“Grant told you that?”
“Ask him. We had a good visit, but he wouldn’t give me your address. So I put in for a vacation at the end of September. I was going to fly to London. My coworker’s sister has a flat there. I planned to stay with her family while I looked for you.”
“Rick, please—”
“You know I’d have found you eventually, Jessie.” He gently took her shoulders and turned her to face him. “With God’s grace, I’ve rebuilt my life from the ground up. But there’s still one big hole, and I can’t figure any way to patch it. That hole is our marriage.”
“We had no marriage.”
“Eleven years ago, you married me. Unless there’s something I don’t know, you’re still my wife.”
Unable to speak, Jess grabbed the iron rail. A chill washed through her veins. She could hear her son’s feet padding on the steps behind her, but she couldn’t make herself turn around.
She was Rick’s wife.
In all the years, she had done nothing about it. There had been no point. She’d had a son to raise. Work to do. A life to live. She hadn’t been interested in dating anyone, and she had had no desire to fall into the marriage trap again.
Rick was long out of her world. A divorce cost money she didn’t have. Divorce meant facing the pain of her past. Worst of all, divorce might mean she would have to locate Rick. Might have to tell him about Spencer. So she had let it go.
“Sometimes you find a clamshell where the animal’s already out,” Splint said, coming up behind her. “If the two sides of the shell are still stuck together, they look just like a butterfly’s wings.”
He threw one wet arm around her waist and gave her a noisy kiss on the cheek. Swinging the pail between Jess and Rick, he lifted it high to show them both his catch.
“How about this?” he said. “Does this look like lunch, or what?”
Jess stared down into the pail of tiny, colorful butterfly clams. “Wow,” she managed.
“See, what you do is, you look on the sand right after a wave flows over it. If you search carefully, you’ll see two tiny dots—little air-holes with bubbles coming out of them. Stick your finger straight down between the two holes, and guess what?”
“You’ll find a clam,” Rick finished. “Way to go, Splinter! I know a lot about sea life, but I didn’t know that.”
“Mama Hannah taught me. She’s awesome.”
“Hey, ever tasted octopus?”
“No way! Can you eat an octopus? Which part?”
“The legs. They’re a bargain, you know. Catch one octopus, and you get eight legs.”
Splinter laughed as he pushed past his mother and grabbed Rick’s sleeve. “Come on. Let’s go put these clams in the kitchen, and then you can show me how to catch an octopus.”
“You’ve got to have special equipment for that.” Rick followed the boy up the last few steps. “Tell you what. One of these days, I’ll show you all the equipment I dive with. I use most of it for excavating, but I need protection, too. You never know what you might run into around a shipwreck.”
“Like what? Sharks?”
“Not too many of those inside a reef. I’ve had some trouble with moray eels, though. Sea urchins can be nasty, too, but about all you can do is avoid them. You want to watch out for scorpion fish. And have you ever heard of the Portuguese man-of-war?”
Jess felt her shoulders sag as she watched her son and his father walk toward the house. Rick had taken the heavy pail of clams in one hand. With the other, he clasped Splinter’s shoulder. Only a blind man could fail to see how much alike they were. They even walked the same way—a long, loose, loping stride. Shoulders straight and heads held high, they continued to converse. Surely Rick knew. Surely it wouldn’t be long before Splint knew, too.
Dear God!
“It is a beautiful day which the Lord has made,” Hannah said, finally reaching the level where Jess stood. “Let us rejoice and be glad in it.”
Jess decided she would rejoice and be glad in her first day at Uchungu House—no matter what. She had all but emptied her savings account to buy the airplane tickets to Zanzibar, and she wasn’t about to back out now. Maybe she could be called unforgiving, hard-hearted, and cold, but no one could call her a coward. True, she’d never had to juggle a shipwreck, a murderer, and an unwanted husband all at the same time. But none of those things had to defeat her.
“I’ll set up parameters for Hunky Wallace,” she told Hannah that afternoon after a lunch of hot clam chowder and fresh pineapple slices. In spite of Splinter’s pleas, Jess had not invited Rick McTaggart to dine with them. Now she and Hannah were working their way through the house, unlocking and exploring the rooms, rearranging furniture, straightening pictures, and setting up the few decorative items Jess had managed to fit into her suitcase.
