For one scary second, it appeared Isabelle was going to sit squarely on Bob’s lap, but he moved just in time. Though, he didn’t exactly slide down the couch. He just vanished and then reappeared two feet away, his disappearance and reappearance seeming to happen simultaneously. It was the strangest thing Sandra had ever seen.
“Are you all right?” Isabelle asked, and Sandra realized she was frowning and staring at what to Isabelle appeared to be an empty spot on the couch.
“Yes, sorry. I guess I’m still a bit shook up by all this.” Sandra looked at Sammy to make sure he was still where she’d left him. He was, so she returned to her ottoman. “What can I do for you?”
She took a shaky breath. “I didn’t know where else to go. My friends all ... well, I don’t have very many friends, and those I do have, well ...” She was having great difficulties. “They just might turn on me. Or maybe they already ...” She stared intently at Sandra. “I have no idea if I can trust you, but yesterday, it seemed like you knew more than you said you did, you know, by mentioning Mike.”
It took Sandra a second to remember who Mike was, and then she looked at Bob wide-eyed. So this was about a man named White!
Isabelle’s eyes followed Sandra’s to the empty seat beside her, and she frowned. “What are you looking at?”
“Sorry.” Sandra jerked her eyes away from the angel, who wasn’t being much help anyway. He looked as bewildered as she felt. “I was just thinking.” She loved that Isabelle thought she had some sort of inside scoop. She shouldn’t say much, or that illusion would be shattered.
“So, you can imagine that I can’t exactly go to the cops.”
Wow! This was juicy! “Right,” Sandra said slowly, because she didn’t know what else to say.
“Oh, shoot. I’m not making any sense.” Isabelle put her head in her hands. “I didn’t even tell you about the break-in,” she said through her fingers.
“What break-in?” Sandra spurred her on because Isabelle appeared to be done with the conversation.
“Last night. I was out.” She picked up her head and looked at Sandra, and her cheeks were red. “And while I was out, someone, probably White or his goons, went through my house. They trashed the place.”
Huh. Puzzle pieces. Lots of ’em. And Sandra had no clue what to do with them. She wanted so badly to look at Bob for help. She had no idea what to say next.
She took the leap. “And why do you think this was Mike?”
Isabelle looked at Sandra as if appalled at her stupidity. “Because my husband named him with his dying breath! To a stranger!”
Oh yeah. That. “What do you think they were looking for?”
Isabelle shrugged. “I was hoping you’d know.”
Sandra fought back a laugh. That was rich. Isabelle was seriously overestimating her knowledge of this situation. She tried to make her face impassive. Maybe she did know, maybe she didn’t.
Bob started waving at her, his eyes wide and wild. She shook her head slightly. She didn’t want to get caught looking at him again. He pointed at the door. Oh! It was a game of charades!
“Maybe we should go take a look,” she blurted out, like a wild guess in a game of Pictionary when the time’s running out.
Isabelle nodded. “I knew you’d say that.”
She had? Sandra hadn’t even known she’d say that! “Okay, let’s go.” Then she remembered Sammy. “Actually, give me a minute. I can’t take the baby.” She chewed on her lip. She didn’t really want to invite the Pretty Little Liars girl back over. She looked back to Isabelle. “Let me find a sitter. Then I’ll meet you there.”
Isabelle frowned, as if she didn’t believe Sandra.
“I promise. I’ll be right there.”
Chapter 16
Sandra looked at Bob, wild-eyed. “I can’t take the baby with me! What am I going to do?”
Bob nodded emphatically, obviously itching to go inspect the break-in himself. “Hang on. I have an idea.” And then he was gone.
Sandra groaned. Would that ever stop being annoying? She stooped to pick up Sammy and checked his diaper. Sure enough, it was in need of attention. He grinned wildly at her as she stripped him down, as if he enjoyed having a mommy-servant to attend to his every need.
Bob reappeared before she’d finished buttoning Sammy’s overalls.
“That was quick.”
“I am an angel of the Lord.”
