Hounded

by Anita Klumpers

  “I don’t think Palmer is dead.”

  Steven’s head shot up. “Is that what you were hollering?” Then he shook it regretfully. “I’m still not letting anyone out. I can’t believe we didn’t get hit.”

  “I can’t understand how you got onto the grounds, Steve.” Russ paused in his ministrations to stare at the other man. “The gates were shut when I got here.”

  “Connections with the family,” The detective grinned, then flipped the notebook to a fresh page.” Let’s put this time to good use. Tell me what’s been going on. Elise first.”

  Head on Russ’s hard shoulder, she recounted it all, even the shameless spying on Timothy so long ago that led her to the wine cellar tonight.

  “And then Therese was ready to shoot me. And I patted Jeff and—” she sprang from Russ’s lap and he barely saved his cup of coffee. “Jeff! He’s outside. Russ, I need to find him. He’s terrified of storms.”

  Russ had leapt to stand next to her. The sky still flared every few seconds and thunder grumbled back in aggravation. “Did you let him out?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Where was he last?”

  “I can’t be sure. I think—yes, in the kitchen. I shut the door when I went out. At least I think I did.”

  Steven Bly disappeared. On his return he regarded her quizzically. “Both dogs are in a room down the hall. I doubt they’re happy, but they’re dry and safe.”

  Russ took Elise’s hand as she sagged in relief. “Why did you think Jeff got outside?”

  “I felt him. Just before I thought I was going to die, he was next to me, protecting me.”

  Russ’s eyes sparked. “Elise—”

  Steven had casually removed the plastic sheath and unrolled the papers he’d taken from the ground. Now he stiffened, and his face hardened. “Where have these papers been before tonight?”

  “This is just a guess but I think I’m right. In the cubbyhole under the statue of Timmy.”

  “Good grief. And he a skilled attorney. Do you know what is in them?”

  “No. No idea.”

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you this. It’s evidence. But. Dear God.” He swallowed and shuffled through. “They’re all signed by Timothy Amberson. Hang on. Let me skim a minute.”

  Elise stood in tense silence and Russ stared out the window as sheets of rain flung themselves against the glass. The detective’s usual poker-face was drawn. Finally he looked up.

  “These are like a series of affidavits. Each signed and notarized. The earliest was written almost thirty years ago.” He took a breath. “Basically, they state that Palmer Amberson sexually abused Timothy’s children, at that time a girl aged five and a boy aged three.”

  So. Therese hadn’t just been spewing vindictive lies.

  “In the first one Timothy wrote his suspicions that the abuse had been occurring for over two years, right in this house.”

  Elise shuddered. Timmy would have been a baby, Vanessa just a small girl.

  “Palmer Amberson knew these existed. Timothy threatened that if he ever touched the children again, he would be suspended from the law firm. It was his version of a short leash, at least as far as his children were concerned. He never seemed to even consider turning him in. You’d be surprised at how many families cover up abuse.

  “He updated every few years, each time he suspected Palmer had physical contact with his son and daughter. He makes certain to state that the children’s mother knew nothing about it, and neither did Godfrey, Dorthea, or Palmer’s wife. It was just between brothers.”

  He shuffled through the papers again. “Timothy stopped adding affidavits when the children were grown. He added nothing until five years ago.”

  “When Timothy’s first grandchild was born,” Elise whispered and leaned against the counter for support.

  “In spite of Timothy’s precautions it looks as though Palmer tried to maneuver time alone with the next generation. That’s when Timothy determined to make sure nothing got hushed up. He threatened to tell Palmer’s wife, even take steps for formal charges to be filed.

  “This last one—it’s dated three days before your husband died, Elise. It states he overheard his brother volunteer to babysit Timothy’s grandchildren. Listen.” He read aloud from the sheet, so much whiter than the others.

