Veiled Threat (17 page)

thirty-one

Giulia pounced—in her head.
Out of her mouth came friendly, calming words.

“Is he old-fashioned about what ‘good girls’ should wear?”

Maryjane gave her a weak smile. “He’s my husband, but he’s also our church’s pastor. We have to set an example for his flock, in public and private.”

How to say it
… But before Giulia could frame the question without sounding offensive, Maryjane came to her rescue.

“You’re thinking that good Evangelicals wouldn’t be working here.”

Giulia called up a blush and Maryjane mirrored it.

“It’s the job market. Phineas and I had been here for six years when the original owner retired. Barbara begged us to stay.” She lowered her voice. “I do like her, even if she’s not exactly what our church elders would approve of. We brought it to God in prayer. After consulting with our church elders, we realized that God works in mysterious ways. We chose to be open to the possibilities he presented to us in this setting.”

Good Heavens, I’ve landed in a syrupy Christian novel.
Giulia managed, “I see.”

Maryjane’s smile changed. “We’ve had some interesting opportunities here.” She straightened. “You, for example.”

Giulia didn’t have to pretend to be startled. “Me?”

“I’ve seen you listening to Penny’s marriage woes. I’ve seen the look on your face.” She used a one-armed maternal hug on Giulia. “You’re searching for answers.”

This time, the plan sprang into her head fully formed. All she needed to do was play on Maryjane’s combined sweetness and role as a pastor’s wife. She called on a little-used, mostly useless skill: she started to cry.

Maryjane’s embrace tightened. “What’s wrong?”

“I thought I had found a good man, I really did, but last night …” She snatched a scratchy napkin from the holder on the counter and wiped her eyes.
This will make them redder and more pathetic. Perfect.
“Last night … he said such terrible things to me.”

“I was sure you weren’t married.”

Giulia let more tears flow. “I’m not. He said I was the perfect woman for him and he loved me. He’s so skinny. I’m a good cook and he always compliments my cooking and he never seems to gain a pound. He’s so charming.”

Maryjane waited, the hug taking on extra reassurance.

“I always made sure not to get pregnant, you know? Because we weren’t married.” Giulia rubbed her arms. “He’s not the father type, but he took good care of me.”

The radio gave her Faith Hill singing “O Come, All Ye Faithful.”

Thank you, radio.
“But last night he showed me who he really was.”

Maryjane handed her another napkin.

“I gave him his Christmas present early, you know, so he could wear it to church. I never really talked to him about church before. I knitted him a sweater. He—he threw it on the floor and stepped on it.”

“Why?” Maryjane’s voice was all soothing honey and warmth.

“I told him about this Lessons and Carols evening I wanted to go to. It would’ve been so great—early music singers, candlelight, and a Lord’s Supper afterwards.”
Don’t overdo it. Remember to sound sincere.
“He told me that church was a crutch for the weak and that Jesus was a fairy tale like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.”

Maryjane grasped Giulia’s hand.

“I should’ve asked him if he was a Christian before I moved in with him, I know. I assumed he was because he hung out with friends of mine.” She tried for a dramatic pause. “When I tried to ask him about that, he grabbed my arm and yanked me right up against him and told me that the only time he wanted to hear me shouting God’s name was when … well … I won’t repeat it.”

Maryjane
tsk
ed. “You poor thing. You poor dear.”

Giulia let the tears run another fifteen seconds by the clock above the refrigerator. Then she blew her nose and went to the sink. Grabbing two paper towels with one hand, she ran cold water with the other, soaked the towels, and pressed them against her face.

“I know what you need.”

Giulia lowered the wet towels. She hoped she looked miserable. “What?”

“An evening in our church.” When Giulia shifted her weight onto her right elbow and twisted around to look at her, Maryjane’s smile tripled in wattage. “I mean it. Our church is just like coming home. It’s all about family and love. Oh, Regina, say you’ll come tonight. We’re having an extra-special pre-Christmas service. It’s just what you need. I’m sure of it.”

The radio began a seven-o’clock news break.
Escape route open.

