One Final Breath

by Lynn H. Blackburn

  That sobered them both up—and quick.

  Mr. Cook nodded. “You’re right. I think we should pray on it.”

  “I assumed you already were,” Anissa said.

  “Oh, I have been, but I meant right now.”

  Even though she knew what was coming, Anissa didn’t have time to close her eyes before Mr. Cook began. “Father, we’re in a mess here.”

  Gabe set his foot on the porch floor and the swing came to a stop. He leaned forward, head bowed, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. Anissa mirrored his posture as Mr. Cook continued.

  “It makes no sense to us, this boy dying at the hands of an evil person who desperately needs you. Right now these young people have the job of finding out what happened, but you haven’t given them much to go on. We’d be much obliged if you could point them in the right direction. Help them see what they cannot see and know what they cannot know apart from the power of the Holy Spirit at work within them. Because we know those children weren’t alone in the lake Saturday night. You were there. You saw. You know. So we’re gonna rest in your goodness and trust that you’ll bring the truth to light in your will and your way. Now, what is it you think I might be able to help you with?”

  Gabe jerked his head up and looked around, eyes wide. Anissa smothered a chuckle. She both loved and hated the way Mr. Cook prayed. He talked to God like he was in the room and an active member of their conversation. He was, of course, but it was a bit startling when Mr. Cook stopped talking to God and started talking to the humans in the same breath.

  Gabe recovered fast. “We’re wondering if you might know anything about that property across the cove from Leigh Weston-Parker’s place. We think the shooter who killed Jeremy Littlefield was firing from there.”

  Anissa tried to block the flashes of memory that accompanied Gabe’s words. The cracking of thunder and rifle. The smell of ozone and blood.

  Gabe shifted on the swing and settled his arm behind her. Not touching her but somehow closer. How did he know when she was agitated? And when had his nearness become comforting rather than aggravating?

  “We think it’s owned by someone named Glen Masters. But what’s the story over there? There’s not much information about this guy. Adam Campbell’s the one who figured out who owns the place, but he’s sick and hasn’t been able to dig up anything else.”

  Anissa could hear the recrimination in Gabe’s voice.

  “It’s early yet. And Adam Campbell’s a good man. I bet he’s got that girlfriend of his working on it,” Mr. Cook said.

  “Fiancée.” Anissa and Gabe both said the word at the same time.

  Mr. Cook’s wrinkles curved upward. “That’s right. Charles did mention that. He sure does love that girl.” Charles Campbell was Adam’s grandfather and a longtime friend of Mr. Cook’s. “I’m sure she’ll find what you need, but I may be able to save you a bit of trouble.”

  Anissa sat back and Gabe followed her lead, resuming a steady swing. He didn’t move his arm, though, and every now and then his fingers would brush against her shoulder. She tried to block out the way her heart sped up with each instance of incidental contact.

  She needed to pay attention. Mr. Cook was a wealth of information, but he tended to share it on his own terms and with the occasional detour. She’d learned over the years that sometimes his detours weren’t as random as they appeared to be.

  “I would appreciate it if you two would keep what I’m about to tell you confidential. I know Charles is talking to Adam this afternoon as well.” Mr. Cook laughed. “I’m sure Sabrina will figure it all out by the end of the day without me or Charles saying anything, but this way you won’t have to come pay me a visit when she does.”

  “Charles Campbell?” Gabe raised one eyebrow.

  “The same. You see, Glen Masters isn’t a real person. Glen Masters is someone Charles and I made up. If you, or I guess I should say if Sabrina looks hard enough, she’ll discover that Glen Masters owns quite a few of the undeveloped and underdeveloped lots on the lake.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, sir, why? I don’t mean to be indelicate, but—”

  “You think we own quite enough of the lakefront?” Mr. Cook laughed so hard he started coughing. It took him a few moments to compose himself. “Indeed, we do, young man. More than anyone knows. But we’re not interested in putting fancy houses on it. We’ve always dreamed of preserving a big chunk of it. Maybe making a park or something where no one can ever build anything.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Anissa said.

