The Lord Is My Shepherd (7 page)

“What's wrong with that?”

“You'll find that most packaged foods contain soy or corn.”

“I had no idea,” she said.

“Ashkenazim have stricter rules about food that has to be purged before Passover.”

“Ashkenazim?”

“Jewish people from northern Europe, mostly Germany and Russia,” he explained. “Others, Sephardim, can eat rice and beans during Passover.”

“Wow, deprived by genetics,” she burst out before she could stop herself.

He stared at her, surprise clear on his face. She winced and was about to apologize when he burst out laughing. She joined in, and it was a moment before either of them regained some composure.

“You want to know the worst part?” Jeremiah asked.

“Tell me.”

“It passes through the mother. My first cousin, his mother was Sephardim. We tried to have Passover at their house once when I was five, and it was a total disaster.” Cindy laughed again. “My mother wouldn't let us eat anything, because it might have been tainted.”

“Stop,” she begged, wiping the tears from her eyes.

“That's what she said every time my dad tried to sneak food when she wasn't looking.”

“That's perfect,” she said.

“That was the worst holiday meal.”

“I've got a better one.”

“Prove it.”

“When I was eight my grandmother convinced us all to have Easter dinner at her sister's house.”

“And?”

“Her sister was a wiccan. She insisted we all had to participate in some spring ritual of hers. She made us stand around the dinner table chanting. She had this ceremonial knife, and it was passed from person to person. My dad got it, and I don't know what came over him, but he stabbed the ham with it. My aunt starting yelling. My brother jumped up and down, screaming 'Dad, it's resurrecting, it's resurrecting!' There we were, my aunt yelling at all of us, and my dad stabbing the ham over and over. She kicked us out of the house, and we had to eat Easter dinner at McDonald's.”

“You win,” Jeremiah conceded.

“Thank you.”

“I can just see your dad and the ham,” Jeremiah said, snatching up a knife from the carving block and pantomiming stabbing the food box with it.

His smile was broad, and the muscles in his arm flexed as he wielded the knife. Cindy laughed, as much at him as from the memory.

He's strong enough to have driven that knife into the dead man
. The thought came unbidden, and she instantly stopped laughing. She took a step backward, almost involuntarily.

Jeremiah caught the movement and looked at her for a moment before lowering the knife. “Maybe it's not a good day to discuss stabbing things,” he said, his voice suddenly serious.

She nodded and watched as he put the knife away. He flashed her a grim smile, and she returned her attention to the cabinet. The doorbell rang.

“Pizza,” Jeremiah said, sounding relieved.

They ate mostly in silence and returned quickly to the work at hand. Half an hour later Jeremiah carried a box of food to his car and came back with a look of satisfaction on his face.

“Now, the hard part,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Cleaning.”

Mark sat at his desk, leafing through papers. His partner, Paul, walked over and pulled up a chair. “Where are we?”

Mark shook his head. “The victim's name was Ryan Bellig from Raleigh, North Carolina.”

“What was he doing out here?”

“I don't know. I contacted his employer. He was on vacation, due back the end of the week. He never told anyone
there what his plans were. I did find out that he was a churchgoer, First Presbyterian.”

“The church he was found in is Presbyterian. Maybe he attended services yesterday. Every time my in-laws travel they attend services at a church where they're traveling.”

“I thought about that,” Mark admitted. “But none of the church staff recognized him.”

Paul shrugged. “Maybe he kept a low profile.”

Mark shook his head. “I spoke to his pastor at First Presbyterian in Raleigh. He said Ryan used to be a regular attendee, but he hadn't gone to services in three years. It seems his wife and daughter were murdered, and the killer was never found. After that, he stopped going to church.”

“And now
he's
murdered and in a church. There's irony for you.”

“Tell me about it.”

“So, the question is, why here, why now?”

Mark leaned back in his chair. “His boss said this is his first extended vacation in years. He's taken the occasional long weekend, but that's it. I contacted the Raleigh police and asked to see the file on his wife and daughter.”

“You think whoever killed his family waited three years for him to leave the state, followed him, and finished him off?” Paul asked.

Mark shrugged. “Right now I don't know what to think. How are we doing on the donkey guy?”

“He has no family in the area, and we've ruled out friends. They were all at a church gathering Sunday night when he was killed.”

“Don't tell me.”

“Yeah, you're going to love this. He didn't go to First Shepherd, but his friends do.”

Mark groaned. “Two murders connected, albeit loosely, to the same church.”

“Yeah.”

Mark stood. “I'm going home to get some sleep. I have a feeling tomorrow's going to be a long day.”

“I won't blame you if you want to go home now,” Jeremiah said.

Cindy looked pale, but resolute as she shook her head. “I said I'd help, I'll help.”

He handed her some gloves and a sponge. “Okay, we'll start here in the kitchen. Everything that food might have touched, or the steam from cooking food, has to be thoroughly purified.”

“And by purification you mean what exactly?”

“It depends on what it is. Some things get immersed in boiling water, some things are passed through fire, and some things, like the light switches, can just be wiped down with ammonia.”

“You've got to be kidding!”

