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Sandra left Sunday school early to snag a good seat in the sanctuary for the main service. And while she knew it was for a good cause, she was still worried about upsetting the apple cart. She knew she couldn’t just change seats. Changing seats meant stealing someone else’s seat. In some cases, it meant stealing a seat from someone who’d sat in that spot for forty years. People were mostly tolerant of this behavior from guests, but she wasn’t a guest. She took the very front seat on the far left side of the room, miles away from where she and her family usually sat. She knew people would notice. She hoped Brendan Barney wouldn’t. And she didn’t think he would. She thought he’d have more pressing issues on his mind.
She didn’t know whose spot this normally was, and hoped that maybe it was unclaimed, though it wasn’t likely. It truly was a terrible seat, which was why she’d chosen it. If one sat in this spot, and faced front, all they could see was the door to the plastic flowers closet and the corner of the altar. Hence, anyone normal sitting here would have to sit sideways in order to see the pastor. She tried this sideways position now, and was thrilled at how well it worked. She could see the entire sanctuary, but she didn’t even need to. Unless Brendan Barney also got creative with his choice of seats, she’d easily be able to discreetly stare at him for the entire service.
A thought flickered through her mind, sending her heart into a panic. What if he didn’t come to church? His father was in jail! Maybe he’d want the day off. Or maybe he’d be too ashamed to come. But the Barneys were all about keeping up appearances. They were practically Stepfords. So they’d come, right? Unless they decided that it would look better if they didn’t come. Maybe they’d stay home to give the appearance of grieving, or of solidarity with their patriarch. She shook her head. She was giving herself a headache. She texted her husband, “I’ve changed seats for today. We’re up front. Please don’t make a big deal. I’ll explain later.” She hoped he’d forget to ask for this promised explanation, because he wasn’t going to like it.
Sunday school hadn’t been dismissed yet, but those churchgoers who didn’t attend Sunday school started trickling in. And they sure were a lively, talkative bunch. Sandra hadn’t realized this, as she was always still in class. She stared down at her phone, scrolling through her Facebook feed without actually seeing anything, trying to be small and unnoticeable.
Her efforts failed. The sanctuary was half-full when a small, tan boy with a mass of curly blond hair that nearly doubled his height appeared in front of her with wide eyes. “Hey! That’s our seat!” Sandra could feel the room full of eyeballs burning into the back of her head. She wasn’t sure how to respond to the child, so she just stared at him, wishing the moment would be over. “Move!” he cried, pointing to the entire sanctuary behind her. Good thing she was in the front row with only this semi-feral child looking at her, because her cheeks were on fire.
“Gabriel!” a woman snapped from the aisle.
Oh thank heavens, the cavalry has arrived.
The woman who was probably Gabriel’s mother grabbed his hand and yanked him toward the wall and then into the row behind Sandra. “I’m so sorry,” she said as she maneuvered him into his new seat.
Sandra didn’t dare speak. She didn’t want to call any more attention to herself than she already had.
“But she’s in my spot!” the child whined, not sounding so fierce anymore.
“She can sit wherever she wants,” the mom said, and Sandra wished she knew the woman’s name, but she was from the other side of the church. Whoever she was, it didn’t sound as though she believed what she was saying.
“But this is where Elisha’s family sits!” His whining made Sandra long for nails on a chalkboard.
Her husband appeared then, looking bewildered. She gave her head a slight shake, trying to telepathically beg him not to mention their new locale. But the telepathy failed when it reached Joanna, who cried out at the top of her voice, “Why are we sitting up front, Mommy?” Sandra wanted to die, right then and there. It would be so convenient. They’d all already be dressed and ready for the funeral.
“Sit down, honey.” Sandra’s voice was hardly audible.
Joanna opened her mouth, but Peter snapped, “Be quiet, Joanna!”
Not normally scolded by her big brother, Joanna’s mouth snapped shut. Sandra gave Peter a grateful look and resisted the urge to turn around and see how many people were still staring at them—the front row squatters. Instead, she continued to stare at the door of the plastic flowers closet until the service started. In fact, she didn’t move until she stood for the music and though the rest of the congregation stood with her, she still felt conspicuous.
By the end of the music, she had calmed down—the power of melody, maybe—and as the pastor stepped behind the pulpit, she finally turned sideways in her seat so that she could see him. Her peripheral vision informed her that the sanctuary was packed. It was usually fairly full, except for fourth of July weekend, but this was nuts. Had the arrest attracted visitors? Had people come just to lay eyes on the family of the accused? Were people that morbid?
