The Soul Catcher - Alex Kava [103]
“To take the edge off? For what? What did you need to take the edge off of? So you could get through one goddamn visit with your own daughter?”
“A surprise visit. You really should have called first, Mag-pie. And please don’t swear.” Even that tone, that Pollyanna tone, grated on Maggie’s nerves. “Why are you here?” her mother asked. “Are you checking up on me?”
Maggie tried to slow down, tried to focus. Yes, why had she come? She rubbed a hand across her face, again annoyed that there was a bit of a tremor in her fingers. Why did she have so little control over her reaction, over her body’s response? It was as if the hurt little girl inside of her came to the surface to deal with this, because the adult woman had not yet found a sufficient way.
“Maggie, why are you here?”
Now her mother had come back into the room, suddenly anxious for an answer.
“I needed to…” She needed to remember the investigation. She was a professional. She needed answers. Answers her mother could provide. She needed to focus. “I was worried about you.”
It was her mother’s turn to stare. Suddenly, Maggie wanted to smile. Yes, she did know a thing or two about playing games, about the power of denial or in her mother’s world, the power of pretend. Her mother wanted to pretend one drink to take the edge off was not a fall off the wagon? Well Maggie could pretend she was simply worried about her, afraid for her safety, instead of looking for answers about Everett. That was what brought her here, wasn’t it? The investigation and trying to solve it. Of course it was.
“Worried?” her mother finally said, as if it had taken this long for her to formulate a definition for the word itself. “Why in the world would you be worried about me?”
“There are some things about Reverend Everett that I don’t think you know.”
“Really?”
Maggie saw suspicion slipping in past the bewilderment. Careful. She didn’t want her to get defensive. “Reverend Everett is not who he seems to be.”
“How do you know? You’ve never met him.”
“No, but I did some research and—”
“Ah, research?” her mother interrupted. “Like a background check?”
“Yes,” Maggie said, keeping her voice calm and steady now. The professional kicked back into gear.
“The FBI has always hated him. They want to destroy him.”
“I don’t want to destroy him.”
“I didn’t mean you.”
“Mom, I am the FBI. Please, just listen to me for a minute.” But her mother was fidgeting with the living room blinds, wandering from one window to the next, shutting each and taking her time. “I’ve talked to others who have told—”
“Others who have left the church.” Another interruption, but still with that annoying distracted cheerfulness.
“Yes.”
“Ex-members.”
“Yes.”
“Well, you simply can’t believe a word they say. Surely, you must know that.” This time she looked at Maggie, and there was something in her eyes, an impatience Maggie didn’t recognize. “But you’d rather believe them, wouldn’t you?”
Maggie stared at her again. Her mother’s mind was already made up. Nothing Maggie could say would change what she believed or didn’t believe. No surprise there. What exactly was it that she had expected to find out? Why had she come? It wasn’t likely her mother had any damning information about Everett. To warn her mother, perhaps? Why did she believe her mother would suddenly listen to anything Maggie had to say or to advise? This was ridiculous. She shouldn’t have come.
“I shouldn’t have come,” she said out loud, and turned to leave.
“Yes, you’d rather believe them, strangers you’ve never met before.” Her mother’s tone was no longer cheerful, a cruel sarcasm edging in. This, Maggie recognized. This, she remembered. “Not like you would ever believe me. Your own mother.”
“I didn’t mean to suggest that,” Maggie said calmly, facing her mother and trying to ignore the change, not only in her mother’s tone but even in her gestures—nervous swipes of fingers through her hair. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for