The Truth Seeker

by Dee Henderson

  “The real reason I called.”

  “I didn’t figure you woke me up to talk about the wedding.”

  Still he stalled but edged closer to what he wanted to ask. “When you joined the others at Trevor House, what was it like?”

  She didn’t answer for a long time. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Something Kate once said. About hoping for a family.”

  “Kids who go to Trevor House are too old to find families.”

  “Why didn’t you stay with the previous foster family? Why the transfer?”

  “Mark Branton got a promotion. To take it, they had to move out of state.”

  “And they chose the job over you.”

  “It was a logical choice. Foster families are always temporary.”

  “Do you remember your first one?”

  “Quinn, why are you asking all this?”

  “I’m just trying to figure out what it might have been like growing up with so many different families.”

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “I learned to make sure I cared about only what would fit in my backpack.”

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Do you stay in touch with any of them?”

  “No.” She shifted the phone. “Most promised they would write. That would last maybe a year or until my address changed a couple times, then it would dwindle. And if you say you’re sorry for me I’m going to hang up this phone.”

  “Can I think it?”

  “Quinn, it was my life. At least it was better than Kate’s.”

  “How did they make the decision to move you?”

  “Change your line of questions already,” she replied, frustrated. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “It’s important. How did you find out about the moves? Did you have much warning?”

  “Well, I can’t say I remember much about the first two,” she replied with a sarcastic bite to her words. “I was a baby at the time.”

  “Lizzy.”

  “Sometimes they would tell me a few weeks before, okay? And sometimes they would just come and get me.”

  “In the middle of the school year.”

  “Quinn . . . 101 about being a kid in foster care. You don’t get a say in what happens or asked what you would like. You go where they tell you, when they tell you, and hope there’s a bed for you when you arrive and you’re not on a cot somewhere in some office shelter because they messed up the paperwork.”

  “And that’s the bright side?”

  “In a word, yes.”

  “Trevor House was a relief.”

  “Of course it was a relief. The only people who got tossed out of Trevor House were those picking fights on a regular basis. Otherwise you got your walking papers the day after you turned eighteen. Can we change the subject now? Please?”

  “I heard you went skydiving for your eighteenth birthday.”

  “About broke my neck,” she replied instantly. “The chute didn’t open, I had to go to the reserve chute, and I came down on a roadway instead of the field where we were supposed to hit. It was a blast.”

  “You’re serious.”

  “Sure. I went up again the next day.”

  “What do you want for your birthday next year?”

  “I can’t say I’ve thought about it. It’s not exactly soon.”

  “Well, start thinking about it.”

  “Does this mean I’m getting a birthday gift from you?”

  “Depends what is on your list.”

  “Size or price?”

  “Try ease of finding it.”

  “In that case, I really want a wooden yo-yo. I’ve been looking for one for years.”

  He laughed. “You’re serious.”

  “Of course I’m serious. I can do a cat’s cradle better than most, and walk the dog . . . It’s just that these plastic ones are too high tech; I want a good old-fashioned, hand-carved, perfectly balanced wooden yo-yo.”

  He had a feeling this was going to be a very difficult gift to find. “Have a wood preference for it?”

  “Mahogany would be excellent. Or a nice cherrywood, or even a white pine.”

  “A wooden yo-yo. At least you’re unique.”

  “Always. Quinn, it’s almost 1 A.M. Can I go back to sleep now? Or are you going to tell me why you really called?”

  He got to the point. “I know what I’d like as a return favor for the music lessons.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A promise to listen.”

  “About what?”

  “That’s a subject for a future date. I just wanted to tell you what the favor would be.”

  “Just listen?”

  “Yes. And don’t throw whatever is nearby and handy at me at the time.”

  “I’m not going to like the subject.”

  “Maybe not. Call the favor insurance.”

  She thought for several moments. “Okay. Now I’m curious. You’ve got your insurance.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, I think.”

  “You can go back to sleep now.”

  “With pleasure. Quinn?”

  “Humm?”

  The pause lasted long enough he wondered if she was going to say it. “Thanks for calling.”

  That’ta girl. He smiled. “Good night, Lizzy.”

  Fourteen

  Lisa didn’t believe in the Resurrection. Quinn closed the Sunday bulletin with its order of service and creased the edge of the paper with his thumbnail. It made sense, as soon as Kate had said it, that it would be the core doubt Lisa had to overcome. He wasn’t sure how to even talk about the subject with her. He just believed it was true, and possible.

  If he wasn’t ready for the questions, she would take him to pieces with her way of probing a subject. So where was she going to hit the hardest—the impossibility of it? the evidence supporting it? the reason the Bible said it was necessary?

  How did he convince someone who dealt with death every day to accept the Resurrection?

  Where did he even start the conversation? He had to figure out a place to start, find the right words.

  “Lord, what words of Scripture are going to cut like a two-edged sword to the heart of the problem?” He’d been wrestling with that question and he didn’t have an answer. There was a verse, a series of verses, that would be able to make the difference.

