The Spirit of Grace

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  He looked so pale that I wondered if he was going to die. “Sarah,” he whispered.

  “I’m here.”

  “You need to get out of here. It is not safe.” It seemed as if speaking the words took all of his energy. His eyes started to close. “I love you,” he whispered.

  My face grew hot. I didn’t dare look at my father. He stepped close to Zeke. I moved aside to let him sit down on the bed. He placed his hand on Zeke’s shoulder where mine had been and gently shook him. “Wake up, young man.”

  When Zeke opened his eyes this time, he knew where he was. He looked around the room, at my father, then at me. He pulled himself up to a sitting position and ran his hand over his face, while his eyes frantically traveled around the room until they landed on the attaché case that was tucked near the wall next to his dresser. “Did I wake you both up?”

  He went to pull the blankets over him, but couldn’t reach them without getting up. My father picked them up and covered Zeke.

  Anca came in with the tea and brandy. She poured a generous dollop in Zeke’s teacup before she handed it to him. “Drink this. You need soup. I will go get a tray.”

  “That’s all right. Don’t go to any trouble on my behalf.”

  “You need soup,” she said, leaving us once again.

  “This is embarrassing,” Zeke said. He swallowed the brandy-laced tea in one swig, tipping the delicate cup back and draining it. Soon the color started to come back into his cheeks. “I’ve been having these nightmares for some time.”

  “We heard you shouting. It woke us,” I said.

  “I had to shoot the door down.” My father examined the damage to the lock. “This will have to be replaced.” He looked at Zeke. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to lock your door.”

  Soon Anca came back with a tray carrying a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup and homemade bread.

  “Thank you, Anca,” Zeke said as Anca laid the tray on his lap.

  “You’re a good boy.” Anca smiled at Zeke before she shot me a knowing glance.

  “I owe you both an explanation,” Zeke said, looking at my father and me.

  “You owe us nothing,” my father said. “What happened to you before you came here is your business. I imagine it’s quite painful. Sarah and I certainly don’t need you to rehash your suffering and loss to satisfy our curiosity. Come on, Sarah, let’s leave Zeke alone.”

  “Thanks for coming to my rescue. Sorry to cause such a disturbance in the middle of the night,” Zeke said.

  “We’ll talk in the morning,” my father said. “Good night.”

  Once we were out in the corridor, my father looked at me strangely.

  “You seem to have made quite an impression on Zeke.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that.

  “Don’t take the things he said too seriously, Sarah. His mind was wandering. For all we know, he could have been professing his love to someone else entirely.”

  “You don’t approve of Zeke?”

  “It’s not that I don’t approve of him, I just don’t want you to get hurt. Not now, not after everything you’ve been through. Especially since this young man’s actions of late have been suspicious.”

  We were standing in front of Grace’s room.

  “I’m surprised that Grace didn’t wake up,” I said.

  “She probably took a sleeping powder. She would sleep through an invasion.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” I said.

  He smiled at me, went into his room, and shut the door behind him.

  It wasn’t until after the door clicked shut and the lock slid home that I realized I had neglected to ask my father what on earth he was doing with a gun in an ankle holster hidden under the leg of his trousers.

  Chapter 8

  Anca woke me up the next morning when she came in the room carrying a tray laden with tea and fresh baked scones.

  She placed the tray on my dresser and walked over to the window, where she whipped open the curtains in one noisy swoosh.

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “I’m awake.”

  The sound of spraying gravel and screeching brakes announced the car that skidded to a halt within inches of the steps that lead to the front porch. I got out of bed and pulled the chair up to my window, where I hoisted myself up and perched my elbows against the sill, craning my neck to see the activity in the driveway below.

  Sheriff Carpenter got out of the car and shuffled toward the front door, one hand resting on his lower back.

  “Didn’t Sheriff Carpenter retire?”

  “He did, but the young man who took his place signed up to fight, so he had to come back to work.” Anca stood next to me on her tip toes, peering out the window into the driveway below.

