I walked into the sanctuary in the middle of the prayer requests. A parishioner raised his hand.
“Yes, Lester,” my mother called on him from the pulpit.
“I think we should all keep the Blocken family in our prayers. Their daughter’s in the hospital,” Lester said.
A murmur fluttered through the church as I grabbed an empty pew near the back.
My mother held her composure even though she knew the congregation must know about Mark’s part in Olivia’s accident. Gossip was Stripling’s favorite pastime. “Yes, of course. We will pray that she makes a full recovery. Olivia is a close friend of India’s, and we are all concerned for her well-being.”
Members of the congregation glanced at me. I gave a weak smile. Ina flashed me a beady look.
During the sermon, I shredded my church bulletin into hundreds of tiny pieces.
After the service, it was indeed a coffee hour Sunday. I wove my way to the church’s fellowship hall, trying not to shove unobservant church-goers into the walls—especially those who stood between me and a maple crème stick. Pastors’ kids must always demonstrate the highest levels of restraint.
As I made my way, the congregation’s Mesozoic parishioner, Melba, a young ninety-seven, asked me if I had decided where I was planning to attend college in the fall. Rather than tell her, for the one hundred and second time, that I had already commenced from college and graduate school, I said that I was contemplating a school on the East Coast, knowing full well that my flippant comment would reach my mother.
With donut in hand, I moved to the outskirts of the room. I was savoring my donut when a pair of small arms wrapped around my knees.
“Hi-hi,” Nicholas said.
An oversized bite of donut lodged halfway down my throat. Bending over, I began coughing. Nicholas patted my back.
His high voice chimed. “Hold up your arms, hold up your arms.”
I did as instructed and created a spectacle. Several parishioners eyed their own pastries with concern. With my arms in the air like a street punk caught shoplifting cigarettes, I hacked.
Carmen, the ever-nurturing mother, handed me a glass of water. “Drink.”
Nicholas watched as I guzzled the liquid. His voice trembled. “Will Dia die?”
Carmen patted her son’s dark head. “She’ll be fine.”
“I’m fine, Nicko,” I croaked.
“See, she can talk. If she was really choking, she wouldn’t be able to speak,” she said.
I massaged my throat.
My mother entered the fellowship hall, free of her robe and stole. As she passed, she shot a pointed look at my neck. No doubt, she had already heard about my near-death experience by oversized pastry. My father wheeled in after her and winked. A church elder accosted him, lamenting the pinched building fund.
Carmen grabbed my arm. “How’s Mark?”
“How would I know?” I said warily. Somehow, I had irritated Carmen. Again. I decided to try an evasive maneuver. “You know the detective handling Olivia’s case turns out to be your old boyfriend Ricky Mains.”
That got her attention. “Ricky? Really? Does he still have that awful laugh?” Carmen shuddered.
“Yeah, he does. Anyway—”
“I haven’t seen him in a couple of years. How does he look? Did he get fat or anything?”
Nicholas squinted at his mother.
“No, he’s neither fat nor deformed,” I said.
Carmen looked disappointed. “He was my last boyfriend before Chip.”
“I remember.”
Carmen looked down at her stomach and sighed. “He had nice hair, really dark and smooth. Is he balding?” She sounded hopeful.
“Nope.” Church members turned their heads. I glanced around the room. “I think you’re right; we have good reason to worry about Mark. Your old boyfriend told me that there were bruises on Olivia’s back. Looks like she was pushed into the fountain.”
Carmen gasped. “I thought it was an accident.”
“It doesn’t look that way anymore.”
The room thinned as churchgoers snatched the last of the donuts. I watched the donuts disappear with deep-seated remorse. One was never enough.
Carmen held a protective hand to her belly. “Do you think—could Mark have anything to do with . . .”
I looked directly into my sister’s eyes in surprise. “Do you think so?”
She bit her lip.
Nicholas tugged on his mother’s skirt. “Dad says it’s time to go. The baseball game is about to start.”
Carmen’s brow smoothed. “Okay, tell Daddy I’ll be there in a minute.”
Nicholas wove through the remaining parishioners.
“Mark wouldn’t hurt anyone, Carmen. You know that. He can’t kill a honeybee.”
“I know. You’re right.” She paused. “But he was behaving strangely yesterday.”
“Give the guy a break. He just found out that Olivia was getting married and had been seriously hurt within the space of a few hours. Carmen, I know that Mark didn’t do it. And if you don’t know the same, you don’t know your brother.”
The kitchen ladies, cleaning up the last of the donut crumbs, glanced at us in surprise, their ears on high alert.
“Keep your voice down.” Carmen said. “What does Ricky think about all this? Did you ask him?”
“Carmen, would you forget about Ricky Mains?”
Carmen had the decency to flush. “Chip and Nicholas are waiting.” She fled the room.
I turned my back to the kitchen ladies and took three deep breaths. My parents chatted with a young couple. I rudely interrupted and asked Dad if I could talk to him for a minute. Happy for the chance to escape his pastor’s husband obligations, he followed me into the hallway.
Without preamble, I asked, “Where’s Mark?”
“Mark went back to his apartment last night. He needed space. He’ll be fine, India. And so will Olivia. Don’t fret.”
My father was so certain.
After church, I dropped Ina at a chain restaurant with a group of blue-haired church ladies for Sunday brunch before heading home. When I saw Mains’s dark sedan parked obstinately in front of the duplex, I knew it wasn’t good news.
Chapter Twelve
Mains stepped out of the automobile when I slammed my car door. Without salutation, I marched across the lawn. He leaned against the passenger side door and waited.
I kicked the right rear tire of his car lightly. “Nice car.”
Mains was subdued. “I’d like to speak with you for a few minutes, Miss Hayes.”
“I really don’t think I have time today, Detective Mains, but thank you for asking.”
“It’s important.”
“No doubt,” I said. I stumbled over one of Ina’s leprechauns as I made my way toward the duplex.
“Olivia Blocken is dead.”
I whipped around. His statement had sucked out a piece of my lungs, leaving a gaping hole in its place.
“She died earlier this morning. She never woke up from the surgery. She was brain-dead before the end of the operation. Her family decided to remove life support.”
I forced my brain to process his words. Dead? Brain-dead? Life support? His lips continued to move, but the sound didn’t reach my ears. My breath shortened.
“I think we should go inside to discuss this,” Mains said.
“We will not go inside. I don’t want you in my house again.” I managed to lower my volume by a half decibel. “Now, tell me why I wasn’t told of Olivia’s condition yesterday. You were here, why didn’t you tell me then?”
Mains removed his mirrored sunglasses and placed them in his shirt pocket. “I wasn’t aware of it until after I saw you.” He held up his palm. “And—”