by Traci DePree
Bobby leaned his backside against the front of the desk, arms crossed over his chest. “Busy.” He chuckled and motioned to the pile of books. “I’ve been putting together a new Bible-study series and getting the vacation Bible school program ready for summer.”
“You prepare that yourself?” Paul asked.
Bobby seemed surprised by the question.
“Our children’s ministry coordinator does most of that for us,” Paul clarified.
“Ours usually does too, but she resigned. Had the nerve to have a baby,” Bobby said, attempting a joke that failed miserably. Paul smiled at him. “We haven’t been able to get anyone else to step up to the plate,” Bobby added.
“Couldn’t the board help find someone...or take it on themselves?”
“It’s just temporary.” Bobby shrugged. “Until we can get someone else to help.”
“Of course,” Paul said. The conversation ebbed, and Paul could tell that Bobby wanted to get back to his work. “Caitlin stopped by to see me the other day,” Paul confessed.
Bobby looked surprised. “She did?” Then his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were suddenly wise to the true nature of Paul’s visit.
“She’s worried about you, Bobby. Thinks you’re working too hard.”
“She doesn’t need to be worried. I’m fine.” He lifted his hands. “I’m just doing what needs to be done.”
Paul knew full well what that was like. Being pulled by the demands of a job and a life without a whole lot of say in the matter, especially in the ministry, where meeting the real needs of people was core to the job description.
“She cares,” Paul added.
“I know she does,” Bobby admitted with a tired smile. “And I really should make more time, but...” His gaze returned to the mounds on his desk.
Paul studied him for a moment, appreciating his predicament, when he got an idea. “You think you could spare an hour or two for a double date with me and Kate? It’d give you a little reprieve with friends. We could catch up.”
Bobby smiled, but Paul could tell his heart wasn’t in it. “Sure. I’ll mention it to Caitlin when I get home. The ladies can set something up.”
“Good,” Paul said, feeling encouraged that the man was at least willing to take a small amount of time for a breather.
“Well,” Paul went on, “I’ll let you get back at it then.” He waved good-bye, closed the door behind him and moved to the outer office, where Libby was typing something onto the computer. She looked up.
“What kind of hours has he been working lately?” Paul asked in a low voice, motioning toward the closed door.
Libby rolled her eyes. “Crazy long. He’s here way before I get in at eight, and he stays late too. Sometimes I drive by the church at night, like after dark, and I still see his light on.”
KATE WAS SETTING THE TABLE for supper when Paul came home at five o’clock. She kissed him on the cheek, then told him about her odd interview with Willy Bergen.
Paul thoughtfully considered her story. “You think he’s lying?”
Kate laid a fork alongside Paul’s plate and turned to get a trivet for the casserole that was just about done in the oven.
“Yes,” she admitted. “You should have seen how nervous he was.” She opened the oven, pulled out the dish as well as some crusty rolls, and set them on the stovetop. She moved the rolls to a napkin-lined basket that she handed to Paul to put on the table and then reached for a serving spoon for the main dish.
“I’d been thinking that Brad might have motive—and I still do—but after that talk with Willy, I’m wondering if my focus might be too narrow.” She turned to give the table one more look to see if she’d forgotten anything. “Can you get some ice for the glasses?” she asked.
Paul opened the freezer and did as she asked. “I went to see Bobby Evans today,” he said, changing the subject.
“Oh?” Kate said, glancing at Paul as he pulled the ice-cube trays from the freezer and plunked several cubes in each of the glasses on the counter.
Kate moved to the refrigerator and retrieved the asparagus she’d blanched earlier and slivered almonds onto the stalks. They were cooked but cold, with a bit of a snap left in them, delicious with the hot main course.
“Caitlin talked to me last week,” he reminded her. “I wanted to get a sense of how he was doing myself.” Paul pulled out a chair for Kate, then took a seat across from her.
Kate pictured the lively, trim, curly-headed man.
