Sully took off his ball cap to mop his forehead with it. Four o’clock in the afternoon wasn’t the smartest time of day to be out using a weed eater, but if he’d stayed inside the guesthouse with that microphone much longer, he would have flushed the thing down the toilet. He’d spent the hour before he came out here looking up Ukrainian names on the Internet. When they all started sounding like characters from Fiddler on the Roof, he’d opted for edging Sonia’s walkways.
It helped some, he decided—his head, not necessarily the yard. Lawn maintenance had never been his strong suit. Lynn had always taken care of that.
And of him, according to Anna. He released the trigger on the weed eater. That could have merely been Anna’s take on it, but the more weeds he ate up, the less he thought so. When he was in divinity school, even before they were married, Lynn did everything—the chili making, the window washing, the bill paying, the mailing of birthday cards to relatives.
He headed to the garage with the contraption hanging awkwardly over his shoulder. Lynn had even made weekly trips to Birmingham during Mom’s illness when Sully couldn’t, and had begged her to come to their house for hospice care. Mom refused, only days before she passed away, and left Lynn crying with him while she made the funeral arrangements.
Sully sat on the fender of Sonia’s Escalade. Lynn had cared for every detail of their lives so he could devote all his time to his doctorate. But she seemed to love it. She swore to him she was made to do that.
But had there been some hidden resentment because she never got her degree? He stood up and shook the sweat out of his hair before he put his ball cap back on. If there had been, he must have been blind, because Lynn wore her feelings everywhere: in her eyes, in the way her hands moved, in the way she flipped the pancakes. Until the night she died, he’d thought he knew every emotion that passed through her heart.
A car pulled into the circular drive, and Sully was grateful for the interruption.
Special Agent Deidre Schmacker got out of the passenger side of the white sedan as he emerged, blinking, from the garage. Agent Country Singer stretched his long legs from the driver’s seat and adjusted his sunglasses as he looked at Sully.
Sully braced himself.
“Dr. Crisp, isn’t it?” Agent Schmacker said. “Are you working for Ms. Cabot now?”
Sully shook his head as he extended his hand, noticing too late that it was striped with dandelion stems. Schmacker looked amused. Agent Country Singer did not.
“I’m Special Agent Ingram,” he said, still taking a veritable CT scan of Sully with his eyes.
Sully didn’t think it was a good time to ask what made them all “special” agents. They were obviously here on serious business. Even Deidre Schmacker’s benevolent fairy godmother demeanor was less evident today.
“I’m just staying in the guesthouse as a family friend,” Sully said. “You’re a psychologist, aren’t you, Dr. Crisp?” Agent Schmacker said.
“That’s right.”
“Have you ever worked professionally with Sonia Cabot?”
“You mean as her therapist?” Sully said.
“That’s what we mean.” Agent Ingram’s voice snapped, making him sound more like a junkyard dog than a country singer.
Sully felt vaguely uncomfortable. “No,” he said. “I haven’t. We’re colleagues. Friends.”
Agent Schmacker’s eyes dropped at the corners, though with less empathy than he’d seen there before. “Then there is no client-patient privilege in effect, so you could tell us from a purely observational standpoint whether you think Sonia Cabot was stable before the plane crash. In your professional opinion.”
Where was this coming from?
“I didn’t spend a great deal of time with her,” Sully said.
“You’re telling us she’s letting you stay in her house,” Ingram said, “but you don’t really know her.”
“Not enough to have had deep insights into her psyche. But, no, I never saw anything that would indicate that she was unstable.” Sully tried a grin. “Not any more than any of the rest of us.”
Ingram looked unamused. “Would you consider Sonia Cabot’s religion to be a cult?”
Sully felt his jaw drop. “A cult? No.”
“Don’t her followers basically worship her?”
“What? No—the people Sonia ministers to are Christians. They have some ideas that are different from the mainstream, but—”
“So you’d say she’s a radical.”
