by J B Hawker
A few of the women had to leave right away, but the others lingered over coffee and the cookies Olivette had brought.
“These orange/cranberry shortbread cookies are delicious, Olivette!” Judy exclaimed. “They are vegan, right?”
“You’d have to ask my friend, Tillie Thistlethwaite, about it. She baked them. Tillie has such a gift for baking, and she loves to share.”
“Hmm, well, I can’t see any eggs, or taste any eggs or milk, so as long as she used non-dairy margarine...” Judy mumbled, reaching for another cookie. “And they have berries and nuts!” she said, brightening.
“Nuts is right,” Gwennie whispered to Naidenne, who shook her head with a sheepish grin.
All the first ladies loved Judy and found her eccentricities charming, for the most part, but they couldn’t resist the occasional joke at her expense.
“How are things over at Mount Zion, Hope?” Naidenne asked.
Naidenne missed seeing her friend at church every week, now that Hope was married and attended her own husband’s church.
“They’re good. And I think I’ve finally found my niche,” Hope said with a wide smile.
“Oh?”
“Well, I think I told you I’m taking the youth on their annual camping trip? It’s coming up next weekend. Anyway, getting to know the kids and their parents and making plans has been really fun. I think I’m meant to focus on the church youth group,” Hope explained.
“That’s wonderful!” Naidenne exclaimed. “You’ll be perfect.”
“Are you sure you want to spend all your time with teenagers?” Gwennie asked. “I’ve done the whole youth sponsor thing and it nearly killed me. There’s so much work and so little appreciation.”
“It’s nothing compared to training a bunch of raw recruits, believe me,” Hope laughed. “I’m really enjoying it.”
“I hope you feel the same way after your campout. How many parents are going with you?” Gwennie asked.
“We’re having a little trouble getting that lined up, but I’m sure it will be fine,” Hope said.
“You’re not going to try to do it by yourself, are you?” Naidenne asked, her eyebrows drawing together.
“Oh no! Gideon will be there if we can’t get anyone else, but I’m sure I could handle it on my own, if I have to.”
“Some kids are little angels in church, but you get them on an outing and you never know what they’ll get up to,” Gwennie warned. “I suppose it’s okay, as long as it is just your regular youth group, though. It’s when they invite their unchurched friends that all heck breaks loose.”
“As a matter of fact, we will have one guest, but she needs this experience more than all the others. She’s a foster child and after visiting her home, I find it hard to believe her foster parents are allowed to care for pets, let alone vulnerable children.”
“Really?” Elizabeth asked, overhearing the conversation on her way out and pausing by the table. “Are you sure they’re licensed?”
“Yes. When Dawn asked to go on the camping trip, Gideon followed up with Social Services, so we could get her foster parents’ permission. I can’t help but wonder if anyone ever makes any home visits, though,” Hope said.
“Gil and I are volunteer court-appointed child advocates. What’s the girl’s name?” Elizabeth asked, looking concerned as she entered the information into her phone.
“I’m going to look into this,” she said. “Social Services is overloaded, and problems can slip through the cracks, but these are children’s lives at stake. We need to find out what’s actually going on.”
Hope worried that she may have unwittingly caused Dawn trouble with her foster mother. If inquiries were made, Hope wouldn’t want the Jones woman to know where the complaints had come from.
…
Elizabeth Gilbert entered her home, put her handbag on the entry table, and went into the study to find her husband.
Gil sat at his desk typing into his computer with his Bible and a selection of commentaries arrayed around him.
“Hi, dear,” she said, leaning over his shoulder and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Can I interrupt you for a minute?”
Gil swiveled his chair around and pulled Elizabeth onto his lap.
“Anytime, my love,” he said, nuzzling her neck.
Elizabeth kissed him, again, and then stood up.
“What are you working on?” she asked, glancing at his computer display.
