The Stalking by Heather Graham

Author:Heather Graham
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: MIRA Books
Published: 2019-07-11T15:46:14+00:00

9

“Amazing Grace.”

It was, in Cheyenne’s mind, one of the most beautiful songs ever composed.

The sounds of it, played so smoothly on the organ, resonated from the church; the organist was truly talented.

Like most of the girls in the area, Cheyenne had spent years in the choir. Jacques Derringer had been a hard taskmaster. He wanted his harmonies perfect.

She entered the church and the sound seemed to fill the world.

The organ was behind the altar in a loft.

Even seeing him from the back, Cheyenne knew that it was Derringer. She could tell by the way his back, shoulders and arms moved as he played; he was dramatic in every way.

And as he sat, he did remind one of a strange mixture between Igor and the Phantom of the Opera.

A strange man, indeed—who would have access to a priest’s wardrobe, she noted.

The deep, rich sound of the organ swelled...and then faded into the air as the sound became an echo in the mind.

He couldn’t have heard her enter—not above the sound of the organ. But he turned as if he knew that she was there.

“Miss Donegal,” he said, swirling around on his bench. The church had excellent acoustics; his voice boomed throughout it like the organ. “Or so I hear, it’s Special Agent Donegal now.”

“Hello, Mr. Derringer. Yes, I’m with the FBI,” Cheyenne said. “I’d like to speak with you, if I may. If you have a moment.”

“How courteous. You’re going to speak with me one way or the other, I imagine.”

She didn’t reply. He stood and looked down at her from his lofty height. She stared back up. His hair was still long, but it was thinning, and there were gray streaks in the strands that fell around his face. He had always appeared almost gaunt, and his cheeks seemed even more cavernous than before.

Like everyone, he had aged.

“I’ll be right down,” he told her.

There were stairs on either side of the loft. They curved around and came down to either side of the pews. He chose the curving stairway to Cheyenne’s right. She waited patiently at the rear of the church.

He was wearing a white shirt and black suit—she wasn’t sure if she had ever seen him dressed any other way.

Sun beamed through the many stained-glass windows with their depictions of saints, the pigments creating differentiations in shadow and light. They made him appear sinister as he approached her, but there was a friendly smile on his face.

He extended his hand.

She took it and saw the way his eyes moved over her.

“Quite the grown-up. Quite the beauty,” he told her.

“Thank you, Mr. Derringer. I’m here because someone is imitating Lassiter...and we’re looking for any help we can find.”

“Right. The way you were looking for help from Emil Justine,” he said.

“Sir, the federal government does not have Mr. Justine under arrest, nor are we planning charges.”

He surveyed her warily for a moment and then said, “Detective Vine is an idiot. And you know that, don’t you? Ah, no, you won’t say

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