“Is he still a police officer?” she asked. “I haven’t seen him in so long.”
A police officer?
“Not that I know of,” I answered. “He’s the captain of the EMS squad at the fire station, though.”
“Well, that’s nice.” Aunt Dot fluffed her hair. “Any progress on your mysterious box?”
I sighed. Some days I convinced myself someone had sent it to me as some sort of joke that I had yet to understand and maybe never would. Then other days, I felt sure there must be something I was missing. Some clue, some instructions—but to what?
“Do you think there could be a connection between the newspaper the things were wrapped in and the things themselves?” I asked. I had already pored over the newspaper pages and couldn’t come up with much, and Dot and I had discussed this angle once before.
The wrinkles in her forehead deepened. “It seems like it couldn’t be coincidental that the newspaper was dated the same day as Kevin’s accident.”
“I know. That part bothers me. Who would know that? And why would that person have saved Short Creek newspapers from that specific day five years ago?”
“I remember what I was doing that day.” Dot stared at me. “I had decided it was time to clean out the attic. I was knee-deep in boxes when you called to tell me what had happened. Then I got down on my knees and prayed for you for the longest time.”
“I called you?”
Odd.
I had no recollection of that call. I remembered talking to Dot a day or two afterwards, but not that terrible day of the accident. “Are you sure?”
She furrowed her brow. “Of course, dear. You left a message on my machine, and you called me Auntie. No one else calls me that.”
I stared at her.
“I prayed right when I heard it, and I kept on praying until ten o’clock that night. I remember what time it was because I had the timer on my lights set to go on then. I hadn’t realized it had gotten so dark in the house until the lights popped on.”
Oh, boy. I was feeling a little creeped out now. Though the days following the accident were a blur, I remembered the actual day as if it were yesterday. I had not called Dot that day.
But I do remember an unexplained peace that had washed over me that night, enabling me to sleep when I didn’t think I would have been able to. It was so palpable, so noticeable, that I had glanced at my phone. It had been eleven o’clock my time—the same time Dot said she had finished praying for me that day.
“Don’t you remember calling me?” she asked. “I tried to call you back right away but couldn’t reach you. Of course, that was understandable under the circumstances.”
It wasn’t understandable at any other time, though. If Dot wanted to get hold of one, she wouldn’t stop calling until said person answered. I knew that from experience.
I shook my head. “I don’t remember calling you that day,” I said. “But I’m sure I must have. That was a terrible day.”
“But look how far God has brought you since then, darlin’,” Aunt Dot’s voice grew soft. “We never know what our life is going to hold, but we know He already knows. He’s already there in our future, and He’ll give us the strength we need to endure.”
Yes, that much was true. But sometimes the hard part was accepting the things He allowed. I often thought about Hannah Hurnard’s book, Hind’s Feet on High Places, and her main character, Much-Afraid. Much-Afraid was on her way to the “High Places,” led along her arduous life path by the good but surprising Shepherd. Early on in Much-Afraid’s journey, she discovered an exquisite, resilient little flower named “Acceptance-With-Joy,” and determined that she would do her best to let the Shepherd teach her to have that same attitude toward life.
Not only acceptance, but acceptance with joy. Joy in the midst of sorrow. Joy in the midst of pain. Joy in the midst of uncertainty.
“Sometimes I still feel like Much-Afraid,” I confessed.
Aunt Dot smiled. “Me, too. But we’re getting closer to the High Places every day. And the best part is, we’re getting to know the Shepherd better as we go.”
Yes, the dear Shepherd. How did anyone make it through life without His comforting presence…His life-giving words?
“I miss Uncle Garth,” I said. “No one prayed for me like he did.” I remembered how he would always pat my cheek whenever he saw me. Then he would hug me and whisper in my ear, “I’m so proud of you, sweetie.”
