Prayers of Agnes Sparrow Page 24

  “Me? Why?”

  “I just got a call from the lead detective in Shoops. He said they’re combing the streets for that handyman of yours.”

  “Hezekiah? Why?”

  “He's the prime suspect. No one's seen hide nor hair of him since last night when he and Olivia left Personal's.”

  I couldn’t breathe. “Hezekiah? A suspect?”

  “Mama told me about him,” Winifred said. “According to her he was a nice fellow—very helpful.”

  “That's what we thought,” I said, “but now … now I don’t know what to think. Wait till Agnes hears this. She's really going to be upset.”

  “Why would Agnes be so upset?” Winifred asked.

  “It was her idea that Hezekiah move in with your Mama and stay in town while he waited for his miracle,” I said.

  “Miracle? You mean the man who killed my Mama came to town so Agnes could pray for a miracle?”

  “Now hold on,” Mildred said. “He hasn’t been convicted. They just want to talk to him.”

  “That's right. We need to wait this out.” I said.

  The Digman Funeral Home was located on a dead-end street near the Shoops Drive-in Theater. The mortuary was a large white building that looked like it would be better suited for a plantation in South Carolina. Barry Digman, a tall, huge man with bad breath and blonde hair, met us in the lobby dressed in a black suit.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said. Then he led us into a small consultation room.

  “Mama said she wanted to be cremated, like my father,” Winifred said. “I’ve been hanging onto his ashes for years now. We’ll bury them both together back in Detroit.”

  For a second I felt like Winifred was taking Vidalia away from me and I hated myself for feeling such a thing. After all, Vidalia wasn’t my mother. It just felt that way sometimes.

  “That's fine,” said Mr. Digman. “We are the only mortuary in the three county district who has their own crematory.”

  Winifred rolled her eyes at the sales pitch. “When can I get her ashes?”

  The funeral director's eyes grew wide. “We have to get her here first. I—I understand this was a—murder.”

  Winifred shot me and Digman a look. I grabbed her hand. “Agnes—remember? She was going to call.”

  “Yes,” Digman said. “Agnes Sparrow, that miracle-worker woman called.”

  I fake coughed and the man caught on. “Right, right.” He took on a solemn look. “We’ll bring your mother here once the police release her. And you can pick up the ashes the next day as long as she gets here early enough.”

  The man's casket-side manner was irritating as he tried to talk Winifred into purchasing an expensive bronze urn with cherubim and ivy inlay.

  “Now why am I going to spend all that money on a jar that I’m just going to bury in the ground? Most ridiculous thing I ever heard of. Let me see what else you’ve got.”

  She selected a cheaper model while Mr. Digman apologized.

  It wasn’t until we were about halfway back to Bright's Pond when it struck me that Winifred had grown quiet. That wouldn’t be unusual under the circumstances, but she also had a look on her face that I couldn’t decipher—almost like she was angry.

  “What about a service?” I asked on the way home.

  “Service? Oh, I suppose so. We should have a small gathering at her church, not that I ever liked Milton Speedwell and that skinny wife of his.”

  “I’m sure it can be arranged. You know it will be important to the town, Winnie.”

  We drove in silence another couple of miles until Winifred 's bad mood became so palpable it made my chest hurt.

  “Are you all right? I know this is tough but—”

  “Why did Agnes invite that man to live at my mother's?”

  “Agnes didn’t know anything about him. Just that he needed prayer. She was trying to be helpful.”

  “Prayer? I think he came looking for someone to kill, Griselda.”

  “We don’t even know for sure if it was him. And besides he was here for nearly three months. Why would he wait—”

  “Who else? Who else in town would kill my Mama?”

  I had no answer.

  “It's on account of Agnes and her stupid prayers that my mother is dead. Now please, I want to get my boys and go home.”

  “But you can’t stay there. The police have it sealed off.”

  “Well, I’m gonna unseal it. Now, please, I ain’t mad at you, Griselda. It wasn’t your fault.”

  The next twenty minutes were the longest I’ve ever spent. I parked outside Ruth's and helped Winifred get the boys. She never said a word to Ruth except, “Thank you and goodbye.”

