Angels Undercover

by Diane Noble

  Not the usual teenspeak. The boy was intelligent besides being talented.

  “Some people find change difficult. They love the old hymns, sung the way they were written a hundred years ago. I love them too, but sometimes it’s good to step out of the box we’ve kept ourselves in and see what God has in store for us.” She smiled. “When something like this—like you and your music—happens, we can expect the unexpected.”

  Three sets of unblinking eyes watched her, filled with curiosity.

  “God has something in store for you because of us?” Ashley’s shrug said she didn’t believe it.

  “For you too,” Kate said. “For us all.”

  Ashley still looked skeptical and one stop short of rolling her eyes. Kate knew the look. She’d seen it more times than she could count on her own daughters’ faces when they were teenagers.

  Paul had finished greeting the parishioners at the door and walked across the small foyer to join them.

  After he thanked the teens again for their contribution, Kate spoke up. “The pastor and I would like to invite you over one afternoon this week to get to know you better and let you get to know our church a little better.”

  The three looked at each other, and Kate suspected they were trying to think of a way to get out of it. Finally Ashley shrugged, then gave Kate a grin. “Yeah, why not?”

  The two boys still looked undecided. “I bake some mean cookies,” Kate said, raising an eyebrow. “Chocolate chip. I can probably find some homemade ice cream to go with them.”

  “I can attest to that,” Paul said, patting his stomach.

  Caleb and Denver grinned at each other, shrugged, then said almost in unison, “Okay, why not?”

  AS SOON AS KATE AND PAUL walked in the door of the parsonage, Paul headed straight to the Crock-Pot and lifted the lid. Eyes closed, he drew in a deep breath, his face looking as if he’d been transported straight through heaven’s gates. Kate almost laughed. That was the way he usually looked in their kitchen. No doubt about it, it was his favorite room.

  “You’d better put that lid back on,” she scolded. “Otherwise the brisket will cook even slower. We still have several hours before it’s ready to eat. You think you can handle that, Mister?”

  Paul chuckled. “I’ll hold off as long as I have to, but I won’t enjoy the wait.”

  “Now that I can understand. So while you’re hovering over our dinner, I have an errand to run. Renee told me about another break-in, this time at Clementine Jones’s house.”

  “That’s the first name on your list.”

  “Exactly.”

  KATE PULLED UP BEHIND Skip Spencer’s SUV, which was parked in front of Clementine’s bungalow. It was an older home, painted apple green with cream trim. Kate had found the address after some sleuthing on the Internet. But as soon as she turned onto the street and saw Skip parked in front of the house in his SUV, she realized she needn’t have worried about finding the place.

  The bungalow looked like it had once been cared for, but the yard and the wide front porch seemed neglected. The grass hadn’t been cut since summer, it appeared, and autumn-dry weeds were settling in the flower beds.

  Skip got out of his SUV and walked with Kate to the front door. He carried a clipboard and didn’t look happy to see her. The door was glass-paned at the top with lace curtains on the inside.

  As Skip rang the doorbell, Kate flashed him a bright smile. “I promise I won’t get in your way,” she said sweetly. “I just want to have a look around and get to know Clementine.”

  It took Clementine several minutes to come to the door. She first pulled back the lace curtain, then opened the door, nodded to Skip, and blinked when she saw Kate.

  “Hi, Mrs. Jones.” Kate reached for the older woman’s hand. “I’m actually not with the deputy—or here in any official way. I’m Kate Hanlon, and I just wanted to talk with you about what’s happened. A similar break-in just happened at my house. Maybe I can help.”

  The woman smiled tentatively and invited her and Skip in. “Please, call me Clementine,” she said when they were inside.

  “Only if you call me Kate.” She glanced at Skip and added, “We’ll leave the deputy to his business, shall we?”

  “He already dusted for fingerprints,” Clementine said. “What else is there to do?”

  “Official business,” Skip said. “Just the mop-up.” He stepped back out onto the porch, studying some sort of list on his clipboard.

