“And I was the one who suggested we meet here. How could Houston arrange all that in ten minutes?”
Todd shrugged. “At this point, we have to look at all—”
“I don’t believe it, Todd.” I pictured Houston’s tortured face. “I think he met me here intending to confess the murder.”
“But why to you?”
The answer to that question would prove to be the million-dollar winner, I decided over the next couple of days. Brandon was dead. Houston was missing.
And so was Nicole, apparently.
“When did you last hear from her, Sherm?” I stood on his porch, zucchini bread in hand. It had been way too hot to garden lately, so baking was the next best thing to help me get my mind off of everything.
“She always calls me at least once durin’ a week,” he said. “This time I ain’t heard from her since the day she left the baby.” He peered at me from under shaggy brows. “I don’t know where that baby is.”
“She’s safe, Sherm. Remember I told you that Lonnie’s taking care of her?”
“Is that right? Lonnie Holloway?” He scratched his whiskered chin. “She’s a fine gal.”
“Yes, sir.” We’d had this same conversation five times. Maybe I’d take him over to Lonnie’s one day so he could see for himself. But right now, the sick feeling in my stomach was growing. “You haven’t heard from Nicole at all?”
He shook his head mournfully. “It’s not like that gal to ferget her ol’ pawpaw.”
“Do you have her phone number?”
“Nah, she allus jest calls me. Says it’s easier that way.”
Of course.
I handed him the zucchini bread. “I’ll do my best to find her, Sherm. Will you let me know if she calls you?”
I was partly down his porch steps when he shuffled back out onto the porch.
“Callie.” He swiped at his nose with a crumpled handkerchief. “Do you believe in God?”
I turned back around, looking up at him. “I do, Sherm.”
The moment was suddenly holy, and as I looked full into the old man’s lined face, I felt faith rise in my heart. “I believe that He knows where Nicole is right now, and that He will help us find her.”
He nodded. “I’m ashamed ta say that it’s been a right long while since I spoke to the good Lord.”
“The Bible says that those who come to Him He will in no wise cast out, Sherm. He’s waiting for you to come back.”
“That’s jest what Preacher done told me, too.”
When had Sherm seen Houston?
“You talked to Pastor Houston?”
“Yes’m. He stopped by a coupla days ago lookin’ for Nicole.” He dabbed his mouth with his handkerchief. “Nah, it was longer than that. Mebbe last week.”
“Ah.” I blew out my breath. So much for that lead. “I’ll be praying for both you and Nicole, Sherm. God is watching over her.”
I finally made it over to Willowbough to have a heart-to-heart with Aunt Dot. Houston had been missing for three days with no leads. Earl tried to grill me, but I had already given my report to the detective from the Temple PD, so I kind of blew him off.
“It makes me weary to keep talking about it,” I said to Aunt Dot. “We desperately need God to intervene.”
“I’ve been praying and praying since you called the other day. There’s no news at all? What does Todd say?”
I picked a couple of pug hairs off my shorts. “Not much. They’re still running the fingerprints and stuff. Doesn’t seem to me like that kind of thing should take so long.”
“Have you heard from your mother?”
I made a face. What did that have to do with—
“She called me Thursday morning. Said she couldn’t get hold of you and wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Really? My mom didn’t usually seem that concerned about me. “That was nice of her.”
Aunt Dot frowned at me. “She said she and your dad were both struck with a very strong impression to pray for you on Wednesday. They understood that you were in some sort of grave danger and even called many of their friends to pray for you.”
My face grew hot. My parents?
My parents were the ones who had been praying for me that night. The powerful, swirling prayers that surrounded me and Houston. The angels. The scent of Heaven.
I lowered my face into my hands and wept. God had chosen to call my parents, halfway around the world in Zambia, into prayer for me. And they prayed. And God answered.
But I ignored their calls. What was wrong with me?
“You’ve got to let go of the unforgiveness, darlin’.”
I clasped my hands in a tight knot. “I thought that I had. You don’t know how many times I’ve asked God to help me forgive them. But I never seem to be able to completely let it go.”
“I think there’s some things y’all need to talk through.”
“I know. But it’s so hard. I—”
Aunt Dot shook her head. “No excuses. God’s Word says if you come to offer something to God, and you remember that someone has something against you, that it is your responsibility to go to that person and try to make it right.”
I squirmed a little bit. “I know.”
“God will give you the words to say if you ask Him.”
“It’s not that. It’s just that…” So what was it? “I guess it’s that I still feel so hurt. Like they abandoned me.”
“I understand. And they kind of did. But y’all don’t want to go the rest of your lives with this hurt between you, when God could heal it.”
I propped my chin into my hands. “Pray for my heart to be right toward them, Auntie. And for their hearts, too. I haven’t told them about Brandon yet. I don’t know how they will feel about that.”
Aunt Dot leaned back in her chair. “There’s still something that’s bothering me about all of that.”
“Me, too. I went online and was reading over what I could find about the cases. Did you know that part of Brandon’s defence was mental illness issues?”
“Hmm. I didn’t recall that, but thinking about these last couple of months, it seems plausible.”
