Hidden Motive

by Alexander, Hannah

  Perry leaned toward Jerri at the hearth and Sable heard him mumble an apology for the accident with the flashlight. Jerri patted his broad fleshy shoulder, then pointed down at his leather-soled black dress shoes. “May I suggest that next time you travel you wear lug-soled boots?”

  Sable pulled the afghan more snugly around her. Could that push have been an accident? Someone else could have slid, then shoved against her to stabilize. But somehow she would have expected anyone with integrity to at least say, “Excuse me for pushing you over the cliff. How can I make it up to you?”

  Audrey bent close to Sable. “While we’re waiting to discover the identity of our mystery host, why don’t you put me to work gathering towels and blankets for—”

  The basement door at the end of the hearth opened suddenly and a tall dark-haired man entered.

  Sable felt a wash of relief at the familiar face. “Craig!”

  His heavy brows tipped upward in surprise at the small crowd huddling together around the fireplace. “Sable? What’s…wow. What’s up? Who’s your company?” Sable rushed forward and gave her old friend a quick hug, suddenly overwhelmed by everything. She felt his surprise at such an affectionate welcome, especially since she’d seen him at the funeral less than two days ago.

  “What are you doing down here?” she asked.

  He glanced at the rest of the group. At that moment, Murph stepped in from his search of the garage. He stopped and frowned at Craig.

  Sable took Craig’s arm and turned to the others. “Meet our nearest neighbor, Craig Holt. We can probably thank him for the fire and the unlocked door.”

  Paul Murphy continued to study the man.

  “He’s a family friend,” Sable explained, turning back to Craig. “I tried calling here last night but no one answered. I couldn’t reach anyone.”

  “Weather got bad soon after you left yesterday, so your mom drove to Eureka Springs to stay with Randy,” Craig explained. “And the phone line’s down. What are you doing back so soon?” He gestured toward the others. “It isn’t the best of weather for a house party.”

  “They’re passengers on our bus. We’re stranded.”

  “Bus?” Craig said. “In this weather? Why would you take a bus when you—”

  “I’ll explain it all later,” Sable assured him. Craig shrugged. “Your mom wanted me to keep an eye on things while she was gone. With the ice storm, I thought I'd stay for a couple of days. No use trying to get home from here and I’m sure not going to try to drive in that mess.

  “So that’s your Jeep in the garage?” Murph asked.

  Craig nodded, giving Murph a silent once-over.

  Sable asked Craig to round up some towels and he seemed eager to escape the strangers. It was a good thing her family had never discarded the old clothes she and her brothers had accumulated in the attic over the years. Many of their things would fit most of the guests, though Perry Chadwick was probably out of luck.

  She thought about the safe that was hidden deep behind the antiques, old furniture, and storage containers. She had never paid much attention to it except when she and her brothers had played up there as children, imagining the heavy old strongbox to be stuffed with stolen cash or gold pieces or treasure maps.

  At this point she hoped it contained something more precious than any of those things—some proof of Grandpa’s innocence. If only she knew the combination. If only she knew what might be in there.

  While her fellow travelers spread their wet coats over the bricks of the raised hearth, Sable glanced instinctively toward Murph. In the six weeks since he had come to assist her at the clinic, she had found him to be kind to patients, detail oriented…and extremely attractive. Nobody could deny his appeal, from the dark-lashed green eyes to the dark auburn hair to the broad shoulders. Patients and staff had begun to trust him in that short period of time. He was willing to help his colleagues without any need for personal credit.

  Sable also sensed that maybe he wasn’t as open and uncomplicated as initial appearances had indicated. For now, however, he represented solidity in a world of shifting infrastructure. She pulled off her shoes and socks, rolled up the legs of her jeans, and sank her bare feet into the warmth of the deep carpet while she watched Murph interact with the others. When he turned toward her she looked away. And then she was embarrassed that she had done so.

  Audrey strolled past Sable to inspect an antique brass planter containing a thick silk fern, then stepped to a “favorites” cabinet, featuring antique figurines. “Some of these things are older than I am. Probably in better working order as well. Beautiful job of decorating.”

