Lost Are Found (A Prairie Heritage, Book 6)

by Vikki Kestell

  “Do you think so?”

  “Let me call her. I’ll let you know this evening.”

  “Thank you.” Kari turned to Shan-Rose. “And I want to especially thank you, Shan-Rose, for opening your home and your . . . heart to me. Visiting here today meant so much to me.”

  “Kari, you have no idea what a blessing you are to all of us. When you knocked on that door yesterday, it was an answer to prayer.”

  “It was?” Kari didn’t understand, but Shan-Rose just nodded.

  “Revisiting the history of our families has been good for all of us,” was all she added.

  Alannah escorted Shan-Rose to her chair in the great room and kissed her on the cheek. “Will you be all right here, Auntie?”

  “Oh, my, yes. Mixxie will be along as soon as you two leave. She might spit and snarl, but she has been very good to me.”

  “All right then.”

  Alannah gestured for Kari to walk out with her. Kari thanked Shan-Rose again and followed Alannah out. She paused on the front porch and looked at the worn sign hanging by the door.

  “Alannah, I saw Quan touch this sign on his way in this morning. It looked as though he were praying when he touched it.”

  “Hmm.” Alannah didn’t answer for a moment “Well, it is, as we’ve said, something of the motto of our four families and of other friends who were also involved in . . . that period. Perhaps he was praying. Giving thanks.”

  “Giving thanks for what?” Kari asked. She touched the faded letters with her own fingers, feeling the grit of the letters’ roughened outlines.

  “For God’s amazing, unfailing faithfulness, would be my guess,” Alannah answered softly.

  Alannah went directly to her station and straight to her desk where she made some phone calls and filled out pages of HR paperwork. Then she headed for her boss’s office.

  “Hey, Captain? You have a sec?” Receiving a nod, Alannah closed the office door behind her.

  “What do you need, Carmichael?” The Captain didn’t look up; he kept his eyes on the stack of papers in front of him, his pen moving over them methodically.

  “I need to take some leave. At least three days. Possibly four.”

  Now he did look up. “Oh? When?”

  “Tomorrow through Friday. Family business. I should be back in the office Monday. Well, Tuesday at the latest. Depends on how it goes.”

  He blew a frustrated huff. “You just took most of today, didn’t you?”

  “Like I said, family business. I have the time on the books.”

  “Fine. But only if you can work out coverage.”

  “Already did, Cap.”

  “All right; fill out the paperwork for my sig—” He stopped when Alannah handed him two sheets.

  “Ready for your signature, sir.”

  “Always a step ahead, eh, Carmichael?”

  “That’s how I like to play it, sir.”

  Alannah went to her desk and called her travel agent. “Yeah; I’d like to confirm that round-trip ticket to New Orleans. Yes, first flight out tomorrow, returning on Friday, the twenty-fifth.”

  “Your seat is still available. I can have your tickets ready in an hour.”

  “You close at six? I’ll pick them up just before,” Alannah promised.

  Kari ate dinner in one of the hotel’s restaurants. She sat alone but did not feel alone. She replayed, over and over, her encounter with . . . Jesus on the second floor of Palmer House.

  Jesus! O, Jesus. Each time she thought or said his name, her insides seemed to warm and she felt a strange absence of anxiety—often her normal state. And she felt oddly . . . all right. Stable. Content. At peace.

  I don’t feel that continual aching inside . . . Kari ate her meal lost in thought. She was actually afraid to “poke” at the peace she was enjoying, afraid—just a little—that it would prove too fragile to stand up under scrutiny.

  Later, back in her room, Kari waited for Quan’s phone call. While she waited, she did something she’d never dreamed she would do. She began opening drawers in her room—dresser, nightstand, and finally, the lovely desk.

  The desk was where she found what she was looking for: A Bible, placed there by “The Gideons.”

  I don’t know who or what The Gideons are, Kari shrugged, but I’m grateful they left this here.

  She opened it and thumbed through the index, having no clue where to begin or what she wanted to find. Perhaps I’ll just look for Jesus, she decided. Starting at the beginning, she paged through, growing discouraged as, page after page, she found no mention of him.

