D
onald Stark, known to the residents of Holy Oaks as that nice, polite farmer, Justin Brady, was crouched down below the railing of the choir loft, waiting and watching for his opportunity. Oh, how he had planned for this day. The celebration was finally at hand. It was going to be his moment of glory, and Nicholas Buchanan’s day of reckoning.
His good mood was being sorely tested now, though, by Nicholas. The mule was, in fact, making Stark quite frantic. Trying to ruin all of his wonderful plans by making him waste time worrying.
Once again he slowly inched up over the wall and searched the crowd below. He could feel the rage building inside and fought to contain it. All in good time, he promised himself. And then he looked again. Where had the mule disappeared to? After searching through the crowd a third time, Stark concluded he wasn’t in the church. Where oh where could he have gone? And then the thought occurred to him that perhaps the mule was standing in the back, under the balcony.
Stark had to be sure. He decided he would have to risk it and sneak downstairs to look for himself. He had to be certain. Had to, had to, had to. It was imperative that the mule attend the celebration. He was the guest of honor, after all.
Keeping his head down, Stark crawled back to the bench where he’d put the key to the iron gate. He was reaching up to grab it when he heard the screech of tires. Scrambling over to the window, he peered out just as the mule’s green Explorer came barreling up the driveway.
Stark grinned. “Good things come to those who wait,” he whispered. Then he sighed. Everything was back on schedule. The guest of honor would be strolling into the church any minute now.
He picked up the rifle, adjusted the scope, and then got into position, hunched down on his knees beside the tripod.
The video camera was focused on the altar, and he reached up and pushed the button to start the tape. Timing was everything, of course. What good was killing Father Tom and Laurant if the mule wasn’t there to watch? No good at all, Stark reasoned. He was determined to get both the murders on film too—how could he boast that he had bested the FBI if he didn’t have the goods to prove it? Stark knew he was smarter than all the mules put together, and soon now, very soon, the world would know it too. The tape would mock them, prove their incompetence, humiliate them in the same way that Nicholas had humiliated him.
“You messed with the wrong man,” he whispered, his voice shimmering with hate. His fingers curled around the smooth barrel. He could feel the power under his fingertips growing stronger, more potent with each caress.
And still he waited for the pretty boy priest to finish the wedding ceremony and go up the steps and get back behind the altar table to start mass. Stark had done his homework. He knew exactly where everyone in the wedding party would be sitting. He’d been pretending to be working in the balcony while the rehearsal was going on, and he knew that the bride and groom, the best man, and the maid of honor were going to follow the priest up on the altar and sit in chairs, like royalty, slightly behind the altar table and to the right, against the north wall. Both brother and sister would be center stage in the camera’s lens.
It was going to be perfect. He would kill Tommy boy first—one shot through the center of his forehead that would look absolutely marvelous on film. And while Nicholas was still reeling from the shock—who wouldn’t, after witnessing his best friend’s death—Stark would swing the rifle to the right and kill Laurant. The camera would be capturing her reaction to her brother’s death. Stark pictured the look of horror in her eyes the scant second before he killed her, and he smiled again. It was going to be delicious. Bam, bam, thank you, ma’am. He’d get the brother and sister before the crowd had time to react. Stark was counting on the guests to panic and stampede their way like cows to the doors. He needed the pandemonium to give him time to get downstairs through the trapdoor he’d built in the floor behind the organ. He’d land in the closet off the vestibule, get outside through the front window, and blend in with all the hysterical men and women. He might even decide to have a little more fun and do some screaming too.
“So much to do, so little time,” he whispered. For, in those precious two or three seconds, maybe even as many as four, before the crowd swelled from their seats, he was going to try to kill Willie and Mark. They were seated next to the main aisle, six rows from the front. Stark knew he was being greedy, but he didn’t care. He had to get rid of them. He’d been fantasizing about it for as long as he’d had to endure living with them. His housemates were pigs. Vile, filthy pigs. He couldn’t abide the thought of letting such garbage continue to pollute the world. No, that wasn’t an option. They had to die, and if he couldn’t kill them today, then he would come back and get them later. He wouldn’t bother to film their deaths, however, for like the whore, Tiffany, Willie and Mark weren’t worthy enough to be remembered.
