Free Dew Drop Dead by James Howe Page B

anything. Besides, I had a good—well, interesting—time at the church. You want to walk over with me? I promised Mr. Elveri I’d come back tonight and show him some pictures.”
    â€œPictures, what do you mean?”
    â€œWe got to talking about our families. And I was telling him about the vacation we took last summer, and he said he’d like to see pictures of it. You want to go with me?”
    David looked doubtful, but Sebastian said, “Sure, why not? Looking at snapshots of Disney World will be a relief after the afternoon we had.”
    â€œWait here. I’ll get them and be right back.”
    WHEN HE SAW Corrie enter with her friends, Raymond Elveri raised his eyes from his Bible and smiled warmly. “You remembered,” he said.
    â€œOf course I did,” said Corrie. Looking to the next bed, she asked, “How are you tonight, Abraham?”
    â€œI am within my body and my body is protected from the storm in this safe harbor.”
    â€œGood,” said Corrie, seeming to know what he meant. David bit the inside of his cheek to keep from giggling. “Would you like to look at the pictures with us? I mean, is that okay with you, Mr. Elveri?”
    â€œBy all means. Abraham and I had a talk earlier this evening. He’s not a bad person, you know, just a little confused at times. And frightened, like the rest of us.”
    â€œI know he’s not bad,” said Corrie.
    Sebastian thought it was odd that they were talking about Abraham as if he weren’t there. But he could tell from the serene look on Abraham’s face that he wasn’t offended. In fact, he looked more at peace than Sebastian had ever seen him.
    They settled themselves on Raymond Elveri’s cot, Raymond on one side of Corrie, Sebastian on the other. David sat next to Sebastian, and Abraham stood behind them, looking over Corrie’s shoulder. “Would anyone else like to look at the pictures with us?” Corrie asked the others in the room.
    The volunteer who was spending the night murmured, “No thanks,” from where he sat across the room, then went back to his book.
    Estelle Barker was watching the television thathad been donated by one of the congregants. Glancing peevishly over her shoulder, she said, “I’m trying to watch my program. Don’t talk too loud, hear?” Her two children lay on the carpet at her feet, their hands playing idly with the untied laces of her shoes. Every once in a while she swatted at them as if they were pesky flies, but she never told them to stop.
    Marcus was stretched out on his cot nearby, his head resting on one hand, reading a magazine in the light that spilled off the television set. He didn’t bother to look up at the sound of Corrie’s voice.
    â€œOkay,” Corrie said, pulling the stack of photographs from their envelope. “Now, this first one was taken back in Troy before we left. See, my family just moved here this past summer. We lived in Troy, New York, before that and ...”
    Sebastian tuned out, not because he’d heard it all before, but because his attention was caught by a sight so disturbing his mind was busy struggling just to take it in. He nudged David and nodded in the direction of a chair sitting in the center of the room.
    David exhaled, “Oh, wow.”
    A red-and-black shirt was draped over the back of the chair. Even from a distance, Sebastian could see that there was no button on the cuff of the left sleeve. In its place was a visible tear. There was no doubt about it: It was that shirt. Sebastian glanced around the room. Was the person they had seen atthe inn—the one they thought was dead—here with them now?
    Or, what was even more likely, was one of the people sharing this oddly warm and domestic scene in the basement of a church on a cold November night a murderer?
    Sebastian looked from Estelle Barker’s strong back to Marcus’s furrowed brow to