“You’re a member?”
“Not yet.”
“But you’re thinking about becoming one? Please, if you don’t mind, I’d love to hear about it. I’m a bit bored just lying here on this couch.”
Mrs. Mertz nodded but didn’t sit. “I was working for Mr. Wolfe when he joined more than a year ago. Thought he was nuts when he said he was going to quit smoking cold turkey. I didn’t think he could do it. But he did. Then I saw the changes in him and . . . well, it’s taken some time, but I’m seeing the missionaries now.” She grimaced as though she had confided too much. “I’d best get back to my job.” She nodded at Mickelle. “If you need anything, just holler.”
Mickelle watched her leave. The old woman had been extremely reticent the only other time Mickelle had seen her, and Damon had mentioned that she was a bit stern and occasionally short with the children. When she’d asked why he kept her on, he’d replied, “Because I don’t think she has anywhere else to go. I’ve offered to pay her return flight to Anchorage, if that is what she wants, and two months’ severance, but she says she likes it here. She was only coming temporarily to help us get adjusted, but now . . .” He shrugged. “Well, whatever else, she’s a very good housekeeper. Besides, I’m kind of used to her being around.”
Mickelle smiled to herself, suspecting that Mrs. Mertz was a wonderful person, using gruffness and a sour face to hide the fear and insecurity eating at her heart. Maybe now she’ll see there’s nothing to fear except the fear itself.
Mickelle laughed softly. She wasn’t afraid, not anymore. At least not at this minute. Oh, she felt violated, as victims did when their homes were broken into, but she could deal with her attacker’s motives of greed and revenge a whole lot better believing it was Colton than if it had been someone she didn’t know. The police would catch him eventually, and that would be the end of it.
Meanwhile, if Colton came back as promised, he would be in for a very big surprise.
An urge to explore came upon Mickelle, to immerse herself in the house that would become her home with Damon, but she was so exhausted from her ordeal that she contented herself with surveying her immediate surroundings. As always, she marveled at the immensity of the conjoined kitchen and family rooms. The entire top floor of her own house could fit in this space with room to spare. Besides the standard dishwasher, refrigerator, and stove, the kitchen boasted numerous oak cabinets and cupboards, two ovens, a large upright freezer, a garbage compactor, a long eating bar, and blue-flecked counters that went on forever. The floor was fine blue ceramic tile, and over head was a high ceiling with expensive lighting. A long banquet table with padded chairs graced the far end part of the kitchen, where a large alcove had been built for that purpose, though she knew there was also a formal dining room.
What a joy it was going to be to cook in such a kitchen. She had thought it many times before, but now it was a reality. If she didn’t feel so weak, she would begin right that minute.
The family room was equally impressive, dominated by huge curtainless, floor-to-ceiling windows. Through these she could see the outdoor pool, the indoor pool house, and the tip of the tennis court beyond. The green lawn was carefully manicured with pink dogwood trees that still carried a few of their fall leaves. The built-in wall unit completely covered another wall, reaching high to the thick, elaborate molding that ran around the tall ceiling. Did people really live like this? Apparently, she was about to find out.
Mickelle took a sip from the glass of water Damon had set on the elegantly carved coffee table, digging her bare toes in the plush carpet that felt like a caress to her skin. She sighed as she snuggled more comfortably into the blue leather sofa. Despite the aches of her body, her heart sang with the joy of her love.
The soft beeping of the phone on the coffee table called her attention. “Hello?” she answered.
“Hi honey,” Damon said, “how are you feeling?”
“Better. Well, still tired. But it’s a bit boring just sitting here. What time does the cook come?”
“Not until about five, but she may not be much company. She’s a little peeved with me for missing so many of her dinners the past month or so.”
“When you’ve been with me and the kids.”
“Yeah.” He sounded rueful. “I told her to leave it in the refrigerator or stove, and I always ate the food for breakfast and took it for lunch as well. Somehow that didn’t seem to comfort her.”
