I can’t begin to tell you the things I discovered while I was looking for something else. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Most of science works this way. The obvious answers usually come indirectly. After Melanie’s confessions last night, I know enough to know I have to delay killing her. At least for a little while.

I realize it’s cliché to insinuate that a man should make a decision with his appendage. But I am, after all, a man and I am finding there is apparently something to that cliché.

If I’d rather not kill Melanie, on account of the sex—and the fact that I’ve pretty much solved the problem of her being expensive to keep around—and I am forced to make a move on one of Mark’s targets, at least there’s a silver lining in the whole thing. My lovely wife gave me another clue last night when she mentioned Josie Dunn.

A clue that deserves an in-person visit.

After three days, we fly home. Being with Melanie no longer grates on my nerves the way it used to. Well, not most of the time. She makes me think things could be different. I’m concerned I might actually be starting to like her.

This is a problem when determining whether or not she lives or dies. It’s akin to naming a puppy you know you can’t keep.

I know I shouldn’t let a prick like Mark determine the course of my life. But he holds all the keys.

Even if he didn’t kill me— say if I left the church and made a run for it—he’d have leverage. I’m not exactly an innocent bystander in the acts the church has committed. I know what goes on. I know how they manipulate and control, the allegations of abuse. I know about the payouts, the bribes, and the hush money. I’m their accountant, after all. Half of my job is seeing that funds are disguised as other things.

Unfortunately, that’s not all he has on me. Mark has hours and hours of video straight from the deepest recesses of my mind. The cover for Mark, his idea, a valid front for New Hope is that it’s in the business of rehabilitation. He started it when he wanted to rehabilitate Michael from his alcoholism. Well, let me assure you, this makes for good business. Everybody has a vice. Everyone. Some are worse than others. But a crutch is a crutch. And most people are running from something. From the get-go, I wasn’t willing to give up much. But I was wise enough to know I had to give something. If Mark’s goal was to rehabilitate me, the best I could offer him was my past.

Back then, New Hope wasn’t that sophisticated. Back then, Mark liked to do his bidding himself. He hadn’t yet learned who he could trust. So, he saw to my ‘healing sessions’ personally.

They always began and ended the same way. First, we would sit in a room adjacent to one another. He would start by asking me a single question. It got worse from there. His goal: to free me from my painful past. I’m an introvert. Up until that point, most of my life had not been that exciting.

Mark thought by talking through painful memories, it would help.

And you know what? To my amazement, it did. For a while.

Those sessions were the only time, except when June was killed, that I’ve ever cried. I cried for Michael and for Aunt Jeanie and for the father I hardly knew. He himself always said it was better not to feel. Logic runs low when emotion runs high. I didn’t see the truth in that. Not then.

At the time, I’d hit a low point. It felt like I had a friend again.

The sad part is that’s not the main reason I gave Mark what he wanted. I did it because I wanted to keep my job and my house. Most importantly, I wanted to keep my family intact. June would have left. Eventually, if not right off the bat. And I would have let her go. I knew the kind of life she wanted for herself and the kids. I had been working twenty-hour days just to provide it. The ability to keep it up was quickly slipping through my fingers. There was always more, and I knew she would have found some excuse to get it, and I knew it wouldn’t have included me. It wasn’t that she didn’t love me. It was that we both knew she deserved better. After all, it wasn’t her that had changed the unspoken rules of our agreement. It was me. I’m the one who let Michael fool me. I’m the one who nearly caused us to lose everything.

“Do you miss June?” Melanie asks one afternoon out of the blue. Sometimes I think she’s clairvoyant.

“Yes,” I say. I should lie. I’ve read enough to know that women don’t like to know you’re thinking of another woman. It doesn’t matter if that woman is dead.

But I don’t lie. I don’t want to betray June more than I already have.

“I thought so.”

Her eyes lit up. To say this reaction is unexpected would be an understatement. “I think we should do a little role playing.”

“That’s not funny.”

She comes closer. “I hadn’t meant it to be.”

I swallow hard.

