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Lexi drove away after waiting for Sam to close the automatic gates. She waved to him from the driver’s seat and he jiggled his tablet in the air in thanks.
To her great irritation, the motorcyclist joined her at the entrance to the Fairfield bridge. She’d applied to the vehicle licensing agency for the details of his number plate, but had so far received only a confirmation email and a receipt for her payment. Lexi glared at him in the rear-view mirror and checked her brake at every opportunity. The game lost its lure when he swerved and almost ran into the back of her vehicle. She gave up, figuring at least if he tracked her to Sam’s, he didn’t ransack her house again.
Garima called her before she reached home. His tone carried a faint whine of complaint. “That police officer showed up again,” he said. “He searched the church and the rectory for the second time. They already took my laptop and the things Father Donald accidentally left behind. Now it seems they’re looking for pieces of wire or something strange like that. Not content with ruffling my feathers, he’s also digging for evidence that Father Donald was a child abuser. He thinks it’s a revenge killing!”
“I promise that’s untrue,” Lexi reassured him. She made the turn into her street. The motorcyclist maneuvered in sync with her vehicle. “I spoke to a lady this morning who credits Father Donald with changing her life. She said he was a good man. She fosters children because of him. Don’t listen to Rojas. He’s just fishing.”
Garima made a sad sound in the back of his throat. “They still won’t release Father Donald’s body. I can’t organise his funeral.” He exhaled and Lexi pitied him with the terrible responsibility. “Do you think this lady would speak to me?” he asked. “Or if she might say something nice at the funeral whenever that happens?”
“I don’t know.” Lexi drew up at the end of her driveway and spotted Nahla tormenting the sparrows in the oak tree. She activated the remote control, and the gate slid sideways. The motorbike guy waited while she pushed her SUV through the gap before zooming to the end of the street and making a left turn. “I’ll text her and ask. Can I give her your work number?”
“Yes please. The office and my cell phone.” Garima sighed. “I have rugby practice tonight. Will you be okay?”
“I’m fine.” Lexi smiled into the rear-view mirror. The gate slid closed behind her. “Tarant isn’t coming over and we aren’t getting involved. Satisfied?”
“I’m not trying to keep you as a Vestal Virgin, Lex,” he soothed.
“Good,” she retorted. “Because you’ve missed that boat. Also, Gari, weren’t they consecrated to the Roman goddess Vesta? You’re straying into pagan territory.”
“This is true. No pressure, Lex, but you must do the marriage and kids thing for both of us. I need you to get it right.”
Lexi’s chin dropped, and she pursed her lips. “Yeah. Well, Randal was the love of my life and your God took him away.” Resentment leached through every syllable.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Garima whispered. And that’s what Lexi loved about him. He didn’t attempt to persuade, defend, or placate. He heard the cry of her heart in its rawest form and ached for her. Then he ruined it, not as a priest but as a younger brother. “I can recommend a rather nice nunnery,” he suggested. “We could see more of each other.”
Lexi snorted. “Do some work, you idiot! Take Mrs Barrymore tea and biscuits. The poor woman works her fingers to the bone for you.”
“I just did.” He sounded affronted. “I also mended some things in the bathroom which had mysteriously come loose. How are your bruises?”
“Sore.” Lexi examined her jaw and throat in the mirror. “I might stay home for the rest of today.”
“Whatever!” Garima scoffed. “I’ll pray for you.”
“You do that.” Lexi killed the call with a shake of her head. The sun beat down on the roof of the SUV and burned her forearm through the side window. She sent a quick text to Joanne, along with Garima’s contact numbers.
‘Father Donald mentored Father Garima Allen,’ she typed. ‘It seems the police are muddying Father Donald’s reputation. Father Garima would be grateful if you’d call him to chat. I told him all the nice things you said about Father Donald.’
She sent the text and then regretted the information dump. Given Joanne’s previous reticence, it would more than likely put her off. Lexi locked up the vehicle, called Nahla down from the tree, and opened the front door. She checked her rudimentary traps again, but found nothing amiss. “I’ll be bald before this is over,” she told the cat, gathering the strands of dark curls and tossing them into the dustbin.
Unable to relax, she replenished Nahla’s bowl and took up residence in her office. Her fingers scrolled over the keyboard as she searched both the Christian Camp’s website and its Facebook page. “No mention of Casey,” she told Nahla. The cat stretched out on the windowsill in front of her, catching the afternoon sun on her orange face. She yawned as though bored and settled her chin on her paws. But her tail twitched across the lower corner of the monitor as though placed there to annoy. Lexi took the number for the camp from the website and called it. No one picked up, and she didn’t risk leaving a message.
Something else occurred to her, and she called Sam’s cell phone. He picked up on the third ring. “What?” he demanded. “I’m busy.”
“It’s Lexi Allen,” she said, hoping he’d remember her. “The inquiry agent. Just calling to see how the tablet is going for you.”
“Oh, grand!” His enthusiasm gushed through the connection. “You’re a marvel! But I’ll have to hide it when Keith gets here. I don’t want him to know I’ve got a computer-pill-thingy.”
“Right. Tablet, not pill.” Lexi blinked as she wondered how he intended to disguise the two hundred dollar’s worth of groceries arriving the following afternoon. “I don’t suppose you’ve remembered the password for your Facebook account?”
“No.” He answered with more immediacy than she’d expected. “No idea. Best go, I’m watching reruns of Midsommer Murders.”
“Wait one second!” Lexi urged. “Please, can I have Keith’s phone number?”
“Why?” Sam’s suspicion crawled across the connection. “Are you gonna rat me out?”
“No!” Lexi snapped. “I promised. But I still need to report my findings back to whoever employed us to investigate.”
“But you’ve nothing to tell,” Sam hedged. A raucous theme tune backed his words, and Lexi sensed herself losing him.
“Phone number,” she insisted. “Text it to me now, like I showed you.”
She still needed to coach him through the process, but the text arrived during the call. Lexi chewed over her next request as though sucking on a lemon. “Sam,” she began, her tone wheedling and persuasive. “How can I get into the prison to see Trent?”
Silence. Like the hush after a snowfall. Even the theme tune halted.
“Are you still there?” Lexi asked eventually.
“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “But I don’t know the answer. I haven’t visited him since just before the second verdict. He refused to see me after that.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Lexi gnawed at her lower lip.
“Why’d you wanna see him, anyway?” Sam demanded. “Just stay away from him, you hear me? Stay away!”
Lexi blinked as the connection ended. In the seconds before, she heard the old man swear.
