Free Do Unto Others by Jeff Abbott

glasses from a desk drawer, along with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He poured solemnly and handed me a glass. He didn’t make a toast and I was relieved.
    “Beta dead,” he muttered. “Jesus! It seems impossible.” The shock faded from his face and his expression was composed and unreadable.
    “Everyone dies,” I observed, wondering how he’d react to such a cold comment.
    “Yeah, but I always thought she’d go on her own terms.” He shook his head and sipped.
    “I understand you saw her yesterday, around midafternoon?”
    “You ask that like you don’t care, but I think you do.” He fingered his red necktie, covered with little yellow horseshoes.
    “You were upset when you saw her,” I said.
    “Who told you this?” he asked. “Tamma Hufnagel, I guess. She was leaving as I got there. Practically running. Looked as scared as a four-year-old at a haunted house.”
    I filed that away. “Never mind Tamma. I’m curious as to why you were there.”
    He frowned and I saw his fingers whiten against hisdrink. “Why should I tell you?” His friendliness had not entirely evaporated, but it was drying.
    I measured him. I hadn’t liked Bob Don before, but in the past five minutes he’d shown glimmers of humanity that elevated him beyond the supercilious glad-hander I’d known.
    “Look. She threatened me yesterday in the library, then she ends up dead there from a bat I brought and left in my office. It doesn’t look promising for me. The police and Billy Ray Bummel think I was involved.”
    He mashed out his cigarette and downed his glass of Jack Daniel’s. His stare held mine. “I’ll ask you a question, Jordy. I want the truth. I will help you all I can if you need it.” His eyes had a frankness I hadn’t expected. “Did you kill her?”
    “No, I did not,” I answered. “And if I did, why would you help me anyway?”
    He poured more whiskey into his glass. “Because I liked your daddy, and I like your mama,” he said simply. “I’d do it for them.”
    “Then help me. Tell me why you were there and what you know about her.”
    “What do I know about her?” He looked toward the window. He didn’t say anything for several moments. “She grew up here. She was pretty when she was younger. She was wild, too. I remember hearing that about her, although she was several years younger than me. She didn’t get religion bad until she was twenty, and then something happened to her to make her think she and Jesus together were an unbeatable team. She never married ’cause nobody could live with her. Her daddy was well-to-do and she lived off the money he left her.” He shrugged. “She was obsessed with God With judging people.”
    I nodded. “Do you think she ever used that judging to go a step beyond?”
    “What do you mean?” he asked hoarsely.
    “You can’t judge someone until you know their story. She could just judge people by conduct, but that might not be enough.” I watched him; our eyes never strayed from each others’. “Was she the type to dig up dirt on folks? Use it against them?” I thought of the verses she’d associated with Tamma and Bob Don; they suggested secrets best kept hidden.
    “She wasn’t blackmailing me,” Bob Don said tonelessly. He raised the plastic glass to his lips and gulped.
    Not the response I expected. I sipped my own drink, trying to act nonchalant. “So why did you go see her yesterday?”
    He swallowed. “I wanted to clear the air with her about me replacing her on the board. Just make amends instead of amens.” He tried to laugh but it sounded more like a sick cough. “I knew how upset she was and I thought it best to make her feel she still had a voice—through me—on the board.”
    That was all I needed, another Beta. “And are you her voice now? Are you going to give me as much trouble as she did?”
    Bob Don looked hurt. He fumbled for his words, as though they were scraps he’d scattered on the floor. “No, not at all. Look, Jordy,