A Dime a Dozen

by Mindy Starns Clark

  “Like no other place on earth,” I replied, grinning.

  I gestured toward the seat next to me and he sat, exhaling slowly as he did.

  “Well, you certainly got quite a homecoming. Leave it to the whole Webber army to welcome you in such a big way.”

  “It was good to see everyone.”

  We talked about specific relatives—who was off at college, who was working where, who had been ill or had gotten married. I was pleased to learn that Bryan’s sister in Ohio was pregnant again, sorry to hear that his aunt had had a stroke.

  Changing the subject, Dean asked how things were going with me, and I told him the truth, that my job kept me very busy, but that I had made some good friends around my new home and that I was happy.

  “We hear from your parents now and then,” he said. “They worry about you.”

  “You probably haven’t talked to them in the last few months,” I said. “I went home for Christmas, and we had real time of healing and bonding. We’ve made great strides. I don’t think they’re so worried anymore.”

  “That’s good to hear.” He paused and then asked gently, “What about coming here? Was this difficult for you?”

  I looked at him, at his kind face, and then I looked away.

  “I was a bit worried,” I said honestly. “But seeing you and Natalie is worth—”

  I couldn’t finish the sentence because I began to choke up, much to my surprise. It wasn’t that I was sad, really, just overwhelmed with emotion. I swallowed hard, glad no one else was near us at the moment to see two tears spill down my cheeks.

  Perhaps not knowing what else to do, Dean reached out and took my hand in his, squeezing it firmly. When he spoke, his voice was also full of emotion.

  “You don’t even need to explain,” he said, letting go of my hand. “We feel the same way too.”

  Fortunately, Bryan’s first cousin, Ken Webber, chose that moment to come over and talk to Dean about a computer issue at the office. Ken was the family computer whiz, the go-to guy for almost any technical issue that came up. Because he did some consulting for MORE, he and I would probably be working together a bit later in the week as I did the research for the grant.

  While they talked I went around the yard picking up cups that had been discarded by the kids and crushed on the ground. Out near the back of the yard along the woods it was dark away from the lights, but the cups were white, so it was easy to spot them in the grass. I had found about ten when I heard a rustling sound beyond the woodpile, and I looked up, surprised to see a man running past through the trees.

  “Hey!” I called, but he didn’t stop or even glance my way. He disappeared into the darkness, and for a moment I wondered if I had seen anything at all or if it had just been an illusion.

  Goose bumps dotting my arms, I clutched the cups to my chest and quickly walked back to the deck, telling Dean and Ken what I had just witnessed. From the brief glimpse I’d had, I described the person as a young male, dressed in dark clothes and wearing a baseball cap. Beyond that, I hadn’t noticed any specific details.

  Dean seemed concerned, but Ken was a bit more relaxed.

  “Was he running toward the church or away from it?” he asked.

  “Away. He was kind of angling toward the lake.”

  Ken nodded, the yellow lights bouncing off the circles of his wireframed glasses.

  “Probably a teenager who stayed too late at the concert and had to get home before curfew,” he said.

  “Home where?” I asked. “In a cave? There’s nothing out that way but woods and water.”

  “Oh, no,” Dean corrected me. “They’ve put in a whole subdivision off of Marshall Road, about a quarter mile back from here as the crow flies.”

  “You’re kidding,” I said, finding the trash bag and dumping in the cups. “I didn’t realize that.”

  “Yeah, it’s a fairly pricey neighborhood. Especially the lots that are along the lakefront.”

  I said I would have to drive through there and take a look, which led Ken to say that I might see more from out on the water, which led Dean to remind me that I was welcome to use the canoe any time I wanted to go for a paddle. Soon we were talking about canoeing and the lake, and I had forgotten all about the man I had seen in the woods.

  Eventually I went inside, and when I got to the kitchen, I found Natalie there by herself, standing at the sink and staring absently at the window. Because it was dark outside, the glass had become like a mirror, with her own reflection looking back at her.

  “Natalie?”

  She turned to me, startled, and I realized that her face was flushed, her eyes a bit red.

  “Callie,” she said, reaching up to wipe her eyes. “I’m sorry. I was lost in thought.”

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded.

  “I was just thinking that even with all of the family around, there’s still one person missing. There’s still one person who ought to be here and isn’t.”

  I knew she was speaking of Bryan, and suddenly it hit me that the thought of my coming here had been as unsettling for her as it had been for me. In an odd way, I found that comforting. I wasn’t the only one who knew there could be setbacks in the grieving process.

  “It’s still hard for you,” I said softly.

  “I have good days and bad,” she replied, glancing at me, embarrassed. “But I don’t have to tell you that.” We shared a sad smile, bonded in a way that neither of us would’ve chosen. “And anyway,” she said firmly, crossing the room toward me, “we’ve got a lot of work to do this week. Dean and I are so excited about this new grant, we can’t tell you.”

  “I’m anxious to see the program,” I said. “From what I hear, you’ve really done some amazing things.”

  “It’s been so rewarding,” she said. “The Lord has definitely blessed our efforts.”

