by Judith Rolfs
I stood and wrapped my arms around him. “They do, sweetheart.”
“You shouldn’t have done that. I’m not leaving this bedroom.”
“Tara needs your help with her math homework.” I released him. “And I need to make some calls.”
Nick snapped his fingers dramatically. “Foiled again. Why is she watching a movie if her homework isn’t done?”
“She talked me into it. Promised she had time later.”
“Why are you such a softie?” He rubbed my cheek.
I shrugged. “Probably guilt over being too busy at times.”
“Only in your imagination.” Nick narrowed his gaze at me. “She gets plenty of attention.”
“Plus, she seems to resent my authority, and I hate to make waves.”
“Because she’d like to take over running this entire house and every one of us. It’s her strong will that makes her pushy.”
“Let’s call it her Take Charge syndrome, healthy if channeled properly, otherwise disaster.” I shrugged one shoulder.
“Good luck doing that. Look who she’s got for a mother. I’m still working on your channels, woman.” He embraced me and nuzzled my neck playfully.
I gently shoved Nick out to look for Tara.
When he left, I called Tucker, connecting immediately to my delight.
Tucker rattled off an account of Lenora’s status almost robotically, as if exposing his feelings again might be too painful.
Getting an “unchanged” progress report weighed heavy on my heart, as it must have on his.
“Tucker, don’t give up hope. We’ll intensify our prayers. In the meantime, I’d like to examine the foundation records on other former prisoners Lenora worked with.”
“I already gave you the list. Wouldn’t the detailed files be confidential?”
“Not the Second Chance Foundation’s files. I want to check on a man named Russell. Any information on him I’d appreciate. Would the data be in her home office?”
“Probably, but I don’t know when I’ll have time to go through the papers and get them together.”
“I could collect them when Estelle’s cleaning. She can let me in and you won’t have to be there.”
“Let me see what I can arrange and figure out when I can get back to you.” He hung up.
When he can get back to me? Annoyance washed over me. The person who shot Lenora remained at large. In my opinion, her danger was intensified. So far I’d accomplished very little. Was I asking too much of him?
I shifted my focus to the delight of being Mom and went to tuck the kids in bed. Tuck—I like the word with its comfy-coziness, evoking images of safety, being tucked away from harm. I don’t remember when tuck-in at our house had become a ritual and a favorite part of my day. It’s amazing the things children are willing to share with a seated parent just before going to sleep.
Jenny, my youngest, needed the most shuteye so I went to her room first.
“Hi, sweetie.” The outline of ballet dancers in pink and yellow tutus on one wall of Jenny’s bedroom had been drawn with broad black strokes by my artist friend. Her bedspread had figures of dancers in pink and orange lacy costumes.
I bent over her bed and used my index finger to form a cross on Jenny’s face, starting with the forehead to the chin and then moving my right hand from ear to ear. As my finger touched her soft skin I prayed aloud, “May God bless you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.”
“Mom, I’ve been thinking, why don’t we just take every gun away from everybody who has one so what happened to your friend couldn’t happen again?”
“Guns aren’t the problem, Jenny.” I tucked the covers under her chin. “Firearms can be used safely for protection and for hunting.”
“I’m glad, Mommy, ’cause if we took away the guns, we’d have to remove all the knives in the world, too, and then how would we cut our food?”
I smiled. “That’s right. We trust God to keep us safe and live without fear. Time for our story. What will it be? The Adventures of Tommy Smurlee again?”
“Yeah.”
I read Jenny a chapter of her favorite book even though we’d read it through three times already.
I headed into Collin’s room and prayed with him for his chemistry exam the next day. “I studied Mom, but the teacher writes questions weird. I mean, it’s like he deliberately tries to trick us.”
“You prepared as best you could, sweetheart. That’s all you can do. You know the motto?”
“Do your best and keep the joy, no matter what,” he repeated by rote, then grinned. “Love you, Mom.”
