Indemnity: Book Two: Covenant of Trust Series

by Paula Wiseman

  “I don’t think I can sleep.”

  “Want another cup of coffee?” she asked with a smile.

  “I just want to sit.”

  “Alone?”

  “Not unless I have to.” She took him by the hand, and led him to the love seat in the study. She switched off most of the lights, and then taking his hand again, she nestled in beside him, and waited for him to speak. “Bobbi, I don’t even know where to start,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

  “Start with Jack. That should be easy.”

  “Jack ... He asked if it would be all right if he called you Mom.”

  Jack’s mom. He loved her from the beginning, in spite of all her reservations. “I hope you told him yes.”

  “I did. I asked Glen to give Tracy a funeral for Jack’s sake.”

  “That was a wonderful thing to do.”

  “Really?” He turned to look at her. “You honestly think so?”

  “Yes, I do. Now what’s really bothering you?”

  He looked at her, and took both her hands, but he dropped his eyes before he spoke.

  “Just say it, Chuck.”

  He blew out a deep breath and raised his eyes to hers again. “Is it wrong for me to grieve for Tracy? Does that hurt you?”

  “How can you not grieve? This was tragic in every sense of the word.”

  “But she and I ...”

  “Had an affair? Believe me, I remember that part.” He dropped his eyes. She’d shamed him again. “But Chuck,” she said, and waited for him to look up. Even in the low light, she saw the glisten of tears. “Chuck, she was a human being and the mother of your son. It would be completely unfair and just a little crazy to expect you not to feel anything.”

  “You’re pretty amazing.” He raised her hand to his lips, and gently kissed it.

  “No, a couple of months, even a few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have been so peaceful about it. That’s a God thing.”

  “I could use a God thing right now.”

  “How so?”

  “I think she intended to wreck her car and kill herself.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “The cop on the scene, things she said, the way she acted Friday night. Maybe if I’d been more forceful ...”

  “With Tracy? No one, not even you, could make her do anything. If she was determined to, uh, to do that, she would have. If not this weekend, then Monday or Wednesday or some other day. You could not have stopped her.”

  “Maybe,” Chuck muttered, unconvinced. “There’s no evidence that she was ever saved. If I let her slip away ...” He didn’t hide his tears this time.

  “Honey, you witnessed to her. You lived out the gospel in front of her. She heard Glen preach last week. He’s witnessed to her ... She had the opportunity. It was her decision, her choice.”

  “Jack, he says she’s in heaven.”

  “If he’s got the peace he needs about it, that’s the best you can do.”

  “What about the peace I need?”

  She nestled in against him, interlacing her fingers with his. “I remember some guy telling me I needed to show myself some grace.”

  “I recall you didn’t listen to him.”

  “Not in that moment, no. But I did what he suggested. He should learn to take his own advice.”

  “I need some facts, Bobbi. The speculation is gonna make me nuts.”

  “All right, let’s think through this. If she came around, understood that she needed Jesus, she would’ve had to admit to you and everybody else that she was wrong. I can’t picture her doing that.”

  “That’s probably true.”

  “But, the absence of evidence is not necessarily evidence of absence, Counselor.”

  He shook his head, and laughed gently. “You’re something else.”

  “Just ... work with what you have. Don’t invent dots, and try to force a connection between them.”

  “Yes ma’am.” He snapped a hand up to his eyebrow and saluted.

  “And since I’m on a roll, don’t try to solve this right now.”

  “That one’s not gonna work.”

  “Chuck, nothing is going to change in the next few days. You need some time ...”

  “I need answers.”

  She moaned and rolled her eyes. “Does the word ‘obsessive’ mean anything to you?”

  “I prefer ‘focused’.”

  Bobbi slid off the love seat, retrieved a hospital bag from under the desk, and handed it to him. “They gave me Tracy’s things. Maybe your answers are in there.”

  “What sort of things?” Chuck opened the bag and pulled a purse out.

  “That’s it. She had a watch, too, but her clothes were ruined.”

