Afraid to Die Page 6

  But, as the cop asked a few more questions, he felt his tie tightening and beads of sweat dotting his back. He gave a short history of his ministry, neglecting to mention that he was originally from Bad Luck, Texas, though, from the degrees on the wall, it was obvious that he’d graduated from Southern Methodist University. That’s where he met and married Lorraine.

  “So how did you end up here, in Grizzly Falls?”

  He spread his hands. “I go where the church needs me,” he said, and it really wasn’t a lie. After spending a decade basking in the warm Arizona sun at a parish in Tucson, there had been a problem, a minor indiscretion with an eighteen-year-old daughter of Cecil Whitcomb, one of the church deacons. Peri had come to him for guidance and he hadn’t been able to ignore her lips, always glossy and full, her tongue, how it flicked against her teeth so seductively, or the pull of her T-shirts across breasts that could fill a man’s hands and then some.

  Peri had needed comforting during the time of her parents’ separation.

  He’d obliged.

  And things had heated up, with this young, perfect woman willing to do things in the bedroom that Lorraine considered “vile” and “animal.” Even now, when he remembered mounting Peri from behind, her smooth rump pressing hard into his abdomen, those glorious breasts hanging into his willing hands, his teeth and lips pressing hard into the back of her neck, just to nip, mind you ... oh, dear Lord. It had been ecstasy, sinful, joyous ecstasy. And when Peri’s luscious warm mouth and tongue had worked her magic on him ... he’d been transported to an erotic state of pure heaven ...

  “Preacher Mullins? Did you hear the question?” the cop asked, and he jerked back to the present, grateful for the desk that separated them so that she couldn’t witness the bulge at his crotch. What had he been thinking, letting his mind wander so. “Do you know Brenda Sutherland’s ex?”

  “No ... uh, I knew she was divorced, of course,” he added, trying to appear concerned, “that there were some ... issues ... because of their sons, but, no, Ray Sutherland isn’t a member of the church and I’ve never even seen him.”

  She asked a few more questions, nothing all that worrisome, at least concerning him, but he wondered if she’d be back. No doubt she’d start digging into his past and then his little indiscretion would come to light.

  He couldn’t imagine Lorraine standing at his side again, holding his hand, lifting her tiny chin proudly in a show of solidarity and support for her unfaithful fallen husband once more.

  Dear Father, why now? When things were going so well? She would leave him if all the old demons were brought to light; he knew it. He’d be further disgraced and now she was with child again, possibly the son he’d been praying for. His daughters were a joy, oh, yes, three delightful girls, eight, six and four, all with near-white hair and pale blue eyes. But this time, he was so hoping for a boy. A big, loud, strapping son who looked less ghostlike than the girls, who were carbon copies of their mother.

  Lorraine was a good woman, but it would help him if she could ever just come close to having an orgasm. If so, then she might understand that all the carnal pleasures of the flesh, at least between a man and his wife, were not repulsive.

  He walked to the window and stared through the frosty panes to the crèche decorating the side yard of the church. Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, all cloaked in a new mantle of snow, the angled floodlight showing off the backdrop of the stable.

  Preacher Mullins had thought being banished to this godforsaken tundra had been the worst punishment possible after his problems in Arizona, but now, if what had happened in Tucson was discovered by the police and the press, he might be sent somewhere else. Just when his flock was coming together and his wife finally, at least on the surface, seemed to have forgiven him.

  He bowed his head. “Father, be with me. Give me strength. Let me never fall into temptation again. Please, Father of all, lead me. Give me strength. I pray for this and all things in Jesus’s name. Amen.” Letting out a long, shuddering sigh, he hoped for divine intervention.

  Today, it didn’t reach him.

  The music took him away.

  Soft. Melodic. Instrumental versions of traditional Christmas carols and those classical pieces associated with Christmas. Nothing frothy, light or the least bit irreverent today. He needed to feel the piety resounding in the notes that filled this cavern and resounded in his heart.

