Julia Spencer-Fleming - One Was a Soldier

He finished chewing a bite of Reuben. Wiped his mouth. “Did he happen to say why he showed up at your church?”

“I was the only one of the therapy group he could track down. He needs help if he’s going to find the money before she does.”

Russ held up his hands. “I want you to repeat that last sentence to yourself. Tell me what it sounds like.”

“He’s not going to keep it!”

He looked at her steadily. She bit the corner of her lip. “He’s going to keep it?” Sighed. “He’s going to keep it.” Then she frowned. “Wait, what about Colonel Seelye transferring him? That’s way too easy to be checked. He couldn’t have made that up, could he?”

“If I were running this investigation, and I suspected an MP of involvement in the crime, but didn’t have enough evidence to charge him, the first thing I’d do would be to contain him. So he can’t muck up any evidence or help out his co-conspirators.” He shoved the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth. Clare stared into her coffee, still frowning. Probably trying to figure out a way to redeem Nichols. He felt himself smiling like an idiot around the bread and pastrami.

Clare raised her eyebrows at him. “What?”

He swallowed. “Just you.” He stood up and pulled out his wallet. “C’mon. I want to talk to this guy.”

“Russ. He came to me for help. I told him to wait in the parish hall. I can’t lead the local police in to clap him in irons.”

“I think we’ve been over the fact that the church as sanctuary doesn’t fly in the twenty-first century.” They had had this same lunch so many times he didn’t have to see the bill to know the total and tip. He tossed the money onto the table and stood aside to let Clare out. “Besides. If Nichols is still there, I will wear a kilt to the wedding.”

Nichols wasn’t in the sanctuary. Nor in the sacristy, the parish hall, or the undercroft. He had picked up a great deal about church architecture for a nonreligious man, Russ realized.

“Sorry, Clare.” They surprised her secretary eating freeze-dried tuna out of a pouch. “He must have left before I got back from lunch.” She waved her plastic fork. “Obviously not lunch-lunch. I was running errands. I found a great dress for your wedding, and I’m getting it altered. It was a size six. A little bit too big.” She beamed. “Hi, Russ.”

“Hi, Lois.”

“A little bit too big, Lois? Really?”

The secretary smiled smugly.

In her office, Clare tossed her coat onto her battered love seat and flung herself into her desk chair. “Dang it!” She tilted back with a creak and a snap. “What are you going to do now?”

He leaned against the tall bookcases lining one wall. “I’m going to call his command and find out if he’s unauthorized absence. If he is, they’ll have people after him. Then I’ll tell Seelye. Based on what he told you, he’s definitely an accessory. If she wants, we’ll put a BOLO on him.”

“What about her?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nichols may be after the money for himself. I’m willing to accept that.”

“Gee, thanks.”

She frowned at him. “There’s still the matter of Colonel Seelye. She found out about the theft, got Nichols out of the way, and hightailed it here, conveniently just after Tally was found dead.”

“What are you saying? Are you trying to implicate Seelye in McNabb’s death?”

“The timing works. She doesn’t have any airtight alibi. She could have-”

“Okay, first”-Russ held up one finger-“Tally McNabb committed suicide. All the physical evidence points to that conclusion. There is no evidence supporting any other conclusion. Second”-he held up another finger-“Colonel Seelye’s a CID investigator chasing down the theft of one million dollars. Of course she hightailed it over here. What do you think she’d do? Sit on her ass until Tally McNabb finished laundering the money?”

“Exactly!” Clare sprang her chair forward, jumping to her feet. “One million dollars! Which is up for grabs now that Tally McNabb is out of the way.”

“Oh, for chrissakes. Will you give it a rest already?”

She strode toward him, her cheeks flushed, her hazel eyes glinting brown. He wanted to shake her shoulders until she dropped this fact-free victim fantasy she’d dreamed up for Tally McNabb. He wanted to strip her naked and fling her on the lumpy love seat and not let her up until he had wrung them both dry. How could one woman make him so batshit crazy?

She stopped maybe two inches away, close enough for him to feel the heat she was throwing off. “You’re wrong,” she said. “You’re wrong, and I’m going to prove it.”

“Do not go chasing after Nichols on your own, Clare. You don’t know what he’s after or what he’s capable of.”

“I can take care of myself. As I’ve told you.”

“Is that the deal? Either I knuckle under and drive an investigation in the direction you want, or you put yourself in danger? Is that how you’re going to get your way when we’re married? Forget about talking things out and making compromises, just go straight for the nuclear option?”

Her face went pale. She turned. Opened her office door. Pointed toward the hall.

“Clare. For God’s sake. I don’t want to fight like this.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Please, love. I don’t understand why this is so important to you.”

Her face wavered. He pulled her toward him. She resisted for a second, then collapsed against him. He wrapped his arms tight around her. “Why can’t you trust me on this? Why can’t you let it go?”

“It’s all wrong.” Her voice was muffled against his chest, but he realized she was crying. “It’s all gone wrong, and I have to make it right.”

He had a sick feeling that she wasn’t talking about Tally McNabb. Not talking about Tally McNabb at all.

Hadley’s notes for the morning briefing were about as abbreviated as she could get. 1. Tourists in town. 2. Check kiting IGA. 3. B and E 52 MacEachron Hill Rd. Cossayuharie, interrupted, no loss. She wrote more detailed grocery lists. Well, this was all penny-ante stuff. There was only one really big case going on in Millers Kill right now, and it wasn’t even theirs.

“I’ve been trying to get hold of Colonel Seelye, the Army CID who’s heading up their investigation. I’ve left her a couple of messages on her cell.” The chief squared his boots on the chairs again. “Here’s the deal. The theft from the army isn’t technically in our jurisdiction, as you all know.”

Hadley glanced at Flynn, who looked disappointed. The man was way too invested in policing. He needed a hobby.

“However. Both Wyler McNabb and Quentan Nichols, whom some of you will remember”-he nodded at Hadley and Flynn-“are in town right now. Nichols has admitted to direct involvement with the theft, and it’s a sure bet McNabb has some knowledge of it.”

“Wait a minute.” Lyle MacAuley rousted himself from his usual slumped posture against the whiteboard. “How do we know Nichols is back in town?”

The chief rubbed the back of his neck. “He came to St. Alban’s looking for Clare. Asked her to help him find the money.”

“I’ll be damned. Where is he now?”

The chief shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. I faxed his name and description around to area hotels and motels last night before I left. Nothing yet.”

“That guy is better at disappearing than a bowl of shrimp at the all-you-can-eat buffet. You sure he’s not really a Green Beret or something?”

“I’m more worried about him reappearing. In Wyler McNabb’s driveway.” The chief pointed at Hadley. “Knox, I want you and Kevin to go by there and pick him up for questioning. I was willing to wait for Seelye, but she’s dragging her tail. I want to find out what he knows before something bad happens.”