by Glen Ebisch
“What do you think he’s going to say?”
Clarissa shook her head. “Don’t forget Karla was in contact with someone she met on a dating site. That might be why she came down here.”
“That’s only conjecture by her sisters. Why would someone she met on a dating site, who had never even seen her in person, want to kill her?”
“Maybe he was a predator,” Clarissa suggested.
“You’re much more likely to be murdered by someone you know.”
“But not always,” she replied stubbornly. “I’d be more willing to go along with your hypothesis if we had more information about Karla’s communication with this mystery boyfriend.”
“And we’ll probably have that once we pick up her former husband.”
“Until then, I’m keeping an open mind.”
Baker shrugged. “Don’t worry, this is all going to work out fine if you and the sisters stay out of things and let us do our jobs.” The Lieutenant’s voice was gentle, but the message was clear. Clarissa bristled at the patronizing tone.
“Is there anything more you need from me?” she asked coldly.
“You can leave. Thank you for coming in.”
Clarissa was halfway down the hall from the police department when Rudinski caught up with her.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Aside from being angry, you mean?”
He grinned under the mask. “Look, I know the Lieutenant can be a bit pompous sometimes, but he means well. Believe it or not, he really does value your opinion.”
“I think you must have been listening to a different guy.”
“He can’t go around encouraging civilians to get involved in police investigations.”
“It seems to me that most of the work so far has been done by civilians.”
Rudinski frowned. “I won’t deny that you and the sisters have been very helpful, but from now on it’s largely a matter of hunting down George Evanston, and that’s really a job for the police.”
“Well, I wish you luck with it. And just so you know, I’ll be having a meeting this afternoon related to an investigation that you and Lieutenant Baker asked me to do. Rebecca Carlson will be meeting with her parents at The Good Grace Church. Jonathan and I will be there as well to mediate the meeting.”
“Are you sure Rebecca will talk freely in front of the shepherd?”
“She asked to have Jonathan and myself there because I think she’s uncomfortable meeting alone with her parents.”
“I hope it proves to be worthwhile.”
“If you mean that it leads to her leaving the church and going back to live with her parents, I don’t think that’s going to happen. The best we can hope for is some sort of compromise.”
Rudinski nodded. “All we told her parents is that we would find out if she was well and willing to see them. You’ve already accomplished that. Good job. Maybe there’s no reason for you to be involved any further.”
Clarissa smiled to herself at how transparent Rudinski was. He really didn’t want her to have any further contact with Jonathan.
“I like to finish the projects that I begin. You know that. I’ll let you know what happens.”
Rudinski gave a resigned shrug. “I’d appreciate that, and I’ll let you now when we’ve gotten our hands on George Evanston.”
Clarissa turned and walked down the hall, thinking that this was about the most uncomfortable conversation she’d ever had with Rudinski.
Chapter 15
Clarissa stood on the front porch of The Good Grace Church and smiled when Miranda opened the door.
“Hello, Clarissa,” the young woman greeted her, apparently having gotten over her tendency to formalism.
“Good afternoon, Miranda.”
Miranda held the door open and stepped back for Clarissa to enter the shadowy hallway.
“You’re the first one here. Rebecca and Shepherd Jonathan went out for a cup of coffee to talk over what might be expected from the meeting. They’ll be back shortly. Rebecca’s parents haven’t arrived yet.”
Miranda turned and went down the hall toward Jonathan’s office.
“You can wait in the office, if you don’t mind,” she said over her shoulder.
Clarissa followed her down the hall and took the seat indicated at the conference table in Jonathan’s office.
“Can I get you water or something else to drink?”
“No, thanks,” Clarissa replied.
After Miranda left the room, Clarissa sat at the table enjoying the serenity of the room. She knew that architects often talked about the ideal size of rooms for different purposes. She had no idea what the perfect size would be for a study, but this room felt spacious but at the same time not overwhelming. One could sit and have fine ideas in this room, feeling neither cramped nor lost in its openness. Clarissa wondered if the contemplative nature of the space reflected the true nature of Jonathan. She couldn’t imagine a con artist creating such a harmonious interior; a meretricious element would be sure to seep in, reflecting the man’s underlying personality.
The door behind her opened and Clarissa twisted around. Miranda entered the room followed by a couple in their fifties. The woman, gray-haired and thin, was wearing a drab cloth coat, and the man had on a too-large sport coat without a tie. Both were on the short side, but the man had the solid look of someone who worked with his body.
“This is Pastor Clarissa Abbot,” Miranda announced. She gestured to the couple. “Marie and Victor Carlson.”
Clarissa nodded and smiled at the couple. The woman smiled back, but the man completely ignored her. He walked over and took a seat at the head of the table directly to Clarissa’s right. He did so without meeting her eyes, which to Clarissa’s mind required some effort.
“Do you know Rebecca?” Marie Carlson asked finally.
“Yes. We had a very pleasant conversation the other day. She’s a charming and intelligent woman.”
The older woman smiled. “Yes. We’ve very proud of what she’s accomplished.”
Her husband, who’d been staring across the room with disinterest, glared at his wife as if she wasn’t supposed to speak with strangers. She seemed a bit flustered at his unspoken rebuke, but refused to look down.