“I’ve been asked to do pulpit supply for the Tillamook Methodist Church for the next three weeks, so I’m working on some hard-hitting sermons. One of the joys of doing interim or supply preaching is the freedom to share hard truths with the congregation. I’m going to wake them up,” he said with a big grin, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
Elizabeth loved to see her husband fired up, like this. Since their retirement, he’d sometimes been at loose ends, trying out one volunteering job after another. Elizabeth knew the feeling.
After their two foster children had been adopted by loving parents, she had suffered what she could only describe as empty nest syndrome. She’d been overjoyed for the kids, but she missed them terribly. She sent them birthday and Christmas gifts, of course, but now her role was more that of an aunt or godmother. She’d had to step aside to let the children bond with their new adoptive family.
Although she and Gil had never been blessed with any of their own, they both loved children and had left the pastoral ministry to work in a mission children’s home before retiring completely.
It was this concern for children which had Elizabeth so upset at hearing what Hope told the women at the committee meeting about the foster parent she’d met.
“I heard something disturbing at the meeting today,” she said, moving to the small settee in Gil’s study.
“What about?” Gil asked, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, giving his wife his full attention.
“There’s this teenage girl the Mount Zion church is including on their annual youth camping trip. She’s a foster child and has been in trouble, apparently. She visited the church and expressed an interest in the trip, so Hope and Gideon called on the foster parents to assess the situation and get permission.”
“So? Go on,” Gil urged.
“When they visited, Hope was shocked at the condition of the home and of the foster mother, as well. The foster father wasn’t around when they called. Anyway, there are other, much younger children in the home. Hope didn’t know how many, but she says the place smelled of dirty diapers and spit up, so there must be an infant as well as the toddler they saw. The foster mother didn’t impress Gideon or Hope as being fit to care for herself, let alone small children and a troubled teenager. I think we need to check with Social Services and see if these kids need an advocate... and if the foster mother is in compliance,” she explained.
“Did you get the name?” Gil asked.
“Yes, of course,” she said.
“I think we should check out the foster home ourselves before we approach Social Services,” she added. “We could hand out leaflets for the Community Health Fair that’s coming up, as a sort of cover story.”
“Sounds a bit cloak and dagger to me,” he said. “But it wouldn’t hurt to at least see the home, even if we don’t ever get inside. Passing out a flier or two should be innocent enough.”
“Good. We can do it tomorrow morning,” Elizabeth said, getting up.
“What’s for dinner?” she asked, pausing in the doorway.
“I’ve got a chicken in the slow-cooker, but I haven’t gotten around to figuring out what to have with it. It will be done in about an hour, I think,” Gil replied, already turning back to his keyboard.
“Shall I make dumplings?” Elizabeth asked.
“Whatever you think,” Gil said, typing.
Elizabeth smiled and went out of the room.
“I love chicken and dumplings, just what I had in mind,” Gil mumbled to himself, picking up a commentary.
Naidenne and Hope sat in The Boatworks coffee shop on the following day, sipping coffee and nibbling on pumpkin spice muffins.
“It’s too bad they only make these muffins in the Fall,” Naidenne commented as she picked up the last bite. “They would be just as tasty in the winter or summer, wouldn’t they?”
“I think they figure making it a seasonal treat builds up customer demand. They’re probably right, too. If we could get them anytime, we might begin to take it for granted. Anything that is too available runs that risk,” Hope said.
“Maybe that’s why our parents used to tell us to play hard-to-get,” Naidenne laughed. “I never learned to play the game, at all, though. I was simply impossible to get until Scott came into my life.”
“I’ve never been much of a game-player, either. Always seemed stupid to me,” Hope said, frowning.
“Are you and Gideon having problems?” Naidenne asked, alarmed at her friend’s expression.
Hope blinked in surprise at the question, then shook her head.
“Why would you ask me that?” she asked.
“You looked so unhappy as we talked about romance, that’s all.”
