Hanging by a Thread by Monica Ferris Page B

and the shame in her eyes about broke my heart, but she hurried away when I tried to talk to her, and didn’t come to church for two Sundays after that. So that’s when I decided to put Foster in her way.”
    “Why Foster?”
    “Because he seemed to be a good man, a nice man—and he had a way of paying attention to people. He was an usher back then, and he could spot a child about to get sick or a woman about to faint or a man starting to nod off, and get them away before they disrupted the service—and so they wouldn’t embarrass themselves. And he was discreet, he never said a word to them or to anyone else afterward.”
    “Your church won’t let people nap during the sermon?” asked Betsy, amused and diverted.
    Alice smiled. “Oh, we don’t mind the napping, it’s the snoring that gets on people’s nerves. Especially during the sermon.”
    Betsy laughed, then sobered. “All right, you knew Foster had an eye for trouble and a talent for averting it. He told me how you did it, by mentioning to him that Angela seemed unhappy. What did you think he would do?”
    “The old-fashioned thing—throw a scare into Paul. Foster was taller than Paul, and he worked in construction, so he was strong. I wanted him to say something to Paul that would let him know we suspected he was cruel to Angela, and that he was prepared to take action if he wasn’t nicer. That might have been enough, if I was right that Paul cared very much what people thought of him. But ...” She sighed. “I had no idea Foster would fall in love with the girl. I feel very bad about that. And worse for what happened after.” She lifted her head toward the ceiling and the lights blanked her glasses, hiding the pain in her eyes. “I wish with all my heart I never, ever said anything to Foster.”
    “So you think Paul murdered Angela.”
    Her head came down. She was surprised at the question. “Yes, I think that’s most likely what happened. Abusive husbands, if they aren’t stopped, go further and further until at last they go all the way to murder. I have heard he has an alibi, but Mike Malloy was the investigator, and I’m afraid Mike is not always good at his job.”
    “Did you tell Foster what you suspected?”
    “No, of course not!”
    “But you do think Foster murdered Paul?”
    “I’m afraid that’s possible. That beating Paul was given before he was shot, that’s the kind of thing an angry man would do. I can well understand that anger, I was angry myself when I heard Angela was dead.” She was silent for a few seconds, then said bravely, because she was a good Christian and this went against her beliefs, “Betsy, if you find evidence that Foster killed Paul for murdering Angela, can I persuade you not to tell anyone? No matter how awful it is for Foster now, it would be far worse if he went to prison for murdering a man who badly needed to be killed.”
    Betsy said, as gently as she could, “I’m not sure it could be worse than what he’s dealing with now. Nor am I convinced he did it.”
    Alice’s homely face lit up. “Have you found something out?”
    “No, nothing concrete. But don’t you see? That’s why I have to keep looking. If he didn’t do it, the agony he’s been going through for these past years is a gross injustice. And it’s been hurting you as well, because you’re blaming yourself for being an accessory. Just ask yourself: How would you feel if you found out for certain Foster was innocent?”
    Alice blinked slowly, then nodded. “If you really could do that ... Oh my, what a tremendous relief to have that burden lifted! Yes, then I hope you will continue your investigation. And may God guide you in your efforts.”
     
    Betsy went back to her shop to find no customers, and Godwin in an interesting mood, cheeks pink and his movements somewhere between preening and strutting, as if he’d won a fight.
    “Guess who was here,” he said as soon as she hung up her coat.
    “Who?”
    “Foster Johns.