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There, gleaming softly under the harsh overhead light, sat a silver convertible.
“It came three days ago.” Randy ran his hand lovingly over the sleek curve of one fender. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“That it is.” I began to circle the car. I didn’t want to prick Randy’s balloon, but all I could think of was how inappropriate this expensive car was for a novice driver. The potential for a serious accident was incredible!
If Randy met a sycamore in this marvelous car, he would be in big trouble.
I bent down to peer inside. I might as well study the upholstery before it was drenched with Randy’s blood.
Someone had beaten Randy to it.
Blood stained the passenger seat and floor.
I knew there had to be very little, if any, left in the very dead man who slumped against the gray leather interior….
GAYLE ROPER
has always loved stories, and she’s authored more than forty books. Gayle has won a Romance Writers of America’s RITA® Award for Best Inspirational Romance and finaled repeatedly for both RITA® and Christy® awards, won three Holt Medallions, a Reviewers’ Choice Award, the Inspirational Readers Choice Contest and a Lifetime Achievement Award as well as the Award of Excellence. Several writers’ conferences have cited her for her contributions to the training of writers. Her articles have appeared in numerous periodicals including Discipleship Journal and Moody Magazine, and she has contributed chapters and short stories to several anthologies. She enjoys speaking at writers’ conferences and women’s events, reading and eating out. She adores her kids and grandkids, and loves her own personal patron of the arts, her husband, Chuck.
www.millsandboon.co.uk
When I am afraid, I will trust in you.
—Psalms 56:3
For Christine Tangvald with love.
You are a woman of God who knows how to live godly in Christ Jesus. And you are fun! I wouldn’t have missed all those writers’ conferences and Disney World visits for anything.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ONE
This time I got myself into trouble without Jolene’s help. Not that she didn’t contribute, but at least she wasn’t the cause. Edie was. Or rather, Edie’s husband.
Edie Whatley is my coworker at The News: The Voice of Amhearst and Chester County, where she is editor of the family page and a features writer. I’m a general reporter and features writer.
“Edie,” I called across the aisle that separated our desks. “Can I do the ironmonger’s mansion at Hibernia Park for the Great Homes of Chester County series?” I thought it would be fun to write about that the big pale orange home set on the knoll above the gently sloping lawn.
There was no response from Edie.
“Edie!”
Still nothing.
I frowned. It wasn’t like her not to answer, especially since she was doing nothing but staring at her CRT screen.
Then spoke Jolene, Queen of Tact. “Edie, what in the world’s the matter with you, woman? You’ve been a mess all day.”
“Jolene!” I was appalled, but I had to admit that she got Edie’s attention. Edie blinked, skewered by Jolene’s accusing gaze.
“Spill it,” Jolene demanded. “Is it Randy?” Randy was Edie’s fifteen-year-old son whose life journey kept all of us glued for the next painful installment.
“Randy’s fine,” Edie said.
Jolene and I looked at each other, then back at Edie.
“He is?” I blurted with more disbelief than was probably good for our friendship.
“Well, probably fine is too strong a word, but he’s not bad.”
“He’s not?” Jolene’s surprise was equally obvious.
Edie’s face scrunched momentarily as she understood what we had inadvertently revealed about our opinions of her son. Then she got huffy, Edie-style. “I said he’s fine.”
“Well, if it’s not Randy,” Jolene continued, unabashed at having hurt Edie, “then what? Is it Tom?”
Edie smiled too brightly. “Tom? What could possibly be wrong with him?”
A good question. He and Edie doted on each other and didn’t care who knew. Being around them was instant tooth decay due to the sweetness of their relationship. I don’t mean just lovey, which I happen to think is good, or considerate, which I happen to think is necessary. It was the touching, the patting, the unconscious back rubbing and collar adjusting.
Tom was Edie’s second husband, and therein lay part of Randy’s problems. He didn’t like his stepfather.
Not that Tom should take that lack of appreciation personally. Randy didn’t appear to like any adults. He also didn’t like many kids, and I strongly suspected he didn’t care much for himself either.