“So you keep reminding me.” She scooped Sammy off the table and squared herself to Bob. “So, is there a plan?”
“What do you think of Ethel Baxter?”
Ethel Baxter? She didn’t think anything of her. She knew the name. Ethel was one of the many older women who sat in the back of her church, but she didn’t think she could pick her out of a police lineup. Still, she was embarrassed to admit to an angel that she didn’t know the people in her own church. “I don’t really think anything,” she said. Lame.
“Well, I have it on good authority that she is just dying to babysit.”
She was? Seriously? “How much does she cost?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think she’d charge anything, but if she did, it wouldn’t be much. Besides, today you might not have much cash, but when you’re reffing, you’ll get paid and you’ll be able to give her a cut—”
“I never said I was going to become a ref, Bob. That’s insane.”
“You did say that, though.”
Had she? She really didn’t think so.
“And either way, you need her now, so give her a call.”
Sandra narrowed her eyes at him. “How do you know she wants to babysit?”
He shrugged again. “I asked your church angel.”
She felt her eyes grow wide. “We have a church angel?”
“Of course you do!”
This new tidbit of knowledge elated her. If she’d thought about it, she might have assumed such a thing, but she didn’t think she’d ever thought about it. Sure, she knew there were angels around, but the fact that one was assigned to her church—how cool was that? The angels were so organized! She looked around her messy living room and hoped Bob wasn’t offended by the chaos.
“So ... call her!” Bob shifted his weight from his right to his left foot and back again. It appeared he had to go to the bathroom. Did angels even go to the bathroom? She didn’t think so.
“Okay,” she agreed without really agreeing. She was just going to call Ethel out of the blue and ask her to babysit? She’d never even spoken to the woman. That would be so rude. “I can’t,” she squeaked out meekly.
“Of course you can.” He lowered his head and sighed. “Just dial the number.”
“No, I mean ... what am I going to say?”
“You’re going to say that you heard she might be interested in babysitting.”
Sammy squirmed in her arms as if he was tired of the debate. “And what if she asks me where I heard it?”
He smirked. “You don’t want to tell her that the angels told you?”
She did her best to glare at him.
“She won’t ask. Just call. Where’s your church directory?”
How did he know she had a church directory? Sometimes he was creepy. Or maybe everyone had a church directory. She went into the kitchen, to the giant drawer in the corner that they had deemed “the junk drawer” and pulled it open with one trembling hand. Why was she so nervous to do this? This was crazy. She was going to go “investigate” a crime scene, but she was terrified to call a sister in Christ? She dug through the drawer with one hand, taking care not to slice her hand open on some forgotten, hidden sharp object. At first, she thought the directory wasn’t in there, but then, beneath the rubber bands, stripped screws, mystery keys, used birthday candles, old phone chargers, and yellowed appliance manuals, she found it. She pulled it out, and a pair of dog nail clippers came with it. They didn’t even own a dog. She slid them back into the drawer. They might get a dog one day. She shut the drawer and looked at Bob sheepishly. “We don
’t use this much.”
He nodded, as if he’d heard that before.
She took a deep breath. She would never do this, never be able to do this if there wasn’t an angel standing in her kitchen staring at her.
Ethel answered on the third ring.
Sandra gulped. “Hi, is this Ethel?”
“It is.” She sounded cheery enough.
“Hi, Ethel. This is Sandra Provost, from church? I sit on the other side from you, about five rows up—”
“Yes, dear. I know who you are.”
“Oh great.” She swallowed, her mouth suddenly bone-dry. “I’m calling because ... well, feel free to say no ... but I was wondering ...”
Bob widened his eyes at her, telepathically communicating Get to the point.
“Well ... I heard you like to babysit.” She spat the last few words out and instantly regretted it. This was so ridiculous.
“Oh!” Ethel cried. “I do! I do like to babysit! My kids are all grown and gone, and no matter how much I beg, they haven’t given me any grandbabies yet!”