“I never—”

“I know, you never joke about Passover. Where do you want me to start?”

“How about the light switches and the doorknobs throughout the house. Everything has to be cleaned, not just the kitchen.”

“Wow.”

“I even have to check my clothes and make sure there are no crumbs anywhere, including the pockets.”

“I could never be Jewish.”

“Why's that?”

“It's too much work.”

He smiled.

They worked for a little while in silence. He glanced over at her from time to time. It had been foolish to invite this woman into his home, to spend more time with her and possibly incite her curiosity. For someone who was trying hard to stay out of the whole murder mess he was doing a terrible job of it.

After he finished cleaning the oven he taped it closed since he had no intention of using it during Passover. He did the same with several cabinets. Finally, they both ended up at the sink, wringing out sponges at the same time.

“This is going to take forever,” she said.

He smiled. “It would be much worse if I was actually having a Seder here.”

“I can't imagine what you're going to have to do at the synagogue tomorrow night!”

“Care to volunteer?”

“No, thank you,” she said with a laugh. “Two nights of this, and I'll be the one they find dead … of exhaustion.”

He knew it was hard for her to joke about what she had seen that morning, but the fact that she was trying was a good sign.

“How do you think that guy got into the sanctuary?” he asked.

She stopped and looked up at him. “You know, I've been thinking about that. There's no way he was killed while the
church was open and then someone accidentally locked him in. The lights were off. It's pitch dark in there regardless of the time of day.”

“Which is why you tripped over him and didn't see him in the dark,” Jeremiah filled in.

“Exactly. If it happened last night, the light would have had to be on in the sanctuary for the killer to even see him, let alone stab him to death.”

“Unless you're dealing with a blind killer.”

She looked uncertain for a minute and then shook her head. “No, there are no blind people who are in any way associated with the church.”

“Okay, let's assume for now our killer was sighted.”

“Then he'd have to have seen what he was doing, which means the light would have been on when he killed him.”

“But the light was off this morning.”

“Yes.” Cindy moved to stand directly in front of him, eyes quickening with thought. “Whenever you lock up the sanctuary, it's standard to turn the lights on for a minute just to make sure no one's in there praying, or asleep, or —”

“And if whoever locked the door had the light on, they would have seen the body and called the police.”

“Exactly,” Cindy said.

“Which means, that whoever killed him turned off the lights and locked the door.”

“Which means,” Cindy continued. “The killer definitely had to have a key to the church.”

“Unless someone had a key stolen and hasn't bothered to report it, the killer goes to the church,” Jeremiah said, staring intently at her.

“The killer is either on staff or one of the ministry leaders,” Cindy finished.

They both stood for a moment in silence, staring at each other.

“Oh no,” she whispered as realization set in. “I know the killer.”

Looking at her stricken expression and panic-filled eyes, Jeremiah knew she wouldn't rest easy until the killer had been caught.

He put a hand on her shoulder and steered her toward the dining table. She sat down, and he got them both some ice water. He grabbed a pad of paper and a pen and put them down on the table.

“Okay, Cindy, let's just think this through logically.”

“How?”

“Which staff members have keys?”

“All ten of us.”

“Okay, who?”

She took a deep breath. “There's me, Pastor Roy, Associate Pastor Jake, Wildman—”

“Wildman?”

“Pastor Wyman. He's the youth pastor.”

“Kids nicknamed him?”

“I believe the name actually came from seminary.”

Jeremiah shook his head. “Okay, who else?”

“Geanie the graphic designer, the janitor Ralph, Danielle the children's pastor, Gus the music minister, Loretta the organist, and Sylvia the business manager.”

“Okay,” he said, looking at the list. “I think it's safe to eliminate you.”

She smiled. “That's very generous of you.”

He shrugged. “I'm that type of guy. Okay, so let's also put down here the ministry leaders that have keys.”

“Drake Stryker, head of the men's ministry. Jesse Raybourne is head of the women's ministry. The last would be Harold Grey; he's the head usher.”

Jeremiah added the names to the list and stared hard at the last one. “Harold Grey, your landlord?”

“Yes, that's right.”

He thought of the bloody cross on the floor of the sanctuary. “Would any of these people have a Shepherd's cross?”

She nodded. “Harold's a Shepherd.”

“Anyone else on this list?”

“No.”

He looked up at her and saw the moment when what she had said sunk in. Her eyes widened. “No, not Harold! I can't believe that.”

Jeremiah shrugged. “Maybe his cross just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Or someone's trying to frame him.”

“Could be.” He didn't believe it, though.

She looked like she was about to cry. He stood up from the table. “The police probably have a suspect in custody. Let's not worry until we know more. How about I drive you back to your car so you can go home?”

She bolted up from the table. “No!”

He looked at her quizzically.

“Howard has a key to my house.”

“We have no reason to believe he means you any harm,” he said, and then paused. Grey had been in the house when they arrived and had seemed nervous the entire time. What
had he been doing there? Had he really been checking on the air-conditioner?

He looked at Cindy and could practically taste her fear. Safety was a big deal for her, perhaps more than for anyone he'd ever met. Slowly he nodded. “Okay, you should probably check into a hotel for the night.”