Free The Psalmist by James Lilliefors Page A

some years earlier. Luke wondered if they were still alive, and if she had time for much of a personal life; probably not, he guessed.
    A typed quote, maybe twenty point, was tacked to the bottom of the corkboard: If you do what you’ve always done, You’ll get what you’ve always gotten.
    â€œI like that quote.” He nodded at it. “Sophocles?”
    Her eyes turned and her face colored slightly.
    â€œTony Robbins.”
    â€œThat would have been my second guess. Sorry.” He was , actually, and summoned his best contrite expression. It was, in fact, the sort of quote Luke liked to slip into his sermons occasionally; unfortunately, ­people tended to respond more to inspirational wordplay than they did to scriptural passages.
    â€œSo.” She frowned, getting to it. “You think you know what the numbers mean.”
    â€œI have an idea, yeah. The details about her arms and legs helped. Being broken, I mean.”
    â€œAlthough that was on the QT.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œOkay.” She leaned forward and clasped her hands on the desk. “So what is five one eight?”
    â€œA Bible verse.”
    She glanced at the old Bible he’d set on her desk.
    â€œIn the Old Testament, there are only three books with fifty-­one chapters. Psalms, Isaiah, and Jeremiah. None of the books of the New Testament would qualify, the longest being Matthew and Acts, which each have twenty-­eight.”
    â€œOkay.” Her eyes shone with interest.
    â€œSo, that narrowed it down. I looked up each, and one seemed to fit—­Psalm 51, verse 8. If we assume the i was actually a colon, that is.”
    He opened the Bible to the page he had bookmarked, rotated it and slid it across the desk to her. Hunter leaned forward, setting her elbows on either side of the Bible. Her eyes found Psalm 51, then the eighth line.
    She read silently at first, then aloud.
    â€œMake me hear joy and gladness
    That the bones you have broken may rejoice.”
    She looked up. “Okay,” she said, her tone neutral. “Tell me about that. What’s Psalm 51?”
    â€œIt’s a prayer of repentance,” Luke said. “One of the better-­known Psalms, actually. It was King David’s expression of remorse over his affair with Bathsheba and the fate of her husband, Uriah, whom he sent to war to be killed. He’s saying, basically, I was wrong, I sinned, forgive me.”
    â€œKing David.”
    â€œYeah.”
    Hunter’s eyes went back to the Bible. “This is the same David from David and Goliath, right?”
    â€œSame fellow. Goliath was back in his teen years. Before he went off into the wilderness. More than half of the hundred fifty Psalms were supposedly written by David. Although some scholars question that.”
    â€œOkay.” Her eyes stayed with his. “So, if this was a message, or a calling card of some kind, the message would have to do with repentance, you’re saying?”
    â€œWell, that’s one interpretation. Of course, it might be something else entirely.”
    She read it again, and finally pushed the book back to him. Not quite convinced, Luke could see. “Any idea why someone might’ve carved the number of a Psalm verse into this woman’s hand?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œOkay,” she said. Clasping her hands again. “Well. Thank you for that information, then, Pastor. I’ll certainly let you know if we have further questions.”
    Luke was mindful not to smile at her sudden formality. “Sure,” he said. “And if I could change the subject for a second?” Hunter nodded. “I do have one other bit of information that I wanted to share. It probably doesn’t mean anything, but I assured my wife I’d mention it.”
    â€œPlease.”
    â€œI was driving out in the country around lunchtime today, coming back from hospice. And when I got to the stop sign at Goose