“You got fired?”

  “Yes, and either Greg Stevens or you is responsible for it.”

  Trish swallowed. “It’s probably me.”

  “What do you mean, ‘probably’?” Holt asked, his voice louder.

  Trish felt shaky. Her comparison of Holt to one of her deadbeat dads wasn’t holding up in the face of reality.

  “Sheriff Blackstone and Detective Clovis know about your involvement in the death of your friend. They took a recorded statement from me.”

  The phone was silent for a moment. Trish bit her lower lip.

  “I hope betraying my trust satisfies the bitterness of your heart,” Holt said in a steely tone of voice. “What I did years ago was wrong. But you’re going to have to live with what you’ve done to me now.”

  The phone went dead.

  Holt’s anger had no outlet. On the brink of prosecuting the biggest case of his career, he’d been procedurally handcuffed and the key thrown away. Possible plans of attack raced through his mind so fast he couldn’t slow them down enough to evaluate them. He considered everything from parking in Ralph Granger’s driveway until the DA came out of his house to getting in touch with the Atlanta Journal-Constitution and offering a reporter an exclusive scoop about the cold-case murder of a small-town multimillionaire. In the end, he settled on a less dramatic step.

  He called Bishop Pennington. Utilizing the bishop’s influence in the community would be the most honorable way to handle Greg Stevens. Once word got out that Bishop Pennington had gone to the sheriff’s department and DA’s office, action against Stevens would have to be taken.

  “It’s Holt. Why didn’t you come to the Meredith house?”

  “I didn’t know you were there until after you left. Then I had to deal with a pastoral emergency.”

  “I have something urgent to talk to you about. Can you come to my house?”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  Holt stood on his deck. It was a humid, stuffy night. He thought about Greg Stevens waiting for a call to come to the jail. Henry barked, signaling the bishop’s arrival. Holt opened the front door, and the two men sat at the kitchen table.

  “I’ll begin with my meeting with Sonny,” Holt said.

  Holt moved quickly to the encounter with Greg Stevens and showed Bishop Pennington the signed confession. The bishop pressed his lips together tightly while he silently read it.

  “Stevens’s confession makes the case,” Holt said, leaning back in the chair. “But when I returned to the DA’s office, I was met by a detective who told me I’d been fired and escorted me off the premises. It turns out that Trish Carmichael told Sheriff Blackstone about my role in Calico’s death. Ralph Granger didn’t have the guts to come out and talk to me, but an assistant DA with a past like mine would be a huge political liability. Ralph wouldn’t tolerate that long enough to listen to an explanation.”

  “I’m sorry,” the bishop said.

  “But right now my biggest concern isn’t myself. It’s what to do about Greg Stevens. You’re an influential man in this town, and you’re not afraid to do the right thing no matter the cost. Will you help me?”

  The bishop put his hands together in front of him on the table, bowed his head, and closed his eyes for several seconds. When he raised his head, he looked at Holt.

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Holt asked in surprise. “Justice demands it.”

  The bishop reached out and touched Greg Stevens’s confession. “Because nothing written on this piece of paper is true.”

  Holt’s mouth dropped open. He was stunned.

  “How can you say that?” he managed. “How do you know that?”

  “Trust me. This will never stand up in court.”

  “Tell me why.”

  “I can’t do that, either.” The bishop reluctantly shook his head. “What I know I learned in confidence.”

  Holt’s mind was churning. “If a person tells you something about a crime, the clergy confidentiality rules don’t apply,” he said.

  “I don’t know there was a crime.”

  “Rex Meredith was murdered!” Holt raised his voice. “You saw the video!”

  “The video doesn’t show everything that happened that night.”

  “Burkdale?” Holt guessed. “You’ve been talking to Cecil Burkdale? There’s a seductive quality to his paranoia—”

  “I’ve not been meeting with Cecil Burkdale,” the bishop replied, standing up. “And I’d better get going. My silence is only going to frustrate you. I’m terribly sorry about your job, and I’ll be praying—”

  “No!” Holt slammed his fist down on the table. “You cannot do this to me!”

