Authors: Tamara Thorne
Dressed in his most comfortable Levi's and a light blue
chambray shirt, John Lawson sat at a small table nursing a
beer in a dark comer of Winesap's Tavern
.
Mark was at the
Addamses' for the night, and when John had entered his empty
h
ouse, he realized that he didn't want to be there alone. The
house, a modest but
nice three-bedroom, though never
good
enough for his ex-wife, seemed to be closing in around him,
to be sucking the air from his lungs. Restless, he'd wolfed
down a TV dinner, then drove his Nissan pick-up into town,
half intending to drop in on Frank Cutter, but finding himself
at Winesap's instead.
The jukebox was playing Garth Brooks, seemingly endlessly,
and people were Friday-night noisy
-
drinking, playing darts,
a few coup
l
es dancing nearby. From the opposite side of the
dark barroom came the mildly annoying sound of a television
set tuned to the fights, and every few seconds the men gathered
around it roared alternately with pleasure and pain.
John wasn't interested in any of it; all he could think about
was Sara Hawthorne, how ill she had looked in that brief
moment he'd seen her in Dashwood's infirmary, and how it
seemed more and more like she was nothing but a nut case,
trying to create murders and conspiracies where none existed
.
That saddened him, because over the last twenty-four hours,
he'd been thinking about her a good deal, about her pale skin
and wings of dark hair brushing her shoulders, about her myste
rious eyes with their searching gaze, and her voice, smoky
-
soft.
He'd been attracted to her, and that was something rare.
He'd stayed away from women after Barbara had left him
because he'd felt betrayed. He'd
never even realized she'd been
carrying on with that lawyer until she had told him one night,
her words grinding him into the earth with their disdain. That
was the night she announced in venomous tones that she was
leaving him for a better life with a better man, one capable of
being more than a simpleminded town cop. It still hurt when
he thought about it, still angered him if he allowed it.
He'd gone out on a few dates over the years, mostly blind
dates arranged by well-meaning friends, and though he'd met
a few women he'd liked, none had the spark he searched for.
For some reason, the blind dates had always been Barbara
clones, and whether or not it was warranted, he judged these
women by their perfect hair and perfect clothing, by the expen
s
ive
jewelry they wore. And, always, he backed off.
Part of the problem was that Moonfall was a family town.
There were few single women to meet, and he just didn't have
the heart to go barhopping in the city, or the time to join health
clubs where single women roamed. The fact was, he thought,
as he sipped the warming beer, he wasn't attracted to the kind
of woman he'd meet in either place. He wanted a lover, yes,
but more than that, he wanted a friend, one he could trust, one
who would enjoy Mark's company, too.
He wanted to
o
much and he didn't think he'd ever find a
woman like that, but when Sara Hawthorne had walked into
his office, he'd liked her unassuming but professional attire,
liked the sincerity she exuded and the kindness he sensed, even
while she was driving him to frustration with her insistence
that, despite a complete lack of evidence, a murder had occurred
a dozen years before. She was going to investigate it herself.
She's just another nut, he thought regretfully.
Maybe even a
dangerous one.
''Want a fresh one?"
He looked up into the eyes of Marlene May's too-painted
face. The barmaid, dressed in a skimpy red dress with white
petticoats and a ruff
le
-edged crisscrossed bodice that squeezed
and pushed up her ample cleavage until it looked more like a
behind than a bosom, put her red-nailed hands on his glass and
smiled at him.
"No, no, thanks. Not tonight."
"Nonsense. He'll have another," came Frank Cutter's voice.
"Doctor's orders," he added, as he and Gus Lawson appeared
from out of the dark behind her. "Mind if we join you, John?"
he asked, pulling out a chair before he could answer.
"No problem," John said, as his grandfather pulled up
another chair and settled into it with a satisfied grunt. "We'll
have whatever you've got on tap," Gus told Marlene. She
tossed her bright platinum locks and smiled-
Gus was a notoriously
good tipper-
then swept away John's stale beer and
strutted her stuff toward the bar as the old man stared after her
with unabashed appreciation. ''My, my, I'll bet she's a handful."
Gus winked at John. "Ever date her?"
''Not my type," John said. ''Maybe
you
should ask her out."
"I just might, at that," his grandfather said, smiling as the
object of his lust returned and set beers before them, careful
to keep her cleavage in Gus's face. ''I'll get it," he said, pulling
a ten from his pocket. "Keep the change, darlin', and keep
'em coming."