“I’ve been on break way too long. I have to vacuum the eating area now that dinner’s over.” She squeezed Maryjane’s hands. “I’ll think about it, I promise.”

She straightened her hair and uniform skirt before walking out of the room. The utility hall was empty and the supply-room door was the kind that closed on its own if not propped. She let it hiss and click shut, then propped herself against it.

Dear Lord, I’m going to need a marathon Confession after this. I must be more hardened than I thought, because I was more worried about saying the right words to her than I was about the tower of lies I built.

The vacuum needed a new bag, which gave her a few more minutes to compose herself. When she opened the door, she was Regina the invisible housekeeper again. Her face and eyes had regressed from “hot and swollen” to “tepid.”

Forty-five minutes later, she was the last one eating dinner leftovers in the break room. The maintenance man entered, a dusting of snow on his parka, and walked straight up to her.

“Regina, my wife told me your story.”

Giulia looked startled and embarrassed.

“You come to our church tonight. You will be very welcome at the Valley of the Redeemed.”

“I’m sorry; I haven’t heard of this church.” In her head she paged through the “Churches” section of the phone book. Nothing.

“We raised the money to buy our own building two years ago. Before that, we met for worship in each other’s homes. At the moment the Valley consists of our extended family members only.” He patted her back in an awkward, fatherly way. “Maryjane will write out directions for you. Our church is located halfway between here and Cottonwood. The area is quite rural and without streetlights, so familiarize yourself with the directions before you start out.” He looked at the clock. “What time is your shift over?”

“Nine o’clock.”

“Good. The service is a late one because Maryjane is filling in for the night clerk until eight thirty. If you leave here by nine fifteen and the weather holds, you should reach us well before nine forty-five.”

“Sounds good.”

The phone on his belt
ding
ed. “Phineas, can you come jump a battery? White Land Rover, third row under the light.”

He unhooked it and pressed a button. “I’ll be right out.” He sighed. “Someday I will invent a car battery that never dies, summer or winter. And then I’ll retire. See you at quarter to ten.”

Giulia put her hands to the small of her back and stretched.
I’ll need to practice happy-happy-joy-joy. Phineas’s paternal attitude ticks me off, but at least he doesn’t seem to be the fire-and-brimstone type. It could be an act, though. Act. Games. God, I hate this duplicitous garbage. Myself included. This Christmas Week service might not be a bad way to end the day—after all, church is church.

thirty-two

A psychic email apparently
went out at eight o’clock, because fifteen couples all decided to use the pool and spa at once. Giulia ran back and forth with fresh towels twice. It being three days before Christmas, the chef wheeled a chocolate fountain and piles of cut fruit on a decorated trolley into the lounge at eight thirty. The newlyweds and their friends who’d stayed at the Wildflower converged for that; the pool and spa people joined them, and that meant more towels and a run for extra dishes.

Caroling began at nine. Giulia deposited a full tray of dessert dishes onto the dishwasher cart and escaped.

After she scraped her car, she dialed Frank with freezing fingers. “Hello. Distract me while this zombie car warms up, please.”

She heard a smile in his voice. “Better make sure that Saturn you have your eye on has a working heater.”

“Darn right I will. Wait a sec, I have to put down the phone to get my other glove on.” She jammed the warm wool onto her hand and snugged it into the webbing between her fingers. “Okay, I’ll still be able to play the flute for Midnight Mass.”

“I’m expected to be a good Catholic and come hear you, aren’t I?”

“You’re expected to be a good Catholic and attend Mass on Christmas. If you want to come with me to Saint Thomas’s, that would be acceptable.” She held out her right hand to the air vent. Not quite as cold as air-conditioning. “This isn’t the distraction I meant. I’ve done some snooping. The sous chef looks like a bust. He’s got a boatload of debt and a wife who’s recently off the Pill, but according to the email I read—”

“You read a potential suspect’s email? I’m proud of you.”

“I’m not.” She inhaled, held it, and exhaled. “Don’t give me the speech about this being what I signed on for when I agreed to be your partner.”

“Fine. What’d the email say?”

“That her body chemistry is retaining the Pill hormones longer than expected.”

“Uh, can we skip the intimate female plumbing details?”

