Allison Brennan - Original Sin

“We’re going to track down the other residents. The gal next door works at the high school; since you’re there, I thought maybe you could talk to her.”

Skye stiffened. “His neighbor works at the high school?”

“Nicole Donovan. English teacher. New, moved to Santa Louisa over the summer.”

“I’ll talk to her. Thanks.”

She hung up, asked the receptionist what room Donovan had, and was informed that Donovan had a free third period starting in fifteen minutes.

Skye stepped out and decided to wait until class was over, make it casual. She had no reason to think that Nicole Donovan was involved in Abby’s death, but at the same time this was one of those strange coincidences that got her police instincts humming. Nicole Donovan, English teacher, was the only apparent connection to the high school that Ned Nichols had, other than the fact that he graduated from here nearly twenty years ago.

Donovan, Donovan … Skye pulled out her notepad. She had Abby’s schedule written down. First period:

English 4, N. Donovan, Rm 119

One more connection. She was heading to room 119 when her phone rang. It was Reverend Matthew Walker returning her call.

“Thank you for returning my call,” she said.

“I was surprised that the sheriff of Santa Louisa wanted to talk to me. I heard on the TV news what happened yesterday in Santa Louisa-the murders at Rittenhouse. I’m stunned. I know the Rittenhouse family well.”

“I’m calling about Pastor Garrett Pennington, your replacement at Good Shepherd.”

There was a brief silence. “Replacement? I didn’t know they’d found a replacement.”

“Who are ‘they’? Your employer?”

“Good Shepherd is affiliated with Lamb of God Ministries. My mother’s illness was sudden, and I couldn’t stay while they searched for a new pastor. I thought they’d have told me, but …” He let his voice trail off.

“Do you have contact information on your ministry? I need to verify some information. So you don’t know Garrett Pennington at all?”

“Never heard of him. But Lamb of God is small; they often recruit outside their ranks. Most of our churches have small congregations in rural communities.”

He gave her two phone numbers and an address in San Diego-for Vance and Trina Lamb-and assured Skye that “Lamb” was their true last name.

“When did you leave Santa Louisa?” she asked.

“The first week of August. My mother collapsed and was admitted to the hospital. I drove up, and after talking to the doctors learned she had a brain tumor. They said she could live for a week or possibly a month. It’s been seven months, praise the Lord, but she’s still not out of the woods.”

“You haven’t been back since?”

“I returned for a few days to pack up my things, gave my last sermon on August ninth, told the congregation what happened, and asked them to pray for my mother. I contacted Lamb of God and informed them of my leave of absence, and they said they’d start searching for a replacement. Is this a new hire?”

“About five or six months ago, I believe. I don’t have those notes in front of me, but he was there at the end of the summer.”

“That’s odd. I spoke with Vance two weeks ago and he didn’t say anything to me.”

Odd indeed, Skye thought. She thanked the pastor and hung up, then called the number he’d given her.

A female voice answered.

“I’m Sheriff Skye McPherson in Santa Louisa, California. I’m calling to speak with Vance or Trina Lamb.”

“This is Trina Lamb. How may I help you?”

“I’m calling regarding Good Shepherd Church in Santa Louisa.”

“Yes?”

“I’m following up on your pastor, Garrett Pennington.”

“Good Shepherd has no pastor. Matthew Walker took a leave of absence, and we haven’t filled the position yet.”

“Mrs. Lamb, Garrett Pennington has been acting as the pastor of Good Shepherd since the end of August.”

“We don’t know any Garrett Pennington.”

“But Good Shepherd is your church?”

“In a manner of speaking. We don’t have the organization of the larger churches with mandates and funding. We supply material like prayer books and stock newsletters, and take care of organizational matters such as tax filings, in return for a percentage of the collection and fund-raising. Matthew really built the church up. When he took a leave of absence, he asked for us to find a replacement for him, but we’ve been unable to do so. We sent two candidates to the church council, and neither met with their approval.”

“Church council?”

“Yes, when Matthew left to care for his mother, three in his congregation volunteered to interview replacements. We sent up two, but they rejected them. They’ve been holding prayer services, but I fear unless Matthew returns they’ll wander away.”

“Who is on the council?”

“I don’t know all the members, but my contact is Elizabeth Ellis. Do you know her?”

Lily’s mother, who Anthony called a witch. “I know of her.”

Lamb’s voice became indignant. “I’m disturbed that someone would be pretending to be a man of the Lord.”

Skye sighed wearily. You don’t know the half of it .

Moira was relieved that Anthony hadn’t asked her why she was going to Santa Louisa High. She’d have to lie to him, and she didn’t like lying to him. He couldn’t read minds, but he was sharp, and even though she was a terrific liar-thanks to years of having to lie to her mother in order to save her own life-she wasn’t sure she could come up with a plausible excuse.

She left a voicemail for Jared; she assumed he was in class when he didn’t answer. She walked around the silent halls, hoping no one questioned her. The nice thing about Santa Louisa was that it was a smallish town with small-town mentalities. No metal detectors at the doors, no campus cops, no one particularly concerned about someone walking the halls between classes.

But the downside of a small town was that everyone knew everyone, and Moira was a stranger. Worse, she didn’t know how far the tentacles of Fiona’s coven extended, and people she didn’t know might know her . She was always wary of Fiona’s human spies.

She walked around the halls looking for any sign of witchcraft, or the lingering stench of sulphur that demons left in their wake. Slowly by the lockers, breathing deeply at each narrow vent, seeking the subtle aromas of herbs and plants that might tell her someone was practicing witchcraft-or was hexed. Moira didn’t know if they would be the next victims of the demon or if they were protected from what they’d brought forth. But each person was a possible lead for her to find Fiona.

She’d passed by several lockers that were suspect, but one stood out as if it glowed with a big neon sign: witch .

She glanced around. Heart racing, she took out her pick and popped the lock in less than three seconds, though it felt like three minutes.

It was myrrh that she smelled, fresh and potent. On the inside of the locker was a symbol Moira knew well from her youth-it went with a spell for popularity. As if to reiterate the fact, she found a turquoise charm hanging in the back.

She quickly went through the books. The locker belonged to Ari Blair, student body president. In notebooks were doodles of witchcraft tables, and another notebook was the beginning of her own grimoire .

And there was an address book.

The bell rang; Moira pocketed the address book and shut the locker, walking away with purpose, as if she belonged.

No one stopped her, no one commented. She walked right out of the school, toward where she’d parked Jared’s truck.

Shit!