Page 52

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Carol Walker opened the front door with a string of rosary beads in her hand.

She blinked in the darkness before remembering to turn on the porch light.

Her movements were slow and careful, as if every gesture was designed to draw the least amount of attention.

Jude’s gut signaled this was probably not a parent abduction.

The woman was too cowed. Grief and worry hadn’t worn her down overnight.

She had the demeanor of someone who’d spent her entire life being told that she was wrong.

The only way Carol Walker would ever leave her husband was on a stretcher or in a hearse.

“Ma’am,” Emmy said. “I’m sorry, we don’t have any news about Paisley. You remember my son, Deputy Clifton. This is Jude Archer. She’s with the FBI.”

Carol’s slow nod made it clear she’d only heard the first part about Paisley. She was no longer drugged, but her eyes had a glassy quality. She worked her rosary beads with the furtiveness of a trapped bird as she led them into the living room.

Jude studied her from behind. The time was coming up on five in the morning and Carol was wearing white leggings under a long denim skirt that looked like it had been slept in.

So did her white blouse with lace trim along the collar and the cuffs of the long sleeves.

The fussy living room complemented the old-fashioned look with its floral patterns, glass figurines, and doilies.

The temperature was too hot. The lights too bright.

No dust was visible. Everything was in its place.

Appearances were clearly important to the woman.

Jude’s guess was that Carol probably knew that her husband strayed, just like she was probably too afraid to confront him over it.

The only question now was whether or not she knew the name of her husband’s mistress.

Emmy had clearly made the same assessments.

She had zeroed in on the array of family photographs hanging on the wall behind the couch.

Different sizes, shapes, frames, colors.

They were all centered around a giant cross with Jesus carved in full, three-dimensional color.

His head hung down, the blood from the crown of thorns rendered in bright red rivulets on either side of his pained face.

This was definitely not a family that would consider divorce as an option.

“Is Elijah—” Carol’s voice was timid. “Is he okay? I called up to the station, but they said he couldn’t talk to me, and he didn’t answer his cell phone.”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s been really helpful. All he wants to do is find Paisley.” Emmy turned toward the back of the house. “Is someone here?”

“Father Nate,” Carol said. “He’s making tea.”

Jude offered, “I’ll give him a hand.”

She didn’t wait for permission, nor did she need directions.

Her great-uncle Constantine had designed the houses in this part of North Falls.

He hadn’t been a good architect so much as a good salesman.

The Walkers had benefited from the upgraded window package that kept the house from feeling like an underground bunker.

The overhead lights were on in the kitchen.

Dawn gave the backyard a purple undertone.

Father Nate Trask was putting the kettle on the stove. He nearly dropped it when he saw Jude.

“You were supposed to be dead.”

She shrugged. “They said the same thing to Jesus.”

“I see you still have that nasty mouth,” he said. “Why are you here? This family has been through enough. I won’t let you cause trouble.”

“I’m here to bring Paisley Walker home.” Jude still had her old business cards. She reached into her purse and slapped one on the counter. “Where were you yesterday morning, Father?”

He made a show of leaning down to look at the card rather than touch it. “Judas betrayed Jesus.”

“Thanks for the breaking news. Where were you yesterday morning?”

He puffed up in outrage. “What are you implying?”

“There’s no implication. I’m explicitly asking you for an alibi.”

“Father.” Emmy had sneaked up behind Jude. “Carol needs you. I’ll bring through the tea.”

Jude returned the priest’s scalding look as he passed by.

Emmy said, “Virgil just called. Highway Patrol lost Carol’s brother. They’re trying to find his car again.”

Jude nodded, though Nate had managed to snap her equilibrium.

She looked for concrete objects around the kitchen to bring her back into the present: the Cuisinart food processer, the Keurig coffee maker, another 3-D Jesus hanging on the wall with family photos arrayed like a Venn diagram.

She felt her heart rate return to normal.

“That’s the brother. Reggie McAllister.”

Jude didn’t bother with her reading glasses. Reggie stood with his arm around Paisley. They had the same blond hair and blue eyes, though Reggie’s prison tattoos were a stark contrast to the girl’s white Communion dress.

Emmy turned the knob on the stove. The gas caught under the kettle. She leaned her hip against the counter. “Why were you going at Father Nate?”

