The Wife

“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Harper,” Erin said. “I just wanted to say good-bye to Reverend Harper.” She looked directly at him, doing her best to hide the longing in her eyes.

“Good-bye, Erin. See you tomorrow,” John Earl replied, but he never took his eyes off his wife. Having dismissed his secretary, he said to Ruth Ann, “Do the girls have plans tonight or are they staying in with your mother?”

Just as Erin started to close the door, she heard Ruth Ann say, “The girls have plans. Felicity is going to the mall with some of her girlfriends, and Charity is going to the library.”

“Charity spends too much time in the library,” John Earl said. “She needs to have a little fun.”

“Are you saying our eighteen-year-old daughter needs a boyfriend?”

John Earl chuckled. “That’s a father’s worst nightmare—his baby girl dating. But yes, it’s time Charity started dating. Some nice young man who attends church here, a boy whose parents we know.”

Erin closed the door quietly and walked away, tears trickling down her cheeks. John Earl was a man devoted to his wife and daughters. If she hadn’t been able to seduce him in four years, what made her think she ever could? And with no hope of John Earl ever returning her love, her life simply wasn’t worth living.

“You knew that Jackson Perdue was back in Dunmore and you didn’t bother to tell me!” Cathy stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands on hips, and glared at her best friend.

“I didn’t mention it because I thought you needed time to adjust to being back home and settling into your new place next week and…” Lorie threw her hands in the air in a gesture that was half plea and half exasperation. “I thought I was protecting you. After all, you’ve got enough on your plate without having to deal with Jack Perdue showing up in Dunmore after all these years.” Lorie reached out and grabbed both of Cathy’s hands. “I swear to you that when Ruth Ann told me some man had called and wanted to hire Treasures as decorating consultants, I had no idea it was Jack.”

“I believe you.” Cathy squeezed Lorie’s hands, then pulled free and turned back to the stove, where she had several pots and pans bubbling, boiling and simmering. She was making Seth’s favorite meal: meatloaf, green peas, creamed potatoes, deviled eggs, biscuits and caramel pie for dessert. This morning, she had prepared the pie and placed it in the refrigerator and had made the meatloaf that was now warming in the oven. And only a few minutes ago, right before Lorie arrived home from Fayetteville, Cathy had topped the pie with whipped cream and Maraschino cherries.

Lorie came up behind Cathy and placed her hand on Cathy’s shoulder. “How was it, seeing him again?”

Cathy lifted the lid off the green peas, stirred them, turned the stove down low and replaced the lid. “I’m not sure. At first, I was nervous. Seeing him was such a shock.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. If I’d had any idea this would happen, I’d have told you he was back in town.”

Cathy checked on the bubbling pot of sliced potatoes, then faced her friend. “He’s staying permanently. He’s moved into his mother’s house. He’s going to restore the old place, and he offered me the job as his design consultant.” Cathy giggled nervously. “Never in a million years would I have thought that someday Jack and I would…” Realizing she was on the verge of crying, she took several deep, calming breaths. “He’s different. And not just because he’s older and was injured in the war. He used to be so angry and tense all the time, but now he seems…I’m not sure—not so angry. Steadier somehow.”

“Did he tell you that he’s taken a job as one of Mike’s deputies?” Lorie asked.

Cathy nodded. “He was wearing his uniform and drove up in a county sheriff ’s car.”

“Is he still as handsome as sin?”

“Yes.”

“Any old feelings resurface?”

“A few.”

“Well, listen to you, being honest with yourself and with me.”

“I don’t lie to myself anymore.” Cathy picked up two oven mitts from the counter, opened the oven door and checked on the warming meatloaf. “There’s nothing wrong with admitting that I’m still attracted to Jack. Most women probably are. He always did attract the opposite sex. Besides, he’s single and so am I.”

“Amen, sister.” Lorie patted her on the back.

“He told me that Mike has assigned him to work on two cold-case files for the sheriff ’s department, and one of those cases is Mark’s murder.”

“What?”

