What Laurel Sees: a love story (A Redeeming Romance Mystery)

by Susan Rohrer

  Helen stepped into the room. “It’s just, for Grace’s sake. I thought you might reconsider.”

  Shana didn’t take her eyes off of Grace. She couldn’t. Not now. “It may seem harsh, Helen. But I know what she needs.” Again, memories flooded. “I’ve been that little girl. Part of me still is.”

  A quiet moment passed between them. There’d been so many of those moments between them over the years. That was the wonderful thing about Helen. Helen always knew her place. She knew exactly when it was appropriate to speak or when it was best to keep silent. After all they had been through over the years, surely Helen understood. She would lay that accepting hand of hers on her shoulder, and that would be that.

  Only she didn’t.

  Instead, Helen kept her distance. “I mean no disrespect when I say this, Mrs. Fischer. But this is Grace’s mother that we’re talking about. And Grace...she’s not you.”

  Joe had never liked hospitals. What with the desperate sounds and antiseptic smells, he’d avoided them most of his life. Now, he couldn’t think of anywhere in the world that he would rather be.

  Laurel lay unconscious on a bed, a pillow tucked beneath her head. Only a cotton curtain separated them from the rest of the emergency room.

  At least she was alive. Every readout of her monitors confirmed it. There was reason to hope, if only she’d wake up. An IV tube ran from an elevated bag, into the back of Laurel’s hand. Her face looked so still. So ashen. Was she cold? Did she even know he was there?

  Joe glanced over his shoulder. The beat cop was still hovering. “She’s not going anywhere.”

  “I got my orders.”

  Debra rounded the curtain. Strange, the way the past twenty-four hours had shifted things between them. It was actually kind of good to see her.

  Joe rose from his chair. “Anything on Grace?”

  Debra led him aside. “Shana refuses to bring her until after Laurel is officially cleared.”

  “Well, that’s obscene.” Joe clicked his teeth together. Shana Fischer could be tough to take. “How does the woman sleep at night, knowing she’s standing between two people who are so clearly meant to be together?”

  Debra raised a wry brow. Empathy and guilt mingled on her face. “She doesn’t sleep, Joe. She doesn’t.” Intently, she held his gaze.

  Just what was Debra saying to him? If he were reading her right, it seemed that she’d made peace about him ending their relationship so abruptly. Did she know what was going on in his mind about Laurel, let alone his heart?

  The ring of Debra’s cell phone broke their unspoken conversation. She squeezed his hand quickly, then stepped away. “Debra Bernet.”

  Softly, he heard Laurel’s voice. “Joe...”

  Joe turned back to Laurel. Her voice had been weak, but she’d spoken.

  Those lovely eyes fluttered open. “What...”

  Joe sat on the bed next to Laurel. “You’re okay. You’re at the hospital.”

  Trembling, she raised a hand to her temple. “I thought I was...”

  “You’ve been unconscious, in diabetic shock.” Gently, he stroked her arm. “Just rest.”

  Her eyes fell on his bandaged hand. “You’re hurt.”

  “I’m fine, Laurel. It’s nothing. A few stitches.”

  “Where’s Clay? He—”

  “The police are looking for him. They know he killed Frank.”

  Thready as Laurel’s grip was, she grasped his arm. “No, it wasn’t like that. He was defending himself. I saw it, Joe. I tried to get him to give up, but he said nobody would believe him.”

  Joe could only sigh. Laurel was right. Who would ever begin to believe a self-defense statement from a guy like his brother? “Laurel, he abducted you. He framed you.”

  “It was just desperation.” Laurel took in a breath. “I know this might be hard for you to understand. But he’s your brother, Joe. Your only flesh and blood. And forgiving him...it’s part of who I am.”

  “He left you to die.”

  “I’ve been forgiven so much in my life. Not that I ever deserved it.” A quietness came over her. “I’m not proud of it, Joe. But between us...”

  He nodded an assurance.

  “I got weak with Frank years ago. I had to marry him.” Regret crossed her face. “That’s why I named our daughter Grace. So I’d always remember just what an amazing gift grace is.”

  Joe took it in, thoughtfully. “And then Frank took her away.”

