Читать книгу Lie Down in Green Pastures - DEBBIE VIGUIE - Страница 13

CINDY WAS TIRED WHEN SHE GOT HOME. NO SOONER HAD SHE THROWN her purse and keys on the table than the phone rang. She briefly debated letting it go to voicemail, then finally picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Cindy, it's Gerald Wilson. I made it into town and I wanted to confirm our interview for tomorrow afternoon."

"Yes, absolutely."

"Does two still work?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful. I'm staying at the Courtyard."

"I'll meet you in the lobby at two."

"Excellent. I'm looking forward to it."

She hung up and felt a flutter of nerves and excitement. She'd almost forgotten that tomorrow was the day she was being interviewed for a book about her role in stopping the Passion Week Killer the previous Easter. Gerald Wilson was writing a book about crime, myths, and legends in the area. He had contacted her a couple of months before to set up the interview.

Feeling a bit better she grabbed some orange juice and contemplated her options for the evening while drinking it. Before she could make a decision the phone rang again. It was her mom.

"Hi, Mom."

"Hi, honey. How are you?"

"Good, I'm being interviewed by that writer tomorrow for the crime book."

"How nice. Remind me to send you the latest stack of articles on your brother. There was a fabulous one in Travel and Leisure and another one in National Geographic."

"Great," Cindy said, beginning to feel the frustration settle in. Would it kill her mom to acknowledge her accomplishments? "So, why did you call?" she asked.

"I just wanted to make sure you were going to be watching your brother's television special tonight. He's bungee jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge live."

Cindy cringed and felt a cold knot settle in the pit of her stomach. "Why, why would he do something like that?" she whispered to herself.

"It's all a promotion for that new show of his."

"Isn't that illegal?"

"Honey, he's a star. Besides, his network takes care of all that kind of thing."

"But he's jumping . . . over water . . ."

"Yes, isn't it exciting?"

Cindy closed her eyes. Her mother was crazy. That was the only explanation for why she could condone Kyle's reckless behavior.

Her mother continued talking but Cindy stopped listening.She walked into the bedroom with the phone still pressed to her ear and pulled the darts out of Kyle's face. She took careful aim and then realized that throwing the dart at his picture wasn't going to make the terrible feeling inside her go away.

"Mom, I have to go," she interrupted.

"Oh, okay, dear. Just make sure you watch."

"Uh-huh."

As soon as she had hung up she grabbed her purse and keys and left. Twenty minutes later she was sitting in the pub ordering a corned beef sandwich and eyeing the dartboard.

Two large guys were playing a game of darts and she watched while waiting for her opportunity. The older guy was winning, nailing the center of the bull's-eye almost every time.

The pub was more crowded than it ever was at lunch when she usually went. On the walls and on the tables were little shamrock signs reminding patrons that St. Patrick's Day was coming. The corned beef and green beer would both be ever present on that day. Cindy knew from experience, though, that they dyed 7-Up green as well for those who weren't imbibing.

"I'll do everything I can," she heard a familiar voice say from the booth behind her.

She turned and saw Gary sitting with a man about ten years his senior with salt and pepper hair and a strong jaw.

"Frank Butler has been sniffing around that property. He'd love to beat me out of it, but I won't let that happen. I won't let anything get in my way. I will have that property."

"I understand, Mr. Diamond," Gary said.

"I'm not sure you do, Gary, but that's okay. I just need you to keep talking to that board, remind them how good my offer is. I'll take care of the rest."

It sounded ominous to her and she couldn't help but stare at the land developer in fascination.

He drained his drink, stood up and buttoned his jacket, and then exited the bar. Cindy turned back around, feeling guilty for spying. After what Joseph had told her, though, she was curious.

A minute later the dart players wrapped up their game.Now would be the time to take her chance to play. She started to stand up and a hand descended on her shoulder.

"Needed another corned beef sandwich, huh?"

She looked up to see Gary. He was smiling, but his face and eyes looked strained.

"What can I say? They're just that good."

"Chris! Come here, you've got to meet one of your biggest fans," Gary said, gesturing to the taller of the dart players.

Chris walked over and extended his hand. Cindy shook it as Gary did the introductions. "Chris, this is one of my clients, Cindy Preston. She's a fan of your corned beef sandwiches.Cindy, this is my brother, Chris, who owns the pub."

"It's nice to meet you," Cindy said, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"An' it be a pleasure to meet anyone who loves me corned beef, particularly a pretty lass," Chris said in a thick Irish brogue. He winked and leaned in close. "The customers appreciate it if ye have a bit o' the Irish about ya."

"Oh, I see," she said, not sure what else to say.

Both men laughed and Cindy had the uneasy feeling that the joke was on her. "Can I interest ya in a friendly game o' darts?"

"No, thank you," she said. It was bad enough to make a spectacle out of herself in front of strangers, but with Gary there and now having met his brother she wasn't sure she wanted to embarrass herself that way.

"Not much for darts?"