“He was entirely up front about it.” Cathy looked directly at Lorie. “He told me he was sorry about what had happened to my husband, and then he explained that he was going over the county’s cold-cases—the unsolved homicides—including Mark’s murder.”

“But why? What possible reason would Mike have to reopen Mark’s case?”

“He’s not reopening the case,” Cathy said. “Jack is studying the files, and he’s going to compare notes with the police in Athens, where Charles Randolph, the Lutheran minister, was killed last year in the same way Mark was.”

Lorie put her arm around Cathy’s shoulders. “Oh, honey, you shouldn’t have to deal with any of this. You shouldn’t have to go over all those bad memories about the day Mark died. And you certainly shouldn’t have to work with Jack Perdue. I’ll step in and handle the consulting job myself, and that way you won’t have to—”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I can work with Jack. I’m not running away from the past. I faced a great many hard truths while I was in therapy. I learned that I can’t change the past. I can’t bring Mark back any more than I could have saved him the day he died. And I can’t deny that a part of me still loves Jack Perdue and probably always will.”

“Oh, Cathy…Honey, no, no…”

“It’s all right, really it is. I have no illusions about Jack. But he’s not the same now, and neither am I. I’m not expecting happily ever after, not with Jack or any other man. Whatever does or doesn’t happen between us, I can handle it.”

“Can you?”

“Yes.”

“What about Seth?”

Cathy swallowed hard. “What about Seth?”

“How do you think Seth would react if he found out the man you were in love with before you married Mark has come back into your life?”

“There’s no reason for Seth to know about my past with Jack.”

“Oh, honey, you’re lying to yourself if you think the truth won’t come out eventually. If you get involved with Jack again, all your secret little birds will come home to roost.”

He moaned and groaned and trembled with his release. She lay beneath him silent and unmoving, hating him, wishing him dead. His heavy weight pinned her to the bed—her canopy bed with white, lace-trimmed linens—as he kissed her tenderly and whispered the same words he always said when he had finished with her.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

When he lifted himself up and off her, she turned over, grabbed the sheet and pulled it over her naked body as she curled into a ball. She didn’t watch him leave her room, but she heard the door close behind him. He would go to his bathroom, remove the condom he had worn and take a shower. Then he would go into his den and spend the rest of the evening in his disguise as a man of God.

Lying there, her tender young breasts bruised from his rough hands and her whole body throbbing with shame and anger, she wanted to cry. But she didn’t cry anymore. Tears were useless. She was trapped in a nightmare without end. The only way to escape would be to end her life. But she wasn’t that brave. Not yet.

She got out of bed, took a shower to wash off his smell, dressed hurriedly and sneaked out through her bedroom window, leaving it cracked open so she could come back in later. It was nearly eight-thirty and had gotten dark early this evening because of the rain clouds. Tonight, the sky had partially cleared, enough so that the three-quarter moon peeked through the threads of murky clouds. She could stay out as late as she wanted, go anywhere, do anything, as long as no one recognized her and reported back to her father. He wouldn’t check on her again tonight. Once he raped her, he didn’t bother her again. Not until the next time. During the day, their lives were hypocritically normal. They ate their meals together every morning and evening. He asked her about her homework, her teachers and her friends. He acted like any father might. He attended all her school functions, charmed her teachers and her friends, and had the whole world fooled. Everyone believed he was the ideal father. No one suspected what happened between them several nights each week in the privacy of her bedroom.

“This is our secret,” he had told her the first time he had raped her, when she was thirteen. “No one else must ever know. No one would understand.”

He was right. No one would understand.

She didn’t understand.

“Mom, I think it’s great that you’ve rented your own place.” Seth finished off the last bite of caramel pie and scooted his chair away from the kitchen table.

“It’s not as large as our old house,” Cathy told him. “But it’s only three blocks from Nana and Granddad, over on Madison Avenue, and there’s plenty of room for the two of us. Your room is a really good size, and you’ll have your own bathroom.”

Seth’s smile, which she had enjoyed all evening, faded quickly at the mention of him living with her. “Mom, I…I…”

“You don’t have to move in with me next week when I take our furniture out of storage, but sooner or later, I want you to come home where you belong—with me.”

