She was about to step down off the porch to meet Renee on the sidewalk when she heard another car coming up the drive. Both women looked toward the sound. A full-size white sedan, plain as vanilla, appeared and pulled into the driveway beside Renee’s Olds. Kate stopped in her tracks, surprised to see the mystery man from the town square behind the wheel of the car.
“I brought someone to meet you.” Renee moved toward Kate. “I didn’t want to involve you, but he insisted . . .” Her voice trailed off as the tall, dark-haired man got out of his car and walked toward them.
“Good morning, Mrs.Hanlon.” He nodded, paying his respects as he stood with his hands loosely at his sides.
The man was in his fifties and still handsome. He appeared relaxed, but Kate thought he seemed to be acutely aware of everything around him.
“I’m sorry to barge in on you unannounced.”
“It’s no problem, Mr. . . .” She trailed off.
“Wright. Actually, Marshal Alex Wright of the U.S. Marshals Service.” He pulled back the lapel of his jacket to reveal a gold badge pinned to his shirt pocket.
Kate’s stomach turned to lead, and despite its heaviness, she could have been knocked over with a feather at that moment. “I’m afraid I don’t—”
“You kept sticking your nose into Mavis Bixby’s business”—Renee sniffed—“so the marshal and I had no choice but to—”
“Actually, I thought you might be of some help to us, Mrs.Hanlon.” Marshal Wright straightened his coat and ignored Renee’s words. “If we could just step inside . . .” He made a vague motion in the direction of the house. “I’d rather not have this conversation on the front lawn.”
“Of course. Oh yes. Certainly. I’m sorry.” Kate, flustered, ushered them into the house. Renee moved into the living room and selected the most comfortable chair like a queen claiming her throne. The marshal followed Kate and waited for her to invite him to sit on the couch.
“Would you like some coffee, marshal? I just put a fresh pot on a little while ago.”
“If it’s no trouble,” the marshal said. “Coffee sounds good.”
“I’ll have my usual,” Renee announced, settling Kisses into his familiar spot between her hip and the arm of the chair.
Kate kept her face impassive at Renee’s imperious request. “Certainly, Renee.”
“Can I help you?” The marshal started to rise from the couch, but Kate motioned for him to sit back down. “We don’t mean to impose.”
“No, no. It won’t take a minute.”
Kate retreated to the kitchen, her hands trembling when she pulled the cups from the kitchen cabinet. She put the kettle on for Renee’s tea and tapped her fingers on the countertop while she waited. The presence of a U.S. marshal in her living room was nerve racking enough without having to cool her heels in the kitchen waiting for the proverbial watched pot to boil.
From the living room, Kate could hear murmurs of conversation and occasional growls from Kisses. Finally the kettle began to whistle. Kate quickly poured the coffee and poured hot water into a flowered teapot to steep. When the pot was ready, she placed the cups on a tray and returned to the living room, her stomach knotted too much to try to swallow any coffee herself.
“It’s nice of you to let us drop in like this,” the marshal began, thanking Kate as he accepted the coffee cup from her. “I hope this hasn’t alarmed you.”
Kate had long ago learned to hide any sign of nerves. It was one of the first survival skills a minister’s wife acquired.
“Not at all. You must have an important reason for coming.”
Renee sniffed. “I still don’t see why we need to bring Mrs.Hanlon into this, Marshal.”
The marshal nodded, and Kate had to admire his patience with Renee’s high-handed manner. “I understand, Mrs.Lambert. You’re concerned for Mrs.Hanlon’s well-being. You’re a good friend.”
Renee looked surprised for a moment, and then pleased at his compliment. “Yes, well, it’s always been my particular duty to look after the minister of Faith Briar and his family.”
Kate was glad she wasn’t sipping coffee at that moment, because some of it would surely have come out of her nose.
“Mrs.Hanlon, before I speak with you about Mavis Bixby, I need to ask you a favor.”
Kate folded her hands in her lap to disguise their trembling. “Of course, Marshal.”
