“Morning, babe,” she said.
Steve stopped in his is tracks. “You haven’t called me babe in years,” he finally said with a grin as he walked around the kitchen island and spun her around and into his arms. “Who is this happy woman I’m holding captive in my wife’s kitchen?” The wonder in his eyes echoed his words.
“I’m still the woman you married,” she assured him. “I just left an unhappy imposter in my place for a while.”
He leaned back a moment and looked into her eyes. “Really.” It wasn’t a question as much as a statement of understanding. “And are you going to stick around this time?”
“A stable full of silver unicorns couldn’t drag me away from you and our girls,” she insisted, kissing her husband softly before pushing him gently away and taking the mixing bowl out of the cabinet. “I’m going to make mouse-cakes.”
A roar of laughter poured out of Steve for several seconds. “Mouse-cakes? Do you even know where our old Mickey Mouse waffle maker is?”
The question brought her up short. She closed one eye and thought a moment. “Now, babe, I can’t do everything,” she teased. “Tell you what, you find it, and I’ll make ‘em!”
“You don’t think the girls might be too old for mouse-cakes?”
“No daddy! We’re not!” Emiley and Sarah replied in unison from the hallway. Barefoot and dressed in their pjs and matching smiles, they ran into the kitchen. “Can we help?”
An hour later, Sandy excused the girls and cleared the breakfast dishes with Steve. “I’m going to go change,” she announced.
“What’s the rush?” asked Steve. “Let’s relax today.”
“You’re coming with me,” she continued, “and so is Tracey. We’re going to find Sam.” She turned to put her arms around Steve’s neck. “It’s important to me. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m crazy.”
Steve’s arms remained at his side. “Sandy,” he began. “It’s okay. I love the change I see in you. I have my wife back. I really don’t care if this Sam exists or not.”
Sandy stiffened. “When you say that, it makes me think you still question my sanity.” She reached down and grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the bedroom. “Come on. You need to get dressed too. Tracey is waiting for us.”
Twenty minutes later Tracey climbed into the backseat, buckled her seatbelt, tapped Steve’s shoulder, and asked. “Have Sandy’s meds worn off?”
Steve smiled. “Like the lady says, we’re going to find Sam.”
Tracey pumped her fist. “I’m going to meet the Walton Center Man of Mystery. Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Sandy. “He said he lived around the corner and on the river.” She pulled into the pole barn parking lot. “Come on. We’ll leave the minivan here and walk.”
“Sandy, wait,” said Steve as he placed his hand on her shoulder to stop her before she got out. “We don’t have to do this. Honestly, this isn’t necessary. How about we just let it go?”
Instead of answering, Sandy turned to Tracey. “You’re coming, right?”
“Vanguard forever!” replied her friend. “Where you go, I will follow, just like your shadow—Shadow.” Tracey firmly slapped the back of Steve’s head. “Get it, counselor?”
“Knock it off, Tracey,” growled Steve before following after the two women as they walked briskly past the barn.
At the end of the block, Sandy took a left toward the bridge. “Sam said he lived around the corner.” She laughed remembering the rest of their conversation.
“What’s so funny?” asked Tracey.
“Nothing, really. I asked if he was a troll who lived under the bridge.”
“Are you kidding me?” Tracey stopped walking and grabbed Sandy’s arm. “Your hot stranger is a homeless guy living under the bridge?”
“This guy is hot?” exclaimed Steve. “I hadn’t pictured him as handsome. So what is he, Sandy—an unkempt homeless guy or some hot model-type?” Alarm oozed from Steve’s voice.
Sandy dismissed the comment with a flutter of her fingertips. “Oh Steve, that’s just Tracey’s overactive imagination talking. I think he lives in the apartments across from the bridge. That’s about the only place around there.”
A few minutes later the trio stopped at the front door of a dilapidated apartment building.
Sandy scanned the faded names on the rusting metal mailboxes stacked one on top of the other outside the front.
Steve looked over her left shoulder. “What’s his last name?”
“He never said. All I know is Sam.”
