Wascomb shook his head. “The implication, of course, was promiscuity. I took a closer look at Drew, learned of his lies, and expelled him. We’ve had no contact since then.”

“And Cherish left with him,” I said. “Because she was a dutiful wife?”

“Because she was ashamed. As I said, we’re a small community.” He fooled with his fork. “How is Cherish, nowadays? Are they still together?”

“They are.”

“Has Drew repented?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“I always hoped she’d find peace . . . now you’re here asking questions about her.”

“They may come to nothing, sir.”

“Is she . . . has she maintained herself as a woman of character, Dr. Delaware? Or has Drew’s influence polluted her soul?”

If you only knew. I said, “From what I can tell, she continues to do good works.”

“And him? What’s he up to?”

“The same.”

His eyes got flinty. “There’s a lesson for you, Dr. Delaware. Judging behavior isn’t always sufficient. It’s what’s beneath the surface that matters.”

“How do you measure that, sir?”

“You don’t,” he said. “We don’t.”

He got up to leave. “God does the measuring.”

“One more question, Dr. Wascomb. Cherish told me Troy Turner was buried on the grounds of your school.”

He placed a hand on the table, as if needing support. “That’s partially true.”

“How so?”

“Cherish asked me— begged me. We’ve got a small cemetery in San Bernardino. For faculty and indigent individuals recommended by donors and other trustworthy people. We view it as a community service.”

“Cherish qualified as a trustworthy person.”

“She still does, Dr. Delaware, unless there’s something you tell me that suggests otherwise.”

I didn’t answer.

He said, “Affording that boy hallowed ground was compassion for the sinner. After some deliberation I felt it would be appropriate. We provided the boy with a service.”

“Who attended?”

“Cherish and myself and my wife.”

“Not Drew.”

“Drew, as well,” he said. “He wanted to lead the service. I decided to do it myself.”

“What about Troy’s mother?”

“No,” said Wascomb. “Cherish said she had tried to reach the woman but was unable. I remember the day. Late spring, nice weather, the air was clean. Small coffin, it barely made a sound as they lowered it into the ground.” He placed money on the table.

I said, “On me.”

“No, I won’t hear of it.”

“Split check, then.”

“All right.” He smiled at me.

“Sorry if this was upsetting, Dr. Wascomb.”

“No, no, you’re doing important work.” He turned to leave, stopped. Touched my shoulder. “The boy did a terrible thing, Dr. Delaware, but you’d never know it to look at that coffin.”

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 30

Heather came by and eyed Wascomb’s uneaten food. “Do you want a doggy bag?”

“No, thanks.”

She followed Wascomb’s slow walk out the door. “He barely touched his food. Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.”

“Is he your dad?”