  “‘On 31 July, 2013 I met with Therese Amberson to disclose the details of my brother’s prior sexual abuse of my children and the potential for abuse of my grandchildren. She appeared unsurprised and reminded me that the statute of limitations for pressing charges had passed. When I expressed my intention to not only have him dismissed from the firm but publicly disgraced, she asked that I give her a week to decide on her own course of action. She promised there would be no contact between my brother and my grandchildren.’”

  That was all. Russell stirred, came to stand beside Elise. “Do you think Therese killed Timothy?”

  “Maybe.” Steven rolled the papers back into the sheath. “More likely his brother did.”

  Elise mulled this for a moment. “The anonymous tip about our fight…who was that?”

  “My educated guess is one of them, probably Palmer, came over to meet with his brother and beg him to see reason. I take it you weren’t privy to many of your husband’s activities?”

  “You take it right.” Elise mulled some more. “Palmer could have been waiting down by the pool house. Timothy called it his summer office. He often would meet there with his father and brother.”

  “Again, it is just speculation, but I’ll bet he was in the right place at the right time to hear the argument. When your husband refused to see reason, his brother could have panicked and hit him. Then, later, he remembered the argument and used it to his advantage.”

  Detective Bly’s phone buzzed and he answered, spoke briefly, and rose to peer out the window. “Seems like the worst is over. And not just the storm. Whichever of those two walloped you won’t be able to take another shot.” His pale, light-lashed eyes smiled from under bristling brows and he nodded approval at Russ’s arm around Elise’s waist. “You can take care of her for now, Martinez?”

  The grip on Elise tightened. “That’s up to her. She’s an independent sort.”

  Steven grinned and shambled out the back door as Mutt and Jeff clicked in from the hall, apologizing to Russ for the tardy greetings. He assured them he didn’t take it personally and, satisfied, the dogs nudged Elise goodnight and could be heard clipping upstairs for their first decent sleep in days.

  “Poor babies. This will be tough on them. Losing Timothy and Palmer both.” Filled with unexplained energy, Elise gently detached Russ’s arm and roamed the room, thinking out loud. “Some part of me has been suspecting an Amberson was up to no good. They have the run of the house.” She lapped the kitchen and the nook as Russell watched, smiling. “Jeff would never have gone around to that awful north side unless to find someone he loved. Palmer must have slunk along the passage to get up to the billiard room.” Remembering Jeff’s interest with the passage the night she was shoved in the pool, she added, “I’ll bet he checked out the billiard room a couple of times.”

  “Why?”

  “He’d checked at the office and the house and must have been desperately hoping it wasn’t at some other unknown location. And if he put the rock that killed Timothy under the statue of Vanessa, maybe it eventually made him remember the one of Timmy and he started to obsess.” She shook her head sadly. “A guilty conscience is a terrible thing. But in this case he was also right. Brothers thinking alike.” Elise fell silent a moment before snapping her fingers. “I’m willing to bet it was Therese in the office the night after the funeral, looking for the papers. Palmer wouldn’t have shut Mutt in the closet but Therese would, to keep him quiet.”

  Russ grunted. “Elise, Palmer might have killed his brother. He molested children in his own family, and who knows how many others.”

  “You’re right. And still, I don’t think he would hurt the do
gs.” Elise stopped moving and met the blue eyes. “Timmy and Vanessa—can they get help? I mean, Timmy has never grown up and Vanessa hates people. But maybe that is just how they are. It sounds as though they have no memory of the abuse.”

  “They remember,” Russ told her grimly. “On some level. But they aren’t beyond help. Plenty of great counselors out there.”

  Resuming her rounds, Elise chuckled mirthlessly. “I even had some suspicions of them, that one of them had killed their father for the money they’d get from the estate. Timmy wasn’t just sad about his father’s death, he was contrite to the point of hysterics when he saw that photo—Ha!”

  “What?”

  “Timothy kept a photo of himself holding his grandchild. I gave it to Timmy and Palmer said he’d been the photographer. You should have seen how Timothy held that baby. Like he needed to ward off evil.”