Steve leaned closer to the boxes, examined the occupant list, and pushed the black button next to the name Nancy Marvis.
“Who’s that?” asked Sandy.
“A client.”
A thin woman wearing white short shorts and a tight purple T-shirt answered the door. The wary look on her face vanished when she recognized her attorney. “Mr. Richards? Never thought you’d visit me.” The woman leered seductively as she ran her dark brown eyes over Sandy and Tracey. Age lines ran around her mouth and across her hollow cheeks. “Who are they?” she asked with a toss of her bleached blonde shoulder-length hair. Steve knew she was 34, but she looked two decades older. Drugs and hard living did that to people.
“Nancy, this is my wife Sandy and our friend, Tracey.”
“Didn’t figure you for group fun.” Nancy winked before attempting a laugh that ended with several deep coughs. “Come on in!”
Steve offered an uneasy laugh. “No thanks. We’re looking for a guy named Sam. Do you know anyone by that name?
Nancy’s eyes narrowed. “Sam who? He a cop?”
“No!” Sandy interjected. “He’s a friend, about six feet, a hundred and eighty pounds, light brown hair. Maybe late twenties or early thirties.”
Nancy thought a few seconds before shaking her head. “Sorry. No one here comes close to that description.”
“Are you sure?” Sandy began. “Sam told me—.”
Nancy cut her off mid-sentence. “I’m positive,” she smiled, revealing a mouthful of crooked yellow teeth. “This building is full of single moms on welfare, their rug rats, and some old people. If there was a man like you just described, I guarantee you, I’d know him.” She winked again, this time at Sandy.
“Thanks, Nancy. Sorry to have bothered you.”
“No bother, Mr. Richards. You can stop by anytime. I owe you for keeping me out of jail last time. Hope you find him.”
Once the door was closed, Sandy turned to face her husband. “She owes you?”
Steve rolled his eyes. “I got her out of Will County lock-up a few months ago. I’m a lawyer, remember?”
“Soliciting?” Tracey asked.
He shrugged. “You know I can’t answer that. Attorney-Client privilege.” Steve’s gaze returned to the bridge. “What now?”
“Wanna look under the bridge?” Tracey suggested with a sly smile.
“That’s an idea, Tracey,” shot back Steve, who trotted along the walkway toward the river crossing with Tracey and Sandy keeping up behind him. With the river flowing beneath them, they looked down and spotted two fishermen in a small boat. “Hey!” Steve called as he waved. “Hey, you guys in the boat!”
The fishermen looked up. One of them raised his hand and waved back. “Hey, Steve,” he said. “It’s me, Izzy Jackson.”
“Thinking about jumping?” asked the second man. Both men laughed at the joke.
“Not today,” replied Steve. “But I do have a question. “You see anyone camped under the bridge?”
Both men cast a glance under the structure and shook their heads. “Nada,” replied Izzy.
“Steve, I can’t believe you,” huffed Sandy as she turned on her heel and distanced herself from her husband.
“Sandy, wait up!” replied her husband as he chased after her. “He’s not in the apartments, where you thought for sure he would be. Honestly, you said he dressed the same way each day. Living in a tent or something unde
r the bridge is not that unrealistic.”
“You think I’m crazy!” She turned, hands on her hips.
“Oh, boy. This is going to be good,” Tracey muttered under her breath.
“I know you’re not crazy,” replied Steve softly. “I just thought maybe Sam was a drifter who camped under the bridge. I wasn’t making fun of you or questioning your sanity.” Steve tried to pull her close, but Sandy pulled back and stood her ground. Steve shot his eyes toward her friend in a plea for help.
“Shadow. Steve’s right,” offered Tracey. “We’re all on the same side, remember? Let’s go talk to the police. If Sam’s still here, or if he was here and left, they would’ve seen him. Small town, ya know? You can’t be a stranger here long without being noticed, right?” A smile lit up her face. “You never know, maybe the police have him under arrest for soliciting Nancy!”
