“You’re welcome. Stephen likes to build stuff.”
“The bookshelf should be full in a few weeks.”
Jack got up to sort out the wallpaper remnants, deciding what should be kept for repairs and what small pieces should be thrown away. “Would it be okay with you if I just threw away the paintbrushes rather than try to clean them?”
“Sure.”
Jack closed the garbage bag. “Your mouse didn’t reappear.”
“I think my mouse and Benji have been flirting with each other. Lisa looked everywhere to try and find her.”
“My sister likes odd pets.”
Cassie gathered up catalogs. There had been discussions with Rachel and Jennifer on what kind of new furniture she should consider buying. “Jennifer said you were joining her tomorrow?”
“Planning to.” He sighed. “I’m going to get grilled.” For the past six months the subject of religion had been a quiet undertone to his conversation with Jennifer. With the end of the cancer remission, conversations she had been willing to pace with time were now being brought forward.
“She just wants to talk. Why are you absorbing so much pressure about this?”
“I don’t want to argue with her, Cassie. If the worst happens, Jennifer doesn’t have much time. Having a division now—” He shook his head, finding the idea intolerable.
Short of agreeing with Jennifer on the issue of religion, he didn’t know how to find the right words. Respectful disagreement was not how he wanted the conversation to end. That would hurt Jennifer. He would do anything he could to protect her. “Can Jesus stop Jennifer’s cancer?”
“Yes.”
“Will He?”
When she didn’t answer, he looked over and found she had stopped what she was doing. “Jesus is not Santa Claus. He’s God. There’s a huge difference. He does whatever He wants.”
“I find it fascinating that you believe in Him so absolutely.” How was that possible?
“I know Jesus loves me.”
“Even though He let you get burned?” he risked asking her. He had thought about it many times, thought he would offend her with the question, so he hadn’t asked it before.
“Do you know what I decided back when I was lying in that hospital bed enduring the slow passage of time until the next shot of painkiller?”
Startled by an answer that again opened a door into what she had been thinking during those days, he stopped what he was doing and gave her his full attention.
Cassie raised her hand, flexed it, and the scars near her thumb tightened, whitened. “God made the ability to feel pain. He didn’t have to, you know. He made the ability to feel pain and He also made it possible to feel joy. Should I hate Him for allowing one and praise Him for allowing the other? God knew what He was doing. I may not always agree, but that is part of what respecting His authority means.”
She rubbed her thumb across her palm, glanced up at him, and smiled. “Jack, I personally know Jesus. I have no doubts about the fact He loves me. He helped me get through those long hours, sometimes minute by minute. I found out life is tough, but God is tougher.”
“No matter how good she looks and tries to act, Jennifer is very sick.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“I’m supposed to believe Jesus is okay with this?”
“He’s got a plan in mind that will maximize her joy. Jack, I know that—” She flung out her hand. “No, Benji!” She caught the kitten but she had already walked through paint. “Oh, Benji. White and blue paint in the same day…” Cassie got to her feet, talking to the kitten as she headed for the kitchen.
The phone rang as Cassie was coming back into the room. She gave Jack a frustrated look and turned to answer it. It was Linda; it quickly became apparent the conversation would go on for a while. The opportunity to talk lost, Jack got his coat, carried the trash downstairs to the dumpster, then carried the paint cans down to the car. “Maximize her joy.” Cassie’s perspective didn’t mean Jennifer would necessarily get well. Jack sucked in a deep breath of cold night air. Jennifer had to get well. He couldn’t handle losing a sister.
It felt good to be back at the bookstore. Cassie shoved the last box of Christmas decorations across the threshold into the storage room. The shelves Jack had helped her build were now filled with shipping boxes, packing tape, preprinted lists of current inventory specials, and rolls of bubble wrap. Jack had helped her custom build a worktable that could fit in the corner of the room so she didn’t have to haul the shipping material into the other room when she filled orders.
Soon, this would once again be her full-time job. The arsonist wasn’t going to linger out there for more than a few more weeks before Cole had enough information to locate him.
Cassie turned her attention to the next box of books to be priced. Linda had already entered them into the inventory database.
Jack was meeting with Jennifer today.
Lord, please let that conversation go well. Cassie was worrying about it, about how Jack was dealing with the subject of faith. He was obviously feeling pressured, and that was the wrong way to get anyone to consider such a fundamental question of who Jesus was. She hadn’t helped matters.
She glanced at her watch. She was meeting Jack after he saw Jennifer, and she needed to get home in time to change.
Cassie looked around the bookstore.
It no longer felt like an albatross to see herself as a bookstore owner, to see the place where she put her passion. She enjoyed the department work, but she had missed this place. Her days here in the last few weeks had been more focused on filling orders and keeping up with the paperwork than stepping back and dreaming about where she wanted to take the business.
She found she missed that time to dream and it was a good thing to learn about herself. She no longer felt the attachment to the past and clinging to what had been as necessary to be content. There was a future here in the bookstore business.
And Jack would worry less about her.
She knew he was nervous about the job she was doing for Cole, rolling out to look for the arsonist. He didn’t like her doing something that had that element of risk. And since she was nervous about him simply fighting fires, she well understood his concern.