He stifled a girlish giggle as he thought about the garage door opener he’d made such clever adjustments to. It was clipped to the visor in his van. No one would notice it or give it a second thought. It wasn’t going to open any garage doors. No, sirree. One push of the button, and wham, bam. News at eleven.
Are we having fun yet? Oh, yes, yes indeed.
* * *
Because of Michelle’s metal leg brace, she wasn’t able to kneel, and for that reason Tommy married the couple at the beginning of the ceremony instead of waiting until the middle of the mass, as was the usual custom. He had great hopes for this couple. Christopher was a good, decent man and very levelheaded. He believed in marriage and commitment, as did his lovely bride. Both of them had endured hardships in the past and had survived with grace and dignity, and Tommy knew that they would fight to keep their vows to each other when they hit those inevitable rocky patches.
It was a joy to marry them. He smiled as Christopher put the wedding ring on Michelle’s finger. Her hand was trembling so, it took the groom two tries. Christopher was as steady as an old oak.
Tommy gave the blessing and then turned to go up the stairs. The choir began to sing “O Precious Love.” While the other members of the wedding party quietly filed into the front pews, the bride and groom, flanked by the best man and the maid of honor, followed Tommy up to the altar. Crossing behind him, they walked to the chairs against the wall and took their seats. Laurant straightened the long train on Michelle’s wedding dress and then sat down next to her. None of them would get up again until communion was served.
The two altar boys, cousins on Michelle’s side of the family, sat on the opposite side of the altar by the sacristy door. Noah stood beside them. As Tommy was coming around the altar, he noticed Noah slouching against the wall. He frowned at him and, cupping his hand at his side, motioned for him to stand tall. Noah immediately complied.
Tommy turned to the congregation then. He bowed his head, braced his hands on the cool marble top, and then slowly genuflected.
And that was when he noticed the flowers. There, tucked under the altar was a beautiful crystal vase filled with white lilies. Tommy assumed the flowers had been placed there by the florist to get them out of the way while the altar was being prepared for the wedding ceremony. Whoever had put the white linen cloth across the marble top had simply forgotten to put the flowers back. Tommy bent down and leaned in to pick up the vase, but as he was lifting it, he saw the tiny, pin-size, red light blinking at him.
Puzzled, he leaned in to get a closer look. Then he saw the oblong block attached underneath the altar top. It was about the size of a brick covered in a mass of gray duct tape. There were red and white and blue wires protruding from the tape, and in the center was a red light.
He knew exactly what he was looking at now. It was a bomb. And from the size of it, Tommy thought there was enough there to blow the church apart. The blinking red light indicated the bomb had already been activated.
“My God,” he whispered, so stunned he couldn’t move. His heart felt as though it had just stopped. His immediate reaction was to jump up and shout a warning, but he was able to stop himself in time. Stay calm. Yes, he had to stay calm. The last thing he wanted to do was cause a panic. He let go of the vase, then grabbed it before it toppled over. His hands were shaking violently now, and he could feel the sweat beading on his forehead.
What in God’s name should he do? Still down on one knee, he half turned toward Noah and motioned for him to come to him.
Noah saw Tommy’s stricken expression and immediately hurried toward him. He thought Tommy was sick. His complexion was as gray as the marble.
Tommy had to grip the edge of the altar to get to his feet. All he could think about was getting the congregation outside. His mind raced. He hadn’t been down on his knee for more than four, five seconds at the most, but it was still long enough for the crowd to wonder what he was doing. He held on to the altar top with one hand, grabbed the vase with the other, and stood up just as Noah reached him. Tommy forced a smile on his face, put the flowers on the altar, next to the microphone, and then stepped back. He didn’t want the microphone to pick up his whisper when he told Noah what he had found.
