“No, I’m fine. It’s only a few hours before closing.”
“All right. Would you like to come for dinner tonight? I’d love to take another look at your Niagara photos.”
Jordan hesitated. Miranda didn’t say yes, and she hadn’t said no. In fact, she had basically ignored him. “Sure, I’d love to.”
“Great. I’ll have Wayne bring us some lobsters.”
“Count me in for two.”
Dena chuckled. “Great. Come on over after you close the studio.”
They said their salutations, and Jordan went to work getting caught up on the orders that had come in over the weekend. In the corner of the studio stood his painting of the crab shack. Maybe I can get back to that soon.
A couple of customers later, he’d finished sorting the files from the Niagara trip. It had been for a tourism brochure for the state of New York and the Niagara chamber of commerce.
He tapped out a proposal for an article on his trip to Niagara for some travel magazines. If he sold the pictures and the article, he’d have enough to get a new cell-phone service.
He packed the box of negatives he’d brought from his parents’ house in the Jeep to make use of Dena’s darkroom. It seemed like ages since he had developed a film picture. Even so, several of the shots he’d taken in the Sudan had been printed. Duke sat in the passenger seat on the way to Dena and Wayne’s home. Even the natural beauty of the place didn’t appeal to him. All he could think about was Miranda and why she was avoiding him again.
fourteen
Randi pushed the button to play her messages as she toed off her shoes. Tonight she would not run. More than likely she wouldn’t be running in the morning either. She was sore from head to toe. Every now and again she had one of those days that, no matter what she did, it was never enough for the customers. It was as if all the customers had conspired to take a “nasty” pill before entering the restaurant. In any case, today had been one of those days. A long, hot soak in the tub was top priority.
“Randi,” said a voice on the answering machine. “This is Joe from Down-Eastern Solutions. There’s a major problem with our Web site. We need you to take care of it ASAP. Call me as soon as you get this message.”
Randi glanced up at the clock. She ran to her desk, located the phone number for the company, and placed a call. While she waited for the phone to connect, she pulled up their Web site. What appeared was something totally different, totally inappropriate.
The company’s answering machine came on. Randi left a brief message then called Joe’s cell phone.
“Randi, it’s about time. Where were you?”
“At work. Sorry. What happened?”
“I don’t know. We hired a kid to take care of the everyday uploads, and the next thing I know …” Joe went on to explain the disaster that was now his Web page. He gave her the contact information for “the kid,” and she called him. Fortunately he was only a fifteen-minute drive away and would come over to try to figure out what went wrong.
Then she placed a call to the host servers of the Web site and verbally worked out a new user name and password. It appeared that someone had sabotaged the Web site. It was rare but did happen from time to time.
Randi glanced at the clock again. She had five minutes to wash her face and freshen up before Michael Robert, aka “the kid,” arrived. She whirled through the cottage and pulled a cold piece of pizza from the refrigerator along with a soft drink. No sooner had she taken a bite than Michael Robert knocked on her door.
By two in the morning, Down-Eastern Solutions was up and running, and Randi’s day ended in much the same way it had begun. It wasn’t until her head hit the pillow that she remembered she hadn’t called Jordan back. Nor had she answered his question about going out to dinner that night. Randi’s stomach twisted. She tossed and turned until she finally fell fast asleep close to dawn.
“Miranda, open up.” Her mother was pounding on the door. “Miranda?”
Randi pushed herself off the bed and went to the front door. Her eyes squinted from the bright sunlight.
“Thank the Lord you’re all right. I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. What’s the matter? Are you sick?”
“No, I was sleeping.”
“Honey, it’s three in the afternoon. We were supposed to go out for a late lunch at two today.”
“Three?” Randi yawned. “Sorry, Mom. I was up until two this morning fixing a client’s Web page.”
“Miranda, you have to stop working two jobs. This is killing you.”
“I’m fine.” She yawned.
“And I’m a monkey’s uncle. Go get dressed. I’ll make you some coffee.”
“Thanks.”
Dressing helped wake her up. Randi returned to her mother and the kitchen a few minutes later.
Her mother chuckled. “You look much better.”
“Thanks.” Her mother poured the coffee into two cups. Randi joined her at the kitchen table. “I’m sorry about lunch, Mom.”
“No problem. You just scared me when you didn’t answer your phone.”
“I didn’t hear it.” Randi grabbed the phone and checked for a dial tone. It was there, and she hung it up again. “I didn’t fall asleep until dawn.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Do you need to go back to bed?”
“No, I have other work to catch up on.”
“All right. Should I go pick up something from the café? I see you haven’t had time to shop.”
“Sure, that would be nice. A seafood salad for me.”
“Okay, I’ll be right back.”
Randi gave the cottage a clean sweep while her mother went to town and picked up their lunch. She took a few minutes to download her e-mail and was thankful to find no emergencies pending. She also realized she had no messages from Jordan on her answering machine or in her e-mail box.
Jordan. She needed to call him to apologize. She picked up the phone just as her mother walked back in. She replaced it on the charger.
“So tell me about Jordan. What’s going on with the two of you?” Her mother put their salads on the table.