  The bishop stopped. Holt stared at him with a mixture of anger and desperation.

  “Where can I make a private phone call?” the bishop asked.

  “My spare bedroom,” Holt replied immediately. “I’ll stay in here.”

  While Holt waited, each click of the old-fashioned clock on the kitchen wall seemed like an eternity. He glanced down at Henry, who stretched his jaws wide in a big yawn. Finally, the bishop returned.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “Where?” Holt asked as he stood up.

  “To the Meredith house.”

  “Who’s going to be there?”

  “Greg and Valerie Stevens.”

  46

  Holt drove. Bishop Pennington sent a clear message that he didn’t want to talk by staring out the window. When they arrived at the Meredith mansion, Holt saw Valerie’s SUV in the driveway.

  “You’re sending me into this blind,” Holt said as he pulled in behind her vehicle. “What’s going on?”

  “That’s not for me to say,” the bishop replied. “And don’t ask me any more questions.”

  They got out of the car and walked around to the kitchen door. The bishop knocked, and in a few moments Sonny let them in. He looked even frailer to Holt than he had earlier. He didn’t attempt to speak but led them to the study. Greg and Valerie Stevens were sitting close together on the small couch. Valerie’s eyes were swollen and red. Greg Stevens’s face was drawn. Holt and the bishop sat down in the wing chairs. Sonny took a seat directly beneath the portrait of Rex Meredith.

  “Please don’t make me talk,” Valerie said in a trembling voice.

  “There’s nothing you have to say to me,” the bishop replied softly. “But as I told both of you on the phone a few minutes ago, Holt has a right to the truth. What happens after that is in God’s hands.”

  Greg Stevens looked at Holt. “Where do you want me to start?”

  “All the bishop told me is that your confession is false. I need to know why you lied.”

  Stevens paused for a moment. “First, you need some background. Sonny can back me up that Rex had a wicked temper, especially when he’d been drinking.”

  Holt looked at the caretaker, who nodded his head.

  “When he was drunk he could be physically abusive to Carrie, and before I came on the scene, to Valerie.”

  Holt saw Valerie’s lower lip quiver.

  “It didn’t happen a lot, but when it did, it was bad. I’m not a doctor, but I’ve always suspected the cerebral blood clot that killed Carrie was related to what Rex did to her over the years.”

  “Bad that,” Sonny interjected.

  Valerie covered her face with her hands and started to stand up. Her husband held her down with his arm.

  “Please,” he said gently.

  Valerie remained seated but kept her head lowered.

  “He didn’t punch her with his fists,” Greg continued. “He’d push her against the wall, throw something at her, or knock her down. After he sobered up, he’d apologize and things would be somewhat normal for months.”

  It was the familiar story of a battered wife and falsely repentant husband that Holt had heard several times since becoming a prosecutor. Abuse didn’t recognize economic boundaries.

  “Rex and Carrie married when Valerie was twelve. Sometimes she’d get caught up in the fights, usually trying to protect her mother. She has a scar beneath her right eye caused by a piece of broken glass from a picture frame that shattered when Rex threw it at Carrie and Valerie got in the way.”

  Valerie raised her head, and Holt could see the faint outline of a scar that was only partially concealed by makeup.

  “Rex took Valerie to the hospital and told the ER doctor she’d fallen in the bathroom. Because Rex was involved, nobody asked any questions.”

  “Were any reports of domestic violence filed with the sheriff’s department?” Holt asked.

  “Not by Carrie. I think Rex’s second wife made some complaints, but in this county nothing was done.”

  Holt turned to Valerie. “Is everything he’s saying true?”

  “Yes,” she said in a soft voice, “but it’s only a tiny percentage of what we went through. Greg doesn’t know most of it because I’ve never told him.”

  “Did your stepfather hurt you on the day of his death?” Holt asked.