“I’ll talk to her about a schedule,” Mickelle offered. “But I really feel odd having someone do what I can very well do myself.”
“At least wait until you’re better before making drastic changes, okay? Besides, if you’re going back to school, cooking on the weekends might be enough.”
“You have a point.”
“I just don’t want you to overdo things. I know only too well what that’s like.”
Mickelle had another, more intimate reason for keeping the services of the cook. She wasn’t getting any younger, and if she and Damon wanted to have their own child, perhaps a little girl as she had always dreamed, they would have to try for a baby soon after the wedding. And she knew from experience that she wouldn’t feel up to doing anything while pregnant.
“Besides,” Damon was saying, “you might want to get involved in something else. Maybe charity work. Who knows?”
Mickelle had ideas in that direction as well. With Damon’s resources she could do something for the community, perhaps for children like Jennie Anne, or others who didn’t have even an aunt to care for them. She and Damon could donate to others who were helping children as well. They could pray for opportunities to present themselves.
The voice at the other end of the phone had grown quiet. “What?” she asked, wondering what she had missed.
“I’ve been talking to the police, and I also checked out the bank where your insurance funds were kept. It’s all gone.”
“Gone?” She had expected as much, but the reality was unsettling.
“Yes. Apparently Colton’s name was on the account also. There’s nothing we can do about it because the bank has a paper saying that you approved him. Did you sign anything like that?”
There was a sinking feeling in her heart. “I signed some papers Colton brought. They were bank papers, but I only scanned them. They seemed straightforward enough.”
“It was probably embedded in small print or in legal jargon that takes normal people a dictionary and few hours’ time to understand.” Damon’s voice was gentle. “I’m really sorry.”
“Did the police find him yet?”
“No. His apartment is deserted. They think he’s skipped the state.”
With my ring and my money, Mickelle thought bitterly.
“Don’t worry,” Damon consoled her. “It’s not your fault. He has practice at this sort of thing. He tells people what they want to hear. Like all that stuff he told you about his missionary service. He’s not even a member, so he didn’t go on a mission.”
“Was he even married?”
“No.”
“Then the story about his twins drowning—it was all a lie.”
“Sounds like it.”
“He must have known that would touch me because of Brionney’s twins.”
“In the notebook you guys found, he had written a note about using that story. Not to mention a lot of Mormon terms and such. He’d been planning this for weeks. Probably already knew he could get you your money.”
“He must have had inside help.”
“Possibly. Or he broke in and took the records.”
Mickelle gripped the phone with increasing anger. Looking back, there had been signs that she had neglected to see. The fact that Colton knew Belle had only a father before she’d said anything, that he always seemed to know about all her friends, that he remembered details of things she mentioned only in passing.
She shifted the portable phone to her other ear. “He cried while telling me that story about the twins, but all along it was some
thing he probably read in the paper.” Mickelle felt a growing fury toward the man who had so callously used their story for his own gain. “I bet he never lost his father, either.”
“I don’t know. Do you want me to find out?”
“No, it doesn’t matter.” She did wish she had kicked Colton harder last night, or that she’d remembered the pepper spray he had given her, still in her purse—if indeed there was actual pepper spray in the bottle. Of course, she wouldn’t have been able to reach it during the attack anyway.
Mickelle took a deep breath. “When are you coming home?”
“Right now. I’m going to pick some stuff up at the office, and then I’ll drive straight there.”
“Good, because there’s something else I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”
“Can’t you give me a hint?”
She smiled, though he couldn’t see her. “Okay . . . it’s about a nursery.”
She expected him to laugh, and perhaps to tease, but instead he was so quiet that she thought the line had gone dead. “Are you there?”
“I’m here.”
“What’s wrong? Don’t you want another child?”
“It’s not that. It’s . . . Mickelle I don’t know how to tell you this. My wife . . . well, her cancer came back at the end of her pregnancy with Belle. Because of the pregnancy she had to delay her treatments. We knew it was the right thing to do for the baby, but I was so upset that I had surgery so it wouldn’t happen again. Another baby, I mean. I couldn’t bear for her to die because of me.”
