Death Benefits

by Hannah Alexander

  Third, Ginger countered Lucy’s attempts with a little overmothering, herself. Not that Ray would dare call her on it. At least, not at this point.

  Interesting that he was presently in need of a physician’s assistant in his office practice back home. Since children were his specialty, it seemed the opportunity to hire Ginger for that position would be a slam dunk.

  It would be for anyone else, but he had approached that topic with her last year, and had been soundly put in his place. That subject would need to be approached next time with great diplomacy.

  Though he did believe in miracles, and had actually witnessed a few in his lifetime, he had serious doubts about that happening in this situation.

  Why should God break protocol and perform a miracle for the man who had been so hard on Ginger and flubbed the whole situation?

  He turned away from the others impatiently and stood watching the boat’s wake on the surface of the river. Why was he suddenly second-guessing his decisions last year? Ginger’s response to his presence was affecting him. Ridiculous to allow one person to cause him to doubt himself and his own motivations. He knew better.

  “Not motion sick, are you?” came a gruff voice from behind. He turned to see Larry Bager bracing himself against the railing of the boat. His vivid shirt hung loosely enough that no bulge showed from the holster and gun beneath—unless one knew he was carrying.

  “I’ve never had that problem,” Ray said. “You?”

  “I hate the water.”

  “And yet you live in Branson, the Tri-Lakes Area?” Now that he mentioned it, Larry did look slightly pale.

  “I never get near a boat if I can help it.”

  Ray grinned. “I’d live on one if it were possible. The rocking rhythm of the water eases the stresses of the day and can put me to sleep faster than warm milk and a sleeping pill.”

  “I don’t suppose, then, that you would happen to be carrying a seasick tablet with you,” Larry said.

  “As a matter of fact, I have a small bottle in my pocket.”

  Larry brightened. “You take this doctoring thing seriously, don’t you?”

  Ray reached for the bottle. “I think it’s the best man’s responsibility, isn’t it? To make sure the wedding guests don’t get motion sick before the vows can be made?” He flipped the top and shook two tablets into Larry’s hand. “Have you discovered more information about the call from the florist shop?”

  Larry glanced over his shoulder, studied some people standing on the shore, then apparently dismissed them as harmless. “The policeman I spoke with said the florist doesn’t keep money in his shop overnight, so he doesn’t bother with a lot of security. Who’d want to rob a florist?”

  “So even a schoolkid could have broken in without leaving evidence of entry,” Ray said.

  Larry nodded. “That’s right. A call was made from the shop late last night. The florist swears he wasn’t there, and made no such call.”

  “Fenrow is on the island.”

  “I called hotel security and asked that someone there pack all our luggage. That will be transported to a house near Haena State Park in the northern tip of the island. Very safe, and there’s no way Fenrow could find us there.”

  Something in Ray relaxed. Larry did have things in hand.

  “I also instructed the hotel staff to spread the word that if anyone called or appeared in person asking about us, we had left the island and were flying to Maui.”

  Ray nodded in approval. “Think the ruse will work?”

  “Sure do. This man’s not getting anywhere near our group.”

  “It won’t hurt to remain vigilant,” Ray said.

  “Never hurts to do that.”

  “Do the others know we won’t be returning to Poipu?” Ray asked.

  Larry shook his head. “Let’s enjoy the wedding if we can before we upset the apple cart. Know what I mean? I’ll tell Steve and Helen about it afterward.”

  “What about the luau?”

  “Sorry, can’t do it. We’ll have to change our whole itinerary. Anything that scum could’ve found in Graham’s house, we need to delete from the list of things to do on this trip.”

  Ray grimaced. At least Lucy would be relieved about the luau. She didn’t sound excited about the proposition, anyway. But she didn’t know what she was missing. Ray had seen two of them, and had enjoyed them both.

  “You know,” Ray said to Larry, “those tablets could make you a little groggy. You don’t think they’ll affect your aim if you have to shoot, do you?”

  Larry shot him a dark look of warning. “Keep your voice down.”

  “Sorry.”

  “And no, the drug won’t affect me. I only hope I don’t have to use my trigger finger for anything more than scratching my nose on this trip.”

  “I hope not, either.”

  “But I learned last year not to underestimate that man,” Larry said. “He’s surprised us before, but it’s not gonna happen to me this time.”

  Ray nodded and wandered away. He only hoped Larry was right, but as sharp as the P.I. was, no one could be on patrol every second of the day. He had to sleep, had to have downtime.

  Ray, too, was beginning to beware of strangers who stood too near the children or Willow. He’d do all he could to back up Larry.

  A man would have to be desperate for revenge to attempt anything with this group.

  Lucy kept her hands to herself, but she watched Larry Bager. Every time he glanced toward the shoreline, Lucy followed his gaze. Every time he studied the people on another boat, Lucy did so, as well.

  He had a way of watching people, his gaze sliding toward them and away before they noticed.

  Larry wasn’t the kind of person to snuggle little kids on his lap and read them a story. He didn’t smile like Ray did. Even though Aunt Ginger seemed to get along better with him than she did with Ray, Larry didn’t smile much at Aunt Ginger, either.