  “He did,” she said, a faraway look in her eyes. “It took me a long time to forgive Frank for everything he did to me. Too long. The visions stopped. I couldn’t hear anything except that I needed to forgive him. Then, once I finally did, it was like this awful heaviness I’d been carrying so long—it just lifted. It was so freeing to just let it all go. Start fresh.”

  Joe ran his fingers through his hair. Forgiving like that—it was incomprehensible. But there Laurel was, living it out, right in front of him.

  “I try to keep shorter accounts these days,” she said. “So, yeah. As strange as it may seem, I’d forgive Clay. I’d testify for him.”

  Joe sighed. “If they’d even listen.”

  Sadness flickered in her eyes.

  Why had he said such an insensitive thing? “I shouldn’t have—”

  “No, it’s okay, Joe. It’s true. It’s not like anyone finds me all that credible.”

  Joe bit at his lower lip. Even he hadn’t found her credible. He’d doubted her all along. He’d made up his mind about her before he’d met her. And he couldn’t have been more wrong.

  He took her hand in his. “Laurel... I know I haven’t exactly been receptive to your whole...” His voice caught in his throat. “I’m so sorry, it’s just...”

  She nodded. “You’ve been burned. Badly. By someone who claimed to believe.”

  “Yeah.” Joe took it in. “I’m trying to sort it all out, what with everything that’s been happening. How could I not be?”

  “It’s a lot.”

  “I mean, the way I found you. Laurel it was—”

  “He helped you.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. But still, you’ve gotta understand. None of this crunches for me. Not on any kind of logical level.”

  A soft smile crossed her lips. “He’s bigger than your logic, you know.”

  “The whole idea... It flies in the face of everything I’ve ever—”

  “Oh, I know,” she said. “The implications, they’re huge.”

  Joe shook his head. “Laurel, it’s just... You go all this way, you’re sure you’ve nailed down this or that or the other as being valid, verifiable. These are the dimensions in life. Right. Got it.” He laced his fingers with hers. “Then suddenly—whoa—there you are in front of me, turning it all on its head, throwing me completely off kilter and, at the same time, somehow steadying me.”

  He looked deep into her eyes. How she could be so arrestingly beautiful after what she’d been through was beyond imagining. It must be true, what they say about beauty. That was all he could think. It emanated from inside, from the depths of her being.

  “Laurel, I...” Seeing her like that, there was no way he could lie to her. Even if he tried, what would be the point? She’d see right through him. “I still have my intellect nagging at me. But in all of this, the one thing I can’t get away from is, regardless of the fact that I’m not up to speed on the God issue and I’m not sure where to put why you see what you see... It’s just...I’m there with you, Laurel. I’m there with you.”

  She didn’t push him about it. There wasn’t an ounce of tension on her face. There was only a soul-deep serenity, one that he had never known. What must it be like to live in that kind of peace, right in the middle of such a raging storm? The enigma of it all turned in his mind.

  Debra rounded the curtain. A tinge of pain crossed her face.

  For an instant, Joe thought he should let go of Laurel’s hand. But then, he thought better of it.

  Debra raised her gaze to Laur
el. “You’re awake.”

  “I am.” Laurel squinted at Debra. “Do I know you?”

  “No, this is—” Joe stopped. How could he explain who Debra was to him?

  “I’m Debra.” She stepped closer. “I’m Joe’s, well, his editor and...” She turned concerned eyes toward him. “That was Adele on the phone, Joe. They found Clay.”

  eighteen

  Sirens wailed in Joe’s ears. Once again, they split through the work-a-day drone of the city streets. Debra eased aside to let another squad car pass. Joe didn’t like riding with Debra, or anyone else for that matter. He always preferred to drive himself. Not that he could get them there any faster, but somehow it was easier to be at the wheel than grinding his teeth in the passenger seat.

  Debra pulled back into traffic. Why she let another car squeeze out in front of her was beyond him. But he’d had no control at this point. His SUV was still back at the bus depot. If it hadn’t been towed on account of the long-expired meter.