“I wouldn’t put her in any category.” Sully shoved his hands into his pockets. He’d never been called as an expert witness in a trial, but he’d heard horror stories about cross-examinations that could turn the most single-minded psychologist into a double-talking idiot. He‘d always thought his colleagues were exaggerating—until now.
“I’m not comfortable with this conversation,” he said.
Ingram snarled something, but Agent Schmacker put up her index finger. If Sully had known that was all it took to shut him up, he’d have had all of his digits going several minutes ago.
“Dr. Crisp,” she said, “we’re just trying to determine who had a motive for wanting Sonia Cabot dead. As I’m sure you know, sometimes leaders of less, as you called it, ‘mainstream’ religious organizations can become somewhat careless with the power they have over their followers, and that can cause a great deal of anger.”
“That’s true,” Sully said. “But to my knowledge, Abundant Living Ministries did not fall into that category.”
“Nevertheless, we have to explore the possibility, particularly since Ms. Cabot has been less than helpful in this investigation.”
“She here?” Ingram said.
Agent Schmacker glanced at her watch. “She should be finished with her physical therapy by now.”
Sully had seen Wesley and James-Lawson leave, as, he now suspected, these two had also. Uneasiness crept up his spine as they started for the front door.
“Look,” Sully said, “I will say that Ms. Cabot’s emotional state since the crash has become somewhat fragile. You might want to tread carefully with her.”
“Then perhaps you should join us,” Schmacker said.
Agent Ingram gave him a look that said it was not merely a request.
“Purely as an observer,” Sully said.
“Of course,” she said.
Of course.
Bethany and I were on our way to the kitchen to discuss whether to have macaroni and cheese for the third night in a row or try my ravioli, when they came in the front door—Sullivan and Agent Schmacker and a man who flashed his badge at me.
Bethany ran up to her, round face dimpled in expectation.
“Did you bring J. Edgar?” she said.
Agent Schmacker went to her knees. “Not this time, sweetheart,” she said.
“Oh,” Bethany said. “Big people talk.”
“Yes,” I said, just in case Agent Schmacker had any ideas about going over the list with Bethany herself.
“That’s right,” she said. “J. Edgar doesn’t like big-people talk, and I bet you don’t either.”
Bethany shook her head.
“Then perhaps your Aunt Lucia can find something fun for you to do so she can talk big-people talk with us and your mom.”
“I can watch TV,” Bethany said.
I cringed, but I didn’t have a whole lot of choice.
The male agent scrutinized the foyer as if he were about to start a full-out search of the premises.
When Marnie appeared, more than likely on Sonia’s order to find out what was going on out here, I said, “Take Bethany up to the home theater to watch a movie, would you?”
“We can just go in the Gathering Room,” she said.
“No. I want her up there—away from here.”
Her eyes rounded. The girl truly was not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
“I’ll take you to Sonia,” I said when they were gone.
To my relief, Sullivan came with us.
Sonia sat at the desk in her office, shuffling through the mountain of mail I’d deposited there. None of it appeared to have been opened.
“What is it now?” she said. “I don’t mean to be inhospitable, Agent Schmacker, but I am far too busy—”
“This is Special Agent Ingram,” Schmacker said. “And I have to warn you, he does not care how busy you are. He has some questions to ask you, and he and I will stay here until you answer them.”
My stomach seized. This was the FBI I remembered.
“I’ve asked your sister and Dr. Crisp to join us, but if you would rather do this alone . . .”
“I’d rather not do it at all.”
“That’s not an option.” Agent Ingram pointed to a brocade wing chair in front of her desk. “Have a seat.”
Sonia moved from behind the desk to the chair with an attempt at dignity, but she mangled her hands, and her eyes took on their wild stare.
Agent Schmacker stood behind the desk at the window. Ingram pulled the other chair to face Sonia, close enough for her to detect what he’d had for lunch. This was what they did. I felt like I was seeing Sonia’s skin removed all over again.