Noah moved to stand in front of Tommy with his back to the congregation. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.
Tommy leaned close and whispered into his hear, “There’s a bomb under the altar.”
Noah’s expression didn’t change. He simply nodded as he whispered, “Let me have a look.”
Then he turned toward the crowd, made a hasty sign of the cross the way Tommy had taught him, and knelt down. He wanted the congregation to think he was participating in the ceremony. Bowing his head, he ducked lower and leaned in. “Lord,” he whispered. He’d wanted to see what he was dealing with, his hope that it was a simple, homemade device that could easily be dismantled. No such luck. One glance told him the explosive was damned complex, too complex for him to deal with. It would take an expert to figure out which wires to clip, and where in God’s name were they going to find an explosives expert in a town the size of Holy Oaks?
Noah pulled back and looked up at Tommy. “Can’t undo it.”
As he raised to his feet, Tommy whispered. “Okay, we’ve got to get them all out of here. I’ll get Christopher to help. You get the altar boys moving.”
Tommy hurried toward the groom. He was halfway there when he stopped and motioned for Christopher to get up and come to him. He didn’t want Michelle to hear what he was going to say. She was watching him closely, a puzzled look on her face, and then she leaned toward Laurant and whispered to her. Laurant shook her head slightly, indicating she didn’t know what Tommy was doing.
In a low, urgent whisper, Tommy said, “We’ve got a problem here, and I need your help getting everyone outside. There’s a bomb under the altar. We don’t want a panic,” he added when he heard Christopher’s drawn-in breath. “We can do this. They’ll follow you and Michelle. Now go,” he ordered.
“The grotto,” Christopher whispered. “Tell everyone to follow us to the grotto, like I’ve got a surprise for Michelle.”
“Yes, good,” Tommy whispered. He quickly turned around and headed back to the altar. Adjusting the microphone, he took a breath and said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, Christopher has a surprise for Michelle. Please follow the bride and groom to the grotto at the bottom of the hill.”
Christopher had already reached Michelle before Tommy began his announcement. She looked quite stunned when he pulled her to her feet, then swept her up into his arms.
“Christopher, what are you doing?” she whispered.
“Just smile, honey. We have to get out of here.”
Michelle wrapped her arms around his shoulders and smiled as he had instructed. She whispered, “Am I going to like this surprise?”
Christopher didn’t answer her. He strode across the altar, down the steps, and up the center aisle.
His enthusiasm made Laurant smile. Christopher was practically running. She and David, the best man, waited until Tommy had finished his announcement. Then they stood. Laurant slipped her arm through David’s and followed the bride and groom, but at a much more sedate pace.
A murmur rolled through the crowd, and it became quite noisy as the wedding guests gathered up their possessions, kicked the kneelers back, and stood up to file out of the church.
Stark couldn’t believe what he was seeing. They were leaving. No, his mind screamed. This was not acceptable. No one could leave. What surprise was the priest babbling about? Leaving early wasn’t part of the rehearsal. The grotto? Why were they going to the grotto? What had he missed? His mind was speeding now, his thoughts getting jumbled together in his mind. Not acceptable. Laurant. She was leaving too. No, No, No. She’s walking across the altar now. Tom first, then Laurant. Like he planned. But the mule, the mule had to see it happen.
The priest was speaking into the microphone again. “Those of you who are close to the side doors should go out that way. It will save time,” he added.
Stark, shaking with fury, could feel his control slipping away, disintegrating, but then, just as he was about to leap to his feet and start shooting, he saw the side door open, and there he was, the mule himself, trying to get inside as the crowd was pushing out. Nicholas had finally arrived. “There now, there now, it’s all right now,” he whispered. He felt like shouting with joy. He was so thrilled to see the mule, he wanted to wave to him. Good to see you, Nicholas. Yes, sirree.