.”
I remote-clicked the Explorer’s doors open. “Maybe we should invite her over tonight for some of your apple pie.”
Berg settled into his seat, shut his door, and took out his phone.
“I was only joking.”
“She’s eager to get back inside the church and we need to know more.”
“She’s eager to dump on you and lecture me.”
“Small price to pay.”
By the time I pulled into Bricktown’s lot and parked in a space near the door, Berg had secured Lebec’s visit with only the most passing reference to his homemade pie. We were having dinner at Bricktown, he said. Meet us at the church in an hour?
Both Jenna and Nicole were working the early dinner crowd, so after Jenna took our order for burgers and fries, we told her we’d like to talk to Nicole when she had a moment. Jenna said she’d pass the message along.
Jenna waylaid Nicole near the kitchen, signaling with a thumb jab over her shoulder that she was to make a stop at our table. Nicole did not look happy.
Berg was deep in thought, slumping back in his chair by the windows, gazing out at the purple twilight. I’d never liked sunsets as much as sunrises. Sunsets were ends, not beginnings, and I preferred beginnings. I liked fresh prospects and new days unblemished by regrets. And though the view was lovely, I could think of only one thing as the night closed in: the kingdom of darkness is here.
I turned my thoughts to the Fremonts. “Did you finish Joseph and Margaret Fremont’s story?”
Berg turned from the window. “I did. Joseph Fremont was a generous man. Think of how many days of backbreaking work it took to create that window, and he didn’t charge a penny for his labor.”
“And Margaret?”
“A brave woman. Their story captured your imagination?”
“I believe she did see an angel over her internment camp.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
Jenna returned with two coffees and a message from Nicole. “She said she’ll stop by as soon as she has a sec.”
“Thank you, Jenna,” Berg said. “Have you seen the man with bad teeth today?”
I grinned.
“Nope, but Nicole might’ve. She worked lunch, I didn’t.” Suddenly perturbed looking, she put a hand on her hip. “Nicole’s quitting in two weeks. That leaves me, Sasha, and Brigit until they hire someone else.”
“Why is she quitting?” I asked. As if working a dead-end job wasn’t enough of a reason.
“She can’t stand it here—Bricktown or Wells. And I think that guy put her over the edge. She was thinking of quitting anyway. She’s sick of the weirdos. Like she says, none of them ever tip, ya know?”
“We’ve heard,” I said.
“So they’re not worth the hassle they give you. Besides, how do you move up in the world from a place like this? It’s not like we can own the restaurant one day.”
“I understand.”
“Though you never know with Nicole. She’s got ambition. She thinks she can be anything she wants to be—like she deserves to, ya know? I wish I did.”
“What would you do if you could do anything?” Berg asked.
Jenna looked away, out over the parking lot, then back to Berg. She’d never been asked such a question, I suspected, nor had she ever thought a lot about it.
“I’d leave Wells, that’s for sure. Maybe go to Denver. I think I’d like to be a graphic designer. Something creative like that. I like computers and color, you know? Maybe I could design video games. Whatever I do, I wanna be my own boss, that’s for sure.”
“You could work for a graphic designer in Denver,” Berg suggested. “Offer your services at a lower wage than others are willing to take, learn the craft, network with other designers. Good graphic designers are in high demand.”
“Yeah, they are. I could make real money.”
“It might take awhile, but I believe you could. What’s more, you’d be working at something you enjoy and were meant to do.”
“Yeah.” Jenna’s face opened up. Her eyes went wide and she began to grin, to positively beam with newfound optimism. “Yeah. Why not? I could do that. I really could.”
“You won’t know until you try,” Berg said.
“Yeah. Okay, yeah. Thanks.” She pointed in the direction of the kitchen. “Your food’s probably up. I’ll check.”
As soon as Jenna was out of earshot, I said, “You made her day.”
“She’s unhappy.”
“Everyone’s unhappy at that age. It comes with the territory.”
Berg paused to taste his coffee. “We were talking about Margaret Fremont’s angel.”
“I think she saw one exactly as she described. Stories high. But still, you know . . .” I fiddled with my napkin. “Sometimes I have doubts.”
“Our guardian angels—angels of every kind—are all around us. They’re our fellow servants, Teagan. You know that.”
“They need to make themselves less scarce, then. Like at St. Michael’s, where we need them about now. You told me you haven’t seen one, and I know I never have.”
“How do you know you haven’t?”
“Sure, the Bible says they can take on human form, but how likely is it that I’ve talked to an angel or seen one on the street? Maybe one in a million people has—one in ten million.”
“If this angel took on human form, how would you know it’s an angel?”
“Fair point. Still . . .”
“Remember Elisha’s servant? His eyes were opened so he could see the hills full of horses and chariots of fire. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said. ‘Those who are with us are more than those who are with them.’”
God, Jenna and I were more alike than I wanted to admit. Like a needy child longing for encouragement and envying someone else’s optimism, I wanted to ask him much more, but I’d asked him the same questions on our previous cases. Are we alone when we battle evil? Are angels with us? More important, is God with us?
He’d always given me the same answers—true ones, I’m sure—but like a vaccine that wouldn’t take, his cheerful expectation of supernatural help never lasted with me. Before long, I was again slogging through a bog of pessimism.
It was my old friend pessimism—same substance, different flavor—that had sealed my fate at the academy. I could’ve stayed on after failing my PAT, worked out and maybe passed a subsequent test, but I’d thrown in the towel. The universe and my body were telling me that a career in law enforcement would never be, and I agreed with the universe. So yeah, self-pity played a part too.
Jenna arrived with our meals just then, saving me from making a jerk of myself. I squirte
d a puddle of ketchup on my plate and dug into my homemade, skin-on fries.
Customers trickled in from the lot. The restaurant’s pendant lights reflected off the window glass, and in that glass I saw Nicole waiting on a family of four in a booth. If I were her, I might leave too, I thought. I rather liked Wells, but I was no longer a kid with outsized dreams, and smaller towns suited me.
“Shit.”
Berg groaned. “Teagan, really?”
“Look who’s here.”
Ray and Hattie Nickle had just exited their blue Camaro and were walking for Bricktown’s front door. A pair of withered scarecrows out for a meal.
Berg turned from the window to me. “I’m surprised it took them so long.”
CHAPTER 19
I’d wondered why Berg had told Lebec where we’d planned to eat. Clever man. He knew she’d call the Nickles, and Ray and Hattie’s arrival cinched the close connection between them and Lebec. Berg went so far as to invite the couple to join us at our table by the window. I cringed inwardly when they accepted.
What the purpose was in talking to them again I didn’t know, but in the safety, light, and warmth of Bricktown I could relax a little and observe them anew, and perhaps that was part of Berg’s plan.
“How nice to see you two again,” Hattie said as she lowered her bag of bones into the chair next to mine. “This is lovely.”
The gall of the woman. And the gall of her mothball husband. To put on this show after what they’d said to both me and Berg—and after what I’d said about knocking Ray’s teeth out. I smiled and immediately took a long drink of coffee, keeping my mouth busy and my face planted in my cup so I wouldn’t have to say something sinfully mendacious like “Nice to see you too.”
Ray sat next, across from his wife and next to poor Berg. Though at least Berg was out of the direct line of fire. I was treated to an in-you-face view of the man and his mouth.
Chasing Angels (Teagan Doyle Mysteries Book 1) Page 13