  Thankfully, his new subject had quieted down. He couldn’t afford the distraction of her moans. She was past pleading with him now, nearly succumbing to her fate, so he was able to concentrate.

  As he slathered the woman in water, watching in fascination as ice formed over her naked body, he felt that supreme satisfaction that comes with a job well done. She was in the perfect position, her legs bent so that she appeared to be kneeling, her head bowed, her hands folded in prayer. That had been tricky.

  Moving unwilling body parts into precise position took strength, patience and a practiced eye. He’d been careful to nudge toes, fingers and vertebrae into the correct position. Now, as the water sluiced over the body, firming up, he glanced to the desk he’d fashioned out of a crude workbench, and lining it, pinned to the corkboard he’d installed, were dozens of photographs of kneeling women. He’d enlarged five diagrams that showed a praying body from different angles and was able with the freezing temperatures to ensure that his creation was in the exact position he needed.

  Oh, yes.

  As he surveyed her, he grinned. Her expression was perfect, serene and pensive, absolutely pious, nearly enraptured. Yes ... oh, she was ready, though there were hours of work to be done, layers of ice to enwrap her, painstaking sculpting to finish the job, but when he was done, she would be a masterpiece and so different from his first.

  Of course he was talented, to deny it would be obscene, but his gift was not only special but vast. Though his work would bear his signature, no two statues would be alike. He took the time to marvel at his first piece, so near completion. It was a bit whimsical, the frozen woman, who’d been lying down as he’d molded the ice around her, now standing, her arms raised, her hands curved toward the coved ceiling of this cave. Her expression was joyous, a wide grin visible through the ice, her eyes open wide.

  She was ready for display.

  He felt a little sizzle of excitement at the prospect. He knew just where to place her.

  With his first sculpture, he’d gone for the frivolous, happy aspect of the holidays and she’d turned out perfectly. But he couldn’t sit on his laurels, oh, no. Never. His time was limited to the frigid days of winter so he couldn’t slack off.

  And he had to show his diversity. Of course. So while Number One was light spirited, with this newest piece, Number Two for lack of a better name right now, he’d taken a more serious approach, trying to create a sense of reverence. Of piety. Of pure devotion.

  He doubted anyone would understand his need for perfection, the subtleties involved, but as long as he knew the depths of his dedication and talent, then the rest wasn’t important.

  Humming along to the notes of the “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy,” he felt inspiration well deep in his soul as he worked with excruciating precision. He only had a few hours, so he couldn’t afford any mistakes.

  He smiled at that ridiculous worry.

  He didn’t make mistakes.

  Of course he didn’t.

  That was just one of the things he and God had in common.

  Chapter 5

  “You’re such a liar,” Alvarez accused Pescoli as they drove down the steep hill that separated the older section of town from the new. Near the river, the buildings had been built near the turn of the previous century, some, like the courthouse, built in the late 1800s. There were newer buildings interspersed with the old, but this section of town definitely had an Old West feel to it and the town fathers made a point of keeping it looking as if the “Old Grizzly Falls” could be used as the set for a western movie or television series.

 
Up the hill, past a few old mansions that had been built by copper and timber barons, the newer part of town spread along the cliff face and into the surrounding countryside. While on the waterfront brick-and-mortar buildings stood tall, above, on Boxer Bluff, a few strip malls, fast-food restaurants, the new school and hospital became part of what townsfolk laughingly called Grizzly Falls’s attempt at “urban sprawl.”

  “A liar?” Pescoli eased her Jeep past the courthouse, where the Christmas tree was already adorned with hundreds of white, twinkling lights that sparkled twenty-four-seven. “Why is that?” She found a parking spot one block up from Wild Will’s and eased into it.

  “The Secret Santa drawing. You didn’t get your own name the first time you picked a name from Joelle’s Santa hat.”

  Pescoli cut the engine. “I did, too.”

  “Nope. Big lie.” Alvarez climbed out of the seat and slammed the door shut behind her.

  “How would you know? Oh, don’t tell me. You drew my name! Oh, great. I’ll probably end up with boxes of herbal tea or some such crap from you.”