  Valerie turned to her husband. “You tell him.”

  “Yes, he did.” Greg nodded grimly. “Like I said before, he came over drunk late in the afternoon and told us I was going to be fired. Valerie started crying and begged him not to do it. He knocked over a large cabinet and ripped down some curtains. Then he grabbed a heavy lamp and swung it at her head like a baseball bat. Valerie dodged the first blow, but he swung again and hit her in the side. I think she may have fractured a few ribs. I’d tried to reason with him, but at that point I grabbed him and forced him out of the house.”

  “Did you go to the doctor?” Holt asked Valerie.

  “No. I put an ice pack on my ribs and took some medication I had at the house.”

  “An hour or so later, Rex called, apologized, and said he wanted to see us. I’d had enough. I didn’t care if I never worked another day with Meredith Enterprises. However, Valerie wanted to try to patch things up, and we came over here.”

  Greg Stevens stopped and looked straight into Holt’s eyes.

  “I brought a gun with me. I wasn’t going to accept a hollow apology. In a warped way, he blamed other people for making him mad enough to react violently.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” Holt said.

  “And if Rex threatened Valerie again, I was going to stop it once and for all. The cycle of abuse in their family was going to end. When we got here, Rex had calmed down, and we came into the study to talk. He was sitting in the chair where you are now. He wanted to know how bad Valerie was hurt and told her again how sorry he was that he’d lost his temper. She was willing to listen to him, but I wasn’t. I told Rex what I thought about him. That set him off again.”

  Stevens pointed to the small table between the two wing chairs. “Rex pulled open the drawer in that table, took out a pistol, and started waving it around. I told him to put it away. Instead, he fired a shot that hit a painting on the opposite wall. I wasn’t going to take any chances, so I pulled out my gun. Valerie screamed. She grabbed Rex’s gun, jerked it out of his hand, and shot him in the chest.”

  Valerie’s head sank lower. Sonny’s mouth dropped open in shock.

  “Where were you when she fired the shot?” Holt asked softly.

  “Standing over there,” Greg said, pointing to a spot to the left of where Holt was sitting and toward the hallway door. “Valerie was in front of me. She dropped the gun, and I ran over to check on Rex. I suspected right away he wasn’t going to make it and decided to make his death look like a suicide. I wiped her fingerprints from the gun and stuck it in Rex’s hand. Then I remembered the security system. I told Valerie to take out the tape while I hid my gun in the kitchen. I then put in a new tape without realizing another one had recorded a portion of what happened before it flipped over in the carousel. I staged the tape I gave to Butch Clovis to support a finding of suicide.”

  Holt’s mind was spinning. “Did Mr. Meredith point the gun at either you or Valerie?”

  Greg hesitated. “If I tell you yes, she can plead self-defense, can’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  Greg reached over and took Valerie’s hand. She looked up at him with tearstained cheeks, then faced Holt.

  “Rex didn’t point the gun at Greg or me,” she said. “And if I’m going to be punished, I’ll have to accept it. No matter how much he loves me, I can’t let Greg try to take the blame for what I did.”

  Holt leaned back in the chair. He looked up at the portrait of Rex Meredith and then at Greg and Valerie Stevens sitting close together on the couch. He thought about himself; he thought about Calico.

  “I don’t know what verdict a jury would return if it heard your story,” he said slowly. “They might decide you acted in self-defense; they might look at Mr. Meredith’s history of abuse and conclude if he pulled out a gun and fired a shot he deserved to die; or they might find you guilty of manslaughter or murder and send you to prison for the rest of your life.”

  Valerie looked at Holt with a childlike fear.

  “But I’m not here to judge you. And I don’t have the power to charge you with any crime.”

  “What do you mean?” Greg Stevens asked. “You work at the DA’s office.”

  “I was fired two hours ago.”

  Greg and Valerie couldn’t hide their shock. Holt continued, “The important part for you is that I don’t have an obligation to report you to the sheriff’s department or inform Ralph Granger. As far as I’m concerned, what you’ve told me will stay within these walls.”