  Natalie told me more about the charity and the things they had been able to accomplish. We talked about the grant approval process, and I explained that though I would be needing different documents and peppering them with questions, I wouldn’t really be taking up any large chunks of their time. I simply needed a space to work on-site, access to the agency’s files and records, and a private area where I could talk to employees and use the phone. Beyond that, it was merely a matter of going through the process step-by-step.

  “In general,” I said, “I have ten criteria that I use for judging a nonprofit. I start with the first one and work my way through, examining finances, procedures, programs, and much more as I go.”

  I went on to explain that the agency would be approved for a grant only if they scored well on every single criterion. With an amount as large as the one we were dealing with here—and despite the fact that I knew them personally—the investigation would have to be painstaking and extensive and fully documented.

  “We wouldn’t have it any other way,” Natalie said. “I believe you’ll find the organization to be more than worthy in the end.”

  “Good,” I said as I crossed to the sink and filled a cup with water. In the distance, I could hear the lonely sound of a siren, though I couldn’t tell by listening if it was a fire truck or a police car. “I also need to meet with some of the migrants while I’m here,” I said, ignoring the sound. “It would be good to have an interview with at least one of them for my report.”

  Dean had come walking in at that moment, and he paused next to Natalie.

  “Wrong time of year for that,” he said. “The migrants left in November, and they won’t be back until July.”

  I turned around, leaning against the sink.

  “Oh, that’s right,” I said, wondering if there might be contact information for some of them, so that at the very least I could conduct some interviews over the phone.

  “Actually,” Natalie added, looking at Dean, “Callie could talk to Luisa Morales.”

  Dean sighed as he went to the freezer, opened it, and took out an ice tray.

  “Luisa Morales?”
I asked.

  “She’s a migrant who’s been coming here for years,” Dean said. “This year, unfortunately, once harvest was over she stayed put.”

  “Why is that unfortunate?”

  “Well, I don’t mean to sound callous. She’s a very nice woman, and she’s certainly welcome to stay here in Greenbriar. It’s just that—”

  Dean cracked the ice tray and several cubes shot out onto the floor. As he picked them up and tossed them into the sink, Natalie finished his answer for him.

  “It’s just that she’s had a bit of trouble,” Natalie said. “Her husband left her last fall, and now she’s alone with her two kids, trying to figure out what to do next. In the meantime, there have been a few…problems.”

  “Problems?”

  “Some vandalism,” Dean said. “Somebody spray painted her driveway, and another time she had some things stolen out of her car. It seems like bad luck just sort of follows her around.”

  “Our hearts go out to her, of course,” Natalie added, “but she just won’t accept the fact that her husband is gone. She is living here in limbo, and it’s especially difficult for her because her family and support system moved away when harvest was over. We’ve done what we can, both through the agency and on our own, and our church helps her out a lot too. But I’m afraid she’s sort of stuck waiting for a man who left her high and dry and isn’t coming back. It’s very sad.”

  “How involved is she with MORE?” I asked, hearing in the distance the sound of more sirens joining with the first. “Has she benefited from your programs?”

  “Oh, she’s benefited plenty,” Dean said. “We even gave her a staff position last fall, working in our main office. In fact, she caused some problems there that we’ll need to talk with you about, since they will probably come up in your investigation.”

  “Anything that might put a hitch in the approval process?”

  “No, nothing like that,” Dean replied, though I thought I could detect a hint of concern in his voice. “But I’m sure you’ll need to make note in your report of the problems she caused. It’s a long story. Once you hear it, you’ll understand why I get so exasperated with her.”

  The sounds of the sirens had become unmistakably close. We looked at each other in alarm and then put everything down and headed outside to see the rest of the family already gathered in a clump at the end of the driveway. As we walked to where they stood, I thought I could detect the acrid smell of smoke in the air. Through the woods we could clearly see the flashing red-and-blue lights of the police cars.

  “That’s the church,” Natalie said, one hand to her mouth. “They were having that big concert tonight.”

  “The man,” I whispered, remembering the shadowy figure I had seen running through the woods.

  “Oh, Lord,” Dean added, “just don’t let anyone be hurt.”

  Four

  Everyone wanted to get over there and see what was going on, so rather than walk or run we decided to drive. Quickly, the group dispersed into three cars—mine, Dean’s, and Natalie’s. I backed out of the driveway, let them both pull ahead, and then I brought up the rear.

  I followed Natalie’s minivan to the church parking lot, where a large crowd of teenagers was standing around, blocking traffic and watching the police activity. Natalie parked her van on the grass, so I followed suit and got out to see what was going on.

  Apparently, though thick smoke lingered in the air, there hadn’t been a fire. Word was that no one had been injured. Instead, it was a prank: Someone had set off a bunch of stink bombs in somebody else’s car.

  Teenagers!

  As the news spread of what had caused such a commotion, there were plenty of chuckles and accusations flying between the young people milling around in the parking lot. I was afraid this little stunt had interrupted the rock concert, but apparently the deed had been done as the concert drew to a close—in other words, just before people began pouring out of the building.

