by Jeff Shelby
“That’s Mabel,” Declan whispered. “She’s a ninety-two year-old powerhouse.”
That, she was.
I found an empty spot on a pew midway to the pulpit and slid onto the wooden bench. A young family sat to the left of me, a couple with two children under the age of five. The boy and girl glanced at me, clearly curious about the newcomer, but the mother gave me a swift once-over and then turned her attention back to the hymnal propped in her lap. The man ignored me completely.
I reached for my own hymnal and tried to find the song Mabel was singing. When that proved fruitless, I scanned the room to look for familiar faces. The sheriff was easy to find, as was Gunnar. Both were toward the front of the sanctuary, on opposite sides of the pulpit, their heads down. Martin and Dawn Putnam were also there, which was a little surprising. I wondered if the Wicked Wich closed on Sundays or if they opened late or if maybe Mikey, the cook, was left to open the doors.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to my right. Sophia Rey smiled at me. “Have room for one more?”
Maybe I’d been wrong about the silver Mercedes in the lot. If Sophia was just arriving, that hinted that the luxury car belonged to someone else. I slid closer to the two kids, who immediately recoiled and practically leaped into their mother’s lap.
Sophia sat down next to me, adjusting the skirt of her black and white polka dot dress. “Thanks,” she whispered. “Walter had business that ran late so I came without him. Almost didn’t make it in time.”
The song concluded and Declan stepped to the pulpit. He smiled at the congregation, but it was a shaky one, and a fine sheen of sweat had sprouted on his brow. Each tiny bead on his forehead was visible under the can lights mounted directly above him.
“Welcome,” he said, his voice squeaking. “It is always a pleasure to see new and old faces here. Familiar, I mean. And faces that have not been here before that are attached to bodies.” His cheeks flushed and he cleared his throat, a bashful smile on his face. “God has blessed me with a tremendous ability to be awkward in my words at times.”
The congregation laughed and that seemed to set him at ease. He spoke for a few minutes about how a community could be invigorated by new faces if the older ones welcomed them and showed them the way. It was a riff on loving one's neighbor as thy own self and I couldn't help but think he was speaking about me. But he managed not to ramble on too long and the message seemed to be well received by the people sitting in the pews.
He moved to some of the formality of the service and there were hymns and prayers offered up for those in need. It had been decades since I'd been to a Sunday service and I felt a bit out of place, not knowing the routine of things. The actions were familiar to me, but not so much that I felt like I knew what I was doing. I hoped that I wasn't sticking out like a sore thumb.
Finally, it was time to give peace and shake hands with the people seated next to us. I turned to Sophia first, grateful that I was sitting next to someone who actually knew me. We might not be true friends, but she was a familiar face, and I appreciated that. The two kids sitting on the other side of me limply shook my hand, as did the mother and father. I turned to shake the hands of the people behind me, some elderly folk who looked to be the same age as Mabel, and was greeted with polite shakes and even more polite smiles. Satisfied, I turned back around to face the altar. Sheriff Donny Lewis was staring at me, barely masked anger visible in his expression.
I shrank back a little, the backs of my knees bumping into the bench. Sophia noticed.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
I nodded quickly.
She glanced at Sheriff Lewis, then back at me. “He’s shooting some daggers your way, now isn’t he?” she asked in a low voice.
So I wasn’t imagining things. I nodded again. “I’m not his favorite person,” I explained.
She clucked a little as we sat back down. “I can imagine.”
Inwardly, I sighed and wondered just how much she’d heard about the recent events. Of course she knew about the bones and the fire, but had she heard about my heated conversations with the sheriff and with Len?
“I’m sure seeing you is a reminder of the farm,” she said, keeping her voice soft.
I frowned. “What?”
“The farm,” she said. She picked up the Bible and the hymnal and stacked them on her lap. “He’d been talking about buying it from Len.”
THIRTY FOUR
I straightened. Sheriff Donny Lewis had wanted to buy my farm? This was news to me.
“He was?” I asked. The kids sitting next to me turned in my direction and I lowered my voice to a whisper and leaned closer to Sophia. “When? Why? And why didn’t he buy it?”
Her brows furrowed. “I…I don’t know. He’s been talking about retiring for some time now. He came in to see Walter about a loan, said something about wanting to buy Len’s property, but…” She trailed off.
“But what?” I pressed.
She squirmed a little. “It’s probably confidential information,” she said, her cheeks turning a shade of pink that only managed to make her look even more beautiful. “I’ve probably said too much already.”
I absolutely agreed, but I wasn’t about to let it go. Mabel stepped back to the music stand and the organist hit the keys, our clue to stand. I did so dutifully, positioning myself as close to Sophia as possible. I knew it was confidential information, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try to get it out of her.
“Donny wanted to buy my farm?” I kept my mouth as close to Sophia’s ear as possible. “He and Len are best friends. Why wouldn’t Len work with him to make it happen?”
Sophia shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Unless he didn’t have nearly enough money,” I said, voicing my thoughts out loud, hoping for confirmation. “If he was close, Len could have waited. Could have worked out some sort of deal.”
