Michael hadn’t exactly shut his ears. He went to church and tried to keep his eyes open through the sermons. Most every morning, he said a grateful prayer or two when he got up and looked out over the lake behind his log house. He aimed to live right. On the other hand, he hadn’t ever asked the Lord to send him any career advice.
“You’ll have them back on task in five minutes,” Michael said into the phone.
“Wasted minutes,” Aunt Lindy said curtly. “Students these days throw their minds away if they get the slightest chance.”
“But you won’t let that happen. By the way, have you seen Anthony Blake today?” He hurried the question out before she hung up.
“You know he’s not in any of my classes.”
“In the hall, I mean.”
“I stay out of the halls as much as possible. An old woman could get trampled out there.”
“Come on, Aunt Lindy. You know none of the kids would so much as jostle you. But about Anthony. Could you check for me? See if he’s there.”
“I can check, but he’ll be at the house tomorrow night for his lessons. I can ask him then.”
Michael had talked Aunt Lindy into tutoring Anthony to keep him from flunking out of school and violating his parole agreement. “Does he ever skip those?” Michael asked.
“Of course not. He knows that’s not allowed.” With that, Aunt Lindy disconnected the call without so much as a goodbye.
That was Aunt Lindy. Decisive, determined, dedicated. As Michael handed the phone back to Betty Jean, he thought it was a good thing for him that she was. He owed his life to her. It was that simple. Or maybe there was nothing simple about any of it.
Seeing death always brought back the memory of the heavy blackness that had trapped him inside his head for months after the wreck when he was fifteen.
He was on the way home from church camp after three weeks as a junior counselor. His parents had been so happy to see him when they came to pick him up. His mother wanted to know all about the camp as they drove toward Hidden Springs, and Michael had tried to answer her questions even though his eyelids kept sliding shut.
The night had been cloudy, raining some, thunder rumbling in the distance. The windshield wipers swooshed back and forth, dragging against the glass whenever the rain let up a little. The road was nearly deserted, and their car lights punched holes in the dark until it almost looked as if they were in a tunnel riding through the night.
All at once lights flashed in front of them. His father had jammed on the brakes and jerked the car to the right, but the lights came straight at them. His mother’s scream was the last thing he remembered.
The car crashed into a tree, killing his parents instantly, and the doctors held out little hope for Michael. It would take a miracle, they warned Aunt Lindy. Even if he kept breathing, he might never be a functioning person again.
Aunt Lindy listened and then quietly moved into his hospital room, refusing to leave. Weeks without a response hadn’t discouraged her. She ignored the doctors, kept talking to him, reading to him, and exercising his arms and legs for the day when he’d regain consciousness. Her father had been a preacher. Her brother, Michael’s father, had been a preacher. She not only believed in miracles, she expected them. She had no doubt the Lord would heal Michael. Long before the blackness parted, somehow Michael had been aware she was there and knew she was refusing to let him go.
6
Malinda Keane clicked off the phone in the teachers’ lounge.
Thank the Lord Michael was all right. She shut her eyes and whispered a prayer for him. She’d prayed for him every day since the first time his newborn baby hand grabbed hold of her finger. Such a perfect baby. A good boy. A teenager spared death and given back for some special purpose. A fine man who would someday realize that purpose in the Lord’s good time.
She shouldn’t have given in to the impulse to call Michael. He wasn’t a child. Hadn’t been a child for many years. She’d managed to allow him to patrol the Columbus streets without calling him every hour, although sometimes worry for his safety had been like a live thing perched on her shoulder, digging its talons down all the way into her heart.
But for some reason when the rumors and stories began flying around the school about a man found shot on the courthouse steps, she hadn’t been able to contain her uneasiness. Prayer hadn’t helped. Telling herself not to be a meddling old lady hadn’t helped. She had to know, to hear with her own ears, that Michael was not that man.
Not that she really thought he was. She told herself he wasn’t. Nobody had any reason to shoot Michael on the Hidden Springs Courthouse steps. But somebody had gotten shot there. Somebody whose family was going to hear how he died and say there wasn’t any reason for it. What possible reason could there be for anybody to get shot on the courthouse steps?
When things were not lining up with cause and effect the way numbers in an algebra equation lined up, then anything could happen. Anything could have already happened. And so the uneasiness had spread inside her until she wondered if there was a reason for it. That was why she’d let her fingers punch in the sheriff’s number. She could have called Michael’s cell, but she hated those things. Left her own in the car during the school day. But she’d had to know.
Michael wasn’t her son but near to it. After the accident that took his parents, she guided him through a kind of rebirth that made a special bond between the two of them.
Even now, more than ten years later, she still missed James and Eva. In ways, James had been her child too. He was barely eight when their mother died suddenly. Malinda had been fifteen going on thirty, or so her father always told people. He said she was born responsible. It had never felt like a compliment. Plenty of times Malinda hadn’t wanted to be the responsible one. Times when she wanted to be flighty yet beloved like her mother. Or beautiful and treasured like some of her friends. Even carefree and happy the way James was then.
