Where There’s a Will

by Beth Pattillo

  Where There’s

  a Will

  Mystery

  and the Minister’s Wife

  Through the Fire

  A State of Grace

  Beauty Shop Tales

  A Test of Faith

  The Best Is Yet to Be

  Angels Undercover

  Into the Wilderness

  Where There’s a Will

  Dog Days

  The Missing Ingredient

  Open Arms

  A Token of Truth

  Who’s That Girl?

  For the Least of These

  A Matter of Trust

  Funny Money

  To Have and to Hold

  How the Heart Runs

  A Thousand Generations

  Home to Briar Mountain

  Flight of the Sparrows

  A Firm Foundation

  Off the Record

  A Distant Memory

  Tea and Sympathy

  The Master’s Hand

  Strangers in Their Midst

  Mystery and the Minister’s Wife is a trademark of Guideposts.

  Copyright © 2008 by Guideposts. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher. Inquiries should be addressed to the Rights & Permissions Department, Guideposts, 110 William Street, New York, New York 10038.

  The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

  All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Bible Publishers.

  Guideposts.org

  (800) 932-2145

  Guideposts Books & Inspirational Media Division

  Cover design by Dugan Design Group

  Cover illustration by Rose Lowry, www.illustrations.com

  Interior design by Cris Kossow

  Typeset by Nancy Tardi

  Printed in the United States of America

  For Harvey C. Smith and Mary Lou Smith,

  my wonderful in-laws.

  Thank you for your love and support.

  Chapter One

  Kate Hanlon checked the number posted above the classroom doorway against the number written on the slip of paper in her hand. She’d followed the campus map of Pine Ridge College to the right building, but finding the correct classroom had proved more daunting.

  Room 203.

  Yes, that was it. She took a deep breath and stepped inside. The tile floor, venetian blinds, and slightly musty smell were familiar to any student, but a few things had changed in the decades since Kate had stepped afoot in a college classroom. A large television was mounted near the ceiling in one corner, and an LCD projector sat on a cabinet in the middle of the room. Kate looked around the room with excitement. Judging from the rows and rows of empty desks, she was earlier than she’d thought.

  “Good morning!” A dark-haired woman about Kate’s age stepped from behind a desk at the front of the classroom. “I’m Professor Carruthers. And you are, as you can see”—she waved a hand toward the empty classroom as she smiled—“the first to arrive.”

  Although Kate was a mature adult, her early arrival still made her feel like a lost freshman on the first day of classes. Somehow she found returning to school in her late fifties far more intimidating than it had been the first time around.

  “I’m Kate Hanlon.” She smiled to hide her nerves and extended her hand, expecting the professor to take it. Instead, an odd expression crossed the woman’s face.

  “Oh, I see.”

  A knot tightened in Kate’s stomach. That was certainly not the reaction she had been expecting from her new professor. She’d enrolled in the art-history course at the college with a great deal of trepidation. A lifetime devoted to children, work, a loving husband, and church hadn’t left much time for continued study. But her passion for stained glass had inspired her to return to school. If she was to grow as an artist, furthering her knowledge of art history seemed a logical step.

  “Am I in the wrong class?” Kate took a nervous step backward.

  The other woman’s clouded expression cleared, and her smile returned. “No, no, not at all. I’m sorry. Normally I have much better manners. It’s just that—”

  The professor stopped speaking and looked toward the doorway. Kate turned to see two familiar faces from Copper Mill.

  “Martha? Dot?” Kate said in surprise.

  Martha Sinclair and Dot Bagley were members of Faith Briar Church, where Kate’s husband, Paul, was the pastor. They were also regulars at Betty’s Beauty Parlor and two of the more active branches on the Copper Mill grapevine. Kate often visited with them while she was having her hair done, but she never dreamed of encountering the two women in an art-history class. They had always seemed more interested in gossip than fine arts.

  “Are you two taking this class?” Kate asked, careful to hide her disbelief.

  “Well, when we heard you talking about it at the beauty shop, it sounded so interesting,” Martha said with her usual wide smile, “that we thought we’d give it a try.”

  Kate bit back a sigh. She was very fond of the people at Faith Briar, but ministers’ wives sometimes needed a little time away from their congregations. She had hoped to find some space at the college, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen.

  “I didn’t know you were interested in nineteenth-century American art,” Kate said.

  “We love all those pretty pictures,” Martha gushed.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Kate saw Professor Carruthers blanch.

  “I think you’ll find we will be concerned with far more than pretty pictures, as you say.” The professor’s tone was curt. “Why don’t you take your seats? I’m sure the remainder of the class will arrive in a moment.”

  Martha and Dot appeared unperturbed by the woman’s abruptness, and they happily set about the business of selecting their desks. Kate followed them, but she would have preferred to continue her conversation with Professor Carruthers. Why had the woman reacted so strangely when Kate introduced herself? As a pastor’s wife, she had grown accustomed to occasional frowns of disapproval, but she usually knew the reasons behind them. The professor’s reaction, along with Martha and Dot’s appearance, drained away a significant portion of Kate’s anticipation of the class.

