Page 47
Story: The Sniper
He nodded gently at Mama and me, but his eyes moved past us—landing on Noah.
“You must be with Hallie Mae,” he said, stepping forward and offering a hand. “I’m Charles Eldridge. Was with the Reverend last night. We were planning the couples retreat for the fall.” His voice broke faintly at the end, and he cleared his throat to cover it.
Noah shook his hand. “Noah Dane.”
“Appreciate you bringing her here. Leanne needed her daughter.” He glanced toward Mama, still curled over me in the rocker, then lowered his voice. “It’s not real to her yet. Not really.”
“I understand,” Noah said. He slid his hands into his pockets, easy but alert. “Can I ask you something?”
The deacon blinked. “Of course.”
Noah angled his body slightly, like he was shielding the conversation from me and Mama. “Do they know what happened?”
Charles exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Not much. Only what the police have told us—which isn’t nearly enough. Said he was alone in his study at the church. Was working late after I’d called it a night.Leanne had gone home hours before. One of the janitors found him. Front door was ajar. Thought that was strange. Walked in and … well.”
Noah’s jaw tensed. “Anything missing?”
“Not that they could tell. His phone and wallet were still there. Nothing appeared to be stolen.” Charles frowned. “But it doesn’t feel random.”
Noah nodded once, thoughtful. “Any reason someone might’ve wanted to hurt him?”
“None I can think of.” The deacon hesitated, glancing at the porch swing like it might hold answers. “He was respected. Loved. You know how it is, though. A man preaches about sin long enough, he’s bound to step on the wrong toes, eventually.”
“Did he say anything strange to you?” Noah pressed gently. “Seem nervous, upset?”
Charles shook his head. “He was tired. Said he’d been praying more than usual. That he felt something shifting. I figured he meant the shelter incident.”
Noah nodded.
A long silence stretched between them.
Then the deacon shifted. “Do the local police know who you are?”
Noah gave a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “They know enough.”
Charles studied him for a long moment, then nodded, like some quiet agreement had passed between them. “I’m from Charleston. I know your name. If there’s anything I can tell you, anything that might help … you come to me. Quietly, if you can.”
“I will,” Noah said.
The deacon looked back toward Mama and me. “I’m going inside. If either of you need anything, there’sa casserole in the oven and tea in the fridge. Some ladies from the congregation are on their way.”
Noah nodded. “Thanks.”
Charles disappeared inside, leaving the door cracked behind him.
Noah stepped back to the edge of the porch, arms crossed, his eyes scanning the quiet street beyond like he was already hunting something—someone.
I knew, watching him from where I still knelt at Mama’s knees, that he wasn’t just here to comfort me.
He was here to find the person who pulled the trigger.
And God help whoever it was when he did.
14
NOAH
Istuck around her mother’s place, leaning against the porch railing, arms crossed, trying to look normal—like I wasn’t itching to bolt.
“You must be with Hallie Mae,” he said, stepping forward and offering a hand. “I’m Charles Eldridge. Was with the Reverend last night. We were planning the couples retreat for the fall.” His voice broke faintly at the end, and he cleared his throat to cover it.
Noah shook his hand. “Noah Dane.”
“Appreciate you bringing her here. Leanne needed her daughter.” He glanced toward Mama, still curled over me in the rocker, then lowered his voice. “It’s not real to her yet. Not really.”
“I understand,” Noah said. He slid his hands into his pockets, easy but alert. “Can I ask you something?”
The deacon blinked. “Of course.”
Noah angled his body slightly, like he was shielding the conversation from me and Mama. “Do they know what happened?”
Charles exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Not much. Only what the police have told us—which isn’t nearly enough. Said he was alone in his study at the church. Was working late after I’d called it a night.Leanne had gone home hours before. One of the janitors found him. Front door was ajar. Thought that was strange. Walked in and … well.”
Noah’s jaw tensed. “Anything missing?”
“Not that they could tell. His phone and wallet were still there. Nothing appeared to be stolen.” Charles frowned. “But it doesn’t feel random.”
Noah nodded once, thoughtful. “Any reason someone might’ve wanted to hurt him?”
“None I can think of.” The deacon hesitated, glancing at the porch swing like it might hold answers. “He was respected. Loved. You know how it is, though. A man preaches about sin long enough, he’s bound to step on the wrong toes, eventually.”
“Did he say anything strange to you?” Noah pressed gently. “Seem nervous, upset?”
Charles shook his head. “He was tired. Said he’d been praying more than usual. That he felt something shifting. I figured he meant the shelter incident.”
Noah nodded.
A long silence stretched between them.
Then the deacon shifted. “Do the local police know who you are?”
Noah gave a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “They know enough.”
Charles studied him for a long moment, then nodded, like some quiet agreement had passed between them. “I’m from Charleston. I know your name. If there’s anything I can tell you, anything that might help … you come to me. Quietly, if you can.”
“I will,” Noah said.
The deacon looked back toward Mama and me. “I’m going inside. If either of you need anything, there’sa casserole in the oven and tea in the fridge. Some ladies from the congregation are on their way.”
Noah nodded. “Thanks.”
Charles disappeared inside, leaving the door cracked behind him.
Noah stepped back to the edge of the porch, arms crossed, his eyes scanning the quiet street beyond like he was already hunting something—someone.
I knew, watching him from where I still knelt at Mama’s knees, that he wasn’t just here to comfort me.
He was here to find the person who pulled the trigger.
And God help whoever it was when he did.
14
NOAH
Istuck around her mother’s place, leaning against the porch railing, arms crossed, trying to look normal—like I wasn’t itching to bolt.
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