  Sheriff Carpenter waited near his car as another car pulled up behind his. A deputy got out--a young man who looked as though he could still be in high school--along with Colonel Matthews. Both men followed Sheriff Carpenter up to the front door.

  My stepmother opened the front door before they had a chance to knock. “Yes?”

  I couldn’t hear what Sheriff Carpenter said in return, but the men came into the house, and soon the murmur of their voices could be heard through my open bedroom door.

  I splashed water on my face, pulled my hair back, secured it with a clip, and headed downstairs, only to find the door to my father’s office closed. I put my ear against it, trying to make sense of the low mumble of words on the other side.

  Sheriff Carpenter said something that I couldn’t make out, but when Colonel Matthews spoke, his voice was loud enough for me to hear his words clearly. “Do you think Sarah is stable? She’s never shown any inclination toward violence, has she, Jack?”

  “I can’t make any guarantees about Sarah’s emotional state. She had a rough time when Jessica died, but no, Sarah has never been violent.”

  “Oh, here she is.” Grace opened the door before I could pull my ear away. “Were you eavesdropping, Sarah?” She spoke in a whisper so the men couldn’t hear. “You could have just come in.” She looked glamorous in a straight black skirt and a crisp white blouse. Her hair was pulled back into a chignon, showing off her long graceful neck. “The sheriff would like to speak with you.” She stepped aside and held the door open for me.

  Despite the warm fire in the hearth and the golden morning sun that came through the leaded windows in my father’s office, the mood when I walked in the room was frosty at best. Grace followed behind me. After she shut the door, she took her position behind my father, like a queen standing behind her enthroned king. In the unforgiving morning sunlight, I could see that despite Grace’s polished ensemble, her face was drawn and pale, her mouth pinched into a tight line. The circles under her eyes belied the deep sleep that she got last night, a sleep so deep that she didn’t awaken when my father fired his gun at Zeke’s bedroom door.

  Colonel Matthews stood against the wall near the desk, his hands clasped in front of him in a perfect parade rest. He didn’t smile at me when I came into the room. No one did. The young deputy stood next to Colonel Matthews, but looked like a young and fidgety colt next to the colonel’s staid bearing. The young deputy cast his eyes my way, and when I nodded at him, he blushed crimson and riveted his eyes on his feet. Sheriff Carpenter sat in the guest chair in front of my father’s desk.

  Zeke sat at his own desk. A neat stack of papers lay before him, but he had pushed them aside. He looked horrible. His green eyes were rimmed in red, the shadows under them dark against his pale skin. The stitches on his cheek added to his haggard appearance. A small drop of blood had congealed along the strong line of his jaw where he had cut himself shaving. He gave me a nod and returned his focus to the group gathered at my father’s desk.

  “Good morning.” I spoke to Zeke in a soft voice that only he could hear. “Are you okay?”

  “Much better, thanks.” He gave me a wistful smile before he looked away.

  I knew Sheriff Carpenter to be a fair, h
onest man, who cared deeply about Bennett Cove and the people who lived here. He had been the only law enforcement officer in town for as long as I could remember. I had fond childhood memories of Sheriff Carpenter at Christmastime, dressing up as Santa Claus and sitting under the big Christmas tree in town, kindly listening to the Christmas wishes of Bennett Cove’s children.

  “Sarah, here you are.” My father got up from his desk and went to stand near Colonel Matthews. He nodded at Sheriff Carpenter, who took the seat behind my father’s desk.

  “Have a seat, Sarah,” Sheriff Carpenter said, beckoning to the empty chair.

  I could no more open my mouth and speak than I could fly to the moon. I approached the desk, as if in slow motion, bracing myself for what was to come.

  “We’ve had some bad news,” my father said finally, his voice breaking. His eyes filled with tears, but he quickly wiped them away with the back of his hand.

  “Your grandmother has been found--” Sheriff Carpenter couldn’t finish his sentence.

