Three to Get Deadly (1997) by Janet - Stephanie Plum 04 Evanovich

Author:Janet - Stephanie Plum 04 Evanovich [Evanovich, Janet - Stephanie Plum 04]
Format: mobi
Published: 2010-12-20T02:02:10.718000+00:00

The people entering the church looked normal enough. Nobody carried a picket sign or a bucket of blood. Mostly families. A few single men. I counted twenty-six men, women and children in a half-hour period and then the meeting or the service must have started, because the front door remained closed, and no one else showed up. It wasn't an ethnically diverse group, but that wasn't shocking. The surrounding neighborhood was predominantly white, bluecollar. People usually choose a church that's within their community.

The appliance store and Sal's Cafe closed at nine. A half hour later, the twenty-six people filed out of the church. I scanned the apartment building windows one more time with the binoculars. I had my eyes glued to the third floor when someone rapped on my passenger-side window.

It was Carl Costanza in cop uniform. He looked in at me and shook his head. I unlocked the door, and Carl took a seat.

"You really need to get a social life," Carl said.

"You sound like my mother."

"We got a complaint about some pervert sitting in a Buick, looking in people's windows with binoculars."

"I'm checking out a Mo sighting."

Costanza reached for the binoculars and looked the building over. "Are you going to be checking it out much longer?"

"No. I'm done. I don't know why I even came back here tonight. I just have this feeling, you know?"

"Nobody ever takes their clothes off in this neighborhood," Costanza said, still going window to window. "Have you talked to Reverend Bill?"

"Not yet."

"You should go do that while I keep an eye on things. I've got a second-floor apartment that looks promising."

"You think Mo might be there?"

"No. I think a naked woman might be there. Come on, sweetheart," Carl crooned, watching the woman in the window, "unbutton your shirt for Uncle Carl."

"You're sick."

"I live to serve," Costanza said.

I crossed the street and tried to peek past the curtains covering the two plate-glass windows in the front of the Freedom Church. I didn't get much mileage from that, so I opened the door and looked inside.

The entire downstairs portion was essentially one large room, set up auditorium style with a bunch of folding chairs arranged in rows and a raised platform set against the back wall. The platform had some blue material tacked to it to make a skirt. A lectern stood in the middle of the platform. I assumed this was the pulpit.

A man was stacking books at one end of the platform. He was medium height, medium weight and had a head like a bowling ball. He wore round tortoiseshell glasses, and had pink scrubbed-clean skin, and looked like he should be saying things like, "Okley dokley, neighbor." I recognized him from his press photos. It was Reverend Bill.

He straightened and smiled when he saw me. His voice was soft and pleasantly melodic. Easy to imagine him in a choir robe. Hard to imagine him throwing cow's blood, but I guess when the moment seizes you . . .

"Of course I know Moses Bedemier," he said affably.

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