“At the time, I thought his attorneys were grasping at straws and using whatever they could to get him off the hook. But what if he was mentally unbalanced for real?”
Aunt Dot opened her laptop. “I was reading something about that online the other day. Let me see if I can find it.”
“You’re getting pretty handy with that computer, Auntie.”
“You can find anything on here!” She was typing and clicking furiously. “I was researching the answer for a question someone sent in to my column and—here it is. An article called ‘Rethinking Schizophrenia.’”
She handed me her laptop. “I wasn’t thinking of Brandon when I read it, but read it and see what you think.”
I scrolled through the article. I had had some training in this sort of thing when I was a school social worker, but hadn’t had much actual experience dealing with students with the disease. I could recall a handful who had been on meds to help control their symptoms.
I clicked on a link at the bottom of the article. “What in the world? Did you see this article about how doctors can sometimes diagnose a patient by how they smell? Eww.”
Aunt Dot laughed. “Sounds pretty gross.”
“Listen to this. It says that when people have tuberculosis, their skin smells like fresh-baked bread. And when someone has liver disease, their breath smells like fish.”
“Yuck. Don’t read me any more of those. I’d rather—”
I sucked in my breath. “It says when people have schizophrenia, their skin smells like vinegar. That’s what I smelled that day Brandon threw the rock at my head. And the day that he died. That smell was in Houston’s office.”
We stared at each other.
“I bet that’s why he always used so much aftershave. To cover it up. But on those two days, he hadn’t used any.”
“Such a
shame. For one of God’s dear creations to be so tortured in his mind.”
I nodded. “But how does Houston tie into all of this? That’s the part I can’t figure out. Why was Brandon in Houston’s office that morning?”
My heart ached for my friend. Was he alive? Or was he being held somewhere? Why was it taking so long to find him? And what about Nicole?
Wait a minute.
“Auntie. Maybe the guy that took Houston has Nicole.”
She cocked her head. “Why? That doesn’t make sense.”
Nothing about this made sense. Especially the part about Houston telling me he had killed someone. But Aunt Dot didn’t need to know that piece of information right now.
“You’re right.” But something about the whole Brandon, Houston, Nicole, dead body thing was niggling at the back of my mind.
“I don’t understand why someone would kill a detective to begin with.” She shook her head.
Hmm. I guess I hadn’t given that much thought. Why indeed? Maybe we were missing something here. Why hadn’t I paid more attention to what Todd had said about the P.I.? I wracked my brain. I was sure Todd had said the man was working for the state of Texas. And his name was Hispanic. What was it? Ricardo or Carlos or something like that. Or maybe Carlos Ricardo?
“I’m sure that man had a family, too,” Aunt Dot was saying. “The whole thing is so sa—”
“Auntie.” I flipped her laptop open again. “I think the P.I.’s name was Carlos something.”
She raised her eyebrows.
I hastily revisited the court records I had accessed the night Houston was kidnapped. “There was a detective on Jason and Brandon’s cases who was named Carlos. Here it is. Carlos Ruiz.”
We stared at each other.
“So…if this Carlos guy was the same guy…and he started snooping around here…Brandon probably thought that the guy was after him.” The pieces of the puzzle were coming together.
“But he wasn’t? I mean, he wasn’t after Brandon at all?”
I shook my head. “Todd said he was investigating a sex-trafficking ring. Unless Brandon….” Oh, no. Was Brandon mixed up in that, too?
“Then it was a coincidence that the same investigator who was on Brandon’s case in Ohio is the same one who was killed down here?” Aunt Dot wrinkled her brow.
“It seems crazy, but weirder things have happened. Maybe the guy got a new job and moved here from Ohio. He probably didn’t even know Brandon lived down here.” My mind was racing. I hated to think it, but what if Houston had been working with Brandon somehow? That would explain Earl’s strange behaviour toward me, wouldn’t it?
I stared at my aunt. Then it hit me. “Earl thinks I sicced the detective on Brandon.”
“Oh my.” Aunt Dot twisted her wedding ring around. “What does that mean?”
That means that I had had it all wrong. All of this time, I thought Earl knew about Marleigh’s murder case and was planning to pin something on me. How could I have been so wrong? This whole thing had nothing to do with me—or Marleigh—at all, and everything to do with Brandon. And Houston. Yikes.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I called Todd early the next morning. First, I told him about the Carlos Ruiz thing. Then, I gave him the real news.
“God gave me a dream last night,” I said. This was the breakthrough we had been praying for. I knew it. In fact, I was so sure of it, that I had scribbled down a description of everything in my journal the moment I awoke.
“What do you mean?”
“I saw a place in my dream, Todd. At first it was this huge open space, kind of like a campground, maybe. There was this over-sized wooden sign that looked kind of like a deer head with antlers, but I couldn’t read what was written on it. Then behind that there were like some woods or trees.” It sounded kind of dumb when I was talking about it out loud.
“Okay.”
I wished I could see his face. “I know it might sound stupid, but…”
I had thought maybe he would understand. Todd was a much more spiritual man than Kevin had ever been, and I had hoped—
“It doesn’t sound stupid at all. I was only surprised for a minute. Why do you think this dream was from God?”
Maybe he understood after all.