  When she turned, their destination came into view. The cathedral loomed large on the skyline. It stood sentinel for most, but not for Clay, and definitely not for Joe. He checked the time. Not a minute had passed since the last time he’d looked at his watch. But something about the sight of old Saint So-and-So’s always sent such a chill up his spine. Especially that disquieting tower. He rubbed the tops of his thighs.

  “Almost there, Joe.”

  Debra cut her eyes toward him like she understood what he was going through. But Debra didn’t know the half of it. She only thought she knew. It was ironic, really. As anxious as he was to get to the cathedral, even the sight of it was nauseating.

  He kneaded his stomach. How could he do what he had to do with that pain stabbing at his gut? The closer they got, the tighter it wound, refusing to give him relief.

  A squad car pulled perpendicular to the street, forming a blockade ahead.

  “Pull over.” Joe pointed to a space at the curb. “Park there. We can run the last couple of blocks.”

  She’d hardly stopped the car before he sprang out, slammed the door, and bolted down the walk. If he knew Debra’s nose for a story, she wouldn’t be far behind him.

  As he neared the cathedral, it dawned on Joe. It wasn’t so surprising that Clay had gone there. Not with the article Adele had printed in the day’s edition, trumpeting how the church had hired Zoring after Clay got him fired from Oliverio’s. Of course, Clay would go there. Just like he’d gone to the restaurant. Only now, something in Clay had snapped. If he’d been desperate enough to abduct Laurel, there was no telling what he had planned for Zoring. Not that Zoring didn’t have a world of hurt coming to him. But the law—they’d never see it that way.

  Joe raised the yellow tape bordering the cathedral’s grounds.

  “I’m right behind you!” Debra ducked under the tape alongside him.

  Bedlam was what the place was. Utter bedlam. A SWAT team took position. Ambulances idled at the curb. Police and fire trucks formed a blockade. Church officials hurried school children out into the churchyard. A nun ran alongside her students. “Quickly, now. Stay with your teachers.” It was just like it had been for Joe during fire drills there as a child. Only this was no drill. This was for real.

  A squad car squealed past Joe and Debra. Detective McTier popped out. He strode toward the police barricade. Lou and Adele were already there, just ahead.

  “Come on.” Joe grabbed Debra’s arm. They would stay on McTier’s heels.

  Snipers were being ordered into position by a SWAT team captain.

  McTier reached the captain. “What do we got, Captain?”

  The captain pointed toward the cathedral. “Far as we know, one hostage. Subject has at least one hand gun. Looked like a nine.”

  Lou set up his camera. He leaned toward Adele. “What is all this?”

  Adele hiked her brows. “My first cover.”

  Joe saw a hunger he recognized, glinting in Adele’s eyes. She wanted this. Badly.

  Debra sidled up to Lou as he rapid-fired photos. She reached up and lowered his camera. “Put it away. Lou, I mean it.”

  Adele shot a look at Debra, clearly shocked. “What are you doing? This is my story!”

  Debra gave Joe an empathetic nod before she snapped back toward Adele. “You work for me. You got that? That means I decide when it’s your story. And hear me when I say this, Adele. This is not your story. Not this time.”

  What had gotten into Debra, Joe didn’t know. They turned together to catch up with McTier. The SWAT captain leaned into his walkie-talkie, barking orders to snipers. No doubt they’d have their rifles trained all over the site.

  Joe and Debra stepped over a barrier. A crowd control officer strode toward them. He put his arms out, impeding their way. “You two! Back behind the line!”

  Joe flagged an arm at the cathedral. “That’s my brother in there.”

  “Sorry. Too dangerous,” the officer said.

  Joe craned around him. “McTier!”

  The detective whirled and caught his eye. He waved Joe his way. “Let him in. But she stays.”

  Debra retreated compliantly as Joe made his way toward McTier, where he flanked the SWAT captain.

  The SWAT captain spat into his radio. “Are you in position?”

  Joe jogged up to the detective. “I want to talk to my brother. Not on the radio. In person.”

  “He’s armed, you know,” McTier said.

  Joe raised his hands at his side. “I don’t care. It’s on me.”