But Tom took the brunt of all the boy’s angst and anger. More than once, Edie had come to work teary-eyed, only to tell Jolene and me about Randy’s latest verbal abuse and disobedience.
Randy’s father was a giant of a man, all muscles, charm, and good looks, a certified financial planner who over the years had made a mint in the stock market both for himself and his clients. Randy resembled him in size and coloring, a fact that gave the boy immense pride.
Tom on the other hand was a slight man, five feet eight inches in his hiking boots, gentle, pleasant and balding.
“He’s a car salesman!” Randy would mock, as if automotive retail was on a par with prostitution.
“Is Tom sick?” I asked.
Edie shook her head. “Not that I know of.”
Not yes or no. Not that I know of.
“Did he lose his job?”
Edie actually smiled at the thought of Tom losing his job. “Hamblin Motors would fall apart without him.”
I nodded. Even I, a relative newcomer to Amhearst, knew that Tom was Hamblin’s mainstay. Of course, my major source for this information was Edie, and I recognized that she was a wee bit biased.
“He just won a trip for two to Hawaii because of his winter doldrums sales. Only ten prizes were awarded in the whole country, and he won one.”
“Hawaii?” Jolene looked impressed. “When do you go?”
“In three weeks.” Edie looked uncertain, then nodded. “In three weeks.”
“Then what are you so upset about?” Jolene wouldn’t let well enough alone. “I mean, Hawaii!”
“I’m not upset.”
“And I’m not Eloise and Alvin Meister’s little girl.” Poor Edie. She was about to be slaughtered on the altar of Jolene’s curiosity and need to know.
“Jo,” I said quickly, “I think your plants need watering.” If anything would distract Jo from Edie, it would be her plants.
Jolene glanced around the newsroom at the lush greenery that made the place resemble a nursery. A giant grape ivy that had once tried to eat me alive sat on the soda machine. A huge jade plant graced the filing cabinet, and spectacularly healthy African violets sat in perpetually blooming splendor on the sill of the big picture window by the editor’s desk
She shook her head as she checked the soil of the spider plant on her desk. Baby spider plants erupted from the stems like little green and white explosions. “They’re all fine. I watered them yesterday.” She checked my philodendron and Edie’s croton, then returned to her grilling undeterred.
“Come on, Edie. I know something’s wrong. Of all the people who work here, you’re the most stable.”
“What?” I turned to Jolene, irritated. I was unstable?
Jolene grinned at me. “We all know I’m an emotional wreck, though you’ve got to admit I’ve been getting better in recent weeks.”
She paused a minute, looking expectantly at Edie and me. After a short pause, we realized what she expected.
“Right,” Edie said hastily. “You’re getting better.”
I nodded. “It’s church. You’re listening to Pastor Hal.”
Jolene shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.” Church was new to her and still made her uncomfortable. She returned to her commentary on office personnel. “We all know our noble editor Mac is so on edge over the buyout of the paper that he can’t think straight.”
Edie and I nodded. Mac was certainly acting strangely though I thought maybe Dawn Trauber, director of His House, had as much to do with his foul mood as the paper.
“And you, Merry,” Jolene continued, “are so bemused over Curt that you’re always on some far mental planet.”
“I beg your pardon,” I said, miffed. “I am very much in control, aware and on top of things.”
She gave her patented snort, the unfeminine sound always a surprise coming from someone as lovely as Jolene. “That control and awareness are why Mac has been waving at you for the past five minutes, I guess?”
“What?” I looked quickly over my shoulder toward the editor’s desk. Sure enough, Mac was scowling at me so intensely that his eyebrows were one long line from temple to temple.
“You could have told me.” I rose and made my way toward Mac. “And Edie, ignore her. You don’t have to answer any of her questions.”
Jolene agreed. “We’ll wait for Merry. She wants to hear what’s got you in such a tizzy too.”
Edie smiled weakly at me as I walked past her desk. “I’m okay,” she said with all the spunk of a groveling puppy.
Suddenly Mac’s bellow tore through the newsroom. “Edie, for goodness’ sake. Get over here!”
I stopped and pivoted to return to my seat.
“Where are you going, Kramer?” Mac snarled.
“But you said Edie.”
