“Can you meet me at the True Way Baptist Church in Alpharetta? I know it’s a long way from here…”
“No, that’s fine. I actually board my horse not far from there.”
“So you know it?”
“I do. But I don’t have a car. Can you pick me up?”
“No, they’re watching me. It will be all I can do to get away myself. If you can take the train or a city bus to Clairmont Road, there’s a bus there that leaves every hour for Alpharetta and goes right by the street that the church is on. It’s a bit of a walk...I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”
“Just first...I need to know…it…it was you who killed him, wasn’t it, Trish? My brother?”
There was a pause and then a heart-rending sob. “Can I tell you how it happened in person? I know you don’t owe me that but, please?”
“I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
“Thank you. God bless you, Mia. And Mia?”
“Yes, Trish?”
“Come alone.”
19
Burton sat in his car in the Starbucks parking lot, mindlessly stroking the little dog’s head. There was no reason to believe Mia was in any kind of danger. After all, what were the odds that there would be two sexual sadists running loose in her sphere of contacts?
No, Barnes was locked up, so there were no worries there.
If anything, Mia pulling this stunt was merely annoying. Why didn’t she just ask me to take her wherever it is she went off to?
But he knew the answer to that.
He looked down at the dog and sighed. “I’m crap with women, Daisy,” he said. “You should know that going in.” If he hadn’t patronized her…if he hadn’t tried to control her…if he’d just gone along with her crazy ideas and theories about Trish and Diane, he wouldn’t be sitting here in his car wondering where in the hell she’d gone off to.
Worse than that, it meant she didn’t trust him. And he’d given her every cause not to.
His phone buzzed and he nearly toppled the dog onto the floor of the car reaching for it. Glancing at the screen, he let out a sigh of disappointment.
“Jack?”
“Hey, Jess. What’s up?”
“I tried to call Mia but she’s not answering. I was wondering what time the two of you were heading back here. I need you to swing by Kroger and pick up an eggplant, if you would.”
“Sure, Jess. Will do.”
“Could you put Mia on the phone for a minute?”
Another backbreaking sigh and Burton rubbed the pain that was developing between his eyes. “She’s not here just now, Jess. She had a…private errand to run.”
“How very odd.”
“Yeah, but you know? Now that I have you on the phone, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. You told me you didn’t put a tail on Mia after Dave died.”
“That’s not a question.”
“You’re right it’s not. So I guess my question is, why did you lie to me when you said you didn’t put a tail on Mia?”
“Are you seriously asking me that?”
Here it comes, Jack thought. The time-honored parental rationale about how lying, or worse, is justified if it’s your only child’s safety at stake. He glanced out the window and saw a couple standing outside the coffee shop and, loaded down with venti coffee cups, arguing fiercely. A little less caffeine might help, he thought with a half smile.
“Look, I get it,” he said tiredly. “It’s just, I would’ve understood if you’d told me the truth.”
“I told you the truth,” Jess said heatedly. “I didn’t hire anyone to follow her.”
Jack snapped his attention back to her. “But I got a report that said the tail was picked up and the guys checked out. Said you confirmed you’d hired them.”
“Well, I didn’t. No one ever contacted me from the police.”
“You didn’t hire the tail?”
“I think that’s what I’m saying, Jack. You should learn to trust people a little more.”
Burton looked back out the window as the two people stomped off in separate directions.
Someone was following Mia.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice cracking in mounting panic. “I’ve been told that before.”
Mia found it hard to believe people really took this bus way out here. It had taken her over an hour and a half to cover the distance she normally did in thirty minutes by car. By the looks of the empty bus, most people felt the same way.
Hell, hitchhiking would’ve been faster.
She stood on Brown’s Bridge Road and watched the bus reverse and head back to Atlanta.
Talk about the end of the line, she thought. She watched the bus disappear down the road, until the silence of the rural intersection crept slowly into her consciousness. They’d passed a new housing development about two miles before her stop but since then there had been only pasture and Georgia scrub pine lining the road.
Although slightly chilled, she was grateful it was so late in the year. She wouldn’t have to worry about snakes in the tall grass and from what she could see from Brown’s Bridge, the lane that led to the church looked like it was mostly tall grass.
How do cars get back here? Or do the parish members come here by way of horse and buggy? She shivered inside her thin jacket and turned down the gravel road that she knew would wind in a serpentine path to the little clapboard church. She’d ridden by it many times—everyone who boarded horses on this side of the Chattahoochee had—although she’d never come to it from the direction of the road.
From her barn, the little church was at the end of two miles of undulating north Georgia pasture, woods and riding trails. There was even a salt lick on the far side of the structure that was a favorite stopping point for most riders and their mounts.
It was odd that Trish knew of the True Way, she thought. But then, she’s a Baptist. Maybe she just knows all the Baptist churches in the area.
Still, it was odd.
Odder still, in a way, the fact that Trish was now so ready to confess. Mia had been mulling over Trish’s phone call during her bus ride and she couldn’t shake loose the idea that Trish really didn’t sound all that guilty. She was tearful, sure, but there was something there that wasn’t right. Wasn’t real.
