“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for they shall inherit the earth.” There was a long pause, and when Wade began again the tone of his voice had changed. “Before we bring to an end our service for today, I would like to take a moment to bring you some good news. A good friend of the church, one of our supporters from the first days, has expanded his generosity to our new project, the Sisters of Mercy Hospital on Isla Arenillas, Mexico. Some of you may know him, his name is Joe Datilla, and he told me just yesterday that he is prepared to offer us a wonderful gift. You all have heard about the terrible events in Laguna Beach last week. Joe, just yesterday, established a reward fund for information leading to the arrest of the Fire Killer of Laguna. That reward will be one hundred thousand dollars to the individual who provides information on the case, matched by one hundred thousand dollars in donation for the Sisters of Mercy Hospital.”
Shephard could hear the crowd come alive through the speaker. Then a raucous cry came up from the cars in front of him and they sprouted arms that waved from the windows. There were hoots, shrieking whistles, applause, and finally a chorus of honking horns that drowned out the next of Wade’s words. Someone threw a beer can. Little Theodore let out a throaty rasp, broke into a cough, and pressed down the horn of the Harley, which responded with little more than a tweet. “Great deal,” he growled. “Fuckin’ A.”
“Join me in praying that the Lord will deliver this tormented man to us,” Wade said finally, “and that to him His mercy shall be given.”
The Reverend Wade Shephard’s office was hidden in a far corner of the massive new chapel. As Shephard walked through the door, a woman with her back to him turned and an embarrassed smile crossed her face. Wade was standing across from her, behind a desk, and Shephard’s entrance seemed to take him by the same surprise. The woman excused herself and Wade sat down, still dressed in the cream-colored suit he wore for the televised sermons. His smile was pleased, expansive. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” he said pleasantly. “Surprised by Joe’s offer?”
“Well, yes. Very powerful,” Shephard said, not sure whether he was really surprised or not.
“Reward money works wonders sometimes, as I’ve told you.”
“I can understand his helping the church. But why me?”
Wade leaned back in his large padded chair and crossed his hands over his stomach. Shephard saw something well pleased in the gesture. “I suppose only Joe could answer that. Of course, he bounced the idea off me before it was settled. Frankly, Tom, I think he’s as appalled at what has happened in Laguna as you and I are. Don’t forget, he’s not just helping you,” he said kindly.
“Two hundred thousand is a lot of appalled,” Shephard said. He thought of Datilla serving on the tennis court alone, then of Dorothy Edmond’s words. He isn’t happy about anything he can’t control. And it was Shephard’s nature, or at least his training, to look for what was expected in return when a gift was offered.
“Of course, he’s very interested in the hospital, too,” Wade said. “I can see the questions swirling behind that glum young face of yours, Tom. I raised a good detective. But don’t be afraid to accept a miracle. Expect them, accept them.”
Wade’s voice was confidential, his smile assuring. And his advice seemed to lift Shephard’s concerns out of an arena he wasn’t yet willing to leave. He nodded. “I met Dorothy Edmond on Friday,” he said. “She didn’t exactly portray Joe as a miracle worker.”
“Oh?” Wade’s smile had turned wry, as if he knew what might be coming next.
“Do you know her?”
“In a sense, yes. ‘I knew her once’ might be a better way to put it. She was and still is a very unhealthy woman.”
“She coughs a lot.”
“She does at that,” Wade said gently.
“She told me some, uh, disturbing stories about Joe.”
“Don’t be disturbed. I told you a thousand times who the best liars are. Do you know?”
“Those who believe their own lies,” Shephard answered quickly.
“She must be one of them,” Wade said.
“I want to give them to you just the same. I saw Joe last Thursday. When I was leaving the Surfside, Dorothy took me aside and said she knew something about the murders. When I met with her the next day, she told me a long tale about Joe and a woman named Helene. Joe mentioned her, too. Helene Lang.”
“I knew her, too,” Wade said with a new smile. Again he leaned back and crossed his hands.
“She told me that Joe fought with his partner, Burt Creeley, and arranged to have him drowned in the bay at Newport. Helene had professed her love to Burt and had managed to alter his will so that his thirty percent of the Surfside stock came her way if he died. According to Edmond, Joe and Helene Lang were in it together. They planned it in advance so Joe could get the stock control. She said Burton’s ideas were too... democratic.”
As Shephard recounted Dorothy’s story, he was aware of its gross unlikelihood. Coming from his own mouth it sounded impossible. But from Edmond, as she had sat in the cloud of smoke and lilac perfume, it was convincing enough to be real.
“I read parts of Hope Creeley’s diary,” he continued, bringing fresh conviction to his voice, “and the affair checks out. She wrote about it, knew about it.” Shephard stopped for a moment to ponder his collapsing narrative. Wade was listening patiently, calmly studying his son’s face. “She said I’d have to ‘reopen’ the case if I wanted to get to the killer of Hope and Tim Algernon. Then she told me to know myself. Even if everything she said were true, I still don’t see how it connects. But if she’s pointing a finger, it’s at Joe Datilla.”
“Murder is a rather heavy finger,” Wade answered. “Did you wonder why she was telling you this?”
“It’s not the kind of story you’d want to keep inside, if it were true,” Shephard answered after a pause. The truth was, he hadn’t been able to figure out why she had come to him with it.
“Or even if it weren’t.” Wade sagged forward and poured himself a glass of water from a pitcher on the desk. “I don’t know what she would gain by telling you something like that. I’ve known Dorothy Edmond for many years, and I’ve prayed for her many times. If Joe didn’t have the heart to keep her on at the Surfside, she’d probably be back in one of the hospitals. She’s been in quite a few, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
Wade pushed himself up from the large desk, taking his glass of water. He looked through the blinds out to the Church of New Life drive-in lot. When he turned back to Shephard his face was drained of joy, like a fighter answering the bell for a round he can’t win.
“I knew her quite well when she was engaged to Joe,” he said finally. Shephard saw that his hunch had been right: she was a jilted lover, out of hope and ready for revenge. Fool, he thought. Ass. “The reason she’s so intimate with the details of Helene Lang’s life is because... she is Helene Lang. She’s gone by a dozen names in the last thirty years. Dorothy Edmond is relatively new.”
Shephard felt his ears warm with embarrassment, like a schoolboy who has multiplied the numbers he was asked simply to add. Wade sipped the water and set the glass back on the desk.
“The Creeleys, Joe and Helene, your mother and I were all pretty close for a while. Joe broke the engagement when he found Burton, his partner and closest friend, with Helene snuggled nice and tight below deck on Burt’s boat one night. It broke his heart, Tom. True, she had convinced Burton to will his stocks to her, but it sure wasn’t Joe who engineered that.” Wade moved again to the window. When he drew up the blinds, Shephard could see the drive-in far below, the trees around it swaying in the growing wind. The last of the cars waited at the exit.