Loving Constance

by Lyn Cote

  CRITICAL PRAISE FOR LYN COTE

  On FINALLY FOUND

  “Lyn Cote blends strong writing with an interesting cast to create an entertaining, memorable story.”

  —Romantic Times

  On NEVER ALONE

  “A lively story big on plot, powerful emotion and strong characterization, this irresistible tales showcases the talent of a thrilling new author.”

  —Romantic Times

  On FINALLY HOME

  “This is possibly Ms. Cote’s best yet for Love Inspired.”

  —Romantic Times

  On HIS SAVING GRACE

  “Lyn Cote expertly pens a compelling novel of work, family and love.”

  —Romantic Times

  Lyn Cote’s SISTERS OF THE HEART series:

  Gracie’s story—

  His Saving Grace (LI #247)

  Patience’s story—

  Testing His Patience (LI #255)

  Connie’s story—

  Loving Constance (LI #277)

  Books by Lyn Cote

  Love Inspired

  Never Alone #30

  New Man in Town #66

  Hope’s Garden #111

  Finally Home #137

  Finally Found #162

  The Preacher’s Daughter #221

  *His Saving Grace #247

  *Testing His Patience #255

  *Loving Constance #277

  LYN COTE

  now lives in Wisconsin with her husband, her real-life hero. They raised a son and daughter together. Lyn has spent her adult life as a schoolteacher, a full-time mom and now a writer. Lyn’s favorite food is watermelon. Realizing that this delicacy is only available one season out of the year, Lyn’s friends keep up a constant flow of “watermelon” gifts—candles, wood carvings, pillows, cloth bags, candy and on and on. Lyn also enjoys crocheting and knitting, watching Wheel of Fortune and doing lunch with friends. By the way, Lyn’s last name is pronounced “Coty.”

  Lyn enjoys hearing from readers, who can contact her at P.O. Box 864, Woodruff, WI 54568 or by e-mail at l.cote@juno.com.

  LOVING CONSTANCE

  LYN COTE

  When I was a child, my speech, feelings and thinking were all those of a child; now that I am a man, I have no more use for childish ways.

  —1 Corinthians 13:11

  To my new critique group in Woodruff, Wisconsin. Thanks for all your encouragement.

  And the same to my friends of HIFA, Heart of Iowa Fiction Authors!

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Letter to Reader

  Chapter One

  Friday evening, Connie Oberlin wasn’t nervous about the party in her honor until she turned the last corner into her old Chicago neighborhood. Then she realized she had only been lying to herself. The sight of Annie and Troy’s house brought back feelings better left untouched.

  Late June sunshine glinted on her windshield as she edged her Volvo into a space along the narrow alley. Tonight would be fun. Tonight would be tense, but only to her. His face flickered in her unwilling mind. Yes, she would see him tonight. Caution whispered through her.

  Her soul felt a guilty tug. Lord, I’ve guarded my heart and mind. I’ve done nothing that would dishonor You. Please lead me away from temptation as You have in the past. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, marshaling her resistance. You’d think I’d be over the last traces of my infatuation by now. But these words didn’t ring true.

  She slowly got out and then walked through the gate into the backyard. And was mobbed.

  Her oldest and dearest friends, Annie and her sister Gracie and their cousin Patience, threw their arms around her and squealed—just as they had as girls. Dropping her purse and weekend bag, Connie laughed out loud and leaned into the hearty four-way hug, though she towered a head taller than the petite, brunette sisters. Willowy, blond Patience and she were the tall ones.

  Standing by the grill, Annie’s father waved and shouted, “Hey, Connie! Big-time lawyer!” Patience’s brand-new husband, tall and dark and handsome, stood beside him.

  Annie and Troy’s five-year-old twin sons leaped from their backyard swing and pelted toward Connie. They hugged her around her knees and shouted, “Aunt Connie’s here! What’d you bring us?”

