by Diane Noble
The fire crackled and popped, and Paul sighed again.
“And about those items on the agenda that weren’t so light?”
He turned to her, and she could see the concern in his eyes. “Danny stopped by the bank this afternoon after work. He dug through the church’s safe-deposit files, hunting for a copy of the insurance policy.”
“Thank goodness it wasn’t in the church office,” Kate said.
Paul frowned. “We all said the same thing until we saw the policy.”
Her heart caught. “Something’s wrong with it?”
“It seems that it’s been years since the policy was updated. It was first taken out twenty-five years ago. The coverage would have been more than adequate back then, but building costs have multiplied astronomically. The church secretary, Millie, had been diligent about paying the premiums right on time, but it seems no one thought about increasing the coverage taking into account rebuilding costs in today’s market.”
Kate got up and knelt beside his chair, draping her arm around his shoulders. “Oh, Paul...”
He took her hand and squeezed her fingers. “First the fire, now this. Can you imagine what this will do to Faith Briar’s ability to rebuild? When our parishioners find out, they’ll be devastated.”
“Does anyone know how much the policy will cover?”
“We haven’t met with any construction people yet, but I’m guessing we may have only enough to clear the property to get it ready for rebuilding.”
She stood to pour more tea, and when she came back from the kitchen, she sat down on the edge of the rocker, facing Paul.
“One thing I’ve noticed in the few days we’ve been here is the incredible resilience and energy of the Faith Briar congregation. They’re mourning, yes. But there’s also this desire to put the sniffles aside, roll up their sleeves, and get busy with whatever needs doing.”
Paul took a sip of tea. “I agree, but what does that have to do with the insurance policy?”
“Did you notice we didn’t get any unpacking done tonight?”
His gaze took in the stacked boxes all around them. “Actually, I didn’t.” He chuckled. “I guess maybe I’m getting used to these boxes.”
“Paul, the ladies have come up with the most amazing plan to raise money for the church.” She told him briefly about the pumpkin festival.
He asked a few questions, but she could see his heart wasn’t in it. Worry lines were still carved deep into his face.
“You don’t think it will work, do you?”
“Honey, I know their hearts—and yours—are in the right place. But we’re talking about a huge amount of money. I don’t think any single event, a festival or anything else, can make a dent in what we need to get a building program off the ground.”
She laughed. “Just you wait, mister. When you get a group of praying women together, just about anything can happen.”
Grinning, he held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I believe you. Just don’t sign me up to make pumpkin grits.”
“I already did.”
Chapter Eight
Renee Lambert rang the doorbell at 7:14 AM. She was dressed in still another set of velveteen workout clothes, this time a dark pink. She carried a small gold lamé handbag with matching tennis shoes and umbrella. Kisses sat shivering on the porch by her ankle, looking up at Kate, his eyes wide. As usual, the Chihuahua was tethered to Renee with a jeweled leash, bedecked in a fuzzy sweater the same shade as Renee’s workout clothes.
“Oh dear, Kisses looks cold,” Kate said. “Please come in so he can warm up.”
Renee bustled past Kate, took in with obvious distaste the still towering stacks of boxes in foyer and living room, then reluctantly stooped to release the clasp on the Chihuahua’s collar. “There, there, little snuggle-umpkins,” she cooed. “Mommy will be back before you know it.”
Kate avoided exchanging a glance with Paul who’d left his coffee at the kitchen table to join them in the foyer.
Renee straightened and nodded to Paul. “Pastor, would you mind getting my little umpkin’s food bag out of the car?” It was an order, not a question. “And don’t forget his little bed. It’s on the seat in the back.”
Paul smiled, took Renee’s keys, and headed down the front walk. The man deserved another jewel in his crown.
Renee fished around in her handbag for a sheet of paper with instructions for feeding, nap time, and how to give Kisses a tiny drop of Dramamine from a medicine drop-per should “little umpkins” become “upset because of the environment.”
Kate received the information with good humor and let out a huge sigh of relief when Renee headed back down the walk to the pink Sub-Zero. Luckily, Kisses immediately curled up in his shearling sheepskin bed, which Paul had placed near the fireplace, and went to sleep. Soon after, the teacup-sized dog let out a snore that could wake neighbors three doors away.
“Don’t tell me that’s little umpkins,” Paul said when she rejoined him in the kitchen.
“This dog weighs less than two pounds—how could he make such a big noise?”
“Adenoids?”
Kate laughed. “Don’t tell Renee. She already worries herself sick over this little dog. We don’t want to further alarm her.”
Paul went back to his morning paper, which was spread over the kitchen table. “Look at this,” he said and pushed the front section toward her.
Kate dropped into a chair and read the headline aloud: ARSONIST REMAINS A MYSTERY MAN. His mug shot stared out at the world, a mix of defeat, anger, and sorrow in his eyes.
She scanned the article, which reported nothing new. Law enforcement officials and reporters were obviously still scratching their heads, trying to figure out the arsonist’s identity.
“Maybe you should call the sheriff and tell him what you know,” Paul suggested.