The last quip triggered a laugh in all three, who turned and headed for the station three blocks away. Tracey linked arms with Sandy and Steve and starting skipping, pulling them along. “Kinda makes you want to sing, ‘Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to the pokey we go,’ doesn’t it?” she asked.
“Do you ever stop?” chuckled Steve with a disbelieving shake of the head.
The eyes of the officer at the front desk widened when the motley trio entered the small station. “Hey, Steve. Mrs. Richards.” He nodded toward Tracey. “If she mouths off, teacher or not, I might throw her in the klink for a night,” continued the officer while squinting in a fake effort to look mean and serious.
Tracey offered an exaggerated shrug. “Well, then don’t pull me over for speeding.”
“I won’t make that mistake again,” he shot back under his breath. He almost sounded serious. The officer settled his attention back on Steve. “What can I do for you today, counselor?”
“Hi, Tom. We’re looking for someone,” Steve began.
Sandy cut in. “His name is Sam, and we don’t know his last name,” she explained. She described Sam to the officer, looked at Steve, and then added, “Clean cut and handsome, I guess.”
Tracey placed her hand over her mouth, but it did nothing to stifle her laughter. She tapped Sandy on the shoulder and winked. “I don’t know if you noticed, but your husband is standing next to you!”
“Sam, huh? Not to my knowledge,” replied Tom. “Let me check in the field.” Tom picked up the microphone on his desk, clicked a button on the base, and said, “Car Twenty-two. Car Twenty-two.”
Tracey laughed a second time. “Good one, Tom! Everyone knows this town only has three police cars!” The officer didn’t bother to respond.
“Twenty-two here, dispatch,” replied a patrol officer.
“Mike, have you seen a stranger around town recently? Male, six feet or so, one-eighty, brown hair, goes by the name of Sam.”
“Don’t forget, handsome,” Tracey reminded him.
“I’m not going to …” began Tom before being interrupted by the responding officer.
“That’s a negative, Tom,” replied the officer. “I can ask around if you like. What’s he done?”
Tom looked up at the trio of faces before him. “When was he here and what’s he done?”
“All summer,” Sandy replied. “I saw him nearly every day while I was cleaning my dad’s old barn.” She paused before adding, “And he didn’t do anything—criminal, that is. He is just a talker. Certainly not much of a worker.”
“You had a stranger helping you clean that old barn?” Tom asked with a sideways glance at Steve. “I’ll check with the other two officers, but I’ve been on patrol most of the summer and haven’t noticed any stranger around town. Did he cause any sort of problem?” All three shook their heads. “Then … why are you looking for him?”
“We just wanted to thank him, that’s all,” replied Steve before adding quickly, “It’s no problem, Tom. We appreciate your time.”
Sandy, Tracey and Steve walked out of the station, back across the bridge, and back toward the old barn without saying a word. When they drew near the building, Tracey asked, “Sandy, how about we see what that old place looks like cleaned out after a long summer of hard work?”
Sandy nodded and unlocked the door.
“Wow!” Tracey said as they walked into the now cavernous-looking structure, the single word bouncing off the exposed walls. “This place is spotless. You did it, girlfriend!”
Together, they all walked into the center of the barn. “I even swept and mopped the floor and knocked down almost all the cobwebs. That alone took hours,” announced Sandy before nodding toward one of the corners. “Look—the cobwebs are already coming back, though.”
“Got a broom?” asked Tracey? “You missed a spot.” She pointed to a small dusty area made all the more conspicuous because of the clean cement around it. “There’s a design in it! Cool.”
Steve looked down at the dusty spot. His brow furrowed and he turned his head toward his wife. “That’s an ichthys.”
“A what?” asked Sandy and Tracey in unison.
“An ichthys,” he repeated. “A simple fish outline—the symbol Christians used to secretly identify themselves to each other during times of persecution.”
“I see them in the parking lot at the school quite often,” replied Sandy. “Elijah Sanford’s mom has one on her SUV. My kids call it the ‘Jesus fish.’”
Tracey scratched the side of her head and swatted at an invisible buzzing insect. “Why’d you draw it?”