  Annie pried the blond duo off Connie and scolded them. “You better be glad your father isn’t home on time. He hates it when you two beg.”

  Connie ruffled the twins’ bowl-cut bangs. Her heart riotous, she scanned the gaily decorated backyard. Clusters of colorful Mylar balloons, tethered to the fence and back porch, bounced on the summer breezes. Picnic tables were decked out in white tablecloths. Bowls of food brought by the neighbors completely covered one table. She watched as Patience went to stand beside her husband who put a loving arm around her. Gracie’s husband stood by his wife, too. She was so happy for Patience and Gracie. Why did all this make her want to cry?

  In the warmth of late-afternoon sun, she scooped her shoulder-length brown hair into a ponytail and excused herself. She’d thought ahead and had brought a change of clothes with her. She walked into the white frame two-flat that she’d lived next to as a child and which had been a second home to her all her life. After remarrying recently, Gracie’s father had moved away to his wife’s home. So Gracie and her husband lived in the downstairs flat now, while Annie and Troy still lived upstairs with the twins.

  Inside the downstairs bathroom, Connie changed out of her three-piece suit into cooler and casual cropped jeans and an off-white cotton top. She stared at her somber reflection in the mirror, trying to get into a party mood, to prepare herself to smile at him and show no other reaction than friendship. Lord, I want that to be true. Of their own accord, her eyes drifted to the alley again, waiting to see Troy walk through the gate.

  She strolled back outside, smiling with difficulty. But old neighbors distracted her from her nervousness, crowding around her, hugging her, kissing her cheek. “Congratulations on passing the bar” was repeated over and over as well as “We knew you could do it.” Connie returned the hugs and kisses and forced herself to ask about children and grandchildren.

  Finally, Troy’s uncle arrived. Uncle Lou, Troy’s mother’s brother, owned the large construction company Troy worked for. Lou thumped Connie on the back with his meaty paw and beamed his pleasure. Then he turned and boomed across the crowded yard to Annie, “Where’s that husband of yours? I told him to leave the job in Taperville early tonight and get home here.”

  “Yeah, tell him to get here fast,” Annie’s father agreed. “The burgers are almost done!”

  “I’ll call his cell phone again.” Annie reached into her jean pocket and pulled out her own phone.

  As the twins dragged Connie over to the swing set so she could push them high, she watched Annie grimace as she hung up. Obviously she’d gotten no answer. Connie propelled the twins’ swings in turn, listening to their shouts of pleasure. And wondered what was keeping Troy.

  More neighbors arrived. Annie’s dad started scooping burgers off the grill onto waiting buns. The neighbor ladies uncovered bowls and the buffet began. Connie and everyone else watched for Troy. Every few minutes, Annie took out her cell phone, people lowered their voices, murmuring, “What’s keeping him? This isn’t like Troy.” In equal measures, Connie felt relief at not having to face him and concern for his safet
y and…self-reproach larger than both.

  Finally, Connie led the twins over to the food and helped them fill their plates. “Where’s Daddy?” one asked her.

  “Don’t worry, your daddy will be here soon,” she murmured.

  Minutes, hours passed; neighbors crowded around the tables laughing, talking, toasting Connie on her passing the bar and on Patience and Gil’s recent wedding. But worry hung over everyone—where was Troy? With a brittle smile in place, Connie cut the sheet cake and posed for a myriad of photos. Still, he didn’t show.

  The sun blazed golden-pink to the west as the long summer twilight advanced. Annie’s dad lit the citronella torches to ward off mosquitoes. Annie’s face became more drawn and her smile more stiff.

  Where are you, Troy? Connie saw this question mirrored in the faces around her. As the first tinge of darkness clouded the sky, the party atmosphere became strained. As Annie tried Troy’s cell number yet again, Gracie leaned close to Connie. “This isn’t like Troy. I’m worried.”

  Connie nodded, her mood sinking with the dying sun.

