by Judith Rolfs
“But they returned?” I propped my legs up and wrapped my arms around my knees.
“Yep. She came back years later married to Chuck Denton when he got transferred to Lake Geneva to be vice-president of the biggest bank in town.”
“Nice.” I pulled several thistles from the hem of my pants and tossed them into the woods.
“Not totally. Sad part is I heard after Angela’s child was born she had several nervous breakdowns and deals with spells of depression. Now, why are you asking? Tell me.”
“I’m simply curious because they live near Lenora, and he’s a member of Lenora’s board for the Second Chance Foundation.”
Mary tapped her chin. “It makes sense he’d be involved with the foundation.”
“What do you mean by that?” I was all ears.
“Angela’s daughter said her dad came from an impoverished background. That’s probably why he’s empathetic with prisoners and enjoys helping underprivileged people like he was growing up.”
I turned to face her. “Funny. That’s not what he told me. Said he was a rich kid.”
Mary shrugged. “You must be mistaken.”
“No, I don’t think so.” I drew an imaginary line under Chuck’s name in my mind. In my opinion, one lie clouded a person’s character. Fudging about a minor matter, how trustworthy were you? I tried to impress the importance of complete truthfulness on my children. I filed this away to consider later. “Since returning, has Angela ever worked outside the home?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Does she attend any local women’s groups, volunteer, that sort of thing?”
“Not that I’m aware of. It’s a mystery what she does all day long. TV, I guess, maybe cooking and cleaning. I’ve run into Chuck picking up carry-out meals, but then so do I.” She laughed. “I doubt anyone’s been past the front door of their home. I sure haven’t. Rumor is Angela has no interest in clothes or decorating.”
A loud, cracking noise to our right shattered the peace of the woods like a hammer hitting cement. I jumped a foot and ducked.
Mary didn’t flinch. “Must be a dead tree falling. We’d better get going. It’s getting late.”
I rubbed my arms briskly and started back onto the trail with a quickened pace. “One last thing about Angela—I want to meet her. She may have seen someone suspicious at Lenora’s property since she’s always home.” I grabbed hold of a nearly horizontal tree branch to support me on this downhill part of the path.
“I doubt you’ll get her to speak to you. We’re talking first class recluse.”
We walked on in silence except for Mary occasionally naming species of trees we passed. I pondered this new information about the Dentons, tuning in to Mary again when she said, “Can you believe this lake is five thousand acres, twenty-six miles around and two miles wide?”
“Where are you pulling these numbers from?”
“When I was a teen I volunteered at the Chamber of Commerce and sometimes gave walking tours. Now it’s a paid job. Want info on fishing in Geneva Lake? Pan fish, bass, walleye, lake trout and Northern in this still-clear, spring-fed lake water. Shall I go on?”
I laughed. “No. I’d prefer to hear anything else you know about the Dentons.”
“Their daughter seems normal enough. Gets good grades in school. Wishes she had a sibling.” She shrugged. “That’s it. I don’t know much.”
“On the contrary, you’re amazing.” We formed a single file as the path narrowed.
“That’s small town living for you. Lots of chitchat. How do you think we natives pass the winter?”
“Let me guess. Gossip parties?”
Mary chuckled.
The Abbey Resort in Fontana came into view. We crossed over the road, leaving the lake path behind. Mary spotted her husband, Bill, in their mini-van, and we sauntered over.
He leaned his head out to kiss Mary, then greeted me warmly.
“Been here long, hon?” Mary asked.
“Perfect timing. I just arrived.”
I peeked in the van at the sleeping baby nestled in a car seat behind him.
Mary reached in and stroked her baby’s cheek. “Hi sweetie, Mommy’s back.”
“Hop in, Jennifer, we’ll drive you to your car,” Bill offered.
Bill drove us both back to Williams Bay to collect our autos.
I headed for my car, savoring the vibrant peach and yellow sunset capping the lake waves. Lord, how magnificent You are. I stopped to take a picture with my iPhone.
My talk with Mary convinced me the sooner I met Angela Denton the better.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Before going to sleep that night, I recited my favorite verse from the book of James: “If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask the Lord who gives generously and graciously to all who ask.” I asked for a way to connect with Angela.
When I awoke the next morning, a plan occurred to me via my subconscious. Figure that.
During my mid-afternoon break, I scurried over to City Hall, a tan brick building, one block from the heart of downtown Lake Geneva. I pulled out my credit card to pay for parking and checked my watch. A meter watcher ten yards away was scheduling her stroll to dispense tickets. I played it safe when it came to parking violations.
Inside the bright interior, a clerk with hair the color of ashes and the body of a gymnast greeted me from behind a counter. She must have exercised from the day of her birth.