“I want you both.”
I turned back and walked to his desk. Mac had been acting editor for the past several months while the News was for sale. Recently the paper had been purchased by a man named Jonathan Delaney Montgomery. As I saw it, the greatest danger in waiting for Mr. Montgomery to decide whether Mac still had a job wasn’t Mac’s career. It was the incipient development of ulcers in everyone in the newsroom.
I spoke softly across his cluttered desk. “Please be easy with Edie. She’s upset about something, and if you yell at her, it won’t be good.”
“You mean she’ll cry?” he asked in disgust.
“Could be.”
Mac looked at me with barely concealed contempt, whether directed at me for offering unwanted advice, or Edie for being a possible crier, I couldn’t tell. “I am always considerate of my people,” he barked.
I bit my tongue and said nothing.
He turned from me to Edie. “Now, Whatley, I’ve got a great assignment for you. I want you to do an article on spousal abuse.”
Edie shuddered and actually swayed. She put out a hand to steady herself, gripping Mac’s desk hard enough to whiten her knuckles.
“Edie.” I grabbed her elbow. “Are you all right?”
“And you, Kramer.” Mac plowed on as if he hadn’t noticed Edie’s distress, and he probably hadn’t. “You are to do a profile of Stephanie Bauer, director of that organization that helps abused wives. You know the one. It’s down a couple of blocks on Main Street.”
I kept hold of Edie. “You mean Freedom House?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Find out how the place works and see if you can interview some of the abused women. You know, tear-jerker stuff like you did with those pregnant girls at Christmas.”
I nodded. Not a bad assignment.
“You two are to work together on this thing.” Mac looked from Edie to me and back. “Got that?”
I nodded. Edie just turned away, removing herself from my support.
“Edie!” Mac’s voice was abrupt.
She turned a white face to him, but he didn’t see. He was looking at something on his desk.
“Do you understand what I want?”
“Yes. But I hate it.” The last was under her breath.
“What?” Mac demanded.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
I blinked as I followed Edie back to our desks. She hated this most interesting assignment?
“What’s wrong, Edie? And don’t tell me nothing,” I said as she opened her mouth to say just that. She even got the noth out.
Edie was a genuinely nice lady whose fine, light brown hair was cut shoulder length and hung straight, swaying when she turned her head. Her blue eyes were often sad though never more so than today. She wore all her clothes a size too small, not because she wanted to be sexy or provocative but because she kept hoping she’d lose that ten to fifteen pounds.
“Let it go, Merry. Please.” She turned abruptly and almost ran to the women’s room, a one-person operation where she could find privacy.
I watched her go, and as I turned back to my desk, I saw Jolene watching too.
“No more questions, Jo,” I said. “When she wants to tell us about it, she will.”
“You’re no fun.” But when Edie finally returned red-eyed to her desk, Jo kept quiet.
I spent the balance of the day reading about Freedom House in either our paper files or e-files or online. I learned it was established five years ago and that Stephanie Bauer had been its only director. I learned that in addition to providing counseling and comfort to abused wives, Freedom House sponsored training workshops for churches who wanted to know how to help abused women in their congregations.
I studied the pictures of Ms. Bauer and saw a woman of about forty, very slim and attractive with great dark eyes and dark curly hair.
“I was an abused wife,” she was quoted as saying in one article. “I know the fear and desperation of these women. I know their feelings of being powerless. I also know God can help them deal with the overwhelming helplessness. I know they can live again.”
How did she learn to live again? What specifics marked her flight from her husband to her position at Freedom House? Or had he reformed and she was still married to him?
I called Freedom House and got Stephanie Bauer on the line. “May I come interview you some day soon?”
“How about tomorrow?” she asked. “I know it’s Saturday, but my schedule is crazy what with the ministry, the Easter holidays and my kids.”
I had rehearsal with the bell choir tomorrow morning for the upcoming Easter service, and in the evening Curt was taking me to the reception that Mr. Montgomery was throwing for the News staff and his invited guests. But I was free Saturday afternoon.
“Is two o’clock all right?” I asked Stephanie.
“Will we be finished by three? I have an appointment with my daughter at three. We’re going shopping. She ‘needs’ some spring clothes.”