“I’ll agree to let Hunky cross my property so he can explore the shipwreck, if he wants,” she said, “but in the process, he’ll abide by my rules. No more sleep- shattering morning arrivals. And no more breakfasts at Uchungu House. If he comes quietly, does his diving, and then leaves, I won’t protest. But I don’t want him talking to Splint or to anyone else.”
“Ehh,” Hannah responded. As a Kikuyu from the highlands of Kenya, she used the favorite expression regularly. Jess knew it could mean anything from “What a great idea” to “I can’t believe my own ears.”
Picking through a ring of keys Miriamu had given her, Jess tried each of them in the lock of a door on the second floor. “Don’t you agree I should keep Hunky Wallace away from the house, Mama Hannah?” she asked. “I mean, he’s a treasure hunter—basically the antithesis of everything I believe in. He’s a scavenger. I don’t think he’d be a good influence on Splint.”
“Any enterprise is built by wise planning,” Hannah said softly. “I believe you will build this home wisely, toto, whether the treasure hunter takes his breakfast here or not.”
“Well, I don’t like him eating up our food when I can’t even figure out how I’m going to pay Miriamu and Solomon.”
“‘If your enemies are hungry, give them food to eat. If they are thirsty, give them water to drink. You will heap burning coals on their heads, and the Lord will reward you.’”
Jess laughed. “I can’t imagine Hunky ever feeling ashamed of himself for any reason. Oh, maybe he wouldn’t be so bad to have around. Splint would enjoy looking over the things his crew brings up from the wreck. He’s interested in that kind of thing. Did you see him organizing his clamshells?”
“Your son has great wisdom.”
“And he feels morally responsible to share it with everybody he meets.” Jess inserted a long iron skeleton key into the lock and turned it. “Finally!”
She twisted the brass knob and leaned her shoulder into the heavy wooden door. At first it didn’t budge. Then the door slowly began to swing from its stone frame. Inside the long narrow room, sunlight poured through dusty windowpanes onto a collection of artifacts, some of them shrouded with canvas, others bare.
“Look at all this stuff, Mama Hannah,” Jess exclaimed. “It’s beautiful. Here’s a brass tray from India.”
“It is very green—many years without polishing.”
“Are those rugs? See those rolled-up things propped over there?” Jess stepped across a small chest and walked between a pair of heavily carved chairs to the back of the room. “They are! Persian rugs! If moths haven’t eaten holes in them, we can carpet almost every room in the house. This is amazing, Mama Hannah. Dr. bin Yusuf must have collected from China, India, Persia, Turkey—the whole Orient. I’ve never seen such a collection.”
“Baskets, carvings, chests, tables, vases. Ehh, I am afraid your friend was storing up his treasures here on earth, where they can erode away or be stolen.”
“Maybe I could be called a thief, but I’m going to take all these things out into the house so we can enjoy them.”
“You are wise. The rich man believed he would store all his goods. He would lay them
up for many years. But God says ‘a person is a fool to store up earthly wealth but not have a rich relationship with God.’”
“I think you’re being a little hard on Dr. bin Yusuf,” Jess said. She picked up a large copper pot and an armload of dusty baskets and started toward the door. She intended to set them out on the verandah for cleaning. “Maybe he had some very selfless plans for these things. Or maybe just collecting them made him happy.”
Even as she said the words, she remembered Solomon telling her that Uchungu House had never been a place of happiness. She found that hard to understand. Her art teacher had clearly had so much to enjoy, so much to bring him pleasure. He’d had money, this wonderful home, servants, rooms filled with treasures, and his enormous talent. What more could anyone want?
“Sikilizeni,” Splinter was singing on the verandah as he sorted through his piles of clamshells. “Furaha yangu. Mungu ni pendo; anipenda.”
I am happy. God is love; he loves me.
