Read Online The Psalmist by James Lilliefors - Free Book Online

wanted to get out undefeated, the way Rocky Marciano had.
    So now he was driving back to Maryland to complete the last part of the Client’s deal. It meant returning to the little town of Tidewater, to a rented house the Client was providing for him. The rest would be up to him. The final part of it was simply to take out Jackson Pynne before he talked. According to the Client, Pynne would probably make it easy for him. Fact was, Pynne might be on his way back there now, right back to the scene of the crime.

 
    Chapter 8
    â€œH OW DOES SHE-­CRAB soup and homemade cornbread sound?” Charlotte asked.
    â€œMmm.”
    â€œGood. Because it’s the only item on the menu today.”
    Sneakers raised his head and thumped his tail twice as Luke pulled the rose from behind his back and handed it to Charlotte. Kissing her, he breathed a nice blend of body lotions, spices, and corn bread. Classical piano music played in her study.
    Luke fetched a bottle of water from the fridge and leaned on the kitchen counter, admiring Charlotte. Their cottage was officially a parish house, owned by the church, but she had converted it into something quite different, finding it too musty and rustic. It now resembled a quaint Queen Anne–style New England bed and breakfast, decorated with an assortment of antiques and nautical knickknacks.
    Charlotte turned down the music.
    â€œIf I had to guess, I’d say one of Beethoven’s late quartets,” Luke said. He took a drink of water.
    â€œGood thing you don’t have to guess,” Charlotte said.
    â€œBrahms?”
    â€œRavel.”
    â€œWell. I was close, anyway.”
    She just gave him a look, and began to ladle the soup. Although she worked at home as a writer and historian, Charlotte dressed smartly each morning, as if she were going into an office full of ­people rather than just one largely indifferent mixed Labrador retriever—­except on those days when she volunteered at the Humane Society. Today she wore charcoal gray slacks and a tan wool pullover. Her ash blond hair was up in a claw clasp.
    â€œSo, what have you been doing?” she asked.
    â€œJust trying to pretend it’s a normal day,” he said.
    â€œAny luck?”
    â€œNot yet.”
    â€œYour public has been calling.”
    â€œI was afraid of that.”
    â€œDon’t worry. I turned off the ringer.”
    Charlotte watched him as he walked to the table.
    â€œAre you limping?” she said.
    â€œNo, I’m okay. I just banged my knee earlier, at the office.”
    â€œOh.” She brought their lunch to the table and Sneakers resettled beside her chair. For most of the day, the dog stayed in close proximity to Charlotte. Luke, despite his deep affection for Sneakers, would always be his auxiliary master.
    â€œHow was your meeting with the investigator?” she asked, looking at Luke with her intelligent, pale blue eyes. “Learn anything new?”
    â€œA little.” He told her about the morning meeting with Amy Hunter as they ate. Luke shared everything with Charlotte. The night before, they had sat in these same places and mulled over possible explanations for what had happened at the church Monday night. Today none of them sounded right. Nothing did.
    â€œThis is delicious,” he said. Charlotte smiled appropriately, although he could tell she was waiting for him to say more. They’d always been good counterweights—­Charlotte the product of a wealthy and privileged D.C. upbringing, Luke raised middle-­class in towns all over the States. But Charlotte had a rebellious side; she’d apparently crossed swords often with her famous father on political issues before the two of them settled into an awkward truce some years ago. Her only sibling, a younger brother named Nelson, had died when she was ten, and it remained an uncomfortable topic between Charlotte and her parents. She had an inwardness that still