"How did she trick him?" Frank asked. 

"Leslie told Bobby she was pregnant," Mrs. Lenin informed a surprised Frank.  "Then, after they were married, she had a miscarriage."

"You mean she lied about being pregnant and pretended to have a miscarriage?" Frank asked, trying to understand what she was telling him.

"No, she was really pregnant.  But Bobby had no intention of marrying her if she hadn't been," Mrs. Lenin explained.

"But it wasn't her fault she had a miscarriage?" Frank asked.

"She could have gotten pregnant again," Mrs. Lenin said.

"Wait a minute," Frank ordered.  "You hated Devon and Leslie because you weren't given a grandchild?" he demanded in disbelief.

"I know it's petty," she admitted.  "But I wanted to be a grandmother so bad."

"But you were," Frank pointed out.  "Devon was your grandson."

"Bobby's step-son," Mrs. Lenin corrected him.  "Not the same thing."

"I was told your son loved Devon very much," Frank commented.

"He did," she concurred.  "And Devon despised Bobby for taking his father's place."

"Another reason you hated Devon," Frank stated.

"I didn't exactly hate Devon," she denied.  "I resented him."

"Enough to kill him?" Frank demanded.

"No!" Mrs. Lenin denied hotly.  "Oh, I wished Bobby would divorce Leslie, but he does love her.  I wanted her, and Devon, out of mine and Bobby's lives, but now, I have lost them and Bobby."

"Excuse me?" Frank asked in confusion.

"Bobby, my own son, believes I may have killed Devon.  He came here less than a week after Devon died and accused me of having something to do with it," she said, starting to cry.  "He left and I haven't talked to him or seen him since," she ended.

Frank looked at the distraught woman, hoping Joe was having an easier time than he was.

When Joe arrived at the Barley's, Jim was playing chutes and ladders with Chet, and Iola was helping Mrs. Barley with dinner.  "Hey," Joe said from the screen door in the kitchen.  "Can I join in?"

"Of course," Mrs. Barley declared, rushing over to unlatch the screen so Joe could come inside.  "You're always welcome."

"Where's Frank?" Iola asked as Joe came inside.

"He went to see Devon's grandmother," Joe told her.  "Mrs. Barley, would it be okay if I stayed with you and Jim for a few days?" he asked, turning to look at her.

"Well, of course, dear," she replied, her face taking on a concerned look.  "You think Jim needs a full time bodyguard?"

"I think Jim may have met someone, or seen something, recently, which is why he is in danger.  If his schedule hasn't changed that much over the last month, then maybe I can find out who or what," he explained.

"Joe's staying?" Jim asked, excited.  "All night?"

"At least," Joe answered him, going over and sitting down beside him.  "Can I play?"

"Sure," Chet said, standing up and stretching.  "Let him beat you for awhile."

"Chet's lost the last four games," Iola informed Joe, grinning over at her sour faced brother.

"Did you learn anything from Agent Thompson?" Chet asked as Joe and Jim began their game.

"Not really," Joe replied before telling them about the visit.

"So, you don't need us to stay here now?" Chet asked when Joe had finished.  Joe shook his head.

"But please don't leave until after dinner," Mrs. Barley begged Chet and Iola.

"Chet leave before a meal?" Iola asked in mock shock, her expression one of exaggerated surprise.  "Perish the thought."

Iola helped Mrs. Barley with the dishes and then she and Chet went home.  Mrs. Barley let Joe browse through her date books as she and Jim got ready to attend the evening mass.

Joe spent the thirty minutes it took them to get ready, reviewing the notations in the datebook.  It didn't appear much different from the one he had given the police. And, except for a weekly session with Father Ramster, Jim's schedule had remained the same all year.

"Mrs. Barley, why has Jim started seeing Farther Ramster every week?" Joe inquired once they were on their way to mass in Mrs. Barley's car.

"Jim is going to officially join the church and be baptized," she informed Joe proudly.  "Father Ramster normally has a class where he covers all the information, but because of Jim's disability, he has been giving Jim private lessons."

"He sounds like a nice guy," Joe said, also remembering Frank's favorable impression of him.

"Oh, he is," Mrs. Barley quickly agreed.  "You'll get to see for yourself in a few minutes."

"Father Ramster!  Father Ramster!" Jim called out as the three entered St. Francis' church.  Father Ramster looked up from the book he held in his hands and smiled as he recognized the Barleys.  He closed the book, set it down, then came to meet them.

"Hello, Jim, Daisy," Father Ramsey greeted the Barleys.  "And who have we here?" he inquired, looking at Joe.

"This is my friend, Joe," Jim introduced Joe to Father Ramster.  "He's spending the night with me," he added, his eyes shining happily.

"Wonderful!" Father Ramster told Jim, putting his left hand on Jim's shoulder.  "It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he said, taking Joe's hand and giving it a firm handshake.  "Jim has mentioned you so often, I feel I know you already."

"How do you do, Sir?" Joe asked, returning the handshake.

"I'm glad you could be here," Father Ramster continued.  "Will you be staying after mass while Jim and I have our session?"

"Yes, Sir," Joe answered.  "I'm staying with the Barley's for a few days."

"Excellent!" Father Ramster enthused.  "Perhaps we can talk later?  Right now, I must prepare for mass."

After mass, Mrs. Barley went to chat with Sister Anna while Jim went with Father Ramster. Joe, left alone, wandered around inside the church, looking at the various paintings and statues.  After half an hour, he stepped outside.

He wandered around the grounds, noticing the differences between the church located inside of the town and the one he attended on the outskirts.  It was a shame, but people seemed to have no respect.  The side of the church had been sprayed with graffitti and there was a can of white paint with a brush lying near the area.  Part of the graffiti had already been painted over, but the vulgar message was still obvious.

Having some time to kill, Joe picked up the brush and began where the previous painter had left off.  After he had finished, he looked at his watch and decided he had better get back inside.  Jim's session should be over any time now.  He laid the brush down and returned inside. 

He stepped into the restroom and washed up, then went and took a seat on one of the pews.  He heard a noise and before he could turn around, something crashed down on the back of his head and he crumpled to the floor between the pews, out of sight.

Let the author know what you think of this story