  When Lucy asked about it, Aunt Ginger explained that some men felt threatened by strong women. But Aunt Ginger didn’t arm wrestle Larry or pick him up and carry him around, so he couldn’t know how strong she was.

  None of that mattered, though. Lucy didn’t care if he never said a word or smiled at any of them, as long as he protected them. And maybe that was why he didn’t talk. He wanted to be on guard all the time.

  Another boat drew near theirs, and Lucy studied the tourists on board it. One man, standing near the back of the group of brightly dressed people, had black hair and wore sunglasses.

  When Larry turned to look at him, Lucy hurried to Brittany’s side and grabbed her hand. Let her whine.

  SIXTEEN

  Lucy once again grabbed her little sister. Brittany squirmed and tried to shove her away.

  Ginger was about to intervene when she noticed Larry stiffening. His right hand raised almost imperceptibly to the hem of his shirt. His dark gaze fixed on someone in the crowded pontoon that was passing their boat on the left.

  She followed the direction of his gaze, and saw a dark-haired man, pale face, slump shouldered, hanging away from the rest of the crowd. She tensed.

  Willow stepped to Larry’s side and nudged him, shaking her head. His hand lowered, and he relaxed. She sank to her knees beside the girls and spoke softly to them, an elegantly dressed bride more concerned about reassuring the children than preserving her appearance for the ceremony.

  Ginger glanced again at the man in the other boat who resembled Rick Fenrow. It wasn’t him, of course. No one would know that as surely as Willow, herself, who had stared into her abductor’s face as he tried to kill her.

  Someone stepped to the railing beside Ginger and nudged her with an elbow. She glanced up to find Preston watching her, his blue-gray eyes filled with…what? Concern?

  “You look tired,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  “And a little sad.”

  “I thought your degree was in accounting, not counseling.”

  “I didn’t say I wanted
you to talk to me about it, I thought you might want to smile to make the bride and groom more comfortable.”

  “Can it wait until they’re watching?” Ginger grumbled. “My face is tired. All of me is tired. I need sleep.”

  “And you need to get away from Ray Clyde,” Preston guessed.

  Ginger frowned at him. “You’re meddling.”

  He shrugged. “That’s my sister’s job. And yours, most of the time.”

  Her frown deepened.

  “It isn’t my area of expertise,” he said, “but why do you feel that you have to be on foreign soil in order to fulfill some sort of mission?”

  “You sound like Ray now. Who said I needed foreign soil?”

  “Isn’t that what this whole thing with Ray is about? You’re mad at him because he ruined your career in foreign missions?”

  Ginger bit back a sharp reply about people minding their own business. She should be glad Preston was seeking answers to subjects that touched on the spiritual. She wished he’d do it at a more appropriate time—like when she’d had some sleep and was prepared with better replies.

  But, of course, her own well-planned replies didn’t always have the desired effect. It seemed that she was most effective when she was too tired to think straight, and the Holy Spirit had a chance to take over her tongue.

  “I’ve never known you to hold this kind of a grudge,” Preston continued. “Especially with someone like Ray, who anybody can tell is a good-hearted person.”

  Hold on to the temper, Ginger. “Of course he has a good heart,” she said. To anyone but me. “I’m afraid I’m not at my best right now. I’d love nothing better than a nice, long nap in a quiet room. If I seem to be brooding about something, I apologize.” She forced a sweet smile and hoped he’d wander away to study the luxuriant foliage along the shore at the historical Hawaiian village.

  Instead, he frowned and leaned against the railing. “I’ve always had trouble understanding the concept of Christian medical missions that manipulate the needs of patients in order to sell them Jesus.”

  Oh, brother, here it comes. Preston was in the mood to argue today. Why was that? And why couldn’t he choose someone else?

  “How do you see us manipulating, Preston? Meeting their physical needs gives us the opportunity to meet other needs they might not be so aware of, but we don’t force anything on them.”

  “You’re talking about spiritual needs,” he said drily.

  “We’re not just physical beings—we’re spiritual, and we have minds. But I don’t have to tell you that. You grew up in a Christian home, you know—”

  “It didn’t take.” His voice was flat, not angry, not frustrated, but matter-of-fact. “My prayers weren’t answered. My mother remains schizophrenic to this day.”

  Ah. That was it. His and Willow’s parents couldn’t make it to the wedding because of their mother’s most recent episode. Ginger knew, from long conversations with Willow, that Preston and Willow’s mother’s mental illness had influenced their lives profoundly.

  “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to feed you the usual dogma about the mystery of God and why He does certain things. I’m sure you heard that for most of your childhood.”

  Preston rested his elbows against the railing as he stared down into the dark blue-green water. “Until I grew sick of hearing it and started asking questions. Then that got me into trouble, too. How dare I question God?”

  “I understand,” she said. “I’ve been there. I got so tired of those well-intentioned believers who tried to frighten me into believing what they did.”

  He nodded.

  “Some people don’t realize that others can’t be bullied into sudden faith in Christ. It didn’t work that way for me.”

  “Oh, no,” Preston groaned. “You’re getting ready to ‘give me your testimony.’”

  “You know what? You’re the one who started this conversation.”