They paused to pray over their meal, then Paul went on. “He didn’t look good. He’s thin, looks worn down.”
“You didn’t ask him about that, did you?” Kate asked as she reached for a roll, which she buttered.
Paul shook his head. “Their children’s ministry volunteer resigned,” he continued, “so Bobby’s putting everything together for the vacation Bible school program as well as juggling all his regular duties. And with the church looking to hire a youth pastor, I think he’s overcompensating, trying to prove his competency by being Superman.”
Kate frowned. “Shouldn’t the church pitch in? It’s not a one-man show.”
Paul nodded agreement.
Kate didn’t know the Evans family very well, but they were the kind of people she would have expected to have a perfectly organized and clean home and children who never raised their voices. Of course, since her visit with the young mother, she knew that wasn’t the truth. In reality, such families didn’t exist. Whatever facade they wore, every family had times of struggle and sadness.
“I think we’ve been in those shoes a time or two,” Kate finally said, then took a bite of her roll. “Is there something we can do to help them?”
A smile creased Paul’s face. “I knew you’d say that, so I asked Bobby if he and Caitlin would like to go on a double date sometime. Something easy, like a meal at the Bristol.”
“That sounds fun,” Kate said. “I can give Caitlin a call to see when they’re free.” She sat back, considering the young couple that reminded her of herself and Paul early in their marriage. “Caitlin and I probably have a lot in common,” she said. “She’s an artist and a pastor’s wife.”
“I think she might enjoy a little time with you,” Paul said.
THE NEXT MORNING, Kate spent some time in prayer and Bible reading, then finished washing up the breakfast dishes after Paul left for the office.
Her gaze turned to the photo on the dining table of the man in the purple sweatshirt. Although Kate had her doubts about Brad, Willy’s behavior the day before had pushed him to the top of her suspect list. But that really only raised more questions.
Where was Sonja? At the bottom of Copper Mill Creek as the authorities concluded? Or somewhere else? A place that only Willy Bergen knew about? And if he had hurt her what could have been his motive?
Was he somehow connected to the man in purple? If indeed that man had been involved in Sonja Weaver’s disappearance. And why had Willy gotten so agitated when she’d asked about his boots? And what could he have done between the time they’d first seen those clean boots and then passed him again when the boots were muddy and caked with debris?
She glanced at the clock. One thirty-five. It was several hours before the bait shop closed and she could question Kip. Perhaps Sally Bergen would have some answers to those questions. Kate knew that Willy’s wife ran a day care from their rural home, caring for several children from Faith Briar.
After calling the Bergens’ home and not getting an answer, Kate drove out to the small white house with black shutters. She could hear children’s voices coming from the backyard when she got out of her car, so she walked around that way on a narrow stone path. The sky was growing darker, and the temperature had dropped several degrees, though no rain had fallen.
When Kate came to a fenced area, the giggles of children at play shifted on the breeze. Two little girls swung from wooden swings on a playset, while other children clambered to go down a twisting slide. Sally was seated at a picnic
table off to the side.
“Well, hey, Kate.” The woman smiled and motioned for Kate to come inside. Kate lifted the latch on the gate and walked over to the faded wooden table.
“Hannah, I told you to take turns,” Sally was saying to a cute towheaded child who was insistent on cutting in line for the slide. “Do I need to give you a time-out?” Her voice was raspy, as if she’d been a smoker or perhaps still was. She was a heavyset woman with long hair that hung down her back in ragged strings. She turned back to Kate. “I wasn’t expectin’ you to come by.”
“I hope it’s okay that I dropped in,” Kate said.
“No bother at all. I get a little tired of only talkin’ with children all day.” Sally pointed across the picnic table, and Kate climbed onto the bench, her back to the activity.
“So”—Sally met her gaze—“what brings you all the way out here?” She smiled again, revealing a dimple in her cheek.
“I was hoping I could talk to you about Willy,” Kate began, aware that she might be treading on soft sand.
