“Back to the church.” I flipped the pad over and checked the date. “Where were you on March 28?”
“What day was that?”
“Sunday.”
“I was with my mom.” He squinted as if thinking. “In fact, that would have been Palm Sunday this year. I remember being annoyed that it wasn’t in April. I had to show up to her house early and put together a bunch of palm branches into crosses.”
I stared at him. “For what?”
“So, the kids can wave them around. It’s supposed to make them feel good I guess before shit gets real and we talk about the crucifixion.” Sean shrugged. “Palm Sunday is the Sunday before Easter. It starts Holy Week.”
I remained quiet to see if he would talk more.
“You know what I’m talking about? Right?” Sean took a chug of his beer. “Jesus entered Jerusalem as Savior and King. He rode a donkey and a large crowd gathered and laid palm branches across the road, giving him the royal treatment. Are you a religious man, Agent King?”
“Not really. Are you a religious man?” I asked.
“I try.” He directed his attention back to Haven. “But sometimes there are temptations that come.”
Stirring, she crossed her legs.
I made a note. “So, on Palm Sunday you were with your mother making palm crosses?”
“Yes, and then we hauled all of them to church for the kids.”
“You stayed in church for service?”
“I did. Later, I sat with my family for dinner.” He took another swig. “Sheriff came by the house and told us another little girl was missing that evening.”
“Sheriff Michaelson?”
“Yes. Said another black girl ran away.” Sean shook his head. “But I knew she had been kidnapped.”
“How did you know?”
“Because Ariana was just six and her father Paul and I played football together in high school and college. He’s a good man and a great father. There’s no way that little girl ran away.”
“So, you know her family well?”
“I know all of the families, although we all don’t spend time together anymore, not like the days when we were in school.” He finished his beer.
“Your mother and church can confirm your whereabouts on Palm Sunday?”
“Of course. I’m sure my mother and sister took hundreds of pictures and posted them all over social media. If you check her Facebook page or the church, you’ll see me in there somewhere.”
I nodded. “Let’s go back to Fanny’s restaurant. You know the property well?”
“I do.”
“Any back doors or secret passages?”
“There are two hidden doors that go to the wine cellar under it. Long ago, it was used to hide slaves for the underground railroad. Tom Fullbrooke’s baby sister Betsy owned the place and would hide her own brother’s slaves right there. She would sneak them off his property and do it.” Sean crushed the can and rose. “You sure you don’t want a beer?”
“I’m sure.”
“I’m getting one.” Sean walked off and headed to the kitchen.
Maybe, you can put on a shirt too.
I checked Haven.
She’d been watching him walk away and it looked like she didn’t mind the lack of a shirt. When she caught me studying her, she widened her eyes. “What do you think?”
“I think he’s still in love with you.”
She blinked. “And. . .um. . .what about his alibis?”
“Good ones. I’m sure they check out, but he knows a lot about the properties. His friend Buddy could be a part of this or even his father.”
“I hope not.” She held a sad expression. “It would hurt him.”
Sean returned and ended our conversation. He sat down with another beer. This time fury dotted the edge of his eyes. Apparently, he didn’t appreciate our whispering in the living room.
Are you jealous? Or is this all directed at Haven?
“I didn’t kidnap those girls.” Sean opened the second beer and took a swig.
I looked at the date Melody was taken—Victim 6. “Where were you the first Sunday of last month?”
“With my mother, then we went to church. Afterwards, I had dinner with my family. It was Trinity Sunday.”
“So, the Sunday before that?”
“Mom, church, and dinner. That was Pentecost.” He laughed. “Mom always said that being in church was the best place a person could be on Sunday. I guess she’s right. Keeps me out of being a suspect, huh?”
“It sure does.” I wrote notes down. “So, Trinity Sunday was the first of the month?”
“That’s right. It’s a big celebration for the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. All of that jazz.”
“And then Pentecost was the Sunday before Trinity Sunday?”
“Yes. It’s when we celebrate the gift of the Holy Spirit.” Sean drank some of the new beer. “Christians like celebrating things.”
I wrote everything down. “We’re done here. I’ll let you know if we have more questions. Can I use your bathroom?”
“Sure. It’s in the back and on the right.” Sean returned his view to Haven.
She sighed.
I rose and walked to the back, listening to their hushed conversation behind me.
Sean kept his voice low. “Are you staying with your mother?”
“No.” Haven’s words came out calm. “I’m on official business. I’ll be at a hotel.”
I walked down the hallway.
“Which one?”
“I’m not here on vacation, Sean.”
“You know it’ll only take me a few hours to find out what hotel. Just tell me.”
“None of your business. We’re done.”
I opened the door on the left, hoping it was his bedroom. I’d been correct. I slipped inside for a few seconds to check it out.
Sean’s words sounded off in the distance. “You look beautiful as always, Honeybee.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Sean’s voice went weak. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Doing what?”
“Looking so sweet and sexy in my living room? You know I can’t touch you, or can I?”
Don’t touch my agent, Sean. I would hate to arrest you.
Sean’s bedroom was as neat and clean as his living room. The only shock that came was the framed picture of Haven and him on his nightstand. I walked that way and picked it up. It was a selfie that he must’ve enlarged. He held Haven in his arms and kissed her cheek. She beamed in the picture, wearing a red sweater with white hearts on it.
Yeah. She may be off, but he is still on. She thinks he just wanted her for sex, but it was much more to him.
I set the picture down and opened the drawer. Around six porno magazines of black women and a bottle of lotion filled the space. It must’ve been his spank section. Every man had one. Due to my living out of my suitcase, I kept my trusty bottle of lotion in the side of my bag. There was no need to bring erotic visuals. I had enough one-night stands of gorgeous women imprinted in my mind.
He's a regular guy. Doesn’t seem like a psycho so far.