“I thought about it, but I didn’t want to come across as a busybody. I just figured the professionals would come up with the same information we did in half the time.”
Paul handed her the phone. “You underestimate yourself, Katie. I’m sure the sheriff will welcome the lead.”
She grinned. “How sure?” She imagined how the sheriff’s face would look when he found out the pastor’s wife and the librarian had figured out the arsonist’s ID before anyone in law enforcement.
Paul obviously read her mind. “You’ve got a point, but you’ve still got to tell him. He’ll appreciate it in the long run.”
She punched in the number for the sheriff’s office.
The call was picked up on the first ring. Kate recognized Skip’s deep voice.
“Is the sheriff in this morning?” she asked.
“He’s at his office in Pine Ridge today. I can call over there and ask him to give you a ring.”
“Yes, please. It’s important. I’ve got a lead on the arsonist’s identity.”
“Whoa, you do? Do you...ah...want to give me the information? I can pass it along.”
“Just have him call.”
She gave Skip her name and number and then placed the receiver back in its cradle.
Thirty seconds later, the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“This is the sheriff. How can I help you?”
“Thank you for calling. My friend Livvy Jenner, the librarian, and I discovered something we thought you might want to know about.”
“And what’s that?” He sounded bored, and she pictured him doodling on a notepad.
She explained about the photographs and the connection between J.B. Packer and Jed Brawley.
For a moment he didn’t speak. “Hmm,” he finally said. “I’ll check into it.” Then he sighed. Another moment of silence followed. “And I...ah...want to say thank you, MizHanlon ...for calling that is.”
She hung up and grinned at Paul. “I don’t think he’s used to thanking women for helping out on a case.”
Paul chuckled. “He’s probably kicking himself around his desk for not coming up with
the information first.”
They both sobered as they looked back down at the mug shot and article about the arsonist’s confession.
“Something’s bothering you about this, isn’t it?” Paul asked.
“I can’t explain why, but I just don’t think he set that fire.” She thought about it for a minute, then another angle came to her. “Or what if—just what if—he was forced to do it?”
Paul narrowed his eyes in thought. “What do you mean?”
She quickly filled him in on the conversation LuAnne had overheard at the diner.
“Did you know about the group—Worldwide Destination Resorts—that wanted to buy the church property?”
He nodded. “It was brought up at the meeting. Sam Gorman said maybe we should contact them to see if they’re still interested. We’d take the money and buy a smaller piece of land someplace else...He said maybe we should talk to Eli Weston about the costs of building a smaller church, how feasible it would be to go this direction. Apparently Eli has some experience as a building contractor.”
“But what if this company is behind the fire? I would hate to see us get involved with it until we know it’s in the clear.” She paused, then added, “Though I can’t imagine why anybody would want a piece of property so badly they would resort to such a crime, especially against a church.”
“In a word, greed, Katie. Greed.” He studied her face for a moment. “You’re saying that maybe they coerced Brawley—or Packer—into starting the fire for them?”
“I still don’t think he could have done it unless the threat was so great—”
“You mean something like blackmail?”
She tapped the eraser end of a pencil against the newspaper.
“That’s a pretty heavy accusation.”
“I’m just playing the what-if game.”
Paul suddenly smiled. “I know you well. You’re dying to go see Packer again and get to the bottom of this, aren’t you?”
She grinned.
“And you’re about to ask me to babysit umpkins?”
“Would you mind terribly?”
He glanced out at the gray drizzle. “Do you realize I’ll be holding an umbrella over this mouse-sized dog with his pink sweater and jeweled leash when he’s gotta go? Do you know what that will do to my masculinity?”
She laughed. “You can always take him out to the backyard. No one will see you.”
“Au contraire. If I’m going to care for this little critter, I’ll take him to the best tree in the neighborhood. And that’s the small maple by the front walk.”
AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, fresh baked cookies in hand, Kate stood in front of Brawley’s jail cell.
The man was sitting on his bunk, his head in his hands. After a moment he stood and faced her with a weary sigh. “What do you want? I thought I told you to stay away.” His words came out in a growl.
She ignored it, smiled, and held up the ziplock bag of cookies. “I thought you might like some of these. Fresh-baked this morning.”
He stared at her for a moment, then moved to the barrier between them and reached for the bag.
“Chocolate chip,” she said and watched for the smile she hoped would come.
It was there. Almost.
He reached inside the bag and took out a cookie. He stared at it for a moment, then stuffed it back into the bag. She thought he was going to hand it back through the bars, but instead, he tossed it onto his cot.
Kate waited, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, then back again. She studied his profile and noticed the weary slump to his shoulders. “I’ve done a little sleuthing,” she said. “It turns out you’re from Copper Mill.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You were quite the football star, homecoming king, student body president...voted most likely to succeed in your senior class.”
He raised his head and looked at her. “How did you find out?”
Bingo. It was the confirmation she needed.
“As I said, it was just some lucky digging. Several people in town thought they recognized you...A friend of mine started the ball rolling with an Internet search.”
“So what are you going to do with the information?”
