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Chapter Three

With Celeste’s small apartment full of police and FBI, as well as Mara’s brother Cam, Mara stayed firmly planted on the ottoman to Celeste’s left. Jared stood behind Celeste’s recliner, and the public defender sat on Celeste’s right, his cell phone on Speaker and positioned so that Celeste’s attorney could participate in the proceedings long-distance.

“My lawyer says I should just tell you what happened from the beginning,” Celeste said when the video camera was in place to record her statement.

“Go ahead,” Cam encouraged.

Mara didn’t know if it had been a formal decision for her brother to take the lead with Celeste, but that was what he was doing. It made Mara feel slightly better because she trusted her brother—who she knew thought of Celeste the same way Mara did—to be kind to the older woman.

“I married Armand out of desperation,” Celeste began. “My parents had died when I was seventeen, I had no other family, I was working a low-paying retail job that barely afforded me a room at a boarding house, and I had no idea what the future had in store for me. But Armand…” Celeste shook her head as if a hint of awe about the Reverend Armand Perry still existed. “Armand knew exactly who he was, where he was going and what should be done to get there. Armand knew what should be done about everything. He always had all the answers. And I guess that certainty, that stability, was what I wanted at the time.”

“This was when? What year?” one of the strangers in the room asked.

“We were married in 1951. Before our first anniversary Carl was born and eleven months after that I had Jack, and there I was—in almost the blink of an eye—a minister’s wife with two babies, and I was barely twenty years old. Of course that was how things were done back then—marriage and family, that was the best course for most women. And at first I was grateful to have found that for myself, even if my feelings for Armand weren’t of a passionate nature and Armand’s feelings for me—well, Armand never let emotion rule.”

Something about that caused a small, secret, sad smile.

“Go on,” someone ordered.

Celeste took a breath and did as she’d been told. “I found being a clergyman’s wife just awful. There were so many expectations of me. From the congregation, from whatever community we were in, from Armand. And then, on top of it all, there were Armand’s expectations of me at home—I began to think I would have to be superhuman to live up to it all.”

The memory of how daunting it had been made Celeste’s eyes widen and her brows arch forlornly.

Mara reached over the arm of the recliner to squeeze the older woman’s hand, and for that Celeste gave her an appreciative look before she went on.

“No matter which way I turned, I was just never good enough,” Celeste said. “I couldn’t meet the demands or reach the high standards imposed on me, from both outside and at home. I loved my boys dearly and I wanted them to love me. I wanted to play with them and make them happy, I didn’t want to enforce hundreds of rules and regulations like some kind of tyrant—”

“Which, take it from me, is how the Reverend thinks kids should be raised,” Jared contributed.

“I wanted to enjoy my children,” Celeste continued after a soft glance upward at her grandson. “But it’s Armand’s nature to believe that his way is right, and anything different is wrong. And he can be very harsh if his way isn’t followed. He convinced me that I was a horrible mother. The worst mother ever. And about the time I was distressed to distraction by his criticisms and the criticism of his congregation, and feeling lower than I’d ever felt in my life, Mickey Rider and Frank Dorian came to town.”

Celeste said that fatalistically, covering Mara’s hand on hers with her other hand and holding on tightly.

“I went crazy,” the older woman said quietly, her tone full of shame. “I didn’t even understand myself or what I was doing, but there I was, doing it anyway—slipping out of my marriage bed to meet Frank, drinking at the bar with Frank and Mickey, dancing to jukebox music, kicking up my heels. And falling in love—or at least what seemed like love at the time—with Frank.”

Celeste was holding on to Mara’s hand so fiercely it was almost painful, but Mara simply endured it, knowing—seeing for herself—how difficult this was for the woman she cared about so much.

Celeste sighed. “Between that…infatuation…for Frank, the desperation I felt at home, and convinced by then that I was a horrible mother and my boys would be better off without me, when Frank asked me to run off with him…” Celeste shrugged as if she’d been helpless against the tides. “I not only wanted to go and be with him, I honestly believed that for the sake of my boys, I should remove my bad influence from their lives.”

“So you decided to leave with Frank Dorian and Mickey Rider,” Cam said.