“Can you tell me why men are supposed to be tougher than women?”

“Muscle structure. Skull density.” He paused. “I didn’t mean to feed you a straight line. What else?”

“They’re planning a baby-making session for tonight.”

“Heh. All right, here’s what I’ve got: He and his wife are not quite drowning in debt, but they’re close. Her call-center job is base salary plus commission, and chef school is more expensive than I thought.”

“But?” She held her wool-covered hands over the vents. Lukewarm.

“But they don’t appear to be much different than thousands of other couples working off student loans. They call their parents and friends. They order pizza. They don’t go to any church. The worst thing Jimmy found against them is a few speeding tickets.”

“Blast. I refuse to cross them off. They could be flying way under the radar.”

“Stubborn woman. If I were still Detective Driscoll, they’d be dropped to page three of my suspect list.”

“I’ll take it under advisement. What else do you have?”

“The mother from hell.”

“Whose?”

“Masseuse’s. Her Twitter feed is two kinds of vents. The first about her mother nagging her to spawn. The second about fertility goddesses and clinics.”

She nodded. “I know this. It’s all she talks about.”

“Here’s what you might not know. Her husband tweets to a dozen different adoption clinics and support groups.”

Giulia sat up. “What’s the general tone of his tweets?”

“What, are you looking for increased frustration?” She heard the smile in his voice. “I should win a prize for hiring the right people for the right job.”

She heard an answering smile in her own voice. “Stop preening or I’ll call your mother.”

“I should never have taken you to the Christmas party. All right. Your instinct is correct, but the evidence is iffy. He’s frustrated, but it seems to be focused on the mother-in-law and the wife’s goddess-hopping.”

“He’s made comments that imply he likes a traditional, submissive wife.”

“A man after my own heart.”

“Frank, I hope your wife, whoever she will be, makes twice as much money as you and relegates you to househusband status.” Giulia cringed. Banter was all well and good, but she was hitting a little close to home.

“Christ on a crutch, you’re an evil woman sometimes.”

“Frank.”

“Yes, yes, sorry. Their phone records show calls to Erie, but he has college friends there. No calls to Akron.”

“That doesn’t mean anything and you know it,” Giulia said.

“I know. Burn phones. Technology makes our job that much harder.”

“I get frustration from both of them, but not desperation. Not yet, at least.” She stretched her booted toes toward the bottom vents. “Heat at last. Frank, I’ve got to get moving. I’m going to put you on speaker.”

“Where do you have to be that’s so important?” Frank’s voice echoed now that it wasn’t against her ear.

“Maryjane—she’s the desk clerk—invited me to their church tonight.”

“What?”

“I am a fast mover.”

He spluttered. “You are a hardened little liar. How did you finagle this invite?”

She headed down the long entrance driveway. “I have a hidden talent.”

“Which is?”

“I can cry on cue. I wove Maryjane a saga of The Wrong Man, The Wrong Choices, and The Need for Change, making my tear ducts gush at the most heart-wrenching point.”

The night was utterly dark; only her headlights hitting the mounds of snow gave her any hint of the winding road’s boundaries. At least it wasn’t snowing.

Frank’s voice echoing from the other seat distracted her. “I’ll remember this ability the next time I see you cry.”

“Since you’ve seen me cry exactly once, I’ll make sure to let you know if you’ve stomped on my heart or if I’m playing you.”

“I have no plans to stomp on you. I presume you’ll cry at Sidney’s wedding like every other female there?”

“Of course. It’s a girl thing. Don’t try to understand.” She reached the end of the Wildflower’s driveway, put the Escort into park, and turned on the overhead light. “I want to pay attention to the road and not to you, no offense intended. What else do you have for me?”

“A cautionary tale of the hazards of working with radioactive materials back in the day.”

“What? Wait. Penny and Matt or Maryjane and Phineas?”

“The latter. Phineas McFarland ran away after high school to have a good time. Volunteered for some under-the-table science experiments for the cash, and his little swimmers paid the price.”

“Little—oh.” She raised her eyes to Heaven.