Ingram pulled a piece of paper out of a file folder and smacked it onto the desk.
“I am going to give you some names,” he said, “and you are going to tell me anything these people may have against you. Anything, and everything.”
She shook her head.
“Then we have no choice but to take you in to our office and ask you the same thing, and I guarantee you, you won’t like the accommodations there.”
“Are you threatening me?” Sonia said.
“Oh yeah,” he said.
“Sonia.” I took a step forward from the wall I hugged next to Sullivan. “Just tell them what they need to know, or it’s going to get worse. Trust me on that.”
I could feel Sullivan looking at me curiously, but I didn’t care. Sonia’s look was the only one that mattered at the moment. She cast it angrily on me, but she finally nodded.
“Good,” Ingram said. “Now, let’s start with Bryson Porter, your gardener-driver type.”
“Bryson is my brother in Christ.”
“You’ve never had even so much as an argument with him?”
“No. We always prayed together before we went out in the car. He made my yard so beautiful.”
“Were you aware that he used pesticides containing cyanide?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” She tried a smile.
Don’t do that, Sonia. Don’t try to charm them.
“Diana Gables.”
“Didi. She’s completely committed to my ministry.”
“Then why did she quit?”
Her back straightened. “She quit?”
“That’s what she told Agent Schmacker.”
Sonia looked at me. “Lucia, did she?”
“We haven’t seen her in several days,” I said.
“She said she was overworked,” Agent Schmacker put in from the window seat. “Can you think of any other reason why she might have quit? Did you have an argument with her? Shortchange her on her pay? Cut down on her hours?”
“None of that, no.”
For a face that couldn’t show expression, Sonia came across quite clearly as obstinate. Beside me, Sullivan recrossed his arms.
“Halsey Coffey,” Ingram said.
“Chip,” Agent Schmacker put in.
I closed my eyes.
“He is my brother-in-law,” Sonia said. “And he worked for me for three months.”
“We know all that. Why did he quit?”
“He wanted to go home to his wife—my sister.”
“You were aware that he had done prison time for drug trafficking, racketeering, and money laundering, but you still had him working for you.” Ingram’s voice lowered to a growl. “You’re a pretty trusting soul, aren’t you, Ms. Cabot?”
“Chip was completely repentant,” Sonia said. She raised her voice for the first time, all trace of cream gone. “He did wonderful work here with God and was delivered totally from his former sin.”
“And you were responsible for that.”
“God was, Agent Ingram. And Chip was grateful. He sobbed right here in this office.”
I forced myself to open my eyes, if for no other reason than to make sure Sonia was actually saying this. Sullivan caught my eye and looked discreetly away. At least I wouldn’t have to spill my guts about this part in therapy.
“Then let’s move on to Yvonne.”
“She was my daughter’s nanny.”
“And she came after these others—Holly—”
“They had no reason to want me dead! They took care of my child, and I paid them well and allowed them free access to all ALM services.”
I looked nervously at Sullivan, who rubbed his chin. I wondered if that meant he, too, heard the brittle breaks between words.
“And Hudson Fargason?”
Sonia didn’t answer. Hudson. Hadn’t Marnie said he was the cook at one time?
“He was a wonderful chef,” she said finally. “I wish he hadn’t left.”
Ingram leaned back in his chair. “You seem to have a hard time keeping staff, Ms. Cabot. Why did Hudson Fargason leave?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do.” Ingram angled himself forward again. “Isn’t it true that you fired him?”
“All right, I let him go.”
“Then you just lied to us.”
“What happens here in my home is my private business. It has nothing to do with this.”
“Why did you fire him?”
She said nothing.
“Why, Ms. Cabot? We can go downtown and do this—”
“Because I got food poisoning twice. I thought he was being careless, and I had to let him go—but I didn’t even tell him why. I just said I didn’t need his services any longer.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I had no proof. I still don’t.” She tried to jerk her head away and failed against her gnarled skin. “Hudson has a sweet spirit. He would never hurt anyone.”
