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“Of course,” Wendell said as he retrieved a bottle of water from the lectern and motioned for them to have a seat on the front pew. After a swig, he popped a breath mint. “I don’t know anything that would help you though. Atta and I weren’t as close as I would have liked us to be. I loved her. Tried my best with her.”
“What do you mean by that?” Violet asked.
Wendell sat on the altar steps, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands folded under his chin in a prayerlike manner, the tips of his fingers touching his nose. “Our daddy was a drunk and used us as punching bags until he died. Atta was only seventeen. We were free, ’cept Atta went and fell in love with a boy like Daddy. I was home from seminary, and she asked for permission. I knew if I didn’t allow it, she’d end up living in sin with him. They were already...well... I gave consent and went back to seminary. Then he left. Best thing for her, I guess, but she...she and I never saw eye to eye on much of anything.” He ran his hands through his perfectly straight hair, mussing it.
“When was the last time you spoke to or saw Atta?”
He inhaled and slowly released it. “I don’t know. Wednesday maybe Thursday last week. We didn’t do family dinners or lunches. Occasionally, I checked in on her to see how she was doing. Make sure she had enough money. I saw her in town one of those days. At the corner market. She acted usual. Small talk. I told her about the monthly potluck. Told her she should come.” He closed his eyes. Then he opened them and shook his head.
“Where were you last Friday night to Sunday morning?”
“Here.”
“Anyone see you?”
“No. It was just me.”
Not the greatest alibi.
“Anyone you can think of who might want to hurt her? Whiskey?” Violet asked.
“Whiskey hurt Atta? Not in a million years.”
“Why?”
“I’ve said more than I should. I get a certain amount of leash being a clergyman, but I know when I’m overstepping. I’ll say this though. I’ve seen some of his men overstep with the holler girls when they were drunk and—” He cleared his throat as he glanced toward the back.
Regis Owsley stood at the entrance into the sanctuary.
“Excuse me. I have a flock to attend to.” He slipped past them and stopped next to Regis. They spoke in low hushed tones then Wendell disappeared. Regis, who had been in the fifth row on the left side during the service, waved then followed Wendell out.
“What do you think that’s about? You think Regis is trying to protect Whiskey?” John murmured.
“It’s possible.” Something else had been sticking in her craw though. And she had to tread lightly. “How long was your wife undercover in these parts when she was murdered?”
“A few months. Why?”
“She would have hung out at the Swallow. I did see a few from last night here.”
“Yeah. But if I want to keep Greg hidden, then I can’t bring her up. And nobody’s mentioned it.”
“Well, she was found a county over and in a coal mine. But what if we did bring her up? We could say we found another victim with similarities and interrogate Whiskey and Greg—keep him hidden still. I want to see their faces in regards to Callie. What name did she go by?”
“Allie Walker. Her maiden name. Keeping it close made it easier. But she had an undercover legend.”
“What is it?”
John paused. “Why do you want to bring Callie into this now?”
Violet wasn’t sure how to answer without revealing her line of thinking. “Because if we didn’t know about her, then bringing her up earlier would have given them a red flag. But tomorrow, we’ll have been investigating a full week. We’ve had time to run database searches, and she would have popped. Just...trust me, okay?”
John frowned. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Later tonight, maybe tomorrow, let’s go back to the Swallow and ask questions.” Music drifted in, and she motioned John outside. “For now, let’s mingle and you can go play cornhole. Bond with the men.”
John snorted. “Pretty good sermon though, huh?”
“Sure.” Talking about mercy. Not on today’s list of topics. She headed straight for the women and, more specifically, Mother.