  “Thank you,” Sable said.

  At the words, Audrey looked at her in surprise. “You were the one who did this? And the drapes, the paneling, those mirrors in the corner?”

  “The paneling has been here as long as I can remember. My grandfather and mother and I decorated the house together last summer. I supervised. Mom did the sewing and Grandpa did the heavy stuff.” She studied the small rocks in one of the display cases, turned to Audrey, then frowned and looked back at the rocks. There was something different about them . . . Craig came back down the stairs with an armful of mismatched towels. “Come and get ’em,” he said.

  Audrey reached for a thick bath towel and gave it to Sable. “Honey, I think you need to step closer to the fire. You’ve taken no time to dry off. Your hair’s still wet.” She took Sable’s arm and gently urged her forward. “Where is your grandfather now?”

  “We…had his funeral this week.”

  Audrey lost her grip on Sable’s arm. Her face paled noticeably in the dim flicker of the fire.

  “Audrey? Are you okay?”

  For a moment the woman didn’t respond. She pressed her hands against her cheeks, closed her eyes, and took a slow breath. “Forgive me. I…suppose the excitement must have upset me more than I thought.”

  “Do you feel weak?” Sable asked. “Are you in pain?”

  Audrey opened her eyes. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” She sighed. “I’m so sorry to hear about your grandfather.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure you’ll feel better with warm clothing.” Sable gestured to the others. “Craig, would you show everyone where the extra clothes are? I'm going to change quickly and make some warm drinks to knock off the chill.”

  Those who had brought overnight cases with them went upstairs to change, while Craig led the others to the attic. Sable changed quickly upstairs in her own room, then returned downstairs to her mother’s bedroom opposite the fireplace.

  The bed was unmade and Sable caught sight of a faded, pea-green backpack tossed into the far corner of the room. It was Craig’s—she’d seen it many times when he’d gone hiking with her brothers. For a moment she felt uncomfortable about anyone—even a family friend—moving into her mother’s bedroom while she was away. It made sense, however, to stay near the fire. After all, Craig had spent plenty of time here, hanging out with her brothers, listening to Grandpa’s stories, exploring the cave.

  As expected, when she lifted the receiver of the phone atop Mom’s bedside stand there was no dial tone. Jerri might still be able to reach Dispatch through Grandpa’s ancient broad band radio in the family room.

  Sable opened the top drawer of her mother’s nightstand where Mom kept all her most recent correspondence. The drawer was a disorganized mess, totally in character for Mom during times of crisis. Grandpa's deadly automobile accident had hit her hard. Sympathy cards were mixed with grocery receipts mixed with bills. Most of the unopened envelopes were most likely sympathy cards but they could be anything.

  Mom had never handled grief well and she was prone to depression. When Dad died, Mom’s meticulous world had collapsed for many months afterward, which was why they’d moved in with her parents. Sable and her brothers had learned many years ago that they didn’t talk about the deaths of loved ones.

  This past week, Sable had attempted to explain to Mom the new hope that Grandp
a had experienced at Christmas, when Noah Erwin had explained to them the true power of Christmas and the significance of Christ. On Christmas night, less than two months ago, Sable and Grandpa together finally understood what Noah had been gently hinting at for so long. Sable’s grandfather had spent the last few weeks of his life with newfound faith in Christ.

  Mom had refused to listen. “If that gives you comfort, Sable, then you cling to that,” she’d said gently. “I’ll remember my father in my own way.”

  Grandpa’s new faith did give Sable peace.

  She found a recent letter with Grandpa’s Freemont return address, which she slid into the front pocket of her slacks. She replaced everything else into the drawer and closed it. The second drawer in her mother’s bureau contained tax records that Sable had organized at Christmas. But on top of all that was an unopened business envelope with this address typed on the front. No return address.

  She opened the envelope. She pulled out one sheet of folded paper, unfolded it, and read the signed, handwritten note.