“We’ll be finished by then,” I promised. Then thinking it might fit into the article, I asked, “How old is your daughter?”
“Fifteen.”
Just like Randy, I thought. Poor Stephanie.
“A teenager at the mall,” I said, sarcasm dripping a bit too freely. “It ought to be an interesting afternoon for you.”
“It will be interesting,” Stephanie said, ignoring my tone. “I enjoy anything I get to do with Sherrie. We’re both so busy! And Rob is no better.”
“Rob’s your—?”
“My son,” Stephanie said. “He’s eighteen. We’ve been filling out financial information for colleges all year, and the hardest part is finding a night when we’re both home!”
When I hung up from my conversation with Stephanie, I glanced at Edie. Stephanie’s relationship with her children seemed the polar opposite of Edie’s with Randy. Both women had had marital hard times, but one had fun with her kids and the other cried. Interesting.
It was almost five o’clock when Jolene said, “Hey, Merry, Edie, let’s go get dinner together.”
“What a good idea.” I hadn’t been looking forward to a lonely Friday night. Curt was away overnight on a men’s retreat, and he’d talked Jo’s husband into going along. Apparently she wasn’t any more anxious to fritter the night away alone than I was.
“Thanks, but I can’t,” Edie said. “I need to get home.”
“But Tom works on Friday nights, doesn’t he?” Jolene asked.
“Well, yes.”
“And Randy’s certainly big enough to feed himself.”
Jolene had obviously been thinking about this dinner for some time and had figured out all the angles, something for which she was justly famous.
“He won’t be home for dinner,” Edie said, then realized she had thrown away her best excuse to decline. With a sigh she shrugged. “Let me call and leave a message telling him where I’m going.”
Jolene was delighted. She’d now have Edie in close quarters for an hour. More than enough time to turn the screws.
“Now you be good,” I managed to whisper to Jolene while Edie was talking to Astrid, the hostess at Ferretti’s, Amhearst’s one and only decent restaurant. “Edie doesn’t need you badgering her.”
“Me? Badger?” Jolene looked aghast.
This time I was the one who snorted.
Within five minutes we followed Astrid to our booth.
“Eggplant parmigiana,” Jo told Sally, our waitress. “Raspberry vinaigrette dressing on the salad. And lots of garlic bread.”
“Spaghetti and meatballs,” I said. “Parmesan peppercorn dressing and lots of garlic bread too.” I looked at Jolene and grinned. “There’s something to be said for not seeing the guys tonight.”
“A cup of chicken noodle soup,” Edie said. “And a roll, no garlic.”
“A salad?” Sally asked.
Edie shook her head. “Just the soup.”
“You’re on a diet! How wonderful!” Jolene said with her usual diplomacy.
“I’m just not hungry,” Edie said, tugging self-consciously at the gaping front on her shirt.
“You can tell Tom’s coming home tonight,” I said, winking at Jo. “No garlic bread.”
And just like that, Edie began to cry.
TWO
“I’m sorry.” Edie grabbed her napkin and blew her nose. “I’m all right. I am.” The tears rolled down her face.
“Oh, Edie.” I put my arm around her shoulder. She began to cry harder.
Jolene grabbed my arm, looked at me over Edie’s bent head and mouthed very clearly, “Fix it.”
“How?” I mouthed back.
Jolene made a desperate face and gave a great shrug.
I shoved my napkin into Edie’s hands. “Here. Blow again.” I patted her shoulder some more. When in doubt, pat.
“I’m sorry,” Edie said again. “I’m such a baby.”
“No, you’re not. And we don’t mind the tears, do we, Jolene?”
She mumbled something that sounded like, “Mmmphmm.”
I rolled my eyes and said softly to Edie, “We just mind whatever is making them fall.”
She smiled weakly at that.
Jolene took one look at that travesty of a smile and decided Edie was well on the way to recovery. She awkwardly patted Edie’s hand. “Okay, girlfriend, that’s enough. It’s time to straighten that spine.”
Once again I was appalled and once again Edie responded positively.
“You’re right.” She stuffed the napkins into her purse and sat up straight. “No more.”