“I’ve already told the sheriff.”
J.B. shrugged and looked away from her as if it didn’t matter. But something in his eyes, just before he looked away, said it did.
She stood there for a few more minutes, then letting out her breath in a sigh, turned to leave. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but the awkward silence wasn’t doing either of them any good. Plus, standing in one place so long was making her arthritic knee ache. She only hoped the cookies helped him understand that someone cared.
She had taken only a few steps when she heard him say, “Wait.” She turned, breathed a prayer, then gave him an encouraging smile.
“Thanks,” he mumbled. “For the cookies, I mean.”
She nodded. “Chocolate chippers can solve a world of problems—or at least help ease the pain.”
His face turned bitter again. “Not mine. But I appreciate the thought.”
Kate stepped closer to the barrier between them. “What is it you’re trying to solve?”
He let out a bitter laugh. “Oh boy. That’s a good one. I asked the deputy. I know who you are—the preacher’s wife. It was your church I burned to the ground, and you’ve taken it upon yourself to help me solve my problems?” He laughed again, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t blame you if you poisoned these cookies.” Then he turned from her and half under his breath, added, “That’d probably be better for everybody.”
Kate came another step closer. “Hey, buddy. First of all, I don’t take kindly to your accusation. If I was going to snuff somebody out, I’d be a lot more creative than that—”
J.B. made a noise that sounded like a half chuckle, half sneeze. “Snuff somebody out?”
“Besides that, I wouldn’t dare suggest that I could solve your problems.” She held up her hands, palms out, and backed away from the bars. “You’re the only one who can do that. Though from the way it looks right now, it seems like you’ll be needing bigger help than what any human can offer.”
“You probably mean the Big Guy.” J.B.’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.
“I talk to him a lot. I’ll mention your name.” Again she turned to walk away.
“Mention my name?”
If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he sounded disappointed. She swallowed a smile and looked back at him. “I’ll do more than that if you give me the details. I like to know what I’m praying about.” She narrowed her eyes, giving him The Look. It was a practiced expression that combined compassion with irritation, forgiveness with disappointment. She had used it often when her kids were teens. She was out of practice, but J.B. seemed to be paying attention. She added softly, “And I don’t think it’s about mercy and forgiveness for the fire.”
J.B. blinked in surprise and rubbed his stubbled jaw. “You’re saying that’s an unforgivable offense?”
“No, I’m saying you didn’t do it.”
“Lady,” he said wearily, “go back to whatever it is that preachers’ wives do. What is it...put on teas and fashion shows for the wealthy so they’ll give more money to your church?” He laughed; it was a mirthless sound. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. You’ll need every penny to rebuild your church.”
His cavalier attitude twisted her heart. The man was without conscience. She’d been wrong after all. “How did you know about that?”
“About what?”
“About the insurance?”
He looked genuinely puzzled. “What do you mean?”
She was weary of his game playing and shook her head slowly. “The lack of coverage,” she said and headed for the heavy double doors. “I suppose Worldwide Destination Resorts did their homework, found out about the policy, and told you everything.”
At the door, she reached for the buzzer as s
he called back to J.B. “One more thing...Just for the record, I don’t snuff people out.”
He didn’t answer.
I pray for them, she added to herself. Without ceasing. Details or not.
IT WAS STILL DRIZZLING when Kate arrived home. She stifled a smile when she saw her husband holding an umbrella over little umpkins while he did his business by the maple tree.
He waved, then scooped up the Chihuahua, sheltering the little guy under his raincoat, and headed for the porch. Kate parked the car in the garage, then joined him.
“How’s the babysitting going?”
He grinned as he held the door open for her. “All instructions followed to the letter. Medication. Trips outside. Even a delicious little scoop of ground steak, onions, and garlic.”
“You’re a good man, Paul Hanlon.”
He put the dog down and helped Kate out of her coat. “But enough about Little Umpkins and me, how did the visit go for you?”
She sighed. “Oh, Paul. I’m so disappointed. I let my imagination get the best of me. I was so sure J.B. would open up—”
“And tell you he didn’t do it?”
“Or that he was forced into it somehow. But he seemed more guilty than ever.”
“Maybe we need to accept that he confessed because he did it, no matter the reason, and let the courts figure out the rest.”
She smiled. “Thanks for not saying ‘I told you so.’”
Paul had put together a small pot of minestrone soup out of leftover lasagna and served it to Kate with great fanfare. Soups and chili were his specialties, and it seemed he could throw together ingredients no one else would attempt. The results were heavenly. Who would have thought a can of kidney beans, a can of garbanzo beans, and a can of stewed tomatoes could meld together so well with leftover lasagna?
“Eli Weston called just after you left,” he said after grace.
“The building contractor?”
“Used to be. He hurt his back, so he had to get out of the business. He runs an antique shop here in town now. From what everyone says, his input will be invaluable. He’s stopping by later to let me know his thoughts.” Paul scooped up a spoonful of minestrone. “We’re blessed to have so many who want to help—from the pumpkin-show ladies to the building committee.”
