by Terri Reed
She gave him a tight smile and then disappeared inside.
As Brody returned to the station, he thought about Kate’s question. He wished he didn’t suspect he’d miss her when she disappeared from his life for good.
SEVEN
Kate awoke feeling refreshed from a good night’s sleep. For the second time in as many days she’d not had a nightmare. She supposed it was because she felt safe at Myrtle’s with Deputy Teal just down the road.
She peeked out her bedroom window that looked out at the street. Sure enough, there was a car down the road, but it wasn’t Deputy Teal’s car.
It was Brody’s.
A tingling of anticipation raced through her system. She tried to subdue the sudden pleasure of knowing that Brody was the one watching over her.
Irritated with herself for such ridiculousness, she quickly dressed and left the room. Being pleased that Brody was watching over her really shouldn’t make any difference.
The smell of bacon and coffee scented the air and made her stomach rumble. She hadn’t had much of an appetite the previous night and had only eaten a little of the chicken and rice Myrtle had made.
Kate walked into the kitchen as Myrtle was putting a plate piled high with bacon into the oven. “Good morning,” Kate said.
Myrtle straightened and wiped her hands on the red-checkered apron tied at her waist. “Morning, dear. Sleep well?”
“I did. Thank you.”
“Whenever you’re ready for breakfast, there’s bacon in the oven, eggs in the warmer.” She pointed to a covered silver dish. A flame heated the metal bottom. Obviously Myrtle was used to entertaining. “Cups are there.” She pointed to a cup rack on the wall by the refrigerator where several mugs hung. “Would you care to join me at church this morning?”
A longing to be in a place where God was present welled inside Kate. The necessity to replenish her faith was strong. “Yes. I’d love that.”
“Wonderful. The service starts in an hour and a half.” Myrtle picked up a sponge and wiped down the counter.
“Would you mind if I take a cup of coffee to Sheriff McClain?”
Myrtle’s brows drew together creating more creases in her forehead. “The sheriff’s here?”
“Outside in his car.”
Myrtle put the sponge down in the sink and then went to the front window. “Was he there all night?”
Kate shrugged, trying for nonchalance when she couldn’t deny the pleasure of knowing he’d been out there. “Probably.”
“By all means, invite him in for breakfast.” Myrtle bustled back to the kitchen.
A nervous ripple shook Kate as she went out the door. He was just doing his job, she told herself. He wasn’t looking out for her because he cared and she was only offering because it was the polite thing to do. Plus, Myrtle had insisted. The crisp morning air cooled her skin through her twill pants and lightweight cotton sweater.
Brody rolled down his window as she approached the car. He wore his uniform beneath his jacket and a thermos sat on the seat next to him.
“Care to come in for breakfast?” she asked.
Surprise flared in his eyes before a slow smile spread across his face. “Love to.”
Feeling awkward because of the rush of warmth his smile generated in her, she sternly reminded herself this wasn’t some sort of date. She stepped back when he opened the door. He moved slowly, stiffly from the car. White lines appeared around his compressed mouth. Concern and guilt coursed through her because he’d spent an uncomfortable night sitting in his car while she peacefully slept.
“After you,” he said with a sweeping gesture of his hand. They walked to the house with her slightly ahead of him and, as they stepped onto the sidewalk leading to Myrtle’s door, she glanced back. Was he limping? He met her gaze with raised brows and walked past her without a limp. Must have been her imagination.
In the time it took Kate to bring the sheriff in, Myrtle had set the dining-room table for three. In the middle of the table sat the plate of bacon and the warming dish full of scrambled eggs.
Myrtle came out of the kitchen carrying a pitcher of orange juice. “Sheriff McClain. What a pleasant surprise,” she gushed, her obvious affection for him glowing in her eyes. “Have a seat, you two.”
“Kate.” Brody held out a chair and once she was settled, he held out a chair for Myrtle. Kate liked and appreciated Brody’s good manners. Paul had never been so solicitous.
