Monument to Murder - Margaret Truman [109]
Eunice got to her feet, banging her leg into the small coffee table and causing some of the tea to spill. “She did nothing of the kind, Lucas. She worked hard in prison and was no longer a drug addict. She earned her GED and learned accounting. She was murdered on the street because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She came out of prison a good, God-loving girl, and to hear you say such things about her is—” She burst into tears and went to the bathroom.
“I don’t mean to upset you, Momma,” he said when she returned a few minutes later and sat next to him, “but—”
“Well, you have.”
He grabbed her hands even tighter. “Momma,” he said, “you must listen to what I have to say. A man came to the church last night to speak with me.…”
• • •
The man to whom Lucas referred had called ahead the day before and asked to meet. When Lucas asked what it was about, the man had said, “It’s about the financial trouble your church is in. I can help.”
He arrived driving a nondescript blue sedan. He wore a brown suit and matching tie. Lucas took note of his face, which was narrow and chiseled; he thought of a rodent.
They met in Lucas’s study in the rectory. The man, who gave his name as Gerald Cosgrove, made small talk at first. He said how much he admired the work that area churches did in helping the poor and in making Savannah a better place in which to live and work. Lucas accepted the compliments, wondering all the while when his visitor would get around to explaining what he’d meant on the phone. He was about to bring up the subject when Cosgrove beat him to it. “I’m here on behalf of a wealthy businessman who wants to help you, and your church, get through the financial crisis you’re facing.”
Lucas’s first thought was to wonder how this stranger knew of the church’s financial business. Yes, its records were open to the public through tax returns and other government sources. But there were additional aspects known only to Lucas, his finance committee, and the bank that held the church’s mortgage.
“I’m aware, Reverend Watkins, that your church is in serious danger of foreclosure.”
It was true. Watkins had fallen seriously behind in the mortgage payments. He had met with the bank’s chief lending officer on a number of occasions in an attempt to forge some sort of accommodation, but his efforts hadn’t been fruitful. At the most recent meeting, which had taken place two weeks earlier—and after assuring Lucas that the last thing the bank wanted to do was to foreclose on a church—the bank officer informed Lucas that the situation had become dire enough for that to happen unless payment was made within thirty days. The bank would have no choice but to take back the property.
“Might I ask a question?” Lucas said to Cosgrove.
“Of course.”
“How do you know about our mortgage situation?”
Cosgrove smiled. “Oh, let’s just say that there are ways to know everything, Reverend Watkins. As I mentioned earlier, I represent a wealthy individual who wishes to help you and your congregation.”
“Is he involved with the church?” Watkins asked.
“Not directly. This individual is willing to bring your mortgage up-to-date with the bank. In addition, he stands ready to donate, anonymously of course, a large sum of money to help pay for your future operating expenses.” He waited, head cocked. When a response didn’t come, he added, “One hundred thousand dollars.”
Watkins’s reply wasn’t verbal, but his expression spoke volumes.
Cosgrove smiled again. “I thought you’d be pleased,” he said.
“‘Pleased’ doesn’t quite convey my feelings, Mr. Cosgrove. Are there strings attached? There usually are when such generosity is involved.”
“Oh, let’s not call it ‘strings,’ Reverend Watkins. There is, of course, something this benefactor would like in return.”
“Yes?”
“There was an incident many years ago involving your sister, Ms. Louise Watkins.”
Watkins flinched.
“As you know, she met a tragic death at the hands of someone after having spent four years in prison.”
“I am well aware of what happened to Louise,