Free Monument to Murder by Margaret Truman Page B

I simply told her that she might engage the services of a private investigator.”
    “Had your sister told you about being paid to go to prison? I know she told your mother.”
    “No, she did not. Louise and I suffered the sort of sibling rivalry that occurs in most families. Being older and male, I had different interests and friends. I felt my calling to God at a very early age, Mr. Brixton, and Louise was aware of it. I, of course, was aware of her lifestyle and the wrong path she was going down. It wasn’t a situation conducive to her sharing intimate thoughts with me, although I tried to reach her. I regret I was unable to provide a counterbalancing influence.”
    “You’re referring to her drug use.”
    “Yes.”
    “But I’m under the impression that your mother—and now I assume you—are more interested in clearing her name regarding the stabbing than in finding out who shot her when she got out of prison.”
    “Being shot is not a sin, Mr. Brixton. She happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. But to have spent four years behind bars for a crime she did not commit is a legacy I believe should be corrected.”
    “When did you learn of Louise’s claim that she’d been paid to take the rap?”
    “A few months ago. My mother, bless her, carried the burden of knowing for all these years.”
    “What caused her to finally confide in you?”
    “My mother isn’t well, Mr. Brixton. I believe that she wished to unburden herself of this before answering her final call.”
    Brixton nodded. It was as good a reason as any. He noticed for the first time since entering that the house, and particularly this room, was relatively cool even without an air conditioner running. Maybe it was a perk of being close to God. If so, he might consider stopping in at a church from time to time, at least until fall arrived.
    Brixton wondered just how ill Eunice Watkins was but didn’t ask. Stick to the reason you’re here, he silently reminded himself.
    Sounds of a happy commotion from outside interrupted their conversation. “Excuse me,” Watkins said, standing. “The boys are about to leave for their game and I have to see them off. The church sponsors the team.”
    Brixton followed him to the front porch and stayed there as Watkins went to where the team stood alongside a school bus. The youngsters had now been joined by a handful of adults, presumably their parents. When they saw Watkins approaching, conversation died. The moment he reached them, the boys and their parents lowered their heads in prayer, with Watkins leading. When their heads came up, Watkins shouted, “Play hard but fair! You carry God’s name with you.” The whooping and hollering resumed as the team scrambled onto the bus and the adults retreated to their cars parked in driveways up and down the street.
    “I’m impressed,” Brixton said when Watkins rejoined him on the porch.
    “With what, Mr. Brixton?”
    “With the respect they obviously have for you.”
    “To be more accurate, sir, it’s the respect I have for them. Are we finished?”
    “Yes, unless you can remember something that will help in my investigation.”
    “Might I ask you a question?” he said.
    “Sure.”
    “I know nothing about you, Mr. Brixton, except what my mother has told me. She says you seem like an honest, honorable man. My mother is prepared to pay a large sum of money to you in the hope that truth will prevail.”
    “The ten thousand your sister gave her.”
    “She told you that?”
    “Not to worry, Reverend. I’m not out to spend your mother’s money beyond what it’ll take to find out the truth.”
    “I wasn’t suggesting that you were.”
    “But the implication was there. Look, anytime you or your mother wants to call this thing off, let me know and that’ll be that. In the meantime, I’m working as best I can, considering how long ago this all went down.”
    Watkins extended a large hand. “I see why my mother has put her faith in you,