“Oh, well, Gideon and I are fine on that score. Great, even,” Hope grinned. “No, I was just thinking about yesterday. I didn’t realize I was frowning.”
“What happened yesterday?” Naidenne asked.
“It’s just that I wonder if I should have said anything about Dawn’s foster situation after the meeting. Elizabeth seemed set on doing something about it. I’ve been afraid she could cause Dawn more trouble with her foster mother. I wouldn’t put it past that Jones woman to take it out on Dawn if she gets in trouble with the authorities.”
“Surely Elizabeth will be discreet. She’s probably more aware of the possibilities than we are. She and Gil have been working with troubled kids and their guardians for a long time,” Naidenne said.
“I hope you’re right,” Hope replied. “I feel sort of responsible for Dawn, even though I don’t know her all that well. I just feel like there’s a tender heart under her tough exterior. I don’t want her to be hurt any more than she already has been.”
…
Gil Gilbert pushed the rickety wooden gate open for Elizabeth. It swung loose on one hinge and screeched to a halt on the uneven sidewalk. Elizabeth shoved it open with her foot and the couple walked to the door where Gil rang the bell.
“Doesn’t look too promising, does it?” Elizabeth said, observing the signs of neglect and decay.
“We mustn’t judge by appearances, remember. There could be reasons for the lack of maintenance on the exterior. Let’s wait until we get inside,” he replied.
“If we do,” she said when no one came to the door.
Gil opened the rusty screen and knocked on the wooden door. Flakes of flat brown paint fluttered onto the pavement and they heard movement from inside.
Elizabeth noticed a stained floral bedsheet covering the front window twitch and nudged Gil.
“Somebody’s home,” she said, rapping her knuckles on the door frame.
…
Inside the house, Yvonne Jones was undecided. She wanted to ignore these strangers on her doorstep, but they were well-dressed and just might be from Social Services.
She was overdue for a surprise inspection and had pretended to be out the last two times social workers showed up. However, this pair seemed persistent. She peeked out again just as Elizabeth looked over and their eyes locked. Drat!
Yvonne dropped the sheet and made a half-hearted effort to straighten up the room with little effect.
She’d have to let them in, but maybe she could get rid of them quickly.
She hoped the brats upstairs would be quiet.
Dawn had convinced her that she had to show up at school that day, or there would be a visit from the school authorities, so she’d reluctantly let the girl go.
Yvonne had dosed the babies with allergy medicine to keep them sleepy and put them in their filthy beds, hoping to have some time to herself before she had to feed the little beggars. Now, this. It wasn’t fair.
She fluffed up her stringy hair, tugged her skimpy tank top over her hips, and opened the door.
“Yes?” she said. “Can I help you?”
“How do you do, ma’am,” Gil said with a professional smile. “May we come in?”
Thinking they were social workers, Yvonne let them in.
They stepped inside and Elizabeth recoiled at the foul odors which assaulted them.
“Sorry I kept you waiting. I didn’t hear the doorbell or your first knocks,” Yvonne said, not realizing what her words revealed.
“Please sit down. Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, wondering what she might find to give them.
“No, thank you,” Gil said.
“You’ll have to excuse the mess. I, uh, I haven’t been feeling well,” Yvonne said. “Nothing contagious, mind. Just a migraine,” she hurried to add.
Elizabeth surmised Yvonne’s confusion about who she and Gil were and hoped they might use it to their advantage.
“Who cares for the children when you’re not well?” she asked, pointedly looking at the toys on the floor and the baby bottle half-full of rancid milk.
“Dawn helps with the little ones when I’m feeling too bad. Of course, she’s no kind of housekeeper. I’m feeling a bit better today, so she’s at school. I was just getting ready to get the place back into shape when you came.”
“We’re sorry we interrupted your plans,” Gil said. “Are you aware of the community health fair coming up?”
“Why would I need that?” Yvonne said, automatically on the defensive. “The kids aren’t sick or anything. I see to that.”
“Where are the little ones, now?” Elizabeth asked.
