nearest the cabin and sooted the bark of the trunks, but the thick, wet air had saved the trees from fully catching fire.
“My God,” Raye whispered. “Shiloh.”
They found no sign of the woman. Sloane moved carefully among the ash and char, sifting and poking with a long stick. Much of the area still glowed with embers, and licks of flame danced up here and there. Sloane stayed clear of the hot spots. He came out shaking his head.
“Nothing here.”
“What do you mean?” Arkansas Willie sat on a stump that had a webbing of ax bites across the top where wood had been split for kindling. He was obviously in pain far greater than any caused by his wrenched knee.
“He means,” Cork said quietly, “there’s no indication that Shiloh was in the cabin when it burned.”
“Bones don’t burn so well, and teeth not at all,” Sloane said. “And there’s a smell to burned flesh that’s unmistakable. What I’m trying to tell you, Willie, is that there’s still a lot of reason to hope.”
“Why did they burn the cabin?” Louis asked.
Cork shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they were trying to cover up something.”
“Or destroy something,” Sloane suggested.
“Or drive Shiloh out,” Arkansas Willie said miserably.
“What do we do now?” Stormy asked.
Cork looked up at the sky. Dark wasn’t far away. The temperature was dropping and what came out of the clouds now was mostly white. “Let’s get back to the canoes and set up camp before dark comes, try to figure what our next move should be,”
“Shouldn’t we look around?” Raye said. “Maybe she ran into the hills. Maybe she’s hiding somewhere.”
“The woods are big, Willie. And it’ll be dark soon. We’re hungry and tired. It’s best to regroup and see what we can figure. Can you walk?”
Louis had found a long birch pole and offered it as a walking stick. Raye stood up, leaned on the stick, and took a few tentative steps.
“It’ll be slow, but I can make it.” His voice and long hounddog face were full of despair.
The clouds were charcoal and the darkness among the pines had turned deep black by the time they reached the place where they’d beached the canoes. As they came out of the trees, Cork stopped abruptly.
“One of the canoes is gone.”
Once again, his. 38 was in his hand, and he crouched to scan the trees along the shoreline.
“Stay here.” He motioned the others back.
He crept to the two canoes still drawn up on the shore.
“Goddamn it,” he said.
“What’s wrong?” Sloane called to him.
He turned back to them grimly. “Someone’s put an ax through the hulls.”
34
Jo had meant to go straight to her office after she’d left Benedetti and Harris. Instead, she found herself heading to St. Agnes. She wasn’t sure if praying was what a strong lawyer would do at that juncture, but it felt right for her. More and more in the last year, she’d found herself seeking answers in a way that law books could never address. The church was empty and was dimly illuminated from the light above the altar.
As she prayed, she heard the soft creak of the front doors. She glanced back and saw that Angelo Benedetti had entered. He crossed himself and stood in the dark at the back of the church, waiting respectfully. She finished her prayers.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said when she approached.
“What is it?”
The quiet of the church seemed to touch something in Benedetti. His eyes moved over the soft curves of the pews, lingered on the stained-glass windows, drifted through the dark along the outer aisles. He reminded Jo of a boy at First Communion. In a muted voice, he said, “My mother used to take me to church with her every day. St. Lucia. She’d light candles for all the dead relatives back in Italy. There were a lot of them, believe me. I’d curl up on a pew, go to sleep. I remember how safe that felt. The church big and quiet. My mother murmuring her prayers. The candles like tongues of angels speaking back to her. I still go whenever everything seems all jumbled up. I’d guess things seem pretty jumbled to you right now.”
“Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Benedetti?”
He wore an expensive waxed canvas slicker that was wet from the drizzle outside the church. The slicker crinkled when he moved.
“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t fooled by Jackson. He’s slick as raw oysters.”
“And that’s why you followed me?” She didn’t bother to hide her irritation.
“Mostly I wanted to tell you that I’ve seen his brother before. Booker T. Harris. Just after Shiloh’s mother was killed.”
The quiet in the church changed. The peace in it felt crushed by something ominous. Jo sat down in the last pew and Benedetti joined her.
“Go on,” she said.
“The papers were going crazy. Dredging up all the stuff about the old days when my father and Marais Grand had been a hot item. There was a lot of speculation flying around about their starting up their affair again and about Marais Grand’s death having something to do with a love thing gone wrong. It was hard on my mother. She spent a lot of time at St. Lucia. She was so upset she couldn’t even drive, so I’d take her. I was sixteen then. I didn’t have the same patience I’d had when I was little. Usually I’d drop her off and go get a burger or something, come back in an hour or so. Generally she was still inside lighting candles, praying. I’d have to tell her it was time to go.
“One day I come back, step inside, and there she is at the candles, but she’s not alone. A man’s with her. A black man. And they’re whispering hot and heavy. I think something must be wrong, so I go to help her. She yells at me. There in church. Tells me to get the hell out. So I do. I’m waiting outside for her, wondering what can be going on. A few minutes later, the guy comes out and I get a good look at him. It was that Booker T. Harris. I’d swear to it on my mother’s grave. A little later, my mother comes out. Usually church soothes her, but she’s shaking like she just had a visit from the Devil himself. She’s real quiet. Doesn’t say a thing the whole way home.”
Jo waited, but Benedetti seemed to have finished. “What do you think it means?” she finally asked.
“I don’t know. I’m just trying to tell you these men have been harassing my family for years. Now I realize it extended even to violating the sanctity of the church. Maybe I’m just saying that being a lawyer, you may be disposed toward believing them because of who they are. Me, I wouldn’t trust any of them any farther than I could throw this church.”
Jo stood up as if to leave. Benedetti did the same.
“I’m interested. In your Line of work, just how do you know who to trust?” she asked.
“My line of work?” He laughed and it sounded loud in the empty church. “I’m just a businessman, Ms. O’Connor. I manage my father’s casino.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“About trust, you mean? All right, I’ll tell you who I trust. Family.”
“Family,” Jo considered. “And this is all family business because, of course, Shiloh is family.”
“My father believes she is.” Benedetti looked down at the dark water spots on the carpet where rain had dripped from his slicker. “He loves her like a daughter, whatever.”
“He’s had a strange way of showing it all these years.”
“Love isn’t always about hugs and kisses. Sometimes it’s about doing what’s best for the person you love. I guess Pop always figured her life was complicated enough without his throwing her another curveball. You should see his office. Plastered with pictures of Shiloh. Plays her music all the time. He’s been to every concert she ever gave.”
“Does that bother you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