  Fortunately, the other students began to arrive. Most of them were young—quite young, it seemed to Kate, who felt every one of her fifty-seven years as she watched them file into the room. Their choppy hairstyles, unique piercings, backpacks, and tight blouses over low-waisted pants heightened her awareness of her ordinary strawberry-blonde curls and sweater set. She enjoyed keeping up with fashion and wore stylish clothes, but that didn’t stop her from feeling more like a mother than a peer in the company of her fellow students.

  At last, the classroom filled, the students took their seats, and the bell tower chimed to announce the hour.

  Professor Carruthers stood and introduced herself, gave an overview of the course, and discussed the syllabus. Then she dimmed the lights. A breathtaking image filled the screen at the front of the classroom. Kate recognized the masterpiece as Whistler’s Mother. A warm feeling of relief and pleasure washed over her, sweeping away her discomfort. She’d chosen to study nineteenth-century American art because the realism and strong use of color spoke to her own creative sensibilities. She hoped to capture that same striking visual imagery in her own work someday.

  The ninety-minute class passed
in the blink of an eye, or at least it seemed that way to Kate. When Professor Carruthers flipped the lights back on, Kate blinked against the harsh fluorescent glare. Before dismissing the group, the professor gave them their assignment for the next class—a great deal of reading as well as a paper that would require viewing a number of slides at the library.

  Kate sat motionless for a long moment as the other students rose from their desks and filed past her. She studied the syllabus, noting that the assignments didn’t get any easier as the semester progressed, especially when she read the description of the final project. As much as the subject matter excited Kate, she wondered if she’d bitten off more than she could chew.

  “Kate? Could I speak to you for a moment?”

  The professor’s question startled her.

  “Oh...why, yes, of course.” Kate scrambled for her handbag and the notebook she’d brought. All of the students, except for Kate, Martha, and Dot, had laptop computers. Kate stood and made her way up the aisle between the desks.

  As Kate approached the front of the room, she could feel her pulse pick up. She was certain she was about to be told that she didn’t belong in the class.

  She was so nervous that she almost didn’t notice the forced smile on the professor’s face or the white-knuckled hands that were holding several pages of lecture notes.

  “I have to apologize,” Professor Carruthers began, not quite meeting Kate’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to react so strangely when you introduced yourself. It’s just that you’re the last person I ever expected to have in one of my classes.”

  Kate put on a brave smile of her own. She had been right. The professor didn’t think she belonged in the class. Of course, her undergraduate degree hadn’t been in fine arts, but the college registrar had assured her she didn’t need any prerequisites for the class.

  “I understand,” Kate said before the professor could continue. “Thank you, though, for letting me sit in on today’s lecture. It was worth it just for the overview—”

  “Oh no. You don’t understand.” Professor Carruthers’ eyes widened in alarm. “This has nothing to do with you as a student.”

  “It doesn’t?” Kate was baffled. Then what on earth? she wondered.

  “You’re Paul Hanlon’s wife, aren’t you?” she asked. “The one who solves mysteries?”

  Now Kate was more confused than ever. “Yes...Yes, I am.”

  Professor Carruthers dropped her lecture notes on the desk and sighed. “I’m afraid I’m making a terrible mess of this.” She paused and took a deep breath. “My maiden name is Harrington. I’m Ellen Harrington.”

  Kate stared at the woman and tried to keep her jaw from dropping. “Paul’s Ellen Harrington?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Ellen answered with a modest smile.

  As surprised as the woman had apparently been to have Kate as a student, Kate had equally never anticipated having her husband’s old girlfriend as a professor.

  “I thought you lived in upstate New York,” Kate said.

  Bits of information pushed to the forefront of her mind. Paul and Ellen had met during their freshman year at East Tennessee State University. The pair of them had been pretty serious according to Paul’s mother, who had never quite forgiven Kate for being a Texas native rather than a homegrown Tennessee girl. Kate had never been clear on exactly why Paul and Ellen had parted ways, but their romance hadn’t survived past graduation.

  Ellen Carruthers’ smile disappeared. “I did live in New York until a few weeks ago.” Her eyes misted over. “You see, I lost my husband, Trevor, last spring.”

  Sympathy quickly alleviated any dawning pangs of jealousy Kate felt. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “No, of course you wouldn’t.” Ellen gave her a weak smile. “Paul and I lost touch long ago after I moved to Boston for graduate school.” A shadow crossed her face.

  Kate and Ellen exchanged a bittersweet look of understanding.

  “But I actually didn’t ask you to stay behind because of Paul,” Ellen said. “I’ve heard you have a certain reputation for solving people’s problems, and I have one I could use your help with.”

