40 years. And last night I got on my knees and this morning God dropped this on my porch. I am not turning my back on it. Doc looked at him a long time. Then he nodded.
All right, Preacher. All right. I'll get the boys together. We're here for three more nights anyway for the memorial. I'll tell them we're staying longer.
Thank you, Doc. Don't thank me. Tell me what you want. I want a perimeter. I want the diner watched.
I want her house watched. I want somebody on Deputy Weathers and I want to know everything there is to know about Donnie Ray Brennan by sundown tomorrow. Done. Doc walked to the door. He stopped.
Preacher? Yeah. When you prayed last night, what did you say? Wade was quiet. I said, Lord, if you're still there, give me one good thing to do before I'm done.
Doc nodded. Sounds like he heard you. He walked out. It was Wednesday when Delia told Roz everything. She had held it two days.
She had come to work. She had smiled. She had poured coffee. She had counted out $1,500 in cash that her regulars had started slipping her in strange amounts. 20 here, 50 there.
One old rancher handed her a $100 bill and said, "Darling, I had a good week at the auction." She knew something was happening. She did not know what. But by Wednesday afternoon, the fear in her chest had grown too big to hold. She was in the back room with Roz stacking clean coffee cups.
Roz? Mhm. My cousin came to my house Monday night. Roz stopped moving. Donnie Ray?
Yes. What did he want? He said my daddy owed him $40,000. He said I have 7 days to pay it. He said if I don't Her voice broke.
He said he would hurt Ezra. Roz set the cup down. She walked around the counter. She took Delia's face in her small hard hands. She looked at her a long moment.
"Child," she said, "you are going to listen to me now. You are going to breathe and then you are going to go out the back door and you are going to stand on the porch and wait and help is coming. Do you hear me? Help is already here." "Roz, I can't I can't" "You did your part, child.
You did your part two days ago when you stood up in my diner. Now other people are going I'm going to do theirs. That is how it works. That is how it has always worked. Now go."
Delia went out the back door. She stood on the porch in the cold. She did not know what she was waiting for. 20 minutes later Wade Caldwell's shovelhead pulled into the gravel lot. He walked up to her slow.
He did not crowd her. "Ma'am," he said, "Wade. I hear you had a visitor Monday night." She swallowed. Who told you?
Roz, just now before I rode over here, but I knew before that. I've known since yesterday. How? "Ma'am, there are about 30 men staying at the Starlight Motel who work for free when I ask them to. They have been watching your house since Tuesday morning.
There is a man in a truck across the street from your house right now. There is another man parked in the church lot behind your alley. There is a third man who follows Donnie Ray everywhere he goes. Donnie Ray does not know it. He will not know it until it is too late."
Delia stared at him. Why are you doing this? "Because your brother has the face of a boy I loved. Because your mother taught you to stand up. Because my mother taught me to stand up for women who stand up.
And because I prayed Monday night for the first time in 30 years and Tuesday morning God put you in front of me. I do not turn away from that, ma'am. Not this time." She did not know what to say. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a worn leather Bible, pressed it into her hands.
"This was my wife's. I gave it to her when we got married in 1972. I took it back when she passed. I have carried it for a lot of years. I'd like you to keep it for a few days.
You read scripture, ma'am. I used to. Start again." She held the Bible to her chest. "Wade, I have to tell you something.
I don't have $40,000. I don't have 400. I don't know what he wants from me. I don't know what he's going to do." Wade looked at her.
"Ma'am, listen to me now. Listen carefully. He does not want $40,000. He never wanted $40,000. He wants something else.
And I think I know what it is. And I am going to find out for certain tonight. And tomorrow I am going to come to your house and I am going to tell you the truth. And you are going to be angry at me for a while. And then we are going to decide together what to do.
Is that a deal?" She nodded. She could not speak. He tipped his skull cap. "Good evening, ma'am."
He walked back to his bike. She stood on the porch with the Bible pressed to her chest long after the sound of his engine had faded. Deputy Carl Weathers was 47 years old. He had been a deputy in Ashfield County for 22 years. He had a wife he loved, two boys in high school, a mortgage and a boat, and a good dog named Hank.
He had never taken a dollar in his life until 3 years ago. 3 years ago his oldest boy had wrecked a car while drunk and put a girl in a wheelchair. The family had not wanted to press charges if the medical bills were paid. The bills were $290,000. Carl Weathers did not have $290,000.
Donnie Ray Brennan did. And that was how Carl Weathers had become the kind of man he had spent his whole life arresting. He had not slept well in 3 years. He was sitting in his cruiser outside the Quick Stop Wednesday night when a shadow came up alongside his driver's window. He reached for his sidearm.