  The mop-up? Kate stifled a giggle. She guessed he just wanted to make sure he hadn’t overlooked something when he had made his report earlier that morning.

  “Dear, would you like some tea?” Clementine looked weary beyond words. Her gray, Dutch boy-cut hair was disheveled, her eyes dark with some sort of unnamed fear, her brow lined with worry.

  “I’ll sit down with you,” Kate said gently, “while you have some. But no thank you, I’m fine.”

  Clementine had obviously just poured her tea when Kate and Skip arrived. She picked up her cup and saucer and motioned for Kate to follow her into the living room. Kate sat down on a small, worn sofa opposite the high-back wing chair that Clementine settled into.

  She held her cup and saucer daintily, looking at Kate above the brim. “Was anything taken from your house?”

  “Not that we’ve discovered.”

  “We?”

  “My husband, Paul, and I. He’s the pastor of Faith Briar Church.”

  “You’re lucky,” Clementine said, her eyes filling. “To have your husband, I mean. You need to cherish him, you know, while you have him.”

  “I love him very much,” Kate said softly. “I understand you’re newly widowed. I’m so sorry.”

  The colors designated for Clementine’s angel votive came to her, colors intended to represent wisdom, comfort, and peace. She blinked back the sudden sting of tears that threatened. Someone knew, understood, what the grieving widow was going through. Did that person know about this break-in ahead of time? Did he know that Clementine would need an extra dose of comfort just now?

  Clementine set down her cup and saucer, reached for a tissue, and dabbed at her eyes and nose. “Just six months ago. I’m still not used to being alone.” She looked up at Kate. “That’s what makes all of this so hard. I’m so...alone. Sometimes—most of the time—I can’t leave my house. I’m...oh, I don’t know...just afraid, I guess.”

  “But you left last night?”

  “Yes. My neighbor Enid...Do you know Enid Philpott?”

  Kate nodded.

  “Well, Enid’s a good friend of mine. She knows about medical things. She’s had lots of operations and such herself. Anyway, Enid says I have agoraphobia. That means I’m beginning to feel like I can’t go outside. She thought it might be good for me to try coming over to her house for a cup of tea every day. Just for a few minutes. The day got away from me yesterday, so I didn’t go out until evening. I was only gone a few minutes”—Clementine started to cry again—“and when I looked across the street, every light in my house was on.”

  Kate sat forward. Her heart skipped two beats, and she coughed lightly to kick it back into rhythm. “The lights were on?”

  Clementine nodded. “Yes, every last one of my lights was on. And I know for a fact I didn’t turn on any except the light over my kitchen sink.”

  Kate realized she’d been holding her breath and let it out in a single whoosh. “You didn’t find an envelope, did you?”

  Clementine took a sip of tea. “A what?”

  “A large manil— Never mind. It’s not important.” Kate paused. “Is anything missing?”

  She glanced toward the front door and saw Skip through the lace-covered glass, head down, looking around the porch by the door.

  “I—I don’t know,” Clementine said. “Deputy Spencer asked me to look around, but I was too shaken up to think straight. I didn’t see anything tampered with.”

  “How about taking another look just to be sure?”

  Clementine
dabbed at her eyes and nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

  Kate followed Clementine from room to room as the older woman checked to see if anything was missing. It didn’t take long, and from what Clementine said, she had no real items of value. Only mementos she treasured, gifts from her husband that would mean nothing to anyone but her.

  When they stepped into the master bedroom, Kate noticed a small wooden jewelry box on her dresser. “Did you notice any jewelry missing?”

  Clementine shook her head, then walked over to the box, picked it up, and set it on the four-poster bed.

  My husband made this box for me,” she said. “He loved to make furniture...He made this bed, in fact. But the first thing he ever made out of wood was this little box.” When she opened it, a music mechanism played “Oh, How We Danced on the Night We Were Wed.” She clutched the box and started to weep again. “I miss him.”