“Yes. I had no idea Frank and Mickey were anything but itinerant farmhands, though, or that they were planning to rob the bank. I was shocked to the core when I met Frank at the bridge that night to leave town with him and found out what he and Mickey had done.”

There were a few questions to clarify that the bridge Celeste was referring to was the old north bridge that the town had been named after. The same bridge where, during reconstruction, Mickey Rider’s duffel bag had been found and near which his remains had also been discovered only recently.

“That night and what followed are important, Celeste,” Cam said, bringing her back to the story. “Tell us what happened.”

“I’ll tell you what didn’t happen—Mickey Rider wasn’t murdered the way the newspaper keeps saying he might have been. Mickey was mad when I met them at the bridge that night. At first I didn’t understand why he cared that Frank was going to take me with him. Then I saw the bank bags and Frank told me about the robbery. I didn’t want to go with them after that. But Frank wasn’t letting me out of it, and not even Mickey saying I would slow them down changed his mind. Frank said he wanted me with them whether either of us liked it or not. Then Frank and Mickey got into a big fight—like in the movies. There was punching and wrestling and bloody noses and cut faces and fists, and…” Celeste’s eyes were wide and tinged with the kind of fear she must have felt that night. “It was awful!”

“Why didn’t you run while they were fighting?” one of the female investigators asked.

“It was like my feet were frozen to the ground while my mind raced. I didn’t know if I should run, if I should go back to Armand, if Frank would come after me, what might happen if he told Armand what had been going on or even—seeing Frank fight with Mickey, I wondered if Frank might hurt Armand or the boys.”

Celeste shook her head as if she were reliving her own confusion. “Then, just when it looked like Mickey had the upper hand, Frank seemed to find a last burst of strength. He pushed Mickey off him. Hard. Mickey fell back and hit his head on a sharp rock. There was a shudder—” Celeste shuddered, but it didn’t seem like mimicry. It seemed involuntary, in response to the image in her mind, before she ended in barely more than a whisper. “That was how he died.”

“Do you need a glass of water?” Mara asked, seeing that Celeste’s face had gone gray.

It took the older woman a moment to answer. “No, thank you, honey. I just want to get this all out.”

Celeste looked back at Cam as though, if she focused on his familiar face, it would be easier to tell her story. “Frank dragged Mickey’s body into the woods to bury him and again I thought about running. But that was when Armand came out from behind the bushes.”

Mara’s shock was reflected in Jared’s expression when she glanced up at his handsome face.

“The Reverend was there?” Jared said.

“Yes. He said he’d followed me to the bridge when I’d left home.”

“If he saw that you weren’t guilty of anything, why the hell didn’t he speak up?” Jared demanded.

But before Celeste could respond to the anger-laced outburst, Cam kept things on a businesslike course. “You told me before that the Reverend recognized you a few years after you’d been living in Northbridge again, but—for the record—you’re saying that he was also at the bridge the night of the robbery and was a witness to what you’re telling us about that night?”

Celeste nodded. “Yes.”

“Did he know you weren’t involved in the robbery itself?” Cam asked, again to clarify things for the record.

“Yes. When he came out from the bushes it was to try to get me to go home with him. He said it wasn’t too late, that he’d been there to see for himself that I hadn’t had anything to do with the robbery. But that if I left with Frank the law would come after me too, the same as if I had been in on it, that I would be guilty by association. He even threatened to say I was guilty.”

“And you still left?” an FBI agent inquired.

“Before I could even think about it, Frank came up from behind us and grabbed Armand. Frank was in a state I’d never seen him in before—enraged and scared and I don’t even know what. He said he had to kill Armand and bury him with Mickey.”

“But obviously he didn’t kill the Reverend,” a skeptic in the crowd interjected.

“I begged on my knees for him not to,” Celeste said. “I told him if he didn’t hurt Armand I would go with him, I would do whatever he wanted.”

“So you saved his life,” Jared said.

“I told Cam that last week. But the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’m not sure I should take the credit since it was my fault Armand was there in the first place. Because of me, his life was in jeopardy. If Frank had killed him, it would have been my fault, so it was my responsibility to get him out of that situation. But I did tell Frank that if he killed Armand, he would have to kill me, too, because if he didn’t, I’d turn him in myself.”

