Chapter 8

The county prosecutor called me three days later. Her name was Marilyn Cho. She had a calm, no-nonsense voice. She asked if I could come to Rutland for a meeting.

I borrowed Doreen’s car. The roads were still icy, but the plows had been through. The drive took an hour. I spent most of it with my hands on my belly, feeling the baby kick.

Marilyn met me in a conference room with a coffee machine and a window that looked out over a frozen parking lot. She had the carbon copy on the table in front of her, inside a plastic evidence bag.

“This is good work,” she said. “The forged signature. The missing deposits. The payments to Cutler. We’ve already subpoenaed his bank records.”

“What about Eli’s recording?”

“We have a copy. The original is still with the sheriff’s department. It’s the key piece. Cutler ordered the theft. Kyle carried it out. We’re charging them both.”

“Kyle’s the pastor,” I said. “The church council will protect him.”

Marilyn shook her head. “Not after this. The state’s attorney is filing charges of elder abuse, financial exploitation, and forgery. Kyle could face ten to fifteen years. Cutler’s looking at more.”

I let out a breath. “What about Eli?”

“He’s the beneficiary of the trust. With Kyle out of the picture, the court will appoint a new trustee. Probably a neutral party. The land won’t be sold.”

“And me?”

Marilyn hesitated. “The social worker’s report was favorable. You’re not unfit. You’re a victim. But Kyle’s lawyer is going to try to paint you as unstable. They’ll bring up the pregnancy. They’ll say you were hysterical.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I know. But we need to be prepared.” She slid a piece of paper across the table. “This is a list of resources. Legal aid. Counseling. Temporary housing. You don’t have to stay in that parsonage.”

I looked at the paper. Then I looked out the window at the gray sky.

“I want to go to my sister’s,” I said. “In New Hampshire. She has a guest room.”

“That’s a good plan. I’ll let the court know.”

I drove back to Barlow’s Reach with the heater on full blast. The baby kicked the whole way.