Life Everlasting

by Robert Whitlow

  “Any Morgans?”

  Sarah smiled. “Not that I remember.”

  “And the singing?”

  “My father was a hog farmer and part-time preacher. Our family often sang in church. When I was a little girl they let me support the lead, but as soon as my voice matured, I started singing alto. I can’t remember a time when there wasn’t a song in my heart. It’s not always been a happy tune, but it’s wrapped up in who I am. I still sing in the choir when I’m not working and in ensembles if I’m asked to participate.”

  Ted nodded. “I can relate. How long have you been a nurse?”

  “About twenty-five years. I was always playing nurse when one of my brothers or sisters was ill. If they were all healthy, I’d find a pet or animal to take care of. Everyone told me I should be a nurse, and when I went to college at UNC Pembroke, that’s the direction I took.”

  “Do you sing for your patients?”

  “Occasionally I’ll hum or sing softly. It seems to calm people who are agitated. But what we did the other night in Santee was a new experience for me.”

  The waitress brought the food. The chicken-fried steak covered a third of the plate and was topped with a broad band of white gravy speckled with black pepper.

  “I’m glad I had a light lunch.” Ted said.

  Ted cut into the meat. It was crispy on the outside and just the right thickness on the inside. He took a bite. The meat was juicy, the gravy slightly salty.

  “Mmm. This is good.”

  Sarah pointed her fork at the chalkboard. “There’s a reason they call it a special.”

  They ate in silence for a few moments.

  Sarah cut off a piece of meat. “What about you? Have you played your keyboard for a lot of sick people?”

  “No, this is my first serious attempt. Honestly, I’d hoped the results would be more dramatic.”

  “He’s waking up.”

  Ted shrugged. “That could be explained by natural improvement.”

  “Possibly, but the presence of the Lord was in the room when you played, and the next day Baxter opened his eyes. One of the nurses called me today and told me he is beginning to talk. That’s pretty amazing improvement, considering the severity of his injuries.”

  Ted ate a bite of squash. “Alexia Lindale told me the same thing. For the past year, I’ve been thinking that God can use worship in more ways than we realize.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ted put down his fork and held out his calloused hands with the palms up. “I believe the universe is in the hands of the Lord as Creator. If that’s true, then there is a divine connection between sounds, words, pictures, music, and all other forms of creativity that are submitted to his authority. Our job is to find practical ways in which God can use our creative gifts to advance his kingdom on earth. I pray with words, but I also pray with my music. I play music to worship, but I also want to play to heal. I want to go into the uncharted realms of worship.” He suddenly stopped. “Do you think that’s nuts?”

  “If I did would it change your mind?”

  “No.”

  “Then keep talking. I’m interested.”

  “Late at night, I’ll go alone into the sanctuary, open my Bible, sit down at the piano, and play melodies that I believe are musical expressions of the truth on the page. At other times, I’ll play a few notes and let them linger in the air like incense. When they’re gone, I’ll play a few more. On and on it goes while my spirit breathes air from another realm.”

  Sarah’s dark eyes narrowed, and she looked past Ted’s shoulder.

  “I understand.” She nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve been to those places, although I didn’t try to analyze it like you’re doing.”

  “I’m not trying to analyze—”

  “Don’t get defensive,” Sarah interrupted with a slight smile. “Understanding what God is doing doesn’t threaten freedom of the spirit. It just helps us cooperate with him.”

  “Sorry, you know what I’m talking about. Few people have a clue, and I’m hesitant to say anything to anybody.”

  “Musicians are supposed to think outside the box.”

  “Maybe a musician in New York, but not a music minister in South Carolina. My box is small, and my senior pastor thinks I should stay in it. He doesn’t have any idea what I’m doing with Baxter Richardson.”

  “That’s not a problem.”

  “Why not?”

  Sarah lifted her chin. “If God does a miracle in Baxter’s life, the Richardson family will come to the church and give so much money that everyone on the staff will get a big raise with enough left over to hire assistants to do all the real work.”