“I know what you want, Mom. It’s just that Granddad’s not going to agree, and I don’t think he’ll change his mind. You know how stubborn he is.”

“Yes, I know. And I would prefer to have your grandfather’s approval. But with or without it, I want you to live with me. You’re my son, not his. You belong with me.”

When she saw the confused expression on Seth’s face, she almost wished she could take back the adamant claim to her maternal rights. Almost. She would never make Seth do something he didn’t want to do, but she suspected that his reluctance to live with her had more to do with him not wanting to displease J.B. than it did with any doubts he had about moving in with her.

“Granddad and Nana are my legal guardians,” Seth reminded her. “When you went to Haven Home, you agreed that it was the best thing for me.”

“At the time, it was. But that was then and this is now. I’m completely well. I’m strong and healthy and totally competent.”

He stared at her, a look of uncertainty in his blue eyes.

Eyes identical to his father’s.

“I had a nervous breakdown. I chose to get the help I needed. I did that as much for you as for me. We had just lost Mark, lost your dad, and I knew you needed me. The only way I could be the mother you needed was to get well, completely well.”

“I know all that, but it doesn’t change the fact that you…Well, you totally lost it and spent a year in that place, and some people think you’re still…Gee, Mom, I don’t think you’re crazy or anything. It’s just that Granddad—”

“I understand.” Cathy steeled her nerves. Oh, she understood, all right. J.B. intended to retain legal custody of her son and would do whatever he thought necessary to keep a barrier between Seth and her. The old Cathy wouldn’t have fought back; she would have convinced herself that J.B. knew what was best. Well, that was the old Cathy. The new and improved Cathy would give her father-in-law the fight of his life. “But I’d still like for you to come by this weekend and see the house. And please, invite your grandparents to come with you.”

Seth’s face brightened. “Yeah, sure. That would be great. I know Granddad will eventually let me come over and spend the night.”

Cathy forced a smile and somehow managed to keep it in place for the next hour of Seth’s visit.

J.B. picked Seth up promptly at nine-thirty, but didn’t bother coming to the door. He honked the horn and waited outside. Seth kissed Cathy’s cheek and gave her a hug.

“Tonight was great,” he told her. “I’ll see you this weekend.”

She stood in the doorway and watched him get in the car with his grandfather. When J.B. glanced her way and nodded, she lifted her hand, waved and plastered an ear-to-ear grin across her face.

Just as the red taillights on J.B.’s Lincoln disappeared around the corner at the end of the block, Lorie came up beside Cathy.

“J.B.’s being a real bastard about Seth,” Lorie said.

“Yes, he is.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to call in the morning and make an appointment with Elliott Floyd. I believe it’s time I hired a lawyer.”

When Father Brian parked his Honda Civic, he noted that his was the only vehicle in the small paved lot adjacent to the park entrance. On several trips to Dunmore during the past couple of years, he had passed by Spring Creek Park, but he had never stopped and checked it out. The entrance was well lit, as the entire park seemed to be, with pole lights placed strategically throughout the acreage. After closing the car door, he took in a deep, steadying breath and instantly caught the scent of damp earth. He closed his eyes for a peaceful moment and inhaled that glorious smell left behind after a good, soaking rain.

He sighed, opened his eyes and checked his lighted digital wristwatch. Ten fifty-seven.

She should be here soon, if she showed up at all.

Please, God, let her come to me so that I can help her.

Although it was late May and the daytime temperatures ranged from the high seventies to the low eighties, the nights were still often quite chilly. Feeling the cool breeze whipping through the trees, he was glad he had worn his jacket.

The stone archway that led into the park appeared to be quite old. No doubt this park had been in existence for generations. Often parks were located near underground springs and other bodies of water, so he assumed Spring Creek Park was near Spring Creek. The sidewalk ended abruptly less than fifteen feet inside the park. Three dirt paths, leading in different directions, branched off from the sidewalk.

He paused, looked around, getting the lay of the land, so to speak, and felt an instant shiver of apprehension shoot through his body. Standing perfectly still, he listened to the quiet nighttime chorus of wind and nearby water and the gentle song of unseen creatures.

