I Shall Not Want (19 page)

She gave him a jaundiced look. “I don’t expect you to lie for me, Flynn.” She inhaled. “It doesn’t matter if they believe me or not. I shared like the chief told me to. What they do with it is their business.” She turned and marched down the hall.

She was smack-dab in the middle of the corridor, so he had to bob and weave to keep up with her. “Is your car fixed?”

“No.” She pressed on, past the dispatch room.

“Hi, Kevin!” Harlene yelled.

He paused. Waved. “Hi, Harlene!” He had to take two large steps to catch up with Hadley, which was something, considering his legs were a lot longer than hers. “Did you drive your grandfather’s car?”

“No.”

He stopped in front of the interview room. It differed from the interrogation room in that it had windows, and the table and chairs weren’t bolted to the floor. “How are you getting home?”

“I’m walking.”

“To Burgoyne Street?”

She finally looked up at him. “It’s not the other side of the moon, Flynn. It’ll take me thirty minutes, tops.”

“Come with me. I’ll drop you off after I run this guy to St. Alban’s.”

She shook her head. “No, thanks.”

“You’re angry with me. About what I said to the chief.”

She set the edge of her jaw. “Forget what you said to the chief. It’s just… Look. Last night was an emergency. I’m not letting you take me anywhere if I can get there on my own.”

“Why not?” He meant it to be civil, inquiring; instead it steamed out, frustrated and perplexed. “It’s not like I’m asking you out. I’m not trying to steal a march on your spectacular career in the department. I’m just trying to be friendly, for chrissakes. That’s all. Why do you keep blowing me off?”

She looked at him as if he had donned a hockey mask and fired up his chain saw. “My spectacular career in the department?”

He erased the words in midair. “I didn’t mean to say that. Forget it.”

Her lush lips thinned, and two angry red blotches marred her perfect skin. “Are you making fun of me?” She didn’t look so beautiful now, and it was a relief, because for the first time it felt like maybe they might belong to the same species. “Because I haven’t been studying to be a cop since I was in diapers? Which for you was, like, four weeks ago.”

He could feel it, in that second, a fault line running through his head and heart as his blind adoration cracked and fell away. “I’m not making fun of you. I’m
trying
to be friends. I’m starting to guess you don’t recognize the concept because you don’t have any.”

She held up her hands as if framing a camera shot. “Let me set you straight. I didn’t come here to make friends. I came here to do a job, get paid, and go home.”

“Where your life is so perfect, no doubt.”

“Where my life belongs to me. And my children. And I don’t have to explain, or justify, or meet anyone else’s expectations. So, no, Flynn, I don’t want to be your friend. If you thought otherwise because you caught me in a weak moment last night, I’m sorry, but that was your thought, not anything I said or did to encourage you.”

She swung the door to the interview room open and stepped in, hanging off the doorknob. She rattled off a long sentence in loud Spanish, then swung back into the hall, pulling the door with her. Her eyes went round. “Sir,” she said.

Kevin whirled around. The chief was a few feet behind him, his expression a blend of irritation and weariness. “Kevin,” he said, “are you bothering Officer Knox with unwelcome and unprofessional attention?”

“No! I mean, I didn’t think I was. I didn’t mean to.”

The chief’s eyes cut to Hadley. “Officer Knox?”

She jerked her chin up. “I was just setting down the ground rules for Officer Flynn, sir. No offense taken.”

“Then let me set down the ground
rule
. Singular and simple. There will be no fraternization among members of this department. Failure to observe this rule will result in administrative notice, disciplinary action, and possible suspension. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, Chief.”

“Good. This is a police department, not a high school dance.” The chief pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. “Appearances sometimes to the contrary.”

“I don’t know why he seemed nervous.” Janet tucked the phone more firmly beneath her chin and lifted the lid on the pot. The water had come to a boil. “Maybe because he’s a stranger in a strange land? Maybe because when you come over all cop you can be as intimidating as hell?” She ripped the top off a bag of egg noodles and dumped them into the water.

“I didn’t try to browbeat the kid,” her brother said. “For chrissakes, you sound like Clare—Reverend Fergusson.”

Interesting
. Should she pursue that line of—

“I just want to know if you’ve observed anything, anything at all, that might account for his twitchiness.”