“You too, son.” I brushed the hair from his forehead and blessed him tenderly.
Lord, how I love the children You entrusted to me.
Tara pounced on me the minute I entered her room. “Mom, I need new shoes for my drama performance on Sunday. I saw the cutest pair at Mitchell’s. Can I get them?” I assured her the black shoes she already owned would be fine, ignoring her protest. I rose from her bed, leaving the nightlight on.
She spoke into the semi-darkness. “Ellie and Kara ignored me at recess. I heard them talking about me and laughing.”
I returned, sat down on her bed, and hugged her. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t nice. Girls can be mean.”
“They sure can, even though I’m nice to them. Ellie came back and apologized though before it was time to go inside.”
“Sweetheart, life isn’t always easy or fair, but God is. He’s always there to give you comfort and strength and all the love you need.”
“I wish I could see Him.”
“Someday you will. We all will.” I smiled. “You need a princess blessing.” I touched her head, her ears and then her chin as I prayed, “God bless my precious princess and fill her with wisdom and joy. Thank you.”
I sighed and headed toward my room. Lord, I have pain of my own tonight; I could use some wisdom and joy, too. I took an extra-strength Tylenol then collapsed on the bed between the sheets and waited for the release of sleep. Fortunately, it came quickly.
I dreamed of biking through a gorgeous forest with Tucker and Kirk. We came to a fork on the trail, and Tucker and Kirk sped off to the right. I raced to catch up, or I’d be lost forever. As hard as I peddled, my bicycle wouldn’t move.
Lord, what does that mean?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The luminescent dial of my alarm clock read 4 a.m. A thousand pinpoints of darkness floated around me. Something had startled me into wakefulness. What was it?
As my mind began to focus, I remembered loud cracks. A tree falling or could those have been, I gulped, shots that ripped through my barrier of sleep? I sat up. Only half conscious, I stretched my hand toward Nick’s side of the bed, feeling for his body.
He wasn’t there. Nick usually slept like a stone. Had the noise, whatever it was, awakened him? Where had he gone?
I staggered to our walk-in closet and grabbed my robe from the hook. I belted the satin sash around me as I tiptoed down the hall.
The children’s doors were still closed. I was grateful they hadn’t awakened. At the end of the corridor, light filtered from the dining room.
I eased up and peered inside. Nick had his back toward me and was standing at the window.
“What were those loud noises?” I asked, my voice quavering.
“Rifle shots.”
“No way. Are you sure?” I inched next to Nick until our shoulders touched. “Somebody’s up early hunting squirrel.”
“I doubt it.” I detected the concern in his tone.
I clutched my robe tighter.
Nick never turned around. “The shots were too distant to involve us, hon, relax. I’ve already been out to check, and everything seems fine.”
“Despite your reassurance, it’s obvious you’re worried.”
Nick turned and enfolded me in his arms.
“I don’t get it. If somebody wanted to scare us, the shots were too far away to be threatening.”
“On the other hand, close enough to give us a shock.” Nick rubbed his forehead with his palm. “Perhaps that was the intention.”
“I hope not. I’m making some tea. Want some?”
“Yes, thanks.”
I dragged myself into the security of our familiar kitchen as a pouring rain began to pound on the skylights.
Nick left his post at the window and followed me. He heated water in two mugs while I ripped open two tea packets and pulled out chamomile herbal tea bags. I was hungry but couldn’t handle a regular breakfast. Granola or oatmeal needed a steadier digestive process than my stomach could handle under the circumstances. I retrieved two blueberry muffins from the fridge, heated them in the micro ten seconds, then set them on napkins.
We sat on padded stools at the snack bar, listening to the rain in silence.
Finally, I said what we probably both were thinking, “What if the sniper is after us now?”
“Better not be.” Nick’s voice was hard.
I shivered. I longed to put my brain into Scarlett O’Hara shutdown mode. “Let’s not think about this anymore. Until tomorrow, at least.”