“I need you to hold everything I’m about to tell you in absolute confidence. To do otherwise would put Mrs.Bixby’s life in jeopardy.”
Kate hesitated. She’d just promised Paul that she would tell him everything related to the Bixby matter, and now already her promise was being tested. But this man was a U.S. marshal, for goodness’ sake, and he was asking for her cooperation. Even Paul would understand why such strict secrecy would be necessary.
“Of course. You can rely on my discretion.”
The marshal set his cup on the coffee table and leaned forward. “How much do you know about Mrs.Bixby?”
“Well . . .” Kate hated to reveal what the sheriff had told her. She didn’t want to get him in trouble.
“It’s okay, Mrs.Hanlon. I understand you and Sheriff Roberts are on friendly terms.”
“He told me that Mavis was in the Witness Protection Program, and I pieced together the rest.”
“Really?” He looked surprised. “Then you know her real name?”
“Baxter? Yes. I found it on the Internet.”
“I’m impressed. How did you even know where to look?”
Kate really didn’t want to confess to pilfering the letter from Mavis’ house in front of Renee. “I stumbled upon something with her son’s name on it.”
“Kevin? Have you spoken with him?”
“No. I’ve never even met him. Wouldn’t know him if I saw him, in fact.”
“You didn’t find a picture of him on the Internet?”
“No. Just Albert Baxter’s obituary.”
Renee had been observing the conversation in rather uncharacteristic silence. Kate glanced at her. Renee’s cheeks were as pink as her fuchsia velour jogging suit, and she seemed to be making an effort to compose herself.
“Renee? Are you feeling okay?”
“You could have told me all this yesterday in front of the beauty shop and saved the marshal a trip out here,” she said. “I don’t know why you didn’t think you could trust me.”
“Perhaps it’s just as well she didn’t,” the marshal interrupted. “Mrs.Hanlon, you have an unusual interest in this case. And I could use your help.”
“My help?”
His statement surprised Kate. She thought he’d come to scold her for meddling in government business, not to seek her assistance. Although, if he’d turned to Renee for help in the matter of Mavis Bixby, he wasn’t averse to using civilians in the course of his investigation. Even ones who drove enormous bubble-gum pink Oldsmobiles.
“Did you come here because of the letter?” Kate asked without thinking, and then she grimaced. She hadn’t meant to bring that up in front of Renee.
“The letter?” He looked genuinely puzzled.
“The one I found at the Bixby house. Sheriff Roberts said he would send it to the U.S. Marshals office.”
“Oh yes . . . the letter.” He grimaced. “I’m afraid it really wasn’t much help.”
“Then you opened it. I’m glad somebody was able to. I guess you can, since you’re the federal government. She didn’t tell her son what she was planning to do?”
“No. No indication at all that she meant to leave the program. It was really more of a general good-bye, I suppose, in case she disappeared.” He twisted his coffee cup between his hands. “But I did receive another tip, an anonymous one, that may lead me to her.”
“Really?” Kate leaned forward. “You know where she is?”
“We have reason to believe that she’s still in Tennessee somewhere.”
“Not Chicago?”
“No. We don’t think she returned home.”
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p; “Then why would she leave Copper Mill?”
Renee couldn’t stay out of the conversation any longer. “Someone was threatening her.”
Kate looked at Renee. “How do you know?”
“My dear, just because you have a nose for mysteries doesn’t mean everyone in town tells you everything they know.” Renee sniffed and stroked Kisses as he snored heavily beside her. “Mavis took me into her confidence, and I for one believe in respecting someone’s trust.”
Kate ignored the barb. “How do you know she’s still in the state?”
“We traced some activity on a credit card a few days ago, but we can’t be sure it was her. She hasn’t used the card in several years, so it may have been stolen. I have people checking it out right now.”
“I don’t understand.” Kate looked from the marshal to Renee and back again. “How do you think I can be of help?”
“I need to get into Mrs.Baxter’s . . . I mean, Mrs.Bixby’s home to see if we can find any further clues as to her whereabouts. But I want to do so without arousing suspicion.”
