Indemnity: Book Two: Covenant of Trust Series

by Paula Wiseman

  “Do you know why she left?”

  “No. She stormed into my office ... Let’s see ... two weeks ago Thursday, and said she was through here. No warning, no real reason.”

  “She didn’t mention Colin Janssen?”

  “No. Is that why she quit?”

  “She said he stabbed her in the back.”

  “Well, if she quit over him, that’s a shame. We fired him last week. He was passing himself off as a full partner in the firm, sending phony emails, plus his billing procedures were a little ... irregular.”

  Chuck shook his head. He knew that guy was no good. “Was she in danger of losing her job?”

  “Not at all. Granted, Allen hired her for all the wrong reasons. He’s got a real weakness ...” Rod’s face flushed and he looked away. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

  “That’s okay, Rod. I deserve it all.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply ... She was a consummate professional.”

  Chuck nodded. “Did she have any friends here?”

  Rod shook his head. “Kept to herself. She went to the gym at lunch, never out with clients or us. We’d see her in meetings or in the elevator. But extremely conscientious, and she had good instincts.”

  “She said she had a will here. Do you know anything about it?”

  “It’s filed. I can have someone look it up for you. Are you in it?”

  “She said I was the executor.” Chuck shifted in his seat. “Rod, I need to ask you for a personal favor. Tracy’s dad did hard time for second-degree murder.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, he beat his wife to death. Tracy was absolutely terrified of him.”

  “Who could blame her?”

  “He was paroled this past Friday. If he’s dangerous, I need to protect my son. Is there any way I can check her file cabinet to see if she had information related to it?”

  “Her computer’s been wiped already, but you can look through her files. Come on.” He led Chuck up to Tracy’s office and unlocked it. He took the file cabinet key from the desk, and opened the top file drawer. “Have at it.”

  Chuck worked his way through the files, but nothing looked relevant. He slid the drawer shut and opened the second drawer. Again, all the files were firm-related business. The third and fourth drawers held no answers either. Chuck pushed the last drawer closed with a sigh. “Thanks for letting me look, Rod. I guess some questions aren’t meant to be answered.”

  “Chuck, really, I’m very sorry. About Tracy. I didn’t know her that well, but ... It’s a shame, especially leaving such a young son behind.”

  “She was a good mother.” Chuck gave the file cabinet key back to Rod.

  Rod dropped the key in his pocket and motioned toward a storage box in the corner. “That’s everything from her desk. I guess it’s yours now.”

  Chuck set the box on the desk and opened it. Two pictures of Jack, a calculator and some office supplies. “Wait, here’s another one of your keys.”

  Rod took the key and turned it over. “Looks like a safe deposit box key. Yeah, Missouri National Bank. It’s theirs.” He gave the key back. “Maybe your answers are there.”

  “Wait a minute.” Chuck fished Tracy’s key ring from his slacks. A matching key hung next to the house key. “I had one all along and didn’t realize it.” Chuck put the key in his wallet, then handed Rod a business card. “If you would just have somebody put the will in the mail to me. I’m not going to do anything on it before next week.”

  “Sure thing. When’s the funeral?”

  “Wednesday at two at Bricker’s.”

  “We’ll be there.”

  Driving to the bank to open the safe deposit box, Chuck couldn’t suppress the desire to track Colin Janssen down and punch him. The way he preyed on her ... Why would Tracy, who didn’t trust another soul, why did she take everything that jerk said at face value?

  The light changed and Chuck drove out of the shadow of an office building into the bright autumn sunshine. Of course. Tracy feared ex-posure. Rather than confront Colin, and risk Rod and Allen finding out any more about her, she ran. She was physically afraid her father would find her, but she seemed more terrified of the truth.

  At the bank, Chuck followed the teller to the vault with the safe deposit boxes.

  “It’s this box right here,” she said. “If you need anything else, let me know.”

