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Lexi grappled in her glove box for an evidence bag. She shoved the note into it and pushed it into her back pocket. A belated glance around the empty car park revealed no one studying her in particular. But a shiver ran up her spine. A fluffy cumulus cloud blocked the sun for a moment, turning her world a silvery grey. Foreboding filled Lexi’s heart. She dumped her leather jacket in the SUV’s enormous boot and slipped into her driver’s seat.
She didn’t bother phoning Garima. He wouldn’t answer his private phone during work hours. Instead, she drove to his modest Catholic outpost in its run-down western suburb.
Someone had thrown open the wooden doors and fixed them against the growing breeze. They rattled against the metal hooks as if in protest. Lexi paused for long enough on the threshold to breathe in the sudden onslaught of silence. Sound stole back to her as individual fragments. The snip of steel scissor blades battled an awkward rose stalk. A candle wick fizzled and crackled. The whir of a distant vacuum cleaner. Its motor railed against a suction leak in its hose.
“Can I help you?” A thin woman approached Lexi. She blinked rapidly, a wooden smile gracing lips which struggled against a natural resting bitch face. Scissor blades parted like a bemused mouth in her right hand as though disturbed from a meal. She carried a rose and a limp hydrangea in her left.
Lexi straightened, aware of the crucified Christ beyond the woman’s right shoulder. His gory, injured presence hushed her thoughts. Her head filled with cotton wool. She cleared her throat. “Father Allen?” She framed his name as a question.
The woman bowed her head, her expression grim. The hydrangea head bobbed as she indicated a nearby pew. “Sit there,” she commanded. “I’ll fetch him.”
Her heels dug into the wooden boards with each step as she stomped through a narrow door, scissors first. She closed it behind her and sought Garima’s sanctuary alone.
Lexi slumped into a pew. She dipped forward, resting her elbows on her knees. A long breath exhaled in a slow, exhilarating sigh. The vacuum cleaner motor strained in the distance, growing louder before ceasing. The woman’s definite steps echoed in a narrow corridor, pursued by heavier, yet softer strides.
Lexi rose as Garima entered the nave. His brow creased when he spied her. She never visited him at work. Dust covered the toes of his shiny shoes, evidence that he’d wielded the vacuum cleaner. Sweat dotted his brow and gave his black curls a slicked appearance. A latent mania caused his blue irises to glitter. His stress reached her like a rogue wave, almost knocking her sideways. She sensed him spiralling and snatching up old habits.
The woman’s narrowed eyes widened like saucers as Lexi held out her arms to him. She tucked herself against his chest and locked her fingers behind his back. They barely touched at his spine. But Garima didn’t respond. His arms hung limp by his sides as he battled an inner demon. Lexi drew back in confusion. She stared up at the underside of his square chin.
Awkwardness shrouded the moment. Turning, she found the woman staring at her with abject hostility in her sharply lifted nose and flattened lips. Garima seemed to diminish beneath her glare. A bubble of rage burst in Lexi’s chest. She kept one arm around her brother, his armpit radiating heat. “I’m Lexi.” Her words oozed fake confidence. “Lexi Allen. Gari’s sister.”
The woman’s chin jerked back into her thin neck. It almost disappeared. She blinked several times, going through the motions of turning judgement into welcome. “Darlene.” She juggled scissors and stalks to free up her right hand. Lexi accepted the handshake, a rigid smile plastered on her lips.
“I’m taking my favourite brother for a cuppa.” Her ferocious expression dared the other woman to argue.
“Oh!” She clasped her hands at her breasts. The scissors munched hydrangea petals and scattered the remnants over the floorboards like confetti. “But Father Donald Douglas isn’t back yet.”
Lexi suppressed a snort of derision at the unfortunate alliteration. It sounded like a made up title. Her arm tightened around her brother. Her father named him after an ancient text, the Ethiopian Garima Gospels. It fitted his dog collar existence like a divine ordination. Lexi dug in her heels and offered Mrs Judgemental a casual wave. “We’ll only go to the cafe across the road.” She added an irritating singsong note to her words as she drew the battle lines. “Just pop across if he’s needed.”
But Garima’s shoes remained glued to the wooden boards. He stared down at her, frozen. Lexi resorted to childish tactics. She slid herself further under his reluctant arm and employed her left hand out of sight. Her fingers gripped shirt and skin, pinching the delicate area beneath his ribs. He jerked, but his muscles unlocked. “Okay,” he murmured.
Lexi kept hold of his left arm until they reached the pavement. She released him then, understanding his need for public integrity. “Concentrate!” she snapped as they waited on the curb for traffic to pass. “Don’t make me hold your hand.”
Garima ran shaking fingers through his fringe. He scrubbed his eyes with the backs of his knuckles. The effort left him rumpled, but at least more aware of his surroundings. He glanced at her SUV parked behind his battered vehicle. With a sigh, he followed her across the road.