  Still contemplating the past few days, Elise continued to prowl. “Poor Vanessa. I even wondered about her, because she’s been roaming town. It would be odd, except she just lost her father. Everyone mourns differently, right?”

  Russ intercepted her promenade. “I’m getting tired just watching you. Sit here next to me.”

  She looked at the beautiful eyes and could think of no place better than next to him. “Why did you come tonight? I couldn’t call you.”

  “I know. While we were at Jerusha’s after the funeral, Amber—you remember her from the prayer meeting—had some cramping and spotting. I went to the hospital with her and her husband. It was pretty intense for a while so I silenced my phone. Then the battery died.”

  “I’m scared to ask what happened.”

  “Well, right now the baby is fine. But she’s going to need to be on bed rest the remainder of the pregnancy.” He grinned. “Jerusha is already organizing meals and housecleaning and shopping with the church folk.”

  “I could make her a meal.”

  Russ traced her fingers and smiled. “When I finally got it charged I tried returning your calls but couldn’t get through. The home phone here must be unlisted so that didn’t help. I called Steve, and when he sounded worried enough to say he’d get here as soon as he could, I decided to come over. And found out your fence isn’t as easy to scale as I first thought. Nobody leaves trash cans out in this neighborhood. The few trees on the street side wouldn’t support my weight. I drove the pickup all the way around, looking for a likely spot to park and use it to climb on. But you’ve got those lousy berms against the fence and I couldn’t get close enough. Then I heard you shouting the Lord’s Prayer—”

  “You heard me shouting what?”

  “The Lord’s Prayer. And I decided you must be sleepwalking or losing your mind but either way I had to get to you. So I pulled the pickup as close as I could and jumped. Took me three tries and a scraped ribcage before I got a grip.”

  Sirens caterwauled and Steven Bly jerked on the patio door, glared and jerked again. “Beast,” he muttered when he finally opened it enough to slide through. “Palmer Amberson’s spine is shattered. Medics won’t say absolutely, but looks as though he’ll be paralyzed the rest of his life. And Therese is definitely dead. Not sure whether it’s from the branch that hit her or the bullet when she fell on her gun.” He left again.

  “Harsh justice.” Russ was sober. “He’ll never hurt another child.”

  Sometime soon Elise would weep for the wreckage Palmer had wrought in so many lives. But right now she needed to keep Russ on topic. “You told me how you got here. I want to know why. I told you to leave and never come back.”

  “You know why. Because I love you,” he answered simply.

  She stared at him and Russ laughed. “You didn’t think sending me packing would make me stop loving you. It isn’t based on your reciprocation, you know. It just is.” He snorted. “Honestly. You act as though love is a faucet with an ‘off’ handle.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to ask me if I love you?”

  He sobered. “Not now. Right now you’re tired and hurt and maybe a little bit in shock. You’re not yourself.”

  “Oh, I am so myself. I’m the Elise who is starting to run toward the scary stuff instead of away, because something is always going to catch me anyway. The Elise who wants to get pregnant with your baby someday even if I know there’s a chance it won’t take. No Russ, don’t kiss me yet. I need to stay focused. I want to take back my parents even though they’re getting older and frail. The storm of the century is brewing, but this Elise ran outside because somebody might be hurt. And she loves you even though there are no guarantees you won’t leave me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  All which I took from thee I did but take,

  Not for thy harms,

  But just that thou might’st seek it in My arms.

  “The Hound of Heaven,” Lines 171-173

  Elise began crying and he gathered her up, tugging her awkwardly onto his own chair and holding her close. Not for the world would she let him know that he was squashing her injured shoulder.

  “Did I really shout The Lord’s Prayer?”

  “You did.”

  “Huh. I have even better sense than I realized.” She shifted her shoulder a fraction of an inch away from him. “You don’t even mind my hallucination.”