  “Thanks,” Chuck said. He slipped the key into the lock and turned it. Inside the box, was all that was left of Teresa Reynolds - a fifth grade report card with straight A’s, a photo of a little girl and a collie, and a photo of a woman who was obviously Tracy’s mother. There was no date on the picture, but it couldn’t have been taken very many years before the murder. Maybe it was the last picture Tracy had of her mother. Underneath them lay Tracy’s mother’s engagement ring and wedding band. In the bottom of the box there was an envelope addressed to Teresa Reynolds. Several pieces of notepaper were folded together, fastened to the envelope with a rubber band. Turning them over, Jack’s name was on the outside one, but Chuck was stunned to find his name on the other. His note read:

  Chuck -

  Everything I feared has come true, but Jack will be safe now, and I know you’ll protect my memory. I don’t want him to grow up ashamed and afraid like I did. If there is a God who answers prayers, then Jack will grow up to be just like you.

  As Chuck reread the note, a fresh sadness settled in his heart. Tracy had resigned herself to being hunted down and murdered by her father. There was no date on the note, but she must have written it before she even knew about her father’s parole.

  Is that what she meant when she said as she lay dying that it was better this way? A car accident was preferable to the imagined death at her father’s hands.

  How long had she prayed for Jack? Maybe it wasn’t such a stretch to hope she’d been saved if she was in the habit of praying.

  Chuck debated for a moment within himself before opening Jack’s note, but parenting won out over privacy.

  October 18

  Dear Jack,

  You are the light in my life, the only reason I had for living day after day. I kept so much from you, but I learned how to be afraid from my mother, and I didn’t want to pass that on. I only want what is best for you, and I’m finding more and more, that is not me. Your dad is the finest man I have ever known. I love you. Forgive me for leaving you.

  Tracy was going to run. That’s why she was dressed as if she’d been to work Friday afternoon. She’d been making arrangements. She intended for Chuck to find an empty house on Sunday evening when he brought Jack home. It made him sick to imagine what that scene would have been like. Knowing that she could even consider doing that to Jack made Chuck want to choke her.

  How could she ...? She couldn’t stand to be away from Jack for the weekend. How could she even consider ...? But if it was for Jack, somehow, maybe she would.

  She left that letter in the trashcan, the one from the law firm in Minnesota. The name she used, Kathleen Kelly, her father would have recognized those names. The letter was a decoy to throw her dad off. She was drawing him away from St. Louis. Away from Jack.

  Where was she going though? He checked the envelope again. It was postmarked last week, from a post office box on the West Coast. Chuck opened it and pulled out a letter, and a brochure from an inpatient clinic, a Christian care facility specializing in substance abuse. A spot had opened up. They would be ready for her October twenty-first.

  Rehab. She was going to get help. She used her given name, and she was finally going to let someone help her. “God ... why did You let her die, then?”

  He could picture her Friday evening, shaken by the news of the parole, drinking, and then gripped by the fear of checking into a clinic, and the guilt of leaving Jack, and the bitter loneliness, she probably took every kind of medication she had.

  Passed out until Saturday afternoon, she probably needed another round before she left town. By that ti
me, she was so impaired she couldn’t drive. She hadn’t even made it out of town before she wrecked.

  He flipped through the brochure, and tried to picture Tracy baring her soul to a counselor. No carefully constructed persona, no alcohol to hide behind, no prescription drugs to dull her pain and anxiety, just her and the truth. He shook his head. The image wouldn’t form.

  Maybe this was the answer he needed. She had a plan. A warped, misguided plan, perhaps, but she thought she was doing the best thing for Jack by distancing herself from him. The wreck was a tragic accident, not a suicide. Now for the rest of his life, he had to wrestle with whether or not she ever found Jesus. Unless ...

  He read the brochure again. She wanted rest ... She purposefully chose a Christian clinic ... Jesus Christ was the only one who could have prompted Tracy to deal with her issues. Maybe she did. Maybe that’s what God was waiting on. Maybe He thought she’d suffered enough, and she could skip ahead to the good stuff.