The man finally glanced over in Clarissa’s general direction. “What church do you work at?” he asked in a gruff voice.
“Shore Side Community Church.”
He sneered and gave a dismissive grunt as if that wasn’t really a church at all.
Clarissa wondered what lucky congregation, if any, had the pleasure of his company.
“I’m sure you must be happy to have this opportunity to speak with your daughter,” Clarissa said.
Marie nodded her head enthusiastically. “Oh, yes, it’s been quite some time since we’ve had a chat.”
“If she still is our daughter,” Victor said.
“Isn’t your child always your child?” Clarissa asked.
“Depends on what she’s done.”
The door behind Clarissa opened and Rebecca and Jonathan entered the room together. Marie leapt out of her chair and rushed over to give Rebecca a hug, which she gratefully returned. Rebecca stood for a moment staring at her father as if hoping he would follow suit, but he remained planted in his chair. Her disappointment obvious, Rebecca took a seat next to Jonathan at the other end of the table.
Jonathan pushed his chair back and casually crossed one long leg over the other.
“Thank you for coming today, everyone. Since Victor and Marie asked for this meeting, I think by all rights they should begin.”
He looked expectantly at the couple. Victor glared back, but Marie licked her lips and said to her daughter, “How have you been since you came here?”
“Fine,” Rebecca answered. “The people are very nice here. I contribute to the running of the place with my money and labor, but it’s nice living in a community.”
Clarissa could hear Victor’s breathing increase, but
he said nothing.
“And how are things at work?” Marie asked.
Rebecca talked about her recent promotion and increase in salary. The more she talked, the more enthusiastic she became. Clarissa could see that her mother was becoming drawn into the conversation.
“That’s just more for him to steal,” her father interrupted hoarsely, pointing an accusing finger at Jonathan.
“Everyone pays ten percent of what they earn to live here, no matter what they make,” Jonathan said in a level voice. “The residents seem to feel that’s fair.”
“Fair! She shouldn’t be here at all,” Victor shouted.
Everyone was silent for a moment after his outburst.
“Is there anything you’d like to ask your daughter?” Jonathan said to Victor.
“When are you going to leave this place and come back home?” he said, staring at her hard.
“Probably never,” she snapped back. “I won’t live here forever, but I’m not going to live under your roof ever again.”
“You’ve turned her against me,” Victor snarled at Jonathan.
The man made a guttural sound, something between a grunt and a cry. He reached in the left pocket of his jacket and a small gun appeared in his hand. He pointed it in front of him at the opposite end of the table. It hovered right in front of Clarissa’s face, she could see his finger tightening on the trigger. She reached forward and grabbed his arm, pushing it up in the air. As she started to stand to get some leverage, she inadvertently pulled his arm toward herself. There was a deafening sound, and Clarissa felt a sharp burning on the side of her neck. She twisted the gun out of the man’s hand and threw it behind her into the room.
Suddenly Clarissa felt weak. Her legs gave way beneath her, and she collapsed backward, missing the chair and ending up on the floor. In the next instant, Jonathan was bending over her, saying something, but she couldn’t hear his words. All she knew was that he looked frightened. Miranda appeared beside him, Jonathan turned to her and said something in what appeared to be a loud tone, but Clarissa couldn’t hear them. The noise of the gunshot kept ringing in her ears. Jonathan pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and held it against her neck. When he took it away it was dyed crimson.
Then she fainted.
Chapter 16
Clarissa opened her eyes. She felt like she was in a car speeding down the road, everything was a blur. A woman in a uniform was bending over her.
“Where am I?” she asked trying to sit up.
The woman gently but firmly pushed her back down. “Don’t worry, Honey, you’ll be fine. You’re on the way to the hospital. They’ll patch you up in the emergency room.”
“I must have fainted. Why did I faint?”
“Do you faint at the sight of blood?”
“I have a couple of times in the past.”
“About fifteen percent of people do. It has something to do with a drop in blood pressure. The fact that you saw your own blood probably didn’t help,” she said, smiling.
“What happened to me?”
She paused. “You were shot, but don’t worry, you were only nicked.”
“So it was just a flesh wound, like they say in the movies.”
“That’s right. A little antiseptic and a bandage and you’ll be fine.”
She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the two first responders were wheeling her into the emergency room. A staff member took her information at a desk, and then they rolled the gurney into an examining room.
“A nurse will be with you shortly,” the woman from the ambulance said. “Just lie still and don’t twist your neck around.”
A nurse came in a few minutes later and removed the temporary bandage that had been placed on the wound. Her expression gave nothing away. She dabbed antiseptic on the injury.
“I’ll leave that exposed until the doctor gets a chance to look at it.”
Clarissa waited for what seemed like a very long time. She got tired of sitting up on the gurney and eventually lay down. She must have fallen asleep because her eyes opened with a start when she felt a hand on her arm.
“Sorry to startle you,” a man of around her own age said, standing next to her. “I’m Lloyd Marston the physician on duty. Could you sit up so I can examine your wound?”
With a little help from the doctor, Clarissa finally got into a sitting position. She felt tired and clumsy.