  I pulled Ruth aside while Winifred got the boys situated in the car. “She's a little upset. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Did I do something wrong with the boys? They were just fine, except Tobias tried to flush his GI Joe down the toilet, but I fished it out in time. Boiled it as best I could. And Russell squawked his head off whenever the boys went near, but he's just a dumb old bird.”

  “No, you didn’t do anything. Agnes did, maybe.”

  “Agnes?”

  I glanced at Winifred. She was in the front seat with her arms crossed so tight across her chest I feared she might bust a rib. “Let me get her settled. I’ll meet you at the café in about an hour. We need to plan a service for Vidalia, and I’ll tell you then.”

  “Oh, can we fly a kite for her too? I was thinking she would love that, you know. We could go up to Hector's Hill and set it free. You know, let the kite go and sail to heaven.”

  I smiled for the first time that day.

  A police car from Shoops was parked in front of Vidalia's house next to Mildred's.

  “Now, what do they want?” Winifred asked.

  “Mildred said some officers might come looking for more information.”

  “Great, they’re going to frighten the boys.”

  “Winifred, I can drive right past, take the boys back to Ruth's, and then bring you back here. It would only take a couple of minutes.”

  “No. Just park.”

  The boys climbed out of Stu's big car. Tobias headed straight for the cruiser. “How come there's a cop car here, Mama?”

  Winifred grabbed all three of them—two around the necks and one by the elbow. They squirmed but knew who was boss. “Now you boys go on out back of Nana's house and play. Don’t mind the cars.”

  They did what they were told. “And Tobias, you watch Chester for me now. Don’t let him run off.”

  Two large police officers stood in Vidalia's living room with Doc and Mildred.

  “Oh, good,” Mildred said. She pointed to me. “This is Griselda Sparrow, the woman I told you about.”

  “Doc?” I said. “What are you doing back here? I thought you had to—to, you know.”

  Doc took my hand. “You’ll understand in a minute.”

  I took a deep breath and wondered how long the house would smell like Vidalia's—all cinnamon and coffee. Then I squeezed Winifred's sweaty hand. “And this is Winifred Strange, Vidalia's daughter.”

  The officers greeted her kindly and introduced themselves.

  “Officer McGarrett,” said the shorter of the two. “And this is my partner, Officer Lu.”

  Winifred stood with her arms crossed. “All I want to hear is that you caught that—that maniac.”

  Officer McGarrett bit his pinky nail and spit it on the floor. “Well, Ma’am, that's why we’re here.”

  He went on to tell us how they had gotten a call about a disturbance at the Busy Bee Motel in Shoops, and when they investigated they found Olivia Janicki stabbed to death and Hezekiah Branch leaning over her bawling like a toddler.

  “They both had been drinking and smoking pot,” Officer Lu said. “An argument started, and Mr. Branch hit Miss Janicki several times. She scratched his face up real good. Then he stabbed her in the heart and killed her—just like Vidalia.”

  I swallow
ed. My stomach churned and my brain flashed on the last couple of times Hezekiah cleaned up one of Arthur's bloody surprises. He seemed transfixed on the blood for a second or two before he was able to get a paper towel and toss the critter outside. “I guess you’re certain it's the same Hezekiah?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. He had no identification, but when we took him down to the station we discovered he's been wanted for nearly ten months now.”

  Doc cleared his throat and looked at the floor. “He confessed, Griselda.”

  Winifred went a little wobbly and Doc steadied her. “Maybe I should prescribe a mild sedative.”

  “No, I’ll be fine,” she said. “Confessed?”

  “That's right,” Officer Lu said. “He was mighty shaken over it. Blubbered like a baby in the interrogation room. He confessed that he’d stabbed Mrs. Whitaker while Miss Janicki stole her jewelry and money.”

  “But why did he have to kill Vidalia?” I thought my head would explode it pounded so hard.

  “Yeah, why?” Winifred said. “She would have given them her money—and her jewelry. If they had asked.”