  He slid the brochure and letter back in the envelope, along with the report card and photos. He put the rings carefully in his pocket, and returned the box to its slot.

  Someday, when Jack was a little older, he would sit down and explain everything to him. Everything but his mother’s plan to abandon him. On his way out of the bank, he dropped the notes in a trashcan. “You’re welcome, Tracy.”

  EPILOGUE

  Twelve years later

  Gateway Mission stopped serving food at ten p.m., so Jack Molinsky picked up the shop broom and began sweeping up. The scraping sounds of the chairs he pushed out of the way were loud enough that he didn’t hear the bell when the front door opened. When he turned around, he was startled to find an old man sitting in one of the chairs. “Mister, I’m sorry, they packed up the food already. I can get you a sandwich though.”

  “Just coffee, black,” the old man answered in a raspy voice.

  Jack set his broom against the wall, poured the coffee, and then he joined the old man at the table. “I’m Jack,” he said, extending his hand. “My brother runs this place.”

  “I’m Ed.”

  “You need a place to stay?”

  “Nah.” He slurped loudly. “You make good coffee, Jack.”

  “I learned it from my mom. She’s a big coffee drinker.”

  The old man studied Jack carefully. “You from around here?”

  “Pretty much. We bounced around some when I was little, but I’ve been in St. Louis since I was six.”

  “Ever been to Baltimore?”

  “No. You?”

  “That’s where I’m from. I had a daughter. You remind me of her. Thought you might be related.”

  “That would be an incredible coincidence.”

  Please enjoy a sample from the third book of

  the Covenant of Trust Series

  PRECEDENT

  Available 2011 from

  MINDSTIR MEDIA

  PROLOGUE

  Thursday, June 12

  Edward Reynolds glanced in the window of Gateway Mission. The kid was there. His grandson. He was sure the boy was Teresa’s son. He had her eyes. For the last twelve years, he tracked Teresa’s movements across the country. He finally traced her to St. Louis, only to find out he was too late.

  The kid was his last chance. He would go in and drop a few hints, make a few pointed comments and see if the boy reacted. He opened the door of the mission, and slipped into one of the chairs close to the door. The kid, Jack, never looked up from his task of straightening chairs, loudly scraping them across the tile floor. A broad-shouldered, sturdy-built young man, he had to take that after his father’s people. The Reynolds and the Hickmans were both thin and slight. Moments later, he looked up.

  “Mister, I’m sorry. They packed up the food already.” He adjusted his baseball cap. “I can get you a sandwich though.”

  Ed cleared his throat to make sure he could speak. “Just coffee, black.” Ed watched Jack move the broom away from the counter against the wall and pour the coffee. Jack handed him the coffee cup and Ed invited him to sit at the table.

  “I’m Jack,” he said, extending his hand. “My brother runs this place.”

  “I’m Ed.” Teresa just had the one son. Was he mistaken about the boy? Maybe Jack had a half-brother. Teresa never married, so it couldn’t be a stepbrother.

  “You need a place to stay?” Jack asked.

  “Nah.” Ed slurped the coffee loudly. “You make good coffee, Jack.”

  “I learned it from my mom. She’s a big coffee drinker.”

  He talked about her in present tense. The old man studied Jack carefully. “You from around here?”

  “Pretty much. We bounced around some when I was little, but I’ve been in St. Louis since I was six.”

  “Ever been to Baltimore?”

  “No. You?”

  “That’s where I’m from. I had a daughter. You remind me of her. Thought you might be related.”

  “That would be an incredible coincidence,” Jack said.

  CHAPTER 1

  FRUITION

  “How goes it?” Jack Molinsky leaned against the doorframe of the tiny office where his brother worked crunching columns of numbers on an outdated adding machine.

  Brad spoke without looking up. “Slow. I’ve got board summaries and a bunch of filings to finish up before the thirtieth. Did somebody come in?”

  “Yeah,” Jack said. “An old guy. He just had a cup of coffee and left.”

  “He didn’t want anything?”