She shrugged, not really wanting to explain herself.

Both men laughed again. "I'll check on your sandwich," Chris said.

Gary sat across from her. "I can't believe you two haven't met. Most nights he's out here talking with all the customers, playing darts."

"I've never come for dinner before, only lunch," she explained.

"That makes sense then."

"Anything new about the house?" she asked after a minute of silence stretched between them.

"Since yesterday? No."

Chris returned with her sandwich and set it down with a wink and a flourish.

"He's quite a character," Cindy said after he had gone.

"Always has been. Even when we were kids he was larger than life. And I was the baby brother he took care of. I wouldn't have made it as far as I have without him," Gary admitted.

"It's nice to have someone you can rely on," Cindy said, wishing that she felt that way about someone.

What about Jeremiah? a voice whispered in her head.

"It's more than nice. But then I guess we do anything for family, you know?"

Cindy didn't say anything. Instead she just picked up her sandwich and bit into it. I would have done anything for my sister, she thought before she could stop herself.

"So, you planning on getting your Irish on next week?"

"Absolutely," she said, still chewing.

"One day a year the whole world is Irish. It's fun for most, but it's important for those of us who are Irish to remember our roots, our culture."

"Your family?"

"Exactly," he said with a broad grin.

Cindy was a quarter Irish on her father's side, but she had no desire to share that with Gary. She wished he would get the hint and go away. She wanted to be alone.

You don't want a family? the insidious voice pressed.

She sighed and wondered if she ignored the voice and Gary long enough whether they would both go away.

Mark hated breaking bad news to relatives. Randall Kelly's sister, Maureen, was sitting in a chair in her living room, her luggage forgotten by the front door. She had just arrived home from a business trip and he and Paul had finally been able to get hold of her to tell her about her brother's death.

"I don't understand how this could have happened," she said once her sobbing had eased.

"Did you know that your brother was going to protest the planned burn yesterday?" Paul asked.

She shook her head violently. "No, he would never have done that. Not after what happened a few years ago. He managed to keep the fire department from doing the burn on time and a real fire started and several people lost their houses and everything they owned. A lot of people blamed Randall for that, but not any more than he blamed himself. He locked himself in his house for three weeks. He wouldn't even see me.There's no way he would have done that."

"Are you sure?" Mark asked.

"Positive. He wasn't even supposed to be here Thursday morning. He was supposed to be going up to that church camp that the land developer is trying to buy. He wanted to see it for himself before trying to rally the community in opposition to the proposed purchase."

Mark and Paul exchanged quick glances. "You wouldn't happen to know the name of the camp, would you?" Mark asked.

She squeezed her eyes closed. "It sounded like that old TV show Green Acres . . . Green . . . Green Pastures."

"Green Pastures?" Paul repeated.

"Yes. He was planning on protesting the sale."

Two victims and both of them having something to do with the church camp. Mark didn't like it.

"Is there any reason you can think of that he would have done that down in the burn area?"

"No."

Mark flipped through his notes, not really looking for anything, but just thinking about the implications of what she had said. "Do you know if your brother had approached anyone involved with the sale yet?"

"I'm not sure. I left Wednesday morning. I don't think he had talked to anyone at that point."

"So you think he chained himself to a tree to protest the purchase?" Paul asked.

She half laughed. "I know it's cliché. He liked the image.He thought it was powerful."

"Could you describe for us the method your brother used when he tied himself to a tree?"

"He always used cable ties."

The detectives shared another quick look.

"Always?" Paul questioned.

"Yes."

"Why cable ties?" he pressed.

"Because even if he fell asleep or someone tried to pull him away the plastic couldn't hurt the tree like metal from a chain or something else could."

"So he wouldn't handcuff himself to a tree?"

"Never. That would risk damaging the tree if the metal rubbed against it."

"Did your brother have any enemies?" Paul asked.

"You don't become a crusader for any cause without making enemies. That's what he used to tell me."

"Any that would want to see him dead?" Mark asked.

"I—I don't know. I mean, there hasn't even been anything really happening for at least a year. He's been spending most of his time trying to write a book."

"Anything in there that could make people angry?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. He wouldn't let anyone read it until he was finished."

"We're going to need to get a copy of the manuscript," Paul said.

"It should be on his computer at home."

They stayed with her until her friend was able to come over and be with her and then they left. Once they were in the car Mark looked at the clock and groaned. His wife, Traci, was not going to be thrilled that he was home so late on a Friday.There was no help for it, though.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Mark asked.

"That Traci's going to kill you? Yes."

"Wonderful."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Paul parroted.

"That this was no accident," Mark said grimly. "It was murder."

"Green Pastures again. Think Kelly's death has anything to do with Dr. Tanner's?"

"Let's not go there until we get something more on cause of death for the doctor. I'm hoping we can leave him in the accident column and chalk it all up to coincidence."

"Yes, because we see so many coincidences every day," Paul said sarcastically.

"You're always so comforting."