Sandra exhaled rapidly. To Ethel, it had probably sounded as if Sandra had blown into her ear. “Oh wow, that’s so great. I just need some help with my little one, Sammy. He’s still only—”
“Yes, yes, I’ve seen you toting him around. When you do need me?”
She gulped. This part was also absurd. “Right now? I need to take care of something, and I don’t think he’d enjoy it.”
“Of course, of course!” Ethel was as eager and enthusiastic as a Grace Space saleswoman.
Maybe she was a Grace Space saleswoman? A current of fear struck Sandra’s gut. Oh well, even if she was, this would be worth it. She was just itching to catch up to Isabelle. If that meant buying an eighteen-dollar lip balm, then so be it.
“Do you know where I live?”
Sandra’s shame deepened. Of course she didn’t know where Ethel lived.
Ethel didn’t wait for a response. She just began giving her convoluted directions. Sandra closed her eyes to try to focus, but she quickly lost track of the landmarks. “Actually, can you just give me your address? I’ll use my GPS.”
Chapter 17
A wet-faced Isabelle opened her front door, and Sandra stepped inside. Isabelle slammed the door in Bob’s face, but he appeared inside anyway, and his mouth instantly fell open.
Sandra followed his gaze to Isabelle’s large living room and sure enough, it was a gawk-worthy sight. “Are you sure they were looking for something? Maybe they were just trying to trash the place.”
Isabelle walked over to a set of drawers that had been pulled out and tipped over. She pushed one of them with her toe. “I’m pretty sure they were looking for something.”
Sandra gingerly walked into the room, taking care where she stepped. There wasn’t much open floor. They’d pulled the cushions off the furniture and cut into every one of them. Stuffing spilled out in all directions, hiding broken glass from tossed picture frames. Books had been opened, rifled through, and dropped with the spines facing up. Whoever had done this—they were animals. “Your husband must have been quite the reader.” As soon as the words left her lips, she regretted them. She’d assumed, based on the fact that Isabelle was beautiful and wore nice shoes that she couldn’t be the reader in the house.
But Isabelle didn’t seem to notice the slight. “He was a teacher. He loved books.”
Sandra stooped to pick one of the many books up, closed it, and looked at the cover. A Framework for Understanding Poverty. She looked around the room. “I’m guessing Frank didn’t know much about poverty himself?”
Sandra felt Bob wince, even though he was six feet away. This time, Isabelle was offended. “Frank worked hard all his life. Don’t assume he was a rich snob. He loved his students, gave his whole life for them.”
Sandra gave the room another glance. She knew what she wanted to ask. But did she dare? “Isabelle? This looks like a really nice place for a teacher’s salary.” She was going to also ask, “Where did Frank get his cash?” but Isabelle anticipated the question and answered it.
“Frank comes from money.” She held out both hands. “He inherited it. He didn’t have to be a teacher to pay the bills. He chose to be a teacher because he loved kids and wanted to make the world a better place.”
In an instant, Sandra’s heart softened toward this woman. Sandra was married to a younger version of the same man—only without the wealth. “I’m so sorry he’s gone, Isabelle. He sounds like an awesome person.” And he doesn’t sound like a criminal.
Isabelle’s tears started falling again, and she swiped at them with the back of a hand. “He sure was.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve and then added with a creaky voice, “And before you ask, I’ll tell you that he left everything to his own children. He left me enough to get by, but I won’t be rich or anything.”
At first, Sandra had no idea why Isabelle had just shared this detail. Then it dawned on her. “Oh, no, Isabelle, I wasn’t going to accuse you of anything. You’re obviously grieving over your loss of him. I would never assume you had anything to do with it.” Unless you’re the world’s best actress. She was pretty enough to be an actress.
Sandra looked around the room, wondering what to look for. What would Monk notice? Or Father Brown? Or that cutie pie from Psych? She wished she’d paid more attention to those shows. If Frank Fenton was already rich, then he didn’t need a secret life of crime, right? Or maybe he was involved in a secret life of crime just for the thrills? Or maybe he wasn’t as rich as Isabelle thought he was? “Do you have access to Frank’s bank statements?” she asked before thinking about the question. She thought she heard Bob gasp, but he was over on the other side of the room, inspecting some ripped up paintings.
