Belle returned and appraised Russ. “Pastor Martinez. Loaned your car to any illiterate kids lately?”
He laughed. “I’m impressed you remember me. All I know is that you’re Mrs. Ralph.”
“Good enough.” Belle sat at her computer. “I’m going to print off your receipt, Elise. Is that the release form from the police? Sign this one too, please. It says we aren’t responsible for any damage. Like those wide, deep scrapes along both sides. The ones running from your front bumper to the back door.”
“Of course. Not your fault at all.” Elise signed with a generous flourish.
“Great. Now I’ll take sixty dollars, though Lord knows I feel almost bad about it.”
Russ pulled some bills from his wallet and Belle’s eyes gleamed with speculation, but she simply said, “Glad she didn’t tell you to bring coins.”
“She did. I didn’t listen.”
Lady nodded a dignified head and Belle bid a hearty farewell. Russ led Elise to her vehicle at the back of the lot, away from the hoi polloi of smashed cars, rusted pickups and humbler makes and models.
“I don’t know if I like Bubba given special consideration. Pretentious elephant that it is.”
“Ralph gave the special consideration to you, not the vehicle. He’ll be talking about this morning’s adventure for a week.” He whistled. “Belle wasn’t kidding about the sides. What did you do, get a hug from a T. Rex?”
“Something like that.” Elise unlocked her delinquent vehicle and Russ gave her the hand up she didn’t need. “Russ, you’ve been my savior two days in a row. I owe you.”
His blue gaze held her own and intensified. She found it disconcerting. “You know, that sort of glow-in-the-dark blue eye color of yours is considered the least trustworthy. While simultaneously being the most attractive. I read up on it once. Timothy had brown eyes. All the Ambersons do. It’s a family decree, since brown is the most trustworthy color. It’s a law firm asset.”
The incandescent eyes blinked. “Hush, Elise. Are you going straight home?”
“I have to. Jeff will be worried. And lonely.”
“I’m coming over. We need to talk.”
She started the engine and began backing from the isolated parking spot, stopped, and opened the window. “I had a feeling you would. Fine. See you there.”
Keeping pace with Russ as he jogged to his pickup, she called, “I’ll make you lunch.”
“Good. Because the Widow McGee has her eye on her dapper neighbor and fed him most of the coffee cake.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
“The Hound of Heaven,” Lines 3-5
Elise beat Russell this time and left the gate open. In the kitchen, under Jeff’s watchful eye, she foraged. Her mother had been a good cook. So had her father and memories of her parents and sister in the kitchen, making meals together, still made her smile. Her father liked unusual and complicated ethnic dishes, and so did her sister, which had led her to culinary school in France. Elise and her mother preferred messing with classic recipes. She’d just pulled a can of tuna from the cupboard when Russ stomped in through the front door. He roared something that sounded like her name. She trotted to the foyer.
“You bellowed?”
“Elise! The house is wide open! The gate—wide open. Anybody can walk in here!”
“Obviously. I think I left the house open when I flew out this morning too. Palmer must be in a snit.”
Jeff wavered between the promise encased in the can of tuna and the pleasure of slurping his new friend. Preferring immediate gratification, he backed the man against the wall and demonstrated his affection all over Russ’s face.
“And once again,” Elise continued, “I’ve proved how secure I am, even with only one dog.”
Russ endured another slaver or two, then firmly removed Jeff’s paws from his chest. “Are we going to talk now, or over lunch?”
With all her heart Elise didn’t want to talk with Russ. She wouldn’t mind talking at him. Or letting him talk at her. But she knew the kind of conversation he wanted. The kind the three of them, Christopher, Russell and herself, had in those heady days when they’d all discovered the joy of fresh faith. She couldn’t do it.
“How about this? We chat about matters light and frivolous while we make lunch, reminisce over old times while we eat, and hopefully afterward you’ll be too tired for meaningful discussion.”
“Fat chance. How is Mutt?”