Lexi abandoned him at a table outside the cafe. She queued for their drinks and paid before rejoining him. “What the hell?” she demanded, sitting beside him. She removed her phone from her back pocket and slipped her bank card into an integral wallet. “Why are you flipping out?”
Garima blinked at her use of the cuss word, but he didn’t rebuke her. His heavy shoulders rose and fell in a bemused shrug. “Just stuff,” he murmured.
Lexi tutted. “And vacuuming the vestry helps?” She knew the answer to the moot question. It did help him. But he wouldn’t stop. Not until he’d cleansed every corner and worked through at least ten cycles of his rigid counting. She squeezed his fingers and released the contact, the sleight of hand disguising her touch. “Are you still taking your medication?” She dipped her head and stared at him through the tops of her eyes.
“Yes. No.” He swallowed, unable to reach the correct answer. “I don’t know.”
The drinks arrived. Lexi smiled at the waitress and waited until she’d gone. Garima stared at the metallic tea pot and ugly white mug as though not sure how to marry the two. Lexi sprinkled sugar over her latte. Her hand shook. “Yes or no, Gari? I need an answer or I’m coming home with you.”
“No!” His eyes widened. “No women allowed in the priest’s house.”
Lexi twisted her lips at the lie. “Does Mrs Morgan not count as a woman, then? She has breasts.”
“She’s married. And our housekeeper.”
Lexi exhaled. “Answer me, Garima. Are you up to date with your meds?”
“Yes.” His head nodded in an emphatic motion. “And I’m fine.”
“You’re not lying to me?” Lexi lifted the lid of the teapot. It burned her fingers.
“I’m a priest!” Affront filled his liquid blue eyes.
Lexi snatched up a teaspoon and squashed the bag languishing beneath the water level. The lid dropped back with a clink. She poured Garima a mug of the soothing chamomile tea and watched him take a sip. He jerked against its heat and set it back on the wooden table. “So, what’s with the crazy cleaning spree?” she demanded. “And why couldn’t you do it at my place? It needs a spring clean.”
He smiled and his neck muscles lost their tension. “I just went a bit nuts, that’s all. Thanks for rescuing me.”
“What’s happened since this morning?” She gentled her tone, needing to soothe more than galvanise him. The sugar crystals plunged into the milk, leaving light brown streaks behind them.
“Father Donald left.” His lips twitched.
“Like, went to the supermarket, or resigned?” Lexi cocked her head.
Garima exhaled. “I don’t know. He shouted at me he couldn’t cope with it anymore and stormed out.”
“Has he ever behaved that way before?”
“No.” Garima’s expression clouded. “Never. He’s a good man.” He reached for the mug and tea slopped over the side. “That confession this morning upset him. He went out earlier and arrived back looking like someone dragged him through a hedge.”
“Where did he go?” Lexi’s hunter instinct kicked in. She sensed a mystery circling.
“He borrowed my car after I returned from visiting you. I walked to a lunch meeting with a deacon, but Father Donald didn’t show up. When I got back to the vestry, I found him throwing his belongings into his travel bag. And ranting.”
“Weird.” Lexi cocked her head and studied Garima’s furrowed brow. “And that set you off?”
Her brother shrugged. “He apologised for leaving a mess at the rectory. I can’t bring myself to face it. I’m also alone now.” He licked his lips. “I’m not ready. He promised to supervise me for a while longer.” His staccato sentences caused her heart to clench.
“Perhaps he needed a break,” she soothed. “Call the bishop. He’ll send someone else in the meantime. And phone Mrs Morgan. Ask if she’d mind some extra hours this week.” She glared through the tops of her eyes at him. “I hereby ban you from touching any cleaning products or related items for the foreseeable future.” She wagged her finger. “Few men get a pass like that, so show some gratitude.”
Garima nodded. A healthier pink returned to his cheeks. “Other men don’t fantasise about glass cleaners and scouring pads.”
Lexi laughed. “Be still my beating heart.”
“Why am I like this?” Garima’s pitch rose into an undignified whine. “Why am I great with other people’s problems, but absolute shite with my own?” His index finger followed the line of the mug’s handle.
“Because you have me.” Lexi fixed her most beatific smile on her face. It wasn’t the truth. Too many other things contributed to Garima’s condition. Their mother had abandoned them after a five-minute marriage with Patrick Allen. Yet he’d raised them with the conscientious devotion of a father. He confessed on his deathbed they weren’t his children. Delia fled with the marriage certificate barely dry, which prevented him from adopting them. And then came Lachlan Mortimer like a creeping infection.
Lexi glanced around them, but the other tables stood empty because of the hour. The waitress smiled at them as she dragged a broom across the pavement. She’d already stacked most of the chairs. Lexi rose and held out her hand. “Come on, little brother. I can wait with you while you make the calls.” Her eyes rolled in their sockets. “If Mrs Judgemental lets me into the vestry without a chaperone.”
