“Passed away?”
“We discussed this earlier.”
“But.”
“Knock-knock,” a voice called from the open door, and Nikki looked over her shoulder to see Westin Stark, dressed all in black, a clerical collar around his neck. It seemed as ill-fitting as a dog harness on a fish, but she kept her thoughts to herself. He was tall and fit, his still-blond hair neatly combed, his smile gentle, but, she felt, practiced.
“Oh!” Blanche was suddenly beaming and turning her chair to meet him.
“I heard you moved,” he said. Then, his eyes meeting Nikki’s, he said, “Nicole.”
“Hi, Westin.”
“It’s been a while.”
Not long enough, Nikki thought, even as she tried to banish her bad attitude about the man. They had a long history, none of it pleasant. He was a minister now, a man of the cloth, a person who had vowed to give his life to God.
Maybe.
If he remembered how he’d traumatized her in elementary school, he didn’t show it. In fact, he’d never acknowledged all the pain he’d caused as a belligerent and violent youth.
“Come in, come in,” Blanche said, waving him from the hallway into her unit. “Don’t mind the mess. That Wilda, I tell you, she won’t lift a finger.”
“Mother,” Oliver said in a gentle, but warning tone.
“I just came to pay my respects,” Westin explained. “And to offer some support.”
“Support?” Blanche asked. “Do I need support?”
“He’s talking about Mavis, Mom.”
“But she’s not here.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry,” Westin said, kneeling next to Blanche’s chair and taking her hand. “My condolences to you and all of your family. I thought maybe we could pray together and read a few healing passages.” He lifted his Bible.
“Mavis should be here,” Blanche said a bit petulantly, hugging her own Bible close. “It might help her. She could use some Bible-studying.”
Westin’s smile didn’t waver. “I see.” He cast a knowing glance up at Oliver. “Let’s pray, shall we?”
“A little prayer would be nice,” Blanche agreed, but Nikki wasn’t sure the older woman understood, as she seemed to be falling in and out of reality. Sometimes Blanche seemed sharp as a tack; at other times, she seemed completely at sea.
But based on the attitude of the receptionist/sergeant at arms manning the desk downstairs, it was likely this would be Nikki’s only chance to get information. So she stayed, bowing her head as well and listening as they read several Bible verses before Westin said a prayer, then made his excuses to leave. With a pat on Blanche’s shoulder and a smile that was meant to be beatific but merely looked condescending, he said, “Good to see you again, Nicole. Perhaps we’ll see you on Sunday.”
Not on your life.
“Probably not,” she said and held his gaze until Oliver showed him the door.
Once the pastor was gone, Nikki motioned Oliver to one side and asked in a low voice, “Do you know if your sister knew a man named Billy Huber?”
“Who?” Blanche called sharply. She’d been staring out the window at the watercraft on the river, but now she eyed Nikki suspiciously. “Billy who?” When Nikki repeated the name, Blanche frowned, struggling. “Never heard of him.”
“Mom, it was on the news. He was—”
“I said I don’t know him,” Blanche cut in. “And Mavis? You’ll have to ask her. Barely see her, you know. She doesn’t come and visit. And neither do you.” She pointed a gnarled finger at her son and let out a snort.
Nikki turned to Oliver. “Do you know anyone who would want to harm Mavis? Did she have any enemies?”
“Her husband!” Blanche said clearly and whipped her wheelchair around to face Nikki. “He’s having an affair.”