“He and Maryjane met when she started at the resort as night desk clerk back when it was a standard family-vacation place. Their marriage was fine till the fertility issues started. You know, it’s the duty of all good Christians to pop out lots of little Christians.”

“‘Little swimmer’ issues could also be the problem of Matt, the ski instructor.”

“With the added difficulty of a wife who’s into a different religion.”

“True.” She backed the heat down a smidgen. “It hinges, I’m pretty sure, on who’s the biggest closet super-Christian. Maryjane came out to me, but I haven’t talked to Matt enough. I’ve hardly said ten words to the sous chef.”

“Super-deluded enough to convince themselves that taking babies away from one adoptive couple and giving them to another is what God wants them to do.”

“If they’re having trouble conceiving, then it could be a warped attempt to even the playing field.”

“Sports metaphors are my territory.” The sound of his voice changed. She thought he was pacing. “So why are you putting yourself in the hands of one potential set of kidnappers? I don’t like it.”

“You know why: to learn Katie’s whereabouts. We’re running out of time. I’ll use my hardened liar’s talents”—she paused while he cleared his throat—“to make them believe their church is what I’ve been looking for all my life. That should be the quickest way to get them to open up to me.”

“If that happens, you’re going to call me and I’ll call Jimmy, right?”

“If there was a way to ingratiate myself with the ski instructor tonight, I’d do that too. I suppose it’s too much to hope that he’ll go to the same church.” She replayed that last sentence. “If he went to the same church … that would make a whole lot of sense …”

Frank’s voice sharpened. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I need to move if I’m going to find this place in time. We can discuss things tomorrow to prevent me from falling asleep on my keyboard.”

“Giulia—”

“’Night.”

She hit the
End
button and turned on the overhead light. “Take Route 30, merge right onto 376, right onto Cliff Mine Road … Good Heavens, how many little streets? All right. Here goes.”

She merged into light traffic. For the Thursday before Christmas, it wasn’t too bad. Even as she got closer to Cottonwood it stayed sparse, and when she hit Cliff Mine, she owned the road.

“My kingdom for a streetlight.” The houses had plenty of room to breathe and all were set deep into their extensive lots. She flicked on her brights. She turned left, left again, right, followed a narrow road across a wooden bridge and into a copse of naked hemlocks and chestnuts. “It should be right around here …”

A ten-foot privacy fence loomed up on her right. Pickup trucks, a minivan, and several cars parked in semi-regular order on the near side of the fence. She aimed for the most driven-over part of the snow and parked close to the road. The Escort needed all the help it could get.

The gate had created a half-circle in the snow. She expected her movement to trip security floodlights, but the darkness remained. She flicked the mini-flashlight on her keychain.

Good thing I checked these batteries last week.

A narrow, shoveled path began at the gate and led straight to the Amityville Horror house.

“Good Heavens.”

She looked again. Her first impression had been almost right: the third-floor windows were octagonal, not quarter-circles. Instead of an enclosed porch, an open deck circled the front and around both sides. A pair of rocking chairs and a lump that might be a small table rose out of the snowdrifts on the left side of the door. Two windows took up the wall on the other side of the door: one shuttered, one missing a shutter.

The third-floor octagonal windows were dark.
Good. No Satanic silhouettes. Um
…
you might want to ease up on the horror movies, Falcone.

Her mini-light illuminated only a small circle of snow. She swung it left to right a few feet in front of her. The snow had been trampled by many human feet and at least one dog. A big dog—she stopped to compare a paw print with one of her own feet.

Rock salt had eaten holes into the packed slush on the wide front steps. It crunched under her boots. Still no lights, not even an old-fashioned porch lamp. No noises from inside, either. She shined the flashlight on her watch: ten minutes to spare. There should be people moving around inside, talking, warming up their voices, something.

An engraved sign above a circular brass knocker read,
Valley of the Redeemed. Ps. 104:8.
It wasn’t a verse she knew. She raised the circular brass knocker and let it fall. The sharp sound bounced through the empty house. But it couldn’t be empty. The cars outside, the fresh rock salt, the shoveled path. She banged the knocker again and again till paint flaked off the door.

The knocker pulled out of her hand.

“What do you want?”