"I'll send someone over to Kelly's house to get a copy of the manuscript and I'll start reading through it. You should go home."

"I hate to agree with you, but it sounds like a plan to me.We should also call up to Green Pastures and see if anyone up there saw or talked to Kelly."

"If he even made it up there."

"Exactly," Mark said.

Mark closed his eyes. He knew that seeing the secretary and the rabbi again had been a bad omen.

Jeremiah awoke early Saturday morning. He had slept through most of Friday. He had clearly been more exhausted than he realized. You're getting soft, he told himself as he sat up gingerly.

Captain, a large German shepherd, was on the bed staring at him with soulful eyes.

"I'm okay, boy," Jeremiah said as he stood up.

He took the dog for a quick walk and then returned to the house where the two shared a sandwich.

He usually used Fridays to finish preparing for Saturday services but fortunately he had taken care of everything earlier in the week. He debated briefly about calling a taxi or having someone pick him up but finally opted to walk. It would help keep all his muscles from stiffening up completely.

When he made it to the synagogue, he found Marie waiting for him. Whenever she was in the office before services it wasn't a good sign.

"What's wrong, Marie?"

"We need another counselor for the high school weekend retreat at Green Pastures."

"I thought we had only fourteen kids attending."

"We do. Nine boys and five girls. Larson is the boys' counselor, but Eileen's sister had her baby this morning and she flew back East to be with her."

"Okay, I'll make an announcement," he said. "Hopefully someone will step up."

Shabbat services usually lasted three hours. The bar mitzvah of the youngest Levine boy caused the services to run slightly longer. The boy took his time, carefully and seriously reading from the Torah, embracing his entrance into manhood.

Jeremiah couldn't help but envy him a little. What must it be like to grow up in safety in America instead of in jeopardy in Israel? he wondered.

When the services were over, he made an appearance at the celebration afterward. It was expected and the festive environment was refreshing.

"Rabbi, can I speak with you?"

He turned. It was Noah, the oldest of the Levine boys.He had his hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders hunched.

"Yes, of course."

He followed Noah to a corner of the room where they sat on folding chairs. Once they had settled Jeremiah asked, "What's on your mind?"

"I'm going to be graduating from high school in two and a half months. I want to enlist in the army, but my parents want me to go to college first. Actually, I think they're hoping that if I go to college I'll grow out of wanting to join the army."

"They want you to be safe and to get a good education, provide for your future," Jeremiah said.

"I know. They've explained all their reasons, and they are good ones, but it's not what I want to do."

"Have you explained your reasons to them?" he asked.

"I've tried. I'm just not sure they understand." The boy sighed and rubbed his forehead with his hand. "I'm not sure I understand," he admitted.

"Talk to me about enlisting in the military. What does it mean to you? Why do you feel you want to do it?"

"That's just it. I'm not sure I want to so much as I feel compelled to."

Jeremiah smiled. "In Israel we are compelled to. Here in America you have a choice. It's either something you want, something you don't want, or something you think you should want."

"I hate school," Noah admitted. "The thought of going straight to college just makes me sick inside. It makes me feel trapped."

"You could get a job, work for a few years first."

"I want to be able to do more than work at a fast food joint and I'm not really interested in most of the skilled trades like mechanic and carpenter."

"So, what makes you feel that going into the military will be better than going to college or getting a job?"

"I feel like I'd actually be doing something, helping out, you know? And I could learn a lot in the process, maybe figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life. My little brother, he's smart, loves to read and study. He wants to be a doctor someday and I think he'll make it. He hated Boy Scouts. He quit after six months. Me, I hate studying, but I loved Boy Scouts. I made Eagle Scout when I was fourteen."

Though he had no experience himself with Boy Scouts Jeremiah still knew that was young to achieve the distinction."What did you like about it?" he asked.

"Everything. It made sense to me. I knew where I stood, what I was doing, what I had to do to excel and achieve the next thing. I loved the outdoors aspects. And I felt like I was accomplishing something real."

Jeremiah cleared his throat, aware that what he said next would likely have a huge impact on Noah with consequences that were as yet unforeseen to them both. "Some people do very well in the military. They like the structure; they like serving; they can both follow and lead. There's nothing wrong with choosing that for a career or even for a short-term experience. However, there are costs, even beyond the obvious physical dangers. It can isolate you from friends and family, even change you. It can become hard to relate to people who aren't in the military. And then, if you do see combat, you'll have to live with the knowledge that you've killed people. Some can and some can't."

"I had thought about the danger, and that I might have to fight, but I didn't think that it could change me," Noah admitted soberly.

"It will change the way you think, respond, react. The military is very good at creating fighting machines. Unfortunately, there is no off switch for what you will become. It will be part of you for the rest of your life."

"Thank you, sir, you've given me a lot to think about."Noah glanced across the room. "I think my mom wants me for pictures."

Jeremiah stood. "Go be with your family. Days like this are precious."

"I'll think about what you said."

"I hope so," Jeremiah whispered to the boy's retreating back.