“How can I help you?” She stared vacantly past me.
“May I examine the plat books, please?”
Not cordial, not rude, simply an automaton in demeanor, the woman turned her back, wordlessly bent over and peered down at some low shelves. Seconds later she dragged a big book almost the size of a card table top onto the counter and helped me locate the Lawrence’s Plat Section and Unit. I jotted down the size of their property and noted the ownership of the Denton acreage abutting the Lawrence’s property. Pulling out a pad of blank paper, I drew a quick sketch of both.
I thanked the clerk and gathered my papers to leave, glancing up at the clerk. Wonder if she could take Nick in Indian wrestling? Certainly I’d be no match.
On my way out I checked the time on my cell phone. If I rushed, I could get to the Denton property and back before my next client.
Fortunately, traffic was light and I made every green light through town. Day of miracles.
The Denton land, secluded like Lenora’s, was heavily wooded. The air, clipped and brisk, carried the scent of pine, one of my favorites. I studied the exterior of the house before exiting the car. The early Colonial architecture appeared structurally sound but lacked the painting maintenance, yard care, and flowers that spoke of a beloved home.
A chipped white overgrown trellis served as the skeleton for tentacles of grape vines. Hostas and ground cover planted perhaps by previous owners were untended. Bedraggled shrubs in the yard looked almost as sick as the nearly dead plants on the porch. Three rusty metal flowerpots on the railing contained pitiful-looking herbs. My nose burned when I caught a whiff. I’d bet they could poison soup. The landscaping would never qualify for a spread in House and Garden and didn’t befit the image of a bank-vice-president’s residence.
Since I was technically company, I figured I’d use the front entrance. I picked my way through lacy spider webs adorning the front walkway. The family must use the garage door. I doubted anyone had been on this path in weeks. A rake and broom leaned near the doorframe like skinny greeters.
A lone gray cat lumbered down the steps, as if to announce I’ve kept watch long enough, it’s your turn. Two porch chairs served as catch-alls for stray objects—garden shears, a box of plastic bags, a pile of twigs. Disorder reigned everywhere. I hesitated. Did I want to pursue this?
Stop being squeamish, Jennifer. I squared my shoulders to knock but stiffened at the sound of a man’s voice shouting words I couldn’t make out. His tone was clearly demeaning. The harangue from inside the house lasted for what seemed minutes. Fi
ngers shaking, I pulled the rusty horseshoe doorknocker.
Silence followed. The window curtain moved. A woman’s face appeared then disappeared from the window.
Seconds later, Chuck Denton opened the door. His wide-eyed, darting expression told me he didn’t get much company or welcome it.
I forgot he kept banker’s hours and probably had the afternoon off. He hadn’t changed from his white shirt, but his tie was loosened and shirtsleeves rolled up. Was his the voice that had been yelling? Who else could it be? The TV?
Chuck stepped onto the porch through an opening just wide enough for his thin frame. He plastered on a smile, instantly friendly.
I looked with narrowed eyes to see past him into the house, but he moved fast, blocking my view. He called over his shoulder, “Turn the TV down, Angela. It’s too loud.” Then he slammed the door shut behind him.
“Hello, Dr. Trevor. This is, er...unexpected.” He didn’t add “a pleasure” but the smiles I’d seen in Tucker’s driveway reappeared.
Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of a woman’s face in a corner of the window. Chuck followed my gaze, glared, and she dropped the drape.
“What brings you here, Dr. Trevor?”
“A purely social visit.”
“Social?”
“I wanted to talk with your wife. Chatting with my friend, Mary, I realized our daughter goes to school with yours. I’m planning a mother-daughter tea and wanted to invite her. May I introduce myself, since I’m here?”
“It’s kind of you to come, but Angela’s not feeling well today. I’m sorry you made the trip for nothing.”
Denton’s brush-off was smooth.
“Perhaps another time.” I turned to leave.
“Dr. Trevor,” Denton stepped a few feet farther out onto the porch. He lowered his voice and looked at me intently. “I don’t think you understand; my wife isn’t comfortable in social situations.”
“Chuck, forgive me, I don’t mean to be rude, but didn’t she interact fine socially with Lenora?”
Chuck’s eyes darkened. “What gives you that impression?”
“Lenora’s calendar.” An image of Angela’s name crossed out sprang into my mind. Had she and Lenora ever connected? My words were pure bluff, and I was a great poker player. A tinge of guilt gripped my gut. Quickly I rationalized I hadn’t lied, just implied.
Denton studied me. “My wife’s on her calendar? I can’t imagine why.”
I didn’t tell him that his wife’s name, if it had been her, had been crossed out in Lenora’s appointment book, and there were no counseling records.
