One Deadly Sin (19 page)

He frowned. He should have his head examined for giving that good-for-nothing a job. And now he’d have to track him down. Terry was not the easiest person to corral.

And then the idea struck him. That this was not an ordinary chore. Perhaps it was no coincidence that the pool remained undrained and ready for use. He needed a cleansing, didn’t he? Maybe this was the sign he needed to get back on track. The message that God had indeed forgiven him.

A pulse began to batter at his throat. Was he crazy? Or was he the sanest man on earth?

Carefully, he removed his shoes. Didn’t bother going for the waders, which were just inside the changing room. Just took off his socks, laid them neatly inside his shoes, and slid his ponderous bulk into the pool. The water should have been heated but it was cold and shocking. Another sign. He needed a shock, didn’t he?

He dipped under, saying the familiar words silently.
I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
He bobbed up, sputtering, then went under again.
Lord, cleanse my soul and make me worthy again.
He stayed under a little longer the second time, putting his life in God’s hands. When he came up again, he was gasping for breath. Chugging down air, he wiped the water off his face. Was about to go under a third time, when he noticed someone watching.

A flush went through him at the picture he made. Fully clothed, soaking wet, dignity spoiled. All of a sudden, he remembered the prayer meeting. He’d have to race home to change. “I was just—” he cleared his throat. “We’re having a problem with the drain.”

The smile that greeted this explanation was indulgent, then grew until it morphed into… a sneer? A devil’s head? Kenneth Parsley stared, his mouth suddenly dry.

“What are you—”

But the next words were lost in a sizzle of pain that continued for an eternity and ended in everlasting darkness.

23

H
olt escaped the swarm filling the Drennen backyard, and leaned against the side wall of his childhood home. It was a perfect evening. Warm, but for once, not blazing, and the crowds had turned out. The men were mostly inside watching the pregame show and arguing with each other about players and stats. But there were plenty who preferred it outside where the smell of chicken on the grill filled the air.

Not him. At least, not right now. He gazed up the driveway into the hodgepodge of cars and trucks up and down the street, troubled by what Doc Ferguson had just told him.

He noticed his dad’s big, black pickup cruising the street, and wondered where his father had disappeared to. He pulled into the drive, and James leaned out the driver’s window. “Too crowded back there?”

“I don’t see you sticking around.”

“Had to go into town for more ice.” He jumped out of the cab and came toward Holt. “So?” He nudged Holt with an elbow and grinned. “What’s bothering you?”

Holt smiled back. “You a mind reader now?”

“Could always tell when you had something on your mind.” He went around to the truck bed and opened the tailgate. A stack of bagged ice lay heaped against a side wall. “Give me a hand?”

“Sure. But how about we wait a minute. I just got the autopsy report on Dennis Runkle.”

That caught his dad’s interest. He braced an arm against the truck, baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. “What was it—heart attack or stroke?”

“Anaphylactic shock.”

James’s thick, unruly brows rose.

“Did you know he was allergic to peanuts?” Holt asked.

“Peanuts? Hard to believe that could kill a man.”

“Doc says otherwise.” Holt swooped a rock up from the ground and tossed it in his hand. “Thing is, Dad, people with these kind of allergies can survive an attack. If the allergy is severe enough they usually travel with a self -injectable dose of epinephrine. Doc said Runkle did.”

“So how come he didn’t use it?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. There were no traces of it in his blood.”

“Find the needle?”

Holt shook his head. “Sam’s out at the accident site now, checking. Damage was pretty severe though. It could’ve been destroyed in the crash. Maybe he reached for the thing in a panic, which led to him losing control of the car and then the needle flew out of his hand on impact and was crushed beneath the wheels.”

“Or maybe someone took the dose in anticipation of the shock.”

Holt looked at his dad. The thought had occurred to him, too, and it didn’t sit easy.

“You found a black angel on him, didn’t you?” James asked.

“Yeah, but…” Holt shifted. The facts still didn’t seem to add up. “Pretty wild way to kill someone. Not exactly foolproof. Even if we could find someone with an ax to grind and we could prove he used it, what does it have to do with Fred Lyle? He had a heart attack.”

They stared at each other in the bright light. James’s eyes were hooded under his cap. “You got a tough one there.”

Holt tossed the rock away. “Yeah. Then again, maybe it’s just what it seems—a terrible tragedy that’s no one’s fault.”

James clapped Holt on the back. “That’s it, son. Keep it simple. At least till you find out otherwise.”

Holt nodded and grabbed a couple of bags of ice. James did the same. They tramped off to the backyard together, but Holt felt unsatisfied and at loose ends. Trouble was, he wanted Runkle’s death to be an accident. He wanted to close the book on the enigmatic black angels and concentrate on the live one coming soon. He made a mental note to ask around about Runkle. Did his employees know about his allergies? Did his ex-wives? He totted up a list of people who might have known more than they should.

“That girl of yours show up yet?” James asked.

“She’ll be here,” Holt said with more certainty than he felt. Edie had tried to slither out of coming, but he’d stood firm. By now she was officially late, and if that meant she was on the road to standing him up there’d be hell to pay.

