Read Online Strangers by Bill Pronzini - Free Book Online Page A

brother.”
    â€œYou’re Pastor Raymond?”
    â€œAh, you know my name.” The parchment face wore a quizzical expression now, his head cocked birdlike to one side. He may have been elderly, but that powerful voice of his still resonated. Whatever sermons he preached, I thought, he’d hold his congregation spellbound while he was doing it. “Not acquainted, are we?”
    â€œNo, sir. I’ve never been here before.”
    â€œYou’ll forgive me, I trust, for my suspicions in these trying times. In normal circumstances Almighty God and the Church of the Divine Redeemer welcome all with open doors and open hearts. You’ve come seeking guidance, brother? The healing hand of our Lord Jesus Christ?”
    â€œActually, I came to speak to Jimmy Oliver, if he’s here.”
    â€œYoung James? No, he isn’t. Not until Saturday, to mount the new crucifix he created for us in time for Sunday’s services.”
    â€œWould you happen to know where I can find him now?”
    â€œNo, I wouldn’t.” The zealous earnestness in Pastor Raymond’s voice had evaporated; if I was neither a thief nor a potential new member of his flock, he was no longer interested in me.
    â€œJimmy’s mother, then,” I said. “I understand Mrs. Oliver works for you. Is she here?”
    â€œMrs. Oliver works for the Lord. But yes, she’s in the rectory. Very busy, I’m sure, but I’ll ask if she’ll speak with you. Your name?”
    I told him, adding, “But it won’t mean anything to her—she doesn’t know me. Just tell her I’m looking for her son.”
    Pastor Raymond turned abruptly and walked out of the church. I followed him onto a cracked concrete path that led around to the building at the rear. At the door he said, “Wait here,” and disappeared inside.
    I waited. Three or four minutes passed before the door opened again, to frame a middle-aged, graying woman, tall and thin and stern-faced. One glance would have been enough to tell that she was Joe Felix’s sister; the family resemblance was striking.
    â€œYes? What is it you want with my son?”
    â€œI have a few questions for him, is all.”
    â€œQuestions? About what?”
    â€œHis friendship with Cody Hatcher.”
    Her faced closed up. It was a visible reaction, like watching a not-very-appealing cactus flower suddenly fold its petals at dusk. She said through pinched lips, “Who are you?”
    I gave her a straight answer. “A detective working with the Hatcher boy’s attorney, and a friend of his mother—”
    â€œThem! Come to give aid and comfort to the wicked!”
    â€œHold on now, Mrs. Oliver. Cody Hatcher is innocent until proven guilty—”
    â€œâ€˜The soul who sins shall die. God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap.’”
    Now she had me bristling. “That may be,” I said, making an effort to keep my voice even, “but your son doesn’t share your opinion of Cody’s guilt. The two of them are friends.”
    â€œNo more. My son walks only with the righteous now.”
    â€œI still intend to talk to him.”
    â€œI won’t permit it. My brother is sheriff of this county and he won’t permit it, I’ll see to that.”
    â€œI don’t think either of you can stop me.”
    She glared the kind of hate at me that only religious fervor can engender. “‘And He shall bring upon them their own iniquity, and shall cut them off in their own wickedness; yea, the Lord our God shall destroy them.’”
    Footsteps sounded behind her as she backed up a step with her fingers white-knuckled on the door edge, and I heard Pastor Raymond’s voice asking, “Who is that man, Mrs. Oliver?”
    â€œAnother of the devil’s disciples,” she said.
    And slammed the door in my face.
    *   *   *
    The Lucky Strike