  Ted laughed. “That’s a plan John Heathcliff would support, especially if it included unlimited green fees at his favorite golf courses.”

  The waitress returned to the table. “Any dessert?” she asked.

  Sarah asked for a box to take home the remains of her meal. Ted looked at the chalkboard. No desserts were listed.

  “What kind of desserts?” he asked.

  Nancy looked at Sarah and rolled her eyes. “Peanut-butter pie or chocolate cake.”

  “Unless you hate peanut butter, get the pie,” Sarah said. “It’s a cream pie crowned with meringue, and a thin layer of peanut butter is mixed into the crust.”

  “Done, with two forks.”

  Sarah held up her hand. “Ministers are supposed to help us flee temptation. My body doesn’t metabolize pie as efficiently as it used to.”

  “You can sing away the calories.”

  While they waited for the pie, Ted asked, “What do you think we should do next with Baxter?”

  “Let’s continue doing the same things, while being open to a new direction. Do you know whether he is a Christian?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever played the Gospel?”

  “Not without words.”

  Sarah’s eyes glowed. “Oh, I’ll provide the words. I’ve never seen a dramatic physical healing as the result of music, but I’ve witnessed people with no hope of survival receive life everlasting in response to a song.”

  It was dark when Ted left the restaurant. The peanut-butter pie exceeded expectations, and he was more convinced than ever that Sarah Locklear was a remarkable woman. Never had he met anyone with spiritual DNA so similar to his.

  The following morning, Alexia left a message for Sean Pruitt. Within thirty minutes he called her back.

  “You can interview Rena Richardson,” Alexia told him. “I’d like to talk to Quinton on the same day.”

  “How about this afternoon at my office in Charleston? After I talk to Mrs. Richardson, we can go to the jail and meet with my client.”

  Surprised, Alexia glanced down at her calendar. It was clear after 2:00 PM. Rena had said she wanted to meet as soon as possible.

  “Uh, I’ll call Rena and find out if that works for her.”

  “My client isn’t going anywhere,” Pruitt replied in his aristocratic voice. “His schedule isn’t an issue.”

  “Does he know I want to talk to him?”

  “Not yet. I’ll spend some time with him before you ask him any questions.”

  “What if he won’t talk to me? I don’t want to waste a trip.”

  “Oh, I’ll encourage him to tell you anything that doesn’t prejudice our defense. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

  It was risky, but Alexia wanted access to Quinton, and Rena had ordered her to set up a meeting.

  “Okay. Where is your office?”

  Alexia wrote down the address and directions to an area heavily inhabited by lawyers, near the old courthouse.

  “I’ll see you around three,” she said. “If you don’t hear from me in the next hour, it means we’ll be there.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  When she hung up, Alexia called Rena and told her about the immediate opportunity.

  “That will work for me,” Rena said briskly.

  “Do you want to rid
e together?” Alexia asked. “That way you can let me know the questions you want me to ask Quinton, and we can review what you’re going to tell his lawyer.”

  “Sure.”

  Alexia gave her a time to be at the office.

  Shortly before lunch, Ted returned Alexia’s call.

  “Sorry I haven’t been available,” he said.

  “No problem, I’ve been busy. I closed on the King Street house yesterday, and I’m ready to get started on the renovation. Could you meet me for a few minutes after lunch? I have to leave for Charleston around two.”

  “Sure. Where?”

  “On King Street.”

  Ted’s truck was in the driveway when Alexia arrived. The small house was a plain-looking 1950s bungalow, but Alexia’s imagination could see potential for a chic law office. Ted was inspecting the seam where the chimney connected to the house. Alexia joined him.

  “Is it okay?” she asked.

  “Yes, I checked it before you made your offer. Have you decided on a new color for the exterior? This gray has got to go.”

  “Pink.”

