Blind Trust

by Sandra Orchard

  “No, Grandma B made up a story about collecting coltsfoot.” Kate shrugged. “They acted like they believed her.”

  Tom prayed it hadn’t been an act.

  “Patti and Jarrett and Betty know about the plant too.”

  “But not where you found it.” Tom grazed the back of his fingers down her cheek. “Kate, you’re not going to change my mind.”

  “Then I’ll quit my job and go with my dad.”

  As much as he’d like nothing more than to squirrel her away in protective custody, at her father’s side was the least-safe place for her to be. “What about your research?”

  “My dad is more important.”

  Tom caught her hand. “He’d want you to stay. He was so proud of you, the work you’re doing.”

  She blinked away the moisture clinging to her lashes. “He told you that?”

  “Yes. He loves you very much.” Tom swept the hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “Too much to risk your safety after all the years he sacrificed to ensure it.”

  She took a step back, hugging her waist.

  Tom slowly lowered his hand. “We’ll get through this, Kate. We’ll figure it out.”

  “Like we told me Dad was alive. Like we can trust each other. There is no we. Just like there is no trust. Take me home.”

  Epilogue

  Suppressing a sigh, Kate arranged the welcome home muffins she’d baked for Verna. They should have been for her dad.

  Since he’d been secreted away, all Tom had told her was that he was still in a coma. She wasn’t sure she could believe him, because Tom knew she’d move heaven and earth to see her dad again if he awoke.

  Pushing the thought aside, she headed across the yard to Verna’s. The crisp smell of autumn was already in the air, even though it was barely September.

  Late summer dandelions in Verna’s lawn had gone to seed and been spread into a snowy blanket by the evening breeze. Strange that Vic hadn’t mowed it today. He always mowed it on Tuesdays, and Verna had been one of his few clients who hadn’t fired him since he was released on bail last week. He couldn’t afford to skip the job.

  Or maybe he could, considering that to make bail, he obviously had a benefactor with deep pockets. GPC Pharmaceuticals, she suspected.

  Despite how Vic had tried to frame her, she felt a little sorry for him getting mixed up with the likes of GPC and really sorry for his wife and daughter, but she was having a hard time forgiving him for what he did to her father. To think she’d been seconds from finding him when Vic hit her with that shovel.

  That familiar empty feeling threatened to swallow her again. Drawing a deep breath, she knocked on Verna’s door. She couldn’t let Verna see her melancholy when they were supposed to be celebrating her homecoming.

  “Kate,” Verna squealed like she was eight instead of eighty and pulled her into a hug. Whiskers twined around her legs, as happy and healthy as ever. “Come in, come in. Would you like a glass of lemonade?”

  “What, no tea?” Kate quipped then instantly realized her mistake. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Nonsense. Only natural you should ask.” A faint blush colored Verna’s cheeks. “The truth is, a warm cup of tea just doesn’t comfort me like it used to.”

  Yeah, Kate could relate. Ever since Molly Gilmore tried to finish her off with tainted tea the way she’d done Daisy, Kate hadn’t enjoyed a cup quite the same way either. She set the muffins on the coffee table next to the lemonade pitcher, wondering if she would again once Molly was finally back behind bars where she belonged. Of course, the way it was looking, that would be at least a year away. And that was not something she wanted to think about today.

  She poured the lemonade and handed Verna a glass. Verna’s silver hair was glossy and newly styled in short curls. She didn’t look nearly as frail as she had. Amazing what cutting a little toxic tea out of the diet could do. That and the TLC she’d gotten at the nursing home. “You look wonderful.”

  “I feel wonderful. The Lord worked everything out.” Her gaze drifted to the photos lining the hallway, and the light in her eyes dimmed. “Well, almost everything.”

  As much as Verna’s son deserved to rot in jail as he awaited trial, Kate knew Verna would miss him.

  Verna took a seat beside Kate on the sofa. “So, what’s been happening in your life?”