It felt strange sharing a table, a meal with Brody. It was as if they were friends or something. She couldn’t deny she was grateful for his presence, even if he was there only because he was doing his job. He made her feel safe and cared for.
They ate and talked and Kate enjoyed herself. Because of Myrtle’s presence, the conversation never strayed to Paul or his death. For a short time, Kate was able to put all the bad stuff that had happened over the past weeks aside. They talked about everything from movies to politics to sports.
Kate was amused to discover that she and Brody shared similar tastes. She only wished they had similar agendas. His was to protect her, yes, but she suspected he wanted to make sure she truly was innocent of any wrongdoing in order to protect his town. She wanted answers that would prove her innocence, but mostly to give her peace so she could move on with her life.
As they cleared the plates, Myrtle paused and addressed Brody, “Sheriff, Kate and I are headed to church now. Would you care to join us?”
Brody blinked. He hadn’t been to church in years. Not since he was old enough to refuse while his mother and siblings still attended. The void inside of him seemed magnified in church. “I…”
Kate laid a warm hand on his arm. “You don’t have to go. Myrtle and I will be fine.”
He frowned. He didn’t like the idea of her going somewhere unattended. He’d go and hang out in front. Just in case those men tried anything. “I’ll come with you.”
Kate’s pleased smile slid through him with surprising ease, making him feel good. As he followed the ladies out of the house and headed toward the little white chapel in the middle of town, he chastised himself for liking how good her pleasure made him feel.
He wasn’t out to win her over. His job was to protect her and his town. He couldn’t ever forget the job was what mattered. He’d forgotten that important rule once and wasn’t about to do it again.
They approached the wide-open doors of the church. Many of the townsfolk milled around the door, chatting, greeting each other before filing inside. Brody took it all in with a jaundiced eye. He didn’t see the point. Hadn’t seen the point in worship or church for a long time. Not when God had deserted him when he’d required Him most.
Brody stopped on the top stair and moved off to the side.
“You’re not coming in?” Kate asked as she stepped to the side with him. She had a Bible she’d brought from Myrtle’s securely held in one hand.
“No. I’ll wait out here for you.” He folded his arms across his chest. He found himself studying the way the sunlight glinted in Kate’s copper-colored hair, making some of the strands appear almost gold in tone.
“Suit yourself,” she said, but she didn’t move away as he expected her to.
“Well, hello, Sheriff.”
Brody turned toward the gruff male voice. Mr. Leighton, the great-grandson of the town’s founding father, hobbled his eighty-plus-years frame up the stairs. “Mr. Leighton. How are you today?”
“Better now that I see you’ve decided to join us this morning.” The older man’s dark blue eyes peered at Kate. “Who’s she?”
“Mr. Leighton, this is Kate Wheeler. She’s in town for…a while.”
Mr. Leighton held out his bony hand to Kate. She shook it. “Hello, Mr. Leighton. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine, dear.” He released her hand and shifted his gaze back to Brody. “Well, escort the lady in, young man.”
“I’m not coming in,” Brody said quickly. “The town’s better served if I stay on duty.”
Mr. Leighton adjusted his paisley tie. “You’re here so there must be a deputy holding down the fort.” Mr. Leighton raised a white brow. “Correct?”
Brody frowned, feeling caught in a trap of his own making. “Yes, but I…” He paused when he noticed the amused and challenging gleam in Kate’s green eyes. Without a word spoken she asserted more pressure on him than Leighton’s direct offense.
His gaze darted between the two. He decided he could tolerate one hour spent inside the church for the good of Havensport’s sheriff’s department. He didn’t want to offend the department’s number-one supporting family. “Shall we?”
“Let’s,” she said cheerily and she took his arm.
Not missing Mr. Leighton’s approving smile, Brody escorted Kate inside and through the double doors leading to the sanctuary. The dark, oak walls of the chapel could have been oppressive if not for the large windows on either side of the building that allowed sunlight to stream in.
