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“You didn’t let me finish,” Jed said, and the television smile snapped off now. It was easier to see the similarities to Gid with the polish gone: the eyes, the mouth, the pinched look of the face. “No one has any connection with the man you’re describing. But someone did break into our home tonight. That’s why we have some of our brethren around, to help us keep an eye on things. And that’s why Gid was so jumpy when you arrived.”
But when Shaw glanced at Gid, jumpy wasn’t the word he would have used to describe him. Sullen, maybe, because his big brother had swooped in and taken over. And scared. The fear was hiding under a chemical blanket, but it was there if you knew how to look for it.
“Someone broke in,” North said.
“That’s right.”
“Jeez, what a coincidence.”
“I didn’t say it was a coincidence. It’s obvious that man, the one you told us about, decided he needed money to continue his escape.”
North nodded. “So, he drove a hundred miles to a church on the outskirts of a small town, and because he’s a fugitive and he’s looking for an easy mark, he plowed into a wrought-iron fence, ran a few hundred yards across open ground, and somehow knew that this big, beautiful house was lurking on the other side of that windbreak, even though he couldn’t see it from the road. You know what? Maybe it was divine intervention. Maybe that’s how he knew—maybe it was a miracle.”
Jed threw back his brandy. Then he said, “I think it’s time for you gentlemen to leave.”
“No problem. We’ll wait for the police.” When Jed didn’t say anything, North said, “You called the police, right? Because someone broke into your home? I’m sure they’ll be interested to hear about our escaped killer.”
For a moment, struggle showed in Jed’s face.
But Gid spoke first, the words full of a petulant anger from where he skulked in the corner of the room: “Of course we called the police.”
“Gideon!” Jed snapped.
“Great,” North said, scanning the available seating. “We’ll wait right here.”
“What’s going on here?” The voice was firm and clear. A woman’s voice. The sound of shuffling steps came, and two people appeared in the opening to the entry hall. The woman was so white that at first, Shaw thought she was wearing powder, and combined with the bob of white hair parted on the side, she might have passed for Barbara Bush—or maybe Barbie’s mother. Even at this hour, she wore a navy suit with a silk carnation pinned to the lapel, and it felt like a joke until Shaw looked in her eyes.
She was supporting a man who leaned heavily on a cane as he slowly moved into the room. He had to be Jed and Gid’s father; the features were too similar for anything else. He was obviously old, but his face was curiously unlined—fleshy and soft. It gave Shaw the impression, strangely, of being damp, like something kept out of the sun. His silver ducktail was Brylcreemed in place, filling the air with the barbershop aroma. He wore a suit that matched the woman’s perfectly, but something about it seemed…constrained. Shaw guessed that a girdle was involved.
“Mother,” Jed said. And then, almost absently, “Father.” He glanced at North and Shaw. “These are private detectives working for a police department somewhere else in the state. They say the man who broke in here is wanted for murder.”
“Two murders, actually,” North said. “And I’m curious why he came straight here.”
“Gideon made a bad impression on them, you should know.” It had the sound of childhood tattling, and when Shaw glanced over, the momentary rage on Gid’s face was a child’s rage. Jed continued, “I can’t say I blame them after the scare he gave them.”
“Oh, we weren’t scared,” Shaw said. “He would have had to take the safety off first.”
For a moment, no one said anything. Then Jed barked a laugh and headed back to the bar. The woman—Mrs. Moss, presumably—helped her husband onto one of the damask sofas, where he started to tilt. She propped him up with some pillows and then sat and held his hand.
“My husband has to conserve his strength for his ministry,” she said.
He looked, in Shaw’s opinion, like he had to conserve his strength so he could keep breathing inside that girdle, but he decided now might not be the time to share that particular insight.
“I’m Lacey Stence Moss,” she said. “I hope my boys offered you a seat and something to drink. You look like you’ve had a hard day and a long night.”
“Mrs. Moss,” North said, “I want to know why Philip Welch came here after killing a duly elected sheriff and a key witness in an ongoing investigation. I don’t believe there was a break-in, and I think you should know that lying about what happened here tonight and about any connection your family or your church has to Welch is only going to make things worse. The truth is going to come out one way or another.”
Lacey stared back at him, her face unreadable.
“Mother?” Jed said.
She ignored him; Shaw was distantly aware of Jed drifting behind the bar again. He checked, and Gid was still in the corner, face blotchy under the bad tan. But Lacey held his attention. It was something about the unyielding composure of her face. That, and the fact that right then, she was scary as hell, although Shaw couldn’t put his finger on exactly why.
“I imagine my sons have already explained to you,” she said in a quiet voice, “that we’re a simple family trying to do the Lord’s work.”
“In a ten-thousand-square-foot home,” North said.
She let the words drop away before she spoke again. “Nobody in this house knows a man called Philip Welch. Nobody had anything to do with those murders. My heart breaks for those men and their families, and I can assure you, my husband will pray for them tonight.”