  Ted nodded without smiling. “That narrows it some, but there are still a lot of shades of pink: pale, rose, neon. You’ll need to view some paint chips and get specific.”

  “Pale pink for the siding with hot pink for the shutters. From now on pink will strike fear in the heart of every deadbeat ex-husband within twenty miles of Santee.”

  “And give you a nickname—Santee Barbie.”

  “That won’t work,” Alexia replied. “You’re the artist. What color do you recommend?”

  Ted looked over the stretch of wall between the front door and the end of the house. It was the longest section of wooden surface, broken only by a single window. He motioned with his hand.

  “This long section would be perfect for a mural of you cross-examining a witness. I could work the window into the picture as part of the courtroom. It would be unique.”

  Alexia nodded. “And I’d be called ‘the billboard lawyer.’”

  “No, that’s already taken by those two guys who handle personal injury and worker’s compensation cases with the big signs on Palmetto Street and Highway 17. Yours would be better. Their suits don’t look right and the heads are too big for their bodies.”

  “But that’s the way they really look.”

  “Well, your mural wouldn’t need retouching to be beautiful.”

  Alexia smiled. “Thanks, but I’m not tempted. Seriously, what do you think about cream with sandstone-colored shutters?”

  Ted walked over to his truck and returned with a card of paint colors. He pointed to one that he’d circled.

  “What about this for the base? I already picked it out.”

  Alexia took the card from him and held the rich creamy color against the house.

  “This is why I hired you,” she said approvingly. “Let’s move inside.”

  As they walked through the house, Alexia talked and Ted took notes.

  “Rachel Downey offered to help me with the design,” Alexia said. “Have you ever worked with her?”

  “No, I’d never met her before the day I did the inspection.”

  “She’s very interested in you. She knew all about what happened in Charleston the other night.”

  “How did she find out?”

  “I’m not sure. There must have been other people from Santee at the benefit.”

  Alexia glanced down at her watch. “I’ve got to go in a few minutes. I’m going back to Charleston myself. The lawyer representing the man who stole Rena’s car has agreed to let me interview him.”

  “Isn’t that unusual?”

  “Yes, but so is the attorney. I’ve never met him, but I can tell from our phone calls that he’s a bit off-the-wall.”

  “Which means?”

  “Usually, ‘incompetent,’ but I’ll know for sure after today.”

  They walked out of the house together. When they reached the front stoop, Ted’s cell phone rang, and he answered it.

  “What night are you working?” he asked then paused. “Good. I’ll be there. See you then.”

  He put his phone back into the front pocket of his shirt.

  “Who was that?” Alexia asked.

  “Sarah Locklear. We met for supper last night. She’ll be working with Baxter on the third shift Wednesday. We’re going to meet around midnight.”

  Alexia fell a step behind Ted as they approached his truck. He looked over his shoulder at her as he opened the door.

  “Will you be able to make it?” he asked.

  “Uh, other than sleeping, I don’t have any other pressing plans at midnight on Wednesday.”

  “Good.”

  Ted waved as he backed his truck out of the driveway. Alexia didn’t notice. She was mulling over Ted’s mention of his restaurant rendezvous with Sarah Locklear. As she drove to her office for her meeting with Rena Richardson, she looked at but did not see the familiar sights of Santee passing her by.

  18

  The true way to be deceived is to think oneself more clever than others.

  LA ROCHEFOUCAULD

  Alexia mulled over the reason for Ted’s contact with Sarah Locklear. She had no doubt where it would lead. The nurse was strikingly beautiful, musically gifted, spiritually mature, and closer in age to the minister than Alexia was. If all the relevant data about Ted and Sarah was fed into a computer dating service, their names would flash onto the screen next to a five-star rating for relational success. Alexia felt like a ninth-grade schoolgirl watching a senior quarterback walk away with the captain of the cheerleading squad. She bit her lip in anger and hurt as she pulled into Rachel Downey’s parking lot. Rena’s car was already there. Alexia pushed her feelings aside. She had to focus on the task at hand.