As they moved down the center aisle between rows of wooden pews, a feeling stole over Brody. It wasn’t what he expected. There was no anger or hurt. No gaping void. He didn’t feel out of place. He didn’t feel unwelcome. Searching inside himself, he tried to decipher what it was he felt.
They took seats in the third row next to Myrtle. Brody nodded in greeting to several familiar faces. He saw Mrs. Kim, one of the elementary school teachers, and her family; Dora Able, who owned the bookstore in town; Deputy Teal and his family. Which meant that Deputy Anderson was on duty.
Kate leaned in close to whisper. “If you’re uncomfortable, you can leave. You don’t have to be here.”
“I’m not uncomfortable.”
“Well, that’s sure a fierce scowl on your face,” she whispered again.
Deliberately relaxing his features, he whispered back. “I want to be here.”
And he realized he did. The feeling that he couldn’t identify was belonging. He belonged among these people. This was his town. He settled back, enjoying the insight. He’d always felt protective of Havensport but not really connected. A smile tugged at his mouth. He had connected with the people here. They looked to him to keep them safe.
A man rose and went to the pulpit. Brody had met Pastor Sims a few times. The man was average in height, medium build with light eyes and dark hair. Brody had found the pastor engaging on the few occasions they’d crossed paths.
Pastor Sims asked the congregation to open their hymnals. Kate leaned forward to take one from the pocket attached to the back of the pew in front of them. Her graceful fingers leafed through the pages until she came to the opening hymn. Organ music coming from the loft at the back of the chapel filled the air.
Brody recognized the melody and a glance at the book in Kate’s hands confirmed it. As voices joined the organ music, the words to the hymn bubbled inside Brody from some long-forgotten place. He clamped his jaw shut.
But the pressure building in his chest physically hurt. He tried to concentrate on anything other than the growing urgency to unite his voice in worship with the others in the sanctuary. On the second refrain he couldn’t hold out any longer. The words tumbled out, at first low and weak but gaining in volume and boldness.
As he sang he felt lighter, the pain in his chest receded, leaving him vaguely dizzy.
The song ended and then another began. Again the words came easily. Brody felt Kate’s warm gaze, but he couldn’t acknowledge her curiosity. This desire to communicate with God was too new, too unexpected. And he wasn’t sure how to take his sudden ache to worship.
Later, after several more songs and after the congregation had put away their hymnals, Brody crossed his arms over his chest in defense against anything the pastor might say about God.
“If you have your Bibles, please turn to second Corinthians, chapter twelve, verse nine,” Pastor Sims instructed.
Brody watched Kate deftly turn to the page in her Bible as if she knew exactly where that passage was without having to think about it. She scooted the Bible closer so he could see it better. Though he appreciated her thoughtfulness, he had no intention of looking.
As the pastor began to speak, Brody let his mind wander to Kate’s situation. Again he wondered just how involved she was in her husband’s death. And what she wasn’t telling him.
His mind tangled on something the pastor said. And without consciously deciding, Brody found himself listening.
“The Lord said to Paul, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.’ It’s important to realize that the Lord’s answer to Paul wasn’t punitive. Rather, it affirms that no matter what befalls us, be it a sickness, a loss of a job or the death of a loved one, that Jesus’ grace can sustain us if we choose to allow Him into our lives.”
What was this grace the pastor was talking about? Brody grappled to understand.
And, as if Pastor Sims had a direct connection into his thoughts, he said, “Grace is God’s undeserved favor that can bring us healing, both physical and emotional. God’s grace can protect us, guide us. In our deepest pain, deepest weakness, God’s goodness and faithfulness are revealed.”
The pastor went on to give examples from various Bible passages. He spoke of Noah. Of Jacob and Joseph. David and Paul.
And Brody sat there in the third row feeling as if God was talking directly to him. He felt that he was on the brink of…he didn’t know what.
Something inside him wanted to respond, wanted to seek this favor, this grace the pastor spoke of. Brody wanted God’s strength.