  “Oh”—Kate sipped the lemonade and thought about how much she missed her father—“I’ve just about finished the research project Daisy and I had been working on before she died. Next month I’m scheduled to present it at a symposium in DC.”

  “You must be excited.”

  Kate waited for the giddy feeling to bubble up inside her as it had when she and Daisy first realized the importance of their discovery. It never came. Her discoveries didn’t seem to matter anymore. Certainly not enough to justify being separated from her dad.

  The front door opened. Kate whirled in her seat, Tom’s warning to be cautious screaming through her head.

  “Lucetta, come join us,” Verna called from her place on the sofa.

  Lucetta set down a small suitcase and took three steps before her gaze slammed into Kate’s and she stopped. “Oh . . . it’s you.”

  “Nice to see you again,” Kate said as sweetly as she could manage. She hadn’t seen the woman since their argument over the photo of her mother’s supposed murderer.

  The truth will set you free.

  The thought—the Scripture—came out of nowhere.

  Lucetta’s gaze was glued to the floor.

  “Join us,” Kate urged, suddenly feeling ashamed for her negative feelings toward the woman. Lucetta didn’t know what really led to her mother’s death any more than Kate had known what had become of her father. How could she blame her for lashing out at the sight of Dad’s picture?

  The urge to reveal the truth they’d both been denied these last twenty years suddenly overwhelmed her. Except Tom had warned her to tell no one. And even she still didn’t know the whole story.

  Lucetta perched on the armchair next to Verna, and they chatted about the new live-in arrangement Verna had proposed.

  Kate finished her lemonade and contemplated cutting her visit short. She didn’t understand why Tom refused to tell her where her father was. It had been two weeks and there’d been no threats, no mysterious phone calls, no one following her.

  Not that she didn’t appreciate Tom’s concern, and the state-of-the-art security system he had installed in her house. She glanced out Verna’s living room window at the darkening sky as his words—the alarm only works if you remember to turn it on—whispered through her mind. She jerked to her feet. “I need to go. I”—she glanced at the plate of muffins—“I think I forgot to turn off my oven.”

  She hurried to the door as Verna thanked her again for stopping by.

  “We’ll visit again soon,” Kate promised. It wasn’t as if her social calendar was jam-packed. If she didn’t count church on Sundays, it’d been pretty much nonexistent since she’d stopped seeing Tom.

  She stepped onto Verna’s porch, and at the sight of Tom’s car in her driveway, her traitorous heart leapt. She was still working at forgiving him. She spotted him on her front porch, reaching for the doorknob.

  “Looking for me?” She called out, her heart jumping for an entirely different reason—the scolding she’d get if he found the door unlocked.

  His attention jerked her way, a look of sheer panic on his face.

  “What’s wrong?” She ran toward him, and his expression morphed to relief.

  He swept her into his arms and buried his face in her hair at her neck. “Am I ever glad to see you.” His voice came out kind of husky, like he had tears in his throat. His hold tightened, and because she felt silly standing there with her arms dangling by her sides, she slid them around his waist.

  She’d forgotten how safe she felt wrapped in his arms. She slipped her hands between them and pressed her palms against his chest. “What’s going
on?”

  The fierceness of his embrace suddenly raised another specter. She gulped down rising panic. “My dad?”

  “No.” Apology lined his face and her pulse slowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you like that.” He clasped her hand and tugged her toward the house. “Let’s go inside.” He scanned the street and neighboring yards before turning to the door.

  He didn’t seem to notice that it was unlocked and the alarm was off even though she’d been next door when he arrived. Clearly he was rattled by whatever he had to tell her.

  She didn’t like him coming inside. His presence filled the small living room, and his woodsy scent would linger, tormenting her for hours. She had been so lonely these past two weeks. Of her own choosing, sure. But seeing him, and his family, only made her miss her father—what they could have had—all the more. “What is it?”

  Tom slid the deadbolt home, then caught her hand again and drew her to the sofa.

  Not ready to sit so close, she bypassed the sofa and sat in the armchair.