  “Well, Hezekiah started yammering stuff about not getting his miracle. Something about a woman named Agnes and—” the officer looked at us and shook his head “—he kept repeating it over and over.”

  “What?” Winifred asked.

  “He didn’t get his miracle.” The officer shook his head. “Darndest thing. Kept saying it over and over.”

  Winifred stamped her foot. “Then why didn’t he kill Agnes?” She looked at me and turned away.

  “I don’t know. Maybe he kept hoping his miracle would come and he didn’t want to—”

  “Kill the miracle worker?” Winifred fell into a chair and cried.

  “I don’t understand,” said McGarrett. “Miracle worker?”

  “I think we’re done here,” Mildred said. She had stepped between Officer Lu and me. “I might be able to help the officers understand out on the porch. No sense in upsetting matters more here.”

  I nodded to Mildred. “Thank you.”

  Mildred and the police officers left. Tobias came bounding through the front door. “Mama, Mama, where's Nana?”

  Winifred took a deep breath and then she took her son's hand. “Let's go get your brothers. I got something to tell you.”

  “That's the hardest thing in the world to do,” Doc said, as Winifred led Tobias out the back. “How is she going to tell those boys that Nana isn’t here?”

  “I’ve known Winnie for a long, long time. She's a lot like Vidalia. She’ll find the words.”

  Doc nodded. “I’m headed back to the office. They released her body so I’ll call and have Digman come get her. You stick close to Winifred and call me if she needs anything.” I walked him to the porch.

  “She blames Agnes,” I said.

  “Oh, Agnes had nothing to do with this.”

  “She invited him to live with Vidalia.”

  Doc shook his head. “It's still not her fault. All this rabble-rousing will pass.”

  I held my breath for a second and adjusted my glasses. “I hope so, Doc. Does Agnes know?”

  “Probably not. I told Mildred it would be best coming from you.”

  I stayed with Winifred another hour or so. She insisted on staying in the house. “I’ll be fine, Griselda. I need to feel close to Mama, and this is the only way I can do that right now.”

  Winifred called her husband, Toby, while the boys ate macaroni and cheese. She was cool, collected, and in charge as she went about her business.

  “No, you don’t need to come,” she said into the phone. “I’ll get her ashes in a day or two and then take the train home as soon as I can.”

  She hung up and cried for a minute.

  “Mama,” Tobias called. “I miss Nana.”

  “I can stay if you want,” I said. “Ruth is waiting at the café, but she’ll understand. I’ll just call and—”

  “No, go plan the service and then you go on home. Tell Agnes what her friend did.” She turned her back.

  I took a step toward her and put my hand on her shoulder. “Is there anything we should be sure to include? In the service, I mean.”

  “Not that I can think of right now. Maybe that song she was always singing—about the garden.”

  “Yes, I know the one.”

  I lingered a moment. Never in my life had I witnessed so much senseless pain inflicted on another person. The closest I came was when my parents died, but their death was accidental. Vidalia was stabbed to death, and for what? A few dollars? There had to be more to it. I watched Winnie lightly brush her fingers on a crystal vase that had been resting on their mantle forever. I was filled with an overwhelming desire to see Hezekiah—to look into the eyes of the man who murdered my friend's Mama.

  23

  The Shoops Borough police station was nothing more than a square, red-brick building with a small, enclosed porch that looked like it had been tacked on as an afterthought. A flagpole stood on the left and flew the Stars and Stripes, with the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania flag wagging under it. There was a stand of sugar maples nearby and a small row of azaleas on either side of the porch. All in all it didn’t look much like a police station. If it wasn’t for the sign out front I would have had to ask someone.

  Inside, the place smelled old and musty with blue cigarette smoke choking up the air. I was greeted by a man in uniform who had just pulled a candy bar from the machine. I didn’t know his rank; I mean, I never learned how you tell the difference between a sergeant and a captain and all. Plus I wasn’t interested. I just wanted to see Hezekiah.

  “Can I help you?” the officer asked, unwrapping his Baby Ruth.

  “I understand you’re holding Hezekiah Branch here.”