But a person was whoever they were. Perhaps the Lord looked ahead in her life and knew what she would need to be to do the tasks he had in mind for her. Knew that her mother would be hopeless at running a household, even when she wasn’t crippled by those blinding headaches. Knew her father would lose heart for pounding pulpits and preaching repentance and would retreat from the world after her mother passed on. Knew that James would need a mother more than a sister to help him become the man the Lord wanted him to be.
Thank heaven for Eva. She was a special gift to James. Eva was as different from Malinda as two women could be, but they were alike in their devotion to the Lord and to James. From the first moment they met, they were sisters in their hearts. Malinda missed Eva every bit as much as she missed James. Maybe more. She’d known she couldn’t step into Eva’s place in Michael’s life the way she’d stepped into her mother’s place for James. She’d always been more mother to James than sister, even before their mother died.
At the same time, she hadn’t been about to let Michael follow his parents into death. Not without an all-out battle. She’d prayed fervently with absolute faith the Lord would move the mountain of darkness that trapped Michael. She listened to the doctors but refused to believe them when they warned there was no hope. With the Lord, there was always hope. What medicine and doctors couldn’t do, the Lord could. And the Lord had.
After weeks of no response, Michael had suddenly grasped Malinda’s hand and held on as she led him slowly back through the tunnel of oblivion into life. It was longer still before he was back on his feet learning to walk again while she hovered behind him. In a sense, that’s where she’d been ever since.
Not noticeably where he wouldn’t be able to grow. Where he couldn’t use his wings. But she’d been there putting prayers under his wings. Pushing the truth that the Lord had brought him back for a purpose. Second chances at life came with responsibilities, and in time, the Lord would show Michael the true purpose of his life.
Michael hadn’t found that yet. There was nothing wrong with being a p
olice officer. It was a respectable occupation. But Malinda was sure there was more in store for him. Their Keane ancestors had founded Hidden Springs. The Lord had led Michael back to their town. There was a reason for that. A purpose.
Malinda didn’t know what that was. Michael didn’t know what that was. But the Lord did.
Malinda went by the principal’s office on the way to her classroom. Michael was right. No students pushed against her. Instead, an oasis of quiet followed her. That was all right with Malinda. She demanded respect. She didn’t want to be her students’ buddy. She was their teacher.
The secretary in the office confirmed what Michael had said. Anthony Blake was absent from school.
“Did you call his aunt?” Malinda asked.
“Why?” Angela Perry looked up at Malinda. “He’s not in any of your classes, is he?”
“No, but he should be. He should have never been allowed to slide around taking algebra. He has a good mind. He should have been forced to use it.”
“Right. And I did call. Anthony’s name on the absentee list is always a red flag.” Angela ruffled through some papers on her desk. “I took a message for Mr. Whitson. It’s here somewhere.”
Angela had been one of Malinda’s students. Not one of her better students, but it didn’t take a lot of mathematical ability to answer phones and take messages. She was cute, with a dimpled smile and curly brown hair. Cute made up for a lot when a person was sitting behind a desk greeting people.
The girl was capable, but it wasn’t uncommon for Malinda’s former students to become all thumbs when she was around. She waited a few seconds for Angela to find the note, but Malinda didn’t have all day. “Don’t you remember what the woman said?”
“Who?” Angela asked.
“Vera Arnold. Anthony’s aunt.” Malinda tried to keep the irritation out of her voice, but she didn’t completely succeed. But who else would they be talking about?
“Oh, well, yes. But you have to remember that I’ve talked to dozens of people today and I thought maybe you wanted to know exactly what she said. It’s been a crazy day in here with everybody asking questions about somebody getting killed at the courthouse this morning. Did that really happen?” Angela stopped shuffling through her papers and looked at Malinda again.
“So it seems.” Angela’s eyes widened, and Malinda could almost see the questions bubbling up to her head. She jumped in front of them. “But what about Anthony? What did Vera say?”
“You know she doesn’t care where Anthony is as long as he’s not bothering her. She said he left this morning the same as usual. She thought he went to school, but maybe he got sick and went to a friend’s house or something. She promised to find out why he wasn’t here when he came home. If he came home.” Angela made a face. “It’s a waste of time talking to her. She doesn’t care if he comes to school or not.”
“She may not, but we do. I do. If he shows up, send one of your office helpers down to let me know.” Malinda tapped the counter beside Angela. “Don’t forget.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Angela said.
As Malinda left the office, the bell was ringing. Her students were going to get a kick out of her being tardy to class. She might even let them laugh about it for one of those minutes Michael thought she’d need to get them back on task.
7
Back at the sheriff’s office, Michael turned around to face the others with a shrug and a self-conscious grin. “Aunt Lindy heard we’d been letting people get killed on the courthouse steps, and she doesn’t think that’s exactly the sort of thing peace officers should allow to happen.”
Sheriff Potter chuckled. “Malinda has drawn a bead on the truth there.”
Paul stared straight at Michael. “I must insist we don’t discuss our investigation with anybody outside the police departments.”
“Sure, Paul, whatever you say.” Michael took a deep breath and forced himself to unclench his fists. He walked past Paul to the door.
