All The Stars In Heaven

by Michele Paige Holmes

An UZI pressed between his shoulder blades, Grant preceded Rossi into the darkened chapel. In the dim light shining from the foyer behind them, Grant squinted, taking in the empty pews, the silence, the casket at the front. His step faltered as instinct kicked in. “Where is everyone?”

  “I persuaded the director and his employees to take the day off,” Rossi said casually. “Told them we wanted a private viewing.”

  Grant nodded, pretending that made perfect sense, though J.D. hadn’t answered his question at all—not only as to where the mourners were, but where over half of the Summerfield police force had disappeared to. They’d been the ones posing as the director, ushers—

  “Don’t worry too much about your guys,” Rossi said as though he’d read Grant’s mind. “I went easy on them. There won’t be any murders on the news tonight—none you’ll be around to hear about anyway,” he added with a chuckle.

  “They’d better be okay,” Grant said in an equally menacing tone. Worry for the men under him—those who’d trusted him to uphold the law and to keep them safe—made his chest tighten. And on the heels of fear for them came fear for his own life—and especially Sarah’s. Where is she? he wondered again. She should have been here by now, and he felt relief mingled with fear that she wasn’t. It was on the tip of his tongue to demand that J.D. tell him what he’d done with her, but there’d been no mention of Sarah, and if there was any chance she’d never come, that she was safe . . .

  “Take a seat.” Rossi nudged Grant into the second pew from the front. “We may have to wait a while.”

  “What are we waiting for?” Grant asked, unsure he wanted to hear the answer but certain he needed to figure out what Rossi had planned—and fast.

  “Your daughter, of course.”

  Grant struggled to hide his unease. Without his men in place to protect Sarah, he didn’t want her within five miles of here.

  Instead of sitting, Rossi continued to the front of the chapel. “We had a little hiccup, but she’s en route now.” He reached the casket and ran his fingers over the polished wood. “Cherry,” he said. “Nothing but the best for someone who’s served us so long.”

  “Where’s his family?” Grant asked. Where are the rest of your thugs?

  “As I said, she’s on her way.” Rossi flipped open the top half of the casket. It was empty.

  “What I can’t decide,” Rossi said, “Is whether I should kill you before I put you inside, or if I should let you suffocate once you’re in there.” He turned to Grant. “Which do you think your daughter would prefer?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “After all, I still remember the scene at her mother’s funeral, the way Sarah threw herself across the casket sobbing. Quite touching. Do you think she’ll do that for you?”

  “No!” Grant stood, his hands gripping the back of the pew in front of him. “Sarah hates me. She wants nothing more than to see me in jail—or dead. So whatever you hope to achieve by this—”

  A shaft of light from the back of the chapel stopped his speech. Grant turned, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t see Sarah.

  “Everything all right, Mr. Morgan?”

  It wasn’t Sarah, but that boyfriend of hers—alone. Grant had never felt so relieved in his life.

  “Detective Anderson said we should hurry over here,” Jay said, glancing at Rossi momentarily. “That you’d been hurt.”

  We. Grant’s fear returned.

  “But I told Sarah I wanted to make sure everything was okay first. After all, things didn’t go so well with your nephew.”

  What happened with Carl? Is Sarah all right? Before Grant could ask, Rossi spoke.

  “You’re a poor liar, Mr. Kendrich.” J.D. left the casket, venturing down the aisle toward them. “Sarah would no more allow you to come here by yourself than she’d allow Kirk’s family to be in any kind of danger. And Grant—” Rossi threw a glance his direction. “I can’t believe you didn’t realize we had every room in the station wired.”

  “They aren’t in danger,” Jay said.

  “And Detective Anderson isn’t really the one who sent you here,” Rossi replied calmly. “Amazing what can be done with cell phones these days, isn’t it? I’m afraid his number was temporarily forwarded to a colleague of mine.”

  Grant noted Jay’s hesitation. For the first time since he’d entered the chapel, Jay didn’t appear as confident. Behind him, the double doors creaked shut, leaving them in almost total darkness, save for the lone skylight at the back of the room. To our advantage, Grant thought.