  Mr. Cook had a faraway look in his eyes. “It would. But our interest in that particular property is more practical than altruistic. That land directly connects to the back side of Camp Blackstone. The kids who go there seem happy enough. But the guy who owns the camp is no good and has made no secret of the fact that he’d love to get access to Lake Porter rather than just the lake they have on their property.”

  “Why would that be such a bad idea?” Anissa asked.

  “The camp owner, Dennis Vick, is a real piece of work. He’s more interested in making money than he is in doing what’s best—for the kids or the environment. There’ve been issues at that camp—issues with sewage, with cleanliness. Always covered up quick. But if he had direct access to the shoreline? He could put cabins in right on the lake and have camp activities. Don’t get me wrong. I love kids. Love the idea of camps. But the residential owners of the lake don’t want or need that kind of stuff going on. The end of the lake where Charles has his hotels is set up for the commercial craziness. Down on this end, it’s quieter. Needs to stay that way. Plus, with the way Vick handles his own property elsewhere in the county, I fear for Lake Porter as a whole if he ever got access to the big water.”

  “You wanted to buy the land to keep him from getting access to it?”

  “In part, yes.” Mr. Cook took a sip of iced tea from a mason jar. “I’ve watched this lake become what it is. Some people want what’s best for the people here and the lake. And some people don’t.”

  Mr. Cook pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. “I asked Vick if he would promise not to build on the shoreline. He promised, but I knew he was lying. I usually do.” He smiled at Anissa and Gabe. “I always pray over what I should do with my business ventures. That piece of land has been a conundrum. I don’t know what God’s going to do with it. I’ve thought about selling it, but I’ve always felt like the Lord was telling me to wait. Right now it feels like our ownership of that land is the only thing keeping Vick from making a serious mess of things. God keeps reminding me that he will fight for me and I need to hold my peace. I’ve been holding my peace for a while and I’ve been asking the Lord if he intends to handle this battle while I’m still here to see him win it, but he’s been quiet on the subject.”

  “May I ask why you didn’t want anyone to know about the property you own?” Gabe asked the question Anissa was wondering.

  Mr. Cook took another sip of tea. “It was Charles’s idea. I liked it. You wouldn’t believe the kinds of stuff we deal with. People asking for money, help, land. And some people just ask to be asking—the nosy sort, like reporters and investigators.” He winked at Anissa when he said that. “We have our reasons and I don’t feel inclined to share them all with you. Some are personal. None are illegal. It would be best if you kept what you know to yourself, but Charles and I will trust your discretion. If you need to share this information, you can.”

  “What about the guy living out there? Ronald Talbot?” Anissa asked.

  “Ah, Ronald. He’s an interesting case.”

  Interesting wasn’t the word Anissa would have used.

  “He’s trying to get his act together. He did some time, years ago. But he’s been out for ten years. Clean for seven. Can’t seem to catch a break. I offered him the cabin out there. It’s not much, but it’s a sight better than what he had. It doesn’t leak, has air-conditioning, heat, running water, and even a little washer and dryer.
He was thrilled to get it. I told him he could live there rent-free if he wanted to, but I wanted him to look after the place. Clean it up. I can’t tell he’s done much, but he hasn’t made it any worse.”

  “He claims there’re kids out there at night,” Gabe said.

  “He told me. I think it’s older kids from the camp. Maybe the counselors, not the campers. They sneak across the road and then sneak back across before morning. But Ronald hasn’t caught them yet. Sometimes he’s there for a few weeks at a time. Sometimes he disappears for a few weeks. I’m trying to let him figure it out for himself. Thanks to the abuse he’s put it through over the years, his mind isn’t always as sharp as it could be. He knows he can ask me for anything, but he doesn’t ask for much.”

  “We saw him today. He claimed he had been in Wilmington for a few days.” Anissa showed him a picture she’d snapped with her phone. “Is this him?”

