by Diane Noble
She read through the connecting pages, but they told her nothing more than Livvy had related. She started to click the site closed, then at the bottom left of the page, she noticed a link she had overlooked: “Meet Our Family of Employees.” She clicked on the fancy WDR 3-D logo beside it, and a page of employees’ names came up, each with a thumbnail photo and brief biography. Another link led her to the site of recent retirees.
She spent several minutes scrolling through the list, not sure what she was looking for, then she reached for the mouse to close the site. But just before she hit the Close button, a photograph caught her attention.
She clicked on the image to enlarge it, then leaned toward the computer screen, squinting. She blinked, rummaged around in her handbag for her reading glasses, then looked again.
A sense of déjà vu drifted in and out of the edges of her mind. She knew this woman from someplace. But where? Her name and former position was given under the photo: Sybil Hudson, retired, administrative assistant to Charles BrandsmythIII, the former CEO. Her photograph showed her to be middle-aged, rather plain, and definitely no-nonsense. Her dark hair was slicked back, obviously caught up in some sort of bun or clasp, with straight bangs, and she wore small dark-rimmed glasses.
Kate was fairly certain she didn’t know the woman personally, but rather, it seemed she might have seen her on television or in the newspaper. The nipping at the edges of her mind became clearer.
She pressed her lips together in concentration, then clicked on the search engine, typed in “Sybil Hudson,” and waited.
Within thirty seconds, a list of Web site “hits” appeared, each having to do with Sybil Hudson. At the top of the list was an online journal, supposedly written by the woman herself.
Kate opened the blog and began to read. By the second entry, her hands were shaking, and a chill had spidered up her spine.
Heart thudding, Kate typed an e-mail to the address in the right-hand column.
Chapter Eleven
It was somewhere around one o’clock in the afternoon on Tuesday the following week that Kate decided to finish her pot-hanging project in the kitchen. She was expecting the Faith Briar ladies for a tea party on Saturday, and since inviting them on Sunday, she had worked as fast and energetically as her arthritic knee would allow, unpacking and tucking items away—from her large restaurant-sized mixer to her state-of-the-art food processor, her silver tea-and-coffee service to her best china and silverware.
There wasn’t a moment while she worked that she didn’t think about the mystery of the fire, or that chills didn’t travel up her spine as she pondered a possible connection with Sybil Hudson.
Still thinking about the photo she had seen on the WDR Web site, she opened the box with her gleaming Mauviel copperware from Williams-Sonoma, pulled out the pots, and stacked them within reach on the counter. On Saturday, Paul and Eli Weston had hung an iron Tuscany-style pot rack above the counter. She had found it at Weston’s Antiques, fallen in love with the rustic style, and though she had gone into Weston’s with the intent of asking Eli about purchasing, or taking on consignment, the antiques that wouldn’t fit in their house, she had purchased the pot rack on the spot. Eli had dropped it by personally that evening and insisted that he help Paul with the installation.
She had just climbed to the top of the ladder, S hooks in hand, when Paul, who had been putting tools away in the garage, raced through the front door.
“Guess what’s coming down the street!”
She took one look at his face and knew. Paul’s smile was as wide as she’d ever seen it, with the exception perhaps of their wedding day and the births of their three children. Kate carefully started back down the ladder. He caught her hand and helped her down the last few steps, and still holding hands, they hurried outside.
Paul’s Lexus SC 400 had been a gift from Paul’s uncle five years earlier. It didn’t matter that it was already a decade old when he got it; the engine had hummed like a newborn kitten but had the power and speed of a cheetah in its prime. He babied the two-door coupe from the first night it spent in their garage, and not a week went by that he didn’t wash and wax it by hand. Its original deep green paint still shone like a diamond.
David, one of the college students they had hired to drive the car to Copper Mill, had parked in front of the house, and his buddy, driving a beat-up nondescript SUV, pulled in behind him. The two climbed out of the vehicles, stretched, accepted cold drinks, then said their good-byes within the hour. They were obviously eager to be on their way back to San Antonio.
KATE HAD JUST FINISHED hanging the last of the pots and pans when Sam Gorman stopped by. Paul led him into the kitchen just as Kate stepped off the ladder. Without a word, the big man hefted the tall ladder with one hand and carried it to the garage for them. Paul and Kate smiled at each other.
He was back before they could say, “Good man to have around.”
“I’ve been hearing rumors about your chocolate-chip cookies,” Sam said. When he smiled, he again reminded Kate of a sea captain.
Kate laughed. “Made a fresh batch this morning. I was just about to ask if you’d like some.”
Paul grinned. “I can always tell when Kate’s puzzling something. She bakes. Usually cookies. It’s her way of working through life’s puzzles.” He shot her an affectionate look.
“Life’s puzzles?” Sam looked intrigued.
