Free Bad Samaritan by Aimée Thurlo

were dirt poor. Six of us lived in a rented two-bedroom mobile home. If it wasn’t for food stamps, we would have starved. When I see someone like Scout, I can’t turn away. I still remember what it was like to try to sleep when your stomach’s so empty it hurts.”
    â€œYou have a good heart, Smitty, and God has blessed you in so many ways because of that. As soon as you come up with a plan, let me know,” Sister Agatha said, going to the door.
    Smitty followed her into the store. “For now, you might find it helpful to talk to the man who just came in.”
    â€œWho are you talking about?” Sister Agatha asked, looking around at the customers and past the full shopping carts near two busy cashiers.
    â€œSee the tall guy in the tan sports coat browsing in the deli sandwich cooler? That’s Frank Marquez, a detective for the state police. He was just put in charge of the Robert Garcia case. Themayor insisted that someone outside the sheriff’s department handle the investigation.”
    â€œI know Frank, but I had no idea he was running the investigation,” Sister Agatha said. Interestingly enough, chances were good that Al Russo had known about this when they’d spoken earlier but had chosen to keep her in the dark. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll go talk to him.”
    As she walked over, Marquez turned and gave her a taut smile. “Mary—uh, sorry, Sister Agatha. I was wondering how soon it would be before you and I ran into each other,” he said.
    â€œAnd here we are!” Sister Agatha said pleasantly. “You’re looking well, Frank.” He’d never looked anything but fit. A former all-star jock, he’d been a man’s man from day one.
    He laughed. “I’m looking old—but you know, despite the habit, you haven’t changed that much since the days when your brother and I hung around together.”
    The memories made her eyes grow misty with tears, and she had to look away and compose herself before finding her voice again. “You and Kevin spent hours working on your motorcycles in the driveway or in the shade of that cottonwood.”
    â€œYou were always there, too. You liked working on bikes as much as we did. You didn’t mind getting oil on your sleeves or dirt under your fingernails.”
    Memories crowded her mind. She’d adored her big brother and would have cheerfully gone with him to the ends of the earth—but ultimately he’d gone to a place where she couldn’t follow. His death had come after a long, hard illness, and the ravages of grief had eventually led her into the arms of God. Only by drawing closer to Him had she been able to rise above her sorrow and find purpose in her life again.
    â€œNow here we are,” she said softly.
    He nodded. “You and Tom are good friends, so I know thattelling you to leave this case alone is a waste of time—but here’s a word of warning. This is
my
investigation, and I won’t tolerate anyone undermining or interfering with my job. If you find out anything relevant, I want you to tell me immediately. If I find out you’ve withheld evidence, I’ll throw the book at you—my friendship with you and your brother notwithstanding.”
    The words didn’t surprise her. They were typical of Frank, who’d practically raised his three brothers alone. After the death of their father, his mother had sunk into an alcoholic’s version of hell. Frank had then stepped up to do what had to be done. If Frank could be said to have a trademark, it was that he never let a challenge go unanswered. Frank, simply put, was a man to whom strength meant survival. He’d chosen the right job.
    â€œI would never keep evidence from the police, Frank. You don’t have to worry about that. I just want to help you uncover the truth,” she said, then added in a gentle voice, “We all went to high school together, and