  A frown whispered over his lips as he sank into a seat opposite. “Vic is dead,” he said without preamble.

  “What?” Shock ripped through her even as some part of her brain told her she should be glad. The man had nearly killed her father.

  But the worry in Tom’s eyes said there was more to it. “We think it happened sometime last night. His car went off the ravine at Turner’s Hollow.”

  She gasped. “The same place he rammed Dad’s car off the road.”

  Tom leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, and rubbed the thumb of one hand over the other. “Given the location and timing and lack of evidence to the contrary, the investigating officer is calling it a suicide.”

  The air stalled in Kate’s chest. He killed himself because of what he’d done? Oh, Lord, if only I’d forgiven him. Would he still be alive? Her chest burned.

  Tom’s warm touch startled her out of her thoughts. “Breathe.”

  She inhaled, easing the pain in her chest only a fraction. “I’m so sorry. I know the Bible says we’re supposed to forgive those who wrong us. And I would have gotten around to it eventually. I know I would have.”

  Tom touched two fingers to her lips, his touch undeservingly gentle. “This isn’t your fault. In fact, I don’t believe it was a suicide.”

  “What do you think it was?” She held her breath, remembering the sheer panic on his face when she hadn’t answered his knock. He thought she was in danger.

  More danger than before.

  “I think he was murdered by the guy who hired him to dig up the plants.”

  She dug her fingers into the seat cushion to try to still the trembling that overtook her.

  “So far nothing about Vic being hired has come out in the news. They no doubt wanted to keep it that way.”

  She choked. His poor wife and daughter.

  “Rumors of Vic’s heightened depression after your dad ‘died’ created a perfect setup to make his death look like suicide.”

  “But you have no proof?” She couldn’t mask the desperate hope in her voice. As much as she didn’t want Vic’s death to be suicide, she didn’t need a PhD to know what Tom feared. She swallowed but couldn’t dislodge the lump in her throat.

  She was next.

  Julie’s Favorite Muffins

  1¾ cup whole wheat flour

  1½ tsp baking powder

  ½ tsp nutmeg

  ½ tsp salt

  ¼ tsp cinnamon

  ⅓ cup sunflower oil

  ¾ cup milk

  1 medium egg

  ⅔ cup granulated sugar

  Topping Ingredients:

  ¼ cup melted butter

  ¾ cup granulated sugar

  1 tsp cinnamon

  In a large bowl, mix the first five ingredients. In a second bowl, whisk together the oil, egg, milk, and sugar. Then add the liquid ingredients to the dry, stirring only to combine. Spoon batter into paper-lined muffin pans and bake in preheated 350° F oven for 20 minutes or until toothpick comes out clean.

  For topping, mix the cinnamon into the sugar. While muffins are still hot, dip tops in melted butter followed by the sugar and cinnamon mix.

  For an added surprise, fill muffin liners half full, add a teaspoon of your favorite jam, and spoon batter over top.

  Acknowledgments

  Working with the Revell team on this series continues to be a fabulous experience. A huge thanks to each one of the many, many staff members who have a part in getting my books into readers’ hands. You are tremendous encouragers and a delight to work with.

  Thank you to Eileen Astels, Wenda Dottridge, and Amber Perry for your insightful suggestions at the critiquing stage, and to Kathy Pilkington, the NRP officers, and Meridian Credit Union staff who answered all my power of attorney/guardianship, counterfeiting, and police questions and some I forgot to ask.

  My deepest thanks go to the Lord for bringing all these wonderful people into my life and for inspiring the stories I write, and most especially for blessing me with incredibly supportive family and friends.

  And thank you to you, my readers. I’ve said it before but can’t say it enough: with more books than ever vying for your time, I feel truly honored that you chose to spend a few hours reading this one.

  1

  Squinting against the bright grow lights, Kate Adams slipped into her fruit cellar in the back corner of her basement and shut the door behind her. She couldn’t risk anyone discovering her little greenhouse. Enough people had already died.