  When Alexia opened the door, she saw Rena sitting on the edge of a chair in the reception area. She’d twisted the tissue in her hand into a thin white rope.

  “I need to get the file from my office,” Alexia said. “I’ll be ready to go in a minute.”

  “Wait!” Rena called out, picking up a videotape from the table beside her chair. “You have to watch this tape before we leave.”

  Alexia stopped and came over to her. “What is it?”

  Rena handed the tape to her. There were no markings on the outside.

  Rena spoke in an intense whisper. “It has to do with the questions I want you to ask Quinton.”

  Alexia glanced down at her watch. “We need to leave in a few minutes so we won’t be late. What’s on it?”

  “It’s not long, but you have to see it before we go. I should have shown it to you before now, but I was afraid.”

  Alexia had encountered Rena’s fears before. Some were reasonable, others harder to understand.

  Alexia turned toward the receptionist.

  “Does Rachel have a TV with a VCR here?”

  The receptionist pointed toward one of the conference rooms. “There is one in a cabinet in the corner.”

  The tape in her hand, Alexia went into the room with Rena close behind. She leaned over, opened the cabinet doors, and turned on the TV.

  “Are you going to give me a preview?” she asked.

  “Just watch it,” Rena replied as she sat down. “You’ll see.”

  Alexia slid the tape into the machine and pressed the play button. A few seconds of gray snow was followed by a panorama shot of Rena’s house. The front door opened and the camera zoomed in on Rena as she walked down the steps and got in her red convertible. She backed into the turnaround area near the cottage and drove down the driveway. The pictures followed her through two stop signs before losing her at a stoplight that changed to red as Rena zipped through it. The gray snow returned.

  “So what?” Alexia asked. “You ran the stoplight on Vincent Street. Who shot the home movie?”

  “Did you see the date and time on the bottom of the tape?”

  Alexia had noticed the numbers but not connected them to a specific event.


  “Yes.”

  Rena looked directly at Alexia. “The date on the tape is the day my car was stolen and driven to Charleston. The time is less than an hour before the police officer was killed.”

  Alexia’s mental wheels whirled. “You told Detective Devereaux that you hadn’t driven the car since early that morning.”

  “And that’s the truth,” Rena responded slowly and emphatically. “Someone has taken the video and inserted a date and time to make it look like I drove to Charleston instead of the thief.”

  “How did you get this?” Alexia asked sharply.

  Rena sighed. “Jeffrey gave it to me. It’s his way of blackmailing me into doing what he wants me to do with his father. Can you keep it for me without telling anyone?”

  “Of course. It’s as confidential as anything you tell me.”

  Rena relaxed slightly. “Good. I’m tired of looking at it.”

  Twenty questions immediately fought to the surface of Alexia’s mind and clamored for answers. She hesitated and then selected an easy one.

  “Do you know where Jeffrey got the tape?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think Quinton was the one watching the house.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Alexia said under her breath.

  “You thought he was watching me?” Rena asked with surprise.

  Alexia shook her head. “No. Remember, I told you that I suspected he was watching me.”

  Alexia looked again at her watch. Even if they left immediately they would be late for the meeting with Pruitt.

  “Let’s talk in the car,” she said. “This is going to be different than I suspected. I may not let Quinton’s lawyer talk to you, especially if he has a copy of this tape.”

  “Jeffrey told me that Quinton doesn’t know about it.”

  “But if Quinton shot the film—”

  “I don’t know that for sure,” Rena interrupted. She put her head in her hands. “I don’t know what to think except that I’m going to go crazy.”

  Alexia put her briefcase in the backseat of her car. In addition to the investigative file for the theft of Rena’s car and her list of questions to ask Quinton, the briefcase now contained the videotape. She pulled around to the front of the building. Rena stood outside waiting for her. As soon as Rena got in the passenger seat, Alexia began her cross-examination.