“Hello, Jack.” Tom let him into the hotel suite on the fourteenth floor.
Jack pushed his hands into his pants’ pockets. “How is she?” he asked softly, worried, having received the call changing plans as he was getting ready to leave his apartment. Their lunch plans had been scrapped.
“Jack, I’m fine. Quit whispering to my husband,” Jennifer said. She was stretched out on the couch by the large screen TV that had the news on. She set aside the book she was reading. She had received a number of books for Christmas, had been especially thrilled with Cassie’s gift of an autographed copy of a T. Emmond mystery.
“She’s fine,” Tom reassured. “She’s just ordered to the couch for the next few hours.”
Jack crossed the suite to join Jennifer and leaned down to hug her. “Faking it, are you?”
“I pulled my back. Tom doesn’t want me walking because he hates my shoes or some such nonsense.”
“I’m going to ignore the fact you’re questioning my medical advice,” Tom called back to his wife as he picked up his pager.
“You’re sure that is all?” Jack whispered to her. No disrespect to Tom, but Jennifer’s medical opinion had been the one that always carried the most weight.
There was no hesitation or shades of gray in her reassurance. “Yes.”
“Jen, I’m heading over to meet Marcus for lunch. Anything you need before I take off?” Tom asked.
“Tell my brother I want to see him and Shari for dinner before we fly east.”
“Will do, honey. See you later, Jack.”
“Tom.”
Jack sank into the plush chair across from Jennifer, relaxing. She turned down the volume on the television then set aside the remote.
Appearances were
deceiving. Her health was precarious. She was in that edge of reality with the remission ending and the next round of chemotherapy beginning. The last round had taken all her energy and left her voice so soft it had been a struggle to hear her. Jack had spent enough time staying with Jennifer during the last hospital stay that he knew the best hotels near the hospital. He wasn’t looking forward to that return trip.
“It’s going to take me a while to get used to this,” Jennifer said.
“What?”
“Your suit and tie.”
Jack ran his hand along the tie. It was burgundy and blue to match the dark jacket and wool slacks. “I’m taking Cassie out later.” And he was trying his best to make a good impression.
“I like her.”
Jack looked at Jennifer, hearing a lot more in those three words than were on the surface. Jennifer’s opinion in this family carried a lot of weight. “What’s the family grapevine opinion?”
“Very positive. She’s upbeat in her outlook despite everything that happened. She surprised me a bit with that dry sense of humor. Lisa really enjoyed talking with her.”
“Cassie was equally complimentary. She enjoyed herself.” Jack stretched out in the chair, studying his sister. “I’ve got the rest of the afternoon free, so what would you like to talk about first?”
“Oh, I think I’ve got a few more dozen questions about Cassie to start with…”
He laughed. “You’re so predictable.”
“You’re not. You surprised us with that invitation to bring Cassie to the party. I want to hear how you met her.”
“You look a bit shell-shocked.” Cassie leaned against Jack’s arm to get his attention, worried about him. She wasn’t used to Jack not joking and laughing, smiling at life. Dinner out had been enjoyable, but she’d felt like he was struggling to keep up with even the general conversation he offered. He had been subdued ever since he picked her up.
“What?”
She handed him the bowl of ice cream. She added chocolate and two cherries to the vanilla ice cream; the smiley face she had drawn was rather lopsided. They had come back to watch a movie after dinner but she didn’t think his heart was in it. She curled up on the couch beside him, tucking her feet underneath her and tugging down the afghan. “What did you and Jennifer talk about?”
Jack smiled. “You.” Then his smile disappeared. “Family history, her cancer. God. A lot about God.”
Lord, what’s wrong? This is a man who looks like he’s been hit by a two-by-four. She rubbed his arm. “You’ve missed what I’ve said a few times. Do you want to just pass on tonight? You’ve got a lot on your mind.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so scattered.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been there many times.”
He set aside the ice cream and pushed his hands through his hair. “Yes, it’s probably best I head home.”
“Call me later?”
“Sure.”
She put her hand on his arm and squeezed it. “If you don’t call me, I’m calling you.”
“I’ll call.”
She pushed aside the afghan, then got up to fetch his coat from the hall closet. She waited by the door as he pulled it on. “Don’t forget your gloves.”
He tugged them out and slid them on, smiling at her as he did so.
“Want a hug?” she asked softly.
She’d taken a risk asking the question, but his expression of relief was deep and it confirmed she’d made the right decision. He opened his arms and she stepped into them, his arms wrapped tight around her. He sighed and she could feel the exhaustion in him. “It will be okay, Jack. All of it.”
“Pray for me,” he whispered.
Her throat closed. She hugged him tighter, fighting the tears. “Sure,” she choked out.
When he finally stepped back, she searched his face, looking for anything that would help her know how to help. “She’s dying, Cassie.”
He was reeling from it. It was coming home to him emotionally, and he was walking the tightrope of figuring out how to accept it. For all the benefits of knowing Jennifer was sick, the extra time just made each step along the journey a roller coaster for her family.