  Valerie’s eyes grew bigger. Greg grabbed her hand.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Why did you lose your job?” Greg asked.

  “Something in my past didn’t stay hidden.”

  Holt and Bishop Pennington walked outside. Even on this muggy night, Holt felt strangely refreshed. He turned to the bishop.

  “Why do I feel better?” he asked.

  “Because mercy triumphs over judgment.”

  “I assume that’s someplace in the Bible.”

  “Correct. There are many facets to justice. You found a new one tonight.”

  47

  Trish, a growing pile of used tissues in front of her, sat at the kitchen table with Marge and Keith.

  “I’m sorry and ashamed,” she said to Keith, wiping tears from her eyes. “I played you along while I was fantasizing about Holt Douglas. Then when I found out about his past, I spent way too much time hoping he would have to pay for his sins.”

  Keith looked down at the table and remained silent.

  “What are you going to do next?” Marge asked.

  “Crawl in a hole and not come out.”

  “It will be crowded with two of us in there,” Marge said.

  “That’s just it,” Trish said. “You’re trapped in that chair, but you’re more free on the inside than I am. If Daddy were alive and saw the way I’ve acted . . .”

  Trish grabbed another tissue.

  “He’d tell you to rise up and walk,” Marge said, then leaned forward as much as she could. “Look at me.”

  Trish raised her tear-streaked face.

  “Everyone who cares about you knows how stuck you’ve been since your daddy died. We’ve not been talking behind your back, but some unhealed sores can’t be hidden. The beautiful thing is that the Lord has surrounded you with people who want to see you whole and would do anything in the world to help make it happen.”

  “I would,” Keith interjected. “I’d do anything for you.”

  Keith’s words sent another rivulet of tears streaming down Trish’s face.

  “Will you forgive me?” Trish sniffled.

  Keith took a deep breath and looked directly in her face. “Yes.”

  Trish reached across the table and grabbed Keith’s hand. He pulled her hand to his lips.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this—”

  “No,” he interrupted. “No matter what, you’ll always be beautiful to me.”

  After Keith left, Trish returned to the living room where Marge was sitting in her chair with her eyes closed. Trish moved toward her bedroom.

  “We’re not finished yet,” Marge said.

  Trish stopped. “What else could there be?”

  “Holt Douglas has given you a chance to take a big step toward your own healing.”

  “How?”

  “Because if you can forgive him, it will help you forgive the boy who hit us. Trish, I love you, but what Holt said about the bitterness in your heart is true.”

  Trish leaned against the entranceway to the living room. “But, Mama—” she started to say.

  There was an anguish in Marge’s face that spoke louder than words.

  “Okay,” Trish said in surrender. “You’re right. I’ve put that off for too long.”

  “Part of your healing will be asking Holt to forgive you. You can’t take back what you’ve set in motion in his life, but you can tell him how sorry you are for doing it.”

  “It will be so embarrassing, and I’m not sure he’ll even talk to me.”

  “That’s all I’m going to say,” Marge said. “Listen to your heart.”

  When Holt woke up, it took a couple of seconds for the events of the previous day to sink in. The sound of paws scratching the kitchen door that led out to the deck forced him out of bed. After he let Henry out, Holt slipped on a pair of jeans and brewed a pot of coffee. He was pouring the first cup when there was a loud knock on his door. He peeked through the living room window. It was Skip.

  “I had to come by and see you on my way to work,” Skip said. “I was totally shocked when I heard the news. I tried to call, but your phone was turned off.”

  “What did you hear? Ralph wouldn’t talk to me, so I don’t know how he spun it for the public.”

  “He issued a press release that went out to all the lawyers in the circuit late yesterday afternoon. Basically, he said you lied on your employment application about potential criminal conduct in your past. According to Ralph, the district attorney’s office has a zero tolerance policy when it comes to the integrity of people enforcing the law in the Coosawattee Judicial Circuit.”