  Mr. Cook confirmed it with a nod. “I can’t tell you if he was in Wilmington or not. And while I’m not one to tell you how to do your jobs, I doubt he’s your shooter.”

  Gabe stopped the swing and stood. “Thank you for trusting us with this, sir. It’s been very enlightening.”

  “Yes. Yes, it has.” Mr. Cook looked at Anissa as he spoke and she got the distinct impression that he and Gabe were talking about two very different subjects.

  Gabe’s phone rang. He quickly shook Mr. Cook’s hand, said goodbye, and stepped off the porch to take the call. His voice faded as he walked toward the truck.

  Anissa stood up, rested her hands on the arms of the rocker, and bent down to kiss Mr. Cook’s cheek. “Thank you.”

  He held on to her forearms, and his gaze peered into her very soul.

  “Something you want to talk to me about?” he asked.

  “No, sir.” Truer words had never been spoken.

  “I hear you’ve been keeping company with that boy quite a bit.” Mr. Cook nodded in Gabe’s direction.

  “He’s a friend.”

  “Thought you couldn’t stand him.” Mr. and Mrs. Cook had listened to her stress over the decision to kick Gabe off the team, and Mr. Cook had listened as she’d fumed about letting him back on.

  “I might’ve been wrong about him.”

  “You might’ve been wrong about several things.” He chuckled. “I do love you, child. I’ll be praying on it.”

  Anissa had no idea what other things she’d been wrong about, but if Mr. Cook was praying on it, she had no doubt she would soon figure them out.

  “Looks like he’s finished that call. You’d best go.” He winked.

  Why did she feel like she’d just been handed off at the altar?

  She pushed that thought aside as she jogged to her car, where Gabe stood, holding her door open.

  Waiting for her.

  5

  Anissa attended the early service the next Sunday.

  She saw Ryan and Leigh sitting on the other side of the sanctuary. Adam and Sabrina were only three rows ahead of her. But she didn’t speak to any of them. She was glad they were all feeling better, but she was in no mood to chat.

  She wasn’t surprised not to see Gabe. He’d been working eighteen-hour days. Typical Gabe on a case. Focused. Determined. Single-minded.

  She slipped out during the final prayer and avoided making eye contact with anyone. She took her time walking to her car, pretending she wasn’t sure where she’d parked. Her nerves pinged as she approached, then walked around it. Everything appeared to be fine. The mechanics had replaced her tire and returned her car by the end of the day on Wednesday, but when forensics finished examining the old tires, there wasn’t anything wrong with them. The assumption was that someone had let the air out. A stupid prank. Probably.

  She opened the driver’s-side door, then slid into the seat and dropped her head to the steering wheel. All she wanted was to get home, go for a run, and then curl up in a chair and read a book.

  This week had had all the reality she could handle.

  Forensics had called on Thursday. Their murder weapon, as it turned out, wasn’t their murder weapon after all. Same type of gun, a .270 hunting rifle that a homeowner in Chatham County had reported stolen three months earlier, but not a match. No fingerprints. Nothing.

  Ron Talbot had disappeared and was nowhere to be found.

  Anissa didn’t make a habit out of being so invested in cases that weren’t her own. And this one was not hers. Not technically. It was Gabe’s and he was doing a fine job. But the entire dive team felt some ownership of it.

  She most of all.

  She ignored the buzzing of her phone as she drove home. Probably Sabrina or Leigh, or both, wondering if she wanted to go to brunch.

  She didn’t.

  It took ten minutes to get to her home in an older part of town. She loved her little house. Her postage stamp of a front yard. The red begonias that spilled over hanging baskets on her front porch. Everything about it—the paint, the decorations, even the mailbox—she’d picked out.

  All by herself.

  She parked in her one-car garage and disarmed the alarm as she dropped her keys and phone into the seashell sitting on the table by the door. She pulled her Bible and journal from her purse and put them back in their usual spot beside her chair before she went to her room to change into shorts and a tank top. Her phone buzzed again.