  He pulled a billfold out and laid it on the throw pillow beside him. Sunglasses. Two Cross ink pens. A calendar. Cell phone. “Good grief, Bobbi, she’s got three prescription bottles in here.” He handed them to her. “Read ‘em for me.”

  She leaned back and held the bottles toward the light. “Ummm ... Ativan ... Xanax and Vicodin. Vicodin’s a painkiller. I had it after Shannon’s C-section. I’ve heard of the other two, but I’m not sure what they’re for. Anxiety, maybe? Ask Joel.”

  “If she’s taking all that, it’s no wonder she wrecked her car. What are the dates on the bottles?”

  “September. Late September. All different doctors. Did they check for anything like that?”

  “They were going to. Her keys are in here. I’m going to go to her house in the morning.”

  Sunday, October 21

  With the scratchy dryness of a missed night’s sleep, Chuck’s eyes struggled to focus on the number scribbled in his planner. At least it would be an hour later in Maryland if he misdialed. He dreaded making this call all night. After two short rings, the wait was over.

  “Hello. John Dailey here.”

  “Mr. Dailey, this is Chuck Molinsky. I hate to bother you on a Sunday morning ...”

  “Nonsense. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m, uh, Tracy, or Teresa ... Teresa was in an automobile accident last night.” He still hoped it was an accident. “She was hurt badly, extensive internal injuries ... She died last night in the hospital. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh no ...”

  “She, uh ... I was with her. She was comfortable, and she got to see Jack before ... before, uh ...”

  “I’m glad you were with her,” Mr. Dailey said. He coughed quietly. “Teresa ... was never able to enjoy who she was until she became Jack’s mother. In her mind, she was always ‘the murderer’s daughter.’ Jack saved her life, I believe.”

  “She loved him very much.”

  “It bordered on idolatry, Mr. Molinsky. She would have done anything for him.”

  “But he’s not a spoiled brat.”

  “Because that’s not good for him, you see. Everything was for Jack - teaching him, nurturing him, protecting him.”

  “Mr. Dailey, can I ask you a very difficult question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you think Tracy, or Teresa, I mean, do you think she’s capable of committing suicide?”

  “Sui ... The accident was not so accidental?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Suicide,” he muttered. “Surely ...” Mr. Dailey let a long, deep breath go. “Mr. Molinsky, let me give this disclaimer. I saw only what Teresa would allow me to see of her, and it may have been a carefully constructed persona completely different from the Tracy you knew.” He sighed again. “If ... and this is just an opinion ... if she believed ... deeply ... if she believed it was best for Jack somehow ... Although you and I know that it’s never best ... It wouldn’t be a suicide in her mind. It would be a sacrifice for Jack’s sake, and she would do that without regret.”

  A martyr. For Jack. The logic in that is so ... wrong.

  “Jack could never know, though. You see, she would never tolerate Jack being stigmatized ...”

  “And a car wreck would fit that.” Chuck leaned forward restin
g his elbows on his knees, hoping that hanging his head would keep him from vomiting.

  “Perhaps. Great God in heaven, I hope I’m wrong. One hundred percent wrong. Keep digging, Mr. Molinsky. Things are not always what they seem with her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let me know when the arrangements are made. My wife and I ... We’d like to be there.”

  “The funeral is Wednesday.”

  “Wednesday. Thank you for making this difficult call.”

  Chuck listened to the buzz of the disconnected call for several moments. He could hear Bobbi’s voice in his mind, ‘just because she’s capable of it, doesn’t mean she did.’ Right. Even if John Dailey said she could have reasoned it out as the best thing for Jack ... ‘Could’ doesn’t mean ‘did.’

  He set the phone back in the cradle and wandered into the family room. Jack sat on the sofa, his knees drawn to his chest. An untouched bowl of Cheerios sat on the coffee table and a cartoon show with the volume off played on the television.

  “You okay?” Chuck asked. “You didn’t eat.”

  “Dad, if I eat that, then it starts.”

  “What starts?”