As Jess set down the copper pot and arranged the baskets in a row, she thought about the words to Hannah’s song. Maybe her old ayah was right about Dr. bin Yusuf—as she was right about so many things. Perhaps the artist had tried to find happiness by storing up treasure on earth, instead of enjoying the richness of God’s love.
Even so, Jess knew it was hard to feel much satisfaction with God when your life was filled with the kinds of trials she herself had gone through. Certainly something had been a big problem in Dr. bin Yusuf ’s life. After all, someone had murdered him.
“Where’d you get the baskets?” Splint asked.
“I unlocked a storeroom upstairs. It’s filled with great stuff. I want to bring it all outside and clean it up. Then we’ll decorate our house.”
“Can I help? I’ll bring things down for you! I’ll clean! Can I use the spray wax? I’ll be really careful, I swear. Hey, how about we turn on a garden hose? We could blast off the dirt!”
“Let’s leave any blasting around here to Hunky Wallace and his crew. Go tell Miriamu what we’re doing, Splint. See what kinds of cleaners she’s got in the kitchen. Then you can help me bring everything down.”
Splinter danced his way into the house singing Hannah’s Swahili song. The African woman passed him as she walked out onto the verandah toting the large brass tray on her back. To it she had tied a strap, which went over her forehead just like the straps she had used to carry heavy loads of firewood. Jess was always startled when reminded that Hannah was not truly her own mother but a simple village woman who had taken on the role of caretaker for four little white children. How Hannah had blessed their lives. What happiness her love had given them.
“This is a very, very green tray,” she said as Jess helped relieve her of the burden. “What a shame that the wealth has rotted away. As the Scriptures tell us, it will stand as evidence against its owner and will eat his flesh like fire.”
“Mama Hannah, good grief!” Jess said with a laugh. “You’re turning poor Dr. bin Yusuf into a demon just because he didn’t keep his brass tray polished.”
“Ehh,” Hannah said.
“He was a good man. At least I think he was. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to kill him.”
Hannah straightened. “Someone killed him?”
Jess nodded and told her about Mr. Patel’s visit. “The police have taken Solomon in for questioning.”
“Why?”
“Apparently he didn’t give an accurate police report after he found Dr. bin Yusuf ’s body.”
“Ehh.” She pondered a moment. “But why would Solomon beat his employer on the head? Was he caught stealing something valuable from this house? Or was he angry with Dr. bin Yusuf?”
“I don’t think robbery was the motive. Mr. Patel didn’t mention anything missing from the house. I don’t know why Solomon would kill anyone. I’m sure the police have questioned him. After he had worked closely with Dr. bin Yusuf so many years, I can’t imagine what could come between them that would cause such a huge problem.”
“Lust, pride, envy, greed, gluttony, anger, sloth. All can cause sin.”
“I guess that about covers it.”
“But perhaps another person killed your teacher.”
“Who? Both Solomon and Nettie told me he didn’t have any friends. It must have been someone with whom he had a relationship. Someone he knew well enough to let into the house. Or a person already working in the house.”
“Miriamu? I don’t think so. She is a woman of great peace.”
“Peaceful people can be driven to murder.”
“When unforgiveness holds them . . . yes, this is true.”
Unforgiveness. Jess flushed at the word. Was she capable of something as terrible as murder? Why not? How many years had she despised Rick McTaggart? How many ways had she imagined torturing her own tormentor? Of course, she felt sure she would never actually carry out such an act. Yet someone had taken revenge on Dr. bin Yusuf.
“The killer would be a person who knew him,” Hannah said. “Who knew your friend? Solomon. Miriamu. Mr. Patel.”
“Mr. Patel is a lawyer. He knew Dr. bin Yusuf only on a business level. He wouldn’t have done it.”
“Did he stand to gain wealth by the death?”
“Just attorney’s fees. That wouldn’t be a very strong motive.” Jess thought for a moment, trying to make a mental list of anyone who might have had contact with the artist. “Well, our neighbor down the road, Nettie Cameron, told me Dr. bin Yusuf has a sister in Zanzibar town. Maybe his sister was holding something against him. Nettie told me everyone expected him to leave her the house.”
“Perhaps you should pay this woman a visit.”
“What if she knocks me on the head?”