But the questions rose. Why did his father have to die? Why hadn’t God protected his father? Why hadn’t God protected Brody? The clamoring in his head drowned out the rest of what the pastor had to say.
When the time came for the pastor’s prayer, Brody’s gaze wandered over the people with their bowed heads and closed eyes. Did they really believe their prayers would make a difference?
His gaze rested on Kate. Her lips moved with silent words. Could a woman who’d killed her husband sit in church and pray like that? Could she find absolution when he couldn’t even find God?
Focus on the job, boyo. Time would tell him of Kate’s innocence or guilt.
Soon they were filing out with the rest of the Havensport’s townspeople. Brody shook hands with several people, ruffled the hair of a toddler and found that sense of belonging firmly taking up residence in his heart.
He and Kate walked Myrtle back to her home and then taking his cruiser, headed first to the mercantile to collect more boxes and then to the Kinsey house.
Brody was thankful Kate didn’t ask any questions about his thoughts on the church service or the pastor’s sermon. He wasn’t prepared to delve into what he was feeling or thinking about God and grace and unanswered questions.
He doubted he’d ever be.
The boxes she’d had delivered the day before were stacked near the front door. Brody had also had the lock on the front door fixed. Kate liked his thoroughness. They went inside and Kate was overwhelmed with the task at hand.
“You know, you could call the local donation center. I’m sure they’d have people willing to come take care of this,” Brody suggested, his tone gentle as if he could sense her reluctance to dive right in.
“That’s a good idea. I’ll do that with the furniture and stuff. But I want to go through his personal items. Maybe I’ll find some closure. Something.”
They worked together as a team. Brody would dump the contents of drawers into a box and she’d sift through the items, looking for something to tell her who Paul really was and why he’d been killed.
Several hours later, with nothing significant to show for their efforts, Kate’s head pounded with frustration. They’d gone through every drawer and bedroom closet. They’d stripped the beds, emptied the linen closet and looked through the toiletries in the bathroom. Brody had stacked the now-full boxes in a corner of the living room and was dragging stuff out of the entry way closet.
She pul
led an empty box closer. Rubber boots, a duffel bag full of tennis gear, an empty briefcase. Brody handed her the coats. She searched the pockets of each as she had every other piece of clothing in the house. From the inside pocket of a black leather jacket, sharp edges of paper poked at her hand. Her heart rate accelerated. She tugged out the folded envelope.
She ran her fingertip along the edge of the envelope. It had already been opened. She pulled out the sheets of paper. Letters. Only letters. She released the air trapped in her lungs and breathed in a sickly, sweet scent of perfume. She looked closer. The words were written in a flowing handwriting and in a language she didn’t recognize.
“Kate? You okay?”
She glanced up to meet Brody’s concerned gaze. “This isn’t in English.” She held up her find.
He moved to her side. She handed him the bundle and watched as his big capable hands shuffled through the pages. “Looks Cyrillic.”
Her brows rose. “What?”
“Russian.”
“How do you know?” she asked.
“One of the locals, Mr. Waskasky, is from St. Petersburg. He used to teach Russian studies at the university. I’ve seen writing like this in his house. He’ll be able to translate these.”
Russian. She shivered. Who was this man she’d been married to for four years? The doubts, the questions and insecurities swelled and bubbled, buffeting her like the crashing surf outside. Once again she was reminded that the only way she’d find any measure of peace was to find the truth.
“Can we go see him now?” she asked Brody.
Brody took her hand, his grip strong and reassuring. Warmth suffused her arm and chased away her chills. She wanted to hang on to that warmth, that anchor, but she let go and moved toward the door ahead of him.
Though she was thankful that at the moment he was dedicated to helping her, she couldn’t allow herself to depend on him in the long run, no matter how much her heart wanted her to. She couldn’t forget that he was a man dedicated to a dangerous career. They could never have a future together.
Mr. Waskasky wasn’t home when they went by his condo in a newer development at the edge of town. Brody left his card with a note, asking for the older man to call him when he returned.