Best Kept Secrets(118)

Plummet said nothing.

Reede took another tack. "Isn't confession supposed to be

good for the soul? Give your soul a break, Plummet. Confess.

Your wife can go home to your kids, and I'll be able to take

off early today."

The preacher remained silent.

Reede began at the top and methodically worked down his

list of questions again, hoping to trap Plummet in a lie.

Several times, Reede asked Alex if she wanted to question

him, but she declined. She had no more to link him to the

crime than Reede had.

He got nowhere. The preacher's story never changed.

Reede didn't even trip him up. At the conclusion of another

exhaustive round of questions, Plummet grinned up at him

guilelessly and said, "It's getting close to supper time. May

we be excused now?"

Reede, frustrated, ran his hand through his hair. "I know



you did it, you pious son of a bitch. Even if you weren't

actually there, you planned it. You killed my horse."

Plummet reacted visibly. "Killed your horse? That's untrue.

You killed it yourself. I read about it in the newspaper.''

Reede made a snarling sound and lunged across the room

at him. "You're responsible." He leaned down close to

Plummet again, forcing him backward in his chair. "Reading

about that probably gave you a real thrill, didn't it, you little

prick? You're gonna pay for that animal, if I have to wring

a confession from your scrawny neck."

So it went for at least another hour.

Alex's bottom grew tired and sore from sitting in the uncomfortable

chair. Once, she stood up and paced the length

of the room, just to restore circulation. Plummet's fanatical

eyes tracked her, making her feel so ill at ease that she

returned to her seat.

"Mrs. Plummet?"

The preacher's wife flinched when the sheriff suddenly

spoke her name. Her shoulders had been sagging forward

with fatigue; her head had been kept slightly bowed. Both

came erect and she looked up at Reede with awe and respect.

"Yes, sir?"

"Do you go along with everything he's told me?"

She shot Plummet a quick, sidelong glance, swallowed

hard, and wet her lips nervously. Then, she lowered her eyes

and bobbed her head up and down. "Yes."

Plummet's face remained impassive, though his lips were

twitching with a smug smile longing to be full-blown. Next,

Reede looked down at Alex. She gave him an almost imperceptible

shrug.

He stared at the floor for ponderous seconds before barking

out a deputy's name. The officer materialized in the doorway

as though he'd been expecting his chiefs restrained but furious

summons.

"Let him go."

Plummet closed his Bible with a resounding clap and stood

up. He marched toward the door like a crusader dressed in



full battle armor. He ignored his wife, who meekly trailed

in his righteous wake.

The deprecations Reede muttered were vile and scathing.

"Have somebody keep an eye on the house," he told the

deputy. "Let me know if anything he does looks suspicious

or even slightly fishy. Damn, I hate to let that bastard walk

out of here."

"Don't blame yourself," Alex said sympathetically. "You

conducted a thorough interrogation, Reede. You knew going

in you didn't have any real evidence."

He whirled on her, his eyes stormy. "Well, that sure as

hell hasn't ever stopped you, has it?" He stamped out, leaving

her speechless with indignation.

Alex returned to her cubicle, fumbled for the key in the

bottom of her handbag, and bent to unlock the door. She felt

a prickling sensation at the back of her neck that warned her

a heartbeat before the sinister whisper reached her ears.

"You've been corrupted by the ungodly. You're consorting

with Satan, showing no more shame than a whore who sells

herself." She spun around. Plummet's eyes had regained their

zealous glint. Spittle had collected to form white foam in the

corners of his mouth. His breathing was labored. "You betrayed

my trust."

"I didn't ask for your trust," Alex countered, her voice

husky with alarm.

"Your heart and mind have been polluted by the ungodly.

Your body has been tarnished by the stroke of the devil

himself. You--"

He was caught from behind and slammed against the wall.

"Plummet, I warned you." Reede's face was fierce. "Get

out of my sight or you're going to be spending some time in

jail."

"On what charge?" the preacher squealed. "You've got

nothing to hold me on."

"Accosting Miss Gaither."

"I'm God's messenger."

"If God has anything to say to Miss Gaither, He'll tell her