“I guess. Why?” Her voice had tightened.
Sandra had trouble holding her words back long enough to consider them. She wanted to see those bank statements so badly that her chest was burning. “I just want to see if Frank really had the money you think he did.”
She scowled. “Of course he did. But if you need to see them, I guess ...” She turned to go into the kitchen, and Sandra followed. The kitchen was in even more of a mess than the living room. Drawers dumped and flipped over, chairs overturned, stove and fridge torn apart. What could they possibly have been looking for? Isabelle went straight through the kitchen and into another room, which turned out to be an office with an even bigger collection of books on the floor. This must have taken them forever. Isabelle stooped to rifle through some papers and came up with a single page of an open bank statement.
The single page was enough. It showed a running balance, and the balance was huge. Sandra quickly handed it back to her. “You’re right. That’s a lot of zeros. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“It’s okay.”
Her ready agreement raised a question in Sandra’s mind. Why did Isabelle want her here? Why did she seem to want her help? “Isabelle? If Frank wasn’t doing anything illegal, then why can’t you call the police?”
Isabelle looked at her as if she were stupid. “I thought you knew about Mike.”
“I do,” Sandra tried to recover, “but Frank was innocent, right?”
Isabelle nodded, but she didn’t look so sure. “I think so.”
“What does that mean?”
“I mean ...” She averted Sandra’s gaze. Bob appeared beside Sandra then, looking eager as ever. “I mean that I don’t exactly know what Mike and those guys are up to. I just know that it’s something shady. Suddenly, they wouldn’t talk to Frank anymore, and their wives wouldn’t talk to me. We were all friends, and then just, boom. Something changed, only a few days ago. I asked Frank about it, but he just told me not to worry. And he didn’t seem worried, so I didn’t worry. But now it sure seems there was something to worry about, doesn’t there?” The more she talked, the faster the words spilled out. She fell into the office chair, which was, Sandra was grateful, upright, and put her face in her hands. “And I gue
ss I’m just scared of them!”
Sandra stepped closer to her and put her hand on her shoulder. “But, Isabelle, if you’re in danger, the police can protect you better than an ordinary mom in a minivan can.”
Isabelle sniffed and looked up at Sandra with wet eyes. “But what if Frank was involved? They were all such good pals. What if Frank was involved with whatever it was and then something went wrong? I just don’t know!”
This doesn’t make any sense. “Why would you think Frank might have been involved?”
“Because they were all such good friends,” she spat out, making sure the word friends spun with a healthy dose of irony. “If they were doing something wrong, surely Frank knew about it, and if he knew about it, why didn’t he tell anyone? Trust me. I’ve been trying to figure this out. My husband was murdered. I’ve thought about nothing else. But no matter how much I think, I can’t figure it out. But one thing’s for sure, if he was mixed up in something shady, I’m not going to be the one to expose him. I’d rather go on not knowing what happened to him or why it happened than to ruin his reputation. He doesn’t deserve that, no matter what.”
Chapter 18
Ethel lived in the downstairs apartment of a giant, old house. From the outside, the place didn’t stand out from the long row of other old houses on the quiet side street. But when Sandra stepped inside, for the second time that day, she was enveloped in an invisible welcome hug. Soft music played in the distance, and the brightly colored, well-lit space smelled of fresh bread and cinnamon. When Ethel offered her a cup of tea, she almost burst into tears at the sweetness of it all.
Yet, she asked for a rain check on the tea. Though she had nowhere to rush off to, her brain was rushing around in her head, and she wanted to be alone. Or, as close to alone as one could be with a baby and a new best friend angel.
Ethel graciously granted the rain check and then just as graciously declined the paltry stack of dollar bills Sandra held out to her. “Are you kidding?” she chirped. “I should be paying you for this treat! Little Sammy has been the highlight of my whole week!”
The Whistle Blower Page 6