Aunt Dot’s eyes glistened. “Yes, he certainly loved you. I think he thought of you as the granddaughter we never had. I know when you were going through your troubles with Kev, Garth spent many hours praying for you. One day, he even told me—”
“What are y’all talking about so serious-like in here?” A big voice boomed through the doorway, preceding a handsome, silver-haired man who matched his own voice in size and energy.
“Harry, this is Callie.” Aunt Dot beamed at both of us.
“Calendula!” Harry took my hand. “I’ve heard so much about you! Such a pleasure to finally meet you, young lady.”
I smiled up at him, taking an immediate liking to the man, even if he had called me by my full name. He was dressed to the T in jeans, western boots, an enormous gold ring and a collared shirt. He smelled like he had just gotten out of the shower. I pegged him as a football coach, or maybe a businessman, in his younger days. “So nice to meet you, Mr.—”
“Parsons,” he supplied. “But Harry is fine. Shoot, I feel like I know you already, for as much as this pretty lady talks about you.” He glanced at Aunt Dot, and I was amused to see her cheeks pinken again.
“How long have you two known each other?”
Harry plopped down in the chair across from me and crossed his booted feet. “Well, let’s put it this way,” he drawled. “I’ve had a crush on your aunt since I first laid eyes on her in Mrs. Marsh’s second grade class.”
“Oh, Harry!” Aunt Dot protested.
I had never seen my aunt so flustered.
Harry grinned at me. “It’s true,” he said cheerfully. “Then that old rascal, Garth, stole her heart while I was away in the war.”
Aunt Dot huffed out a sigh. “That’s all water under the bridge now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He winked at her. “Now I’ve got you all to myself again, and you’re prettier’n you were back then, by golly.”
I laughed out loud. Who would think Aunt Dot would have a beau when she was in her eighties?
“I’m tryin’ to get her to go on a date with me tomorrow.” He leaned forward. “The Lutheran church is havin’ their annual Polka Worship service.”
“Now Harry, you know I can’t—”
He patted her hand. “I know it’s hard for you to get around, sugar. But the preacher said he’d send someone to pick us up, and they have a nice wheelchair ramp.”
“Well, I did have my hair done yesterday.” Aunt Dot patted her hair. “It was some new gal, though. She wasn’t as good as Karen.”
Harry must have been able to tell she was weakening. “They’re even having a traditional German meal afterwards in the fellowship hall,” he coaxed. “With homemade sausage and potato salad.”
The potato salad must have sealed the deal, because the next thing I knew, Lonnie had posted a picture of my aunt and Harry to my Facebook page.
Snapped this picture at the German dinner last night, she commented. Aren’t they cute?
I leaned back in my desk chair with my favorite tea mug in my hand and contemplated my aunt’s face smiling at me from my computer screen. Then it hit me. That had been what was bothering me yesterday when I visited Aunt Dot—her glasses. She had kept fiddling with them, like they were uncomfortable. The frames of the ones she had on the other day were larger and darker, but the ones she had on in this picture appeared to be the ones she normally wore. Hmm. I hadn’t seen her so happy in a long time. More than happy—she looked radiant. And Harry looked like the proverbial cat that had swallowed the canary as he posed behind her wi
th his hand on her shoulder, his huge class ring prominently displayed.
I smiled, then logged off the computer. It was Monday morning, and I had centerpieces to create and an appointment to talk with Todd Whitney at lunchtime. It had been a good weekend. No bodies, no rocks thrown at me. And I had also once again escaped meeting Aunt Dot’s dream-date Brandon.
I hummed along with my favorite Christian radio station as I created the arrangement for the Methodist church. Their new pastor was finally arriving in town today and would be preaching for the first time on Sunday, so apparently, the powers-that-be had decided to spruce up the sanctuary a little bit with live flowers for the occasion. They wanted the arrangement to be in place for when the new pastor first began work tomorrow morning.
The pastor was a she, which I found interesting. I hadn’t met her yet, but she was coming from somewhere back east. I poked a few white roses in place, idly wondering what she was like. Did she have a family? How old was she?