“Did it make a difference?” For some reason that was important to Mickelle. “Her delaying the treatments, I mean.”
“The doctor couldn’t tell us for sure, but I think so. She fought hard, but three years later she was dead. I never thought about the surgery since, not even when I joined the Church. At the time I believed it was right for Charlotte. Another baby might have killed her much earlier.” He heaved a long sigh. “Not that it mattered much. She and I were never really together after Belle was born. She was too sick.”
“I’m sorry,” Mickelle said in a small voice.
“No, I’m sorry. This just brings home the fact that you never know how your decisions will affect your future.”
Mickelle didn’t reply. She felt as though she had been punched in the stomach and couldn’t find her breath. So many of her recent daydreams had focused on a child with Damon, despite her almost thirty-seven years and the gap in her children’s ages. Now she was being forced to reevaluate everything.
“Kelle,” Damon’s voice was beseeching, “does it matter that much?”
“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I just don’t know.”
Damon was silent. “Maybe it can be reversed. All I know is that I love you.”
“I love you, too.” But Mickelle felt suddenly distant and a little numb. Would loving Damon force her to give up her dreams? Hadn’t she had enough of that with Riley?
There was no easy answer.
“I’ll be home soon,” he said. “We’ll talk then.”
“I’ll be here.” Mickelle hung up the phone. From her comfortable place on the couch, she stared out the window to the sky beyond.
Chapter Eighteen
Mickelle and Damon didn’t talk when he came home because Mrs. Mertz informed them that the security man was waiting for Damon in his study. He felt a sense of relief when Mickelle smiled at him and suggested they talk later.
When he’d finished with his the security arrangements, Mickelle was asleep on the couch, her honey-blond hair falling across her face. He stroked the locks softly before returning to his study to work until it was time to pick up Belle and Jeremy at Forbes Elementary. He would have to collect Bryan as well from Brionney’s, where he was supposed to wait after school. He hoped Bryan wouldn’t cause any trouble.
Mickelle was still sleeping when Tanner returned on the school bus. “I’m going to pick up Belle and the others now,” Damon told him. “Keep an eye on Mickelle, huh?”
Tanner promised that he would, but even so, Damon went downstairs to alert Stan, the security guard, that he would be out. The basement room Stan had been allotted was being furnished with monitors that would soon connect to the security cameras he had been installing all afternoon, cameras that scanned the entrances to the mansion and the surrounding estate. His presence was overkill, Damon was sure, but he wasn’t taking any chances until Colton was caught. He knew he should tell Mickelle about Stan’s continuing presence in the basement, especially since she already knew he was beefing up security, but he didn’t want to call it to her attention yet. She might worry, something she didn’t seem to be doing just now.
At the elementary school, Belle was waiting in front with Jeremy and a small girl he didn’t recognize. She had straight dark hair, a face spotted with numerous freckles, and a wary expression in her somber brown eyes. Around one of the eyes were the greenish brown remains of a bruise. She was dressed ordinarily enough in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that seemed vaguely familiar.
“This is my dad,” Belle announced proudly. Her friend studied the ground and remained silent.
Damon couldn’t remember the girl’s name so he said, “Nice to meet you.”
“I told you Mickelle couldn’t come get us, Jennie Anne,” Belle reminded the other girl. “Because she got hurt.”
Jennie Anne backed away. “You are coming, aren’t you?” Damon asked. “Mickelle’s looking forward to seeing you. She says you guys are working on reading or something? I promise, I won’t bite.”
Belle giggled. “Of course not, Daddy.”
“Can we play basketball tonight?” Jeremy asked. “Please?”
“Sure, but let’s get going. I thought we’d stop at, uh, Jennie Anne’s to make sure her aunt doesn’t mind that we go to our house instead of Mickelle’s.”