  “We were just about to get started,” Rossi continued. He swung the UZI in Grant’s direction again. “Commemorating the end of the Rossi-Morgan era. Grant’s going to take his permanent retirement in that casket, and Sarah’s going to take a little cruise with me. You, Mr. Kendrich, will have to join her cousin at the bottom of the ocean, I’m afraid, as I didn’t plan for extra guests.” Rossi nudged Grant with the gun.

  Grant slowly began making his way toward the aisle. Let her be gone. Please let Sarah really be somewhere else.

  Instead of trying to leave, Jay took a step forward.

  “Don’t annoy me, Mr. Kendrich,” Rossi said. “And I’ll see that you have a quick, painless death. Unlike my friend here, who deserves much less.”

  Grant reached the front.

  “Stop here,” Rossi said, leveling the gun at Grant’s temple.

  A gunshot echoed through the chapel at the same moment Grant felt a bullet whiz by. Behind him, Rossi yelled. Grant turned on him, reaching for the gun, taking advantage of the moment. Lights flickered on above them, and he saw the blood oozing from just above Rossi’s collarbone. High and to the right. Sarah.

  “You stop.” Sarah’s voice, full of authority, reverberated through the chapel. Grant turned his head and saw her walking toward them, pistol drawn as if she were a match for Rossi and his machine gun.

  Rossi laughed. “You were almost too late,” he called, “to say good-bye to dear, old dad.”

  “Get out of here, Sarah!” Grant shouted.

  “No, Dad. He’s ruined your life—our entire family. No more.”

  Rossi’s eyes met Grant’s for a split second before he pulled away, turning toward Sarah and taking aim.

  “No!” Grant shouted, launching himself at Rossi at the same moment he saw Jay knock Sarah to the ground. More shots sounded, and pain blazed through Grant’s back. He fell forward, and all was silent.

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  April 2006—four months later

  Jay lagged behind as Sarah led him toward the entrance of the Casablanca restaurant. Though he’d passed this place several times—thinking of Jane and how she’d compared him to Humphrey Bogart—he’d never eaten here. He didn’t need to see the menu to tell it was pricey. “You’re kidding—right?” he asked as they reached the door. “’Cause if we have this kind of cash, maybe we should use it for a down payment on a car or something.”

  “Who needs a car when public transportation is so great?” Sarah said. “Besides, we have a lot to celebrate. Having your name cleared and getting back into Harvard—with a letter of apology, no less—is a pretty big deal.”

  They stepped inside, and he lingered behind while Sarah spoke to the maître d’.

  “We’re in luck,” she said a minute later. “We can get a table in the lounge right away.” She linked her arm through Jay’s.

  He glanced up, taking in the twenty-five-foot murals. The hostess led them to a cozy table beneath Humphrey and Ingrid.

  “This is cool,” Jay said after they were seated in two oversized, rattan chairs.

  Sarah beamed at him. “This is you. I’ve wanted to take you here for a long time—a little thank-you for saving my life.”

  “I think the who-saved-whom issue is still in question,” Jay said. “You had the gun.”

  “There’s saving, and then there’s saving,” she said as their eyes met. “You opened up the world for me.”

  He brought her hand to his lips and
kissed it. Doing his best to imitate Bogart, he said, “This is just the beginning, sweetheart.”

  “Hey, you two,” Kirk called as he and Christa walked toward the table. “None of that.”

  “You didn’t tell me you invited these guys,” Jay said, pretending to be upset.

  “I asked Trish and Archer to come too,” Sarah said. “But they already had plans. Archer had tickets to the theater.”

  Good for them, Jay thought. He was glad both Archer and Trish were recovering well from their physical and emotional trauma. The Archer that had emerged from a coma eight weeks ago was a kinder, gentler, more considerate boyfriend, and while Trish wished Arch could’ve gotten there another way, she was happy with the changes. Jay wasn’t exactly ready to be Archer’s roommate again, but he did think he’d finally forgiven him. He’d certainly forgiven Trish. After witnessing Archer’s shooting, and being threatened herself, no one could blame her for doing as she was told and pointing the blame toward Jay.