  The phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Ms. Hillyer? It is Quan Liáng calling.”

  “Oh! I’m so glad you called, Mr. Liáng. As a minister, I know you can answer this! Could you please tell me where in the Bible to find Jesus?”

  After being momentarily thrown, Quan was elated. “If you are reading the Bible for the first time, Ms. Hillyer, I recommend that you begin with the four gospels.”

  “The four gospels? Are they near the front?”

  “No. Ah, does your Bible have a table of contents, by any chance?”

  “Oh. Let me look.” Kari went to the beginning again and paged until she found it. “There’s an Old Testament and a New Testament and a list of books in each.”

  “The four gospels are the first four books of the New Testament,” Quan told her. “Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Start with those. You’ll read all about Jesus in those four books.”

  He explained, “The gospels are four different accounts of Jesus’ life and ministry. Two accounts are from his disciples—they were firsthand witnesses to Jesus’ ministry. Those books are Matthew and John. Mark is believed to be Peter’s account as recorded by the young man the Book of Acts called John Mark. Luke was a companion to the Apostle Paul on his missionary journeys. Church history teaches that he interviewed multiple eyewitnesses to write his account.”

  “Wow. Thank you.” Kari already had her finger in the start of Matthew.

  I have a lot to learn, she thought.

  “So, Ms. Hillyer, I made several phone calls last night and today, letting our friends know that you had, er, found Rose Thoresen’s missing journal. Everyone I spoke to is very eager to, um, make your acquaintance. They would like you to come to RiverBend the day after tomorrow.”

  “Really?” Kari was dumbfounded.

  “Really. Søren and Ilsa Thoresen, great-grandchildren of Jan Thoresen, own one of the original Thoresen homesteads, and they would love for you to come and stay with them for a few days.”

  “These are great-grandchildren of Jan and his first wife then?”

  “Yes; brother and sister, two of the nine grandchildren of Søren Thoresen, for whom our present Søren is named.”

  “Well.” Kari looked around the room, indecisive. “If you think it’s really all right.”

  “These people are the salt of the earth,” Quan reassured her. “Wonderful folk, wonderful followers of Christ. What do you think?”

  “Well,” Kari said again. “I guess so. How long will it take to drive there?”

  “It’s going to be eight hours or more unless you put your foot down on that Cadillac I saw you park at Palmer House.”

  “Hmm. I might have done that a few times on the way here from Albuquerque,” she grinned.

  Quan chuckled. “Well, plan on a good eight hours. Are you doing anything for dinner tomorrow evening? Perhaps you would join some of the Liángs and Carmichaels out for dinner?”

  Kari was enthusiastic in her response. “I would love that!”

  A half an hour after Kari hung up with Quan, Alannah called.

  “Good news, Kari! Fen-Bai said she would love to take you to see Grant Michaels’ grave. She will pick you up at your hotel tomorrow after lunch—one o’clock.”

  Quan dialed a number from his library at home. It rang only twice before a voice answered, “Hello?”

  “Matthew? It’s Quan.”

  “Yes, old fr
iend. I’ve been waiting on pins and needles to hear back from you.”

  “Did you get in touch with everyone? Are they all coming?”

  “More than you would think. The entire clan is electrified. Are you sure? Are you sure she’s . . .”

  “Alannah left for New Orleans early this morning. Kari gave her the name of her attorney—the firm that is handling her ‘great-uncle’s’ will. She also mentioned the name of her father: Michael Granger. You know Alannah. She will leave no stone unturned. We hope to learn the truth—the incontrovertible truth—before next weekend.”

  “Will Ms. Hillyer stay that long in RiverBend, do you think?”

  “I think so. Søren and Ilsa will do their best to make her feel welcome and to keep her interest.”

  “Quan, I have to tell you that I have been trembling most of the day. The import of this! How I wish Mother and Father were here to see it! I know they are rejoicing in heaven, but how I wish they were here with us.”