They dumped the ice in the coolers by the picnic tables, and his dad disappeared into the house to check on the beer status. His mother was holding court in a corner of the yard with a group of women. Her book group or knitting club or her poker night girls, as she called them. She was talking a mile a minute. Not unusual for Miss Mimsy, he thought fondly, though he should be annoyed with her. She’d taken it upon herself to invite all of Edie’s so-called rivals. Bunny Carter, Patty Jane Ellis. A few others dotted around the yard. Oh, she’d given him the excuse that Miranda would need kids to play with and the women had children more or less his daughter’s age. But he understood her machinations.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. A new arrival. He turned, settled down when he saw it wasn’t Edie, then went over to greet the newcomer.

“Mrs. Lyle, so glad you could come.” Inviting Amy Lyle had been his father’s idea. His parents hadn’t socialized with the Lyles before Fred’s death, but now that Amy was alone, he suggested it would be neighborly to invite her.

“Please call me Amy.”

“Okay, Amy. Let me take you over to my mother. She’ll introduce you around.”

“Thank you.” She followed him toward the circle of women with Mimsy at the center. On the way, he noticed Amy scanning the crowd.

“Looking for someone?”

She gave him a sheepish glance. “Just wondering if your father was here.”

“He’s inside. Be back in a jiff.”

By then they’d reached their destination. As they approached, he heard the name Hammerbilt, but the talk died down as soon as they saw who he was bringing.

“Why, hello, Amy,” Mimsy said. “Were your ears burning? We were just talking about you.”

“Oh?” She looked around the circle nervously.

“Just wondering if you had any inside info about the plant. Whether we’re going to get shut down or not.”

A relieved expression crossed her face, but she shook her head. “I haven’t heard. I do know there’s a group from IAT coming to inspect it. That was arranged before Fred…” she stumbled, couldn’t say the words yet. “I’m afraid I’m out of the loop now. With Fred… gone.”

The women murmured sounds of sympathy, and Mimsy patted Amy’s hand. Over his mother’s shoulder he caught sight of what he’d been waiting for: Edie strolled into the yard.

A sharp sense of possession hit him. Among the soft crowd, the pastels, turquoises, and bright pinks, she was an oasis of black. Dark hair, short black skirt, black tank. All of which clung to her lithe body and sent another spiky jab through his chest, his gut, and lower.

My woman.

Strong and indestructible. Nothing fragile about her. The thought burst through his head as she turned and found him. Across the lawn their gazes met and they headed toward each other without a wave or a word. Just a keen recognition of purpose.
This is why I’m here. For you.

They stopped within an inch of each other. Her eyes glittered, and there was a sharpness about her face. A wariness. Was his tough girl anxious?

He lifted a hand, tilted her head up by her chin, and turned it side to side. “Why look, it’s Edie Swann.”

She smiled. “Hello to you, too, lawman.”

“No cuffs on you.”

“I decided to turn myself in.”

He nodded sagely. “Better that way.” He wrapped an arm around her, squeezed her close, and said low, “Nervous?”

She tensed. “Should I be?”

He smiled down at her. “I don’t know. You haven’t met my mother yet.”

“Oh, yes, I have.”

It took a minute to remember. “That’s right. The library. See? Nothing to be afraid of.”

“Easy for you to say.” She held up a paper bag. “Miranda here?”

“Miranda? Geez, woman, I thought you came for me.”

He led her to the wading pool. Five or six kids were splashing and screaming. A clump of mothers stood by, half-watching the commotion and half-gossiping with each other. Bunny and Patty Jane were there, and they both eyed Edie as she approached the pool with him.

“Hey, Holt.” Bunny gave him a friendly wave but before he could answer, a high screech pierced the air.

“The swan lady!”

Miranda bolted out of the pool and flung herself at Edie, smacking her with a wet bathing suit.

Edie didn’t say a word about getting soaked. She hugged his daughter to her knees then knelt and smiled. “How in the world are you, Miranda?”

“Fine.” She fingered the swan on Edie’s shoulder. “My fattoo went away.”

“Did it?”

Miranda nodded.

“Well that’s lucky. Because otherwise you might have no place to put this.” Edie pulled a handful of square papers from the bag. She peeled back a plastic covering off one square, dried a place on Miranda’s arm, then turned the square over on the spot. She dampened the back with pool water, held it a few seconds, then slowly peeled it off.

Miranda’s eyes widened. She gasped. On her arm was a small red heart. “Daddy, look. Look!” She ran to the pool to show everyone, and Edie rose slowly, watching. There was pleasure on her face. Contentment, even. Seeing it, seeing her with his daughter, filled him with deep warmth.

“My mother’s going to have a fit,” he said softly.

Edie turned from Miranda to him. “Is she?” There was dreamy satisfaction in her face.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

In another minute they were surrounded by the rest of the kids, all demanding fattoos of their own. Miranda graciously consented to share, and Edie was willing to do the deed, but Bunny Carter didn’t think it appropriate.

“Next thing you know they’ll want to pierce their eyebrows,” said Patty Jane.

“They’re only temporary,” said Edie mildly. “They’ll wash off in a few days.”

Taking their cue from Bunny and Patty Jane, the other mothers shook their heads, but the kids took to jumping up and down and generally making such a fuss that someone finally gave in. And once one capitulated, the rest followed.

Except for Bunny and Patty Jane, who took their screaming children by the hand and left.

Edie was tattooing the last child when Mimsy walked up. She took Holt aside.

“What in God’s green earth is going on? Bunny Carter left in a huff, and Patty Jane said something about the Devil and talking to Reverend Parsley.”