  “No. Said he had a place to stay and everything.” Jack stopped sweeping and leaned on the broom. “It was strange. He asked me if I’d ever been to Baltimore.”

  Brad put his pencil down and looked up at him. “Your mom was from Baltimore, wasn’t she?”

  “Yeah. He said I reminded him of his daughter, even.”

  “You don’t think ...?”

  “What?”

  “You don’t think that was Tracy’s dad, do you?”

  “Here? After all these years?”

  “Did he give you a name?”

  “Just Ed, no last name.”

  “Tracy’s dad was named Ed.”

  “It was, wasn’t it?”

  “He couldn’t have gotten far.” Brad headed for the front door.

  Jack followed close behind “He took a right when he got outside.”

  Once out on the street, Brad said, “Don’t make eye contact with anybody unless I speak to them first. Got that?” He glanced at his watch. “I know a couple of guys who’ll be transacting some business. Maybe they’ve seen him.”

  Jack stuck close to his brother, keeping his head down as instructed. Brad had become very streetwise in his years at the mission. He knew who was just down and out, and who the truly bad guys were. A couple of blocks from the mission, Jack could see a group of six or eight boys in their late teens, maybe early twenties, sporting gang colors. This was their turf. Great.

  As they got closer, a black SUV with tinted windows turned onto the street, and drove slowly toward the group of boys, toward Brad and Jack. “This is wrong,” Brad whispered, and Jack raised his head. He watched the boys closely, but they weren’t reacting. Brad’s eyes darted back to the SUV, and Jack turned to see the passenger side window inching down. Even from a half a block away, Jack could make out the glint of metal.

  The same instant Jack’s brain processed what he was seeing, the shooting began. The group of boys dove for cover behind parked cars while one or two returned fire. Paralyzed by shock and fear, Jack felt Brad’s strong hands dig into his shoulders, and then he hit the sidewalk hard, feeling the burning scrape on his knee, hands and cheek. But in that split second, Brad left himself exposed.

  Jack heard a strange thud, unlike anything he’d ever heard before. He rolled over in time to see Brad splayed against the brick building, and then he crumpled awkwardly to the sidewalk.

  “BRAD!”

  Jack crawled to his brother, and rolled him onto his back. Brad didn’t speak,
but clutched Jack’s shirt. “I think you’ve been shot, Brad! It’s gonna be okay!” Brad lifted a trembling hand to his chest, to the spreading red stain soaking his shirt. As soon as he saw the blood, his own blood, on his hand, Brad seemed to relax.

  “Brad, hang on! Hang on! I’m calling for an ambulance, right now! Just hang on!” Jack fumbled with his cell phone, trying to check Brad’s pulse as he dialed. Then he held the phone against his shoulder while he worked to take his shirt off. “My brother’s been shot!” he yelled as soon as the operator picked up. Holding his wadded shirt against the wound in a desperate attempt to slow the bleeding, he quickly relayed all the details he could, and waited the eternal minutes for the paramedics. “Brad, they’re coming. Hang in there.”

  Once Brad was loaded in the ambulance, Jack ran back to the mission, and got Brad’s car to head to the hospital. He held the steering wheel with his knee, while he pulled a clean shirt from his bag. His hands shook as he dialed his parents’ phone number, and he breathlessly relayed what he could when his dad answered. “Dad ... Brad ... was shot ... Taking him to University. Meet you there.”

  Bobbi Molinsky heard the phone ring, but when she saw her husband, ashen-faced, steadying himself against the wall, her breath pressed from her lungs.

  “Jack, wait!” Chuck pleaded, then he looked at her. “He hung up.”

  “What happened? Is Jack hurt?”

  He shook his head and reached for her hand. “Not Jack.” In his effort to stay calm, stay in control, he sounded mechanical. “Brad. Brad’s been shot. They’re taking him to University Hospital.”

  She heard “Brad” and she heard “hospital.” This was just like when his appendix ruptured when he was a sophomore in college. That’s all.