  “I am grateful that the three of you are still here, my friend, you three, her father’s half brothers! I’m sorry Roseanne is not.”

  “Yes. We would wish her here, too. I am comforted to know that she is watching from heaven with Mother and Father. So, tell me again, Quan. What is she like, this Kari Hillyer?”

  “Well, she looks incredibly like Joy, only her long hair is not blonde but light brown. And she is strong like Joy, too. I can see her determination. However, she has also been beaten up by the world. Two divorces, I gathered, the latest one just this year. Kari believes that she has not a relative in the world, and that has left a bit of hopelessness lingering in her eyes.”

  “Not a relative in the world! God willing, that will all change next Friday. I hope it will not overwhelm her too much.”

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 19

  Alannah rolled her bag from the claim area to one of the car rental desks. “I’d like a small sedan if you have one,” she asked, “and I would like to purchase a detailed map of the city if you have one of those, too.”

  Armed with a car and a map, Alannah considered her first move. It was after eleven in the morning, Louisiana time, and the July heat was already oppressive.

  I will get to my hotel, turn on the air conditioning, call Brunell & Brunell, and make arrangements to meet with her attorney—either this afternoon or first thing tomorrow, she planned.

  Alannah let herself into her hotel room and threw her bags on the bed. She switched on the air conditioning, reveling in its rush of cold relief, then went straight to the phone, checking her watch first. Nearly one o’clock, she noted. Perhaps they will see me today.

  If what Kari had related to her about her recent inheritance were true, Alannah did not doubt that one of the senior partners would scramble to make time to see her. Especially after I drop my opening bomb on them.

  Alannah had thought carefully of how to ensure that she saw a decision maker at the Brunell law offices—someone high enough up the ladder to tell her what she needed. In this situation, she was not averse to throwing her weight around a little to get the result she desired.

  Her dialing was rewarded with a prompt answer: “Brunell & Brunell. How may I direct your call?”

  “This is Detective Alannah Carmichael, Denver Police Department,” she opened in a brisk, authoritative voice. “I am calling in regards to Ms. Kari Hillyer, who is, I believe, a client of this firm?”

  If Kari were the A-list client that Alannah was now convinced she was, she hoped the combination of “detective,” “police,” and “Ms. Kari Hillyer” would inject a little alarmed energy into the receptionist.

  It did. So electric and breathless was the receptionist’s response that Alannah felt she could almost see her on the other end jump from her chair and stand to attention.

  “Yes, ma’am. I will connect you with Miss Dawes, executive assistant to the senior partners. Please hold.”

  She put Alannah on hold and Alannah, gratified at the immediate response, waited.

  “Good afternoon. This is Miss Dawes. How may I help you?”

  “Miss Dawes, this is Detective Alannah Carmichael of the Denver, Colorado, Police Department speaking. I recently made the acquaintance of a Ms. Kari Hillyer as she visited Denver. I believe she is a client of this firm?”

  “She is. However, that is the extent of the information I am at liberty to disclose, Detective Carmichael. Client-attorney privilege, you understand.”

  What Alannah understood was that Miss Dawes’ words were carefully scripted to protect the privacy of the firm’s clients.

  “Yes, of course, Miss Dawes. However, I am calling today because I have reason to believe that Ms. Hillyer is intimately connected to a felony committed in our city. I would like to speak directly to her attorney, if I may. In fact, I am here in New Orleans for that purpose.”

  “Felony? What felony?” Miss Dawes’ professional veneer cracked ever-so-slightly.

  “I’m afraid that is the extent of the information I am at liberty to disclose,” Alannah answered smoothly. “Except to her attorney. In person. Client-attorney privilege, you understand.”

  “I see.” Miss Dawes paused only momentarily. “Mr. C. Beauregard Brunell is not scheduled to be in the office today. However, may I take your number and ring you back?”

  “Certainly.”

  Alannah hung up and waited. She was patient, however, knowing that she’d lit a fire under Brunell & Brunell and would hear from them soon.

  When Miss Dawes called back, she was once again professional and aloof. “Mr. Brunell has agreed to see you this afternoon at 3:30, if that is convenient for you?”