“She doesn’t!” Jennie Anne said suddenly. “Uh—and she’s not home anyway. I heard her say that she was going somewhere.”
Damon read the fear in her eyes and wondered what it meant. “Even so, we should stop and make sure. Maybe her plans changed.”
He was worried the child wouldn’t follow him to the car, but Belle pulled her friend along. “Don’t worry,” she whispered loudly. “My dad’s not afraid of your aunt.”
When they drove to the girl’s house, Damon was dismayed at the dilapidated old place. Even the discussion he’d with Belle and Tanner that morning had not prepared him for the condition of Jennie Anne’s home. “Wait here,” he ordered the children. Everyone obeyed, even Jeremy, who’d already removed his safety belt.
At the front door, no one answered his ring, or his knock. He was almost certain someone peered at him from behind the dirty windows, but when he studied the panes, only half of which were curtained, he saw no further movement.
Back at the car he said, “No one was home,” watching Jennie Anne carefully. She was noticeably relieved.
“Are you going to leave a note?” Belle asked.
Damon looked at the house again, shaking his head. “No. I’m not.”
The children didn’t appear to think this strange, but to Damon it was a big step. He was now as committed as Mickelle was to helping this child.
They went to pick up Bryan at Brionney’s, but he wasn’t there. “He’s over at the house,” Brionney told him. “My dad came and got him a half-hour ago. Said they were going to fix a door or something. I’m not sure what that meant exactly, but Bryan seemed to.”
“I’ll stop by there.” Damon started to turn on the porch. “We have to get some things for the boys anyway.”
“Wait!”
Damon stopped, raising his brow questioningly.
“Bryan. He was caught fighting at school today. They tried to call Mickelle, but she wasn’t in. They called me instead. I didn’t want to worry Mickelle so soon after last night’s attack, so I thought I’d wait to talk to you.”
Damon’s heart sank. “What happened?”
> “I’m not sure, really. They say one of the other boys said something about a basketball game in gym. Bryan got mad and slugged the boy. The boy hit him back. They had to be torn apart by two teachers. I talked to the principal quite a bit on the phone and explained what happened to Mickelle last night, and of course he knows about Riley’s death. Because of all that, he was willing to go easy on Bryan this time. But if it happens again, he’ll be suspended.”
“Thank you. I’ll talk to Mickelle about it.”
Brionney grimaced. “I’m sorry. Stepparenting won’t be easy, but for what it’s worth, I think you’ll do a great job. Already are.”
He nodded his thanks, wishing he felt as confident as Brionney sounded.
* * *
Bryan knew he shouldn’t have hit that loudmouthed jerk. Then again, Chris shouldn’t have made that crack about him playing like a girl. Bryan knew he wasn’t that good at basketball, but heck, neither were any of the other seventh graders. Still, Bryan hadn’t meant to hit Chris; he just sort of exploded at the taunt. The next thing Bryan knew, a teacher was yanking him from the floor where he was rolling with Chris. His jaw and chest ached, but there wasn’t any blood, at least not his. Unfortunately, Chris had a bloody nose, which had earned him sympathy.
“When it’s dry, I’ll let you sand it,” his grandfather said, breaking into Bryan’s unpleasant reverie. “And then we’ll paint the whole thing white.”
Bryan almost jumped at the voice. He had forgotten where he was. “Today?” he asked.
Grandpa Terrell shook his white head. “Nope. Have to be another day. The putty around the wood piece we put in has to dry at least overnight.”
“Looks good. Real smooth.”
Grandpa chuckled and lifted his tall, thin frame from his crouched position. “That’s the idea. But it’ll still need a bit of sanding.”
There was noise at the front door, and before long Jeremy came running down the hall. “Grandpa? Grandpa? Oh, there you are!”
Grandpa hugged Jeremy, lifting him a foot from the ground. Bryan remembered how that felt: like flying! Grandpa had done the same thing to him when he was little. Suddenly, he missed it.
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