"You bet, Gus." She planted a kiss on his forehead, leaving
a red tattoo, then moved to the next table, an extra little wiggle
in her walk.
Gus beamed after her for a long moment, then looked at
John. "Didn't expect to see you here, Johnny."
''Mark's
sleeping over at the Addamses' and the h
ouse seemed kind
of empty, you know?" John caught a glimpse of a man who
looked like Richard Dashwood at the bar and wondered if it was
really him. Winesap's seemed too declasse for St. Gertrude's
physician, but then again, there was little to choose from around
here.
"If you got yourself a wife, you'd love him to go off on
sleepovers," Gus told him with another wink.
"Let the boy alone," Cutter chided. He swallowed half his
beer in one gulp. "He'll get around to it when he's ready."
Gus started to open his mouth, but Cutter wouldn't let him
speak
.
"You find out anything about that alleged suicide?"
"Yeah. I went out to the abbey and talked to
Dashwood
,"
he said, trying in vain to spot the man at the bar again. It had
been a brief, hazy view and John decided he must have been
mistaken. "His records show the girl graduated and left for
college up north. So there's no suicide report at all. It's missing
because it didn't exist in the first place. Not a suicide, and
certainly not a murder."
"But why would your Ms. Hawthorne make up something
like that?"
"I think she believes it."
"Do you believe her?"
"How can I?"
"You have your doubts
,
that's obvious
.
"
''When I went there today to see Dashwood, I saw her being
led from the infirmary. Dashwood said she'd 'had too much
excitement,' but she looked like she was in a daze to me."
''Drugged?"
John nodded. "Probably. Dashwood's nurse took her to her
room. I didn't get to talk to her." He sipped his beer, enjoying
the cold tang for the first time tonight. "She's supposed to
come back to see me on Sunday. I'll be very interested in what
she has to say
.
" He paused.
"
The only thing that gives her any
real credibility is the fact that Dashwood and Mother Lucy
jumped all over me, wanting to know how I knew her name
.
I said she'd stopped at the office, asking for directions to the
school. And I hope to hell that she says the same thing when
they ask her."
"When," Gus said abruptly.
John raised his eyebrows
.
"When? What do you mean,
'when'?"
"I'm not sure what you boys are talking about," Gus said,
wiping foam from his white mustache with the back of his
hand. ''But Johnny, you said 'when,
'
not 'if.' That tells me you
expect this young woman to be questioned by those damnable
nuns."
Surprised, John looked at his grandfather. "I hate to admit
it, but you're right. All the evidence
-
or lack of it-points one
way, but my guts are going in the opposite direction
.
" He
qu
i
ckly filled Gus in on the details about Sara Hawthorne and
her story concerning the alleged murder-suicide
.
"Johnny,
"
Gus said when he
'
d
heard it all, "are you attracted
to this woman?"
John tried to hide his annoyance. "Don't you ever think
about anything but sex?"
Gus stared him squarely in the eye. "Just answer the question."
There wasn't a trace of amusement in his voice.
"She seems like a nice person, yes, but I don't see how that
has anything to do with this
-
"
“
It might affect your instincts."
John was all too aware of that
.
He took a long drink of beer
.
"It'd sure as hell affect mine," Gus continued, motioning
for Marlene May to fetch another round. The serious look
returned to his face. "That's what's worrying you, isn't it,
Johnny? Whether your instincts are working right or not."
John shrugged and finished his beer.
''Nothing to be ashamed of. Your dad talked to me about
the same sort of thing. Before I retired, I had my share of
confusion
,
just like every other preacher
.
" A little twinkle came
into his eye
.
"You'd be surprised at the number of confessions
a minister hears, Johnny. A wife would come to me, tell me
all about her husband's drinking and carousing, and the husband
would come to me with the same stories about his wife. If I
liked either one of them in particular, it could make it difficult
to get a bearing on things
.
"
"Did you?"
''Most of the time. You want to know how I did it?" He
pulled out another ten, waving Cutter's proffered money away,
then smiled at Marlene as she set down the fresh glasses. He
got another lip tattoo and an eyeful as she walked away. "So,"
he said, after his eyes were back in place, "do you want to
know?"
John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was starting to
feel the alcohol, and that made it easier to smile at the old
letch
.
''Sure
.
Tell me."
"I'd rely on my past experience, Johnny, and that's exactly
what
you
should do."
It was anticlimactic, to say the least. "I realize that, Gus.
That's why I'm inclined to believe Sara Hawthorn
e
is delusional."
