She was stunned. She had never expected him to be connected in any way to her investigation. She reminded herself, however, to proceed with caution. She was, after all, extremely skeptical. What deep, dark secrets could this weird little man know about Celina, Reede Lambert, or the Mintons? Ministers were privy to confidences, but experience had taught her that professional ethics usually prevented them from revealing any confessions. They strictly abided by the rules of privileged information, and only imparted it in life-threatening situations.
It didn’t seem likely that either Angus or Junior would bare his soul to a mousy little man like Plummet. Based wholly on outward appearance, he would have a minimal amount of influence with the Almighty. The thought of Reede Lambert confessing a sin was preposterous.
She responded with a professional detachment that Greg Harper would have been proud of: “Oh, really? How can you do that? Did you know my mother?”
“Unfortunately, no. But I can speed along your investigation just the same. We—my congregation of saints and I—believe that you’re on our side. And our side is God’s side.”
“Th-thank you,” she stammered, hoping that was the correct response.
Obviously, it was. It earned a soft amen from Mrs. Plummet, who had been silently praying all this time.
“Reverend Plummet,” Alex said uncertainly, “I’m not sure you understand. I’m here at the behest of the district attorney’s office to—”
“The Lord uses people as his holy instruments.”
“—to investigate the murder of my mother, which occurred here in Purcell twenty-five years ago.”
“God be praised… that this wrong… will soon be set right!” He shook his fists heavenward.
Alex was flabbergasted. She gave a nervous laugh. “Yes, well, I hope so, too. But I fail to see how my investigation concerns you and your ministry. Do you have inside knowledge of the crime?”
“Oh, that I did, Miss Gaither,” Plummet wailed. “Oh, that I did, so that we could speed along God’s work and punish the iniquitous.”
“The iniquitous?”
“Sinners!” he shouted fervently. “Those who would corrupt this town and all the innocent children of God living here. They want to build Satan’s playground, fill the precious veins of our children with narcotics, their sweet mouths with foul liquor, their fertile little minds with carnality.”
From the corner of her eye, Alex glanced at Mrs. Plummet, who sat with her head bowed, her hands folded in her lap, her knees and ankles decorously pressed together, as though they had been glued that way.
“Are you referring to Purcell Downs?” Alex asked tentatively.
Just as she had feared, the very words opened up a wellspring of evangelical fervor. Prophecies came spewing out of the preacher’s mouth like a fountain run amok. Alex endured a sermon on the evils of horse-race gambling and all the ungodly elements that accompanied it. But when Plummet began to tout her as a missionary sent to Purcell to vanquish the sons of Satan, she felt compelled to bring the fiery sermon to a halt.
“Reverend Plummet, please.” After several attempted interruptions he stopped speaking and looked at her blankly. She licked her lips anxiously, not wanting to offend him, but wanting to make herself explicitly clear.
“I have absolutely nothing to do with whether or not Minton Enterprises is granted a gambling license. The fact is that they’ve already been approved by the racing commission. All that remains are the formalities.”
“But the Mintons are under investigation for murder.”
Choosing her words carefully, and omitting any direct reference to the Mintons, she said, “If enough evidence or probable cause is found as a result of my investigation, the case could be brought before the grand jury. It would be up to it to bring forth an indictment. In any instance, the parties involved are to be presumed innocent until proven guilty, in accordance with our Constitution.”
She held up a hand to stave off his interruption. “Please, let me finish. Whatever happens regarding the proposed racetrack after I conclude my investigation will be the responsibility of the racing commission. I will have nothing to do with its final decision on this or any other application for a gambling license.
“Actually, it’s coincidental that the Mintons are personally involved with both issues simultaneously. I reope
ned my mother’s murder case because, as a public prosecutor, I was dissatisfied with its resolution, and thought that it warranted further investigation. I do not hold a personal grudge against this town, or anyone in it.”
Plummet was squirming with the need to speak, so she let him. “You don’t want to see gambling come to Purcell, do you? Aren’t you against this device of the devil that snatches food from children’s mouths, destroys marriages, and plunges the weak onto paths bound for hell and damnation?”
“My views on pari-mutuel betting—or anything else, for that matter—are none of your business, Reverend Plummet.” Alex came to her feet. She was tired, and he was a wacko. She’d given him more time than he deserved. “I must ask you and Mrs. Plummet to leave now.”
He wasn’t an educated and eloquent churchman, who had researched the issue and drawn enlightened conclusions. There were well-founded arguments for both sides. But whether pari-mutuel gambling came to Purcell County or not, Alex had nothing to do with it.
“We’re not giving up,” Plummet said, following her to the door. “We’re willing to make any sacrifice to see that God’s will is carried out.”
“God’s will? If it’s God’s will that the Mintons be denied that gambling license, then nothing you do will help or hinder, right?”
He couldn’t be trapped with logic. “God uses us to do his work. He’s using you, though you might not know it yet.” His eyes smoldered with fanatical fire. It gave Alex goose bumps. “You are the answer to our prayers. Oh, yes, Miss Gaither, the answer to our prayers. Call on us. You’ve been anointed by God, and we’re your humble and willing servants.”