“I can tell. Some dreams are silly, weird dreams, you know? But God shows me things in dreams sometimes.”
“I…” He cleared his throat. “My mom had dreams, Callie. What do you think it meant?”
I wanted to pursue the topic of his mom, but that would have to wait. “It was so life-like. I think it’s a real place. Like if we could find it and go there, we might find the answers to some of our questions.”
“Wow. Okay.”
I could picture him running his hand over his jaw, his cop mind clicking into gear.
“Do you think you could draw it?” he asked.
“I’m a terrible artist. Like I can barely manage stick figures, you know?”
He laughed. “Okay. I’m on duty today, so I’ll run by your house this evening after I get off. I’m not much of an artist either, but I’m a bit more advanced than stick figures.”
How could I wait until tonight to do something about my dream? I pulled up in front of my shop, happy to see that my front window had finally been replaced. I sighed. I had been so distracted with everything going on lately that I was behind with my paperwork. I also had a couple of orders I had to get done today, but it was going to be hard to concentrate.
Todd was going to check up on the Carlos angle, and I couldn’t help thinking that maybe we were finally getting close to getting more answers. How could I pay attention to invoices and emails when all I wanted to do was jump in the van and try to find Houston? At least I could pray while I worked. If Houston was still alive—
Stop it, Callie. He had to be alive. Why else would God give me a dream showing me where he was?
I paused outside the front door to water the outside pots. Late July was a tough time for anything to be blooming, but the huge pots of sweet potato vine were still lush. The lime green variety mixed with a couple of the purple spilled out over the terra cotta pots, adding a splash of color next to the blue front door. It made me happy to see them every day when I pulled up.
The marigolds should have been thriving, adding their brilliant orange and yellow hues to the display, but I guess I hadn’t gotten the hang of growing marigolds in Texas. When I lived in Ohio, marigolds were one of the easiest flowers to grow, blooming like crazy all summer and into the fall. Here, I’d already managed to kill several plantings of them. I might as well toss this one in the compost heap, too. I picked up the pot and carried it around the side of the shop closest to the church.
I gazed across the church parking lot. Houston’s white pickup was still parked in his spot near the side door. Oh, Houston. I wished he was there, in his office writing sermons and making phone calls. I winced, thinking of the last time I had been in his office. Had anyone cleaned it up for him? I knew Jenna had been over there the last few days filling in for Mona.
I dumped the marigold pot onto the compost pile, managing to cover my shoes with dusty potting soil. “I’m going to go over there,” I muttered. “Maybe there’s something in his office that will give me a clue to what is going on.”
But first, I was going to get my purse. I remembered what had happened the last time I left it behind.
I rang the doorbell at the side door, trying not to look at the hawthorn bushes.
Jenna opened the door for me. “Any news?” she asked.
“No.” Not anything that I could tell yet, at least.
She fanned herself with a file folder. “The phone’s been ringing off the hook with people wanting to know about Pastor Houston. I just tell them to keep praying.”
“Good plan. I know God is working.” I started down the short hall toward Houston’s office. “I thought maybe I’d look around in his office a bit.”
“It’s still a mess,” she called after me. �
��I wasn’t sure if I should touch anything.”
“No worries.” I slipped inside the office and flipped the light on, closing the door behind me. It looked the same as it had that terrible morning when Brandon—
The gun. It was still there, its butt end sticking out from under a pile of papers. Thank God Brandon hadn’t spotted it when he and Houston were arguing and—no, I couldn’t go there. I lifted the papers off of it and stared at the ugly weapon. Why would Houston have such a thing?
I had never really been around guns, though with all of the crazy stuff going on, Todd had been after me to take a gun safety course. Was it loaded? Would it go off if I touched it? I remembered Todd saying that guns have safety thingies on them, so probably it was okay to pick it up. Besides, this gun had yellow lines on the muzzle. Maybe it wasn’t even a real gun.
I gingerly picked it up, surprised at the weight of it. It had to be real. But what should I do with it? Maybe I’d put it in one of the drawers in his desk—
Was that Sheriff Earl’s voice?
Great. Just what I needed—Earl coming in here and finding me snooping around Houston’s office with a gun in my hand. What was the sheriff doing here, anyway?
I opened my Vera Bradley purse and laid the gun carefully inside, then zipped up my purse and slung it over my shoulder. I was busily browsing through Houston’s shelf of Old Testament commentaries when Earl stepped into the room.
“Fancy meetin’ you here, Willie.” He hooked his thumb through his belt loop.
“Likewise, Sheriff,” I said. “No news on Houston?”
“Seems like you’d know that as soon as me, seein’s how ya got your nose in everbody’s business these days.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“My nephew was a sick man. He didn’t mean no harm.”
I looked closer at the sheriff, and noticed the bags under his eyes, the weary lines of his face. He looked five years older than when I’d first met him. Maybe the man had some humanity left in him after all. “I’m sorry about Brandon.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, me too. That boy had a hard go of it with his mama being so…” He straightened his shoulders. “Look here. I don’t know how the preacher was involved in all of this, but he and Brandon had somethin’ goin’.”
Make Haste Slowly Page 21