  “Living without my mom.”

  Chuck sat down beside the boy and pulled him close. “Like breaking a spell?”

  “Yes.”

  “That spell broke last night, buddy.” Buddy. It slipped out. Like a reflex.

  Jack sighed. “Yeah ... I just ... I hoped ... sometimes on TV bad things happen, and it’s all a bad dream.”

  “It’s not a dream, Jack. I’m sorry.” More like a nightmare. “Listen, I was gonna go over to your house while Bobbi and Shannon are at church. You wanna go with me?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “No. I’ll go later if you’d rather not.”

  At first Chuck thought Jack hadn’t heard him, but then the boy stretched out his legs. “My house smells like my mom. I wanna go with you.”

  Chuck turned onto Tracy’s tree-lined street and glanced in the rearview at Jack. He sat still, staring out the window the way he had through the whole trip. “You sure you’re up for this?”

  “What’s going to happen to my house?” Jack asked.

  “We’ll sell it, I guess.” Chuck pulled into Tracy’s driveway, but for Jack’s sake, he was careful not to park in her spot.

  “What about my stuff?”

  “We’ll get it. We won’t sell your stuff.” Chuck got out and opened Jack’s door for him.

  “What about my mom’s stuff?”

  Chuck knelt down, eye level with Jack. “There’s a bunch of things we’re gonna have to take care of, things that I haven’t had time to think about yet. We’ll figure them all out, but just not today.”

  “Can I unlock the door?” Chuck handed him the keys, and Jack worked intently to find the right key and slide it into the lock. He grunted and twisted, but gave up. “I can’t turn it.” Chuck put his hand over Jack’s and turned the key. Easing the door open, Jack said, “I smell fire.”

  “Not fire, just burnt stuff,” Chuck said. He strode past Jack into the kitchen, and found ashes in the sink. “Your mom burnt some papers or something.”

  “Mom had lots of secrets,” Jack said. “Do you think she was a spy?”

  “No, just very secretive. Why don’t you go get some of your favorite toys together? We’ll take them with us. I need to get some things together for the funeral.”

  “What’s a funeral?”

  “It’s a special church service they have when someone dies. Pastor Glen is going to have one for your mom on Wednesday.”

  “Can I go?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t you?”

  “School.”

  “You can miss this week of school.”

  “That’s allowed?”

  Chuck nodded. “Bobbi will let your teacher know. Now, go get your stuff, and make sure you get a suit and tie.”

  “I’ll look dopey.”

  “Your mom liked that, though. Do it for her.”

  “Yeah, she thought I was handsome all the time.” Jack headed upstairs to his room, leaving Chuck in the kitchen. “Where to start?” he asked, looking around. A stack of mail sat in one corner of the kitchen counter. He flipped through it quickly. Bank statements and utility bills. All the correspondence from John Dailey was gone. Chuck suspected that’s what ended up as ashes in the sink.

  He laid the stack back in its place and checked the cabinets. He found a half a bottle of bourbon. Another handful of papers shielded an empty bottle in the trashcan. Now it seemed very likely she was under the influence when she wrecked. Was it intentional, though?

  He pulled the papers out and leafed through them. Junk mail. He was about to toss them back in the trash when he noticed one of the sheets was cream-colored stationery. He held the sheet and let the others drop away. The letter from Brittenham & Associates, St. Paul, Minnesota, invited Kathleen R. Kelly for an interview three weeks from now.

  Teresa Kathleen Reynolds had reinvented herself once again. Is this why she caved on the parenting plan? Because she knew she was taking Jack in a few weeks anyway? But she had to know that he would hunt her down until he found Jack.

  But if she planned to disappear with Jack, why would she leave this letter when she burned others? She wouldn’t. She changed her plans. He double-checked the papers in the trashcan, but everything else was junk.

  Nothing looked out of place in the family room or the living room, so Chuck headed upstairs. Remembering the prescription bottles in her purse, he checked the bathroom medicine cabinet first. She had an assortment of drugs: anti-anxiety medication, anti-depressants, sleep aids, and stimulants, all from different doctors. Tracy was a prescription drug abuser. She shopped for doctors so she could maintain her supply.