“I’m sure Gail Carson would be happy to cooperate with the Marshals office.”
“Yes, but therein lies the problem. Someone here in Copper Mill has been feeding information to whoever is after Mrs.Bixby, so we don’t want to let anyone know what’s going on.”
Kate could hardly believe that. Even the most cantankerous local residents would never try to out and out hurt someone.
“Do you think it’s the mobster she helped put in jail who’s after her? Or one of his associates?”
The marshals ears turned pink, a sign of his frustration, no doubt. “We don’t know for sure. Whoever it is, they’re getting some pretty accurate inside information.”
Kate swallowed. “Is that why you haven’t gone to Sheriff Roberts? Do you think it’s someone in his office?”
Kate thought of Rosalie Merriman, the receptionist in Pine Ridge, and Skip Spencer. They seemed the least likely people in the world to cooperate with criminals, but then even the most straightforward people couldn’t always be taken at face value. Kate had definitely learned that over the years of her husband’s ministry.
“As I said, we don’t know for sure who the leak is. But a closer inspection of Mrs.Bixby’s home might give us a clue as to where she went.”
“All of her things are still there, but Gail Carson’s hardly going to let us search the house. I did the best I could before.”
“Yes, well . . . forgive me, Mrs.Hanlon, but a professional might be able to turn up something else.” He paused, a look of chagrin on his face. “No offense, ma’am.”
“None taken.”
He was probably used to amateurs who hindered more than helped, although Kate didn’t think she fit into that category.
“Would you care for more coffee?”
“I’ll have some more tea, please.” Renee thrust her cup forward.
Well, at least she’d asked politely.
“Excuse me a moment,” Kate said to the marshal.
“Let me help you. This time I insist.” He rose from the couch and followed her into the kitchen.
Flummoxed, Kate went about brewing Renee another cup of tea. The marshal politely rinsed his cup under the faucet and then set the cup in the sink.
“Again, I don’t mean to be rude,” he said, “but I wanted to speak with you out of Mrs.Lambert’s earshot.”
That certainly piqued Kate’s curiosity. “Yes?”
“I need you to help me get into the Bixby house, but I don’t want Mrs.Lambert to go with us. Her presence would draw suspicion.”
Kate wanted to say that Renee’s presence would more likely draw sighs of long-suffering annoyance than suspicion, but she held her tongue.
“Are you asking me to lie to Renee . . . or to Gail Carson?”
While she’d been omitting some details in her pursuit of Mavis Baxter’s whereabouts, she hadn’t yet told an outright lie.
“I know you’re a minister’s wife, and I would never ask you to do anything that’s illegal. But I might need you to bend the truth just a little bit. For Mavis Baxter’s sake.”
Kate was hesitant to engage in falsehoods, necessary or otherwise. “Your colleagues, they might find her today, though, if the credit-card lead pans out?”
“Possibly. But as I said, we only know that someone used the card. We don’t know who. If I can find any more information at her house . . . Well, we should pursue every aspect of the investigation.”
His words seemed reasonable to Kate, and although she hated the subterfuge, it was necessary.
She nodded. “All right, then. I’ll help you get into her house. But I honestly don’t think you’re going to find anything else unless you’re planning to dust for prints or bring in a crime-scene investigator. And I’m pretty sure there’s a shortage of those folks in Copper Mill.”
The marshal smiled at her teasing. My but he was quite a handsome man.
“Just a quick look around. That’s all I’m asking.”
“I suppose we could say you’re an old friend of Paul’s from San Antonio—a businessman—and I wanted your opinion about whether the church should invest in the property.”
“Sounds like that would work. Will your husband mind, though? I don’t like to come between a man and his wife.”
Kate blushed. “Well, perhaps it would be best not to mention this to him right now. When would you like to see the house?”
“As soon as possible. Today, if we can.”
“I’ll call Gail Carson and see if she’s available.”
“Here. I’ll take Renee her tea.” He winked at her, and Kate, flustered, turned away to use the phone.
