Afraid to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli) - Page 33

“What does the preacher say?”

“ ‘Hide that blasphemy! Get it out of here! It’s a slap in the face of the church! The good citizens of Grizzly Falls don’t need to see anything so vile! Not here in God’s house!’ Or something close.”

“Seems like you were quoting him.”

“Paraphrasing. But he’s not happy.”

“Who would be?”

Pescoli glanced from the weird ice sculpture to Mullins’s worried face and said more calmly, “Yeah, I know, but I think there’s more to it than that.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t know. Yet.” Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “But I intend to find out.”

Together they interviewed Mullins. He was angry, ranting and railing about the audacity of the act, while his wife, Lorraine, appeared shell-shocked as they sat on benches in the vestibule of the church. Though warmer than outside, the foyer of the old church was still chilly. Mullins, calming slightly, said that he’d had trouble sleeping, had decided to work out and tweak his sermon. On the way to his office he’d discovered the body. He’d been pretty clear on the time, four in the morning, give or take a minute or two.

It was now after seven and, through a tracery window, Pescoli noticed that it was still dark as midnight.

Neither the preacher nor his wife knew of anyone who would do such a horrid thing; none of the parishioners were disgruntled, that they knew of, nor did the church have any enemies.

They seemed sincere, and yet, there was something about the way the wife kept her head lowered and had trouble meeting Pescoli’s gaze. Could it be that the preacher beat his wife? Or was that just too obvious?

“You’ll be taking that poor woman away soon,” Mullins said, and it sounded more like a demand than a request.

“As soon as we figure out how to do it.” They wanted to move the ice intact so as not to lose any bit of evidence that might have been trapped in the frozen water. Melting was an issue.

“It’s grotesque,” Lorraine finally said. Seated next to her husband, bundled in jacket, gloves, ski pants and boots, she shuddered. “Who would do such a thing? And why?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out. What can you tell us?” Alvarez asked.

“I heard nothing. I was in bed all night, and I looked out our bedroom window a little after ten, I think.” She glanced at her husband for confirmation. “Just after we prayed together.”

“Ten fifteen, maybe ten thirty. I remember turning out the light after reading and seeing the clock at ten fifty.”

“Okay,” Lorraine agreed. “And I remember looking at the crèche. It’s something we take pride in. Calvin did most of the construction himself. I don’t recall seeing anything out of the ordinary, no extra figure. It was snowing, of course, but the lights were focused on the scene and it was as it should be. Calming. Serene. Something I love.” Her throat caught.

“And you fell asleep right after you looked out the window?”

“I have three daughters,” Lorraine said, as if that explained it.

“And she’s expecting,” her husband chimed in proudly.

Maybe that explained the dark circles under Lorraine’s eyes, but Pescoli wasn’t completely convinced. Something was off here in this cold church foyer with its dimmed lights and feeling of hidden secrets.

The preacher offered, “I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.”

They reaffirmed that they’d heard nothing all night long. “I even, uh, went to the bathroom,” Lorraine admitted. “I don’t know what time it was, but I didn’t hear anything or look out the window. I, um, I kind of don’t even really wake up.” Lines creased her smooth forehead. “Who is the woman—the victim?”

“No positive ID yet,” Pescoli said. “But we think she may have been one of three women who’ve disappeared lately. Possibly a woman named Lara Sue Gilfry. Did you know her?”

“Gilfry? No.” Lorraine was shaking her head slowly, as was her husband.

“No,” he said certainly as he grabbed his wife’s gloved hand and laced his fingers through hers. “Never.”

“She worked over at the Bull and Bear. It’s a bed-and-breakfast in town.”

“Never heard of it,” Lorraine said as she stared at the floor, watching a spider as it scurried quickly beneath the bench.

Tags: Lisa Jackson Mystery
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