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The pastor looked like he needed to spend all his energy praying not to fall face-first in his oatmeal; he smacked his lips at that moment and gave a huge yawn.
“But he came straight here,” North said, “like there was a bullseye painted on this place.”
“That’s not surprising. My husband’s ministry—and my sons’—has always been directed toward the less fortunate. Jesus says, ‘I was in prison, and you came to me.’”
“In this case, I’d say the less fortunate were the men who got stabbed fifteen or twenty times and bled to death on the floor of a prison cell.”
If the words shocked her, nothing appeared on her face. She was silent for a few moments, and when the pastor started to topple again, she caught him reflexively, without even seeming to think about it. “Our ministry is known for offering food, clothing, shelter. We ask no questions. I’m praying that what you’ve told me tonight is a strange twist of fate. But if that man didn’t come here tonight to steal from us, perhaps he came because he knew our reputation.”
North made a noise of understanding. “So, you have a history of aiding and abetting felons, helping escaped murderers, that kind of thing.”
“Hey!” Gid shouted from the corner, but when North glanced at him, he took a quick step back and bumped a lamp. He caught it before it fell, but only barely.
“Mrs. Moss,” Shaw said, “whatever else happened tonight, Philip Welch didn’t come here as a burglar. I think there’s something you and your sons aren’t telling us.”
Another of those long pauses came. In it, the sound of a sanctified air conditioning system whispered, and the sound made the hair on the back of Shaw’s neck stand up.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lacey said.
And that was when Shaw realized Jed had slipped out of the room at some point. How long had he been gone? Where had he gone? And why? He elbowed North, and North must have realized the same thing because he drew in a breath and sat up, head swiveling to take in the room.
“I’m sorry we weren’t able to help you,” Lacey said, steadying the pastor again. His jaw was slack, and a glistening strand of drool ran to the corner of his mouth. “But I’d like you to leave now.”
“I don’t think so,” North said. “I think we’re going to make a few calls and wait for the police to arrive. I’d like them to look at the footage from the security cameras I’ve seen all over this place. It’d sure be something if we saw Welch on them, wouldn’t it? Maybe having a drink, chatting, right at home. Hell, what about kneeling in prayer? I think the police—”
“Son, today’s your lucky day.” Jonas Cassidy’s hair was cropped short and almost white from the sun, and he had a smile that was just as bright. He met all the legal and technical specifications of a beefcake, which Shaw decided he would tell North the next time North made him spend a hot, sweaty afternoon in the garage “exercising” and “building strength.” Cassidy had all his defined muscle on display in a uniform shirt he wore with a pair of ass-clutching jeans. The urge to point out, for everyone’s illumination and benefit, that the Auburn chief of police shared his last name with North’s middle name was strong, but Shaw managed to clamp down on the urge. For now. “Evening, Mrs. Moss; sorry these two are bothering you.”
“Good evening, Chief. Do you know these men?”
“I’ve run into them a time or two. Heya, Gid. How’s everything?”
Gid mumbled something, and Cassidy laughed and nodded like they were all having a great time.
“Here we go, boys,” Cassidy said and hitched a thumb toward the front of the house. “On your feet.”
“Sorry,” North said, “I should have been clearer. We’re waiting for the real police, not the Moss family’s personal mall cop.”
“Get on your feet.” Cassidy waited a moment and added, “Son.”
North opened his mouth. Shaw touched his wrist and gave a tiny shake of his head. It felt like a long time before North stood. Cassidy turned, gave a two-fingered salute to Mrs. Moss, and led them toward the entry hall. North and Shaw followed.
Outside, the heat closed around them like a fist, and the smell of bleach was overpowering. There was no sign of Jed, but someone had clearly gone to work scrubbing the bloody shoe prints that North had spotted earlier. Crickets called in the background. When Cassidy put one hand on his service weapon, the leather of his duty belt creaked.
“They probably didn’t teach you this,” North said, “when you got your junior police badge, but murdering people is technically against the law. And threatening to shoot a couple of private investigators on the front steps of a rich family, well, that’s about the stupidest macho bullshit I’ve ever heard of. It’s also a grade-A example of toxic masculinity. You want to watch out for that, because that shit will fuck you up.”
But Cassidy didn’t say anything. He didn’t glare. He didn’t huff. He was a good-looking guy, and he had a hint of a smirk. “Where’s Emery?”
“Fuck off.”
“Come on; he wouldn’t let you two sniff around this neck of the woods by yourselves.”
North smiled: big, bright. “Fuck off.”
“Maybe I’ll hang on to you. You think he’ll come running? Hell, I might even give him a call.”
“You can’t hold us,” Shaw said. “We were hired—”
“If I want to hear somebody talking out of a donkey’s ass, son, they do a whole show like that in Branson. Don’t speak again. Fuck, for that matter, don’t look at me.”