Celeste seemed to be tiring, but still she continued.

“It took a lot of begging and pleading and bargaining.I had to swear that I would leave with Frank if only he wouldn’t hurt Armand, and Armand had to promise that he wouldn’t even say which direction we went when we left. But finally Frank agreed not to harm Armand. He just tied him up in the woods and we took off.” Celeste lowered her voice. “And that was when the life I thought I’d wanted out of became something I wished every day that I’d hung on to.”

Celeste’s head dropped and she shook it back and forth, back and forth, in deep, deep regret.

“Go ahead,” Cam encouraged her.

After a moment Celeste said, “When we left Northbridge we went north and, after a few months, ended up in Alaska. By then I was an awful mess. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t stop crying, and when I’m upset, I eat. A lot.”

She laughed a mirthless laugh and motioned to her girth. “I guess you all can see just how upset I was. Frank didn’t like it, of course. The pretty, skinny young thing he’d met here had disappeared and I was…I was just a mess,” she repeated. “It wasn’t as if it was a relationship founded on anything real to begin with, and Frank got more and more disgusted and impatient with me. But still I didn’t expect him to steal the little bit of money I’d saved over the years and taken with me when I’d left Armand—”

“The man robbed you, too?” Cam asked, seeming shocked.

“One night while I was asleep,” Celeste said. “I don’t know why he had to do that. He had all the bank money—of course he’d taken Mickey’s share. He kept it in lockers in the bus terminal or train station of whatever city we were in to make sure it was locked away even from me. So it wasn’t as if I’d ever touched a penny of it, and my measly $167 couldn’t have mattered to him. But yes, he took that, too. And left me alone and penniless in a motel room in Alaska.”

Celeste took a deep breath and sighed. “After that there isn’t a lot to tell. I didn’t really know if the authorities were looking for me or not, but after what Armand had said I couldn’t take any chances. What I wanted more than anything was just to come back here and be with my boys again, and even though I knew that couldn’t happen, I started taking any job I could get—usually waiting tables—and every time I’d get enough money saved for a bus ticket, I’d come as far as I could toward Northbridge. I thought that if I couldn’t be with Carl and Jack, then maybe I could at least be near them. And that’s how I ultimately came home to Northbridge again. But I’ve already told that story and it probably isn’t what anyone wants to hear now.”

She had told the story—first to Cam when he’d discovered who she was, and later to Mara. She’d told them of living in several towns around North bridge, hungry for any gossip, any news whatsoever that might give her information about her sons. Then, one day, she’d tested her theory that the weight gain had left her unrecognizable, and she realized it was possible for her to be in the heart of North bridge without anyone knowing who she really was. So she’d moved back to the small town in order to at least be where she could see her sons—and eventually, her grandchildren—from a distance; she’d lived since 1970 on the sidelines of all but the Pratt family.

“The Reverend has been out of town since you initially talked to me,” Cam said then. “And because he’s been unreachable, we haven’t been able to speak to him—”

“Which will have to be done to see if he confirms your account,” one of the state police detectives added. “So if there’s anything you’d like to add, this would be the time.”

“There’s nothing to add. I’ve told you the simple truth,” Celeste said wearily.

From there more detailed questions were asked of Celeste, trying to pinpoint where Frank Dorian might have stashed the bank money before being caught by FBI agents and killed while trying to escape. But Celeste’s only answer to nearly every question from then on was that she didn’t know. She swore that she’d never seen Frank Dorian again after he’d abandoned her in Alaska, and she had no idea where he went or what he might have done with the money from the bank robbery. And regardless of how many times and in how many variations the questions were asked, she couldn’t tell them something she didn’t know.

“I only know that I was never the recipient of any of the money Frank and Mickey took,” she said, emphasizing each word after some less-than-subtle badgering.

“And, in fact, she was victimized herself by Frank Dorian robbing her of her own money,” Jared reminded, his own patience stretched thin.

There were other questions, as well, that Mara saw no purpose for, but Celeste endured each one until the authorities finally agreed, long after dark, that they had no more to ask her. For the time being.