Gus shook his head. "You're talking about logic; I'm talking
about experience."
Cutter, who'd been quietly sipping his beer and listening
with a half smile on his face, cleared his throat. "You referring
to the Tynan suicide, Gus?''
"No, I'm not. I'm talking about the night Greg died."
John's hand shook, splashing beer on the table
'
s thick finish.
"Cut
it out, Gus, right now." He took a long pull of beer,
making himself count silently to ten before speaking again, but
it didn't help. "I told you I don't ever want to talk about any
of that again." He stared across the tavern, refusing to make
eye contact with his grandfather.
"You've got to hear about it, Johnny."
"Don't call me that, and I
don't
have to hear about it."
"John," Cutter said softly. "You were on the verge of panic
the entire time we were at the abbey
.
Something happened to
you there, and you have to remember what it was. If there's
something to that young woman's story, her fate might rest on
it"
Livid, John slowly turned his gaze on his grandfather. "You
not only eavesdropped on us, goddamn it, you told Frank." His
voice low and controlled to suppress his gathering rage, he
continued. "I trusted you. You eavesdropped, but at least you
kept it secret all these years. What'd you do, tell Frank your
s
tory, then come looking for me to perform som
e
sort of
demented intervention?"
"
He told me right after it happened, John, twenty-four years
ago," Cutter said, in his best bedside voice
.
"Gus was very
worried about you."
"Jesus
C
hrist, Gus
.
Who else did you tell?"
"Only one other, Johnny-
your father." There was regret
in the old man's voice. "And he took it to his grave
.
"
"His grave .
.
. " John bent, resting his hands on the table
between the two older men. "What are you implying?"
Gus looked at his hands for a long time before turning his
face toward John's
.
There were tears in his eyes, and for the
first time John could see all of his eighty-some years in his
face. "If I had kept my big mouth shut, you might still have
him, Johnny."
"He was answering a prowler call in the Heights and got
his head blown off," John said. "That's pretty cut-and
-
dried,
isn't it?''
"But his killer was never caught," Cutter reminded him.
''There were no footprints, no fingerprints, no clues at all.
The killer vanished," Gus said
.
''And there was the matter of the call itself," Cutter added.
"The people living in the house in question insisted they never
phoned the station, never heard a thing before the gunshot."
John sat down slowly. "I'd forgotten."
"That's not surprising. It was a long time ago-
you were
just a kid, and what kid wants to think about such things?"
"The new sheriff decided that the only rational explanation
was that some punk who had a grudge against your father set
it up and took him out," Cutter explained.
''Yeah, I remember that now. Gus, that's when you started
sleeping with that loaded shotgun by your bed."
His grandfather nodded. "I was afraid whoever got your dad
would come after you, too."
"Why not you or Mom?"
"Because after I told your father about your conversations
with your friends about St. Gertrude's, he went out there a
number of times, asked a lot of questions. I think those damnable
nuns were behind his death one way or another, just like you
think they have something to do with your brother's drowning.
John, if they thought you knew anything, they would have
killed you, too
.
"
"That's absurd," John said, without any conviction.
"Listen to your instincts, Johnny, before you judge
.
"
"But they're nuns, for God's sake." He was desperate to
believe his own words. "Come on, Gus, nuns don't go around
killing people."
"St. Gertrude's is a cursed place," Gus said, his eyes steady
on John's, his voice taking on some of the righteous force he'd
used in his sermons. "And I don't know what they are, but
those nuns are no brides of Christ."
''Evil attracts evil," Frank Cutter said.
"You're a
doctor,
for Chrissake. How can you talk like
that?" John shook his head. "The next thing I know, you two
will be telling me that the gargoyles come to life at night and
steal infants for Minerva Payne to make into soup."
"I'm a man of science," Cutter said solemnly, after he finished
off his third beer
.
"I'd never say something like that."
"Neither would I, Johnny. This isn't a joke, and I think you
know that."
"Then why didn't you two say anything before this?"
"Maybe I'm nothing but an old coward," Gus told him,
''but I saw no reason to stir things up again. The way I see it,
they got Greg, your dad, and the Buckman boy
.
"
"Doug. He was a suicide." He watched silently as Marlene
delivered another round. She looked at his barely touched beer,
then at him, questioningly. "I've had plenty, thanks."
"I guess when you're the sheriff, you have to set an example
,
"
she pouted.
"Just leave it here, darlin' ," Gus said. "When you're a
retired preacher, you can drink all you want."