“Willy? Why? Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” Kate said. “I saw him yesterday. But there was something in his demeanor...He didn’t seem to be acting quite himself.”
Sally let out a chortle before she said, “You’re not the only one wonderin’ what’s up with him.” Her gaze drifted back to the kids, and she said, “Megan, you have to share the swing. Haley’s on it right now; you’ll get your turn later.” She shook her head. “He came home not too long ago and surprised me with a weekend at a hotel in Nashville! If you know Willy, you know that is not something he would do. I was so surprised.”
Kate could see that Sally wasn’t a fussy woman, but a woman with simple needs and few demands. “Was it your anniversary?” she asked.
“No, nothin’ like that. Just a random trip. He walked in after work and said we were goin’. I barely had time to pack a suitcase!”
“What day was that?” Kate asked.
“The thirty-first.”
Kate sat back, thinking. That trip must have been the reason the police hadn’t been able to locate Willy that first weekend, she realized. So where had he been since then?
“You were gone just a weekend? He mentioned a fishing trip...” Kate said, recalling their conversation the day before.
“He wanted me to come along on that after our time at the bed and breakfast, but I couldn’t leave all my parents high and dry without notice.” She nodded to her charges. “So I made him bring me home.”
“And that was when police asked him about whether he’d seen Sonja Weaver?” Kate asked.
Sally nodded her head sadly. “Yeah. That was a sorry situation, wasn’t it? It was too bad Willy couldn’t have helped them find her.”
Kate shifted slightly on the bench, searching for her next question. “Did he fish alone or with someone?”
“Oh, his brother Fletcher is a big fisherman; he jumped at the chance to head out. ’Course by then, I was so mad at Willy...”
Kate sat back. “Why were you mad?”
“I found a scarf in the back of his car.”
Sally let out a laugh. “I thought...Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. ’Cause I was wrong. The scarf was a gift for me. I don’t even wear scarves! But he managed to drop it in the mud before he even got it to the car.”
Interesting, Kate thought. Sonja seemed more the type to wear scarves than this no-nonsense woman. “Could I see it?”
“Oh, sure,” she said, rising to go into the house. “You don’t mind keepin’ an eye on them, do you?” She motioned to the preschoolers.
“Not at all,” Kate said.
Sally returned a few minutes later with a yellow and white silk scarf. A monogram filled one corner with the letter S for Sally—or Sonja.
The trickle of doubt in Kate’s mind was turning into a stream.
Chapter Fourteen
As soon as Kate got into her car to leave the Bergens’, she called the Weavers’ home phone. She was hoping Becky or Brian were there so she could ask them about the scarf, but as the answering machine switched to voice mail, she realized it was a school day. She wondered distantly why Brad hadn’t answered, since he had yet to find a job. Then she hung up without leaving a message; he was probably out at interviews. She’d call back after school let out.
Was Willy involved in Sonja’s disappearance? The thought pushed itself forward. If the scarf was indeed Sonja’s, as Kate suspected, what did that mean? That he’d abducted her—or worse? If so, why? There was no way he would have had time to move or hide a body if it had happened when Kate heard the scream, or she never would have seen him fishing when she and Livvy returned along the path. Had he happened upon Sonja after Kate and Livvy left the woods? That didn’t seem right, given his reaction when Kate had asked how his boots got muddy. Perhaps he was somehow connected to the man in purple. Or maybe to Brad as well, since Kate had yet to rule out his involvement.
At three o’clock, Kate opted to pay a visit to Becky at the house instead of calling. She remembered Brian mentioning that he usually had track practice after school, but she didn’t think Becky was involved in any after-school activities.
Parking in front of the expansive house, Kate turned off the engine. Brad’s car was nowhere in sight. She walked to the front door and waited after pushing the doorbell.
“Kate!” Becky said when she answered. She gave Kate a hug. Kate was surprised that the girl seemed truly glad to see her. “I was hoping you’d come by soon. So, have you been investigating?”
