Mark Durkee was beside the barn door. He leveled his gun at Ethan. “Ethan Stoner, you’re under arrest,” he said. His glance flickered to Russ. “Chief?”
“I’m fine, Mark. Take Ethan to the car while I go talk to his parents, please.” He let himself through the cattle gate while Mark read the boy his rights. A Millers Kill squad car flashed its red lights at the base of the driveway. Lyle and Ed were getting out. On the porch, Wayne and Mindy stood with their arms wrapped around each other, straining to see the barnyard in the twilight. Far down the road, he could hear another siren approaching. Russ felt flushed and shaky, his legs almost too heavy to carry him down the barn drive and across the dooryard. The bite of the December air, the dazzle of the house lights on the snow, the sound of people’s voices all flooded his senses. It was good to be alive. He forced a smile to his face and began the long, long climb up the porch steps.
Clare smiled when she saw that the driveway to the police station had been thoroughly plowed. She eased her car over the sidewalk and into a parking space. She really was going to need a vehicle that wouldn’t get stuck if someone threw a snowball under its tires. Problem was, the only way she could afford a new car was to sell the old one. The thought of which sent her into a blue funk. This MG was the closest she had ever gotten to flying on the ground. She thought of the dark, mid-sized anonymous American cars so many of her teachers at the seminary had driven. Clergymobiles. “Baby, climb inside my car,” she sang as she strolled up the sidewalk. A municipal employee leaving City Hall next door looked pointedly at her collar and frowned. Probably a Baptist. Clare winked at him before charging up the steps to the police station.
Inside, she shucked off her jacket. “Harlene?” she said, approaching the dispatch room. “Has the chief left yet? I was hoping to—” She shut up when she saw Harlene’s face. “What is it?”
“I really shouldn’t talk to civilians yet,” Harlene said, her crumpled expression at odds with her formal words.
“Harlene, is anyone hurt? Please . . .”
The dispatcher pushed her headset further back over her springy gray curls. “The chief went to bring Ethan Stoner in for his blood test and the boy pulled a shotgun on him.”
The rest of the room faded to a blur, and Harlene’s face came into exquisite focus. Clare could see every mole, every hair, the wrinkles around her lips as she pursed them together, the light on her lashes as she blinked quickly, over and over again.
“What happened?” Clare’s voice was even.
“I don’t know. They’re both in the barn. Mindy Stoner heard a gunshot, but I haven’t had any news since then.”
Clare nodded. She kept nodding as the possibilities flitted through her mind. “Harlene,” she said, “I’d be grateful if you’d let me stay. I’d like to find out if . . . if anything has happened.”
Harlene held her hand out toward an old office chair next to the filing cabinet. “You just sit right down. I’d be glad for the company, to tell the truth.” Clare tossed her coat under the chair and sat. The two women looked at each other.
“Who has—” Clare began.
“Do you—” Harlene said. They smiled weakly at one another. “Go on,” said Harlene.
“Who has been sent out to help? With the situation?”
“Three of our own officers. The sheriff’s department is sending a car or two, and the state troopers are mustering their SWAT team.” She worried at the inside of her cheek. “And an ambulance.”
“Oh. Of course.” Clare looked at her hands. “What was it you were going to say?”
Harlene looked embarrassed. “I was going to ask if you believe praying can really help at a time like this.”
Clare folded her hands together and pressed them to her lips. She paused. “I believe that prayer focuses our human thoughts and energies, sends them to the people we’re praying for. I believe that helps, in ways we can’t yet understand.” Harlene looked surprised. She had probably expected a quick yes. Followed by an exhortation to the Almighty to keep everyone safe. “I believe that God hears our prayers, and cherishes them. I believe He answers by sending us His spirit, giving us strength, and peace, and insight. I don’t think He responds by turning away bullets and curing cancer. Though sometimes that does happen.”
Harlene frowned. “In other words, sometimes, the answer is no?”
“No. Sometimes the answer is ‘This is life, in all its variety. Make your way through it with grace, and never forget that I love you.’ ”
Harlene creaked back in her wheeled dispatcher’s chair. “You’re not one of those strict fundamentalist preachers, are you?”
Clare laughed. The phone rang. Harlene had it off the hook before the sound died away. “Millers Kill Police,” she said. There was a pause. Her face crinkled up into a huge smile. “Oh, it’s good to hear your voice, too.”
“Is it him?” Clare whispered. “Is he okay? Is the boy all right?”
Harlene nodded. “No, no, he’s absolutely right. You let them handle the arrest and the initial report. You go home!” Another pause. “Then go to your mother’s house. I don’t care. If you show up here, I’ll chase you off myself.” She laughed, then listened for awhile. “Are you really okay? You sound kinda funny.” Harlene glanced over at Clare again. “Hold on, there’s somebody who’s been waiting here to find out how you are. Do you feel like speaking to Reverend Fergusson?” She nodded to the phone and held it out to Clare.
“Hello,” she said, feeling unaccountably shy.
“Hi,” Russ said.
“Remember when you warned me Millers Kill wasn’t a sleepy little town? I believe you now.”
He laughed. “Good.”
“So, it sounds like you’re under strict orders not to come into the office.”
He sighed. “I guess I should go home. Linda’s out of town. And my mother . . . she doesn’t need to hear about this just yet. I’m still . . .” he drifted off.
“I know.”
“You know?” He sounded surprised.
“I know that you’re still . . .” She let her voice trail off, echoing his. “Meet me for a drink somewhere. We can talk.”
“Oh, God. I don’t think I can handle going out in public right now. Besides, I smell like cowshit and the scared-cold sweats.”
“Then tell me where you’ll be, and I’ll come to you.”
“Do you think . . . would my place be okay? I could shower and change, rustle up some burgers or something. Would that be, um, unpriestly or anything?”
She laughed softly. “I think what would be unpriestly would be to let a friend sit at home all alone with no one to talk to. Give me directions and tell me when to be there. Preferably after you no longer smell like cowshit, et cetera.”
He laughed. After she had his address, she handed the phone back to Harlene, who said into it, “You gonna confess your sins to Reverend Fergusson? Make sure she has a few hours.” She listened, snorted at something he said. “Okay. Yes, I will. Yes, I promise. Don’t you trust me? Wait, don’t answer that.” Harlene laughed. “Good. I hope you feel good about this, Chief. You just captured Katie’s killer.” There was a pause. Her smile faded. “Well . . .’Bye then. See you tomorrow.” She hung up.
“What did he say?” Clare asked.
“Said he didn’t know about that. He didn’t know what he had just done.”
CHAPTER 14
When Russ opened the door to her knock, he looked . . . different. It was . . . it was . . . the jeans and a sweater. “You’re in civvies!” she said. “I was beginning to think of you like the sheriff of Mayberry, you know, always dressed in brown poly.”