Although by the process of elimination if nothing else, Mia knew Dave’s killer had to be Trish. But the why in the equation eluded her. She was extremely keen to hear that answered by Trish.
As she walked, Mia heard the distinct song of some Carolina Wrens as they flitted about the treetops. When she gave up riding, her mother suggested she take up birding. At the time, the thought had seemed a very poor substitute. Today, with the sky so blue and the scent of wood smoke in the air, all Mia could think of was, what a beautiful day for a ride.
After about a quarter of a mile, the gravel gave way to hard packed red clay fringed by thick brown weeds. From this distance, Mia couldn’t yet see the steeple of the little church but she knew it wasn’t far. On her right, a weathered split rail fence started up and when she walked off the path to see why, she saw it corralled a small graveyard.
Maybe it belongs to the church? Curious, but determined not to keep Trish waiting, Mia turned away and hurried down the dirt pathway.
What am I not seeing?
Jack slammed his hand against his steering wheel and saw Daisy jump down from the passenger seat to cower on the floor.
What was she trying to tell me when I was too busy ordering her about and ignoring all her crazy ideas?
Mia thought Diane killed Dave. Or maybe Trish. She wanted to touch each of them.
But she had been right there where Diane was and a quick phone call to Diane ten minutes ago confirmed that Mia had not approached her.
So is she going after Trish?
He put the car into gear and pulled out of the coffee shop parking lot while searching his recent outgoing calls on his phone until he found her number. When he hit redial, the call was picked up on the first ring.
&nb
sp; “Yes?”
“Trish?”
“No, this is her mother. Who is this?”
“My name is Jack Burton,” he said. “Is…may I speak to Trish?”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure that will be possible,” she said.
“I assume she was released from the hospital?”
“Yes, she came home last night but…the reporters have made it impossible for anyone to come and go. Perhaps another time? You’ll understand that Trish is devastated right now.”
“Sure. I understand. Well, thanks.” Jack hung up and turned into the tidy Brookwood neighborhood where Trish and Keith Barnes lived. He didn’t need a GPS to see which house was theirs. Two news trucks were parked on their street, one practically on their lawn, and a pair of reporters stood smoking by the mailbox.
Vultures, Jack couldn’t help but think as he parked his car behind them. They turned toward him.
“Who are you?” one of the reporters asked.
“Piss off,” Jack said, walking up to the front porch. He’d never been to Barnes’ house and he was surprised to see it was an attractive unattached townhouse with a full garden in front. Trish may be an abused wife, he thought, as he glanced at the cascading mounds of impatiens that surrounded the porch, but her green thumb appeared to be intact.
He knocked on the door and waited. After a moment, he knocked again, turning to look at the reporters who were watching with interest but not approaching.
The door opened a crack and an elderly woman peered out.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
Burton couldn’t help but admire the quintessential southern woman’s manners. You might have reporters camped out in your front yard and your son-in-law might be in jail pending a charge of sexual sadism and kidnapping, but for heaven’s sakes be polite when a stranger comes to your door.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Burton said. “We just spoke on the phone. It’s very important that I speak with Trish.”
“This is not a good time, Mr. Burton,” the woman said, glancing worriedly over his shoulder at the reporters beyond.
“I understand that, Mrs…?”
“Graber,” she said. “Sheila Graber.” She opened the door wider and Burton resisted the urge to stick his foot in the doorjamb.
“I understand, Mrs. Graber. But it’s imperative I speak with her.”
“Who is it, Mama?”
Burton looked past Sheila Graber to a shadowy figure standing in the background. She appeared to be wrapped in a long blanket when she approached.
“I just need a word, Trish,” he said. “Please.”
“Let him in, Mama,” Trish said.
He was careful to control his reaction when he saw her. Both eyes were blackened and one was swollen shut. Her arm was in a sling.
“You shouldn’t be out of bed!” Sheila said, turning to her daughter.
“I’m fine,” Trish said, looking at Burton. “Can you make us some tea, please, Mama?”
Burton stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind him as Sheila emitted a heavy sigh and left the room.
“I need to ask you if Mia Kazmaroff tried to contact you today,” he said. “I’m sorry to be so abrupt.”
She stared at her feet and Burton thought she looked the picture of the whipped dog, the beaten wife. He couldn’t even imagine what tortures this poor woman had endured being married to that monster.
Her voice was barely a whisper. “No, I haven’t spoken to her today.”
A punch of disappointment hit Burton in the chest. He’d been so sure! What now? This was all he had, his only clue. That, and the fact that the lie about the tail had been spoon-fed to him. He licked his lips and looked away. Outside, he could see the reporters through a crack in the heavy drapes of the living room window. He could hear the muffled sounds of their conversation.
And then it came to him: it wasn’t the tail that was the lie.
It was the fact that he’d been told the tail was legit.
A nugget of roiling nausea began in his gut as he remembered who told him the report. The false report.
Karen.
But surely that means someone lied to Karen and she just passed it along to me thinking she was being helpful?