  Christa settled in the chair next to Sarah. “We would have been here sooner, but Jeffrey wanted to show James what a cast feels like, so he wrapped him in three rolls of toilet paper and poured my big bottle of glue on top. We had to give him a bath.”

  Jay burst out laughing, imagining James, sticky and toilet-papered.

  “I hope you got a picture,” Sarah said.

  Christa nodded. “We document all these things, so when James has mental issues as an adult, we can prove it’s his brother’s fault.”

  “Speaking of family . . . Have you seen your dad lately?” Kirk asked Sarah as he walked around the table to his own chair.

  “Yesterday,” she said. “He’s crabby as usual, but doing a little better each time I visit. Going from being chief of police to being behind bars hasn’t been easy. But his physical therapist tells me he’s a little nicer each day. And he’s getting around with a walker now—not something everyone who’s been shot in the spine can say.”

  Being alive after what we went through isn’t something everyone can say, Jay thought. All too often the scene at the funeral home replayed in his mind. Rossi with that machine gun, Grant—and Sarah standing in that aisle, facing the man who’d destroyed her family. She’d twice wounded one of the most successful drug dealers in America. That she’d survived was truly a miracle, one attributable, Jay admitted somewhat begrudgingly, to her father. Though Grant’s quick action had saved her life, Jay still had difficulty feeling any sort of goodwill toward him. After all, it was entirely Grant’s fault Sarah had been in danger in the first place.

  “Any news on a trial date?” Kirk asked, pulling Jay from the disturbing memory.

  “Not yet,” Sarah said. “And honestly, the longer it takes, the better. After being under Rossi’s thumb for so many years, Dad needs some time to work up the courage to testify against him.” She looked at Christa and Kirk. “Not that it will shorten Dad’s sentence. Last week he admitted to me that he killed Eddie Martin. Carl was the one who set Martin up, but it was my dad who administered the lethal dose of drugs the morning Martin was brought in.”

  “Drugs Rossi gave him,” Kirk said.

  Sarah nodded. “Yes.”

  Jay rubbed her back, wishing away the hurt in her voice.

  “I’m okay.” She tried to smile. “Dad was trying to keep me safe. After Rossi’s man saw Carl with me at the park, he suspected my dad had someone following me—a bodyguard.”

  “Some guard,” Jay muttered under his breath.

  “So Rossi didn’t trust your dad anymore and wanted Martin as some kind of proof of his continued loyalty,” Kirk guessed.

  “He wanted Martin dead.” Jay tensed as he realized yet again how much danger Sarah had been in.

  “And how are your trial preparations going?” Kirk asked.

  “As well as can be expected.” Sarah leaned into Jay. “My inside sources tell me I have nothing to worry about.”

  “Jay’s right,” Kirk said. “You were doing what you thought was your job—getting drugs off the street.”

  “She was getting drugs off the street,” Jay said. “Just because she only went after Rossi’s competition . . .”

  “So are you looking for a job?” Kirk asked, grabbing a menu from the end of the table. “We have a few openings.”

  “No,” Jay and Sarah answered together. Jay wrapped his arm around her protectively.

  “I’m quite happy with my new piano students, thank you,” Sarah said.

  “Enough of this serious talk,” Christa said. “Aren’t we supposed to be celebrating tonight?” She turned to Sarah. “Have you given Jay his present yet?”

  Sarah brought a finger to her lips. “Shh.”

  “Present?” Jay asked. He sat up straight. “No one said anything about gifts.”

  “Gift,” Kirk corrected. “We don’t like you that much.”

  “Still, this is a first—a gift when it’s not my birthday or Christmas.”

  “I know.” Sarah’s eyes shone, reflecting the light of the lantern hanging overhead. “And first experiences should be something extra special.”

  “How about some special food? What are we eating?” Kirk opened the menu he’d grabbed a moment before.

  “The tapas menu is supposed to be the way to go. Maybe we could all pick a couple of different things to share,” Sarah suggested.

  Kirk made a face as he looked at the choices. “Ew. Curried squash soup, mixed greens, romaine hearts?” He looked accusingly at his wife. “You didn’t tell me this place was all about vegetables.”

  “It’s supposed to be Mediterranean cuisine,” Sarah said. “You know, like the movie set in North Africa. And Jay likes vegetables. Fresh ones,” she added.

