by Ron Benrey
He braced himself for her fury, but she surprised him with a smile. “Thanks for trying to help, Sean, but you aren’t responsible for Richard Squires’ death because you didn’t demand to be given a position of responsibility despite the concerns of several people. I did. Phil Meade didn’t want me to be in charge of the emergency shelter, but I insisted. He’ll never get over that I challenged his judgment, and won. And now he’s using my checkered past to prove he was right, and I was wrong.”
Sean took Ann’s arm and led her to a sofa positioned near the narthex’s back wall. “What checkered past, Ann? You were an eighteen-year-old kid trying to protect a group of campers from a bad thunderstorm. A falling-down shed might have been a poor choice, but what was your alternative? Stay out of the open and get clobbered by hail? Or shelter under trees and possibly get hit by lightning?”
He looked closely at her and could see the exhaustion on her pretty face. “Decisions you made back then have absolutely nothing to do with what happened the other night. Apparently, Phil doesn’t know much about the concept of relevance.”
Ann shrugged. “But he is right about one thing. I panicked that evening. I didn’t want to be alone in the dark with the wind blowing outside. I spent almost seven hours trapped under that collapsed roof, unable to help the kids or myself. I still have nightmares about that night. I’d rather die than repeat the experience.”
Sean put his hand over hers. He half expected her to pull away, but she didn’t. Her hand felt warm and soft under his. “That’s a nasty memory to cope with. No wonder you don’t like to talk about Camp Carolina Pines.”
Ann squeezed his fingers tightly and turned in her seat to face him. The pain was still there, but holding his hand seemed to give her comfort.
“Now everyone thinks I lied to the church, and I have only myself to blame. I should have mentioned the camp, but I convinced myself that most people knew about it. After all, it was no secret. Newspapers and TV stations all over the state covered the story.”
Sean studied her face. He could see tears in her eyes, but she seemed relieved—relieved to have finally unburdened herself of her secret. She looked up at him, and his heart nearly stopped in his chest. He was having trouble focusing on her words.
“I wish the lawsuit had come to trial,” she was saying. “If it had, I’d have been able to tell my side of the story. But because the camp settled, there’s still a big cloud over my head. Anyway, for better or worse, the accident changed my career path. I’d intended to be a teacher, but I was so shaken that I didn’t want to work with kids anymore. I went back to college two years later and majored in business administration.” She paused for a moment, then said, “Sean, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to tell you my secret.”
Without thinking, Sean put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. He leaned forward and gently brushed his lips against hers. He heard her gasp, but she didn’t pull away for several seconds. He felt fairly sure that she kissed him back.
When she spoke, she asked, “Why did you do that?”
“I wanted to. And I couldn’t think of any other way to make you stop beating yourself up.”
She grinned. “So if I continue to beat myself up, does that mean you’ll kiss me again?”
Sean smiled. “Again and again.”
Ann laughed and Sean reached out and drew her toward him.
TEN
“You probably shouldn’t kiss the church administrator in the narthex,” Ann said.
“Is that one of Glory Community’s bylaws?” he asked, grinning impishly.
She fought not to laugh as she stood up. “Kissing is simply not done in the narthex.”
“I’m confused. I distinctly remember that you kissed me back—in the narthex.”
“A gentleman would not have remembered. You are incorrigible! Now let’s get out of here before Phil Meade and the others finish the meeting.”
“Good idea. If they catch us kissing, it could lessen the strength of our case,” he said as he leaned in to kiss her again.
Ann dodged his kiss and took his hand, leading him to the front door. “Let’s walk,” she said. Sean pushed the door open and they walked down the front path toward Oliver Street.
She felt like a different person—joyful and at ease and pleased to know that Sean was only inches away. A switch inside her had flipped. Something enduring had begun to gel. She couldn’t stop caring for Sean even if she wanted to at this point.
She realized that Sean had a remarkable ability to change her perception of the world. She’d left the meeting feeling hollow, defeated. But Sean’s sweet kisses had banished her pessimism and transformed her vision of the future from negative to positive. He’d even managed to push the practical aspects of their relationship from her mind. Somehow, it no longer mattered to her that he lived hundreds of miles away, or that he planned to leave Glory in two days.
“It’s nice to see you happy again,” Sean said. He playfully swung her arm. Could this be what romance feels like? she mused. Romance! The very notion startled her.
Ann had never thought herself romantic, but rather a loner, a woman who intentionally shied away from romantic entanglements. After all, if she became involved with a man, she’d have to tell him about her past—share her deepest secrets, shock him with the details of her failures.
But Sean hadn’t been shocked. He had learned the worst about her and taken it in stride. Perhaps even more surprising, he seemed to understand the pain she felt. But he didn’t seem to understand her way of coping with it.
“Sean, something you said in the narthex—you told me that your kiss stopped me from beating myself up.”
Sean tugged on her hand so that she’d stop and face him. “That incident at Camp Carolina Pines happened seven years ago.”
She couldn’t help frowning. “I loathe that word. The lawyers called what occurred at the camp an ‘incident.’ It’s so impersonal, so disconnected from me. I prefer ‘accident’ or ‘mistake.’”