  After another tissue dabbing, she lifted the tray and cried, “My wedding band. It’s missing!”

  Chapter Eight

  Kate had hoped the dear woman had gotten through her break-in without anything being stolen. But apparently that wasn’t the case. While Clementine looked through the rest of her jewelry, Kate hurried out the front door to flag down Skip Spencer, who was just getting into his car.

  He lowered the window on the passenger side, and she stuck her head in. “There was something stolen,” she said breathlessly. “Clementine’s wedding ring.”

  Skip looked irritated, but Kate figured it was only because she was the one who helped Clementine make the discovery. “Anything else?” he mumbled as he made a note on the clipboard.

  “No, not yet. How about you? Did you discover anything of interest on the porch?”

  “This is off the record...”

  Kate waited, anticipating something important.

  “...but no. Nothing. No scratch marks from entering the house or anything. I wonder if she accidentally left the door unlocked.”

  “That’s always a possibility,” she said, backing away from the SUV. She knew there was more to the story.

  Skip got out of his car and walked back toward the house. Kate followed him. He went to the bedroom and began looking around. Kate met Clementine coming down the hallway.

  “Do you mind if I have a look outside?”

  Clementine shrugged. “Not as long as I don’t have to come with you.”

  “No. I’ll just take a look on my own.” She started for the back door, which she’d noticed earlier led from the kitchen. Then she turned. “Did the deputy look around out back?”

  “Yes, but he didn’t find anything unusual. He seemed to think the intruder came in the front way.”

  “Hmm. I wonder why.” She shrugged. “Well, I’ll just have a look around anyway.”

  She headed through the large service porch, out the back door, and down three steps to the ground. Just as she had noticed in the front yard, the area exhibited the results of months of neglect. Yellow and brown leaves covered the space where she imagined a glorious flower garden had once covered the yard, from just beyond the back door to a small grove of a half-dozen apple trees. A potting shed stood in the corner, slightly behind and to one side of the fruit trees.

  Kate made her way through the tangle of dead plants to the apple trees, looked around a bit, then headed to the potting shed, where several bags of mulch were stacked, probably purchased by Clementine’s husband before his death. Beside them, propped against the shed, was a spade that looked brand-new.

  Curious, Kate walked closer and looked around the shed. She stooped to examine some partial footprints in the damp soil, but they were too smudged to tell whether they belonged to a male or a female. For all she knew, they could have been Skip Spencer’s.

  She looked around for a few more minutes, then went back inside the house, where Clementine was waiting, appearing more anxious than ever.

  “Did you find anything?” The older woman glanced toward the back door, as if afraid it might swallow her up.

  Kate gently touched her hand. “Everything is fine outside. The deputy is right. There were no signs of forced entry at the back door.” She paused, then said, “I really should be going now, but I’ll call and check on you, if you’d like, from time to time.” She pulled a notepad from her handbag and scribbled down her phone number, then handed the slip of paper to Clementine. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

  Clementine nodded, then Kate turned and headed for the front door. After she opened it, she turned back to the older woman and smiled.

  Clementine smiled back. “Thank you for stopping by today. You’ve been a big help just by being here.”

  Kate noticed the woman running her thumb over her ring finger, as if it would bring back her beloved wedding band. Kate’s heart ached for her. Why would the intruder steal something so valuable from Clementine, yet demand that Kate give her an angel votive? Sure, the votive would be nice, but it would be nothing compared to a wedding ring. It just made no sense.

  “Please call me if you think of anything else.”

  “I will,” Clementine said and quickly closed the door.

  THE HOUSE SMELLED DELICIOUS when Kate walked in the door. She went to the kitchen, lifted the lid on the Crock-Pot, jabbed at the brisket with a fork, and smiled. In just a couple more hours, the brisket would be perfect for pulled-beef sandwiches on crispy French rolls. One of Paul’s favorite dishes, the beef had just enough spice and tang to warm up a chilly November evening.