  “Love them,” Jay said, looking up from his menu. “I think I’ll get the crispy thin eggplant with herbed ricotta, roasted tomatoes, and fresh mozzarella.” He closed his menu and leaned back in his chair, a smile of anticipation on his face. Who cares what this costs? This place is great. He watched Sarah’s hair fall across her face as she studied the menu. She is great.

  “I want the burger,” Kirk said. “With extra fries.”

  “That’s my husband.” Christa patted his hand. “Always going out on a tastebud limb.”

  The waiter came and they placed their orders. Jay noticed a jukebox across the room. Excusing himself, he wandered over to it, his eyes scanning the titles, hoping that maybe . . . Bingo. He searched his pocket, found a couple of quarters, and put them in the machine. As he returned to their table, the music changed from cool jazz to a song he knew was familiar to Sarah now. It was the song they’d been dancing to when she’d walked out on him those many months ago.

  He watched her chatting with Christa and Kirk and noticed the second she recognized the tune. She looked up, eyes following him. Jay didn’t sit down.

  “Miss Morgan, I believe you still owe a partial debt—in the form of a dance.” He held his hand out.

  “No one else is dancing.” She leaned to the side, peering around him toward the bar.

  “No one else is here with you.”

  “You guys want to join us?” Sarah sent a hopeful, pleading glance at Kirk and Christa.

  “No way.” Kirk held his hands up. “I don’t do vegetables or dancing.”

  Christa punched him in the arm. “I can see why we don’t get out much, either.”

  “The song is going to be over,” Jay said. “And I’m going to start charging interest.”

  “Go on, Sarah,” Christa urged. “Be grateful you have a date who likes to dance.”

  Sarah sighed dramatically, but she put her hand in Jay’s. He pulled her away from the table and into his arms as “Free Falling” played overhead. He held her close. “I love you, Sarah.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you too, Jay.” She laid her head against his chest, and his arms tightened at her waist. They swayed in a slow circle near the palm trees.

  He wondered if she could hear how loud—and fast—his
heart was beating. Dancing this way, holding her close, had to be the best feeling in the world. Free falling, indeed. He’d fallen about a million miles and crashed through the floor.

  The final chorus started to fade. Gradually he became aware of the sounds around them—conversations, dishes clinking, people laughing together. Sarah lifted her head and looked up at him, eyes moist and shining.

  “I’ll never leave you again,” she promised.

  “I know.” He pulled her close for another hug. When she stepped out of his embrace, she reached in her back pocket and pulled out a small envelope. “Ready for your surprise?”

  Jay took it from her and tore open the flap. He pulled out a single photograph—of a beach.

  “Wall art?”

  She laughed. “Not exactly. Though I hope you’ll keep it up for the next four months.” She rocked back on her heels as anticipation lit her face. “It’s a beach near your home in Washington.”

  Jay turned the photo over, but there wasn’t anything written on the back. “Where did you get this, and what’s happening in four months?”

  “Come sit down, and I’ll explain.” She took his free hand, tugging him back to the table, where she took a second envelope from her purse and handed it to Jay.

  He opened it and pulled out two papers—two itineraries for flights to Seattle. “We’re taking a vacation?” The same worry he’d felt earlier about finances returned tenfold. Sarah barely covered her rent teaching piano. He was touched she’d planned a trip to his home, but he knew she couldn’t afford it.

  “Reward money,” Kirk said, as if he’d read Jay’s mind. “Sarah wouldn’t let me tell you. You’ve got a wad coming your way.”

  “Don’t you mean her way?” Jay asked. “Sarah was the one who— ”

  “When we’re married”—Sarah placed her left hand over his—“everything that’s mine will be yours.”

  Jay looked from Sarah to Kirk and Christa—all staring at him with slightly goofy expressions. He returned his gaze to Sarah. “Are we getting married sometime soon?”

  She sighed as if she’d been holding her breath for an hour. “I thought you’d never ask.” She pointed to the photo. “Even in the picture this beach looks breathtaking. Look how far you can see the ocean, and I imagine at night, if the sky is clear, we’ll be able to see hundreds of stars.”