“That isn’t a frivolous topic. I called on the way home. He’s doing wonderfully. They still want to keep him overnight.” She moved to the other side of the island. “Here, slice this red pepper, will you?”
Russ took the pepper and surveyed the kitchen from end to end. “I could start looking now and wouldn’t find a knife or cutting board till tomorrow. This room is massive. That island alone is big enough to colonize.”
Elise reached under a cabinet, grabbed a knob and yanked down a rack filled with rows of gleaming cutlery. She selected a paring knife, then knelt in front of a tall narrow cupboard. “Do you want a cutting board made of recycled plastic, salvaged wood, or recycled paper?”
“Surprise me.”
Jeff ambled between the two cooks. Russ chopped the pepper while Elise drained tuna, peeled and cored a pineapple and mixed up an intriguing combination of spices, oils and vinaigrette. “Don’t be offended, but this might also be the ugliest kitchen I’ve ever been in.”
“Oh, you can’t offend me. Timothy was in the process of transforming it from a showplace traditional kitchen to a showplace earth-conscious one.”
Shaking his head, he came around the island to rinse his knife. “What are you sitting on?”
“A stool made of reclaimed road signs. Like it?”
“Seems a little short for the height of the counter.”
“It isn’t for the counter. It doesn’t really work anywhere. But it’s expensive and unique, so here it is. Actually, it’s supposed to be in the breakfast nook, where more people would see it, visible as it is on the way to the guest bath.”
“So why is it in here?”
“Don’t know. My brain hasn’t exactly been at peak performance this last week.”
Russ examined the stool with interest and Elise felt magnanimous. “Do you like it? You can have it. It’s part of the personal effects, not the estate.”
“What? Oh, no. No, I don’t want the stool. What happened to Mutt?”
“I thought I told you. He almost suffocated.”
“How?”
“He got shut in a closet. Of course the door fit like a glove in its frame, so hardly any air could get in. Didn’t I go over this on the way to spring my vehicle from lock-up?”
“You have a habit of devoting a hundred words to trivialities and skimming over the essentials. Do you customarily shut dogs in closets?”
She answered with a tight-lipped glare over the pita bread.
“So how did he get in there?”
Elise remained silent as she mixed peppers, pineapple, tuna and dressing, lined the pita halves with lettuce and stuffed in the mixture.
“Chips? Strawberries? Oh never mind. They’ve gone all fuzzy. I bought them before Timothy died. Milk? Still smells all right. Let’s go in the breakfast nook.”
Hustling Russ and Jeff along with her, Elise set the table with swift, almost angry movements.
“Sit. Come on. Remember, over lunch we talk about old times. Let’s start with ninth grade and go month by month. Oh, I forgot. Go ahead and say your blessing.”
Russ gave her a long appraisal before bowing his head. “Dear Lord, bless this food, and bless my words. And Elise’s, because you are a God of miracles.”
“Thanks so much pastor. You’re as subtle as a whoopee cushion.”
“How about a direct compliment? You make a great tuna salad. I mix in the che
apest available mayo and smear it on white bread.” He concentrated on eating for several appreciative minutes before directing the disconcerting gaze on her. “Any good reason you won’t tell me how Mutt got in that closet?”
Elise took an enormous bite of sandwich and mumbled about not talking with her mouth full. Russ slid her plate and cup out of her reach. She chewed, swallowed and sighed.
“I don’t know how he got in there. He went to bed with me the night before. But, Russ. It’s just like when my dad was in that accident when I was thirteen. Or after Christopher died. I think I’m walking again.”
His face went blank for a second before comprehension flooded it. “Good grief, Elise. You make it sound as though you rise from your coffin at midnight to seek fresh blood. Sleepwalking, right? You mentioned it before.”
She nodded. “Somnambulism, if you don’t mind. I’m going to make coffee. I need it.”
From the kitchen she kept up a stream of chatter. “Those other times. They lasted weeks. Months, with Christopher. My family and some girlfriends took turns sleeping outside my bedroom. Usually I just got up, moved around the house, and went back to bed but I’d do this freaky stuff too. Like rearranging the silverware drawer, or trying to jump start the lawnmower, or—”
She came back to the table. “I made it to the middle of the road once. A neighbor found me.”