“We should take Solomon with us for protection.”
“Are you kidding? He’s the primary suspect, Mama Hannah. Besides, he’s at the police station in town.”
“No, he returned in the Renault one hour ago. Miriamu told me.”
“The police let him go?” Jess glanced around, instantly wary. She had assured herself the artist had been killed by someone who had a motive tied directly to him—and who would not be interested in coming after her. But she still felt uncomfortable. Had the death of Dr. bin Yusuf resolved the killer’s problem and assuaged his rage? Or would he . . . or she . . . feel compelled to strike again?
“Miriamu told me the police could find no reason to arrest Solomon at this time,” Hannah said. “He has returned to Uchungu House while the police continue their investigation.”
“Do you think we’re safe here, Mama Hannah? If anything happened to Splinter . . . or to you. . . . Maybe we should move to a hotel in town. With so many people around, we’d be safer.”
“‘The Lord is my light and my salvation—so why should I be afraid? The Lord protects me from danger—so why should I tremble?’”
“Sounds good, but even David ran for his life when Saul was chasing after him. Remember the psalm? ‘O Lord, how long will you forget me? Forever? How long will you look the other way?’”
“Ehh, you have not forgotten the Word of the Lord!” Hannah beamed. “I believed that perhaps the root of bitterness had eaten too deeply into your heart.”
Jess leaned against an arched verandah support and stared up at the palm trees swaying in the afternoon breeze. Again, she found herself fighting a lump in her throat. It was an odd feeling. How many years had it been since she had allowed herself to cry? How many years since she had swallowed the ache and forced herself to feel nothing?
“This morning when we were sitting on the cliff-side steps, Rick asked me to forgive him,” she said. Her voice was barely audible over the murmur of the palm leaves. “I don’t want to.”
“Ehh.”
“Would you, Mama Hannah? I mean, I’ll admit I played a part in the fiasco of our marriage. I was young and unrealistic. I expected Rick to conform to my image of the perfect husband. I pushed him too hard, and I was impatient with the struggles he was go
ing through. I’d fallen in love with him for his wildness, for that rebel streak that made him do crazy things. But once we married, I wanted him to settle down and act like a responsible husband.”
“You wished to change him. You forgot that only God can change a man.”
“I made a mistake, and I acknowledge that. But I wasn’t the one who drank beer until three in the morning. I wasn’t the one who rode around on a motorcycle and spent nearly every waking hour scuba diving. And I wasn’t the one who took off and left a pregnant wife.”
She crossed her arms and glared out at a bougainvillea bush loaded with purple blossoms. Just the mention of what she had been through made anger eat at her insides. She could feel it gnawing. She could feel the pain as though it had all just happened.
“I don’t see how I can forgive Rick for what he did,” she said. “I just can’t.”
“God can do what men cannot, toto.”
“God’s got his work cut out for him if I’m supposed to forgive Rick McTaggart. Just the sight of the man makes me sick. I hate him, Mama Hannah. I really do.”
The old woman ran her dark fingers over the green tray. “You know what I have always believed concerning people. I have always believed that hate and love are very close to each other.”
“I know, and I’ve always thought that was a bunch of bunk.”
“What’s a bunch of bunk?” Splinter stepped out onto the verandah carrying a bucket filled with warm soapy water and an empty bucket laden with a sea sponge, three rags, and a bottle of lemon oil.
Jess moved away from the pillar and went to inspect his finds. “Oh, Mama Hannah doesn’t think love and hate are opposites. She says they’re two sides of the same coin.”
“Hmm.” He cocked his hands on his hips and stared at the floor for a moment. “I’m with Mama Hannah.”
“You would be.”
“Sure, because she’s right. It makes perfect sense. Remember how once in a while I used to come running in from Nick’s house and tell you we’d had a terrible fight, and I hated him? I did, too! But see . . . I could only hate him that strongly because I liked him so much.” He knelt down on the verandah floor. “Look, Mom, here’s the deal. Pretend like this soapy water stands for my feelings for Nick. This bucket is love, and this one is hate. Are you with me so far?”
A Whisper of Danger Page 8