Free The Spider's Web by Margaret Coel Page B

a house? No thanks. I’ll take my chances here.”
    “Reverend Crispie will be close by,” Morrison said.
    “What? Are you crazy? I don’t want that goon anywhere near me,” Marcy said. Out of the corner of his eye, Father John saw the Reverend Angelo Crispie square his shoulders and lower his head so that his chin set on his chest, staring at the girl out of slitted eyes. “Get him out of here,” Marcy said.
    Morrison took his time removing a small folder from his shirt pocket and selecting a business card. He handed it to Father John. “In case of any trouble, call me at this number. My associate will be on the next plane to Wyoming.”
    Marcy clasped her head in both hands and started walking around in a circle. “I don’t fricking believe what I’m hearing. You playing the role of the all-caring dad. A little late, isn’t it?”
    Father John slipped the card it into his own shirt pocket. He hoped there wouldn’t be any reason to summon the man next to the Hummer. “I’ll show you the guesthouse,” he said to Marcy.
    “Good idea. Why don’t you do that.” Marcy slid behind her father, walked back to the pickup and got inside. The engine growled into life. She backed up and rolled down the window. “See you on TV, Daddy,” she called.
    Morrison kept his back to the pickup, his gaze on some point past Father John. There was something firm and resolute in his stare, his eyes as opaque as dark marble. “My daughter is very troubled,” he said, his voice low. “I’m sure you’re used to counseling people, but you can see she needs professional help. It would be for the best to leave her alone. No sense in her stirring up past issues. Don’t you agree?”
    Father John glanced between the two men, the father and the bodyguard. He wondered who they wanted to protect, the girl or themselves. “Thanks for coming by,” he said.
    He left them standing in front of the SUV and the Hummer and headed down the alley, in and out of the shadows that ran down the sides of the buildings, the breeze stirring in the cottonwoods and the pickup’s engine purring behind him. The guesthouse was a small white bungalow nestled in the trees. He unlocked the door, then went over and took the bag that the girl was struggling to lift out of the bed of the pickup. “The TV works,” he said, ushering her into the small living room with a kitchen in the corner. He immediately regretted the words. Probably the last thing she wanted to be reminded about was that her father was on TV. He set her bag down and nodded toward the refrigerator. “The refrigerator’s stocked,” he said. He had asked Elena to bring over some bread, milk, lunchmeat, and fruit. “You’re welcome to join us for meals at the residence, or you can take your meals here. There’s a nice walk along the river.” He moved toward the door and pointed in the direction of the Little Wind River that wound around the southern boundary of the mission.
    The girl had flopped down on the sofa and crossed her legs. She swung one sandaled foot in his direction. “This is gonna be just fine,” she said, a calm, control in her voice. For an instant, he had the sense that he was talking to someone he had never met before, a total stranger. The girl who had shouted at her father and gripped her head—that girl was gone.
    “I want to ask you something,” she said.
    Father John was about to step out onto the stoop. He turned back. “What’s that?”
    “You said you knew Ned.”
    He nodded. Not very well, he was thinking. He hadn’t known Ned Windsong well at all.
    “What about his girlfriend? You know her?”
    “I thought you were his fiancée.”
    “I mean before. The girl that hung around him before he came to Jackson Hole.”
    “What about her?”
    “So, you know her.”
    Father John shook his head. “I never met her.”
    She shrugged. “I was just wondering how she’s taking it. No way Ned’s ever going back to her now.”
    “Is that what he