  Chuck slowly closed the cabinet. How could she even function, taking all that? She surely had the means to take her life if she had wanted. Maybe her wreck really was just an accident.

  The only place left that might hold any answers was the bedroom. He could hear Jack down the hall, doing far more playing than packing. At least he felt like playing. Stepping across the threshold into Tracy’s bedroom made sweat bead across Chuck’s forehead, and his stomach rolled inside him.

  The bedroom, like every other room in the house was sparsely furnished, with just a bed, nightstand and dresser. Tracy’s bed was unmade, but everything else was in order. A book lay face down on the nightstand. He picked it up, and embossed on the cover was the word ‘Journal.’

  Tracy’s journal. Jackpot.

  It wasn’t a collection of her thoughts, though. Instead, it was a record of Jack’s year, a near day-by-day account. “Wonder if the other years are around here somewhere?” He pulled up the bed skirt, but found nothing. He discovered a storage box in the back of the closet, and inside it, he found the journals from Jack’s first five years.

  Entries ranged from a few words, to elaborate descriptions of his milestones. There were other things of Jack’s she had kept - pictures he drew, a pair of baby shoes, an infant outfit, and dozens of studio portraits. He set the box on the bed to take home, but it hit with a thud. Chuck pulled the bedclothes back, afraid of finding another liquor bottle, but was completely stunned to find a Bible.

  He picked it up gently and opened it. The presentation page was missing. Naturally. It seemed worn, used. Finally, he turned to the page marked by the ribbon. It was in Matthew, and circled on the page was the verse that read, “Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Rest was underlined twice, and the word ‘yes’ was written in the margin.

  Was that it? The answer he needed? Did that mean Tracy somehow found Jesus in the eleventh hour, here, alone? Bobbi said that fit her. She did everything else alone and in secret.

  “Whatcha doing?” Jack stood in the doorway.

  “I found your mom’s Bible.” He held it up for Jack to see.

  The boy jumped into the bed and crawled across to him. �
��My mom never let me jump on her bed.” He leaned over Chuck’s shoulder to see the Bible. “Oh yeah. She said Mr. Dailey gave it to her. I wanted to get one that smelled better. That one smells like it’s been cooked.”

  “Probably spent a lot of time in a box somewhere.” He dropped the Bible in the box.

  “What’s in there?”

  “Journals your mom kept about you.”

  “Really? Can I see?”

  Chuck nodded and Jack pulled one of the volumes from the box, and leaned back on the pillows. He turned several pages. “She scribbles.”

  “It’s cursive. You’ll learn it next year.”

  Jack snapped the book closed and handed it back. He folded the pillow up around his face and breathed deeply. “It smells just like her hair.” He twisted the pillow around and hugged it tightly, his smile fading.

  Chuck rubbed Jack’s back. “Maybe we better go.”

  Jack nodded. “Can I take this?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Monday, October 22

  Chuck paced away from the desk while the receptionist at Penner Hewitt dialed Rod Penner’s office. Swallowed up in the grief and questions over Tracy’s death was the fact that her father was now a free man. If he was as dangerous as Tracy and John Dailey believed he was, then Chuck had to do everything he could to ensure Jack’s safety.

  Yesterday’s search of her house yielded little, except for the journals Jack reveled in, and confirmation of her substance abuse. Maybe here in a dark corner of her office, there was a piece of information that would tie everything together. He and Rod were classmates at Northwestern, and although they never crossed paths professionally, he was gambling that the law school connection counted for something.

  “Mr. Molinsky, Mr. Penner can see you now.”

  “Thank you.” Before Chuck could cross the room, Rodney Penner opened his office door. “Rod, thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

  “No problem, Chuck.” He shook Chuck’s hand, then shut the door and walked around to his desk. “I was really sorry to hear about Tracy. Especially after she left here so suddenly.”