  “It is. Please thank him for seeing me so promptly and tell him I will be there at that time.”

  And so we begin, Alannah reflected.

  Kari had passed the morning in her room reading the four gospels as Quan had called them. She was surprised at the voracious appetite she seemed to have developed for hearing about Jesus. Each time she encountered his own words, printed in red, she pored over them, wondering at some of the unorthodox things he said but feeling oddly strengthened by them.

  Kari ordered a light lunch to be delivered around noon. Afterwards, Fen-Bai came by the hotel to pick her up. The old Riverside cemetery lay alongside the South Platte River and was larger than Kari had expected. Fen-Bai drove them through the entrance and then began to wind around inside the park until she reached an unspoken location and parked.

  “This is a splendid historic cemetery, Kari. Many of Denver’s founders are buried here,” Fen-Bai told her. “When I called yesterday, they provided me with the location of Grant’s grave. We are closest to it here. It’s just a short walk in that direction.”

  Kari followed Fen-Bai, noting as they walked the many old headstones they were passing. Some of the headstones had sunk into the soil and were tilting a bit to the side. The writing on other stones was worn, so that the inscriptions were hard to read.

  “This part of the cemetery is filled, of course,” Fen-Bai said quietly, “but many people come to pay their respects and to look at the history of Denver through the lens of those who sleep here.”

  Fen-Bai stopped and pointed. Kari, her feet suddenly heavy, walked forward. The simple headstone read,

  Grant Aubrey Michaels

  Beloved Husband and Father

  1878-1911

  Kari stared at the stone and tears smarted in her eyes. They were real, all of the people Rose wrote about! she truly grasped.

  Rose was real. Grant was real. Joy was real—and she ached and shed real tears when her beloved Grant died. Oh, Joy! I’m so sorry for your loss. I can only hope that you found happiness again with Mr. O’Dell.

  Tears were streaming down Kari’s face now. Fen-Bai drew near and gently touched Kari’s shoulder. “Nothing makes us more aware of how brief and fragile life is than visiting the grave of someone who is no longer with us,” she murmured.

  Kari took a deep breath and swiped at the moisture w
etting her face. She looked around at the many other graves nearby, searching.

  Why, where is Joy’s grave? she wondered in dismay. Pondering the question and the likely answer, she frowned. She must be buried with O’Dell somewhere else . . . but how sad that is! Grant is here alone?

  She thought deeply about it for several moments. But if Grant was a Christian, then all the verses Rose wrote in her journal about Jesus coming back and raising those who loved him from the dead apply to him, too.

  So . . . I suppose where we are buried doesn’t truly matter? Jesus will find us wherever we are? And is Grant really here, in this grave, anyway? Or is just his body here and his spirit already with Christ? Lord, I have so many questions and so much to learn and understand.

  Kari rested one hand on Grant’s headstone. I wish I had known you, Grant Michaels, she said silently. To those who knew and loved you, you lived a life that . . . honored God. Would that someday those I know might say the same of my life.

  After a moment she turned and hugged Fen-Bai. “Thank you, Fen-Bai, for bringing me here. I’m ready to go now.”

  Alannah had less than two hours to kill before meeting with Kari’s attorney. I will see if I can locate this house she inherited from Peter Granger.

  She pulled out the map she’d bought at the airport and scanned the long list of street names in the legend, looking across and down to the correct grid, finally finding Marlow in tiny print.

  “2787 Marlow Avenue should be here,” Alannah mumbled to herself, “and I should be able to drive there, take a look and a couple of photos, and make it to my appointment.”

  She threw her camera into her bag and ran a pick through her mane of curling black hair. Her hair, however, had frizzed and poofed into ridiculous proportions.

  “Blasted humidity,” she complained. She gave up on her hair and, grabbing her bag and a sizeable briefcase, raced to her car, setting the map on the passenger seat next to her and the briefcase on the floor.

  Forty minutes later she cruised slowly down Marlow Avenue, looking for the house Kari Hillyer had said she inherited from her great-uncle.