Sean was no longer smiling at her. “Seven years is a long time, but you still have nightmares about it. You’ve probably thought about it every day, squandering untold emotional energy keeping your past hidden from the people around you, and every chance you get, you blame yourself for what happened to those kids.”
“You make it sound like I have a choice.”
“Don’t you?” He began to sing. “‘O what peace we often forfeit, O what needless pain we bear/All because we do not carry everything to God in prayer.’”
“You can sing!” she exclaimed. He laughed. She said, “That’s from ‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus.’”
“It’s my favorite line from my favorite hymn,” Sean said. “You ought to pay attention to the words when the choir sings them.”
She could almost feel his gaze searching her face.
“Ann, you strike me as a wholly committed Christian in every possible way except one. You refuse to turn your problems over to God. You doggedly try to solve them yourself, including the biggest challenge you live with—how to get out from under an accident that changed your life seven years ago.”
Ann dropped his hand and took a step backward. “And you strike me as an equally committed Christian, except for one thing. You have a propensity to judge your fellow believers.”
“Touché.” He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Guilty as charged.”
She decided not to tell Sean that she’d heard a dozen different ministers, including Daniel, preach on the importance of turning the challenges in her life over to God. But weren’t there limits? Why should she expect Him to undo the mess at Camp Carolina Pines? Shifting the burden of her mistake to God would be a total cop-out.
Sean seemed to guess her thoughts. “Remember what Paul said. ‘Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and yo
ur minds in Christ Jesus.’”
“I know how Christianity works.” She was angry—Sean’s zealous pushing and prodding was getting to her. “You don’t have to tell me to ‘let go and let God.’ Last winter I bought a thousand bumper stickers for members with that phrase in inch-high letters.”
“Apparently you didn’t pay much attention to the words.” Sean brought his face close to hers. “I suspect that God’s been encouraging you to let go for lots of years. But you’re too stubborn—you like to do things your own way.”
“That sounds remarkably like another judgment, Sean.”
“I hate to see you suffering needless pain. I can’t help it—not since you returned my kiss in the narthex, and violated a dozen or two church rules. The thing is—and it took me years to figure this out—God can’t use you fully for his purposes until you’re willing to let go completely.”
“If you put a sock in your lecture, I promise to ponder everything you said.”
“No need to make promises—I intend to remind you, unmercifully,” Sean said, smiling.
They ambled east on Oliver Street without talking. When they reached Snacks of Glory, Ann studied their reflections in the plate-glass window and decided that they looked “right” together, like a man and a woman who’d known each other far longer than three and a half days. Sean was holding her hand again, although she couldn’t recall when or where on their silent journey he had reached for her.
Ann looked at Sean and saw his attention focused on the park across the street. “Those are two bronze statues there—why are they both wearing dresses?”
“Those are kilts, you knucklehead. Duncan and Moira McGregor led the group of Scots who founded Glory in 1733. If you browse through Founder’s Park, you’ll find a lovely copse in the middle that houses their grave sites.”
He chuckled. “I stand corrected. Another piece of Glory charm.”
“I’m thrilled that Glory amuses your wee brain.”
“It does! In fact, perhaps I should take a picture for posterity. Why don’t you stand in front of that neon SOGgy Burger for me.”
Sean held his cell phone up and took a photo of Ann standing beneath the SOGgy Burger.
“What do you intend to do with that photo?”
He smiled at her and she felt a sudden stab of sadness, thinking of him looking at the photo when he arrived in New York several days from now. She pushed the thought away and strode ahead, confident that Sean would catch up quickly. They turned south when they arrived at Front Street. The piles of debris they’d seen yesterday had been hauled away. She paused to study the Albemarle Sound. The afternoon sun streaming over her shoulder made the water sparkle. Two small sailboats zipped along the beautifully serene surface, propelled by the cool breeze.
“What a difference a day makes,” Ann said. “We’ll soon forget that Gilda paid us a visit. All except Phil Meade—and me.”
They came to a grassy strip and passed a couple playing Frisbee fetch with their golden retriever, who seemed inordinately delighted by the game. The smiling retriever loped over to Sean for a behind-the-ear scratch.
“Phil Meade’s the opposite of a golden retriever,” Sean said. “He’s a stubborn bulldog who won’t let go of the bone in his mouth.”
Ann shook her head. “Don’t insult a noble canine breed. Phil is a junkyard mongrel—one of the really nasty ones.”
Sean sat down on a bench. Ann sat beside him. “Where do we go from here?” he asked.
She hadn’t expected Sean to ask the question that was at the top of her mind, and she labored to come up with a sensible reply. “I don’t have an answer. I suppose that our future will depend on your career and what you plan to do.”
Sean beamed at her. “That’s not what I meant, although that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. You think that we could have a future together.”
Ann looked away, sure that every inch of her skin was red with embarrassment. Sean came to her rescue and changed the subject.
“I meant where we can go from here to find a motive for murder. Encouraging Rafe to find the person who killed Richard remains the best—and maybe only—way to convince Phil that he’s wrong about you.”
Ann heard herself sigh. “I may sound like a broken iPod, but I’m not surprised that we can’t turn up a motive. Richard was too nice a person to make enemies.”