Randi sat down after bringing some napkins to the table. “Nothing to tell. We’re just friends.”
“Right. I wasn’t born yesterday. Come on, honey. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”
“Mom, don’t you think that until I have something to tell, it should be my own private affair?”
“Maybe, but we live in a small town, and folks are asking me. They saw you leaving his apartment one morning.”
Randi’s head dropped. “He invited me for breakfast.”
“I know, dear. I found that out from Georgette. Heard he made crepes.”
“So what is it you want to know?” she asked sharply. “You seem to know it all already.”
“Miranda, don’t take that tone with me. I’m not trying to be a busybody. I’m concerned. I’m your mother, and I know how hard it has been since you and Cal broke up.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I know you’re not trying to tell me how to live my life. And with regard to Jordan, I don’t know. We seem to get close; then something happens, and we start fumbling over our words. I’m still nervous, I guess. I want to trust Jordan, but it’s hard. Not that he’s done anything.”
“But Cal breaking your trust has made you leery.”
“Exactly.” Randi took a forkful of salad and hoped her mother would understand that she didn’t want to go too deeply into her feelings for Jordan.
“Jess said Brenda came by for a visit.”
“Yeah, that was really hard. You can say you’ve forgiven someone, but when you’re face-to-face with that person, it’s hard to believe in giving out grace. Do you know Cal named the baby Tyler? That’s the name I picked out when we were dating.”
“I can’t figure out Cal.” Her mother paused with her fork halfway between her mouth and the plate. “If he was so in love with you, why did he cheat on you? And why leave his child like that?”
&nb
sp; “Brenda said her in-laws are trying to get custody of Tyler.”
“That’s sad. I hope they can arrange a visitation plan. Brenda needs to raise her son. But Cal’s parents want to see their grandson. Maybe when Mike Collins gets out of the hospital they can work it out.”
“Maybe.” Randi ate another bite of her salad. “Mom, Jordan wants to be more than friends.”
Jordan sat back. The canvas glared at him. Nothing seemed to be going right since returning from Niagara. Miranda hadn’t called, and he’d been rethinking his interest in her. He’d broken one of his rules—not to get involved with a woman until he could take on the responsibility of a wife and children. At his present salary, they’d be eating macaroni and cheese every other night. Miranda deserved better.
“Miserable” described the mood he was in. But time would heal the tear in his heart. He must have misunderstood when he felt God was leading for her to be his wife. How foolish he had been to think he knew the mind of God or God’s will for his life.
He glanced back at the canvas. The calm sea had changed to a raging storm on the horizon, just like his own life. A storm hovered around him, nothing really settled. He’d even gone so far as to wonder if he should have taken the job with Dena. How would his life be if he’d stayed in Boston? Would he have landed more contracts with various advertising companies? Dropping his cell service had been an impulsive mistake. No one knew how to reach him. His old roommates had moved out, and that number no longer existed. He was stuck in the boonies with no one to love and tired of feeling sorry for himself.
He tossed the brush in the thinner and left his easel. Walking over to the front bay window, he scanned the area. Duke came up beside him and put his front paws on the window sill. Jordan rubbed the top of the basset hound’s head. “Did I make the right decision to move here, boy?”
The summer tourist season was in full swing, and while it doubled the local population, it was a far cry from being a tourist town. Few came to the area with more touristy towns so close by. But there were the exceptions—families who used to live here or whose grandparents lived here. Now they vacationed in the quiet coastal town in the many summer cottages that lined the hills overlooking the harbor.
Sheriff McKean pulled up in front of the store. He marched toward the door. Jordan reached it before him. “How can I help you, Sheriff McKean?”
“Did you take these?”
Jordan examined the photographs. “Yes.”
“Jordan Lamont, you’re coming with me.”
“What do you need?”
“You don’t get it, son, do you?”
“No.” Jordan looked back at the photographs. He’d taken them the first or second week he moved to Squabbin Bay, of a child digging for clams while her mother lay on a blanket keeping a watchful eye over her. Jordan examined the picture again. It was the same girl.
“Come on, son. I don’t want to arrest you and have to bring you out in cuffs.”
“What? You can’t possibly believe I had anything to do with that girl’s kidnapping.”
“Evidence says you’re a prime suspect. Not only do you have a picture of the girl, but now you have two. The first was easy for someone to believe you, with so many people at the church festival. But this picture proves you saw Lucy Tomisson before that. The investigators also claim it was a couple, a man and a woman, who kidnapped her. Tell me, where is she? And who is your accomplice?”
“Sheriff McKean, it wasn’t me.” He wanted to ask how the police found this picture, because he hadn’t published it. It was in his personal gallery on his computer. Jordan scanned the studio. His laptop was behind the counter. “Do you mind telling me where you got that picture?”
“Your Web site.”
“I didn’t—” He bit off his words. If he claimed he hadn’t put the picture on his Web site, he might give the impression he had something to hide. “Miranda must have uploaded it.”