Suddenly the headlights of a passing car flashed across the park entrance and startled him. No reason to panic, he told himself. But what if the car had belonged to a policeman? What if he was questioned about what he was doing here, alone in the park, at this time of night? Why hadn’t he considered the possibility that someone might mistake him for one of those men who performed deviant sex acts in public places?

A flutter of noise erupted from a nearby tree, and two birds emerged from the thick foliage and sailed into the starless sky, their silhouettes spotlighted by the shadowed moonlight. The sound startled him, so much so that his heartbeat accelerated and his hands trembled. An anxious unease settled over him, accompanied by the thought that he shouldn’t be here.

He checked his watch again. Five after eleven. He would wait another ten minutes. Even though his gut instinct told him to leave now, his heartfelt concern for the person who had called him, begging for his help, overruled his common sense. Some poor, lost soul might take her own life tonight if he didn’t stay here and offer her hope for the future.

“Father Brian,” the voice called to him.

“Yes, I’m here.” His gaze circled the area around him, but he saw no one. “Where are you?”

Silence.

Had he imagined her calling his name? Had it simply been the wind?

“Please, show yourself. I’m Father Brian. I’m here to help you, my child.”

“Father Brian.” The eerily soft voice said his name again, and this time he noted from which direction it had come.

He followed the path that led past the small rose garden and two sets of concrete park benches. “Don’t be afraid.” He held out his hands in a gesture that he hoped indicated concern and caring. “Whatever is wrong in your life, God can help you. All things are possible through Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior.”

A dark figure bolted from the unlit area of trees and tall shrubs and came at him so quickly that he didn’t have time to react before he felt a cool, foul-smelling liquid splatter over him from his face to his feet.

What had just happened?

Father Brian looked into the face of death, realizing too late that he had walked into a skillfully planned trap. He saw the tiny, yellow-orange flame at the tip of the Pocket Torch lighter half a second before she tossed it on him, setting him on fire.

She moved back, away from the flames, and stood there listening to the priest’s screams. She watched in utter silence, smiling. He would never again harm another child.

Vengeance is mine, thus sayeth the Lord. She was the Lord’s instrument of punishment. He had chosen her to rid the world of men such as Father Brian. Slowly, quietly, as silent as the grave, she turned and walked away.

Burn in hell for your sins, Father Brian! Burn in everlasting torment.

Chapter Six

Tasha Phillips parked one of the two Spring Creek Missionary Baptist Church vans carrying the church’s preschoolers, and her husband, Dewan, pulled the second van up beside the first. Three SUVs followed, each carrying the same precious cargo. Every year on the final Tuesday prior to the Wednesday evening church services where the little ones participated in a graduation ceremony, the minister and his wife hosted a picnic at Spring Creek Park. As the director of the church’s preschool and day-care programs, Tasha took great pride in her accomplishments—not that they equaled Dewan’s, of course. Since they had come to Dunmore nearly ten years ago, the local church had flourished under her husband’s charismatic leadership. The once small, floundering congregation now boasted over two hundred members, a large number in a town of less than eight thousand residents, with only 10 percent of those African-American.

Mothers and fathers carrying picnic baskets and coolers emerged from their vehicles, and the teachers lined the preschoolers up and counted heads.

Once the group had congregated at the arched entrance to the park, Dewan raised his hands and called for a moment of silence. To a person, every man, woman and child quieted instantly. The murmur of the warm spring breeze and the trickle of springwater flowing over the nearby streambed provided background music for the prayer.

“Almighty God, creator of all things, benevolent and understanding, we come before You this morning asking for Your blessings for these our beloved children and thanking You for this fine day.”

Tasha bowed her head and closed her eyes as she listened to Dewan’s booming, authoritative voice speaking directly to the Lord. She was as mesmerized by him today as she had been twelve years ago when they had been introduced by mutual friends. For her, it had been love at first sight. She had never met anyone like Dewan Phillips, a man so sure of his calling to preach, a man who could have been anything he wanted and yet chose service to God and his fellow man. And when given the opportunity to be an assistant minister at a large church in Birmingham, he had chosen instead to accept the job as pastor of a needy church in the small North Alabama town of Dunmore.