The doctor carefully examined her neck, gently touching her in several spots before taking a step back and looking at her.
“Fortunately, the wound isn’t very deep. You won’t even need stitches. This is a bullet wound, correct?”
Clarissa nodded.
“A good thing it wasn’t any deeper. There are a lot of important structures in the neck, such as your jugular vein and carotid artery. Any damage to them wouldn’t be good.” Clarissa thought he looked glum under his mask at the prospect of what could have happened. “Fortunately, you look like you’re going to be a success story. I’m going to send you home with a tetanus shot and a bandage. But if you don’t feel right in any way, come right back to us without hesitation.”
“I will. Thank you, doctor.”
“You’ll probably have a scar where the bullet grazed you. It will look worse at first, and fade over time. At some time in the future you might think about cosmetic surgery.
Giving her a parting smile, he left. A few minutes later, a nurse came in and put a bandage on her neck.
“Your blouse has quite a bit of blood on the collar,” she said. “I hope it comes out.”
“I’ve heard that a baking soda solution will do it.”
“I use red wine,” the nurse said.
“That takes out blood?”
“I drink it, and then I don’t care anymore,” the woman said with a deadpan expression.
Clarissa laughed. “I like your solution better than mine.”
After giving her a tetanus shot, the nurse said, “There’s a police office out in the waiting room who’d like to see you. Do you feel up to it?”
Clarissa nodded. A few seconds later, Rudinski walked into the examining room. He came over and touched the shoulder on her uninjured side.
“How do you feel, Clarissa?”
“Tired, and I want to go home.”
“Most people are lucky to just feel tired after they’ve been shot.”
“It’s only a flesh wound.”
“If the bullet had hit you a fraction of an inch to the right, you’d have been dead by the time you hit the floor.”
Clarissa shivered. “That’s what the doctor said, but he put it a bit more delicately.”
“Sorry, I guess that was a little blunt.” He paused. When he went on, the exasperation was obvious in his voice. “What happened? How did you get into this situation?”
Clarissa described how the discussion had been going along when suddenly Victor Evanston had pulled out a gun.”
“Who was he aiming at: his daughter or Jonathan Porter?”
“They were both at the same end of the table, but he clearly wanted to shoot Jonathan. He said, ‘You turned her against me,’ and he was looking at Jonathan as he got ready to pull the trigger.”
“So you grabbed his hand to save Porter?” Rudinski asked with asperity.
“I don’t know that I even thought about what I was doing. A hand with a gun appeared in front of my face, so I reached out to push it up in the air.”
“But somehow it got turned toward you?”
“I guess we wrestled for a fraction of a second, and when he fired the gun, it must have gotten twisted in my direction. Victor didn’t plan to shoot me.” She paused. “What will happen to him?”
“He’s currently being held on a firearms charge, but there could easily be an added charge of attempted murder.”
“He was overwrought at the time. He was extremely upset over his daughter living in the community.”
“I understand, but it’ll be up to his lawyer to make th
at case in court.”
Clarissa looked around frantically. “Can I get out of here now? This place is giving me the creeps.”
“I’ll check with the nurse.”
Rudinski was back in a minute. “You’re cleared to go.” He helped her down from the gurney and, holding her elbow, led her through the ER and out into the waiting room.
As they left the ER, Jonathan jumped up from his chair and rushed over to them. Clarissa thought that in his desire to see her he moved with a bit less of his usual grace. For some reason that pleased her. Rudinski partially blocked Jonathan’s way as if to protect Clarissa from an attacker.
“How are you, Clarissa?”
“Pretty good. Very lucky, from what people tell me.”
“I owe you my life,” he said, reaching out to touch her arm. “If you hadn’t intervened, Victor would have shot me.”
Clarissa shrugged. “It was a spur of the moment thing. I pretty much did it on impulse.”
“Well, lucky for me that you acted on your impulse. Not everyone would have risked their life that way.”
“We should be getting you home,” Rudinski said abruptly, tugging gently on her arm.
Clarissa yielded.
“I’ll be in touch,” Jonathan said.
He and Rudinski exchanged a long look.
By the time they got back to the parsonage, Mrs. Malone was long gone for he day.
“I didn’t call Mrs. Malone to let her know what had happened. I didn’t want to upset her,” Rudinski explained.
“Just as well. I’ll tell her at breakfast when she can see that I’m alive and well.”
Rudinski read a note on the counter and smiled. “It appears that there’s a new casserole in the refrigerator for you. Would you like me to heat some up?”
“I think I’ll rest for a while before I eat, but thanks for the offer.”
Rudinski took the hint. “Okay, I’ll leave you to yourself for tonight, but I’ll call tomorrow to see how you are.”
After seeing him to the door, Clarissa decided to take the nurse’s advice and poured herself a glass of red wine. She sat at the kitchen table brooding about how close she’d come to death. Death, something you spend your life anticipating with fear, can come when you least expect it, in the blink of an eye. Perhaps it was better than way, rather than going through a painful, lingering death. Would she really want time to put her affairs in order and say farewell, or would she be just as happy to leave on the hop, so to speak? Life suddenly interrupted.
