if they’re not willing to meet you halfway, just remind them that your wicked friend, Lorie, has Elliott Floyd’s phone number on speed dial. Everyone in North Alabama knows Elliott is a top-notch attorney who hasn’t lost a case in the past fifteen years.”
Mona and J.B. Cantrell had lived in the same house since they were newlyweds. The house had belonged to J.B.’s parents, with whom the couple had lived their entire married life, until his father died eighteen years ago and his mother had moved to an assisted-living facility. The elder Mrs. Cantrell had died four years ago at the age of eighty-nine. Mark’s paternal grandmother had disliked Cathy on sight and had made her disapproval abundantly clear to everyone. J.B. had always been cordial to Cathy, but she suspected he shared his mother’s opinion of her as an unsuitable mate for “our Mark.” On the other hand, Mona had been friendly and had accepted her from the moment Mark announced their engagement.
“I’ve always wanted a daughter,” Mona had said as she’d placed a kiss on Cathy’s cheek.
From that day forward, Cathy had used her mother-in-law as a role model, hoping to please Mark, his father and his grandmother in the same way Mona did. And over the years, that was exactly what she had done—proven herself to be a supportive, agreeable, above-reproach helpmate. In retrospect, she now realized that what she had become was an almost robotic doormat.
She parked Lorie’s Edge in the driveway, but after killing the motor, she sat there for a few minutes, garnering her courage.
She could do this. She had to do this!
While giving herself a pep talk, she ran her gaze over the 1940s bungalow. The original wood-shingled exterior had been covered with red brick sometime in the sixties. Black shutters and a black architectural roof added to the traditional appearance of the house, as did the six-foot-high white picket fence surrounding the backyard. Mona’s green thumb was evident in the beauty of her late-blooming azaleas and various springtime flowers dotting the flower beds.
Cathy got out of the SUV, squared her shoulders and marched confidently to the front porch. When she reached out to ring the doorbell, the front door swung open and her mother shoved her backward as she came out onto the porch and closed the storm door behind her.
“Why weren’t you at church this morning?” Elaine demanded, her hazel-blue eyes filled with condemnation.
“Hello, Mother. Nice to see you, too.”
Elaine Nelson was a petite brunette who had allowed her hair to go salt-and-pepper in her late forties. Neat and attractive, she always looked her best.
“Do not be sarcastic with me, Catherine Amelia. I have your best interests at heart, as I always have.” Elaine frowned, deepening the soft age lines around her eyes and mouth. “People asked about you. You were expected. If you have any hopes of returning to your old life, you have to prove to everyone that you aren’t a raving lunatic just because you spent a year in that awful place.” The last half of her sentence came out in a soft, embarrassed whisper.
Cathy knew her mother was ashamed of the fact that she had checked herself into Haven Home, horribly ashamed that the good people of Dunmore knew Mark Cantrell’s widow had suffered a nervous breakdown. Nothing was more important to Elaine Nelson than keeping up appearances. The motto by which she lived was What will people think?
“I will probably be at church next Sunday.” Cathy looked directly at her mother, a sympathetic smile on her lips but solid-steel determination in her heart. Her mother had bullied her for the last time. “But if or when I go to church, it will be my decision, not yours.” She slipped her hand around and behind her mother and reached for the storm-door handle.
Elaine clutched Cathy’s shoulder, but before she could utter another chastising word, the door opened and Seth looked outside at the two of them.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, his azure-blue eyes searching her face for a truthful answer.
“Everything is fine,” Cathy lied. “Grandmother was just welcoming me home.”
The tension in her son’s handsome face relaxed, and he smiled as he held open the door. Cathy paused when she entered the house and hesitantly lifted her hand to caress Seth’s face. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
“I’m glad you’re okay now,” he said. She heard the unasked question: You are all right now, aren’t you, Mom? “Nana and Granddad thought you’d be at church this morning. I looked for you.”
More than anything, Cathy wanted to wrap her arms around Seth and hug him. He might be six feet tall and have to shave every day, but he was still her baby. Her heart ached with love for him.
“I wasn’t quite ready to see everyone at church. Maybe next Sunday.”
“Or you could try Wednesday night services,” Seth suggested. “Fewer people.”
How very wise her almost sixteen-year-old son was. “You’re right. I think Wednesday night would be a better time.”
Only after Seth reached down and took her hand did she realize how truly nervous she was. Undoubtedly her astute son had realized she was trembling ever so slightly and wanted to give her his support. He led her into the living room, where J.B. and Mona stood side by side in front of the fireplace, and by the expressions on their faces she could tell that they were as uncertain about this first meeting as she was. Her plump, blond mother-in-law could be extremely attractive if she wore a little makeup, dressed in something other than polyester and didn’t wear her hair in a neat little bun at the nape of her neck. On the other hand, J.B. was a good-looking silver-haired man who dressed fit to kill; he was a strutting peacock, the exact opposite of his brown-hen wife.
Cathy caught a glimpse of her mother as Elaine eased up alongside her.
“Cathy overslept this morning,” Elaine said. “The trip from Birmingham—”
“I didn’t oversleep,” Cathy corrected. “I’m sorry if I disappointed all of you by not showing up for church this morning, but the truth is that I simply wasn’t ready to see anyone other than Lorie and the four of you.”
Mona looked pleadingly at her husband.
J.B. cleared his throat and then said, “There’s always next Sunday.”
“Of course there is.” Mona rushed toward Cathy, opened her arms and hugged her. When she released Cathy, she wiped the tears from her eyes. “It is so good to have you home where you belong. We’ve missed you, each of us, but Seth most of all.”
Cathy breathed a tentative sigh of relief. Maybe Lorie was wrong. Maybe everything was going to be all right. Maybe her in-laws understood that Seth belonged with her.
I hate him. He is such a fake, pretending to be a man of God, acting the part of a priest. Father Brian is young and handsome and charming—and a pedophile. At these interfaith Sunday afternoon socials, I’ve noticed how friendly he is with all the children, but especially the boys. Those poor babies being molested by that monster. It is up to me to put a stop to his evil.
He thinks no one suspects, that because none of the children have told anyone about what he’s doing, he is safe. He’s not safe. Not from me. I am God’s instrument of punishment. I have been appointed to be judge, jury and executioner. It is my duty to seek out and destroy evil, the kind of evil that hides behind a priest’s robes, a minister’s white collar and a preacher’s holier-than-thou
