Lie Down in Green Pastures (18 page)

He could feel the adrenaline beginning to take over as he slid offhis bunk and slid Ben's flashlight out from under the boy's pillow without waking him. Jeremiah hefted it in his hand.It could definitely bash in an enemy's skull. He also grabbed Tray's small, orange plastic flashlight. Then he paused near the door, listening. Normally he wouldn't go out the front door, but the movement he could hear outside seemed to be focusing itself around the window. Whoever it was, they weren't pros.

He crouched low to the ground and eased the door open a crack. He counted four different voices total. How many others might be present but silent? The smell of rain hung in the air.

He burst out of the door, hooking to his right. The moon shone weakly through the rain clouds, and it vaguely illuminated two figures standing close together, peering at something in the taller one's hands. The shorter one turned with a strangled cry as Jeremiah began to swing the heavy flashlight.

Something in the way he stood, though, seemed wrong.At the last second Jeremiah twisted his arm so the flashlight didn't find its mark. He switched on the small one and shone it full in the face of a scared-looking kid with freckles and red hair. The light fell on his companion as well, revealing two rolls of toilet paper in his hands. They both screamed in fright.Feet came pounding across the porch from the other direction as inside the cabin his kids were waking up.

He flashed the light on the newcomers and discovered that they, too, were kids carrying toilet paper. One of them also had a tube of toothpaste with the cap already off.

Lights flicked on inside his cabin and at several others nearby.

"I think you'd better explain yourselves," Jeremiah growled.

"She put us up to it!" one of the kids wailed.

"Who?"

"Ginger Weston. Stuart and she broke up and she wanted to get back at him before he did anything."

"And what was your plan?"

"We were going to TP the cabin and write some stuffon the windows with the toothpaste," another boy admitted.

Jeremiah could see two other counselors jogging toward them. His kids had clustered in the doorway and were talking excitedly.

"What's going on?" the first counselor to arrive asked.

Wildman ran up right behind him. "Jimmy, Kyle, what are you doing here?"

Two of the boys squirmed under his stare.

"Brad, Wes, I think you need to explain," the other counselor added.

"Cabin raid," Jeremiah said, beginning to shake as the adrenaline left his body.

The other counselor groaned and shot a weary glance to the youth pastor. "Great, and it's only the first night."

"Okay, you boys come with me and we'll get this sorted out," Wildman said. "If we stand out here any longer the whole camp will be awake."

Wildman, the other counselor, and the four boys trooped offthe porch. Wildman shot a glance over his shoulder at Jeremiah. "Nice catch, by the way."

"Thanks," Jeremiah said, tightening his grip on the heavier flashlight even more. If the pastor had even suspected that he had almost killed one of the kids, he would be horrified.

Jeremiah took a deep breath and turned around to see nine kids staring at him wide-eyed.

"Back inside," he ordered.

They scurried to do as they were told and were all sitting on their bunks when he walked in. He gave Ben and Tray back their flashlights and then addressed the kids.

"No retaliations."

Disappointed whines greeted him and he put up a hand to silence them. "At this point anything you do will only serve to make things worse and escalate the problem until somebody gets hurt."

"You're just saying that because you're a rabbi," Stuart accused.

"No, I'm saying that because I've seen things like this before.Sooner or later pranks get out of hand. Back to bed."

There was more groaning but they did as he asked.

After they had all settled Jeremiah returned to his own bunk and wondered just how long it was going to take for him to fall asleep.

The rain that he had smelled in the air began to fall and the sound soothed him. If they could just sleep undisturbed through the rest of the night everything might be okay.

The rain picked up in intensity and he allowed his muscles to relax. It was always a pleasant feeling to be dry and sheltered when it rained.

Cindy dozed fitfully on the couch, too afraid to go to bed.She should have called someone to come be with her. Hours passed and nothing happened. She could hear the sighing of the wind outside. She went over and over what had happened in her mind. If Max was the killer then she was dead. But if he wasn't the killer, what then?

It was after two when she heard something scratch at the glass at one of the kitchen windows. She bolted upright, heart in her throat.

"It's just the wind," she whispered to herself. "The wind pushing a twig from one of the plants. That's all."

Then it came again, louder, and it took all her strength to keep from screaming. She pulled her cell out of her pocket, ready to make a call.

The scratching stopped and she waited. Then there was a crash on her front porch and the scratching began again on the front door.

Terrified she hit Mark's speed dial number.

"What is it?" Mark asked moments later, sounding like he was talking in his sleep.

"Someone's outside my house!" Cindy squeaked.

"Cindy? Hang up and call 911. I'll be right there."

She did as she was told, hand shaking so badly she nearly dropped the phone twice.

When the operator answered, Cindy blurted out, "Someone's trying to break into my house."

The operator asked her a question, but all Cindy could hear was a sudden, heavy pounding on her door. She jumped, screaming, and dropped the phone. It hit her foot, bounced off, and slid underneath the sofa.

"Who is it?" she shrieked.

"Let me in!" a man bellowed.

She screamed again and ran toward the hallway, but stopped halfway down. There was something about the voice that hadn't sounded quite right. It sounded loud and angry but something else as well.

