Her Lost Alibi by David Berens (best memoirs of all time .TXT) 📗

His alibis were his friends and their family members, all of them. All of them, except for one. He’d told her about visiting Gemma and her husband for the birth of their child and how they and the extended family could all vouch for him being there. And though Gemma wasn’t exactly Marc’s good friend, her husband was … and they would likely say anything to keep him out of jail. The more she considered it, the more she thought that was the reason the detectives hadn’t called them. It would be like asking the hyena to vouch for the wolf.

But the last alibi he’d come up with, the one who wasn’t related in some way to his friend’s family, the one that had been blacked out on the report … this one rocked her to the core. When he’d said the man was a preacher near Cooper City at the New Wine Ministries Church, her blood had turned to ice. Strange images chased her as the Uber flew in and out of traffic, hurrying her into the center of the Florida peninsula. Images from her own childhood and what the church had meant to her drifted into her mind through a fog of years and … pain.

“Okay, lady,” the driver said, bringing her out of the past. “We’re here.”

She saw that he had pulled up to the front door of the Holiday Inn Express. She thanked him and walked into a deserted lobby. Most people who came to Pembroke Pines were there for the casino and gamblers didn’t spend much time in their hotel rooms.

She checked in. Took the elevator up to her room. Chucked her backpack on the bed and collapsed. She hadn’t had much sleep and had been wound up ever since she’d left the prison. She pulled up the notes she’d made on her phone as she flew and went over Morales’s last words.

“Yes, ma’am. I remember ‘cause I asked if they were serving wine at the service we was going to. You find that preacher, um Jack, Jim, or whatever. He knows I was there cause I shook his hand after he blessed the baby. You could probably call Gemma and find out the man’s name. He preached good that day. I remember that much. Went to eat lunch with him after the service. He had fried chicken and black-eyed peas. I can still taste ‘em.”

Amber hadn’t needed to call Gemma. She didn’t need to find out the preacher’s name from anyone else, because, as a young girl, she had attended the New Wine Ministries Church in Cooper City, Florida. She knew the man’s name wasn’t Jack or Jim.

It was Joseph. Joseph Cross.

10

Lunch Time

She waited until after the Sunday morning crowd had piled out to knock on the only office door inside the church. As buildings of inspiration go, it wasn’t all that inspirational. The structure was a prefab steel building that looked like it was originally designed to house a basketball court.

The man who opened the door acted as the church’s only preacher, the music director, social coordinator, and janitor. The only thing he didn’t do at the New Wine Ministries was answer the phone. A woman named Irene did that now. And before that, Amber’s mother had done it. She had acted as the receptionist until her illness made it no longer possible.

Reverend Joseph Cross looked from his Bible. He almost hid the shock in his face, but Amber saw his bottom lip tremble slightly. His eyes moistened as he removed his reading glasses.

“Hello, daddy,” Amber said, her voice quivering more than she’d thought it would.

He was up and around the desk, pulling her into a hug. “Hey, bear-bear,” he said, squeezing her tightly.

He held her at arm’s length. “You’re all grown up. When did that happen?”

Amber shrugged and smiled. “I dunno. Sometime in the last few years.”

She knew exactly how long it had been since she’d seen him, but his age was starting to show. She winked at him. “You’re all gray now. When did that happen?”

He ran a hand through his thick, coarse hair. “Sometime in the last few years.”

“Touché,” she said.

“Not that I’m upset,” he said, “but what brings you to town? And without a phone call?”

She nodded. “Sorry about that. I’m working a case and I have a lead I’m following up on.”

“My smart little detective,” he grinned.

She shook her head and her smile widened. “Not yet, daddy. I’m still just a junior officer.”

“Give it time,” he said. “Say, are you hungry? Let’s get some lunch.”

Without waiting for her reply, he opened his office door and ushered her out. In the parking lot, he saw the non-descript sedan she was driving. “You get rid of the Datsun?”

“Nah,” she chirped the key fob at it, “that’s a rental I grabbed after I got into town. I’ve still got Brownie.”

Her father smiled at her. “Your mom loved that car. Tried to get her something new when you were born, but she wouldn’t have any part of it. She always wanted you to have it when she was…”

His voice trailed off. Amber jumped in to keep the melancholy away. “Where shall we go, daddy? I’m famished now that you mention it.”

She knew the answer. Her father only ate out at one restaurant on Sundays, The Blue Moon Diner. And he only ever ordered one thing, fish and chips. He always slathered it with so much vinegar it stung the nostrils of everyone in the place.

She purposefully chose a booth near the back, away from the other patrons. After they’d placed their orders, she told him about the case.

“I remember that day,” he said, turning to gaze out the window beside them. “I remember it well.”

She was stunned. “Wait… so, you remember Marc? How is that even possible?”

He tapped her yellow pad that she’d been reading the details from with his finger. “June 13th, 2010. The anniversary of your mother’s death, bear-bear. How could