  Hours later, well past midnight, only Connie, Annie and Gracie huddled around the kitchen table upstairs in Annie and Troy’s apartment. Their sons slept down the hall in their bedroom. Connie had called all the hospitals between the job site in Taperville and home. Though she wouldn’t be able to file a formal missing person’s report, she’d also called the local precinct to report Troy’s not coming home and had given his description and his vehicle’s license plate. Friends and relatives were out searching for Troy or at home praying for him. Patience had gone out looking with her husband Gil, who was a stranger to Chicago. Why hadn’t Troy come home tonight?

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” Annie mumbled. “Stuff like this only happens on TV to other people.”

  Stiff with fear, Connie met Annie’s dark, anxious eyes. “It will be all right,” Connie repeated the empty words.

  Annie stood, scraping her chair backward. “You keep saying that,” she said, her voice crackling with tension. “But there isn’t any way that something hasn’t happened to Troy. We didn’t have a fight. He knew about the party tonight and was looking forward to it. He couldn’t have just forgotten he had a family and a celebration waiting for him. He’d have called hours ago if he’d had car trouble. Something’s happened.” Her voice broke on the last word.

  Connie and Gracie rose as one to embrace Annie, who’d covered her face with her hands.

  The doorbell downstairs in the joint foyer of the two-flat rang. The three of them froze in place. “Who would be here at this hour?” Gracie asked.

  No one but the police would be at their door at this late hour. Connie saw this fact strike Gracie and then Annie. “I’ll go and see who it is,” Connie said in a rush. “Maybe it’s one of the guys. One of them might have forgotten their key.” She left Gracie holding Annie close. Because neither of them thought anyone had forgotten a key.

  Descending the stairs to the foyer to face—who knew what—gave Connie the sensation of sliding down a cliff. Tears gathered in her throat, which she struggled to swallow. In the foyer, she flicked on the light and saw through the door’s window the outline of two men.

  She kept the chain lock in place and opened the door a crack. Even though somehow expected, the sight of a blue uniform on one of the two men slammed through her. Her heart in free-fall, she hit bottom, landing winded and weak. “No,” she whispered. Annie can’t have lost Troy.

  The uniformed officer showed her a badge. “Is this the residence of Troy Nielsen?” he asked.

  She jerked her head in a facsimile of a nod. Her hands trembling, she slid the chain lock open and stepped back to let them in.

  The second man, not in uniform—tall, lean and dark-haired—followed the policeman in. She stared at his shadowed face. It appeared all lines and planes, no roundness, no softness in him.

  Rand O’Neill had been notifying next of kin for years. On the way here, he’d tightened his self-control to shield himself from the dark and swirling reactions he’d meet here tonight. Why didn’t this ever become routine to him? He knew the reason. Gritting his teeth, he slammed shut that door to his own past.

  The young woman standing before him suddenly blanched. He reached out and gripped her slender arm. “You look faint.” He felt her resistance to his help, the way she held herself rigidly. Then she swayed.

  He tightened his grasp. For a few moments, she leaned toward him, letting him brace her. He noticed the way the overhead light glinted, playing up the red sheen in her thick brown hair and the way she fought giving in to shock. He hung on to her, trying to give her strength.

  Then she shook and wrested herself from him. “I’m okay.” She warned him away with raised palms. “It’s just…all the hours…it’s late. Have you found Troy?”

  This wasn’t his cue. Rand remained silent but his hands still tingled where they’d touched her skin.

  “Who are you, miss?” Hess, the uniformed officer, cut in.

  “Connie Oberlin, a friend of the family.” She wrapped her arms around herself.

  Rand considered the surroundings and her, listening to her voice, uncertain yet strong. He took inventory of her attractive face and figure.

  “Is Mrs. Nielsen here?” Hess continued.

  “Yes, please follow me.” Connie turned and led them up the stairs.

  Rand trailed behind them, keeping his distance, following protocol. Soon enough he’d move to the fore. He admired the way she carried herself like a woman facing battle with confidence enough to win. But then she doesn’t yet know why we’ve come.