“Trish?” He turned back to her. “Did Karen tell you to call Mia today?”
She shook her head, tears streaming down her face, “I told you. I haven’t talked to anyone today,” she said, refusing to look at him.
Without knowing why or even that he was about to do it, he reached out and gently touched her on her shoulder. She flinched. “I’m telling you, I’ve talked to no one today.” And it was then that he knew.
She was lying.
The church couldn’t hold more than twenty people.
With both front doors wide open.
Mia stopped in front of the building and tried to imagine who came here to worship. One of the right front windows was broken and as soon as she saw it, a creeping chill began working its way up her spine. Nobody worships here. Probably hadn’t for years, maybe decades.
Had she gotten it wrong? Could there be another True Way Baptist Church in Alpharetta? She turned and looked down the long path that led to Browns Bridge. There were no cars parked anywhere. The gravel path had widened to create a roundabout in front of the church which then spread out to form a flat grassy area which probably had once served as a parking lot.
How could she have beat Trish here? Forcing down the warning that was bubbling up beneath the surface of her reserve, Mia hurried to the east side of the structure to see if there might be a vehicle parked in back. As she walked, she noticed a scattering of loose bricks leading up to the barbed wire fence that kept pasturing animals in their place on the other side. Although she couldn’t see it from here, she knew the salt lick was just beyond the fence behind the church. It reminded her that on the few times she’d visited this area by way of the back pasture, she’d seen a gate.
She came to a stop behind the church and hugged herself against the increasing cold.
Funny how the sun, just minutes ago so comforting and light, could pull its warmth and recede into the woods, behind the clouds. Mia listened to the wind but heard only a few birds now, and the rustle of dried, dead leaves on the line of black walnut trees that ringed the fence.
Something isn’t right. Why couldn’t Trish have said what she needed to say on the phone? Why this place? The moment Mia made up her mind to return to the main road was the moment her eye caught the flash of color in the grass.
Could Trish have left a message for me?
It was behind a stack of ancient lumber piled in disorderly array at the back of the church. Even in November the weeds grew high here, easily to Mia’s waist. She walked to the woodpile.
It was getting colder and she’d been counting on a ride back to town with Trish. Now she would have to hurry if she wanted to catch a bus before it got dark.
Frowning, she approached the stack of wood—nearly camouflaged by wild azalea bushes—to see what it was that caught her eye. It looked like the remnants of an old, yellow clothes basket and she was about to turn away without going any further when she saw, protruding from the broken wood stack, a long black arm.
20
Mia’s knees began to shake.
A corpse. In the bushes.
She gasped and took a step backward, her eyes glued to the bushes where the thin, dark arm protruded obscenely.
Maybe he was just asleep? Or maybe he was ill? She pulled her cellphone out of her jeans pocket and turned it on. It would take several seconds before it was serviceable to make a call. She licked her lips and took a step closer.
And then another.
She could see his face now, his eyes staring upward to heaven, his mouth slack. He was elderly. And definitely dead. She glanced at the screen of her cellphone.
Hurry up!
A branch cracked loudly behind her. She whirled in the direction of the sound and dropped the phone onto the grav
el. The woman who stood there had cropped curly hair and wore riding jeans with a simple black tee-shirt and paddock boots.
“I knew you’d come,” the woman said, fishing for something in the front pocket of her tight jeans. “I knew you were that stupid.”
A terrible finger of dread crawled its way up Mia’s spine. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I love it.” The woman laughed. “You don’t even know, do you? Priceless.” She walked over to Mia, scooped up the cellphone and put it in her back pocket.
“Hey, that’s mine!”
“You won’t need it. My name is Karen Sanders. I see you’ve met old Jethro there.” Karen walked past Mia and knelt by the body of the man. Mia saw her tugging on the pair of latex gloves she had pulled out of her pocket.
She turned the man’s head so that Mia could see the injection site on his neck. “Even a drugged-out homeless man has a story to tell.” Karen stood and grinned at Mia. “I just didn’t need him telling it to the Atlanta PD. Know what I mean?”
Mia felt the fear return when she realized what the woman was telling her. She forced herself to speak calmly. “Where’s Trish?”
“I don’t know what I’m more surprised about,” Karen said, shaking her head as if marveling at Mia. “That you thought Trish could kill anyone or that she would actually meet you here alone.”
“I…I have her on my phone admitting to killing my brother.”
“I was standing beside her when she said that. Not surprisingly, abused women have a tendency to take responsibility for everything bad that happens. It’s a classic syndrome and, trust me, it won’t hold up in court.”
Mia felt her mind spinning in a thousand different directions. Had she been lured here to be killed? Were Trish and Karen in this together?
“Were…were you the one…who…”
Karen laughed harshly. “Is it really true you didn’t have a clue?
Mia swallowed hard and resisted the urge to just turn and run. “Why?” she asked, taking a casual step away from the corpse and Karen. It was anyone’s guess who would be faster in a foot race. Even if Mia made it all the way to the main road, there was no guarantee there would be any cars passing. Or that any would stop…
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