“I don’t think Len was in a position to wait,” Sophia said.
“Money troubles?” I perked up. “So he needed to sell the farm?”
Sophia shook her head. “I don’t really know. And I probably shouldn’t say anything more.”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” I mumbled. I wasn’t talking to Sophia anymore; I was talking to myself. “If Gunnar offered him more, and Len needed the money, then why wouldn’t he take it?”
I didn’t get a response, and I didn’t expect one.
The song ended and people filed out of pews and back into the foyer. I followed, my head swimming with possibilities. A table had been set up at the far end of the hall, with coffee carafes and plates of donuts and sweet breads. I was tempted, considering all I’d had for breakfast was a banana, but I also wasn’t keen on spending more time in a room with the sheriff, especially after the looks he’d given me during the service.
I tapped Sophia on the shoulder. “I think I’m going to go,” I started to say, but she reached for my hand and pulled me close.
“Not yet,” she said, smiling. “I want to introduce you to a few members of the Latney Ladies Society. They’ve been asking about you.”
I cringed, wondering just what kinds of questions they’d been floating, but I let her pull me toward a small group of women.
Sophia was the most glamorous of the bunch, which made me feel oddly at ease. By the looks of them, they were ordinary women, just like me.
She made quick introductions and I tried to catch and catalog names with faces. Becky, Megan, Vivian, and a couple of others. The faces seemed vaguely familiar, as if I'd seen them around town. Or maybe lurking in windows as I'd passed by.
They made small talk, asking polite questions, purposely avoiding mentioning the bones and the fire. It was a foregone conclusion that they all knew about it; after all, it was Latney.
Sophia had excused herself and came back with two cups of coffee. She handed one to me.
Becky, a short, dark-haired woman with thick eyebrows nodded to her right. “Looks like you have a couple of admirers
,” she told me.
“Admirers?” I turned to look.
Sheriff Lewis and Len Konrath were huddled by the donut table, each of them holding a raised glazed donut, their eyes on me. Davis Konrath stood just to the left of them, sipping a cup of coffee, his eyes also fixed on me.
I averted my gaze. “I don’t think they’re admirers.”
Megan laughed, a cross between a snort and a squeal that sounded sort of like a pig. “Oh, honey, you have no idea.”
I shot her a quick look. I really didn’t have any idea what she meant by that comment.
I drained the lukewarm coffee and looked around for a trashcan. “I should probably go,” I said. “It was nice meeting you all.”
They murmured goodbyes and I headed for the door. Declan was talking with an elderly gentleman and he made eye contact with me and I knew what he was doing. Telling me to wait. But I’d had enough of church for one day. I gave him my best apologetic look and kept walking.
“Rainy, wait.”
Martin was loping toward me. He caught up and planted himself directly in my path.
“Hi, Martin.” I glanced around for his prickly wife, but she was nowhere to be found.
He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. They were dark blue, neatly pressed, and it looked as though it was the first time he’d worn them. “Morning.” He smiled. “Haven’t seen you in a couple of days. How are you?”
Crappy. Confused. Tired.
I pasted on a smile. “I’m fine. You?”
“Good, real good,” he said. “Finally got that tractor working.”
“Oh, well, that’s good,” I said. I glanced around. Len and the sheriff were still watching me, and the Latney Ladies Society had formed some sort of huddle, their eyes darting in my direction. I peered over his shoulder. “Where’s Dawn?”
“Ladies room,” he said. Martin’s gaze moved to the group of women studying me, and his expression softened even more. “Kinda hard being the new person, I guess.”
I snorted. “Kind of?”
“They’re just curious,” he said, smiling. “Harmless, I promise.”
I wasn’t sure the sheriff was harmless. His badge meant he could do a lot of things I wouldn’t be too happy about. And I was pretty sure Martin’s own surly wife wasn’t harmless, either.
“Maybe,” I said. “I just don’t like being the center of attention.”
He nodded. “Understandable. But all this will die down. Pretty soon you’ll just be one of us. Like Declan,” he said, nodding at the redheaded pastor who was still having his ear talked off by the elderly man.
I wanted to point out that, according to Declan, he still felt like the odd man out, but I didn’t want to get into an involved conversation that would keep me from my main objective: leaving the church and getting back home.
“I’m sure you’re right,” I said instead.
Martin nodded, seemingly satisfied that I was agreeing with him. “Like I said, it’s just harmless curiosity. We got good people here in Latney.” He paused, his expression darkening a little. “Well, mostly good people.”
“Mostly?”
He glanced at the sheriff and Len, then turned his attention back to me. “Mostly,” he confirmed. “Except for that Davis Konrath.”
“Davis?” I repeated the name, not sure I’d heard correctly.
Martin nodded and I turned to look at the man in question. As if on cue, Davis offered a smile and a half-wave.
I would have been just as surprised if Martin had told me not to trust Jesus. I’d had nothing but nice interactions with the younger Konrath. “What about Davis?”
Martin scowled. “He’s bad news.”