Sandra scanned the large room to see if the Barneys were even there, and immediately made eye contact with Daphne Barney. And it wasn’t a pleasant eye contact. It was a laser shot out of Daphne’s eyes that suggested that Daphne knew they’d changed seats, knew why they’d changed seats, and had been staring at her for eons, trying to set her on fire with her vision.
Not daring to look to either side of Daphne to see if Brendan was present, Sandra returned her eyes to Pastor Cliff, who looked beyond grieved. She realized he’d been talking about Richard and tuned in.
“... be mindful that the police have a difficult job. I don’t mean to be critical of their efforts. I know they are doing the best that they can. But I also know Richard Barney”—
Unless he knew Richard before they’d moved to town, he hadn’t known him for long.
—“and I can tell you that he is not a murderer. So please join me as we pray that this can all be resolved soon and Richard can be returned to his family.” He bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Can we also pray for the victim’s family?” Elder Vern called out.
“Of course,” Cliff muttered without looking up. As he began to pray, Sandra’s mind wandered, first to the fact that, as far as she knew, Phoenix didn’t have any family, and then, to the fact that this was the ideal time to scan the congregation and see what she could see. She opened her eyes and swung them toward the Barney row, where they again met Daphne’s razor sharp gaze. She looked down quickly, her skin covered in gooseflesh; she was so frustrated with herself for still not knowing whether Brendan was there. Did Daphne always glare at her during prayer? She wouldn’t know—they usually sat on the same side.
“What’s wrong?” Nate whispered.
She realized that the prayer was over and she was still staring down at her knees, scowling. “Nothing,” she whispered back. And that should be true. Why was she letting Daphne get to her so much? Of course the woman was upset. She probably felt as though everyone in the room was staring at her.
Sandra hazarded another look, and yep, Daphne caught her again, but this time, Sandra pretended not to notice. Instead, she verified that Brendan was in fact right there alongside his wife. He had his arms folded across his chest and his chin held high. He had bags under his eyes, but other than that, he looked the same as he always looked: arrogant. He didn’t look guilty, which left her to wonder, Do psychopaths feel guilt? Isn’t that what makes them psychopaths? Four little blond Barneys sat lined up on the other side of him. All present and accounted for—except for Richard Barney. She wondered what had happened to Mrs. Richard Barney. Was he widowed? Divorced? Maybe his ex-wife hated him enough to frame him.
Pastor Cliff cleared his throat, a noise that, when amplified through the house speakers, sounded like a donkey dying. It certainly got her attention. “I know this is an uncomfortable topic under the circumstances, but our church softball team will continue, and so, the elders and I have decided to set a few ground rules.”
Oh, this should be rich. Were they going to make a no-murdering rule?
“First, there is absolutely no drinking or tobacco on church property, and church property includes the softball field. If anyone is seen drinking or using tobacco, they will not be allowed to play. Next, from now on, people are only allowed to play in games if they come to all the practices. And lastly, if they want to play in the games, they need to be here in church on the Sunday morning before the game.”
Nate gave her a wide-eyed look, and she didn’t bother to whisper when she said, “He can’t be serious.”
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SANDRA MET BOB BACK at the bird bath. They had to be more discreet this time as it was later in the day, and there was a greater chance of witnesses. If she was going to continue having cloak-and-dagger meetings with angels in her backyard, she was going to have to put up a fence.
“Did you study him?” Bob asked studiously.
Sandra snickered. “I tried. I didn’t learn anything.” This wasn’t exactly true. “Well, I guess I learned that Daphne is really mean. Or she hates me. Or both.”
“Yes, I saw her glaring at you. She did not glare at me.”
Sandra looked at him. She didn’t know if he was trying to be funny. “So, what did you learn?”
“I tried. I really did. But it was difficult to read him. He seemed to not be experiencing any emotions, but instead, to be waiting for church to be over.”
This made sense. “So our mission was a bust? I disrupted half the church’s seating plan for nothing?”
Bob smirked. “Not for nothing. A young woman named Karissa was very happy that a young man named Steve was forced into her row.”
Sandra didn’t recognize either of these names and vowed to do a better job of knowing her fellow parishioners.
“Also, we learned that none of the Barneys are terribly upset about Richard’s arrest. Or if they are, they are hiding it. But why would they bother to hide their sadness? I don’t think they’re very sad about it.”
“I don’t either,” Sandra mumbled. “And that’s pretty sad in itself.”