“Look—I don’t care how it got there. But the FBI wants to speak with you ASAP, and they’re at my office. You’re obviously involved with this case, son, whether innocently or not. I’d like to take your word for it; but you’re new here in these parts, and, well, I can’t vouch for you.”
Jordan swallowed hard. Thoughts of getting a lawyer before being questioned flew through his mind as several television episodes of police shows and movies flickered in instant replay.
“Sheriff McKean, I’ll be happy to go there with you, but I have the equipment here to blow up the image.”
“They have their own.”
“Right. Duke, watch the place. I’ll be home soon.” Jordan stepped back, grabbed his laptop, and took his first-ever ride in the backseat of a police cruiser. What hit him first was the missing knobs on the rear doors. The bars across the front seat, protecting the officers from criminals, were the second. His heart sank. Fear washed over him. Jordan closed his eyes and prayed. Instantly logic took over. He hadn’t been arrested; he was simply being brought in for questioning.
Father, give me peace and the right words to speak. Help me, and help the police find this missing child.
Randi punched in Jess’s number on her cell phone. “Jess, it’s me. Do you know why the police arrested Jordan?”
“What? When? Are you sure?”
“I just saw him riding in the back of Sheriff McKean’s car.”
“I don’t have a clue. Let me ask Mom. Mom …” The word diminished into nothing. Randi figured Jess had covered the phone with her hand.
Moments later, Dena Kearns’s voice came through the line. “Randi, it’s Dena. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I called Jess. Do you have any idea why the police would arrest Jordan?”
“No, but we can’t assume he’s been arrested.”
“Dena, Sheriff McKean doesn’t take people for joyrides in his car.” Randi shook her head. She’d done it again—fallen for a man who was not trustworthy. “Dena, I have to go. If you didn’t know, I’m glad I could tell you.”
Randi used to pride herself on not being judgmental. But today she felt better knowing she hadn’t completely fallen in love with Jordan Lamont. Whoever he was, he certainly wasn’t the man for her. She had already dealt with one liar in her life, and she didn’t need another.
That isn’t fair to him, a voice whispered in her head.
Randi paused, looked around to see if someone had spoken then continued walking back to her cottage. She had left her mother convinced she wanted to step out in faith and trust Jordan—only to see him being whisked away in the sheriff’s car. Lord, it isn’t fair.
You’re the one not being fair, she argued with herself.
By the time she arrived at the cottage, Jess was sitting in her driveway. “What’s going on?” She stood there with her hands on her hips.
“I’m just glad I found out before I was hurt again.”
“Randi, you’re talking nonsense. You don’t know why the police arrested—or if they even arrested—Jordan. You’re running scared, and you’re not making any sense.”
“Drop it, Jess. I can’t do this.”
Jess relaxed her stance and came up beside Randi. “We need to trust Jordan. He’s a good man, Randi.”
“I’d like to, but I can’t. I just can’t.”
“Okay, how about a glass of iced tea?”
“Sure.”
Jess came inside and didn’t say a word while Randi poured two tall glasses of iced tea and sat down at the table.
“Randi, he’s not Cal.”
“I know, but …” But what?
“Look, Randi—it’s me. I’ve gone through you and Cal. I know you’re afraid, but why don’t we wait to see what’s going on?”
Randi wrapped her hands around the cool glass of iced tea. It felt good to feel something, anything, to jar her back from the instant betrayal she felt seeing Jordan in the sheriff’s car.
Jess reached over and placed a loving hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t we pray
about this?”
Randi didn’t want to explain that she already had. Instead she gave a quick nod of her head and closed her eyes.
“Father, be with Randi right now. Give her the knowledge she needs to trust Jordan or the strength to walk away from him if he’s not the man You have designed for her.”
Tears edged Randi’s eyes.
fifteen
Jordan rubbed his neck as he answered for the fifth time, “No, sir. I do not know these people. I took the picture on April 17th.”
“Mr. Lamont, I understand this is frustrating to you, but you do see our problem. You are the only person to have pictures of this child since she was taken from her school,” the senior FBI agent said. He pushed back the few remaining hairs from the top of his head.
Why do they do that? Jordan promised himself he would never do that if he started losing his hair. “Yes, sir, but you have the wrong man. If you’d just let me scan through my files, perhaps I have another shot that shows a clearer image of the woman.”
“My partner is taking care of that.”
Jordan closed his eyes. Something about privacy and needing a warrant popped into his head. On the other hand, Lucy Tomisson’s life was at stake. He could put up with a few discomforts. “I can locate the file more easily.” He made one last offer.
The agent simply ignored him and looked back at the two blown-up images of the girl. The face of the woman on the beach was hidden by her floppy hat and long hair. Lord, help us find this little girl.
“Talk me through your file system.” The younger agent, perhaps right out of training, came in holding his laptop.
“I sort my photographs in various ways. Mostly by topic, for easy recovery if someone requests a picture. I also keep a record with a thumbnail sketch of the file as well as a backup of the original file on CDs at home. Search for rev48.”
“What does that mean?”
“Revelation chapter four, verse eight. It’s where John is writing about the four living creatures in heaven that have eyes all around their heads.”
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