  My father spoke, filling in the vacuous silence. “Colonel Matthews’s men found her down by the beach.”

  “What?” My voice was a whisper.

  Grace came from around the desk and grabbed my hand. “I’m so sorry. I know you and Patricia were close.”

  “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

  “Sarah, your grandmother has been murdered,” Zeke said. He came over and sat in the chair next to me. He didn’t touch me, but the physical nearness of him gave me strength.

  “She was killed sometime last night,” Sheriff Carpenter said. “Jack, you’ll need to come and identify the body.” He stood up, surprisingly tall in spite of his aged stoop. “But first I would like to speak with each of you individually. This is how it works. I’ll be conducting short interviews right now. After we evaluate, I’ll want to speak with everyone at length, so you need to be available.”

  “Surely you don’t think one of us killed her,” my father said.

  “This is a serious matter, Jack. Everyone is a suspect,” Sheriff Carpenter said. He nodded at Colonel Matthews, who had been silent until now.

  “We have a theory,” Colonel Matthews interjected. He stepped out of the corner and, in the way of a man who is accustomed to giving orders, took command. “Everyone in this room knows that there is a cordoned-off section of the beach, where we’ve built what looks like an old farmhouse and barn. I cannot tell you what we are doing there, but I will tell you that someone tried to sabotage the building last night with an incendiary bomb. Luckily, we found the device and were able to disarm it without any injury or damage. This isn’t the first time that someone has tried to sabotage my operation, but last night they almost succeeded.

  “It’s possible that Patricia interrupted someone or saw something when she was out on one of her walks. She does have a tendency to tromp through the woods, and although I mean no disrespect, she does have an uncanny knack for putting her nose into other people’s business.”

  “You think the sabotage at your facility is related to Patricia’s murder?” Zeke asked.

  Colonel Matthews gave him a shut-up-and-listen look.

  “Well, do you?” Zeke pushed.

  Colonel Matthews ignored him. “One of my men saw a person disguised in dark clothing sneaking around the other night. We gave chase, but they slipped into the woods and got away. It stands to reason that Patricia might have seen something.” Colonel Matthews stopped speaking, as if checking himself, making sure he didn’t reveal too much. He paused and looked around the room, engaging each and every one of us. “Let’s just say there are significant unanswered questions.”

  “So now you’re suggesting my mother-in-law was a spy?” My father’s voice had a flinty edge to it.

  “She may have seen something, that’s all I’m saying,” Colonel Matthews said. “Out of respect for you and your family, I’m telling you where things stand.”

  Gran was dead. I couldn’t take it in, couldn’t process it. My father reached for the cup of coffee on his desk, but his hand shook so much, that he set it back down again.

  “I’ll identify her, Jack, if you would like,” Zeke said.

  “No,” my father said. “It’s my responsibility.”

  “If you ladies will excuse us,” Sheriff Carpenter said. He herded Grace and me out of the room and shut the door behind us.

  “I’m not really sure why we had to leave the room,” I said to Grace.

  As we headed towards the kitchen, I wondered why it was that whenever crisis struck, food must be prepared. Was the act of preparation a panacea for the preparers, or did everyone really get hungry in times of tragedy?

  “They probably thought the details were too much for us.” Grace stopped and grabbed my hand. “I’m sorry, Sarah. That was thoughtless of me.” Light came in through windows, shining on the old chopping block in the middle of the kitchen.

  “It’s just so hard to believe that Gran is dead. I just saw her yesterday.”

  Neither one of us spoke as we made coffee and tea and put the rest of Anca’s scones on a plate.

  “We should probably make sandwiches, too.” Grace had opened the cupboard and was surveying our food supply.

  “With what?”

  “Bread and butter,” she said. “I’ll see to it.”

  I left Grace making the sandwiches while I took the tea tray and scones into my father’s office. I went in without knocking, plowing right into the middle of a heated argument between Colonel Matthews and Zeke.