  She led them into a bright updated kitchen at the rear of the apartment. “Annie, it’s the police.” With effort, she muted the quaver in her voice.

  Rand liked her effort to sound normal. Sometimes, the hysteria of friends and relatives made matters worse.

  Mrs. Nielsen, looking like a college coed, rose. She stared at the two of them with wide horrified eyes. “Troy…” She wobbled.

  Rand took the wife by both arms. “Get her a glass of water please, Ms. Oberlin.” He lowered the wife into the nearest chair and pushed her head down to her knees, resting his hand on her back.

  The friend did as he requested and brought him the glass of water. “You can call me Connie,” she murmured.

  He nodded and then turned to the wife. “Most people call me O’Neill, ma’am. I’m Rand O’Neill, a detective from Taperville.” Lifting Annie’s chin, he put the rim of the glass to the her lips. “Please try to take a sip. It will steady you.”

  The woman moaned, but obeyed. “Where’s Troy? Did you find…” she began in a weak voice.

  “Mommy! Mommy!” Little-boy voices came from the front of the flat.

  Connie moved as though to go but a hand on her arm stopped her.

  “I’ll see to them.” The other woman in the kitchen hurried out of the room.

  “That’s Annie’s sister,” Connie answered his unasked question.

  Rand met her gaze. Her brown eyes held his without flinching. She obviously was the stronger of the two women before him, but then she wasn’t the wife.

  “Why don’t we all sit down?” Hess suggested in a manner that did not allow for any objection.

  Rand took the chair beside Mrs. Nielsen while Connie sat down on the opposite side of her. He slipped his supportive hand from the wife’s back. He stretched his legs under the table while he waited, ready to judge reactions.

  Hess backed into the chair across the table from them. “I’m officer William Hess of the local precinct. You called us earlier to report a possible missing person. And O’Neill’s suburban department notified us when they located and identified Troy Nielsen’s pickup truck abandoned on a road in Taperville.”

  Connie gasped. The wife moaned.

  “I had worked late. I was driving home.” Rand kept his voice low, matter-of-fact. “I was almost to my place when I came up to the pickup—doors wide open and half in a ditch
—beside the road of the forest preserve. Not a well-traveled or well-lit area.”

  “The truck was empty? Did he have a flat tire? Why would Troy leave his truck there?” the wife asked, but didn’t have the strength to raise her eyes to his.

  “I found no sign of violence, ma’am. But not finding the registration and the fact that the vehicle plates were missing made me suspicious, so I called in the VIN number.”

  “Why did it take you so long to contact us then?” Connie demanded. “How long does it take to run a vehicle registration?”

  O’Neill gave her a measured glance. This wasn’t the usual question he got. “Computers were down for a time. It took us a few hours to run down who the owner was, using the vehicle’s identification number.”

  “Troy abandoned his pickup?” Annie Nielsen whimpered, straightening up. “Why would he take off the plates?”

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Nielsen. As I said, I found no evidence of foul play, but the pickup wasn’t just abandoned. Can you think of any reason your husband would remove all evidence of ownership?” It makes this look very suspicious. Honest men don’t remove identification from their vehicles.

  The wife shook her head no.

  “O’Neill’s department,” Hess said, proceeding with his explanation, “contacted our precinct because your husband resides here and of course, we’d had your earlier call. So I agreed to come with O’Neill so he could question you. He needs enough information to decide if Mr. Nielsen has been a victim of foul play or if he has…disappeared for some unknown, but non-threatening reason.”

  “There isn’t—there aren’t…” Connie fell silent.

  Rand expected denial. That was the natural reaction. Even for an evidently strong woman like this. “It’s just too early to know what has happened,” Rand said in a soothing tone he’d often used.

  While making himself comfortable in the hard-backed chair, he studied Connie. Savvy intelligence illuminated her eyes. “Nielsen could be anywhere. We have no evidence but the abandoned pickup.”