“Spite,” Jude admitted. “Seems I’ve fallen back into old patterns.”

“Elijah probably keeps beer in the fridge if you want one.”

“Jack was my drink, but thank you.” Jude opened the cabinets in search of teabags. She’d had quite enough of Emmy’s bitchiness. “If this is an acquaintance abduction, it’s through the father’s illicit contacts.”

“Yep.” Emmy said. “I sent Cole to poke around the parents’ bedroom. Maybe Elijah left some phone numbers in his pockets.”

“You’re doing a good job with him. He’s a smart kid.”

“I’m not looking for your approval.” Emmy opened a cabinet above the stove. She found the box of teabags and shook it like she’d won a trophy. “What’s your beef with Father Nate?”

“He’s a priest in a time when priests have lost the benefit of the doubt,” Jude said. “Also, he’s an asshole.”

Emmy shrugged as if to concede the point.

Jude asked, “Did Nate have any contact with the previous victims?”

“The Bakers were staunch Catholics. Paul Dalrymple didn’t go to church. Hannah was raised Baptist, but she calls herself a Christmas Christian. Only there for the holidays.”

Jude noticed a change in her tone. “Hannah Dalrymple, Madison’s mother?”

Emmy nodded. “Yep.”

The curt answer was like talking to a mini version of her father. “Hannah and Paul were involved in the shooting.”

Emmy shrugged. “Paul’s the one who drove with a gun to the scene and pointed it at my chest. Hannah’s participation is undetermined. Nobody saw who pulled the trigger.”

Jude felt her eyebrow arch. “He pointed it at you first?”

“Yep.” The curtness was gone. “Hannah yelled to warn me and reached out to stop him.”

“Was she touching the gun when it went off?”

“I was so panicked I couldn’t see anything. My father was murdered right in front of me. I wasn’t memorizing everything so I could give a comprehensive report. I was too busy sobbing like a baby.”

Jude found it interesting that the person who tended to leave the room to avoid showing her feelings was suddenly admitting to a lot of feelings. “I’m sorry you had to—”

“Did you know about me?” Emmy asked. “After you left town, did you know they had me?”

“I did.” Jude chose her words carefully.

She couldn’t tell when Emmy was going to strike or retreat into silence, but she knew the answer mattered too much to care about the response.

“I was a mess. I was still mourning the loss of my brother. I was struggling with addiction. I didn’t think I had room in my heart for anyone else. ”

Emmy busied herself dropping teabags into the cups. Her back was to Jude. She braced her hands on the counter, looked out the window into the backyard. The eerie purple light brought out the leaves on the trees.

Jude took the hint. She left Emmy alone in the kitchen. She saw that Cole had finished his search of the bedroom. He was leaning against the wall by the front door. His thumbs were hooked into his duty vest. There was a casual air about him, but she could tell he was paying close attention.

Carol Walker was sitting on the couch beside Father Nate.

She held the rosary between her clasped hands while Nate prayed for Paisley’s safe return.

Jude waited for the amen before she sat down in the chair across from them.

She quickly calibrated the best approach to get the information she needed in the least amount of time.

Showing Carol the nudes from Elijah’s phone would probably send the woman into hysterics.

Demanding to know the name of his lover would likely make her retreat into shamed silence.

It was better to ease her into the conversation rather than wasting time by breaking her down, then putting her back together.

Especially with Nate perched like a buzzard in a cassock beside her on the couch.

“Mrs. Walker,” Jude was careful how she addressed the woman, “I’m very sorry to be meeting you under these circumstances.

As Sheriff Clifton told you, my name is Jude Archer.

I’m working in the capacity of a consultant with the FBI.

I know you’ve already been asked a lot of questions, but I’m afraid I have some more for you. ”

Carol glanced at Father Nate as if to seek his permission. He gave one of his curt nods. Then he glared at Jude to put her on warning.

The woman told Jude, “Go ahead.”

“Tell me about Paisley. What’s your daughter like?”

Tears streamed from Carol’s eyes. She’d been bombarded with questions about times, locations, minute details that didn’t seem to connect. No one had asked her about her little girl.

She said, “Elijah’s always telling me he’s gonna have to run off the boys with his shotgun one day. Don’t know how I got such a pretty little girl. She’s always been so happy. Even when she was a baby, everybody would say to me, she looks so happy.”