I added a grouping of fern fronds, then stood back to appraise my creation. The secretary had said “shades of blue with white,” so I guess they weren’t too picky. I had begun with a number of gorgeous potted hydrangeas, then added ferns and a few barely-opened white roses as accents. By tomorrow, the roses would open more fully and the arrangement would be stunning when Ms. Pastor first saw it in the church sanctuary.
I carried it to the cooler, then headed back to wipe the counter before I started my next project. I started to move the wedding idea albums to the side, then stopped and opened the album that I had made with old wedding photos collected over the years. Most were old family photos; a few I had picked up at garage sales or antique stores. Since I had moved here, I had been gradually going through the boxes that Aunt Dot had left stored in the attic when she had moved into Willowbough. She had told me I could go through them and take whatever “suited my fancy.” I smiled.
There wasn’t much left in the attic, but Uncle Garth had created an office up there a few years before he passed. Or at least, Aunt Dot had called it his office. Most of the time, he used the space to build his model airplanes or study the Bible for the Sunday school class he had taught for years. I had adored hanging out up there with him on long summer evenings. We shared a love of learning and an appreciation for great literature.
Uncle Garth’s desk was still up there, and a couple of antique bookcases full of his beloved books. I should go through those one of these days, I mused. Maybe I could get Rob over here to help me move one of the bookcases downstairs into my bedroom. I loved old furniture, and I could use another bookcase. My to-be-read pile was turning into the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I’d better turn it into a to-be-read bookcase before it overtook my entire nightstand. And floor.
I sighed and pulled my laptop toward me. I needed to finish up Jenna’s table decorations, but I had been puzzling about the festina lente symbol thing again this morning when I woke up. I couldn’t believe I had forgotten to ask Aunt Dot about the envelope that Mona saw with what we thought was the festina lente sign drawn on it.
I know I wasn’t being realistic, but I guess I was hoping it wouldn’t turn out to be anything. It could have been a doodle, right? And besides, the symbol on the back of the envelope didn’t appear to have any numbers or letters with it like the one sent to me.
Letters and numbers. What if it was as easy as plugging those numbers and letters into a search engine?
I tried it.
“Your search did not match any document,” I read out loud.
Of course not. I looked up “licensing a boat in Texas”.
“Ah ha!” I crowed. Except all of the Texas-issued boat numbers started with a TX. And all of them consisted of four numerals followed by two letters.
Okay, that was a dead end. What else could the letters and numbers stand for?
PSIS58610. Could it be a code? That seemed unlikely. It sounded like something out of a kid’s mystery book. Could it be an address? How about a city, state, and zip code? Hmm. I typed the numbers in.
“Telakanava, Finland?” That seemed far-fetched. I was grasping at straws here, obviously.
I dragged out the box of sheet music and ribbon I had assembled for Jenna’s wedding reception, deciding I might as well give my brain a rest for a few minutes. Clearly, I wasn’t getting anywhere with the letter/number thing. I plugged in my hot glue gun. Whenever I had a spare moment, I worked on the woodsy-shabby-chic feel with musical-theme decorations. I think Jenna alone was supporting the local craft store with the supply of moss, dried flowers, candles, ribbons, and glassware I had purchased.
Glancing out the window, I saw Todd Whitney pull up in his white pickup. I looped my hair over my ear, wishing I had at least put it in a ponytail this morning. I rolled my eyes at my own foolishness. Like the man even cared what I looked like. He was coming to question me about The Morning.
I took a deep breath. I had already prayed this morning that God would calm my spirit and help me to make it through this conversation. Through the main shop window, I could see Todd stroll up my walkway. He was carrying a screwdriver, and he didn't look happy.
A screwdriver?
Resisting my inclination to meet him at the door, I hovered around behind my work counter, as if busier than I really was.
The screen door screeched open.
"Hey Callie," he called. "I'm a few minutes early. Hope that's okay."
