Dark Waters (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries) by LL Bartlett Read Free Book Online Page B

a few minutes,” Brenda called, and then sighed. “Maybe for dinner we could do take-out from Ramon’s.”
    “And what if Evelyn doesn’t like hot spicy food?” Richard asked, and helped her to stand.
    “I’ll broach the subject at lunch. Go on ahead, I’ll be right down,” she said, heading for the bathroom.
    There hadn’t been a sign that lunch was in the offing when Richard had passed through the kitchen not ten minutes before, but when he returned the table was set and Evelyn had set out an assortment of cold cuts, bread, and condiments buffet style on the counter.
    As Brenda had suggested, Da-Marr had his nose in the yellow pages. “Is Brenda gonna loan me her car?” he asked idly.
    “Yeah. The keys are up on the rack.” He pointed.
    Da-Marr looked up, and a sly, kind of creepy smile settled on his lips. “Does it got GPS?”
    Richard nodded.
    “Good.” He slammed the phone book shut and turned to grab a plate.
    “No you don’t,” Evelyn chided. “Not until you wash those greasy hands. Do it now.”
    “Yes, Aunt Evelyn,” Da-Marr muttered, and turned to the sink.
    She turned her gaze on Richard. “You’re next.”
    “Yes, Evelyn,” he said meekly, and waited his turn.
    He would ask Ramón to use habanero or nagas chilies to spice up their dinner.
    Betsy Ruth — get here fast and save us all!
    After I left the marina, I had no intention of going back to Richard’s house where I might be forced to suffer through another meal with his houseguests. I had my own agenda to follow and drove right past LeBrun Road.
    I’d never been inside this particular church some four blocks from Richard’s house, although I’d stood outside it for a time during Matt Sumner’s funeral some eighteen months before. This time there was no guard at the door, and I climbed the steps and walked right through the front entrance.
    I gazed at the darkened, unfamiliar place, trying to get my bearings. Despite the empty pews, the space vibrated with a sense of sorrow. A funeral must have taken place earlier in the day.
    Two confessional booths stood at the rear of the cavernous space. Not ornate, just brown boxes that reminded me of old telephone booths in seedy old hotels.
    I pulled open the door, sat down on the slip of a bench. I didn’t see a silhouette on the other side of the screen.
    I sat there for a long time, waiting, thinking — about the dreams, about the white light that wanted to suck me into the afterlife … something I didn’t even believe in. I thought about what I might say — how I’d phrase it — trying out different scenarios. At last, someone knocked on the door of my confessional.
    “Do you need help, sir?”
    I opened the door a crack wider and saw the dog collar of an elderly, white-haired priest. “Yeah, I came for confession.”
    He laughed. “Son, you’re a decade or so too late for that.”
    “How so?”
    “We don’t do that anymore. Now we have what’s called the rite of reconciliation.”
    “Isn’t that just my luck?” I asked. He stood there, expectantly, while I thought about it for a minute. “Father, could we pretend the church hasn’t moved on? I could use a little spiritual guidance.”
    “It’s highly unusual — ” he started.
    “Please, sir?”
    The man frowned, the wrinkles on his face almost doubling. At last, he sighed. “Very well.” He closed the door of my cubicle and I heard him open the one next to me, sit down, and close the door.
    The panel went up. It was show time.
    “Bless me, father, for I have sinned.” My voice sounded rusty from lack of use. My mind scrambled for the words that were supposed to come next, but I drew a blank.
    “How long has it been since your last confession?” prompted the disembodied voice from behind the screen.
    I let out a breath. “Twenty-three years.”
    Silence.
    What the hell was I doing here? How could this priest help me? A man who’d lived a sheltered life away from the world’s temptations.
    “Go