“I remember. People from church stayed with you too.”
“I know. And I never thanked any of them. The coffee’s done. Want some?” Without waiting for an answer she went to the kitchen and returned with two mugs and the milk carton. Russ waited while she poured a dollop in her mug and stirred it with the handle of her fork.
“So you think while you were sleeping you shut Mutt in a closet? I don’t believe it for a minute. You don’t become a different person when you sleep.”
“Maybe I didn’t know he followed me.” She eyed him over the rim of her mug. “A couple of nights after Timothy died I woke up halfway down the steps, sitting with one arm around Jeff. I’m a bit of a mess, you know.”
Russ’s face softened. “You’re the cutest mess I’ve ever seen.”
She shied back and dropped a bit of tuna for the ever-hopeful Jeff.
“Don’t worry. I wasn’t the only guy in school with a crush on you, and you know it. We all would have hated Christopher if we hadn’t admired—and loved—him so much.” He set down his cup. “Really. Don’t worry. But I’m not going to say I’ve moved on. That will never be true. Maybe I finally realize what kind of love I have for you.” He stirred, uncomfortably, in his chair. “You’d think a pastor could introduce spiritual matters into conversation without feeling like a trumpeting street preacher, wouldn’t you? I told you before, I don’t believe your conversion—your turning to God—was a sham. Which means, according to my denominational statement of faith and my own passionate conviction, that you might be wandering, but you aren’t lost.”
“No one who the Father gives me will I cast away. Or something like that. Right?”
Russell’s hand stopped his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “I should have known that memory of yours wouldn’t forget all the verses you’d memorized. It’s a lovely comfort, isn’t it? Everyone the Father gave Jesus would come to Him. What’s always intrigued me is his audience for this. Not people hungry for spiritual life. He was talking to a group of hypercritical realists trying to take advantage of someone who could produce a feast from a few fish and pieces of bread. Right before this promise of longsuffering love he basically called them blind fools. Soon after He said they’d need to eat His flesh and drink His blood. Not exactly words to woo people who already disliked Him.”
Elise swirled the coffee at the bottom of her mug and made certain Russ knew it was so fascinating, she couldn’t respond.
“I’ve always believed you were my sister. We’re attached at the hip through Christ and that’s the source of my love. It’s more powerful than physical attraction.” He peered into his own mug, as though to get an idea of what had captured Elise’s attention so fully. “On the other hand, I’m not blind to how ridiculously pretty you are.”
She patted his hand. “You’re sweet. And I appreciate you. Back in my Christopher days, the idea that Jesus, or God, or whoever, wouldn’t let me go was comforting. Now the thought of that patient grip smothers me. If I want to leave God, I should be able to.” When he began to respond she shook her head sternly. “No proof texts, no doctrinal arguments. I don’t want to be loved that well, by anybody. Even God.” Rising from her chair in a rush, she gathered her dishes. “Hold on loosely, and all that. It’s as much love as I can handle.”
Russ finished his coffee in silence. Elise waited a moment, glaring at him. Then, with a harumph of irritation she circumnavigated Jeff and stomped into the kitchen, where she clattered dishes in the sink, heedless of the effect stone would have on Royal Doulton china. Seconds later she swept back into the breakfast nook. Jeff’s head popped up hopefully, but on seeing the rampage turned and slunk into a corner.
“Seriously.” Elise’s fists sat on her hips. “I’m going to contact your board of directors or your church watchdogs or whatever. I am this close,”—she held her forefinger a flyspeck away from her thumb—“to blasphemy and you don’t even try to chastise me.”
“Do you want me to chastise you?”
“Of course not. I’m not thinking of myself here, you dolt. I’m thinking of you! Isn’t your job to keep people on the straight and narrow? Or at least give it your best shot? Here I am, providing the perfect opportunity to moralize, and you keep muffing it.”