  My Dear Family,

  I'm not sure what words to use that will explain what I'm doing. I only hope that someday you will forgive and accept. It's been more than eleven years since Grandma died, and I've never looked back, never considered anything like this before.

  By the time you get this letter, you will have heard the story. I'm sorry for the trouble this will cause you. I'm sorry I'll miss Sable's birthday party this year, because I know how she loves them. You’ll have accept the watch I gave you for a combination of Christmas and birthday gifts this time. Don't try to take on my guilt. I'm no longer afraid of the truth. Don't worry, I'm safe in the afterlife.

  I now request forgiveness for the fraud connected with our purchase and attempted resale of the mine back on the old Seitz place. The buyer checked the mine thoroughly and discovered what others had overlooked. The walls were salted with sphalerite and galena from elsewhere. I must confess and leave my guilt in the hands of Christ. But, still, there is so much more involved here.

  May God Help Me,

  Josiah D. Kessinger

  For a moment she could barely breathe. And then she caught her breath and nearly choked. This couldn’t be!

  She sank onto Mom’s bed, bewildered. Devastated.

  Josiah Kessinger—who had always been there for her, whom she had admired and loved, who had shared his heart and home with her whole family—was actually confessing to fraud?

  But he wouldn’t do that. She knew he wouldn’t. Noah had known it.

  Grandpa…

  This past week she’d comforted herself with the assurance that her grandfather wouldn’t do what his third partner, Otis Boswell, and the police had accused him of doing. She’d been sure his name would be cleared because of the integrity with which he’d lived.

  Refusing to acknowledge the words in this letter, she stuffed the note into the front pocket of her slacks. There was no time to think about it right now and she would never believe it.

  Still, there was a sick pain in the pit of her stomach.

  The floorboards squeaked outside the room. She had pulled the latch that locked the ancient doors, of course, but the knob of the right door turned slowly. She stiffened and held her breath.

  Chapter 7

  “Who’s there?” Sable called sharply.

  The knob stopped rattling and the floor creaked again. Sable rushed to the door and jerked it open to find Craig Holt backing away, his tall frame slouched as usual, a big boyish silhouette outlined by the firelight.

  “Sorry.” He was obviously embarrassed. “I thought you’d be changing in your own bedroom upstairs.”

  She relaxed. “I’m not changing, I’m looking through some papers.”

  “Good. Your mom didn’t quite know what to do with herself.”

  “She never liked the paperwork.”

  Sheets of rain hit the windowpane with a burst of wind.

  “Guess it was a little slick getting here,” Craig said, gesturing toward that window. “You okay? You don’t look the best.”

  “Thanks,” she said dryly. This was the Craig Holt she knew. At the age of twenty-nine he still retained many of the qualities her brothers had outgrown. Still terminally shy around most women, he preferred hunting and fishing to anything else and he was a diehard spelunker. A few years ago he had made a couple of awkward attempts to ask her on a date. She’d been too busy with med school to pay much attention.

  “Where’s your car?” he asked. “Why’d you take the bus?”

  “The car’s…I wrecked it.”

  “What! You wrecked that Camaro?” He made it sound like a personal affront. “When?”

  “Last night.”

  “Oh man, first Josiah and now you! That stinks. How bad?”

  Sable shook her head, comforted by the familiarity of his response. “Thanks. I’m fine but I appreciate the concern.”

  He grimaced. “Sorry about that, but you’re obviously okay. I loved that car.”

  “What I wouldn’t have given for an all-wheel-drive tonight. The Camaro went into the canal down by Freemont.” She heard voices from the front room. “I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now I’d better see to our guests.”

  “Oh yeah, sure.” Craig hesitated. “I think I’ll bring in more wood for the furnace. We’ll need to open the vents upstairs if they’re staying here.”

  She watched him amble out shaking his head and she knew he was grieving the loss of the Camaro.