"Open up!"

Drunk. Whoever was out there was drunk. She hesitantly walked back into the living room. In her experience most psycho killers didn't announce themselves to the entire world by showing up drunk on your front porch.

"Who is it?" she asked, feeling like an idiot.

"Max. Open up, I need to talk to you."

What if it was a trap? What if someone else was sneaking around the back of her house and was breaking in? What if while she was busy talking to Max someone killed her?

"Max, you're drunk and I don't want to talk to you."

"I guarantee that you do," he said.

Even drunk he managed to sound arrogant and domineering.

"What do you want, Max?"

In the distance she could hear sirens. Emboldened she moved closer to the door.

"I want to confess my sins."

"I'm not a priest," she said.

"No, but you're going to want to hear it nonetheless."

He was getting tired, she could hear it in his voice. She bit her lip. The police were coming, including Mark.

"Tell me."

"Not until you let me in."

She turned on the porch light and looked out through the peephole. Max was standing there, swaying, holding on to the doorframe for support. She couldn't see anyone else around.Every fiber of her being told her to wait for the police.

Hurry,
a voice seemed to whisper inside her mind, one she was slowly learning to trust.

She opened the door and stood aside. He staggered in and she slammed and locked it after him, praying that she was keeping danger out and not locking herself in with it.

"Happy St. Patrick's Day!" he roared.

It was after midnight so he was correct. And what St.Patrick's Day would be complete without someone getting completely drunk and making an idiot of himself?

"So, confess," she said, leaving her hand on the lock.

He held up the picture that she had given him of the rancher's wife. "I killed her."

"I knew it!"

"We were childhood sweethearts. We lost each other.When we found each other again she was married to him. I didn't care. I pursued her relentlessly. We . . . we had an affair.I begged her to leave him, but she wouldn't. She swore she loved him. I threatened to tell him. I was mad with jealousy.Then . . ." Max crumpled onto the floor and began to cry. "She killed herself. How could she do that?"

The sirens were turning onto her street as Cindy stared at Max.

"I paid so many people to cover it up, say it was an accident.I couldn't bear people knowing she had committed suicide. He found out anyway, but I didn't tell him. He said I'd taken everything else from him and he would ruin her memory, her reputation. He forced me to buy that ranch in exchange for his silence."

"That's it, that's your confession?" Cindy asked as she heard feet pounding up the walk. She unlocked the door and opened it.

"How could she leave me!" he wailed.

Officers flooded into the room, guns drawn. "I'm okay," she shouted, hoping someone heard her. Mark was steps behind the others.

"What the—" he stopped short. "Cindy, what's going on here?" he demanded.

"I'm still sorting that out," she admitted. "Max. Why did you come here, just to tell me this?"

Max looked from the police to her in confusion. Then suddenly he let out a strangled cry and grabbed at his left arm and he slumped all the way to the floor.

"Heart attack!" Mark shouted.

Max looked up at her and the pain and fear burned through his alcohol-induced haze. His lips moved and she dropped down next to him. "I think you were right," he gasped."Someone's killing . . . don't know . . . who . . . but—"

His eyes rolled back and his entire body went slack. Mark dropped to the floor and began performing CPR, but Cindy knew it was no use.

"He realized what was happening and whoever killed Dr.Tanner did the same thing to him," she said.

Hands reached down to pull her to her feet and then guide her over to the couch. Officers placed themselves between her and Max, obscuring her view of the body purposely.

"He wasn't behind the murders. And when he started to get suspicious, he was killed for it." She looked up at the nearest officer. "And he wouldn't have been suspicious if it wasn't for me."

She pressed her hand over her mouth.

I got him killed!

She didn't know how long she sat there before Mark came and sat beside her on the couch.

"I'm not sure what just happened, but I want you to know it wasn't your fault," he said.

"How do you know that if you don't know what happened?"

"Because I know you."

Tears streaked down her cheeks. She watched as Max's body was removed from her living room floor.

"He died in my living room," she whispered.

"Yes, he did."

"How am I supposed to keep living here after that?"

"You just do. You learn to cope. Or you can't and you move somewhere else."

"I can't afford somewhere else."

"Then you cope."

"How do I start?"

"You start by telling me what happened."

For Jeremiah the morning came too soon. Stuart had the bad taste to look like the only one who had gotten any rest and to say that he had slept great, which got him hit with flying pillows. The rain had let up just before dawn but the storm clouds hadn't moved on.

Jeremiah led his group over to the main meeting hall adjacent to the mess hall. The boys took seats on the floor on the third step up from the stage area. Other groups were trooping in, most looking as sleepy as his group.

The morning meeting had just started when one of the counselors came running in, face pale.

Jeremiah watched as Wildman moved to intercept him.They were speaking quietly but he could still read their lips.

Slow down,
Wildman said.

Zac asked if he could take some pictures of the birds outside while everyone else finished getting dressed. I said yes. Fifteen minutes later he was gone.

He wandered offand got lost, you think?

He must have. He had a watch so he couldn't have lost track of time. It's my fault. I shouldn't have let him go.