“Would you change your opinion of God if I preached at you?”
“Of course not. But shouldn’t you at least try?” She had thrown reason to the winds and didn’t care.
“You aren’t forgetting the verse about not casting pearls before swine, are you?”
“Yesterday I was too skinny. Today I’m a pig. You’re in the wrong business, Pastor. You should have been an attorney.”
Russ stood up, cleared away his dishes and deposited them in the sink with greater consideration than Elise had demonstrated. “I need to go. Prayer meeting tonight. Want to come?”
“Ha!”
He moved closer. The neon of his eyes clouded. “I’m serious. I’m not going to address every stupid statement you make. I’d be busy for the next four months. But I am listening. You don’t need to pray with us. But it might ease some stress to be around people who love you.”
She hooted.
“Yes, love you. A lot of folks at the church got hurt when you abandoned us after Christopher’s death. They’d have done anything for you and you couldn’t have made it plainer that you didn’t want or need them. It would delight a lot of folks if you came. The address is on my card. Will you at least think about it?”
“I’ll think about it. Maybe a little stress reduction will keep me from walking in my sleep tonight and trying to dress Jeff up in Timothy’s old shirts.”
“Good. I’ll be in touch. And please shut everything up after I go.”
Not until he’d rounded the bend in the driveway did Elise remember she owed him sixty dollars.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘Come then, ye other children, Nature’s—share
With me’ (said I) ‘your delicate fellowship’
“The Hound of Heaven,” Lines 61-62
Elise waited till she heard Russ’s pickup chugging down the street and, true to her word, pushed the buttons to close the gate. She’d barely gotten the kitchen counter cleared when the house phone rang. An enraged Palmer yelped on the other end.
“Are you crazy? When I came to drop Jeff off earlier, the house was wide open! How careless can you be?”
Elise answered with genuine contrition. “You’re right. Mutt had me in such a panic I never thought about locking anything. I’m lucky I had shoes along.” Awareness dawned. “I’m even in the same clothes I wore last night. I was too tired to change for bed.”
>
Palmer, uninterested in her attire and unmollified by her apology, stormed on. “It’s bad enough that you are so careless of your personal property. But the estate doesn’t even belong to you. Anybody could have waltzed in and robbed us blind.”
Leave it to Palmer. Conscientious to a fault about the Amberson Family Trust. Utterly unconcerned with Elise Amberson. “And of course, could have waltzed in and had their way with your brother’s widow.”
“What?”
“Have you forgotten that it appears someone killed Timothy? What if they had come back? Wanted to kill me? Did you ever think of that?”
His silence gave her the answer. “Oh, come on, Palmer! You don’t seriously believe I hit Timothy with a rock and left him to drown. That’s the only reason you wouldn’t worry about me, isn’t it?”
“Well, of course I don’t think you had anything to do with it.” Emphasis on “I.” “And naturally I am concerned about you. You’re so careless. Promise to lock up at night. Are you going to be around the rest of the day?”
“No. I’m going to visit Mutt.”
“Good. I’ll have to see that little urchin when he gets home. Glad it all didn’t end worse.” He sounded genuinely pleased for the first time. Elise reminded herself that in spite of Palmer’s plethora of faults, he loved dogs.
“And then I might go to prayer meeting.”
This caught him off guard. He blustered a moment. “I wasn’t aware that St. Andrew’s had midweek services.” Since he showed up Easter morning and Christmas Eve, Elise doubted he knew anything much about the family church.
“Not St. Andrew’s. Aziel.”
“Aziel? Sounds like something from those movies with the wizards and dwarves.”
“It means ‘Strength of God’ or ‘God Gives Strength.’” She couldn’t be absolutely certain it meant either, but Palmer would never know.
Palmer also didn’t care. He had moved on, speaking in an oddly tentative tone. “Say, Elise. I need some papers for an important case. They aren’t anywhere at the office. Have you seen a file? Or maybe a small lockbox?”
Hounded Page 6