“Wait a minute. I’m not through,” Paul started, but Michael went on out into the hall as though he didn’t hear him.
Buck followed, right on Michael’s heels. “I thought I was going to have to slug him before I got out of there.” Buck smiled over at Michael. “And I thought you were going to for sure. The little bozo. Who does he think he is?”
“You heard him. The officer in charge of this investigation.” Michael looked over his shoulder, glad Buck had pulled the office door closed. “He must have been studying up at night on how to handle a murder just in case somebody got shot in Hidden Springs.”
“Maybe he did it.” Buck made a gun with his finger and thumb and pretended to shoot it.
Michael laughed. “I don’t think he’d go quite that far to stir up excitement, but you never know. Anyway, the sheriff will smooth down Paul’s ruffled feathers before he wakes up Chief Sibley and ushers them out the door.”
“And Little Osgood won’t even know what Al’s doing.”
“The sheriff has a knack for getting folks to do what he wants them to do.”
They pushed through the front door, and Michael couldn’t keep from looking over to where the body had been. A couple of men in overalls had crossed the yellow police tape, still zigzagged across the yard, to get a better look at the brownish-red smears on the post and the steps.
“Somebody needs to clean that up,” Michael said.
“Oh, I don’t know. It gives people something to gawk at and keeps them from pestering us for answers we don’t have. At least not yet.” Buck nodded toward the farmers, who didn’t even look their way. “But what’s this about Anthony Blake? You’re talking about that kid we caught breaking into a car a couple of months back, right?”
“That’s the one.” Michael looked over at Buck. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I just didn’t expect to hear his name this morning.” Buck’s voice changed, became guarded. “You don’t think he has anything to do with what happened back there, do you?”
“Anthony?” Michael was surprised. “No. But I saw him in the crowd this morning, and he’s not supposed to skip school. Not if he wants to stay out of juvenile detention. That was one of the conditions handed down by the juvenile court judge, but you know how some kids are. There’s no helping them.”
“Yeah.” Buck sounded relieved Michael hadn’t spotted something he missed about the murder. “A hard-luck kid for sure.”
“Sometimes luck has little to do with it. Anthony goes out hunting trouble.”
“That’s what hard-luck kids do best. I remember when his mother took off years ago. Told the kid she was going to the grocery store and left him watching television. He was there alone a couple of days before anybody knew she was gone. He was just a little fellow. Around five, I think.”
“No wonder he’s mad at the world.” Michael frowned. “Aunt Lindy says his mother left the same summer my folks were killed in the auto wreck.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Best I remember, you were hurt pretty bad in that wreck yourself. Everybody thought you might be out for the count.” Buck turned and gave Michael’s arm a light punch. “Glad you weren’t, kid.”
“Me too,” Michael said. “But that summer is sort of a blank for me, so I don’t remember anything about Anthony’s mother leaving.”
“You could ask your aunt. She could fill you in.”
“I have, but she won’t talk about it. Says what’s in the past might as well stay there.”
“Could be she’s right. And I don’t guess it matters all that much now. Most people figured Roxanne ran off with some man.” Buck blew out a breath. “I had a hard time believing it at first. But she never did show up anywhere, so I guess she did. Still, she did act like she thought the sun rose and set on that kid. It didn’t seem like something she’d do. Running off maybe, but not leaving the kid behind. That never seemed right.”
“Did you know her?” Michael asked.
“Sure. What man in Hidden Springs didn’t?” Buck shrugged. �
��She was a treat for the eyes.”
“A prostitute?” Michael glanced over at Buck with raised eyebrows.
“Not as far as I know. She was a waitress, but rumor had it she made some money on the side. If she did, I never saw any proof of it, but you know how folks around here are. They pegged Roxanne back when she had that kid and wouldn’t tell who the daddy was.”
“You sound like you knew her pretty well.” Michael stopped walking to look straight at Buck.
“Now don’t be getting the wrong idea here.” Buck swiped a hand across his face as if to rub away the surprising red that popped up there. “I was already married to Susan and had Billie Jo then. But sometimes when I stopped in at the Country Diner for coffee, Roxanne and me would swap kid stories, you know. She always got this different look on her face when she talked about the boy. I still can’t figure her taking off without him.”
“But she did,” Michael said.
“That’s what everybody decided.”
“You didn’t?”
“I don’t know.” Buck stared off across the street for a few seconds as though gathering his thoughts. “Somehow it struck me as odd at the time. I was new to the job then, not a detective yet, just a patrol cop. But I poked around a little. Talked to everybody who saw her that day. You know, that kind of thing. Nobody knew anything about where she’d gone. Or anything about any guy she’d been seeing. She didn’t draw her money out of the bank. She didn’t leave her sister any kind of note asking her to take care of the boy.”
“Nothing ever turned up on her?”
“Not a thing.” Buck gave his head a shake. “I figured she’d send for the boy when she got things worked out, but then she never did. Could be she got sick or something. Who knows? And then she might still show up again someday.”
Murder at the Courthouse Page 4