  “I thought you hated the game.”

  “I do.”

  “Then why worry about what you’ll get?” Alvarez picked her way over the crusted, dirty snow that had been pushed against the curb by snowplows. “And, no, I didn’t end up with you; I could just tell. My powerful skills of detection.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Admit it, Pescoli, you cheated.”

  Pescoli scowled as they crossed the street. “Okay, so you caught me. Big deal.” She was really agitated. “I just couldn’t deal with trying to find cutesy little gifts for Brewster twice in two years. Trust me, that’s my own personal version of hell. It’s bad enough I have to deal with him as my damned boss. I refuse to play games with the man!”

  “Jeremy and Heidi ever break up?”

  “From your lips to God’s ears,” Pescoli grumbled as she walked through the doors of Wild Will’s, where as soon as they were inside, they were greeted by Grizz, the stuffed grizzly bear standing guard at the door. Over seven feet tall, his lips pulled into a permanent snarl, long teeth gleaming, razor-sharp claws extended, he was always in costume, a regular ursine fashionista who was dressed with the season. Today he was wearing elf attire, complete with a silly little hat decorated with a jingle bell, a red and green coat and huge striped stockings around his hind legs.

  “Is it Grizz or Will Ferrell?” Alvarez joked, though she wasn’t in a jovial mood. The holidays always brought her down and the three missing women were bothering her. It didn’t help that the hot water situation at her home hadn’t been alleviated. Jon, the sometimes repairman, had been ducking her and she’d been reduced to heating water on the stove or taking a shower at the gym. Jon had left her a message on her phone earlier: “Hey, uh, this is Jon. Got your message about the hot water. I’ll get to it ASAP.” What a joke; the guy had no idea what ASAP or STAT meant. It was irritating. Damn irritating, but she wasn’t going to focus on it now.

  It was around one o’clock and the restaurant was busy, all of the booths and most of the tables occupied. Conversation buzzed through the high-ceilinged room and a fryer in the kitchen sizzled, competing with the strains of Christmas music filtering from hidden speakers.

  A hostess led them to a table in the center of the large dining area, where, upon the rough-hewn walls, heads of animals stared down at them. Alvarez had always thought the decor bordered on the macabre and never felt completely comfortable with the glassy eyes of deer, elk, a moose and even a cougar glaring down at the patrons.

  They had settled in and ordered before Sandi swept by. She put on the brakes when she spied Pescoli. “Don’t suppose there’s any news?” The lines in her face seemed deeper than usual, her eye shadow a sparkling metallic green, probably in homage to the season.

  “Not yet.”

  “Damn!” She shook her head and her eyes narrowed suspiciously, green eyelids even more noticeable. “You’d better check out Ray, the ex. Brenda and he have been in a battle royal for those boys. He wants full custody and so does she. There’s always something going on there, with the courts. He’s even had the gall to call your damned department and report her if he can’t get through to his kids, and he’s been on the phone to human services, sending them out to Brenda’s house, trying to prove she’s unfit or some such nonsense!” Sandi snorted at the insanity of it all. “A mean one, he is.” Nodding as if agreeing with her own theory, she pointed a red-tipped nail at Pescoli and jabbed the air in front of Pescoli’s nose. “If you ask me, she was way too good for him, and he knew it! I never did like him. A real loser.”

  “Aren’t they all? Exes, I mean?” Pescoli asked and Alvarez guessed she was thinking of her own.

  “Well, yeah, most of ’em! And you can sure throw mine in there.” Her red lips pursed thoughtfully. “Although Connie Leonetti gets along with hers. She even bakes him and his mother cookies for the holidays. And I’m not talking about the arsenic or Ex-Lax-laced kind. If you ask me, that’s just an abomination of nature.” She didn’t crack a smile at her attempt at humor. “I just hope you find Brenda. And it’s not because I’ve had to pull double-duty without her. She’s really a sweet, sweet woman and when I think of those boys of hers ... Oh, man, she adores them.” Sandi’s lower lip quivered a bit and Alvarez wished there was something that could be said, some platitude that would soothe her. There wasn’t.