  When he opened the front door, Sable heard the hiss of rain slapping on the icy ground. It would be light soon. The darkness was already lifting, though in this hollow it would be hours before they saw the sun—if it showed through the clouds at all today. The thermometer read twenty-nine degrees. They always watched the thermometer closely when it rained this time of year. They lived on the ice corridor, which seemed to follow I-44 through Missouri. The ice could be as destructive as the tornadoes.

  Simmons came down the stairs and into the room, his curly brown hair hanging in wet ringlets around his face. He wore an old red plaid shirt that had once been a favorite of Sable’s brother, Peter. Simmons’s muscular neck prevented him from closing the top button but the shirt hung in folds around his midriff.

  “Somebody get overheated?” He walked to the door as if to close it but Craig came barreling through with an armload of wood.

  “Oh good,” Craig said when he saw Simmons standing there. “You look like you could carry a few sticks of wood without much trouble. Want to bring in another armload or two?”

  Simmons joined him. Sable went to the kitchen. How she missed the peace that had always greeted her when she came home. Tonight, home didn't offer the safety and seclusion she desperately needed. She felt vulnerable. And she was.

  Had she and Murph been followed from Freemont in spite of their precautions? Or was there simply a coward who didn’t want to admit to falling into her?

  The kitchen held her sweetest memories. She and her family had spent so many hours on its renovation. From the smooth brick floor to the thick pine ceiling beams, she felt her grandfather’s presence. He’d smoothed and shaped the beams himself in the attached woodshop.

  The isolation of loss filled her again. How she missed him. How she felt the sting from the words in his letter.

  She leaned against the work island in the middle of the large kitchen and marveled as she always did at the beautiful inlaid counters. In the dining room, she could see the corner of the rustic table with split log benches. Reminders everywhere both saddened her and warmed her heart with memories. She picked up a kettle and carried it to the twin sinks. Waxing nostalgic, she grasped the bright red handle of the old water pump and worked it up and down. After a little exercise, she was rewarded by a healthy stream of water from the spout.

  This water pump was the envy of neighbors all around. What had been a necessity before indoor plumbing was still a necessity out here in the wilderness, where they could lose power for da
ys at a time. She filled the kettle and carried it past the antique wood stove to the modern electric stove on the far wall.

  She flipped on a burner, left the water to heat, and went upstairs. She needed to make sure the old safe was still locked.

  The long L-shaped upper hallway glowed with the light of electric lamps in three of the small alcoves. Colorful oil lamps stood on polished wooden shelves at intervals in the paneled hall, cleaned and ready in case of a power outage.

  The house was well insulated, partially recessed into the hill behind it, which helped keep it warm in the winter and cool in the summer. Sable had fond memories of the tricks she’d played on her brothers during childhood games of hide-and-seek. She’d climbed from the sewing room window on the second floor onto the hillside only inches from the window ledge. Then she’d scaled the rocky crag up one floor, scampered over to the attic window, and climbed back inside. After the third or fourth time, Peter had caught on and locked the windows, leaving her outside on the ledge.

  In addition to the sewing room, the second floor had four bedrooms and two bathrooms. The floor below had two more bedrooms and another bathroom. Enough space for plenty of people to stay comfortably. Under ordinary circumstances.

  When she reached her bedroom, the door was open and a shadowed figure stood beside the dresser. She froze.

  The man turned around. It was Paul Murphy.

  She breathed again. “You startled me.”

  “I’m sorry. Craig told me I could find more blankets in here.” He held up an old photo album. “I recognize Otis Boswell and your grandfather.” He pointed to one of the photos. “Who’s this other man?”

  She leaned close and saw the familiar beloved face of her grandfather in his old camouflage hunting cap, grinning as he held his rifle balanced across his shoulder. To his right stood Otis Boswell, at least six inches shorter and twice as broad. The third man was taller than Grandpa, with black hair and a familiar smile.

  “That's Reuben Holt,” she said. “Craig's dad. He and my grandfather always argued about whether to wear camo or bright hunter orange when they were scouting. Reuben was all about safety. Grandpa wanted to get his deer but he abided by the laws when they were actually hunting.”