In the Bleak Midwinter

There was a pause. Slowly, Karen turned her head to face the priest. “We had a horrible fight that afternoon in the office. We had been arguing about what approach to take with McWhorter all day long and we got . . . it just . . . anyway, I told him what he could do, and took off. I was so angry with him I wanted to . . .” She blew out a breath. “I did a little shopping, I called my mother, I fixed some stir fry for dinner—you know, working the mad off.” She laced her fingers together. “Dinnertime came and went, with no Geoff, and no phone call. I started to get worried. I mean, really worried; the weather was bad and he was driving the little Honda Civic. Finally, finally he showed up around ten or so.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know whether to kill him or kiss him. Turns out he’d been out at the Dew Drop Inn most of the night. I don’t know how he managed to get himself home, he was in no condition to drive. I was horrified! He could have killed himself. Not to mention the damage to his reputation if he had been picked up. The last thing we need is a morals censure from the Bar Association or a D.U.I. conviction on his record.”

Clare pressed her forefingers against her mouth to refrain from mentioning that Geoff could just as well have killed other people out on the roads that night. “Does this sort of thing happen often?” she asked, her voice neutral.

“God, no. Geoff’s idea of a blowout indulgence is a bottle of Nouveaux Beaujolais the week it hits the stores. So you can imagine how I felt when those two officers showed up at the door asking where we had been that evening! All I could think of was Geoff being hauled in for questioning. So I told them we’d been home all night, having a few drinks and watching TV.” She sagged back into her chair. “Geoff just went along with my story.” Her gaze went to the ceiling, as if looking for the Fates lurking there. “Yesterday, when we learned that McWhorter had been killed, it was too damn late to recant. There wasn’t anyone except a few anonymous bar patrons to say he’d been at the Dew Drop instead of . . .”

“Instead of taking Darrell McWhorter on his last drive to Albany?”

“Yes. We had already lied to the police. As you said, it looks bad.”

Clare tilted her head back, closing her eyes. Did she believe Karen Burns? Yes? The question was, did she believe Geoff Burns told the truth to his wife? “You’ve got to tell this to the police. You and Geoff.”

“No!”

“Do you believe your husband’s story about what happened Wednesday night?”

“Yes, of course. He would never lie to me.”

“Then tell Chief Van Alstyne. Geoff’s absence that night is going to come out sooner or later. If you wait until the police find out on their own, the two of you are going to look guilty as sin. Go to Van Alstyne’s office, tell him what you’ve just told me, admit that you were both royal idiots to lie about it, and offer to enroll Geoff in one of those driver education courses. Voluntarily.”

“What? There’s no way they can prove drunk driving after the fact—”

“We’re not talking about legalities, Karen, we’re talking about admitting you did something wrong and setting it right. Confession and repentance.” She braced her elbows on her knees. “Because on a moral and emotional level, you aren’t going to be able to continue on with this lie weighing you down. And because on a practical level, if you don’t cop to the drinking and driving and lying, your husband’s going to look like a murderer when the police do find out.”

Karen pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead, half-shielding her face from Clare’s direct stare. “There’s a good chance they won’t find out,” she said, trying the idea on for size.

Clare exploded out of the love seat. “There’s no chance Chief Van Alstyne won’t find out, Karen, because if you don’t tell him, I will!”

“You can’t do that!”

“I can’t tell him anything of this conversation we’re having right now, no. I can certainly tell him Ms. Dunkling of the Department of Human Services called me to complain that your husband was at Cody’s foster mother’s house Wednesday night. And I can tell him Deborah McDonald confirmed Geoff was upset and smelled like he’d been drinking.”

Clare collapsed back into the love seat. “I’ll do everything I can to help you talk to the police. I’ll do everything I can to help you become Cody’s parents. But I won’t compromise the truth for you. I won’t help you stand in the way of finding Katie McWhorter’s killer. We owe her that. We all owe her that.”

“You’re lucky he’s in. Five minutes more and you would have missed him.” Harlene punched the intercom button on her heavy, licorice-colored telephone. “Chief? Reverend Clare’s here to see you. And Karen Burns.”

The door to his office banged open and the chief of police strode out. His gaze flicked between Clare and Karen, back to Clare, finally settling on Mrs. Burns. “What can I do for you ladies?”