  He was considering using the passage in the book of John that described how Jesus spent the days after the Resurrection before He returned to heaven. But maybe he should go more directly to the underlying problem, set aside trying to answer her questions on the Resurrection and simply let her know again that Jesus loved her.

  What he wanted to do was wrap her in a hug and get her to finally believe it hadn’t been her fault that Andy died. Lisa might know it in her head, but he very much doubted she had accepted that fact in her heart. She had found with the Richards that love had been contingent on her actions, and if that fact had been absorbed into who she was . . .

  How many people had he met through the years who rejected God’s unconditional love because they judged themselves guilty and not worthy of that love? Lisa needed to know that God’s love was so deep it would swallow that pain from the past. She might not feel worthy of being loved like that, but she needed to accept it. She needed that kind of love to surround her: unconditional, total love. But Quinn knew the reality: Lisa had survived by being reluctant to let someone get close . . . She would be taking a big step to trust God. He didn’t need to deal with just the Resurrection, he needed to deal with Lisa’s heart.

  “Lord, I’m not cut out for this. I don’t have the words.” He couldn’t afford to fail. If Lisa let him get close, trusted him, and he fumbled the discussion it would be a house of cards falling down. He couldn’t afford to fail. “If someone is going to reach Lisa’s heart, it will be You. Find a way under her reserve and h
elp her hear. I can do my best to find words, but they are going to fall flat unless You help her understand. Draw her to You, woo her in. It matters, Lord. And it feels like the right time. Lisa needs to hear the truth and understand it.”

  Quinn took a deep breath, then let it slowly out along with the tension. Faith was about trust. God would give him the words he needed by the time he talked with Lisa.

  As the choir finished the opening song, one of the elders of the church came to the podium to give the morning welcome.

  Quinn turned his bulletin over, found a blank space, and wrote down a question.

  Kate was sitting beside him. “Hand this to Marcus,” he whispered.

  She passed it down the aisle.

  His partner read the note, leaned forward to look past Kate, then nodded to confirm Jennifer was expecting everyone to join her at church the morning of the wedding.

  Quinn relaxed against the padded bench. That’s what he had thought. There was no way Lisa would be able to decline that invitation. If there was going to be an opening for a conversation anytime in the near future, it would come next weekend.

  There was no good way to predict how Lisa would react to the situation. Indifference was the most likely. And given how intense the emotions of her past were, he hoped the service next week and the people she met were the opposite of what she remembered from her childhood. It was the intangibles that would make the difference. Who came over to say hello, how much Lisa felt welcome versus put in the spotlight. The type of music, the choice of sermon topic. So many small things would make the difference.

  Lisa had resisted talking to Kate, to Marcus. He had to try. “Lord, everything needs to come together next weekend.” The prayer came from the bottom of his heart and it was followed by a quiet comfort. There was real relief knowing God cared even more about the outcome than he did.

  The choir director came to the podium and asked that they stand for the opening hymn. There was a rustle of people and paper as hymnbooks were opened and people found page 212.

  Quinn saw Kate reach for her pager, set to vibrate; seconds later Marcus reached for his. Both immediately reacted. “Move,” Marcus whispered tersely.

  “What?”

  “Lisa’s emergency tag. Move. Now!”

  Kate threw open the passenger door before Quinn had the car stopped. Lisa’s car was in the driveway but she wasn’t answering the phone. An ambulance should have beaten them here; Quinn prayed Lisa hadn’t collapsed before she got that call made. It would be like her to call family before medical help.

  Kate was the first one to reach Lisa’s front door only because Marcus was defensively scanning the area as he ran. Quinn closed the distance, getting there just as Kate, finding the door locked, hurried to use her key. She was sliding the key into the lock when the door opened from the inside.

  Lisa was shaking. Kate grabbed her wrist, lifted Lisa’s arm around her own shoulders, and took Lisa’s weight before her sister hit the floor. “You should have stayed sitting down, I’ve got keys.”

  Marcus reached around Kate to get hold of Lisa’s other arm until he could get through the doorway. “How bad is the pain?”

  Lizzy looked confused, her pallor sharp. The phone in the house was still ringing because Kate had not closed hers when she tossed it on the front car seat to race inside when Lisa hadn’t answered.

  “Get her down. I’ll get medical help,” Quinn ordered, fear tearing through him at that look on Lizzy’s face. Had a blood clot formed and broken free? She looked like she had had a small stroke.

  “I–I’m okay.” She blinked trying to focus and shivered. “H–he was here.”

  Definitely not okay. Quinn picked up the phone and hung it up to get back dial tone, then placed the call Lisa should have made first.

  Marcus shoved aside the coffee table to get it out of their way.

  “Who was here, Lisa?” Kate asked, easing her down on the couch.

  Lisa tried to stop the shaking of her hands by gripping one in the other. “I shouldn’t have touched it, we need to get prints.”

  Marcus’s hands cupped both sides of her face, got her to focus on him. “Lisa, what are you talking about?” he asked, calm and clear.

  She struggled to explain. “It was left on the deck.”