Really, at her age she should be far more sophisticated. Imagine feeling so flattered by a little attention from a nice-looking man. Kate flipped open the phone book to look up Gail Carson’s number.
Chapter Seventeen
Kate was appalled, really, at how easily she misled Gail Carson and maneuvered her way back into Mavis Bixby’s house. Guilt lapped at her toes, but she stepped away from its touch like a reluctant swimmer avoiding the ocean. When a U.S. marshal asks you to stretch the truth—she couldn’t quite bring herself to use the word lie—you have to do all you can to help. Like Rahab in the Old Testament, the greater good outweighed the indiscretion. Or so she told herself later that afternoon when she saw Gail’s car pull into the driveway next door.
“She’s here. We can walk on over.”
The marshal had arrived at her front doorstep fifteen minutes earlier, this time without Renee Lambert in tow. Kate had offered him more coffee, which he had declined. They had sat in uncomfortable silence for several moments before he asked her how she liked living in Copper Mill. Since then, they had been chatting pleasantly about small-town life. Or rather the marshal had asked her lots of questions, and she’d answered them. He’d been born and raised in a big city, and the ways of Copper Mill were as foreign to him as they’d been to Kate when she arrived.
They crossed the expanse of grass that separated the parsonage from Mavis Bixby’s house. Sunshine peeked through high, thin clouds that zigzagged back and forth like the afghans Kate’s grandmother used to crochet.
“Hello!” Gail was standing beside her car.
Kate returned her wave, and when they were closer, she introduced the marshal to Gail.
“Carl’s a friend of ours from San Antonio,” Kate said, using the name she and the marshal had agreed upon. “I wanted his advice about the property.”
“Are you a minister too?” Gail was practically batting her mascara-laden eyelashes at him as her gaze searched his left hand for a wedding ring.
“No, ma’am. Just a businessman. But Kate wanted me to look at the property before she made a formal proposal to the church. I used to help Reverend Hanlon with this kind of thing back in Texas.”
Kate was impressed, and also slightly discomfited, at how easily the falsehood rolled off the marshal’s tongue. Gail Cars
on was so enthralled by the man that he could have been reciting the genealogy of Jesus from the first chapter of Matthew, and she wouldn’t have noticed.
“Well, let’s take a look.” Gail ushered them up the front walk to the porch and unlocked the door. “Voila!” She waved them inside.
The dreary interior of the house hadn’t improved since Kate’s last visit. If anything, it smelled danker and looked more disheveled.
“I’m not sure what use Kate has in mind as far as the church goes,” Gail said, directing her words and her attention entirely to the marshal. “The living room is a bit cozy, but the kitchen is in good shape. The place needs a fresh coat of paint, of course, and the bedrooms could use some new carpet . . .”
Before Kate knew how Gail had managed it, the real estate agent had led the marshal off down the hallway. Kate could only imagine his frustration when all he’d really wanted was to search the inside of the house himself. But since he had so completely captured Gail’s attention, Kate might as well take the opportunity to look around some more.
She could hear their voices, faintly, coming from the bedrooms at the end of the hall, so Kate turned in the opposite direction and headed for the kitchen. It was still the nicest room in the house, the only one that didn’t feel cramped. And today, with the sun filtering in through the grimy windows, it was almost cheery.
One by one Kate began to open and close drawers and cabinets, searching for any stray pieces of paper or other remnants of Mavis Bixby. Every so often she paused to listen for voices in the other part of the house. Perhaps since Gail had pounced upon the marshal so completely, he was playing up to her in order to buy Kate time to do some more looking around. She liked to think so. He had asked for her help, after all. True, it had mainly been as a means of providing a cover story, but surely he recognized that she possessed at least some modest sleuthing skills.
Kate had to stretch to reach the small cupboard above the relic of a refrigerator. The appliance reminded her of the one in her own kitchen because it made the same low droning noise. She wished she had a stool or kitchen chair to stand on. The marshal, tall as he was, could have reached the cupboard easily.
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