  McTier traded a glance with the captain. The captain studied Joe, then handed an earpiece to him. “Put this in. We’ll be able to hear each other fine, but press it to talk to me. Got it?”

  Another helicopter arrived as Joe nestled the device into his ear. The captain put his walkie-talkie to his chin. “Clear the brother to the bell tower.”

  Joe gazed up at the structure. Something twinged in his stomach. “The bell tower?”

  McTier glared at him impatiently. “You going or not?”

  There was no time to coddle his reservations or to nurse his private fears. Before he knew what was happening, Joe was running headlong toward the cathedral.

  Joe felt his muscles tense as he entered the structure. It was like moving forward and backward, all at the same time. He rounded the corner and stepped into the arched doorway to the tower.

  There was Clay, his back to Joe, training Frank Fischer’s revolver on a cowering Tom Zoring. “Yeah, yeah. You know the way. You lead this time.”

  His face white with terror, Zoring took hold of the ladder and began to climb.

  “How does it feel?” Clay taunted. He sauntered toward the ladder. “You like having a grown man coming up your back?” Rung by rung, Clay climbed.

  Joe opened his mouth to speak, but something seized inside like a vice. Nothing came out. Instead, he found himself moving toward the foot of the ladder, his heart throbbing in his chest.

  “I was wrong.” Zoring’s cry echoed against the walls of the tower.

  “You were wrong, were you?” Clay kept climbing. “I’m curious. When exactly?”

  Lurid memories sniped at Joe as he started up the ladder.

  “Tell me,” Clay taunted. “Was it when you lured me up here, when you said Jesus might visit us in this tower?”

  A long-denied memory flashed in Joe’s mind. He’d only been eight years-old when a younger Father Zoring had urged him up this ladder.

  “That’s it, Joe,” Zoring had said. “I’m right behind you.”

  Joe wrestled the memory away.

  Clay followed Zoring onto the upper deck. “That time you think you were wrong. Tell me. Could it have been when you wrecked me for life?”

  Joe grasped the next rung. Another memory, far worse than the first, exploded in his mind. That godless, stinking, wretched event returned. His eyes dulled all over again at the thought.

  “You’ve been made for this, Joe,” Zoring had said. “You sense that, don’t
you?”

  Bile shot into Joe’s throat. How many times had he thrown up that day? That putrid taste. There it was in his mouth, all over again.

  What brought him back was Clay’s voice, still torturing Zoring. “Or are you saying you were wrong way back then, when you denied it all in court?”

  Joe peered onto the bell tower’s deck.

  “I have since confessed,” Zoring sputtered.

  “Really.” Clay waggled the gun dramatically. “How convenient for you. Quickie absolution, the requisite remorse, and you’re back here, safe in the arms of the faithful, sweeping the walk like nothing ever happened.”

  “It’s not that way,” Zoring replied, catching sight of Joe as he stepped off the ladder to the deck.

  Clay whipped around. “Stay out of this, Joe.”

  Joe threw his hands up in surrender. “Clay, you can still get out of this. Laurel won’t press charges and you have a good case for self-defense with the councilman.”

  Clay gawked in disbelief. “This was never about either one of them. This is about him.” He swung the gun back toward a trembling Zoring.

  A dark helicopter rose in the window behind Zoring. A sharp shooter leaned from the chopper, strapped to a mount.

  The SWAT captain’s voice rang through Joe’s earpiece. “Do you have a shot?”

  “Subject is blocked,” came the radioed reply.

  Joe touched his earpiece. “Give me time.”

  Clay spun toward Joe. “You’re wired?”

  Joe braved a step toward his brother. “I just want to help you, Clay. That’s all.”

  The captain’s voice crackled in Joe’s ear. “You get a shot, you take it. Do you read?”

  “Copy that.”

  “Don’t help me, Joe! Don’t you think it’s a bit late for that?” Clay aimed the revolver toward Zoring.

  Joe’s heart leapt to his throat.

  Clay cocked the gun.

  The chopper hovered side-to-side for position.

  Clay fingered the trigger, his gaze locked on Zoring. “Question, Zoring: You die today. You gonna meet Jesus?”

  Joe took a step closer. “Clay, please...”