“Not here,” she lied. “He spends most of his time working at St. Alban’s. I suggest you ask Clare—Reverend Fergusson.” She plunged a slotted spoon into the pot and stirred while listening to Russ breathe. He had this certain way of doing it when you pushed his buttons just right. She smiled to herself.

“I’m going to bring Amado back to your place—the new place—after he finishes up tonight. It’ll give me a chance to check out the house he’s living in. Just to get a feel for things.”

Oh, shit. “Aren’t you supposed to get a warrant before you search people’s property?”

“Well, it sort of depends, Janet. Do I need to get a warrant on you and Mike?”

She dropped the colander in the sink, letting the crash disguise her hiss of frustration. “Of course not,” she said, when her voice was under control. “By all means, bring him home and check out the house. Maybe you’ll find he’s got a box of
Playboy
s under his bed and he feels guilty about that.”

His voice was dry. “If I do, I’ll hand him over to Mom. Since she’s already had experience with that sort of thing.”

The doorbell dinged. “Emma!” There was no answering yell from her thirteen-year-old. The bell dinged again. “Hang on,” she told Russ. “Somebody’s at the door.”

God. She was going to have to call over to the bunkhouse and have all the men clear out. Their stuff, too. Where was she going to put them, the barn?

She yanked the door open. A tall heavyset man in shit-kicker boots stood there. He wore a barn jacket and blond hair that had escaped from 1983. “ ‘Scuse me, ma’am,” he said, “but I’m looking for Amado? He works for you?”

She shook her head. “He works at St. Alban’s Church, in town. He just rooms out here.” She’d seen this guy before, but she couldn’t place where. The IGA or the Agway? “I’m sorry. Have we met before?”

He stuck out a grubby hand. “Dunno, but I’ve met your husband at the auctions. I’m Neil.” He pumped her arm like he was trying to get water from a well. She resisted the urge to rub her shoulder when he finished.

“How on earth do you know Amado?”

“Hah. How I know Amado. Well. It’s like this.”

“Mom!” Oh, of course,
now
Emma was around. “Uncle Russ is on the phone and wants to know if you’re going to be all night?”

“What are you doing picking up the phone?” She glanced at the guy. “Sorry.”

“I wanted to know if you were using it! I’m waiting to get on line! If we had cable I wouldn’t have to wait!”

“Oh, God,” Janet muttered. Emma could go on in that vein for an hour.

“I can see you’re busy, ma’am. If you could just let me know when he’s getting home?”

Oh, sure. The last thing she needed was another stranger roaming around by the bunkhouse, ready to stumble over seven illegals. “He’s at St. Alban’s late tonight, cleaning up after their concert. Your best bet is to catch him there.”

“Thanks, ma’am.” He stepped off the porch and was vanishing into the dusk by the time she had the chance to close the door. She wondered again, for a second, how another local farmer had met up with their church-cleaning boarder. It teased at her, but then Emma started up again with her tirade against dial-up Internet access, and she remembered Russ was waiting, and she thought,
How am I going to hide my employees from my brother
? And the thought was gone.

Peace be within thy walls,

And plenteousness within thy palaces!

The choir finished. The organ thundered to a close. There was a moment of silence, as the last triumphant notes of Parry’s “I Was Glad When They Said Unto Me” reverberated. Then someone clapped, and in a second, St. Alban’s stone walls echoed with deafening applause. Clare, whose official duties had been completed after welcoming everyone to the church and introducing the choir, whanged away with the rest of them, amazed, as she always was, that the same group of people she heard grumbling and going flat and repeating a single musical phrase over and over and
over
in their rehearsals could create a sound of such inexpressible beauty.

The choir bowed, and then the music director, Betsy Young, emerged from behind the organ, her cheeks brilliantly colored, bits of her hair sticking to the side of her face. One of the tenors brought her a hefty bouquet of roses, and she turned an even more spectacular shade of red.

Clare caught Doug Young’s eye and slid out of her pew at the rear of the church. Betsy’s husband had been pressed into service collecting the “suggested donations,” and now it was time to see how well they had done. He scooped up the metal change box and Clare fished the sacristy key out of her skirt pocket. “They were wonderful,” she said, as they threaded their way through the crowd to the front of the church.