"Sure, that's fine," I called back. "l'll be done with this in a sec." I wasn't actually doing anything, but I suddenly felt awkward around him. What had changed since the last time I saw him? I had seen him briefly at church on Sunday. He had been ushering that morning, and flashed a smile my direction when he handed the plate down my row. Then I saw the back of his head when he walked through the parking lot ahead of me after church.
Uh, not much cause for excitement there. Maybe I was anxious about reliving The Morning. Or maybe it was because he was on his hands and knees in front of my screen door.
I sidled over to him, where the pugs were joyfully snorting and snuffing around him. "Did you drop something?"
He grinned up at me and my stomach did the weird flip-flop thing again.
"Nope," he said. "Fixing your door."
Ah, the screwdriver. I nodded. "Thank you so much! I kept thinking I should go online and see what I needed to do to fix it."
He stood. "No worries. Need to adjust the mechanism a little bit." He jammed the screwdriver into his back pocket, and looked me in the eye. "But we do need to talk about Friday."
Friday? Uh oh. My pulse kicked up about ten notches.
"Why didn't you call 911 when you found your back door open? The report didn’t come across my desk until this morning." He glared at me. "Someone could have still been in the vicinity, Callie. And after all of the weird things that have been happening to you—"
I shrugged. "I figured whoever it was, was probably long gone. I mean, why would he stick around? And at least I reported it. Just not right then.”
He had been shaking his head while I was talking.
"And besides, the sheriff doesn't like it when I talk to him."
"What?"
"Earl doesn't like me very much."
"What do you mean?" Todd's eyebrows were high on his forehead.
I sighed. "He always tells me I'm imagining things or that they aren't what I think they are."
He gritted his teeth. "Can we sit down somewhere?"
I followed him over to the book nook. I took the wingback chair while he perched on the edge of the worn leather couch, looking like he was poised for action.
Was he that upset that I hadn't called old Mr. Grumpy-Pants sheriff?
"Callie." He pinned me with a look that I imagined he usually used on bad guys. After all, he was an ex-cop, wasn't he? Well, according to Aunt Dot, at least. And at this moment, it didn't take much imagination to believe it.
I grimaced, and he relaxed his posture a bit.
"I want you to understand someth
ing. Your safety is of utmost importance, and you can't let Earl's imbecilic behavior stop you from doing what it takes to be safe."
Imbecilic? Maybe I wasn’t being paranoid about the sheriff after all.
Todd jumped up from the couch to pace. I had already noticed he had on his jeans and boots today instead of his uniform. He looked like a rancher. A rancher-cop. A handsome rancher-cop.
"I wanted to talk to you about the morning you found the body," he said. "We're still waiting on an official report—”
The body? Now we were back to it being a body?
"Earl told me he wasn't dead."
"I know." Todd stopped pacing. "Callie—"
The man was trying to tell me something, obviously. Something difficult.
He turned from me to scan the store. "Can you close the shop for a little while? I need you to take a ride with me."
What?
I stared at him, trying to understand the sudden desperation in his voice.
"Please? I know you don't know me very well, but we need to talk. I'll bring you back whenever you're ready, I promise."
I glimpsed the pain in his astute eyes and knew I could trust him. Knew, somehow, that I must trust him.
Chapter Seven
I locked the pugs into their kennel, and hung the "Back Soon" sign on the front door. I loved the homey, small-town feel that still allowed one to leave with only a note on the front door.
Todd opened the passenger door of the pickup and gave me his hand to help me up. The truck was one of those tall jobs with an extended cab. I could have hoisted myself up easily, but it was nice that he was courteous. I had noticed that about the men down here. Even when entering the gas station or the grocery store, most men routinely held the door open for women. I liked that.
His truck smelled of aftershave and horses. I glanced into the backseat to see a rope halter and work gloves. I didn't know much about Todd Whitney, except that he had made his way into my dreams a couple of times recently. And he didn't wear a wedding ring.
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