  Quinn turned his startled attention toward the sliding glass doors to the back deck. The lightweight white shears had ripped, caught in the lower sliding track of the closed door. He could see a plastic glass slowly rolling back and forth on the deck pushed by the breeze. He finally connected with what she was saying, quickly gave the last of the information to the dispatcher, dropped the phone, then headed toward the deck.

  He rested his hand on his sidearm as he scanned the area, then eased open the door with his elbow to keep from leaving fingerprints. He stepped outside. Lisa had been working outside. Two sprinklers were watering the new sod and a hose was soaking the base of the new elm tree. Three geranium pots and a long cactus planter were on the table. The plastic glass rolling back and forth was disconcertingly out of place.

  The breeze ruffled a square of white blown into the corner of the deck.

  Instinctively knowing that was what Lisa was talking about, Quinn took out his pen, capped it, and used it and the edge of a matchbook to pick up the piece of paper.

  “Quinn?”

  “I’ve found it,” he called back. “Hold on.”

  For something written to have resulted in Lisa’s reaction . . . he stepped inside, knowing a hard reality. This house wasn’t safe. “Marcus.”

  His partner was already moving to pass him, Kate having eased into his place beside Lisa. “I’ll search the grounds,” Marcus said grimly.

  “Marc—be careful!”

  “I will, Lizzy.”

  Quinn set the piece of paper down on the dining room table, already studying it even before he read what it said: white twenty-pound paper, folded over in fourths, a streak of dirt on the side from where it had fallen. He opened the folded page using his capped pen and the salt and pepper shakers to hold down the page corners.

  The words were block printed in five neat lines.

  DID YOU SEE

  THE HUMMINGBIRDS?

  MARLA LIKED TO

  WATCH THEM WHILE

  SHE ATE LUNCH.

  Fifteen

  Quinn felt a chill, felt his vision narrow, and then the fury swept over him. No wonder Lizzy was spooked. “Go cover Marcus’s back,” he ordered Kate immediately.

  She looked over at him, startled.

  “Do it, Kate. I’ll take care of Lisa.”

  “Please,” Lisa urged, trying to push her that way, “he may still be here.”

  Kate checked her weapon. “I’m going.”

  Quinn took one last look at the note and left it on the table. It had already done its damage. He eased himself down on the couch beside Lisa. There was a pasty grayness to her coloring. That note had struck terror—it was probably one reason it had been left. He let his hand brush across her hair, settle gently against her face.

  “The guy who killed her,” Lisa whispered, “he knew we were there.”

  “And he knows where you live,” Quinn said simply, putting the situation fully into words. He briskly rubbed her arms. She was terribly cold.

  “He called.”

  “What?”

  “The phone rang. No one was there.”

  “After you saw the note?”

  Lisa shakily nodded.

  He had to have been watching when Lisa stepped out on the deck and found the note. No wonder she hadn’t picked up the phone again. Quinn wanted to help Marcus and Kate search but had to trust they wouldn’t miss anything.

  “Where exactly was it left?”

  “Tucked under the edge of the geranium pot.”

  “Did you see anyone? Anything else out of place?”

  “No.”

  “When were you last out on the deck before this?” He wanted to simply comfort but had to know the detai
ls.

  “Last night, no—” She frowned, then looked at him, confused. “I also went out this morning, early, after I fed the pets. I trapped a moth that had gotten inside and I went to release it. I don’t know if I would have noticed the note or not, I was thinking about other things.” She took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to panic like I did. I just . . . couldn’t think.”

  The investigation could wait. He cradled her head against his chest and wrapped his arms carefully around her. “Let it go.” For all the investigations and cases Lisa worked, she didn’t deal with the personal threats that Kate did, and this was one of the worst by what it implied. He felt her shake. He closed his eyes and just rocked her.

  The glass door slid open. Marcus and Kate came inside together. Quinn looked over, and Marcus silently shook his head.

  “It’s on the table,” Quinn said quietly.

  They went to see the note. Quinn heard the quiet discussion between them, heard the phone calls they made to Kate’s boss to bring in the police, to their brothers Stephen and Jack.

  Kate came to join them. “She’s okay,” he reassured softly, seeing Kate’s intense worry. “Lizzy, are you up to going with Kate? One of your flannel shirts would be a good idea. You’re cold.” And he had to talk to Marcus, now.

  Kate understood that silent message. “Come on, sis, let’s get you something warm.”

  Lisa leaned back.

  Quinn cupped her chin, holding her gaze. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to handle it.” There would be no independent Lisa walking into this one on her own and getting into trouble.

  “It’s all yours,” she whispered.

  She’d change that once she was feeling more steady, but for now it was enough. “Go with Kate,” he said again and helped her stand.

  Lisa swayed as she stood and had to lock her knees; Kate reached to steady her. “This is embarrassing.”

  “No, it’s not,” Kate replied. “You were much more unsteady than this after that car crash two years ago.”

  Lisa tried to smile as she leaned heavily against Kate and took her first steps. “You were the one driving.”

  “You were the one that screamed dog.”