“Davis?” I knew I sounded like a broken record, but I was truly confused. “Bad news?”
Martin nodded. “Trust me.”
“But how?”
Martin looked a little uncomfortable, but he continued. “Just always been a troublemaker. Got into fights and vandalized property in high school. Only reason he didn’t end up on probation or in jail is on account of his dad being friends with the sheriff.”
Considering Davis was close to my age, high school was decades ago. And I couldn’t think of a single person who, when push came to shove, hadn’t been a little bit of a screw up as a teenager.
“Okay, well, I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
“You do that,” Martin said. He shoved his fists deeper into his pockets. “I like you, Rainy.”
I felt the heat in my cheeks. Martin was married. To Dawn. Who was already not my biggest fan.
“You seem like a nice person,” he continued, smiling warmly at me. “You’re here for a fresh start and you’ve had some tough things going on. You need some friends and I just wanna make sure you end up with good ones. That’s all.”
My pulse tried to return to normal. He wasn’t hitting on me. Thank goodness.
“Thank you, Martin,” I said, and I meant it. Like Davis, he’d been nothing but kind to me, no ulterior motives, and I appreciated that.
“Welcome.” He winked. “You take care, and if you got any tractors that need repair, keep me in mind. I’ll give you a good rate.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
But even as I said it, I knew it would be the last thing I would be thinking about.
I wasn't thinking about tractors.
I was thinking about old bones and arson.
THIRTY FIVE
I was almost to my car—and freedom—when another voice stopped me in my tracks.
“You really gonna leave without saying hello?”
Gunnar Forsythe had followed me out of the church and into the parking lot. I squinted into the sunshine, trying not to notice the way the sun shone on his hair, the streaks of blond and silver lit like a halo.
“Sorry,” I said. “I…I’m sort of in a hurry?”
He grinned. “Hot date?”
“Yeah, with my bedroom.” And then, because that could be construed in a million different, awkward ways, I added, “I’m peeling wallpaper today.”
He chuckled. “Definitely a hot date. You want some help? I’m pretty good at stripping things.”
“Yes. I mean, no,” I stammered, my cheeks surely the color of tomatoes.
He leaned against the trunk of my car and folded his arms across his chest, a grin on his face. He was dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a soft, olive green polo that brought out the green in his hazel eyes. “Well, which is it?”
I cleared my throat. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’m going to tackle it myself. Or at least try to. Maybe I can call you if I think I need help?”
He studied me for a minute. “You still mad at me about the farm?”
His question unsettled me, because I didn’t know how to answer it. Of course I was angry that he hadn’t been forthcoming about his interest in my property, and I was upset that someone else had to tell me. But he’d already apologized and I’d accepted it. I was trying to move on, even though I still had questions about his potential involvement in what had happened on my farm. The information Davis had shared had only added to my confusion and suspicions, but I didn’t know what to do with that, didn’t even know if there was anything to do with it. I knew what dots were on the page, but I still wasn’t sure I could connect him to any of them.
And I knew something else.
I was attracted to him. I liked his directness, and I liked the way he looked at me. He was interested in me, I was sure of it. And yes, he might have wanted my property before I purchased it, but I was pretty sure he’d shifted his focus a little, because it sure seemed like, right now, he wanted me.
So Gunnar Forsythe in my bedroom was probably not the best idea. Because it wasn’t too farfetched to think we might end up stripping more than wallpaper if he came over and joined me.
“Have to think that hard on it, huh?” he asked.
I blinked. “What?”
“On whether or not you’re still mad at me.”
> “Oh,” I said, blinking again. I took a deep breath. “Look, I don’t know what to think anymore.”
He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
I pushed at the sleeves of my sweater, hiking them up to my elbows. The sun was warm, the sky almost cloudless now, the air hinting at the humidity that would soon be a permanent summer fixture.
“It just seems like everyone in this town is keeping a secret.” I thought about everything I’d learned over the past few days, but more importantly, I thought about what I had yet to find out. Because I was fairly certain I wasn’t done learning Latney’s secrets. “And most of the time, it feels like they're keeping those secrets from me.”
“Doesn’t everyone have a secret or two?” Gunnar asked. He eyed me, a slow smile spreading across his tanned face. “I bet there are things you keep to yourself, maybe a skeleton or two in your own closet.”
My eyes widened and he had the decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry,” he said, the grin still in place. “Poor choice of words, all things considered.”
I couldn’t hold back my answering smile. Gunnar might not have been forthright with me about wanting to buy the farm, but he was charming and funny and had a way of making me want to forget everything that had happened.
“It’s fine,” I told him. “And it was funny.”
His eyes twinkled. “I can be funny sometimes. And sweet. And a royal pain in the rear.”
I smiled again. “You don’t say?”
He nodded, his expression suddenly solemn. “It’s true. And because you’ve seen that side of me—the pain in the rear side—I feel like I need to make it up to you.”
“You don’t have to make up any—”
He held up his hand, cutting me off. “You don’t want help taking down wallpaper, but I’m gonna come by anyway.”