  Kate braced herself. Ever since she’d had some success solving the mysteries around Copper Mill, she’d begun receiving all sorts of requests for help. For the most part, they were fairly innocuous and didn’t require more than ordinary common sense to figure out. Lost keys could be located by retracing a person’s steps. Long-lost relatives took a little more time to find, but they usually turned up with a thorough Google search on the computer at the Copper Mill Public Library. But every so often, a full-fledged, bonafide mystery presented itself, and Kate’s curiosity always got the better of her.

  “A problem so soon after moving back to the area?” Kate asked.

  With any luck, Ellen Carruthers’ difficulty would be a minor one, easily resolved. While Kate would naturally have been hesitant about taking on a mystery for her new professor, the fact that the woman was Paul’s former girlfriend made it doubly tricky.

  “Actually,” Ellen said, “this particular mystery has been brewing for two generations.”

  Kate’s interest was piqued despite her reservations. “Really?” Surely Ellen was exaggerating.

  “I need help finding my Grandfather Harrington’s second will. I don’t know if Paul ever mentioned it, but my family is the original Harrington clan for whom this county is named. Finding the will is the only way I can assert my claim to part interest in a rather large piece of property.”

  Now Kate was more than interested. She was downright intrigued. “How long has the will been missing?”

  Ellen shook her head. “I’m not sure. You see, I’ve never actually seen the will, although I know it exists.”

  “You haven’t tried to find the will before now?”

  Ellen grimaced. “Honestly, I hoped I would never need to bother with it at all. My cousin, Carol Coats, is the majority owner of the property, and her husband, Oliver, has been very unpleasant about the whole matter, so much so that I never pursued my claim. For years no one had any interest in the property, including me, so it didn’t matter. In fact, if I’d known what would happen, I might not have come home at all. But last month some people from the state government approached Oliver about buying the land. They want to turn it into a wildlife preserve.”

  “How did you find out about the offer?”

  “Carol and I do talk occasionally, when Oliver’s not around.”

  “And where is the property?” Kate asked.

  “Have you ever heard of High Hoot Ridge?”

  “Where the old Harrington Ironworks are?”

  “Yes.”

  Kate had indeed heard of it. The abandoned mining town of Harrington and its ironworks were something of a local legend, a ghost town on a ridge east of Copper Mill.

  “And your family owned it?”

  “My great-grandfather and his brother were the original owners. In fact, both the town and the county were named after them. But the two brothers had a falling out, and the town was abandoned in the early 1900s. The land’s just been sitting there ever since, passed down through the family.”

  “And selling it to the government won’t settle the dispute? Your cousin wouldn’t consider simply handing over your fair share?”

  “Oliver would never let her, not when I can’t show proof of my claim to the property. My grandfather’s first will was written before I was born, and it left his share of the property to Carol, with only a life interest for my grandmother. There are some other cousins who also have a minor interest in the property, but Carol, or more accurately, Oliver, controls both her grandfather’s share and mine.”

  “How do you know the second will exists?” Kate had seen on more than one occasion that people’s hopes often didn’t reflect reality. She would hate to go on a wild-goose chase for a nonexistent document.

  “My grandmother never told me about the will while she was alive,” Ellen said. “But after
her death almost thirty years ago, I received a letter from her telling me the truth. She knew I wanted to stay out of the family squabbles, but she also wanted me to have the opportunity to claim my inheritance if I ever changed my mind. She didn’t trust Carol’s father, her nephew, so she hid the will...very, very well.”

  “And no one’s uncovered it in all this time?”

  “As I said, I was willing to let a sleeping dog lie. If nothing else, I’ve learned over the years that family fights about money never produce winners—only losers.” Ellen paused, then went on. “You see, my parents died when I was quite young, and I was raised by my grandparents. The land was their only legacy to me. Now, with Trevor’s death and this offer from the state to buy the property, it’s become more important than ever that I find the will. Financially, if not just for my own peace of mind. So, do you think you can help me?”

  Kate hesitated. “Do you have any idea where it might be?”

  Ellen smiled. “Yes. And I think you’ll find this interesting. You see, it’s something of an art-history puzzle.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My grandmother was an artist. She was the one who nurtured my love of painting. So when she hid the will, she left clues. She counted on my love of art to help me solve the mystery.”

  Kate smiled. “You’re right. I’m definitely intrigued. Tell me more.”

  “She created a series of paintings that would lead me to the will.”

  “If she left such a clear trail, why do you need my help?”

  “That’s just it.” Ellen frowned. “There’s nothing clear about any of it. First of all, I have only one of the five paintings needed to solve the mystery. The rest were dispersed among various family members.”

  Ellen was right. Kate was beginning to find the mystery irresistible. “Do the other family members know that the paintings are clues to the whereabouts of the will?”

  “No. Grandmother only revealed the secret to me in the letter, and I’ve never mentioned it to anyone.”