Nick patted my hand and announced sleepily, “It’s almost morning, darling.”
“Don’t remind me.”
We spoke reassuring words to one another between sips of hot tea. I hoped the chamomile would calm me down.
After I downed my last swallow, I yawned and drifted back to our bedroom, leaving Nick to turn off the lights. Once under the covers, I pulled an oversized pillow over my head. If there were any more distressing noises, I’d be insulated.
Nick slipped into bed and snuggled next to me. At age twelve I bought a huge, plush teddy bear with babysitting money, a little old typically for stuffed animals maybe, but not for a girl who never had one. Now I got to sleep with a real one, and I sure needed him tonight.
The alarm went off at seven. My brain was groggy, but I forced myself to get out of bed. As Nick and I went through our morning dressing ritual, we recapped last night’s terror. No way did I want to instill fear in the children. I’d pretty much dismissed the incident by the time I got them off to school.
When I left, Nick stayed behind to finish a brief he needed to deliver on his way to work.
I was okay until I pulled out of our garage, started down the drive, and screeched to a halt. The dead bodies of two raccoons had been placed neatly side-by-side near the end of our driveway with their insides coiled next to their carcasses. I parked on the side of the drive and walked over, dodging the rain puddles. I’d never seen a pile of intestines, let alone an orderly coil with a note in the center. Even before I read it I sensed it implied these innards could be mine.
The animals’ deep-set brown eyes rimmed in black stared straight ahead, frozen in death. Perhaps it would have been kind for me to try to close them, but I couldn’t when I felt like vomiting. I stared at the soggy, blood-streaked 6 x 8 card with its capital letters written in permanent marker. STOP MEDDLING. WE DON’T WANT EX-CONS AS NEIGHBORS.
Needing a place to sit down fast, I returned to the car and pulled out my cell to call Nick at the house.
My voice was shaking as I related, “I found last night’s victims.” I described the carcasses and the notecard. “Should we bother to call the police? There’s no chance of fingerprints after all this rain.”
He assured me he’d make the call and handle cleanup. Fine by me. I could easily let myself be a fluttery female upon such an occasion. My hands trembled. The implication on the card seemed clear—the next bullet may be for you. It would be hours before I could clear my head of the sickening image and the threat bright as a neon sign.
When I entered my office suite, Ellen was pulling files for my morning clients. I quickly evaluated whether to tell her what had happened during the night. The therapeutic value of communication was rated high. Would this make the horror more manageable, less grotesque and traumatic? Maybe. I proceeded to describe the double-death in our driveway.
Ellen’s eyes widened and stayed that way. She stammered several times. “No way. A peculiar coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
“If you believe in them.” I clenched my teeth.
“Jennifer, you could be the sniper’s next target.”
“Stop.” I groaned. “Ellen, I know it’s easy to get into the drama of the event, and I appreciate your concern, but this could also be a vague threat by someone too cowardly to speak in person about his or her social concerns. Now let’s get to work.”
Nick called mid-morning. “New testimony’s come up on a current case. I won’t be able to go with you to meet this Russell guy. I need to be in court. Can you postpone it a day?”
My stomach clenched. “I have a window of time open today. Not to worry, I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t like you going alone, especially after what happened last night.”
The knot in my stomach tightened. “Nick, those dead raccoons are not going to make me melt with fear.”
“Humor me and try to reschedule.” Worry was in his voice.
“I’ll see if I can postpone. But if I can’t, I’m going.”
“You are incorrigible and stubborn.” Nick exhaled his breath loudly. “Be careful then.”
Ellen was unable to locate Russell to change the appointment.
I had to decide. I took a moment to pray for the Holy Spirit to give me wisdom. To go alone or blow him off? A reformed ex-con out of prison, Russell wouldn’t want to put his freedom in jeopardy by any shenanigans with me. I concluded I’d be safe. And the sooner I saw him the better. Patience wasn’t my strong suit. I had to get to the bottom of Lenora’s shooting so normal life could resume. I didn’t want Nick or the children in danger. How harmful could it be to meet in a public place?