  The cop's eyes grew wide for a second, and then he turned stern. “Well, now, I don’t know if that's any of your business.” He bit off a chunk of candy.

  “He killed my friend. He killed my friend's mother.”

  “I’m sorry about that, Ma’am, but I can’t let just anybody back there.”

  I blew air out my nose in a huff as frustration began to bubble inside my stomach. “Can’t he have visitors? I thought prisoners could have visitors.”

  “A relative maybe, a lawyer for sure, but—”

  “He worked for me and my sister, and now he's killed my friend. I think that makes us close enough.”

  The officer swallowed and shook his head. “I’ll catch it for this, but—”

  “Thank you. Where—”

  “Come on.” He carefully tucked what was left of his candy bar in the wrapper and dropped it into his shirt pocket underneath his badge.

  The place was small and tight. We walked down a short hallway with alternating yellow and white linoleum tiles to a single cell—a cage really. Bars all around; a toilet with no seat. A bed, which was more like a metal slab, hung from the wall. Hezekiah lay on the bed with his arm draped over his eyes.

  The cop banged on the bars. “Hey, you. Wake up. You got a visitor.”

  Hezekiah didn’t move or speak at first and then said, “I ain’t taking no visitors.”

  “It's me—Griselda.”

  Hezekiah pulled his arm away from his face slowly. “Go home, Griselda. Just go home.”

  “No, you’re going to tell me why you did it.”

  Hezekiah practically leaped off the metal bed and flung himself toward me. I backed away, scared. His eyes were wide and his face red.

  “Come on, lady,” the cop said. “He ain’t going to be treating you civil. Most wild animals can’t.”

  I moved closer to the cage. Tears threatened and then fell. I was so close to him, I watched one of my tears fall on his shoe and lighten a tiny dot on the leather. “What happened, Hezekiah?”

  He moved back a step and rubbed his neck. “I tried to tell you all. I asked for my miracle, Griselda. It never came, and … and the feeling, the horrible hungry inside my stomach kept growing and getting stronger
everyday until—”

  “What miracle, Hezekiah? You never told us. You just kept asking Agnes to pray but—”

  “Can’t you figure it out by now? I didn’t want to kill no more people. I wanted that god of yours, that lying, stinking no-good god of yours, to reach his almighty hand down out of the heavens and reach into my guts and take the blood lust away and bury it in the deepest sea.”

  I swiped at my tears. “But you never said.”

  “How could I? How could I tell you and that sideshow freak sister of yours what I needed?” He turned his back to me; it was wet with perspiration. “You would have thrown me out and called the police.”

  Hezekiah balled his hands into tight fists and rubbed his eyes. “I thought just asking would be enough. Ain’t he supposed to read minds, Griselda? Did I have to come out and say it?”

  I looked down at my feet. He was right. I would have taken him straight to Mildred.

  He turned around and shoved his hands into his back jeans pocket. “Tell me, Miss God-fearing Griselda, would you have been able to find any Christian charity, any mercy, any forgiveness in your heart and let me stay?”

  How dare he put that millstone around my neck?

  I glared into his eyes and noticed how red and how dark with rage they were. His weak chin jutted out toward me like a knife. His shoulders hunched back like an animal set to pounce.

  “Maybe you got your miracle, Hezekiah.”

  He lunged at the bars again and grabbed them so tight his knuckles turned white. “What are you talking about? I killed Vidalia. I took a knife, her knife and—and—”

  “I know what you did.” My stomach curdled as a wave of anger washed over me. “You took away my friend. You left her daughter without a mother and six little boys without their Nana—the best Nana, Hezekiah, the best in the whole world. She … she still had so many … so many trays of sticky buns to bake and books to read and—”

  “Shut up. Shut up. Stop telling me this.”

  I cried. I stood there and cried.

  Hezekiah went to the cot and sat on the edge. He pushed his hands through his now long hair. “I didn’t get my miracle, Griselda. How can you say that? God ignored Agnes's prayers. He said no. It's like he wanted me to kill Vidalia, right? Ain’t that right? Or he would have stopped me.”