  Clearing her throat and squaring her shoulders, Sandi said, “If you ask me, Ray Sutherland is behind this. He didn’t want the divorce and wasn’t happy with the custody arrangement. If I were you, I’d be lookin’ at him hard. Real hard.” With that, she saw a table that needed to be cleared and took off, her quick steps wending her expertly through the tightly packed tables. Closing in on a lackadaisical busboy, she snapped her fingers to gain his attention. Obviously, the pudgy teenager wasn’t quick enough with his dishpan and towel to suit Sandi.

  Probably no one was.

  As far as Ray Sutherland went, they’d already talked to him, this morning, early enough that the trucker had obviously just rolled out of bed at the pounding on his apartment door. He lived on the second floor of an L-shaped stucco building. A surly sort with the beginning of a pot belly and in serious need of a razor, he’d seemed genuinely surprised when they’d told him about his ex-wife.

  Had he been nervous?

  Maybe.

  Alvarez had noted that he ran a hand through his dull brown hair, all of which was sticking up at odd bed-head angles.

  “Of course I have no idea where she is,” he’d said, perturbed. “Why?”

  “Because she didn’t show up for work, she’s not at home and her car is abandoned at the side of the road.”

  That made him blink, some of his just-woken-up outrage fading. “Jesus. What happened?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Pescoli had said. “Mind if we come in?”

  Grumpily, he’d allowed them into a mess of an apartment, throwing some newspapers and jackets and a wadded blanket out of the way so that Alvarez could sit on the grimy cushions of a beat-up couch while Pescoli stood near the door. The shades were drawn and Sutherland, cinching the belt of his striped robe around his belly, settled into a fake leather recliner that had seen better days.

  He’d answered their questions while yelling at his boys to get ready for school. When he’d gotten no response when he’d craned his neck back to the bedroom wing of the small apartment and called to them, he’d gotten up for a few minutes, trod down a short hallway, opened a door and given some muffled orders before reappearing and taking up residence in his chair, positioned in front of a flat screen that seemed to be six feet if it were an inch.

  When asked, he’d offered up an alibi for the night his ex had disappeared. Though he didn’t seem sorry to hear Brenda was missing, he did appear shocked.

  “She should be more careful,” he’d muttered, reaching into the top drawer of the small table positioned near h
is chair. He withdrew a pack of cigarettes, found it empty and, swearing under his breath, crumpled it. “I tell her all the time.”

  “Why?” Alvarez asked.

  “Because she’s the damned mother of my kids, that’s why!” At the mention of his offspring, he’d glanced down the hallway, scowled, then said to Alvarez, “Are we done here? I’ve got to get my boys off to school.”

  “We may have more questions later.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Fine.” He’d gotten to his feet and began lumbering toward the bedrooms again while Alvarez and Pescoli had taken their leave.

  But maybe Sandi was right, Alvarez thought now. Ray Sutherland, a trucker, might have given an Oscar-worthy performance this morning. But she doubted it.

  While Pescoli dug into her burger and fries, Alvarez picked at her salad of field greens and her cup of shrimp bisque, all the while tossing the case over in her mind.

  “Don’t see how you live on that crap,” Pescoli said, pointing a French fry at Alvarez’s meal before dredging the crispy potato strip through a puddle of ketchup on her platter.

  “Ditto.”

  “I don’t think Ray Sutherland’s our guy.” She plopped the fry into her mouth.

  “If there is a guy.”

  “Right. If there is a guy. Could be three women just took hikes, y’know. It happens.”

  “You don’t believe that.”

  “Nope. I don’t. Just don’t like the other possibilities.” She thought for a few minutes as she took a final bite of her burger before tossing the remains onto her plate.

  They split the bill and Alvarez was shrugging into her coat when she saw Pescoli’s gaze narrow. “Uh-oh,” she whispered.

  “What?” She turned, and from the corner of her eye saw Grace Perchant approaching.

  “Here comes the nutcase,” Pescoli said under her breath, her words barely audible.