  It could be her parents. Or her sister. Or her brother. Or her cousin. Or her grandparents. All of them were missionaries on the island of Yap. It was important work that changed lives for all eternity. The kind of work she’d intended to do. She’d planned to go back after college to help her parents and work to improve the criminal justice system there.

  But then she messed up.

  And Carly died.

  And the murderer was never found.

  He—or she—was still out there, and until they were caught, she couldn’t leave. No one in the world wanted the killer behind bars more than Anissa did. If she went back to Yap, she’d be conceding defeat. The murderer would never pay for their crimes.

  Anissa couldn’t live with that.

  But she’d never been able to shake the feeling that she’d missed out on God’s best plan for her life. That she was no longer good enough for a starting position and had been given a spot on the third string. Every now and then she got in the game, but most of the time she watched from the sidelines while the star players did the real work for the kingdom of God.

  She walked back to the door to retrieve her running shoes.

  The seashell on the side table rattled. Again with the phone?

  She grabbed it, expecting to see “Mom” or “Dad,” but instead “Gabe Chavez” lit the screen.

  Gabe?

  Pounding on her front door startled her and she pulled her weapon from her purse.

  “Anissa? Are you in there?”

  Gabe?

  She yanked open the front door. “What are you doing here?” The “you scared me half to death” was implied.

  “Whoa!” Gabe raised his arms. “Put that thing away. What’s wrong with you?”

  “What’s wrong with me? Are you serious? Do you not know how to knock like a normal person?”

  “Do you not know how to answer your phone? I’ve called you six times since church ended.”

  Oh. She blew out a long breath. “I left it on silent after church.” And then ignored it. “Sorry. Come in.” She put the gun on the table.

  Gabe entered with a wary expression. He had at least a four-day-old beard. Which somehow suited him. With his squared jaw and dark brown skin, he could pull off the look. But his brown eyes were bleary. His face drawn. Lips in a tight line.

  He looked exactly like a man with a one-week-old murder on his hands.

  And no leads.

  “You look rough.”

  A smile cracked across his face. “I never have to worry about you stroking my ego, Bell.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be mean.”

  “I know you weren’t.
I meant it as a compliment.”

  They stared at each other for a moment. Anissa couldn’t decide if she should say “thank you” or “you’re an idiot.” “So, I’m guessing there’s something important going on?”

  Gabe pointed to the sofa. “Can we sit down for a minute?”

  Uh-oh. “I don’t think I want to sit.”

  “Nis. Please.”

  Now he was scaring her. Gabe almost never called her anything other than Anissa or Bell. Usually Bell when he was messing with her. He’d asked her once if she had a nickname and she told him what her family called her. “Nis. Like nieces and nephews.” He’d laughed and gone back to calling her “Bell.”

  She stepped into her small den and sat on the sofa. She expected him to sit in the chair across from her, but he sat beside her.

  A bit closer than she was comfortable with.

  “I need to tell you something.” Gabe radiated worry.

  She braced herself.

  “Leigh’s friend Keri called her this morning from the emergency department. Brooke Ashcroft is in the hospital.”

  “Why?”

  He stared at his hands. “She tried to kill herself.”

  The guarded expression on Anissa’s face was replaced with shock.

  And horror.

  “No.” She shook her head back and forth as she repeated the word. “No. No. No.”

  Gabe reached for her hands. He couldn’t believe it when she took his and held on for dear life.

  “How did she . . . ?”

  “Paisley said Brooke has been a mess this week. Understandably. The doctor had prescribed anxiety medication and sleeping pills. Brooke took the entire bottle of both of them. Paisley found her this morning. They pumped her stomach. She’s in the pediatric ICU on a suicide watch. She hasn’t come around. No one’s sure what the damage is yet.”

  Anissa didn’t look up. She didn’t pull away from him either.

  “I didn’t want you to hear it anywhere else.” And based on her reaction, he was glad he’d made that decision.