At the end of Dewan’s prayer, a resounding shout of “Amen” signaled the children that they could laugh and talk, which they immediately did.

As the teachers and parents entered the park, Tasha slipped her arm through her husband’s and smiled up at him. At six-three, Dewan towered over her by a good ten inches. He leaned down, kissed her forehead and then laid his big hand tenderly over her slightly protruding belly. After ten years of marriage, ten years of praying for a child, they were, at long last, expecting a little boy in three months. They had already decided to name him after their fathers, Sidney Demetrius Phillips, but they couldn’t agree on what they would call him. She preferred Sid, after her dad, and he preferred Demetrius, after his dad. She suspected that, in the end, Dewan would win her over. He always did.

“You go on in,” he told her. “I need to get those folding chairs out of the back of the van.”

Tasha joined the others in the park, following the mothers as they walked directly toward the tables near the rose garden. There was more shade in that area because of the enormous old oak trees growing nearby. The teachers herded the children toward the play equipment suitable for their age groups while the parents busied themselves with picnic preparations. When Mariah Johnson pulled a red-checkered tablecloth from her basket and unfolded it, Tasha grabbed one end and helped her spread it across the nearest table.

“The day couldn’t be more perfect, could it?” Mariah said. “It’s as if the Lord is smiling down on us.”

While chitchatting happily, they retrieved another tablecloth from Mariah’s basket. Then, just as they lifted the cloth over the next table, a loud, terrified scream shattered the adults’ cheerful conversation and the children’s beautiful laughter. Tasha stopped dead still, the ends of the tablecloth clutched in her hands. Two of the fathers, Eli Richardson and Galvin Johnson, ran toward the screaming Monetia Simmons, who stood stiff as a granite statue, her wide eyes fixed on something lying on the ground behind the concrete tables at the far side of the rose garden. As the men neared Monetia, they paused when they saw what had made her scream.

Dewan came racing toward Tasha. “What’s wrong? I heard someone screaming.”

Eli went over to Monetia and put his arm protectively around her trembling shoulders while Galvin hurried toward Dewan. He said in a low, calm voice, “Call the police, Reverend Phillips. There’s a dead man over there. It looks like he burned to death.”

“Merciful Lord,” Tasha gasped.

Dewan gripped her arm. “You and the other ladies gather up the children and take them back to the church. I’ll contact the police, and the men and I will stay here until they arrive.”

Jack stared at the photographs of Mark Cantrell’s charred body. Autopsy photos. What kind of person could douse another human being with gasoline and set him on fire? Someone completely devoid of any type of normal emotions—someone incapable of empathy or sympathy?

His own body retained the scars left from an explosion, scars no surgeon’s scalpel could ever completely erase. But he had been in the middle of a war zone when he’d been severely injured. And he had survived. Casualties were expected during a war. Mark Cantrell had been living in a small, quiet Alabama town. He had been a minister, a man of God, someone who taught love and compassion and forgiveness. His death had been unexpected and horrific in nature.

What must it have been like for Cathy to have watched her husband burn to death, knowing there was absolutely nothing she could do to save him?

Jack set aside the Cantrell file and picked up the file containing the copies of the Athens police department’s report on the death of Charles Randolph. Six months after Mark Cantrell’s vicious murder, the forty-nine-year-old Randolph, a Lutheran pastor, had been covered with gasoline and set on fire. His wife had heard his screams and rushed into the backyard. She had found him burning to death in the alley, where he had gone to place their garbage for the next day’s trash pickup. Randolph had lived less than twelve hours after being rushed to the hospital. In his condition, he had been unable to tell the police anything. And neither his wife nor any of the neighbors had seen or heard anything suspicious.

Jack shoved aside the files, leaned back in the swivel chair at his desk, lifted his arms behind him and cupped the back of his head with his entwined fingers.

Other than the fact they were both clergymen, the two victims had nothing in common, nothing that would link them to each other or to the same killer.