“Flowers belong in the ground,’’ he had said. What did he mean by that? It had raised goose bumps on the back of her neck when he’d said it. “I like flowers. Flowers don’t do bad things. They’re just quiet.’’
“Flowers don’t do bad things. But people do, right, Benny?’’ she whispered. Then she slapped the book shut, standing up suddenly, and ran down the stairs.
“Jeffrey,’’ she said, as she came out the front door…and walked over to Benny’s flower garden. She touched the earth with the toe of her boot and wondered if her thoughts could be right. “Flowers belong in the ground.’’ But people don’t, right Benny? Jeffrey had come to stand beside her.
“What’s up?’’ he asked.
“I think we need to dig up this flower garden.’’
Lydia wanted to be the one to tell Greg. He needed to hear this news from someone who knew what it was like to lose the only person that mattered. But she didn’t have to take it on alone. When Jeffrey had offered to come with her to Greg’s garage, her first instinct had been to tell him no.
“I can handle it,’’ she said.
“No doubt,’’ he answered, “but I want us to be a team, Lydia. Let’s deal with the hard stuff together from now on.’’
He’d looked a little surprised when she agreed. “Can I drive?’’ he asked, smiling.
“You’re pushing your luck,’’ she answered, but walked to the passenger side of the car.
“Wow, this is just like The Taming of the Shrew.’’
She smacked him hard as they got in the car.
She had watched them load what was left of Shawna’s body into the ambulance. The killer hadn’t even used a body bag for her, just put her in the ground underneath the red larkspurs in Benny’s beautiful, perfectly tended garden. It made Lydia so angry to think that some people never even had a chance at happiness in this world. All those New Age psychobabblers talking about how you make your own happiness and create positive energy in your life didn’t know shit about Shawna Fox. One of the faceless shrinks Lydia had gone to see had accused her of wallowing in her grief for her mother, had told her she was destroying her life with negative thinking. “Maybe you’re right,’’ Lydia had answered. “When someone cuts your heart out of your chest and expects you to walk around the rest of your life without it, you let me know how it feels. You tell me when you find a way to stop ‘wallowing.’’’ The irony of that statement was hitting her only now as she and Jeffrey drove to Greg Matthews’s garage, to tell him they’d found Shawna’s body.
“Oh my god,’’ Lydia said.
“What?’’
“I was just thinking, when you lose someone you love, if feels like someone has taken your heart.’’
“Okay…’’ he answered, not sure where she was going.
“Remember how we were talking about what that meant? To lose your heart or to have your heart taken?’’
“Yeah. So you’re saying maybe the killer lost someone close to him?’’
“Right. And maybe that’s why he wants vengeance.’’
“Against whom, though?’’
She remembered something Juno had said to her on the first day they spoke. He’d said, “There are many people who believe that I have the power to heal. But there are many that disbelieve it – vehemently. These types of people have perpetrated acts of violence against me and this church in the past, may God forgive them.’’
“What if Juno tried to heal whoever it was…but couldn’t?’’
When Juno awoke that morning, he knew something was wrong. He lay still in his bed and listened to the air. There was a stillness like the pause before speech, as if the church had taken in a long breath and was holding it. He had been loath to move, feeling that once his feet touched the floor, nothing would ever be the same again.
As he went about his morning routine, feelings crept up on him, rose within him like a tide. Emotions he had rarely known seared through him – fear, and an unspeakable sadness. He tried to ignore them and go about the business of the morning. The door to his uncle’s room was closed, and Juno almost knocked but he hated to disturb the priest, thinking he might be preparing for mass.
He could feel as he entered the church that the side door to the garden had been left open. He could feel the outside air inside, and smelled the sweet scent of the flowers from the garden. He walked to the doorway but could not bring himself to step outside, remembering when he had fallen in the blood just weeks before. He pulled the door closed and walked to the altar, sat on the stool there to practice his guitar.
So soothed and rapt was he by his own playing that he almost didn’t hear the phone ring back in the office. He thought certainly by the time he reached it, the caller would have hung up, but when he answered, Lydia was on the line.
“Juno?’’
“Yes, Lydia, hello.’’
“Juno, I have a question for you. The boy you last attempted to heal, what was his name?’’
“It seems like a long time ago,’’ he answered.
“I saw the name when I was searching the Internet before all this started, but I can’t remember it now. Do you recall it?’’
“Yes, yes, it was…Robbie. Robbie Hugo.’’
“Was he the only person you tried to heal that died?’’
“Yes.’’
“What happened to his parents?’’
“Well, his mother, Jennifer, was a parishioner here. Her husband was not a religious man. I don’t remember his first name or even ever meeting him. She went to Colorado sometime after the boy died and I assume her husband went, as well.’’
“Do you know anything else about them?’’
“Not really. I’m sorry.’’
“Juno, do you have a volunteer or parishioner at the church named Vince A. Gemiennes, someone who might not have been on the list your uncle gave us?’’
“Well, I’m not sure who’s on that list. The name does sound familiar. You’ll have to ask my uncle, he’ll know better.’’
“Can you get him?’’
“He’s preparing for mass,’’ Juno answered, an odd reluctance overtaking him.
“Juno, this is pretty important.’’
He knocked on his uncle’s door and when, after a moment, there was no answer, he pushed it open. “Uncle?’’ He walked into the room and put his hand on the bed which was made and cold as ice.
He returned to the phone. “Lydia, he’s not here. It’s very odd.’’
“Okay, Juno, there should be a squad car in front of the church. Go outside and tell them there’s a problem. If there isn’t a car out there, go inside, call 911, lock the doors, and don’t move until the police get there. Do you understand me?’’
“Yes. Lydia, what’s happening?’’
“Sit tight and I’ll be there as fast as I can. I just have one thing I need to do first.’’
Juno ran, as best he could, twice jamming his foot against he didn’t know what. The world so familiar to him seemed suddenly like an obstacle course where malicious, hard objects moved themselves into his path to impede his progress. When he finally reached the door, he called out for the police. But he got no answer.
Simon Morrow was fuming. After the body found in the Savroy’s garden had been taken to the ME’s office, Morrow had come to the hospital to sit outside Benny’s room and wait for him to wake up. Retarded or not, he was involved. There was a body buried in his garden, for Christ’s sake. And that bitch had made him seem like the biggest idiot in the world for thinking Benny was a suspect. He was a fucking suspect. And Morrow fully intended to be the first person to get the information out of him.