She was warned not to leave Northbridge and assured she would be kept under constant surveillance to make sure she didn’t, but on her attorney’s insistence, she was released from even informal house arrest and told she was free to leave her apartment.

“We’ll be in touch” she was told as they all stood to go, giving the parting an ominous ring.

Mara appreciated that Cam made sure he was the last to follow, spending a moment alone with Celeste, Mara and Jared to tell Celeste that she’d done well, that he hoped the Reverend would cooperate when he returned from his conference and retreat, and that everything would finally be put behind her.

No sooner had Cam left, too, than the telephone rang. It was the call Celeste was expecting from Stephanie to discuss what had gone on. Celeste took the phone to her bedroom, leaving Mara and Jared alone.

“How are you doing?” he asked, sounding as if he genuinely cared.

“I’m glad it’s over,” Mara confessed.

“Me, too. What’s on the agenda for the rest of the evening?”

“Who’s thought about anything beyond this?” Mara joked.

“Okay, then,” he said, clearly taking control. “Break out that bad brandy and have a shot while I do some shopping. Then I’ll fix you both a dinner fit for kings.”

“You cook?”

He wiggled his eyebrows mysteriously. “Wait and see.”

Jared actually could cook. Very well, Mara discovered. He prepared an old-fashioned meal of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn bread and salad. It was not fast food, however, and by the time he, Mara and Celeste had eaten, it was nearly ten o’clock.

Celeste was obviously worn out so Mara encouraged the older woman to go to bed. “I’ll clean up,” she assured, knowing she was taking on a substantial task because while Jared might be a good cook, he was hardly a tidy one.

“I’ll stick around and help her,” he told Celeste when the older woman seemed hesitant to leave it all to Mara.

That was persuasion enough and Celeste said good-night to them both, heading off to bed while Mara began to tackle the kitchen.

“How do you think she’s holding up?” Jared asked the minute they’d heard the bedroom door close behind Celeste, pitching in just as he’d said he would.

“I think she’s doing okay, all things considered. We’re both just hoping this was the worst of it and that she’s cleared from here without being put through any more.”

“After hearing what she had to say, it seems to me there shouldn’t be any more suspicions about her. But I suppose that’s going to depend on the Reverend.”

Mara had never heard any one of the Reverend’s grandchildren call him by anything but his title so Jared’s reference didn’t surprise her.

“Cam says your grandfather hasn’t been very cooperative,” Mara said. “I’m hoping that will change.”

“Change is not his long suit,” Jared said disparagingly. “Change, forgiveness, understanding, leniency, tolerance, compassion—none of it’s in his makeup. At least, not as far as I’ve ever seen.”

“You really don’t like him, do you?” Mara asked.

Jared had rolled up his sleeves to cook but now he also unbuttoned his collar button as if he were relaxing more and more the longer they were together. It helped her relax with him, she realized as they worked and talked.

“I don’t think it’s any secret that my grandfather and I don’t get along,” Jared admitted in response to her question about his feelings for the Reverend. “Not after that screaming match we had at my graduation—if I know Northbridge, it was well discussed.”

“I was only a kid, though,” Mara pointed out. “I knew it happened, but I don’t remember anything about it. What did you fight over?”

“What it was my duty to do with my life,” Jared said as if he were reciting something. “None of the grandchildren had it easy with the Reverend. I knew exactly what Celeste was talking about when she said his expectations of her were superhuman, and I’m sure Noah and our sisters and our cousins would back her up, too. But as the first grandchild and, even worse, the first grandson, I don’t think I was supposed to be human at all—super or otherwise.”

“You had to stay out of trouble,” Mara guessed.

“Oh, so much more than that. I couldn’t have a hair out of place or a scuff on a shoe. I couldn’t raise my voice even in play, let alone say a cuss word. My grades had to be straight As, my behavior exemplary at all times. And as a teenager? Forget about normal teenage rebellion—I couldn’t even do what was just plain normal. Like wear jeans—I had to wear dress pants and a dress shirt any time I stepped out of my house because I was representing the Reverend. I couldn’t wear jeans in Montana, of all places. Do you have any idea how much I stuck out? And not in a way a teenager wants to stick out.”