Power in the Blood

ready. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” I said.

She looked deep into my eyes, searching for reassurance. I looked back. When she found what she was looking for, she leaned forward to kiss me. When she was within an inch of kissing me, she stopped, allowing me to kiss her.

I did.

The kiss was everything it should have been at that moment. It was gentle and powerful, a touch that offered each of us the reassurance we needed. I felt at home in her arms, and I could tell that she felt the same.

After we embraced and kissed and cuddled for a while longer, we cooked dinner together. We also ate together, cleaned up the dishes together, and went for a walk together. Eventually, the evening reached its inevitable conclusion.

She was preparing to leave when I said, “Would you sleep with me tonight?”

She hesitated, considering me intently.

“Before you answer or slap me, let me explain. I was married for nearly ten years, during which time I got used to sleeping with someone. Since that time, for a little over a year now, I’ve not had a good night’s sleep. What I’m asking is for you to sleep in the same bed with me. I am not asking you to make love with me. I just need someone to hold me while I sleep-someone to watch over me. Maybe we can keep each other’s demons at bay tonight.”

“I will” was all she said.

We were lying together in my bed-she propped up on two pillows, I with my head in her lap. She held my head tenderly, as if it were precious to her, and ran her fingers along my cheeks and through my hair. At one point I thought she was going to sing to me.

Instead, she said, “Tonight when you asked me to sleep with you, before I knew what you meant, although I guess I suspected, I seriously considered it, something I’ve never done before. You’re unlike any man I’ve ever met.”

I fell asleep hearing such things and slept like a baby full of mother’s milk, safe in its mother’s arms. I slept better than I had in a long time-until three, when she woke me up to tell me the sheriff was on the phone for me.

Chapter 28

“I thought priests had to sleep alone,” Jake said when I arrived at Russ Maddox’s house. Jake and I were brothers. So were Cain and Abel. He was waiting for me in the driveway, standing with his chest out and his arms hanging wide of his body to make room for his muscles and his gun. He had obviously watched one too many Western movies.

Jake Jordan, two years my junior, also had brown eyes and light-brown hair. Although we were both roughly six feet tall, he outweighed me by almost fifty pounds. His dark green deputy sheriff ’s uniform shirt was at least two sizes too small, and his pants puckered and pulled at the pleats.

“We’re not having this discussion, Jake. But I will say that I let my conscience be my guide.”

“You should know better than to listen to your conscience by now,” he said with a sneer. I noticed part of a toothpick hanging from the corner of his mouth.

“Where’s Dad?” I asked, too tired for another verbal sparring match.

“He’s inside doing what the sheriff is supposed to do when there’s been a crime committed.” Jake rubbed the wooden handle of his pistol with his index finger. The small, tender caresses were those of a lover.

When Jake and I were growing up, we both competed for the approval of our childhood hero, our dad. We both received Dad’s approval; however, I received more and was more like a friend than a son. Jake hated me for it. When I moved away, Jake moved in, and when I left law enforcement to enter the ministry, it seemed as though I was no longer a factor in the dysfunctional equation. However, ever since I had moved back to Pottersville, Jake’s insecurities kicked into overdrive. He perceived me as a threat and was even more obnoxious than usual. Had he possessed the slightest insight, he would’ve known that I was an outsider and would forever remain outside, the prodigal that could never fully return home.

“Why are you out here?” I asked.

“Waiting for you,” he said as if it were obvious. “I needed to talk to you.” He removed the toothpick from his mouth and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger.

“How thoughtful, Jake,” I said. “I’m touched.”

“Yeah, in the head,” he said and then began laughing as if the joke were the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Anyway,” he pointed the toothpick at me, “I wanted to warn you to be careful. You seem to be doing okay now, and I wouldn’t want you to lose it again. Besides, you’ve embarrassed Dad enough. Think of him. Back off, and play it safe.”

I started walking toward the house.

“Wait,” he said. He put the toothpick back in his mouth and dropped his hand down again where it hung wide of his body. “I’m serious. You’ve been gone a long time. Dad’s getting older now. You don’t realize how much he depends on me. He knows he can count on me.” He began to finger the butt of his gun again. “Anyway, he thinks that you’re a pretty good investigator since you worked on those two big cases in Atlanta. The thing is he doesn’t realize that a lot of people worked on those and that you actually screwed one of them up pretty bad. I want what’s best for Dad. And I don’t want to see you on the sauce again.”

“Thanks for your sincere concern, Bro,” I said. “Now, tell me what’s going on here?”

“Russ is dead,” he said emotionlessly.

“Dead?” I asked. “When?”

“Probably sometime last night,” he said.

“How?”

“Not sure,” he said. “But it looks like he was murdered. It’s neat, but it still feels like murder. Pretty exciting, isn’t it? Two years without a homicide in Potter County, and now we have two in a week.”

I nodded.

“When are you going to see Mom?” he asked.

“This week,” I said. “I’m not exactly sure when. How about you?”

He shook his head. “I just can’t deal with that kind of shit. I mean, I know she’s . . . I think Dad and I are going to ride over together. Maybe next weekend. I don’t know.”

“Does Nancy know?” I asked.

“Dad said he was going to call her tomorrow, but I told him he shouldn’t. Hell, she ain’t even a part of this family any more.”

I waited, but he had nothing else to say. “Well, let’s go in,” I said.

“You think you can handle it?” he asked in disdain. “I know you had two pretty big cases in Atlanta, but one of them didn’t turn out too good, did it? What was the name of that girl you got killed?”

“I realize,” I said, “that I’m not a professional deputy of a big-time sheriff ’s department like you, but I’ll try my best to handle it. Besides, if I can’t, you’re a trained professional. You’ll know what to do.”

Inside, Jack Jordan, looking tired and older than he should have, spoke with the county coroner in hushed tones that reminded me of church. His wrinkled clothes and uncombed hair said that he, too, had been in bed and he, too, lived alone.

The body of Russ Maddox was slumped over in an uncomfortable-looking wingback chair covered in plastic and positioned in front of the television. Like the chair, the entire house looked uncomfortable. If the house were lived in, I couldn’t tell it.

“John,” my dad said when he saw me.

“Dad.” I nodded my head. Neither one of us was what you might call a gabber.

I walked over to the chair where Russ’s obese body sat crumpled. His head hung down, the fat gathering beneath his third chin and in large roles of white blubber around his midsection. He was wearing a white silk robe,