  Wondering if the man I had seen running through the woods was somehow connected here, I approached a nearby officer and told him about it, just in case. He took down my description of the guy, scant as it was, along with my name and contact information. Then he thanked me for my help and returned his attention to the crowd.

  For the most part, the police were able to get things under control fairly quickly, especially with the assistance of the church members who had sprung into action. Men in orange reflective vests were positioned around the busy parking lot and directing traffic toward the exit, where a cop waved them out onto the highway.

  I stood among the fringes of the activity with Ken Webber’s teenage sons, Jake and Rick, who had both been inside at the concert. They couldn’t decide which was more exciting: the concert itself or the commotion in the parking lot afterward.

  Both of them had really grown, both in height and build, and when I said as much they explained that they had been getting into weightlifting.

  “We’re cross-training for an Ironman,” Jake added.

  “Dad too,” Rick said. “You should see. He’s even got a six pack now.”

  I smiled at the thought, a computer geek who also just happened to have great abs. Go figure.

  By the time the crowd had dwindled down to the last fifteen people or so, most of the Webbers were gone as well. One by one, they had hugged me goodbye and taken off. Now Dean and Natalie were busy talking to the police, and though I had my own car and could have driven back to the house, I decided to wait for them. I found a bench near the sidewalk and sat down, taking a deep breath and relishing the unusually warm night air. Despite the confusion at hand, I found my mind turning to other things, to all that lay ahead.

  Tom would be back from Singapore in exactly seven days, and then he and I would finally be able to spend some real time together. We were both blocking off an entire week for our visit, but beyond that Tom wanted to surprise me with the details. I didn’t even know where we were going or what we were doing, only that we would be together. That was more than fine with me.

  For the time being, I had simply focused on the things that needed doing before then. My dog-sitter, Lindsey, was all set to continue handling things at home with my little Maltese, Sal, and I had already wrapped up various outstanding matters at work.

  Whatever Tom had planned for us, I would be good to go when he arrived back in the States on Sunday, as long as I could finish my investigation here in North Carolina by the end of this week. That should be completely doable—unless something big popped up to derail my well-laid plans.

  Thinking of Tom, I felt a wave of yearning to see him, and that, in turn, made me feel relieved. That I could sit here, in the town where Bryan and I had first met and fallen in love, and yet find my mind and my hopes focused on Tom was a very positive sign. Time does heal wounds, even wounds as deep and scarring as mine.

  Natalie called to me, interrupting my thoughts, and I looked up to see her waving from where she stood next to the car that had been the cause of all the ruckus. It was an old beat-up Toyota with one shattered window, and as I came closer I could smell the stench of the stink bombs that had been set off inside. Most of the smoke had dissipated by now, but the odor remained, and it was awful.

  “Callie,” she said, “I’m going to be a little while longer. If you want to head back to the house, just take the bedroom at the end of the hall on the left, the one with its own bathroom.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Well, to be on the safe side, Luisa and the kids are going to spend the night at the pastor’s house, so I’m going to help them get settled over there. Even if they wanted to go home, I don’t think their car is driveable with this terrible odor anyway, not to mention all that broken glass.”

  I tilted my head, wondering if I had heard her correctly.

  “Luisa?” I asked. “The car with the stink bombs belongs to Luisa Morales? The migrant you were telling me about, the one with all the problems?”

  Natalie nodd
ed her head tiredly.

  “After all that’s been going on lately, she wanted to give her kids a break, so she brought them to the free concert. Figures, doesn’t it? While they were inside enjoying the music, someone was out here breaking into their car and throwing in stink bombs.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “Yes, well, why don’t you go ahead and get on back to the house, take your stuff in, maybe change into pajamas or more comfortable clothes. If you’re still up when I get back, we can sit and chat.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Take your time.”

  As I turned to leave, I saw Dean across the parking lot, talking to a Hispanic woman who was, no doubt, the migrant worker in question. Luisa appeared to be in her early thirties and quite attractive. Beside her stood what I assumed were her two kids: an adorable girl of about six and a sullen teenage boy of perhaps fourteen or fifteen.

  I got in the car and was just sliding my key into the ignition when I heard another commotion outside. Startled, I rolled down my window to see what was going on, and immediately I realized that someone was yelling. I got out of the car and spotted a police officer waving both arms from the back of the church property, calling for an ambulance.

  I joined the others in running to where the officer stood near to the woods. At his feet was a man who lay crumpled in a heap on the ground. While another cop told everyone to stay back, and several people turned away, I got as close as I could, peering at the scene in front of me.

  The person on the ground was hurt, but from the jerking motions in his legs he obviously wasn’t dead. To my eye it looked as if he had been stabbed in the stomach, for there was a dark circle of blood on his crisp London Fog jacket, and he clutched at his abdomen as he writhed on the ground. Judging from the amount of blood that surrounded him, he had been here for a while, though back here in the dark it had taken this long for someone to spot him.

  “Sir!” barked the officer as he knelt down, one hand on the man’s shoulder. “Help is on the way. Can you tell me who did this to you?”