“They were,” he said. “And I am
so
glad it’s over.” He flashed her a grin.

Yes, well. Betsy had been a tad caught up in prepping for the concert.

Doug glanced around. “Your friend from New York’s not here?”

“Hugh? No, he had to work. Some deal his bank is putting together. He had to fly to Las Vegas.”

“Too bad. For you, I mean, not for him. Vegas isn’t any hardship.”

“It’s okay. We’re pretty casual. And he’ll be up for the St. Alban’s Festival next month.”

“I hope he has some money left over from his trip.”

Clare laughed.

“Reverend Fergusson,” someone called. “Can I speak to you for a sec?”

She handed Doug the key and told him she’d be back as soon as she could. Which turned out to be forty-five minutes later. She fielded questions about the upcoming parish picnic, spoke to a woman who wanted to volunteer for their teen mother mentoring program, praised every choir member she clapped eyes on, and, gratifyingly, talked with no less than three different people who expressed interest in trying out next Sunday’s Eucharist.

“I feel like we’re getting them under false pretenses,” she confessed to Betsy. The church had emptied out except for a few last choristers, gossiping in the center aisle. “They don’t know the choir’s about to break for the summer.”

“We’ll just have to rely on your preaching to snag them after Trinity Sunday, then, won’t we?”

“Oh, yeah, they’ll come for miles around for that.” She let the music director precede her into the sacristy. “The only thing people want from a sermon in the summertime is that it be five minutes or less.” She spotted Amado, peeping around the corner from the main office. His bright yellow cast glowed in the shadow. “It’s okay, Señor Esfuentes. You can go ahead and start cleaning. Uh,
Limpiar la iglesia, por favor
.”

“I bet you can’t wait for Glenn Hadley to come back to work,” Doug said from his seat beside the lockbox.

“He is easier to communicate with,” Clare admitted. “On the other hand, Señor Esfuentes doesn’t feel compelled to call me Father.”

“How’d we do?” Betsy asked. The choir was planning an August trip to a choral festival in England—
if
they could raise enough to cover some of their expenses. They had been fund-raising with concerts and bake sales since last fall.

“Four hundred fifty-two dollars and seventy-five cents.” Doug grinned hugely.

“Yessss!” Betsy clenched her fists in triumph.

Clare and Doug signed off on the receipt slip and Doug zippered the deposit bag and dropped it into the lockbox.

“Are you two going out to celebrate your artistic and financial triumph?” Clare asked. She ushered them out of the sacristy and locked the door behind her.

Betsy shook her head vehemently. “I’m going to go home, have a large bourbon, and crawl into bed. And I’m not getting out until Sunday morning.”

Clare laughed. “You let me know if you want to stay there. I’m sure I can enlist someone to play guitar for us.”

“Not unless I’m dead. Guitars.” The organist shuddered.

“Are you headed for the rectory?” Doug asked. “We’ll walk you there.”

Clare checked her old steel Seiko: 8:45 P.M. Kevin Flynn had said “they” would take Amado home. It probably meant he would return. Kevin. Not Russ. It probably wouldn’t be Russ.

“Clare?”

“Sorry.” She smiled at the Youngs. “No, I’ll stay here until Señor Esfuentes’s ride comes for him.”

She made her farewells to the Youngs in the narthex. The choristers had gone, leaving only Amado, wrestling the large upright vacuum cleaner into position in the north aisle. He was getting adept at doing everything one-and-a-half-handed. She cruised the pews, looking for hymnals or prayer books out of place, picking up discarded concert programs.

She had reached the front of the church again when the inner doors opened. She looked up, but instead of Russ or Kevin she saw two big, burly country boys, one with a reddish ZZ Top beard, the other with an oh-so-fashionable mullet. She stepped into the center of the nave, blocking their path. “May I help you?” she said. The bearded guy looked familiar, but she couldn’t place where she had seen him.

“Well, ma’am,” the mullet began, and the bearded one said, “There he is,” and they both turned toward Amado with the coordination of sharks spotting a tuna.

“C’mere, lover boy,” the bearded man said. “We wanna have a talk with you.”