Kate didn’t want to get the girl’s hopes up, yet she couldn’t lie. “A little,” she admitted.
“And...?” The girl’s eyes widened. “Are you any closer to finding Mom?”
Kate shook her head and cautioned, “You can’t do that, Becky.”
“Do what?”
“Hang all your hopes on this. I might discover that the police are right. You need to understand that.”
“I know. But I can pray and have faith, can’t I? Isn’t that what Pastor Hanlon talks about on Sundays?”
Kate’s heart was warmed by the girl’s faith. She gave Becky’s hand a squeeze. “Just remember that God isn’t a candy machine, doling out whatever you want. He has a much bigger plan than we can imagine—and sometimes his reasons for things don’t come clear until much later.”
“I know that,” Becky said. “I just”—she shrugged—“hope.”
Becky led the way to the family room. The house was even messier than the last time Kate had visited. Discarded clothes, piles of mail, and unwashed dishes were all strewn about the house as if a wind had blown through. Homework was spread across the coffee table in the family room, and a snack of candy bars and soda pop was intermingled with the papers.
“Is your dad here?” Kate asked, glancing around.
“I don’t know where he is...,” Becky said. “He’s probably at another job interview. He’s been going to them constantly lately.”
Kate sat on one of the leather couches and noted a letter from John Sharpe, the insurance agent in Copper Mill, lying in a pile on the coffee table atop the rest of the day’s mail. Beneath it was a quarter-inch-thick bound ream of paper. She’d gotten a similar package when she and Paul had gotten a life-insurance policy from him.
A life-insurance policy?
A squeamish feeling began to grow in Kate’s gut. She glanced at Becky, who had resituated herself on the opposite couch.
“So, if you don’t have any news about Mom,” the teen said, “what was it you wanted to talk about?”
Kate pulled herself back to the reason for her visit. “I was wondering if your mother had any monogrammed scarves.”
“Monogrammed scarves?” Becky repeated, obviously curious about why Kate would ask such a random question. Then she paused to think. “I did give her one for Mother’s Day a few years ago. It was yellow and white with an S on one corner. It was silk. I’ll go get it.”
Kate’s heart
thudded as Becky left the room. She was pretty sure Becky wouldn’t be able to find the scarf. Becky returned several minutes later with a puzzled expression on her face.
“It’s not there,” she said. “Mom’s very particular about putting all her things away. It should be in the same spot.”
“But maybe with the Alzheimer’s, she forgot to put it away,” Kate offered, wondering whether Becky was in on Sonja’s secret regarding the depression diagnosis.
Becky nodded that it was a possibility, and yet there was clearly doubt in her expression.
Sally Bergen’s scarf...It had to be Sonja’s. The description was too similar for it not to be.
Just then the phone rang, and Becky picked up the cordless that lay on the coffee table in front of her.
“Hello,” she said. “She isn’t here. No, he isn’t here either. Didn’t you call, like, yesterday?”
She paused, presumably while the person on the other end talked.
Kate glanced around, waiting for Becky to get off the phone. Her eyes fell on the first paragraph of the letter, which was dated just days before Sonja’s disappearance: “Dear Brad...Thank you for taking out a life-insurance policy with the Sharpe Insurance Agency. Enclosed is your policy for Sonja in the amount of $1,000,000.”
Kate’s breathing quickened. Brad had taken out a million-dollar policy just before Sonja’s disappearance? That could explain an awful lot—Brad’s reluctance to continue to search for his wife, his disinterest in the man in purple. Especially if money had been tight since he lost his job. But what part would Willy Bergen have had in such a scheme?
Finally Becky hung up and tossed the cordless phone at the foot of the couch, drawing Kate’s attention back to her.
Kate ventured, “Did your dad mention anything about getting your mom a life-insurance policy?”
The girl’s brows knit together. She looked at Kate curiously and pointed to the letter Kate had just read. “You mean that?” she said. “I didn’t read it. I just saw it there.”
