The Last White Knight by Tami Hoag Read Free Book Online

prints.”
    His partner came in through the kitchen door, a tall, slim man with a Dennis Weaver mustache. “I didn’t see anybody. It was probably just some kid screwing around. Too bad about the fridge.”
    They stayed for another twenty minutes, going through the motions of taking statements, doing what they could to soothe Erik’s temper. Lynn hung back out of their way, rubbing at the ache that had broken through the haze of her medication. Unless they came back to ingratiate themselves with Erik by feigning diligence, this would be the last she’d see of Officers Reuter and Briggs. No one had seen the perpetrator. There was no realistic hope of catching whoever had launched that fastball through the window.
    Father Bartholomew, the priest who had offered the use of the house to Horizon, came over from the rectory to express his concern and to cast pained looks at the dented refrigerator. He was a small man in his fifties with kind, dark eyes and a general aura of dishevelment. His clothes were always slightly rumpled, his thinning dark hair never quite in place, glasses forever askew. He had the pointed face and bright, anxious look of a cartoon mouse.
    Lynn knew he had gone out on a limb offering them the use of the house, and she felt terrible thathis kindness had brought him so much trouble. Bravery wasn’t something that came easily to Father Bartholomew. She wished he could have been rewarded for his effort instead of ridiculed. She told him as much as they stood paying their respects to the disfigured refrigerator.
    He flashed her a preoccupied little smile. “Our rewards are greater in heaven than on earth, Lynn. Oh, my, yes.” He reached a finger out toward the dent, but pulled up abruptly, as if he were afraid to touch it, and pushed his round-rimmed glasses up on his nose instead.
    “That won’t take much,” Lynn muttered. “From what I’ve seen in this life, no good deed goes unpunished.”
    Father Bartholomew clicked his tongue like an angry squirrel, his face awash in disappointment. He looked ready to admonish her for her pessimism, but was distracted as Officer Reuter bent over to pick up the rock with a kitchen tongs. The priest went a little pale and backed away, his thick-soled shoes crunching on the broken glass.
    “Angels in heaven,” he mumbled, crossing himself. “Thank goodness no one was hurt.” His gaze darted anxiously to Lynn. “You’re certain you’re not hurt?” As she nodded, his head swiveled toward Erik. “Senator?”
    “I’m fine, Father.”
    “Thank goodness.” The little priest wagged his head in dismay. “I don’t want to know what the bishop will have to say about this. He can be a real tiger, I can tell you.”
    Lynn was more curious about what the bishop would say to Elliot Graham’s petition, but she held her tongue, not wanting to upset Father Bartholomew any more.
    He left with the police, who were carrying the offending rock in a plastic sandwich bag like an item for show-and-tell at school. Lynn stood at the front door and watched them go, her gaze reaching out beyond them to the neighboring houses, where people peered out windows and doors. The patrol car sat at the curb with its lights flashing like an oversize Christmas toy, a beacon to herald trouble. In her state of exhaustion and frustration, she could imagine the neighbors were staring right past the car, directing malevolent looks at her, as if it were her fault someone had vandalized the house, as if no one had ever before had to call the police in this fine, upstanding neighborhood.
    She slowly stepped back inside and turned toward Erik. He looked tired and disappointed that his precious system of jurisprudence had let him down. Itwas all Lynn could do to keep herself from giving him a conciliatory hug.
    “Now that you’ve done your civic duty, Senator,” she said dryly, “can we call it a night?”
    He stuffed his hands in his pockets and sighed, shoulders sagging. “Yeah, let’s call