  He raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry. Go ahead and hit me with your best shot.”

  “All I’m saying is that, after I resisted the efforts of highly dogmatic people who tried hard to make me repent for huge past mistakes, I was touched by the gentle, loving voice of a dying woman in the hospital where my second husband died so many years ago. She simply told me to imagine that there was more to us than this present lifetime. That there was actually a much better life, and that Jesus had left directions for us to arrive there safely.”

  Preston looked at her, as if expecting something more profound. “That’s it? That touched you?”

  “I realized later that it wasn’t her voice alone that led me to finally believe, but it was a combination of many voices over the years. Even those who seemed obnoxious, or nervous, or awkward. I realized that a lot of people cared enough about me to tell me something I didn’t want to hear. God spoke to me through each of them. To me, that one dying patient had the quiet voice of God, a culmination of His love. His mercy. His peace.”

  That was the voice she wanted to be to others who so desperately needed that touch that could only come from the tender presence of the Holy Spirit. If only Preston could see that side of God.

  But she wasn’t doing such a good job of showing it to him. She, too, had been angry and judgmental on this trip. Actually, she’d been that way since last year. With Ray.

  “You saw God in a dying patient,” Preston said drily.

  She sighed. Why even bother? How could he see anything of Christ’s spirit through her own arrogance?

  She closed her eyes, suddenly ashamed. Oh, Lord, that’s what I’m doing, isn’t it? I’m so arrogant in my anger toward Ray, and it’s also toward You.

  “Unfortunately,” she said, “I’ve never quite outgrown my early years of rebellion. Kind of hard to see the gentle love of Christ in me most of the time.”

  “In a way, I’m glad you’re not a perfect Christian,” Preston said.

  “Is that right?” She could hear the sarcasm in her voice.

  “It’s the perfect ones who make me feel I’ll never measure up,” he said. “My family obviously never did.”

  “Measure up? No one does that. I’m a prime example of the way God can use damaged, fallible human beings to spread His grace.”

  He continued to stare into the water. Something else seemed to be bothering him today. In fact, now that she thought about it, aside from the fact that they were all overly stressed about Rick Fenrow, Preston hadn’t been himself on this trip.

  “Preston?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You okay?”

  He sighed. “I’m fine. I just don’t want to fall on my knees and say the sinner’s prayer, you know what I mean? I don’t know where I’d go if I were to die today, and I don’t want to discuss it.” He seemed to almost be talking to himself now. “Aren’t those the questions a good Christian is supposed to ask someone in order to “close the deal’?”

  “Maybe, but I thought we’d just decided I’m not a good Christian.”

  He looked at her and grimaced. “Sorry, Ginger.” He put an arm over her shoulders and sighed again. “I shouldn’t be dragging you into an argument I’ve been having with someone else.”

  “Who on earth would have started an argument with you on your sister’s wedding day?”

  He didn’t reply.

  And then she thought about the only person whom he might have talked with before breakfast this morning. “Sheila?”

  Again, he didn’t reply, which was reply enough.

  “Okay, I won’t pry,” Ginger said.

  “Good.”

  “Even though I’ve taken the brunt of your ire, and earned a good explanation, I have no business involving myself in your relationship with your girlfriend.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And even though I’ve lived longer than you, and have a better understanding of the female psyche, far be it from me to interfere.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Even if I might be of help
in this situation, I’m sure I don’t want to force my advice on you.”

  He smiled then, and patted her arm before releasing her. “We’ve got a few days here. Give me some time.”

  They were silent then, while Graham and Ray were chortling with laughter over something at the front of the boat. Ginger looked at Ray to find him watching her. She didn’t look away this time, and neither did he.

  Somehow, much of her bitterness had eased, and once again she felt ashamed of her behavior. Here she was trying to convince Preston how sage her advice would be for his relationship with Sheila, and she was behaving like a spoiled child with Ray—had done so for far too long.

  She’d known Ray for how many years? Ten? And in all that time, had she ever seen him make any judgments out of spite? No. She had known him to be a man of integrity in every situation. She had thought she’d known his heart. A man like that didn’t change overnight.

  So why, when one of his difficult decisions involved her, couldn’t she trust him? He was the director. He was the one who saw the big picture.

  Yes, it hurt badly to know that he felt her incapable of continuing in her former position, but to nurse that hurt, and allow it to hurt others? That was so wrong. She knew better.

  Again, she realized that her feelings about him had damaged her professionalism.

  She’d been somewhat attracted to him for a long time.

  She glanced at him again, then away quickly. Yes, well, so there was a lot of attraction. It had been her downfall, obviously.

  Though she had never wanted that attraction to cloud her judgment, or to weaken her resolve to be loyal to her mission, obviously it influenced her in an area where she hadn’t expected it.

  She needed to pray about this more. Best not to go too far with these thoughts yet.

  The boat slowed, and Ginger realized they had reached the Fern Grotto, a place renowned for romantic and beautiful weddings.

  She looked up into the cave, hung with lush green ferns that formed a natural chapel, and she caught her breath. She turned and looked across the river, at the blue sky crowned with incoming thunderheads to the east.