“He tried to poison you!”
“That was a mistake! He had no reason to do it on purpose. I accepted him when no one else would.”
I wanted to stop this. So, I could tell, did Sullivan. He opened and closed his fists and shifted against the wall.
Schmacker looked at him. “Just two more names,” she said.
Ingram pulled his face from the hand he leaned on. “You think you can be honest about these?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Tell us about Roxanne Clemm.”
“Roxanne didn’t work for me,” Sonia said. “She was my best friend.”
An eyebrow shot up. “Was?”
“Until she moved into my place at Abundant Living after I stepped down. I took that as a betrayal. But isn’t that me having an issue with her, and not the reverse?”
That was my sister. Even backed into a torturous corner and ready to snap, she still tried to get herself in command of the conversation.
“Did it ever occur to you that she wanted your position all along?” Ingram said. “That she might have wanted you out of the way so she could take over?”
I never thought I would want to hear Deidre Schmacker’s grandmotherly voice instead of anyone else’s, but I was just short of begging her to take over now. This bordered on cruel, and Sonia couldn’t take much more.
She bore down on Ingram with her eyes. “That is a slanderous, evil thing to say. Roxanne is an opportunist, not a murderer.”
“Then that leaves us with only one more name on our list,” he said.
“And who is that?”
He looked at Deidre Schmacker and nodded. She came around to the front of the desk and leaned against it, arms folded.
“You, Ms. Cabot,” she said.
I plastered myself to the wall so I wouldn’t lunge forward. Sonia did. Agent Ingram went to his feet, hands out as if he were going to wrestle her to the floor. Sullivan Crisp was halfway to them when Sonia fell back into her chair. Her chest rose and fell as she struggled to breathe.
Ingram gave Sullivan a hard look that sent him back.
“Are you suggesting that I planned my own death?” Sonia said.
“Not your death,” Ingram said. “Maybe a near-death experience that went awry. If it had gone as planned, it would have bolstered your ministry. You could write your next book about it. You could claim that God saved you because you’ve been His loyal servant. Isn’t that what you propound, Ms. Cabot?”
Sonia drew herself up on the thread that held her together.
“That is Satan talking through you,” she said. “And I will not have Satan in my home. I want you both to leave.”
I shoved my fist against my mouth. This was the part where they would put my sister in handcuffs and push her head down into their car and take her away. This was the part I couldn’t handle.
But Agent Ingram stood up and put his list back into his file, and Agent Schmacker picked up her bag.
“It isn’t Satan, Ms. Cabot,” she said. “It is merely two frustrated investigators who do not understand why you won’t help them find out who did this thing to you.”
“You know something,” Ingram said. “And we will find out what it is.”
I let Sullivan show them out, but I couldn’t leave Sonia alone to suffer a humiliation I knew only too well. My soul ached for her.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that, sorella,” I said.
“Don’t call me that.”
Her voice froze me.
“If you are going to turn on me and God like everyone else, you are not my sister.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You let them come in here with their evil—”
“They’re the FBI, Sonia. You don’t tell them where they can and can’t go.”
“You okay, Sonia?” Sullivan said from the doorway.
She rose from the chair, eyes menacing and unstable. “Get out,” she said to me. “Get out and leave me with my God.”
“Sonia,” Sully said.
“You get out too!”
“Hey, okay—we’ll give you some space.”
He nodded to me, and I moved robotically to the door.
“How about if one of us stays with you?” he said.
“I want you out. I want you out now—”
“All right, we’re going.”
“Close the door behind you.”
“I’ll do that,” Sully said. “But there’s no need to lock it. We’re going to respect your privacy.”
She sank back into the chair and knotted her hands until she had them where she wanted them, tied into her lap. “Just go, please.”
We did, Sully closing the door behind us. The lock didn’t click, but I heard her prison doors slam.