“They’re asleep. It’s nap time, so don’t go bothering them,” Yvonne said.
“Of course! We wouldn’t dream of it,” Elizabeth said, fighting an urge to run up the stairs and check on the children.
Red flags and alarm bells filled her mind.
“We just wanted to let you and your neighbors know about the free health services being offered at the fair. I’ll just leave these fliers with you to read over. You never know what they might have that you can take advantage of,” Gil said, rising and placing a few fliers on the table between a tumbler of vodka and an open bag of potato chips.
“Thank you for your time,” Elizabeth said, heading for the door.
“Wait! Are you going to give me a copy of your report?” Yvonne asked.
Gil and Elizabeth walked out with a friendly wave and hurried back to their car, leaving Yvonne standing in the open doorway, frowning and beginning to wonder what was going on.
Chapter TEN
“Are you sure they said to come here?” Keenan asked. “This place gives me the creeps.”
“Just get out of the car and help me with this stuff,” Biggie replied, opening the door.
Keenan joined Biggie at the back of his car and looked in at the large duffel bags inside.
“If there’s bodies in there, I’m not helping,” he said, backing away. “You never said we were taking bodies to a graveyard.”
“Don’t be a dope. There’s no bodies in these,” Biggie said, tugging at the straps of one of the bags.
“What’s in ‘em, then?” Keenan asked, poking at one of the large canvas bags.
“How should I know?” Biggie said. “Dwayne warned me not to look inside.”
“So, it might be bodies!” Keenan cried with a look of revulsion.
“No, it isn’t. It’s a bunch of bundles of something. Can’t you tell by looking that there’s not a body in ‘em?” Biggie sneered.
“If they aren’t bodies, why did we bring them to this old cemetery?” Keenan asked, unconvinced.
“That is none of your business. We’re just following directions. Now, come on and help me! This is heavy.”
The two men wrestled on
e of the heavy bags out of the car and dragged it over the weedy, uneven ground to a derelict mausoleum on a slight knoll above the track where the car was parked. They dropped it beside the crypt and Biggie rattled the rusty lock on the door.
“Nobody said this thing would be locked,” he muttered.
“What do we do, now?” Keenan asked, still panting from the unusual exertion.
Biggie looked back at his car and nodded, then trotted back down the hill. He opened his door and reached beneath the car seat. When he straightened up, he waved a paper bag over his head.
“This’ll do the job,” he said, starting back up the hill.
“Stand back,” Biggie said, pulling a heavy pistol from the bag, pointing it in the general direction of the lock, and pulling the trigger.
When nothing happened, he gave the weapon a shake, “This thing don’t work!” he muttered.
“Is the safety on?” Keenan asked.
Flustered, Biggie found and released the safety and then pointed the gun at the lock once more.
There was a loud bang and chips of masonry flew back at the men, who threw themselves to the ground.
“What did you do that for?” Keenan asked, wiping a trickle of blood off his forehead and looking at his smeared fingers.
On his hands and knees, Biggie examined the undamaged lock.
“Oh, shut up!” he growled. “I told you to stand back, didn’t I?”
Taking a sharp-shooter’s two-handed stance, he put the gun up close to the lock, turning his head away just before pulling the trigger.
“Click!”
“What’s wrong?” Keenan asked from his position behind a lichen-covered tombstone.
“Must be jammed,” Biggie said, looking down the barrel. “Man, you can’t trust anyone these days. The guy who sold me this piece of garbage said it was in good condition.”
Enraged, he gripped the gun’s barrel and began hammering on the lock.
“Boom!” the gun went off, sending a bullet into the earth between Biggie’s feet. He jumped back just as the ancient lock dropped onto the dirt.
He picked up the gun by the barrel and dropped it immediately when it burned his fingers.
Bending down again, he picked the gun up more carefully. When it cooled, he slid it into the back of his pants as he’d seen done in the movies and on TV.