“I want to learn everything about you,” she says in that sultry way of hers. “I want to be the best lover you’ve ever had.”

I take a step back. God, she’s good. Already, just the way she is. With slight tweaking, I can’t imagine. Which brings me to my biggest problem yet—I really think I could love this one.

“Do you miss it?” I ask Josie.

I’m seated on her new sofa in her new condo downtown. It overlooks the city, and I should be surprised she’d trade the suburbs in for this, but I’m not. Josie has the illusion of safety here. She likes being at the top, looking down at others.

“Me? Miss the church?” She thinks about my question for a long while. I realize, glancing down at my watch, that I should have called and asked for a visit. I can see she’s in shock. Everything is taking longer than it needs to. It’s rude to show up unannounced, and I abhor rudeness. But I knew she wouldn’t have agreed to see me. So, I apologize once again.

“Sometimes,” she tells me finally. She sucks in a breath and holds it. At some point, she lets go. “Under different circumstances, maybe I could have made it work.” She pauses and then turns to meet my eye. “But I assume you aren’t here to learn about my regrets.”

I don’t respond. Not at first. I tell her I like her place.

She crosses the living area and comes to a stop by the window. “Who sent you to spy on me?”

“I’m not here to spy.”

“Let me guess…Beth? Mark?”

“No one.”

She rolls her neck. “Adam? Cheryl?”

I see her point. People work as teams at New Hope. Usually husband and wife. But not always. That’s part of the reason I’m here.

“No,” I tell her. “No one sent me.”

“How are Adam and Cheryl these days?”

“Fine.” I haven’t a clue.

“I do miss them,” she offers, looking over her shoulder at me. “They were a fun couple. You know, the kind that’s for real.”

I know what she’s talking about. I didn’t come here for fun or for gossip.

Josie looks away again, out at the expanse of the city. “And Melanie? How is she?”

“She’s great.”

“Adjusting, then.”

I nod. She can see this is not why I’ve come either.

“Those old neighbors of yours…” I start. I pause to pull my phone from my pocket. I need time to gage her reaction. “Do you have any way of getting in touch with them?”

She turns on her heel. “The Becks?”

“No.” I shake my head. “The other ones. Jude, I think his name was. And her name was—”

“Kate.” She finishes my sentence.

“That’s right.” I hold up my finger. “It’s coming to me now… Kate. Kate Anderson. Same as mine.”

“It’s a common name,” she tells me. Her expression gives nothing away.

“Yes. And you know…I always liked them. They say people like things that are familiar.”

Her brow raises.

“Remember they had that party that time, and that woman OD’d in the bathroom?”

“Yes,” she says.

Her memory makes me smile. It means success in getting what I’ve come for. “Man, they were interesting.”

“Trust me,” she tells me, heaving out a sigh. “They wouldn’t be good candidates for your church.”

“So you’re still in touch with them, then?”

“No, not really.” Her voice cracks.

“Do you have an address or a phone number? I remember Jude…didn’t he work for Maxicorp?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Well,” I sigh as I stand. Sometimes it’s important to get on eye level. This way she’ll know I’m as eager to get the hell out of here, as she is to see me go. “I’m in need of a contact there. And I thought of him.”

She seems to understand. Finally, she retrieves a number from her phone.

I look on, taking care not to appear too eager, as she scribbles it on a piece of paper. When she hands it to me I can see we both know I’m lying about the reason for needing it.

“Be careful,” she advises. I smile then. We have a secret, a bond.

“Thank you,” I say, and then I start for the door.

“Oh, and Tom…” Her voice stops me in my tracks. “Jude is a good guy. I bet he can help you out.”

I turn back. I know what she means. Her old neighbor is a contract killer. In effect, she’s saying with different words, that she knew all along. She wants me to know she understands why I’ve come.

“But you know the saying…never wrestle with a pig. You just get dirty, and the pig enjoys it.”

“Yes,” I tell her. “I’m familiar with it.”

A tight smile plays across her face. “Just wanted to make sure.”