The Psalmist Read Online Free PDF Page A

calls later. I think right now I’m going to go out and try to do something worthwhile with my day. How does that sound?”
    â€œOh,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “That sounds just fine.”
    J ACKSON P YNNE TOOK a long drink of carry-­out coffee, then studied the headline on his screen, as if somehow it might have changed over the past forty-­five seconds:
    woman’s body found in church.
    Pynne gazed up at the traffic. He took another sip and looked again. Finally, he clicked the link.
    His thoughts ricocheted wildly as he read and reread the brief news account that appeared.
    Police are asking for the public’s help to identify a woman whose body was found yesterday morning at Tidewater Methodist Church, 7 Bayfront Drive.
    The Sheriff’s Department reports that the church’s head pastor discovered the woman when he arrived at work shortly after 7:30 A.M. The woman was reportedly seated in a pew inside the church sanctuary and looked at first to be praying. Police believe she had been dead for several hours.
    Sheriff’s Department spokeswoman Kirsten Sparks described the woman as Caucasian, between 30 and 40 years of age, with dark brown hair, brown eyes, 5’ 6” inches tall, weighing 115 pounds. The woman had a small tattoo of a serpent on her left ankle.
    Officials did not release the cause of death and would not speculate on why she was in the church. Sheriff Clay Calvert declined to discuss specific details of the case but said, “This is an active investigation and we’re looking at several leads.” Pastor Luke Bowers, who discovered the woman, was unavailable for comment.
    The case is being investigated by the county’s new Homicide Task Force, which includes members of the Sheriff’s Department, Tidewater Police Department, and Maryland State Police. The task force is under the direction of State Police Sgt. Amy Hunter.
    Hunter yesterday referred all media inquiries to Sheriff’s Department spokeswoman Kirsten Sparks.
    Each time Pynne read the story, he got stuck in the same place: “Caucasian”
    But, of course, that might’ve just been a mistake.
    He looked out at the highway and reached for his pack of Chesterfields. Either way, he knew that he had to go back. He could think of no other option at this point. He tapped out a cigarette and pushed it between his lips, struck a match and inhaled. And then, just briefly, he felt better.

 
    Chapter 3
    T HE E BB T IDE Inn had the faded look of an earlier time. Once, Amy Hunter imagined, it had been an inviting oasis beside the highway. Twelve clean rooms, affordable family rates, chairs beside each door, a small aqua-­colored swimming pool. Picnic table out back, a shady oak tree, horseshoe court, grills, hammock. A short drive downhill to a hard sand beach and a boat launch.
    But independent highway motels, and the type of family vacations that supported them, had become relics of an earlier time. And lazy, whimsical names like Ebb Tide had been abandoned in the rush for ser­vice and connectivity.
    Robby Fallow, too, seemed left over from another era—­a small, gritty man with brooding features who lived alone in a small wood-­frame cabin at the highway end of the motel. Anytime she passed the place at night, Hunter would see the light of his television flickering on the walls. Fallow worked the grounds during the day, although the motel’s appearance never seemed to improve; its name was fitting, Hunter thought, as she pulled into the entrance drive—­the tide going out, not coming in.
    She’d been thinking about Pastor Bowers on the drive over. Hunter had a good feeling about him. She liked the matter-­of-­fact way he’d told her about the shoe prints—­heavier coming in than going out. And she liked the knowing, slightly wry look in his eyes. He was someone who might be able to help her. Hunter was a meticulous but quirky