Tips for Living(79)
Margaret broke down completely and collapsed into sobs. Her anguish was heartrending.
“I love Callie. And I loved my sister. I can’t do this. I can’t bury her.”
A bald man in a dark suit swooped in from the side and ushered the distraught Margaret back to the front-row pew. I didn’t recognize him at first; his hairlessness threw me off. He wasn’t bald; he’d shaved his head. His face was gaunt and the skin under his eyes bruised purple. And he’d lost a shocking amount of weight in the few days since his appearance on the news. Tobias looked like he’d just gotten out of prison. Was his guilt eating him alive? Was his shorn hair a sign of penance or grief? When he finally returned to stand behind the pulpit, he didn’t speak. He took his time surveying the crowd. Then he picked up his Bible and waved it over his head.
“You don’t have to be a murderer to be a sinner, brothers and sisters. ‘As it is written, there is none righteous, no, not one.’ Romans 3:10. We are all lowly creatures of appetite. Weak and indulgent lovers of flesh. ‘We are all as an unclean thing, and all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags’ . . . We are sinners, all of us. Subject to the wily manipulations of the devil.”
He placed the Bible back on the pulpit and stroked it before continuing.
“And what is the Devil’s nefarious purpose? To close the gates of heaven and seal us in hell.” There was a wildness in his eyes. A cruelty that was frightening. “To condemn us to everlasting torment.
“But there is a clear path to return to God’s grace. Accept the one who willingly died on the cross so that you might be cleansed. Receive Jesus as your Savior.”
He paused and bowed his shaved head.
I suddenly knew why Tobias booked this “defrocked” chapel. He wanted to play minister to another captive audience. To stand up there and feel important and righteous. He raised his head and walked away from the pulpit, placing himself between the two coffins.
“My brother and sister here?” He tapped each of the lids lightly. “They were liars. Coveters. Adulterers. Their thoughts and deeds polluted with greed and carnality.”
I could hear the crowd murmuring and rustling in discomfort at this distasteful display. I hoped Callie wasn’t hearing this. I scanned the pews in my sight line. I didn’t see her. I did find a few other distressed faces.
“They worshipped at the altar of the devil. But still, we must forgive them. They began as children of Jesus.”
With a cheap showman’s sense of drama, he leaned down and kissed the top of one coffin, then the other, before turning to the crowd again.
“Whether they returned to Him at the end, we cannot know. I pray with all my heart that they did. So they won’t suffer the torments of hell. So they can rest in the loving arms of the Lord and enjoy eternity in his glorious Kingdom.”
He put his hands together. “Pray with me. Pray for them. And for Callie, their little girl. She is not here with us today—she is far too young to absorb all this loss.”
I felt relieved for Callie. Tobias closed his eyes and stayed silent for a few moments. When he opened them, I saw the glint of pride. And power.
“Praise God. All rise.”
Clothing rustled again. Pews squeaked. I stuck my head a little further into the chapel for a quick peek at the mourners. It was only three-quarters full. I guessed the majority of Hugh and Helene’s friends lived in New York City and would attend the service there.
“‘For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.’ Forgiveness begins here. Amen.”
A chorus of mumbled “amens” rose to a crescendo and then petered out as a recording of “Precious Lord” began. Tobias gripped a casket handle and waved for the pallbearers to join him up front. I retreated into the vestibule, closing the door. The sizzle of the radiator drowned out the hymn, but it couldn’t shut out my own chaotic thoughts. They were slamming into each other like bumper cars. I felt I would explode.
Tobias Walker was a twisted, sanctimonious prick—preaching about sin over their bodies. Using their funeral to gratify his need to aggrandize himself. Would he use their kid? Did he slaughter his own brother and sister-in-law like animals to get control of their money? Had he destroyed my life by setting me up to take the blame?
And Helene. Poor Helene. Her mother was a drunk; her father a runner. She’d been neglected, abandoned and most likely emotionally abused. Despite everything she’d taken from me, I felt sorry for her.
Wait . . . why should I feel sorry for Helene? My childhood was no picnic, either, and I didn’t go around getting myself knocked up by another woman’s husband. After shattering that woman’s life, I didn’t show up to plague her when she tried to build a new one. And look at how she burned Kelly. Kelly was about to have a goddamn baby, and it still didn’t deter that selfish witch. No. I was glad that Helene and Hugh were dead. I was grateful I’d never have to deal with either of them again. Happy they were off the planet.
God. Oh God. What’s wrong with me?
Did Tobias kill Hugh and Helene, or did I?
Wrung out, I just wanted to find Grace and go home. I opened the vestibule door again. A number of the mourners had already filed out of the chapel, following the coffins to the hearses. I slipped into the sanctuary and stood in the shadows against the wall, scouting for Grace. The white silk rose on her wide-brimmed black hat surfaced from the sea of black by the door. She was about to enter the media circus out front, and I wasn’t going to chase her there.