Unholy Shepherd by Robert Christian (classic literature list .txt) 📗

“We’re working on several theories,” Manny said matter-of-factly. “I’ll admit, though, that detail is a tricky one.”

“I’ll bet the FBI will have some good insights,” she said.

Manny thought he caught one of her eyebrows rise mischievously. Was she trying to tweak him? He simply smiled and nodded.

“I can’t imagine the family would want to stay at the house tonight, after everything that’s happened.” She continued to probe.

Manny sat up a bit straighter at that. What was this woman driving at? “No, they’re staying with family for a while.”

It was the truth. The Lowes family was staying with Kristin’s mom and dad for the next few days. He had a PI friend keeping an eye on them. He hadn’t exactly cleared this with the captain and the sheriff, but he didn’t want Tom and the family to skip town on him. And if they did anything suspicious, he wanted to be the first to know.

The woman nodded and paused for a moment before gathering up her hair into a tight ponytail. “It’s just so sad,” she said, almost to herself, “a kid that young having their throat cut like that and burned. It’s almost too gruesome for words.”

Manny had seen and heard everything he needed to. It was time to go. He drained his beer and got up off the stool, reaching into his pocket for his money clip. He pulled a twenty dollar bill out and laid it on the bar.

“I’d better get going,” he said, trying to seem casual. “Big day with the Feds tomorrow. Will this cover my tab?”

She looked down and nodded, slowly taking the money before looking back up and flashing him a smile. “That’s more than enough, thank you. By the way, I didn’t catch your name.” She stuck out her hand for him to shake.

“Manny Benitez,” he said, taking her hand in his. “But, you knew that, didn’t you, Ms. . . . ?”

“Allen,” she laughed, “Maureen Allen. And, yeah, I caught it on the TV, but I just wanted to hear it from you.”

“Well in that case,” he smiled, “it was a pleasure talking to you, Ms. Allen.”

Manny turned and made his way through the bar and out into the night air. He crossed the street to his truck and hopped in. He had no intention, however, of turning the key and driving home.

All evening, he’d sworn that he had seen that woman before. The moment she pulled her hair back, the answer came to him. She was there. After the body of the Lowes boy was loaded into the coroner’s van, he had looked out at the crowd and caught eyes with a female dressed in running attire with honey-blonde hair tied back into a ponytail. At the time, he dismissed her turning and running back the way she came as no more than a neighbor out for a morning run who didn’t wish to be part of the entourage around the house. But as he played out the scene in his mind, he recalled the strange look of horrified recognition on her face. He had no doubt that this was the same woman who had just poured him his beer.

He checked the time. There was still over two hours until the bar closed. Manny settled in for his long wait.

SEVEN

Maureen locked the front door of the bar and stuffed the key into the lock box beside it. It was well after midnight, and she had had a hell of a time getting the last of her regulars out of the bar. Stan was still sauntering off down the street toward home. She could just make out his round-shouldered form swaying in the streetlight at the end of the block.

The rest of the street was still, and only a couple of vehicles were parked. She thought she caught a flash of movement in the cab of an older-looking truck across the street from the bar, but when she looked again, she saw nothing. It seemed that the conversation with the detective had left phantoms in her head. She tried to shake them free, but their continued gnawing was almost impossible to ignore.

Anderson’s bar stood on a side street about a block and a half south of Main Street. It was housed among several other storefronts in a turn-of-the-century building. Todd Anderson, the owner, had bought the building as an investment back in the eighties. Taking the money he earned from the dive bar and the rent from other tenants and adding it to the money he saved by paying his staff a paltry wage meant that he had never needed to find a real day job.

Maureen reached into her pocket and fingered the wad of bills that made up her tip money. Though she received mostly singles, her act with a couple of the regulars and that nice tip from the detective had raised the night’s take to seventy-eight dollars. Thursday nights were usually her best nights, as the odd group of college kids usually stumbled in, looking to get their weekend off to an early start, but taking in over seventy bucks in this little town was rare. She couldn’t help but smile just a little, happy that the cash in her pocket alone should cover the bus ticket. She wouldn’t have to dip into the cash in her duffel bags, which now sat on her bed, packed and waiting for her to snatch them up and be on her way out of this mess. And away from the nightmares.

Maureen let out an unenthusiastic sigh at the prospect of her overnight trek to the bus station. She was more tired than usual after a bar shift despite being, happily, less drunk than she normally was. The weight of her nightmare, combined with the new knowledge that not only was a child dead but the body was also horribly burned, pressed down on her shoulders. No matter how many times she told