  Paul was napping on the sofa in the living room, so after Kate changed into her jeans, she headed back into the kitchen to put together a red-cabbage slaw.

  She rinsed the head of cabbage and pulled her chef’s knife from the block, then as she started chopping, she whispered a quick prayer for the lonely widow she had just visited, wishing she knew how to better help her. It was obvious Clementine couldn’t go on grieving the way she was by staying locked up in her house, lonely and afraid.

  She also pondered the strange coincidence that the parsonage and Clementine’s home both had lights left on after the break-ins. Why? The obvious conclusion was that the same intruder committed both break-ins. Obvious, except that nothing had been taken from the parsonage, but Clementine was missing a wedding ring.

  She caught herself chopping the cabbage into tinier pieces than usual because her fingers seemed to be racing along at the same speed as her thoughts. As she worked, she puzzled over the similarities and differences between all three break-ins. What did they have in common? One similarity, she decided, was that Caroline and Clementine were both older women who had lost their husbands. And something of great value. If she considered the person who would be most hurt by the library break-in, she could only conclude that Caroline was the intended victim. But what about the parsonage break-in?

  Her head almost ached from trying to connect the dots. She paused, her eyes narrowed in thought, knife poised over a clump of scallions.

  It seemed, if there was a connection, that the perpetrator was doing a mighty fine job of keeping it hidden.

  She was startled by a chuckle behind her, followed by a loud yawn. Paul stretched his way over to the counter and smiled down at the fixings for the slaw.

  “You’ve always known the way to my heart,” he said.

  She laughed. “My mother told me the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. She just never said it might have to be Tex-Mex.”

  “You need any help?”

  She shook her head. “Not with the meal, but maybe with something I’m puzzling over.” She told him about her visit with Clementine and the strange robbery at her house.

  Paul sat down at the table as she spoke. “You’re right, if there is a connection, it’s awfully hard to pin down,” he said when she’d finished.

  She slipped into a chair beside him. “I know that if I puzzle this out long enough—and try to connect all the dots—I’ll find what I’m looking for.”

  He studied her for a moment
, clearly lost in thought. “It’s as if whoever’s on this crusade wants to be cau—”

  Before he could finish, Kate popped up from the table and headed to her bedroom to retrieve the notebook in her handbag. Thirty seconds later she returned to sit down again by Paul. He watched her, obviously puzzled, as she dialed a number she had jotted down.

  “Clementine?”

  “Yes?” The older woman sounded worried.

  “This is Kate Hanlon.”

  There was relief in her voice when she spoke. “Oh yes, of course.”

  “I just wanted to ask if you ever place your wedding ring anywhere other than your jewelry box, such as in a jar of jewelry cleaner.”

  “I don’t believe in the commercial cleaners, so I use ammonia. I’ve found it works much better on dia—” She halted midword. “Wait,” she said breathlessly. “Wait just a minute. I’ll be right back.”

  Kate grinned at Paul and gave him a thumbs-up.

  A moment later Clementine returned to the phone. “It’s here! How did you know?”

  Kate chuckled. “It was just a guess. I’ve done the same thing. Thought I misplaced my wedding ring when I’d just left it to soak in a jar of jewelry cleaner after making cookies.”

  “Oh, bless you, dear Kate. Thank you. Now it doesn’t appear the robber took anything.”

  The angel votive popped into Kate’s mind, making her smile. “There’s something else I want you to do.”

  “I don’t have to go outside, do I?”

  “No. As soon as we hang up, look around your house to see if whoever broke in left something. Look in all the out-of-the-way places you can think of, then call me back.”

  “Left something?”

  “Yes. Anything.”

  “That’s strange,” she said. “A robber breaks in and leaves something instead of taking something?”

  “Exactly, it’s unusual. I may be wrong, but if you’ll check...”

  When she hung up the phone, Paul grinned and patted her hand. “You’ve got that look again.”

  “What look?”

  “The ‘I’m on to something big and nobody’s going to stop me now’ look. There’s a certain gleam in your eye.”