“The way it works,” Lydia continued, “is you put us in touch with some of your people who need immediate help. We get them started on the grieving process and walk with them until they feel strong enough to finish it themselves. You know it takes years and we just want to help them understand what they should expect. We also furnish reading materials. You may be familiar with the ‘You Are Not Alone’ series.” Lydia reached into her bag for more glossy hand outs.
Karen nodded, although the title made her chuckle every time she heard it. The back of the book proclaimed that it is about how “God is with us, and so are others.” Karen thought “You are Not Alone” sounded like, at best, a threat from outer space aliens, and at worst a treatise on voyeurism. But the book was widely used in the grief classes offered from time to time at Church On The Wall. It was standard fare for grief counselors and it would have been odd if Lydia had not been using it.
Lydia continued, “We have a 30-day, 60-day, and a 90-day plan. We check with you every 30 days and provide a progress report and we discuss how long to continue. Like your church, we are fully non-denominational. We do not compete with you, and as I said, we do not accept funds from people who are grieving.”
“Let me talk to the pastor,” Karen said, “and I’ll get back to you.”
“I so appreciate that, and I apologize again for barging in like this without an appointment. You are so busy, and you have been so nice to talk to me.” Lydia leaned forward and held out a heavy stock resume. “My resume. If you are anything like us, you need to know who you are dealing with. Since I am assigned to your area I want you to be confident in my qualifications and references.”
Karen took the resume and slipped on her reading glasses. “You have a Ph.D. in psychology as well as your M. Div.” Wow. All Karen had was half of a two-year certificate from the local junior college. “And you have James Dillon as a reference.” James was a prominent member of Church on the Wall, recently elected to the Board of Directors. Mr. Dillon probably didn’t even know Karen’s name.
“Yes, I personally helped James through a difficult time in his life.”
“When his first wife died?” Karen asked.
“Yes, exactly.” Lydia was visibly impressed by Karen’s knowledge. “James is such a fine man. He spoke so highly of your congregation. I have always wanted to work with you. I’m sorry if I am being too aggressive, Karen, but James really thinks this would be a good fit. I’d like to know what you think about it; see if this is something you think would be a good fit for Church on the Wall since you seem to be the one that’s really ‘in the know’ in this place.” A smile. It was ‘girl’ to ‘girl’ chat now, Lydia closing the sale.
What a nice woman, Karen flushed, so educated and polished, and yet so humble. People who came in to see Karen were always so demanding, even demeaning at times. And here was a woman representing an organization that had both hands extended, hoping to help heal the broken people suffering with grief. Why not give her a chance? After all, she was recommended by no less than James Dillon, who’d just paid the tab for the Dillon Sports Complex for the youth program. Dillon contributed a healthy chunk of money to fund the budget every year.
“I’ll tell you what.” Karen made the decision fast enough that she could still get those coneys. “We have a member of our church that died yesterday, a relatively young woman, and it was a tragic accident.”
Karen thought she saw tears in Lydia’s eyes. What a dear she was! She just couldn’t let Lydia go away empty-handed. Shuffling through the neat pile on her desk she found Erin’s information. “I have the name of her daughter. I will call her myself after lunch and tell her that you are going to come by to visit with her. She is actually not one of our members, but a family member, and I think it is appropriate for us to do something for her.” She sealed the transaction internally with a nod. She had the authority to make decisions as Pastor’s secretary, and this was one that would be good for all.
Karen scribbled Erin’s name, address, and phone number on the back of her business card and held it out to Lydia.
“Erin Griffin. What was the mother’s name?”
“Her name was Liz. She died yesterday.”
“Oh, yes, I remember seeing that on the news. How tragic. I am sure I’ll be able to help Erin get through this. I lost my own mother when I was just 12 years old.”
“I’m so sorry,” Karen said.
“It was difficult, and a real uphill battle for me to get through,” Lydia said as she stood. “I think that was part of the impetus that led me to the line of work I am in. Fortunately, my late husband left me with enough money to live on without working, so I am able to donate my time and efforts to make sure that people like Erin have an easier time than I did.”
Lydia smiled a bittersweet smile and extended her hand to Karen.
Karen shook hands with Lydia, and walked Lydia to the door feeling a great sense of accomplishment. Rocky would be pleased.
And now for those coneys! She would reward herself with extra cheese.
6
‘Lydia’ walked to her tan Ford Taurus placing each step deliberately, controlling her pace in case Karen was watching. Her gait was self-assured but demure.
“Lydia” was one of her favorites. She was a confidant to women, and an untouched beauty to men. Women, at first tense and ready for condescension, relaxed easily in conversation when they encountered this sweet refined woman and her gentle approach. Lydia never met anyone lesser than she. The combination of beauty and humility worked especially well with anyone who was used to being told what to do, and receptionist Karen was proof of that.
With men, it was more fun. Lydia was the yet unspoiled “trophy” with the big heart. She was unaware of her prowess for the most part, never sensing men noticing her. The low-maintenance Lydia was a fantasy conquest, rolling out her show slowly with a shy, almost awkward rhythm. Weaving like a trout lure, her practiced responses glittered in the dank sea of prospects, the hook setting with the unspoken promise: maybe. Maybe with some persistence and fortitude, sweet Lydia could be unleashed into the perfect mistress, as James Dillon had found out last night.
What an easy mark Dillon had been! One trip to his office to ask for his help on an architectural problem and she had him where she wanted him. It was just enough of an encounter to allow her to drop his name at the church office the next day, without fear of exposure.
By the time Lydia was signaling left out of the parking lot, she’d already crumpled the card with Erin’s information. She didn’t need it; she just needed another hole to slither through, and Karen had provided that.
Lydia congratulated herself on her efficiency. They hadn’t been pleased that she’d killed Liz without finding what she needed. If she got it from Liz’s daughter, so what? She’d turned her mistake into an opportunity.
7
Lydia’s Taurus idled in the early evening at Walgreens. This was Erin’s route when visiting her mother, and it wasn’t the first time she’d waited just out of sight of the exterior front door camera for Erin’s dark green Toyota Corolla to round the busy corner. Erin was due any moment.
Lydia had already been in Liz’s house several times in the last few weeks, but without success. She’d also tracked the movements of Liz’s daughter, just in case she needed a hostage.
She needed Erin—for the moment at least. Absentmindedly scratching the right side of her face, she traced the subtle scar. ‘Not yet.’ She whispered to no one. Killing was an option, but not before she’d found what