  The humidity in the room squeezed her chest. She hated to think of the mildew problems it would cause, but it was a price she’d happily pay if it meant getting her dad back.

  Ignoring for a few minutes the paint job awaiting her upstairs, she pressed her fingers into the soil of the nearest pot to gauge its dampness. She smiled at the sight of a few new buds. The plants her dad had missed digging up were thriving in the tropical microclimate she’d re-created since sneaking back into Verna Nagy’s woods for them. A big part of her didn’t want anything to do with the plants that had cost her twenty years of separation from her father. But after Detective Parker’s “executive decision” to send Dad back into hiding, figuring out what gave them such extraordinary curative properties might be her only hope of ever seeing him again.

  The thought of Dad alone, lying in a coma somewhere, preyed on her mind night and day. If only that guy hadn’t driven him off the road in a rash attempt to recover the plants, they might be enjoying a sweet reunion even now. Why, Lord? I don’t understand why you brought him back into my life, only to take him away again.

  No answer came. Not that she’d expected one. Lately, it felt like even God had abandoned her.

  Guilt niggled her at the irreverent thought. As much as it felt like it, her dad hadn’t really abandoned her by faking his death twenty years ago. He’d been trying to protect her the only way he thought possible. And as for God, hadn’t Daisy taught her to trust in the authority of his Word, not emotions that surged and ebbed like the tide?

  The Bible said God would never leave her or forsake her.

  She let out a sigh and rubbed her knuckles over the ache in the vicinity of her heart. If only every other person she’d ever trusted hadn’t lied to her face or hid things from her—big, monumental things, like the fact her dad was alive—maybe she’d have an easier time taking God at his word.

  Shoving aside the thought, she snatched up her spray bottle and misted the succulent dandelion-shaped leaves. “What’s your secret?” she whispered to the plants as she deadheaded a spent aster-like flower.

  She could scarcely imagine what could be so special about this plant that a multinational pharmaceutical company would burn down a remote Columbian village to control it. So special that her father would sacrifice a lifetime with his family to keep it out of their hands. So special that all these years later, his former employer, GPC Pharmaceuticals, would track it down to Port Aster and kill a man t
o safeguard its existence.

  Kill her, if they found out she had it.

  Her chest squeezed tighter, cinching off her breath. With GPC still vying to partner with the research facility where she worked, she didn’t dare tell anyone about the plants.

  Detective Tom Parker least of all.

  If he’d separate her from her comatose father to ensure her safety, he’d never allow her to experiment with the plant responsible for Dad’s fate. But if she could figure out what was so special about it, maybe she’d have the leverage she needed to force them to let her see him.

  Did Tom already know why GPC wanted the plant? Was that something else he’d kept from her? Like the fact her father was alive?

  She jerked the mist bottle’s trigger. Anger at Tom’s betrayal still blindsided her every time she thought of him keeping her from her father. “For her own protection,” he’d said. And she appreciated his concern. She sincerely did. But she couldn’t trust him not to do the same thing again.

  The doorbell sounded.

  She froze. Who’d come around on a Saturday morning? Especially this early?

  Glancing down at the painting clothes she’d tugged on first thing, she palmed the perspiration from her brow. Pull yourself together. No one’s gonna suspect you’re up to anything.

  The doorbell chimed a second time.

  She closed the fruit cellar door and hurried upstairs, still puzzling over who could be here. Tom would call first. Unless . . .

  Her steps quickened. Had he finally brought good news? That her father was out of his coma, that she could see him again?

  She peeked out the peephole and her chest deflated. She turned off her security alarm and unlocked the deadbolt. “Patti, what brings you by on a Saturday?” Kate did a double take at her lab assistant’s faded jeans and the ratty T-shirt straining at her ample hips. Since Patti started dating the mayor’s son, Kate hadn’t seen her in anything that wasn’t designer fashion. “What’s wrong?”

  Laughing, Patti pulled her long, dark hair into a ponytail and snapped on an elastic. “Nothing. You said you were finally going to paint your bedroom this weekend. I came to help.”