Faye Kellerman: Prayers for the Dead

“I’m all right-”

“Just do it, Mag. Don’t argue.”

Maggie seemed angry but said nothing. As they climbed up a serpentine twist of staircase, they disappeared from view, leaving Decker down below in the faded dowager of a house. He took the opportunity to nose around, went into the family room.

The walls held no artwork. Instead, they were plastered with family photos. The Sparkses appeared to have lots of children, although some of the adults could have been daughters or sons-in-law.

The most striking photos were two fourteen-by-twenties framed in gilt. The sittings appeared almost identical. Obviously, they had been taken on the same occasion, and it had been a formal one. Dad had been decked out in a tux; Mom, in a blue sequined gown. The men wore dark suits, the women expensive suits or cocktail dresses.

The first photograph held many more people-the parents, their children with spouses, lots of grandchildren, ranging from teens to infants. Too many people for Decker to sort out.

The second photograph was more manageable. Eight people. The parents-Azor and Dolores-with four young men and two young women, among them Michael and Maggie. Probably their children because all of them bore resemblance to the parents. Though the dress had been formal, the posing had been much more casual. All of the parties seemed relaxed-no frozen smiles, no stiff postures. Everyone seemed to be having a good time.

The kids broke down into two groups: Dad’s side with black, curly hair and blue eyes, and Mom’s side with light brown hair and green eyes. Michael and another brother looked like Dad, Maggie, the other men, and a sister favored Mom.

Decker took a closer look at the photo. One brother wore a clerical collar. St. Thomas ’s was a Catholic church. Perhaps brother Bram was actually Father Bram. No wonder he had been so composed over the phone. The clergy was used to dealing with crises.

A good-looking man in a pale, scholarly way. A face with regular features, and accented cheekbones. Sharp, sea-colored eyes behind the rimless glasses. Oak-brown hair and long. It fell past his shoulders.

Decker continued to examine the picture, then did a double take. Another brother standing next to Dad. Bram’s face but without the academic pallor and glasses. Fleshier in the cheeks with shorter, styled hair.

Michael came down the stairway. “She’s sleeping, but it’s restless.”

“Do you have a family doctor you want to call, Michael?”

“No, not really. Dad has always handled our medical care. We’re generally a very healthy bunch, including Mom. Maggie’s with her. She’ll be okay.”

Decker pointed to the picture. “You have twin brothers?”

Michael’s eyes went to the photograph. “Actually, triplets. Luke and Bram…” He pointed to the faces. “These two are identical twins obviously. They look even more alike now that Luke has taken off a few pounds.”

“Bram’s a priest.”

“Yeah. But we’re not Catholic. Only he is.”

“Who is the other triplet?”

“Paul.” Michael’s coloring had returned. “He looks more like me than his own twins. That’s genetics. Toss of the dice. This one is my older sister, Eva. She was born after the triplets. She’s kind of…well, my mother’s favorite after Bram. I think Mom was really happy to get a girl after three boys.”

“I can imagine. How old are your sibs?”

“Triplets are thirty-five, Eva’s thirty.”

“And you’re…”

“I’m twenty-five. Maggie’s twenty.”

“Your mom had children every five years.”

“I guess she did.”

“When was the picture taken?”

“For my dad’s sixtieth birthday…about two years ago. Seems like a hundred years ago.”

Michael rubbed his eyes.

“I feel like such a jerk. I’m a med student. Second year. I’ve been to Africa on missionary work. I’ve taken care of very sick people. I shouldn’t be falling apart like this. I should be doing better. Dad wouldn’t approve.”

“You’re doing great under the circumstances, Michael.”

“I don’t think so…”

Decker patted his back.

Dad wouldn’t approve.

Said a lot about the kid. Twenty-five, a med student, and still concerned about what Dad might think. Must be hard to be a son of a legend. Hard to forge that own identity. Said something for Michael that he chose to go into his father’s field knowing that people would always be making comparisons.

Michael said, “It’s just that it’s such a shock. What happened? How’d it happen?”

“He was found dead in his car.”

“Where?” Michael bit his nails as he walked back and forth. “In the hospital parking lot? I’ve told Dad those places aren’t safe. I’ve told him a hundred times that he should carry Mace or pepper spray. Something. Anything.”

“It happened in a back alley of Tracadero’s restaurant.”

Michael stopped walking. “What? Where?”

“In back of Tracadero’s,” Decker repeated. “Any idea what he was doing there?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Does your father eat at Tracadero’s?”

“Maybe for a special occasion. Like one of our birthdays. Dad does like good food.” Michael bit his lower lip. “Mostly, he ate at the hospital. He practically lived at the hospital.”

“Not home a lot.”

“Almost never except for Sundays.”

“Your mom is a nervous type?”

“No, not at all.” Michael became tense. “Why do you ask that?”

“Just because you keep sedatives in the house. I get the feeling she’s used to taking them.”

“Oh…only occasionally…to help her sleep. Usually she’s full of energy. The woman is tireless. Dad was never home when we were growing up. She raised us all really by herself. That’s why she needs sedatives…she’s so full of energy, if she doesn’t take them, she doesn’t sleep.”

Nothing to do with anxiety, guy? Instead, Decker nodded sympathetically. How people deny. He checked his watch. “I’ve got to leave to meet your brother. Are you going to be all right by yourselves?”

“Yes…I’m…yeah, I’m okay. Just tell Bram…as quick as he can.” Michael looked seasick. “I mean…tell him everything’s under control…but if he could…”

“I’ll give him the message.” Decker regarded the young med student. He was dog-paddling, barely breaking surface, in an ocean of shock and grief. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yes,” Michael insisted. “Yes, I can handle it. Thank you, Lieutenant. Thank you for…I don’t know why I’m thanking you…I don’t know what I’m doing. Please tell Bram to hurry.”

“He takes care of the family, doesn’t he?”

Michael wiped tears from his eyes. “Bram takes care of the world.”

Impressive in size and Gothic in style, the Church of the Holy Order of St. Thomas would have felt at home on the banks of the Thames. It was especially noticeable because West Valley architecture was typically confined to blocklong barrack shopping malls, and anywhere USA strip malls. True, there were a few magnificent million-dollar-plus housing developments. But the vast majority of the homes located within Devonshire Substation area were one-story ranch houses-three bedroom, two bath-serviceable and modest. The church’s spire loomed above its residential neighbors, overlooking its domain like a prison turret.

As Decker pulled the Volare curbside to the front steps, a thin man dressed in jeans, a black corduroy blazer over a black shirt, and running shoes bounded down the stairs. As he got closer, Decker saw the clerical collar. The man peered into the window.

“Lieutenant?”

Decker nodded, opened the passenger door.

The priest slid inside, shutting the door with excess force. Threw Decker a glance, then put on his seat belt. Decker studied the clergyman for a moment. Streaks of gray at the temple, wavy creases in his forehead. He was fine-featured, almost pretty. Dressed in satin and lace, he could have walked out of a Gainsborough. Except for the eyes-alert, too intelligent for peerage foppery.