Kate placed the plate of cookies on the kitchen table. In little more than a week, they’d had coffee, tea, and cookies around that table with more members of their new congregation than she could count on both hands. She was glad this four-legged piece of Hanlon history was living on in Copper Mill as a place of counsel and fellowship. In San Antonio, the three Hanlon children had rolled out Play-Doh on its scarred surface when they were toddlers, then gathered for homework help when they were teens. The table had been the place where Kate had helped Melissa plan her wedding and where Rebecca told them she wanted to go to New York after college and try to make it on Broadway. It was also at this table that Andrew had opened the envelope giving them the news that he had passed the bar exam on his third try, and they all had wept with joy. The old table had seen Kate and Paul through Bible studies and prayers, times of sorrow and times of rejoicing. And now it had become the natural meeting place when members of their new congregation came to visit. Somehow, this little piece of home helped combat the waves of homesickness.
Kate sat down opposite the two men. “I suppose what Paul means is that I like to puzzle out things that intrigue me. Things that take hold of me and won’t let go until I get to the heart of the matter.” She laughed and reached for a cookie. “And whenever I’m puzzling something, turning different theories over in my mind, I bake. Mostly cookies. Especially chocolate chip.”
“And I’m the happy beneficiary,” Paul said. “Not only of the cookies but of her incredible insight from all that puzzling.”
Kate laughed again. “Well, insight is one word for it. There’ve been times when I’ve missed the mark by a hundred miles. And Paul’s being kind by not mentioning the times I was so caught up in puzzling things through that I forgot an ingredient or two. Like the sugar in my sugar cookies or the chocolate in my brownies.”
“If these cookies mean you’re working on something right now,” Sam said, “I imagine we all know what it is.”
“The church fire,” Kate said quietly. “Usually I just think about little things that make me curious. But this...this is different. The church fire has to do with people’s lives, with guilt and innocence, with heartbreaking loss and property damage.” She paused, thinking about her involvement in the investigation. Until this moment she hadn’t realized how strangely satisfying it was to probe for truth, no matter the obstacle. She blinked in awe as she realized that sleuthing was like a newly discovered gift, something that had been hidden within her until now—just when she needed it most.
“I happen to believe the man who confessed is innocent.” She went o
n to tell Sam what Jed had told her.
When she had finished, he sat back thoughtfully. “So you think the only way to clear him is to find out who really did it.”
She nodded, and Paul agreed. “Kate’s already talked to the sheriff, who turned a deaf ear to the idea that someone else might be involved.”
“I think Worldwide Destination Resorts might be involved,” Kate said. “We all know they want our property. I mentioned it to Sheriff Roberts last week, and he almost laughed me out of the town hall. In essence, he told me not to worry my ‘pretty little head’ over the matter and to leave the sleuthing to the professionals.”
“Funny you should mention WDR. That’s one of the reasons I stopped by,” Sam said. “The company somehow found out that Eli Weston is heading up the building committee and contacted him.”
Kate’s ears perked up. How would they know about Eli? Again, the thought of someone in Copper Mill working with the group chilled her.
Paul looked concerned. “What did they want?”
“They said they’re willing to help Faith Briar with building plans, discounted construction materials, and financial incentives if we rebuild somewhere else. They thought by appealing to Eli as a builder, he could then convince the others on the committee and the church board to go along with the plan.”
“Then plan to sell our property to them,” Kate mused, feeling her cheeks warm. She considered Sybil Hudson’s blog and what she had said about the other individuals and businesses rumored to have been stomped on, and worse, by WDR.
“That’s right,” Sam said. “That’s just part of the offer. Apparently, they indicated they’d sweeten the pot even more should we sell.”
“And if we don’t?” Kate said.
Sam gave her a strange look. “They didn’t say.”
Paul was studying Sam as if puzzling something himself. He finally said, “I wonder why Eli didn’t feel he could come to me with this information.”
“Eli’s tied up with a new shipment coming in from New Jersey and couldn’t get away. I happened to stop by, he mentioned the contact, and I said I’d let you know. Needed to see Kate anyway about getting a choir started again.”
Kate’s heart dropped. She knew what was coming. Sometimes it seemed their house wasn’t their own. Wednesday nights were slated for Bible study, Thursday nights for a men’s prayer meeting, and now choir practice. Plus, the bell would be dropped into their backyard any day now, so there went the tiny garden of daffodil and tulip bulbs she had planned to plant for spring.
She let out her breath with a sigh. “And you need to meet here.” Kate tried to keep a smile in her voice.
“Actually, no. Someone heard you sing and said you have a beautiful voice. Alto, I believe she said. I wanted to ask you to join us. We’ll be meeting at Renee Lambert’s tomorrow night.”
“Renee Lambert? Is she in the choir?”
He shook his head. “No, but she’s got a small organ. She called me this morning and offered her home for practice. And she’s the one who told me about your voice.”
Paul’s smile was wide. “One thing I’ve noticed about this congregation is how everyone is sharing what they have to see us through—time, talent...such generosity.”
Kate’s voice was average. At best. But after what Paul just said, how could she say no? She wondered why Renee volunteered her organ, her home, and Kate’s voice, for that matter. There had to be another motive...She halted midthought. Where was her charity, her grace, her unconditional acceptance of others? It was a good thing God wasn’t finished with her yet. She had once seen a sign in a rather rambunctious Sunday-school classroom that warmed her heart: Be Patient with Us: Kids Under Construction. She needed a similar sign for herself: Be Patient with Me: Postmenopausal Woman Under Construction.