Sandy drew a deep breath. “I didn’t. Sam drew it with his finger late yesterday afternoon while we were talking. I thought he was just doodling. I could have sworn I mopped the whole place.”
“I’ll grab that broom,” replied Tracey before turning away to find one.
“No!” Sandy grabbed Tracey’s arm. “Not yet.” Tracey offered a small nod of understanding.
“What’s that?” Steve asked, pointing to something metallic and shiny about thirty feet away near the north wall. He walked over, reached down, and picked up a small rectangular piece of metal with rounded edges with a small hole near one end. “Huh,” he said. “It’s a dog tag. I don’t recall seeing it last night, but it was getting dark.” He returned to where Sandy and Tracey were standing, turning the tag over in his palm to more closely study it. “I helped clean this floor. This definitely wasn’t here last night. I’m sure of it.” Steve looked at his wife. “Was the door locked when got here?”
“Yes. I had to unlock it,” replied Sandy.
“It’s old,” continued Steve as Sandy and Tracey crowded around him. “Maybe World War Two or Korea?”
“There’s a lot on there,” said Tracey. “Can you read it?”
“Yup. It’s all legible,” he replied. “William S. Agnello, then a serial number. Looks like the name of his wife or mother—Mildred A. Agnello,” he continued. “Then his address. Fifty-one Church Avenue, Brooklyn, New York. Roman Catholic.”
Tracey snapped her fingers. “Like my dad,” she said. “I have his army dog tags from the war. Two of them on a thin silver chain. It’s just like this one.”
Steve nodded. “But there’s only one here. You have two so that if someone is killed, one is left with the body and the other removed for identification purposes.” Steve looked around the rest of the barn floor. “Huh,” he said again. “This must have belonged to your dad, Sandy. Maybe it fell out of a box or a bag or something. Here,” he added, handing it to his wife. “You should keep it.”
“Some have entertained angels unawares.”
~ Hebrews 13:2 (KJV)
Epilogue
The phone rang while Sandy was making dinner. She slipped the earring off her left ear and rested the receiver against her shoulder. “Richards’ residence.”
“Hello, Sandy,” said her mother. “Are you free this evening? I need to see to you.”
“Actually, I am. Is everything alright?”
“Yes,” she replied. “I have something for you.”
Dorothy took her daughter
’s hand and led her down the hallway. “Where are you taking me?” asked Sandy. Without a word her mom turned and entered the small bedroom she had shared with Tom for more than three decades. She and Sandy stood and looked down at a dusty old green trunk.
Sandy frowned. “What’s this, Mom?”
Dorothy cleared her throat. When she tried to talk she could not find the words. Several seconds of silence followed. “Your father brought this home from the war,” she finally began, her voice little more than a tired old woman’s whisper. “It was his army trunk.”
Sandy shot her mom a stunned look and studied the box on the floor at the foot of the bed. It looked like a steamer trunk, not quite three feet long, about half as wide, and not quite as deep. It was army green with riveted metal trim and two large leather handles, one on either end. Three hinges lined the front, the two outside latches and a center hatch and lock that required a key to open. Sandy raised her hand to her mouth to softly squeeze her lips when she saw the faded white stenciled letters and numbers running across the top:
SGT. THOMAS S LOUCKS
155823—
The final numbers of her father’s serial numbers looked as though they had been rubbed off or had simply faded into illegibility.
C COMPANY / 1ST BATTALION /
1ST INFANTRY DIVISION
Fort Benning – England – Tunisia – Sicily –
England – Normandy – France – Germany –
Czechoslovakia – HOME
“The boys next door helped me get it down out of the attic,” her mother continued. “Your dad left me specific instructions years ago that this was ‘for my little girl,’ and right before he got sick, he told me you should open it only when you were finished going through the barn.”
A shiver worked its way up Sandy’s arms and into her body. When her mom pressed a hand against hers, Sandy opened her fingers to hold it. It took a moment to realize her mother was handing her a key.
“What’s inside?” asked Sandy softly.
The Final Service Page 14
