Lisa Miscione - Angel Fire

The sky was a crystalline blue and there was a light breeze. Greg looked up and immediately saw two vultures circling low off in the distance. Today was something’s last sunrise, thought Greg. He didn’t notice the driver coming up fast behind him as he turned and headed back into the garage.

Jeffrey awoke before Lydia the following morning and lay beside her, watching her breathe, watching the delicate rise and fall of her chest. One arm was draped over her rib cage, one thrown above her head, hair spread around her pillow. He brushed a jet-black strand from her cheek and allowed himself to be overwhelmed. She opened her eyes slightly, peered at him through lowered lids, and smiled.

“Feel okay?’’ she asked.

“Never better. You?’’

“I feel good,’’ she said simply. “This feels…’’

“Natural?’’

“Yeah. I just thought it might be weird, after all these years, to wake up beside you like this. But it feels like I’m finally in the right place, you know?’’

“I know,’’ he said kissing her lightly on the mouth.

“The temptation is to lie here all day with you, but we really need to get moving,’’ said Lydia as she sighed, sitting up and looking at the clock.

“You’re right,’’ he said, the memory of last night’s events and the knowledge that Lydia was in danger moving over his thoughts like a stormcloud. “Let’s go talk to Benny Savroy.’’

The home of Benjamin Savroy and his mother, Greta, looked like a gingerbread house in all its impossible charm and sweetness. Painted red with white shutters, each windowsill held a colorful flowerbox. The lawn was perfectly manicured and lined with lush green shrubs and a white picket fence. Lydia and Jeffrey approached the house by its cobblestone walkway. To the right of the path was a gorgeous flower garden, as lush and well tended as the church garden. She noted many of the same plants and the same wet black earth that she had seen at the Holy Name. She wondered if Benny tended both gardens.

They were greeted at the door by a woman who looked like everyone’s favorite grandmother. Small and plump, with thick gray hair pulled into a braided bun, Greta was wearing a red T-shirt under a denim jumper. Her ruddy complexion seemed to glow and her blue eyes sparkled with warmth and kindness.

“Listen,’’ she said with an unmistakable New York accent, blocking the doorway, “Father Luis called to say you private investigators might be dropping by. I don’t want anyone bothering my son. He’s a good boy and he never causes trouble.’’

“Mrs. Savroy – ’’ began Lydia.

“Ms.’’ she interrupted.

“Ms. Savroy, we don’t want to bother your son. We just want to ask him a few questions.’’

“Why?’’

“In connection with the murders of Maria Lopez and Christine and Harold Wallace, and the disappearance of Shawna Fox, all members of the Church of the Holy Name,’’ said Jeffrey. “We are asking the parishioners and volunteers of the church questions to determine if they have seen or heard anything unusual.’’

“If you think my son had anything to do with that, you’re nuts,’’ said Greta, flushed and nearly shaking with anger. “He has the mental capacity of a twelve-year-old.’’

Lydia found her reaction defensive and incongruous with the situation, watching as the woman furiously wrung the dishtowel she held in her hand.

“No, ma’am,’’said Jeffrey, his tone at once soothing and authoritative, “we just want to know if he’s seen anything. You can cooperate with us, or we can have the police come and take him in for questioning.’’

She considered Jeffrey for a minute, eyes narrowed, hands wringing.

“If you upset him, there’s going to be hell to pay,’’ she said as she stepped aside, then led them down the hall to a cozy den. Benny sat on the floor, still wearing the beige coveralls Jeffrey had seen him in earlier. He was at least six feet tall and must have weighed in at well over 250 pounds. His sandy-blond hair was neatly combed in a side part and framed his round face, which was the same color and consistency as Play-Doh. His hands looked like bear claws. He was sitting on the floor and watching an episode of Batman Beyond on a large-screen television, drinking a glass of milk.

“Benny,’’ Greta said in the sweet tone Lydia had expected to begin with, “some people are here to see you. They want to ask you some questions.’’

He turned around and looked at them.

“Benny, turn off the television,’’ his mother directed. He did so and then stood to face them. As he pulled himself up to his full height, Lydia and Jeffrey involuntarily took a step back.

“I saw you at the church,’’ he said.

“Yes, you did. Why did you leave in such a hurry, Benny?’’ asked Jeffrey.

“You talked about bad things. I got scared.’’

“Why were you scared, Benny?’’

He paused, rocking and looking at his mother. She nodded.

“I don’t know,’’ he said softly, sitting on the couch and wrapping his arms around himself.

“Do you take care of your mom’s garden out front?’’ Lydia asked him, sitting down on the couch beside him so that she was more at eye level with him.

He nodded.

“And the garden at the church, too.’’

He nodded again. “I like flowers. They never do bad things. They’re just quiet.’’

“I know what you mean. People do bad things but flowers don’t. Right?’’

He nodded with enthusiasm, his eyes brightening, happy to be understood. “You just put the seeds in the ground and then make sure they get water and sun. And then a flower comes. Not too soon, but it does come. It’s God that makes the flowers grow.’’

“Do you know Father Luis and Juno?’’

“Yes.’’

“Do you like them?’’

“Yes.’’

“Do you know anyone else at the church?’’

“Not really.’’

“Are you sure?’’

Benny gazed at his mother and began to rock again. Then he looked to the floor and Lydia followed his eyes. Benny was wearing a pair of Timberland Toledo boots. Lydia took her cell phone from the inside pocket of her jacket and handed it to Jeffrey, who took it and walked outside.

“I want you to think carefully, Benny. You are not in any trouble and you haven’t done anything wrong. Has anybody taken you for a ride in a green minivan? Did someone take you to the park the other day?’’

“Benny, what’s wrong?’’ Greta asked, as she saw his eyes grow red and well up with tears.

Benny released a low moan and shuddered. Greta pushed Lydia aside to get near her son and put her big arms around him. “It’s all right, honey. Try to relax,’’ she crooned.

“Ms. Savroy, where was your son on the night before last?’’

“He was in his bed. Where do you think he was? He’s nothing but a child mentally. He doesn’t go out by himself at night. What is going on?’’

Benny’s moaning grew louder. He rolled his head back and his mother tightened her grip on him.

“What about yesterday between the hours of six a.m. and eight p.m.?’’

“I don’t know. That’s when I work. I’m an ER nurse at the hospital and I worked a double shift yesterday. Here probably, or at the church. He can’t drive.’’

“Flowers,’’ Benny said, his breathing becoming shallow, “belong in the ground.’’ In the next moment he fell to the floor, convulsing. And Greta, pulled with him, began screaming, “I told you! I told you not to upset him. This is what happens. Oh, God, Benny! Someone call 911. He’s having a seizure.’’

Lydia ran to the kitchen phone and dialed 911. As she explained the situation and gave the operator their location, she noticed one of Father Luis’s crucifixes hanging on the wall above the phone.