  “She’s not--” Zeke said. When I walked into the room, he stopped talking.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing and remained still and silent until I deposited the tray on Zeke’s desk--the only clear spot in the room. That completed, I saw myself out of the office. By the time I joined Grace in the drawing room, a cold knot had formed in my belly. I had half a mind to build a fire, but couldn’t find the energy to rouse myself from the couch.

  “It’s freezing in here. Shall I build a fire?” Grace sat next to me, her shoes kicked off on the floor, her legs tucked under her.

  “If you like,” I said. “I’m surprised we didn’t wake you last night.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Zeke had a horrible nightmare. The door was locked, so my father had to shoot the door open.”

  “I take a strong sleeping powder,” Grace said. “I suffer from horrible insomnia.”

  “Well, I’m glad that we didn’t--”

  The young red-headed deputy came into the room.

  “Miss Grace, Sheriff Carpenter is ready for you.”

  “We’ll talk later.” Grace smiled at me as she followed the deputy toward the office.

  My father came in just as Grace was leaving. When they passed near each other, Grace gently touched his arm. He pushed her hand away. For the most part, my father was an affable, social creature, but he did have his moods and would withdraw behind his stoic, unflappable fortress.

  I pitied Grace. How awful to have a husband, the man she loved, shut her out just when they needed each other most. Lucky for her, my father had been known to snap out of his moods just as quickly as they came over him.

  Now he poured himself a finger of scotch, drank it, and poured another generous dollop, which he took to one of the winged chairs in front of the fireplace. He sat down, seemingly oblivious of my presence.

  “Are you all right?”

  “You mean aside from the fact that my mother-in-law has been murdered?” He put his hand over his face and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I just can’t believe it.”

  “I can’t believe that Gran provoked someone to kill her.”

  “Really?” my father said.

  “Whatever do you mean?” I asked.

  “She was always sticking her nose into other people’s business.”

  He stood and started to pace around the room. Round and round he walked, as if I weren’t there. The realization that Gran was gone for
good sank in with a fatal finality. I sat back on the sofa, chilled to the bone and full of regret that I had left the cocoon of The Laurels and had come home to Bennett House.

  “Her wedding ring is missing. Did they tell you that? Somebody murdered her for that diamond. I told her she shouldn’t wear such a valuable ring when she went off walking by herself.”

  I didn’t know what to say to him. I didn’t know anything anymore.

  The young deputy reappeared. “Miss Bennett?”

  I stood and followed him back into my father’s office. Grace was nowhere to be seen. Colonel Matthews sat in one of the chairs across from my father’s desk. Zeke had been allowed to stay in the room for some reason. He sat at his desk with the chair still turned sideways. He crossed his legs and leaned back against the wall, a gesture that set him apart from the other men, as if to say he wasn’t a part of their united front. He was his own person. He gave me a slight smile and an encouraging nod as I sat down in the chair opposite Sheriff Carpenter.

  The sheriff got right to the point. “Tell me about your movements last night.”

  I explained as clearly as I could how I had wound up following the mysterious person up the trail. I told the sheriff everything, only leaving out that the person had come from Bennett House. I couldn’t do that to Zeke--if he was the person I had seen out on the trail.

  “So you just happened to be fully dressed in the middle of the night? You just happened to see a mysterious figure in the woods and you happened to follow them?” The sheriff didn’t bother hiding the cynicism that had crept into his voice.

  I met his eyes and didn’t flinch or look away. “Yes.”

  Gone was the man who used to dress up like Santa Claus. This man, charged with solving my grandmother’s murder, had a cold ruthlessness about him. He would get to the bottom of this. He would find out what happened to Gran. I hoped that Zeke would not be hurt in the process.

  The sheriff went back to his notebook, flipped through the pages as if to check some facts from his previous interviews. He flipped forward and wrote in the notebook. After about ten minutes, he looked up at me again, searching my face. “Did you kill your grandmother?”