“Love her, Jack. That’s what she needs from you most,” she whispered.
Jack gave a sad smile. “I’m sorry to ruin tonight.”
“You didn’t ruin anything. Go home, get some sleep, then call me.”
He nodded. “Good night.”
“G’night, Jack.” She locked the door behind him. And she leaned her head against the door. Lord, Jack needs hope.
She rubbed the back of her neck, no longer afraid of the hard conversation, no longer afraid of how vulnerable it might make her. She wanted to help Jack more than she wanted to make it easier on herself. She hoped he’d call. She needed him to call.
Thirty-nine
The phone call woke Cole up. He pushed aside pillows and saw on the bedside television that Jay Leno was talking with an actor. Cole waited for Ash to get the phone; his houseguest was the one receiving most calls tonight as plans for the department New Year’s Eve celebration were being put together.
At the third ring Cole forced himself to reach toward the phone. Only then did he see the clock and realize that rather than ten o’clock it was 1 A.M. and it was a replay of the Tonight Show on T V. He braced for news of another fire, a big one this time. “This is Cole.”
“It’s Rachel.”
“Rae—” He sat up and turned on the bedside light. “What’s wrong?” Had something happened to Jennifer? She rarely called him, and she’d never called before at this time of night.
“Your arsonist.”
Cole blinked, surprised at the topic. “Did something happen?” he asked sharply, fear leaping inside at the very idea that she had also been touched by the events going on.
“No, nothing like that. I couldn’t sleep, I was thinking about the cases.”
She couldn’t sleep…his voice softened. “You should have called me rather than lie there awake.”
“What do you think I’m doing now?”
“Don’t get annoyed. Tell me what you’ve been thinking about.”
“It’s just an idea.”
Cole reached for the pad of paper on the nightstand, knowing with Rachel she didn’t have what-if ideas, she had well-formulated suggestions. And her voice told him she thought this idea was significant.
“It’s hyperbole, Cole. The mural, it’s more than just a paint form he likes to use. It’s a grandiose painting with things made larger than life. The words he chooses—he’s doing the same thing. He’s overblowing facts in the same way.”
Cole started to click into what she had realized. She was on to something. He knew it as soon as she said it. And the implications were startling. He clicked on his pen and pushed the notebook to a blank page. The paper curled on him and he fought the spiral binding. Cole started offering specifics to Rachel, interested to get her reaction. “The word murderer. “
“Think smaller,” she offered. “Someone might have come close to dying. He may have transformed what came close to happening into the conclusion of what it would mean had that death occurred.”
A near fatal accident… Cole winced as he mentally thought through the size of a report listing injuries that had happened in the district over the last year. He’d have to have help to even get that report categorized. “Cowards.”
“It’s an extremely personal remark, again, a conclusion he reached. He probably knows the men who worked at that fire station or at least knows of something they did. They probably exercised normal caution and he saw it as timidity.”
He was taking notes as fast as he could. “Liar.”
“The most personal of all. Look for something you tried to accomplish that didn’t happen. It would have affected him or someone he cared deeply about.”
“Any suggestion for that one? Are we talking about an arson investigation that didn’t get closure? A personal decisi
on? A financial one?”
“I’m not sure, Cole. It does imply that you are a known figure to him, not just a name. I find it interesting that he set your trash on fire. That suggests he knew it had been done to your house before.”
“Popcorn.”
“Contrary to your assumption, I don’t think it’s a reflection of the nursing home fire in the sense of being a jab at what happened. The man who set that nursing home fire was a professional arsonist. Instead, I think the popcorn reflects an admiration of the man who set the fire and the reaction he got. Think about the popcorn as a way for him to suggest he’s got the capability to be like that other arsonist.”
“That man did arson jobs for profit motives.”
“I think it’s a good assumption that this man does have financial problems. You don’t lash out without it being a reflection of intolerable stress.”
Cole thought about that image she was drawing. The profile they had of this man was becoming more and more specific. Cassie had given him the rough age and appearance; the location and type of fires being started were good indications of his background; Rachel’s suggestion was a very good look at how the man thought. He needed to find this man before someone got hurt. “Anything else strike you? This is good, Rachel.”
Silence met his question. He twirled his pen, giving her time to think. He was surprised that she had spent her time unable to sleep thinking about this, but it was obvious her thoughts were more than casual. “Anything,” he urged. “I’m not looking for professional conclusions here.”
“The mural with no word.”
Cole flipped some more notebook pages.
Rachel clearly hesitated over her choice of words. “That one is very serious, Cole. He went mute.”
“He assumes he will no longer be heard,” Cole concluded, understanding what she feared. And if he was done talking, it meant there would be an explosion coming.
“What’s it mean that that message was left at Ash’s home?”
“It means he knew Ash was gone and not likely to return for a while. A mural has to be painted in layers and allowed to dry between each one so the paint won’t mix. Even spray paint takes a few hours to set. And it takes planning. I think he had visited Ash’s home before because that trail of fire motif implies he thought long and hard about actually torching the house, then decided instead to leave just his signature.”
The Protector Page 27