Jolene nodded as if she expected nothing less. “It’s Randy, isn’t it? Has he gotten arrested? Failed a big test? Gotten kicked out of school?”
Edie shook her head. “It’s not Randy, believe it or not.” Her eyes were full of pain.
I frowned. “Then it’s Tom?”
Edie looked at her clenched hands and nodded.
I always hated it when a husband and a wife had trouble, but I especially hated it now because Curt and I were so happy. Not that we were husband and wife, but I knew it was just a matter of time. I wanted everyone to be as happy as we were.
“What’s he done, Edie?” Jolene leaned in, fire in her eyes. She was ready to hate Tom for Edie’s sake.
“I don’t know,” Edie whispered.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
I shot Jolene a look. “Easy, girl.”
She scowled at me but lowered the intensity level considerably.
“I don’t know,” Edie repeated, her voice again full of tears.
I stuffed Jolene’s napkin in Edie’s hand just to be prepared. “Then how do you know there’s a problem?”
She forced herself to look at us. “Tom didn’t come home last night.” Then she looked away, embarrassed.
Jolene slapped the table, making Edie and me jump. “Another woman! It’s got to be. The rat!”
“Jolene!” I was appalled at the suggestion.
Edie paled. “No! Please, God, no.” It was an anguished prayer.
“That can’t be the problem,” I said, ever eager to comfort. “I’ve seen you and Tom together. If ever two people loved each other, Edie, it’s you guys.”
“I always thought so too.” She looked at us with haunted eyes. “But what if I’m wrong? What if Jolene’s right?”
Just then our waitress brought Jolene and me our salads. I stabbed a cucumber, but it might as well have been Styrofoam for all the taste it had.
“He wasn’t in an accident or anything, was he?” I asked. “Maybe he was injured and couldn’t contact you.”
“Merry the Merciful.” Acid etched Jolene’s comment. “Always looking for the Pollyanna way out.”
“It’s better than always assuming the worst.” I stabbed a poor, innocent cherry tomato since I couldn’t stab Jo, and it shot through the air and landed on the table of an elderly couple across the aisle. When they looked up in surprise at the incoming missile, I made believe it wasn’t mine.
“I spoke to the hospital and the police,” Edie said. “The hospital says he’s not there, and the police say there was no accident involving bodily injury last night anywhere in the county.”
“That’s good.” I gently skewered another tomato. It shot a stream of red juice and seeds straight at my heart. I stared at the red stain on my new pink blouse and sighed. That’s what I got for not being brave enough to own up to the first cherry bomb.
Edie smiled weakly. “I can’t decide whether it’s good news or bad news.”
I remembered the old line: If I have to choose between another woman’s arms and mangled in the street, I’ll take mangled in the street anytime.
“Well, it’s only one night.” Jo took a huge bite of garlic bread.
I think she was trying to be encouraging after her initial outrage, but Edie shook her head. “We vowed when we got married that we’d never be separated for the night unless it was unavoidable. And then we’d always call.”
“So he couldn’t find a phone.” Even without Edie and Jolene’s stares, I knew that was a foolish line in this day and age.
“Did he show up at work this morning?” Jolene asked.
Edie shook her head. “They haven’t seen him at the dealership since nine last night. It’s like he’s disappeared.”
“Aliens,” said a snide voice behind me. “Though why they’d want him is beyond me.”
“Randy!” With a mixture of surprise and hurt Edie looked at her son looming behind her. “What are you doing here?”
“I got your message about going to dinner with the girls.” Somehow he made those few words sound like Edie was participating in a Roman orgy. “I came to get some money.”
“How did you get here?” Edie asked.
“I rode my bike.” He glanced out the window where we could see it chained to a parking meter. “Only four more months until I get my car. Then I’m never riding a bicycle again in my life!”
He was getting a car for his sixteenth birthday? He bad-mouthed Tom and still expected a car? What gall!
He extended his hand to Edie, palm up. “Money.” It was a command.
“But I gave you your allowance the other night.” Edie scrambled to sound forceful but failed. “You wanted it early because you and the guys were going out somewhere.”