Monument to Murder - Margaret Truman [110]
“It’s come to the attention of the person I represent that certain individuals are attempting to drag up her name. They claim that she was innocent of the charge that sent her away. I believe that it is your mother, Mrs. Eunice Watkins, who has instigated this. Be that as it may, using your deceased sister in this way is to me, as well as to the generous person I represent, a grave mistake with serious ramifications for certain people.”
“I’m not following you, Mr. Cosgrove.”
“It’s really quite simple, Reverend Watkins. In return for this largesse being offered you and your congregation, all that is being asked is that your mother, and you, put a stop to this travesty involving your deceased sister. Think of it this way, sir. You are a man of God. Your benefactor is also a man of God. Rather than sully your good sister’s name again by probing something that occurred more than twenty years ago, her unfortunate young life and tragic death can truly benefit the very people you so ably serve, your congregation and the community. You and your mother need only to stand by the truth of what happened in that parking lot—that your sister accidentally stabbed the young man who’d tried to take advantage of her, and truthfully admitted to the act. That’s all that’s being asked of you and your lovely mother.”
“Louise told us that—”
Cosgrove held up a hand. “Please, Reverend, don’t complicate this. I’ve laid it out for you as simply as possible. Your sister was guilty of the stabbing and admitted to it. That’s all there is to it. I’m afraid I can’t offer you the luxury of time in considering this magnanimous offer. You have until tomorrow at five. I’ll call for your decision.” He stood, went to the window, and looked out at the church grounds where a group of young black children were engaged in a spirited game of kickball. “It’s a lovely thing you do, Reverend, instilling in children a love of God. It would be a terrible shame to see this church and the ground it stands on taken away from them by the bank, to be turned into another condominium complex, or—” He turned to face the minister. “Or to find itself burned down some night.” He went to the door. “Thank you for your time, sir. It’s been a pleasure. I look forward to hearing from you tomorrow.”
• • •
Lucas finished relating to his mother the details of Cosgrove’s visit. “Don’t you see?” he said. “Louise’s death can mean something, stand for something worthwhile.”
“The man is blackmailing us,” she responded quietly.
“Call it what you will,” Lucas snapped in a voice too harsh, he knew, to be used on his mother. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but this means so much to me. Without this help, the church will go into foreclosure, be shut down, taken away from those who need it most.”
Mrs. Watkins took the tray of sweet tea and cake into the kitchen and methodically put things away. When she’d finished, she returned to the living room, where her son paced.
“Lucas,” she said, “will you be able to sleep at night knowing that you’ve succumbed to this threat by a man you don’t know, who represents another unknown person, people wanting to buy our silence?”
He withheld his anger. “Yes, Momma, I’ll sleep very well. Will you do it?”
“And what is it that I’m supposed to do?”
“Forget about Louise being paid to admit to a crime she didn’t commit. That’s all that’s being asked of you and of me. Louise is gone, Momma. Learning the truth about her won’t bring her back.”
“I don’t know, son,” she said wearily. “What about Mr. Brixton?”
“Call and tell him to stop his investigation. Pay him whatever he’s owed but put a stop to what he’s doing. I beg it of you, Momma.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said.
Lucas exploded, “He wants my answer by five o’clock this afternoon. I’m going to accept his offer. He’ll want to know your answer. What is it, Momma?”
“Tell him what you must, son. Please go now. I’m not feeling well.”
She watched him storm from the house, get in his car, and drive away. Then, she fell to her knees, clasped her hands, and prayed for an answer.
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