Faye Kellerman - Prayers for the Dead

“Me?” Bram let out a soft laugh. “No, my life is an open book. But that doesn’t mean there won’t be friction.” Traffic started to slow. “We’re getting close.”

A thunderous roar from a motorcycle brigade came zooming past. A deafening noise. Rina held her ears and looked quizzically at Bram.

“My father loved motorcycles,” he said. “Rode with a club on weekends. I’m assuming that caravan was his riding buddies.”

“Your father rode motorcycles?”

“Faithfully for about the last two years.” Bram downshifted. “Saturdays. Not Sundays, of course. This hobby of his came on really quickly and soon became a passion. He got hooked up with kind of a hard-core bunch. I met them a few times. Like everyone else, they were in awe of him, of course. But it was a strange association.”

“I’ll say.”

“He even gave money to some of their causes…much to my mother’s chagrin.”

“What kinds of causes could bikers possibly have? Save the local methedrine lab?”

“Yeah, declare it a landmark so no one can touch it.” Bram shrugged ignorance. “My father, with all his education and knowledge, wasn’t very worldly. Flatter him a little and he was an easy mark. If someone needed a handout, he was there with open pockets.”

“A handout is one thing. But giving money to outlaws?”

The priest shrugged. “‘For just as by the one man’s disobedience, the many were made sinners, so by one man’s obedience, the many will be made righteous.’”

Rina smiled. “I don’t know the text.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Romans five, nineteen. It refers to the redemption of mankind from original sin by Jesus’ grace. Maybe Dad thought himself on a mission. Because he was really into this club.”

Bram thought a moment.

“Or maybe the reason was much more plebeian. Maybe they made him feel young and irresponsible-a word that’s not normally in my father’s vocabulary. They had him all hepped up on some kind of environmental freedom petition. To my jaded eye, it looked like a scam. To Dad, it was his version of Save the Whales. How’re the boys, Rina?”

“Big.”

“They get along well with…him?”

“You may call him Peter.”

“I will call him Lieutenant.”

Rina smiled, looked away. “They were very young when Yitzchak died…especially Jacob. Peter is the only father he’s really ever known. He adores them both. And they love him as well.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Abram, one doesn’t replace the other.”

“But life goes on.”

“Yes, it does.”

Bram waited a beat, then said, “I’m really happy for you, Rina. Sincerely. It’s taken me a while to get to this place. But I’ve arrived nonetheless.”

“Thank you, I…are you happy, Abram?”

“Yes, I am-I mean I’m not happy at this moment. But I feel I made the right decision.”

“That’s wonderful.” Rina began wringing her hands. Softly, the priest put his palm over her tightened fists.

“What’s on your mind, Rina?”

She relaxed her hands. “Nothing.”

Bram pulled his hand away and waited.

Rina said, “What did you mean when you said there might be friction. Did you mean friction between you and Peter?”

“Maybe.”

“What kind of friction?”

The priest sighed.

Rina said, “Forget I said anything.”

“No, I’ll answer you.” He paused. “You know we’ve told each other private things. Not officially under the sacramental seal…but things in confidence. Have you thought about what you’ll do if he starts asking questions about me?”

“Why should he? Our past has no bearing on this case.”

“But what if he thinks it does?”

No one spoke. The car ground to a halt as they reached the grounds of the church. Rina looked out the window…mobbed with people.

“I’ve got to get out of this lane.” He jerked the car to the left, then made a sharp right until he was riding on the grass. An attendant flagged him down, then saw who it was.

“Father Sparks, I’m very sorry for your loss.” He looked down. “Everyone’s loss.”

“Thank you for your sympathy, Ralph.”

“You didn’t ride in the limo with the others?”

“No, I was tied up with other things. Where should I park?”

“Just go straight over the grass.” Ralph pointed out toward the field. “All the way in front of the line. I’ll radio Tim that you’re on your way.”

“Thank you.” Bram jammed the car into second gear, the tires stalling in the soft dirt. He downshifted back to first and tried again. The Toyota bucked forward.

“Another long day.” His eyes watered. “There’s going to be lots of them. What a nightmare! My heart’s coming out of my chest.”

“You’ll get through it.” Rina spoke assuredly. “Everything’s a blur now…time is endless…but the day will end, I promise you. And you’ll survive.”

“You should know.”

“Believe me, I do.” But Rina wasn’t as certain as her words. Trying to keep her stomach from coming through her throat. Seeing the black limos, seeing him dressed in black. Too many memories.

“Rina, about what I said-”

“He won’t interrogate me, Bram. He’s not like that.”

“I phrased it badly. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

Rina buried her head in her hands. “You didn’t imply anything. I’m acting defensive. I’m sorry.”

“Rina, just let me get this thought out, okay? Because I don’t know when-if ever-we’ll be alone again.”

“Go ahead.”

“Rina, without a doubt, your loyalties lie with your husband. But mine lie with my family. If push should come to shove, I bind with my kin, no matter what. Your husband may ask me questions that I may not answer. That could anger him, frustrate him. Maybe…just maybe, he’ll come to you for personal information about me.”

“I don’t think Peter would do that.”

“Then I’m worrying for nothing. I’m just mentioning it because I don’t want you to feel divided in your loyalties. If it should happen…you have my permission to tell him whatever you feel comfortable with. The last thing I want is to create conflict between the two of you.”

“It won’t happen.”

“Good.”

“Divided loyalties,” she whispered. “I detect a pattern.”

Bram raised his brow. “You said it, Rina Miriam, not I.”

Stifling hot from a houseful of packed flesh, yet the men still wore jackets. Decker wiped his brow, reaching a compromise. He’d leave the jacket on, but loosen the tie and undo the top button of his white shirt. Good that he was tall. Standing on the landing steps of the Sparkses’ home, he could see over the human yardage. Even from this vantage point, with so many people, he couldn’t keep a definitive watch over the siblings. Kept scattering from place to place like little black ants. Especially the twins, both of them wearing almost identical black suits and glasses. True, the priest had longer hair and wore a collar. But without putting the two side by side, Decker was easily confused.

The widow, Dolores-known as Dolly to her friends-was holding court in the back of the living room. At present, she was mobbed by well-wishers offering her solace, surrounding her, patting her hand, stroking her shoulder, wiping her wet cheeks. It would have been inopportune for Decker to intrude upon her grief. Yet, he knew he was going to have to question her.

Because her husband was murdered in the back of a fancy restaurant.

Which could mean a paramour.

Which could mean a jealous husband or boyfriend.

Or, dare he say it, even a jealous wife.

Because as yet, Decker still lacked a damn motive.