  “What hallucination?”

  “You know. About Jeff. Right before Therese was going to blow my brains out.”

  He pulled her closer. She sighed and resigned herself to the pain.

  “Elise. You didn’t hallucinate. Not in the classic sense.” He hesitated as if to choose the perfect words. “God is always with His people. Sometimes He chooses to let us actually feel His presence.”

  “I know. The Hound of Heaven finally got me.”

  “I happen to believe He never let you go in the first place. That can be a discussion for another day. But you didn’t really think the kind of love that sacrificed everything to claim you would let you leave in a huff?”

  Elise studied his face. “That was silly of me, wasn’t it? But I do get into huffs a lot. Can you put up with that?”

  “I’ll counteract with plenty of peccadillos for you to cope with.”

  “I owe you sixty dollars yet. I’m going to pay you back in pennies. You’ll need to stick with me at least till it is all paid back.”

  “You’re a screwball. Did you know that?”

  “Yes. Can my parents live with us? And Mutt and Jeff?”

  “Sure. I always figured you for a package deal.”

  At least she didn’t have baggage. The past week, the past years, had stripped her of it.

  Her shoulder needed respite, even if the rest of her needed Russell Martinez. She maneuvered herself to a stand and walked to the window. Stars wormed their way through the shredding clouds and twinkled with self-satisfaction. Elise crooked a finger for Russ to join her.

  “Do pastors make good kissers?”

  “I’ll let you be the judge.”

  The first five seconds demonstrated that this particular pastor was very good indeed, but Elise kept him at it another half minute, just to be sure.

  THE HOUND OF HEAVEN

  Francis Thompson (1859–1907)

  Public Domain

  I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;

  I fled Him, down the arches of the years;

  I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways

  Of my own mind; and in the midst of tears

  I hid from Him, and under running laughter.

  Up vistaed hopes I sped;

  And shot, precipitated,

  Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears,

  From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.

  But with unhurrying chase,

  And unperturbèd pace,

  Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,

  They beat—and a Voice beat

  More instant than the Feet—

  ‘All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.’

  I pleaded, outlaw-wise,

&n
bsp; By many a hearted casement, curtained red,

  Trellised with intertwining charities;

  (For, though I knew His love Who followed,

  Yet was I sore adread

  Lest, having Him, I must have naught beside.)

  But, if one little casement parted wide,

  The gust of His approach would clash it to:

  Fear wist not to evade, as Love wist to pursue.

  Across the margent of the world I fled,

  And troubled the gold gateway of the stars,

  Smiting for shelter on their clanged bars;

  Fretted to dulcet jars

  And silvern chatter the pale ports o’ the moon.

  I said to Dawn: Be sudden—to Eve: Be soon;

  With thy young skiey blossom heap me over

  From this tremendous Lover—

  Float thy vague veil about me, lest He see!

  I tempted all His servitors, but to find

  My own betrayal in their constancy,

  In faith to Him their fickleness to me,

  Their traitorous trueness, and their loyal deceit.

  To all swift things for swiftness did I sue;

  Clung to the whistling mane of every wind.

  But whether they swept, smoothly fleet,

  The long savannahs of the blue;

  Or, whether, Thunder-driven,

  They clanged his chariot ‘thwart a heaven,

  Plashy with flying lightnings round the spurn o’ their feet:—

  Fear wist not to evade as Love wist to pursue.

  Still with unhurrying chase,

  And unperturbed pace,

  Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,

  Came on the following Feet,

  And a Voice above their beat—

  ‘Naught shelters thee, who wilt not shelter Me.’

  I sought no more after that which I strayed

  In face of man or maid;

  But still within the little children’s eyes

  Seems something, something that replies,

  They at least are for me, surely for me!

  I turned me to them very wistfully;

  But just as their young eyes grew sudden fair

  With dawning answers there,

  Their angel plucked them from me by the hair.