I would soon find out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The morning zipped by. I wrote my client notes in record time, prior to leaving. I’d arranged free time from eleven to two.
When I passed Ellen’s desk, she dumped her fears on me again. Worst of all, they echoed mine.
“What do you really know about him? What makes you think this Russell’s safe?”
“I’ll be fine. He’s reformed and harmless. The last thing I want to do is to show prejudice toward a man because he has a prison record.”
Ellen frowned and opened her mouth to reply, but I glared at her and made a zipping motion across my lips before striding outside.
The weather was the perfect snapshot of a fall day in Wisconsin. Crisp leaves, freshly painted by the Master Artist, sailed along on brisk breezes. The sky sparked memories of my blue-chiffon senior prom dress trimmed with lacey clouds of white.
I set my GPS, named Emma by Nick for her lovely English voice. Emma led me to the town of Kerr without any trouble. I pulled out the note with the name of the restaurant and circled the block twice to find the downtown business section before realizing I’d already driven through it.
I backtracked. The town had a total of six buildings; two were boarded up. The window of one had a six-foot “For Rent” banner. I located Hannah’s Restaurant on a side street in a weathered building lettered with “Home of Chicks” on the front with “Hannah’s Restaurant” painted over it. A plywood “Bowling” sign hung above the side door on the right half of the building.
Cement blocks speckled with blobs the color of hens’ eggs formed the skeleton of the building. I entered the cracked blacktop lot in back.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw what looked surprisingly like Chris Lepsell’s car turn the corner and head down the block. Weird. I shook my head; there was more than one car like that. Why would she be around here? I selected a parking place and glanced about before cautiously opening my door and heading for the storefront. I inhaled deeply and ventured inside.
Old stale smoke, bitter coffee, and a strange smell, a cross between sardines and onions, attacked my nostrils. After my first whiff of Hannah’s, I realized this wasn’t going to be my
favorite lunch spot ever.
Plus, I could think of more fun things to do with my free hours than meet with this ex-convict, Russell, but if it would help me find Lenora’s attacker, I was game to dine with him here.
The interior walls, dirty yellow-green, were either a strange paint shade or a uniquely colored mold. One wall had scattered nails framed by whitish rectangular outlines where plaques or pictures once hung. The only frame left held a yellowed Covenant of Good Service that gave me no comfort.
Asphalt flooring in assorted patterns, predominantly beige, had been laid in a motley style, probably leftovers from other jobs. Some people shouldn’t make decorating decisions.
A dingy chalkboard announced the day’s luncheon specials and was covered with enough dust to make me suspect the specials hadn’t changed all month. Hamburger, grilled cheese with or without ham, and potato soup were my choices.
Five patrons clustered on stools at the counter. I smiled in their direction but received only stares back. Six chrome-edged table and chair sets with split red vinyl had served years of bowling leagues, judging by their condition.
May Russell be on time and may this be fruitful. I didn’t feel like waiting around long.
The sign on the far wall announced the restroom location. I walked over to use the facilities, passing six well-polished bowling lanes—the only thing in Hannah’s with a shine, unless you counted one man’s bald head. Nobody was bowling, so it wasn’t obvious if the lanes were functional or not.
Inside the ladies’ room two rusted sinks, one grosser than the other, both had a steady drip. I washed my hands and exited fast.
The clock above the swinging kitchen door, in the shape of a red cactus ringed by white numerals, had both hands pointing to twelve.
At the far end of the counter sat a heavy-set lady, the cook from the looks of the stained butcher-type apron covering the front of her jeans. “Heartbreak Hotel” by Elvis streamed over the speaker, which seemed to have transfixed the woman as she sucked an unlit cigarette.