“Let’s go with that,” Sean said. “Niceness eliminates motives related to jealousy, fear and revenge—but it leaves money on the table. Money is always a potential motive for murder.”
“Richard’s chief asset was Squires’ Place.” She made a face. “We visited his restaurant and learned about Hayden, but that’s all we learned.”
“We didn’t prod very hard. In fact, Sheila Parker told us very little. I say we try again. How about right now?”
Ann couldn’t think of a reason to disagree, other than that Sheila might not want to talk about Richard again. And even if she agreed—well, Sean might fancy himself a detective, but he didn’t have the streak of ferocity that encouraged witnesses to spill their guts, so to speak.
Thank goodness! I wouldn’t care for him if he did.
Sean murmured a short prayer. “Thank You, Lord, for what we’ve learned to date about Richard Squires, but we need to make more progress—quickly.” He’d seen discouragement explode on Ann’s face, her reluctant acceptance of defeat. Now that Phil Meade had done his worst, she’d seemed to have lost much of her motivation to press on. Another disappointment or two and she might call an end to their investigation. Then she’d spend the rest of her life brooding about the two mistakes she’d made.
I won’t let that happen. No matter what.
He hadn’t told Ann, but time had become his enemy, too. Late September was the height of the hurricane season. A new tropical depression could be forming right now in the eastern Atlantic Ocean. In a handful of days it could swell into a named hurricane zooming toward the United States. When that happened, his sojourn in Glory would end with a frantic telephone call from Cathy McCabe. She wouldn’t care that his heart wasn’t in weather reporting this week, or that he’d made promises to an amazing local gal. Cathy would give him a new assignment and expect him to take it—or else.
They walked directly to the alley off Campbell Street.
“Do you think Sheila’s at Squires’ Place?” he asked.
“That’s where I’d be. If she plans to open the restaurant on Saturday night, there’s a mountain of work to do.” Ann dug in her purse for a mirror. “Yikes. I look like a train wreck. Too many tears, too much wind. You should have told me.”
Sean shrugged. “You look great to me. Who cares about smudged makeup?”
“First Carlo, now you. Storm Channel men must get advanced training in lying to women.” She delved into her bag again. “You don’t have to supervise my repair efforts. Ring the bell.”
The steel door swung open. Sheila’s unhappy face came into view. “You’re back.”
“We have a few additional questions to ask about Richard,” Sean said. “We’ll be brief.”
“I hope so. I’m very busy today.”
They followed Sheila directly to Richard’s office, sitting on the same sofa as the day before. Sheila perched on the edge of Richard’s desk. Her expression made Sean think of a bird of prey—small cold eyes filled with unwavering purpose, staring eagerly at lunch. What, he wondered, had happened since they saw her last? And what had Richard Squires seen in this woman? “Okay,” she snapped, “ask your questions.”
Sean saw Ann staring at the desk, looking surprised. Only then, did he notice that he could see the polished walnut desktop. No more piles of paper. For some unknown reason, Sheila had taken time from her allegedly busy schedule to tidy Richard’s office.
“I see that you organized Richard’s paperwork,” he said.
“I filed everything. I had to. Richard’s children asked me to run the restaurant while it’s still a restaurant.”
&nbs
p; It was an odd remark, but Sean understood what she meant. Richard’s kids had promoted Sheila from hostess to manager.
She went on, “Richard could run Squires’ Place surrounded by disorder, I can’t.”
“It sounds to me that Richard’s children plan to move ahead with the development project you told us about yesterday, the one involving Mr. Hayden, in Norfolk.”
“Of course they do!” She looked at Sean with disbelief. “Wouldn’t you? It’s a fabulous opportunity. The demolition will begin in November.”
Sean thought for a moment. She must’ve gotten that tidbit of information from Richard’s children, but where did they get it? Certainly not from Miles Hayden. The new project couldn’t begin until after the details of Richard’s will had been settled. Hayden knew that; he wouldn’t be foolish enough to promise a specific start date so early in the probate process.
Maybe the date wasn’t a promise but a speculation made to a big-mouthed, big-haired friend who wasn’t good at keeping secrets?
Did Sheila know Hayden? She might have met him during one of Hayden’s visits to Glory to explain his development plan to Richard. Had she kept in touch with Hayden to…uh, broaden her opportunities? Was she one of the “several friends” in Glory that Hayden had mentioned?
Sean stopped his ruminating when he noted that Ann’s eyes had become bright, all but merry. He’d seen that look before, Sean thought. She was going to skewer Sheila.
“Let me be the first to congratulate you, Sheila,” Ann said. “Managing Squires’ Place is an enormous responsibility. Richard’s children have given you a tremendous vote of confidence.”
“Thank you. With God’s help, I’ll do a good job.”
“I’m certain you will, which leads me to ask a question. Where did you learn to run a large restaurant? People don’t realize how complex a task it can be, what with planning menus, buying food, supervising the cook and wait staffs, taking care of the finances, dealing with daily problems, chatting up customers—the list goes on and on. Doing a thorough job can take sixteen hours a day.”