“What time?” she said to Sam.
“You’ll do it? Six o’clock on the dot.”
He reached for another cookie, then stood to leave. “By the way,” he said. “Eli’s been through a lot. This job is just what he needed to get active in church again, feel like he’s one of us.”
“That’s what we understand,” Paul said, walking him to the door. “I’m glad he’s back. He’s turned into my right-hand man. He’s already found a company who’ll haul away the debris at a discount. Plus, our first delivery of lumber is arriving tonight. It’s too early to even think about building plans, but he found out about a liquidation sale at some big home-improvement company in Memphis. He said since the insurance money hasn’t come in, he’ll pay for it out of his own pocket. Get reimbursed later. Right now I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
“You know what happened, don’t you?”
Kate gave him a puzzled look.
Sam swept back his hair with his fingers. He looked from Kate to Paul, then back again, and gave them a gentle smile. “Maybe it’s better for Eli to tell you himself.” He looked embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I thought you knew.”
Paul put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “He hasn’t told us, but if he doesn’t, that’s okay too.”
“Hey, Eli’s a good man. To tell you the truth, I was worried about him. We all were. But we’re seeing a new side of him, one that’s been missing for months. And let me tell you, it’s lightened all our hearts.
“Just like you said, Pastor Paul, God can give us joy instead of mourning. I’ve been praying that for Eli, and it looks like God has answered my prayer.”
“Amen,” Paul and Kate said together.
SKIP SPENCER WALKED with Kate down the corridor toward Jed’s cell. “You sure come here a lot,” he said. “You find out anything yet?” He looked so hopeful, as if he would give his right arm, maybe both arms, for the tiniest tidbit of information. Kate suspected he was desperate for a lead he could give the sheriff in exchange for a chance to get off desk duty.
There was something about Skip’s expression that brought out the mother in her. She would love nothing more than to present him with the opportunity to crack the case. If she could ever convince Jed to tell the truth, she wanted Skip to be in on it.
“Nothing concrete,” she said. “But if I do get the real scoop on something, you’ll be the first to know.”
His eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Really.”
The young man whistled as he made his way back down the hall.
Jed was lying on his cot, his forearm covering his eyes. She thought he was sleeping and almost turned away, but he stopped her by sitting up and swinging his legs to the floor.
He moved slowly, as if his limbs were chained to the floor. She handed him the usual baggie of sweets—this time chocolate brownies—which he acknowledged with a nod. “The sentencing date has been set.”
“I heard. Next week, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not going to argue with you about why you should tell the truth. You know my reasons. But I did want to leave you with something to consider.”
He shrugged and sat down again on the cot, dropping his head into his hands. “Say whatever you want. You won’t change my mind.”
“You know, Jed, you can’t do this on your own—starting with the barest essentials of forgiveness, mercy, and grace.”
He looked up, his eyes red-rimmed, his complexion gray, his haggard face lined with deep crevices.
“No amount of self-punishment—including going to prison for a crime you didn’t commit—will take the shame and guilt from you.”
Jed’s head had dropped again into his hands, his fingers splayed in his hair, his shoulders shaking.
“Only God can forgive what you think is unforgivable,” she said. “And strange as it seems, he already has.”
She waited to see if he would look up. He didn’t. “One last thing,” she said. “You won’t be able to forgive yourself until you understand in your heart that you are forgiven. That God’s grace is a gift, not earned.”
She turned to leave, took a few steps, then turned back. �
��Oh, one last thing.” She sighed. He lifted his head.
“The brownies I just gave you? I got busy thinking about this case, and, well, I think I may have forgotten to add the eggs. So if they seem a little flat and chewy, that’s why.”
Suddenly, he smiled, tears brimming. She saw a new emotion in his eyes. It was hope.
Chapter Twelve
The parsonage kitchen was so small, Kate and Paul did more than one quick dance step to avoid collision during dinner preparation. They were used to working together, but back in San Antonio, they hadn’t needed traffic signals to open the refrigerator without bumping someone back into the entry hall.
Kate giggled the first three times Paul rounded the corner at the same time she bent over to grab a dish from the cupboard. The fourth time wasn’t so funny. He was carrying a platter with a freshly grilled whole chicken from the outside grill when she backed into him, her arms full of salad ingredients. Paul gasped. She screeched. The chicken flew into the air. The head of iceberg lettuce bounced across the linoleum. Tomatoes and radishes rolled.
At the same time, Paul skated across the room, platter still in the palm of his hand, and somehow managed to rescue the flying bird before it hit the floor.
A twinkle in her eye, Kate quipped, “I guess we might say you caught a fowl.”
Grinning, he set the platter on the counter and stooped to help her retrieve the vegetables. “And I guess you could say we already tossed the salad.” They both laughed.
Their eyes met over the head of lettuce as he handed it to her. “You know, Katie, I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more.”
She tilted her head, enjoying the romantic look in his eyes. And trying not to think about the pain in her arthritic knee. “Even here in the middle of our tiny little kitchen?”