His neck veins pulsated. Was Denton distressed, furious, or merely surprised? I couldn’t tell. “Must be a mistake.”
“The week Lenora was shot, in fact.”
Denton’s cold stare made my stomach queasy. I sensed his emotions could become ugly fast. Was Angela safe?
“I’ll ask my wife about it and give you a call.”
“That’s kind of you. I’m hard to reach, so I’ll get in touch with you.” I wasn’t going to leave the making contact ball in his court. I turned to leave.
“As you wish. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Denton disappeared into the house.
An inside door slammed. I retraced my steps down the walkway. I wished I wasn’t hunting blindly not knowing for sure if the two women had met.
But if Lenora had gotten through to Angela Denton somehow, I would, too.
* * *
Driving past Lenora’s property on my way home sent shivers down my arms. A close proximity to the scene of her near death distressed me on several levels, one of which was contemplating my own demise.
If I died tomorrow, I’d leave behind a precious husband and family, a household of stuff special mostly to me, appointment calendars with people’s names in hourly slots, and professional writing that I hoped signaled my life had been of use. My husband and kids would treasure my personal journals, describing the events of our shared lives, my reflections on God, people, and myself. I often shared about God openly in the movement of everyday life. There’d be few surprises in my written expressions of love for them, which they received often.
Slowing my speed through downtown Lake Geneva, I enjoyed seeing its unique retail stores with colorful shop awnings. I devoted my attention to avoiding hitting tourists meandering across the streets in small droves, not always with the light. Groups of highschoolers sauntered along the sidewalk in their uniform jeans. Intermittent benches held tired shoppers, mostly men, resting while their wives scoured the quaint shops and artsy galleries strategically dotting the main street.
This friendly tourist city seemed an unlikely environment for attempted murder. Not any longer.
Who had fired the shot that nearly killed my friend? I sensed Angela might be a key to unraveling this. How could I get through the barrier her husband had built around her?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The next morning, I nosed Nick’s Chrysler convertible in the direction of my office. Riding with the top down gave me the illusion of a fun and carefree life. What a lovely deception.
I borrowed Nick’s car every chance I got—unfortunately, seldom. What soccer mom carpooled in a convertible? A van worked best with plenty of seatbelts for all the urchins’ bodies I transported with their sticky fingers and book bags and every kind of sports equipment imaginable.
On the way to work I called Kirk, intending to give a boost to his spirits. I had nothing new or substantial to offer. The call might be considered a waste of time. But, I was a born encourager.
This was the third time in two days I’d been unable to reach him. I bristled. Something wasn’t right. I pulled over and looked up the number of the owner of the building where Nick had put him up temporarily, since the foundation wouldn’t allow him into their quarters.
The landlord informed me that Kirk had packed up and left no forwarding address. I pounded the dash with a clenched fist. So he’d disappeared on us. So much for proving his innocence. How guilty did this make him appear? Instead of gratitude, Nick and I got this in return. I resolved to find the number of the guys who put up bail for him.
I followed up by phoning the local police chief for any new information in Lenora’s case. The chief was a friend since our mutual work in community anti-drug programs at the local high school.
After a few minutes of small talk, he said, “We’re putting together a solid case against Kirk.” He assured me nothing had changed.
I didn’t tell him about Kirk’s sudden departure. “Even though he made bail and the evidence is still circumstantial?”
“Says who? He’s our primary suspect. My gut says it’s a clear-cut crime of passion. Very common. Prison can make an already angry man into a furious bear.”
“But Lenora had helped rehabilitate him…” Yeah, sure.
“I know it’s hard for you counselors to realize you can’t play God and transform every life you touch, but this is truth, raw as it is. Some people won’t change; they just pretend well. May as well accept it.”
I winced. Not what I wanted to hear.
The chief continued. “Why try to make something more out of this shooting? The summer season’s upon us. We’re super busy. This case is straightforward. You’re a counselor; what do you know about ex-convicts? With all due respect, do your job and let us do ours.”
Ouch. Wait until he found out Kirk had taken off. I wasn’t about to be the bearer of that news.
“Thanks for your time.” I stretched the words to avoid sounding sarcastic. It was hard.
Chuck Denton reached me by phone five minutes after I walked into my office.
“Dr. Trevor, I’d like to discuss yesterday’s visit with you. May I stop by this afternoon? I don’t need much time. Say, about fifteen minutes?”
I skimmed my desk calendar. “I have a break at three. You’re welcome to come then. I have several questions for you as well.”
“Thanks. See you later.”
I’m impressed, Mr. Denton. I didn’t have to call you.
I speculated on the reason for his visit. Had Angela confessed to Denton that she’d met with Lenora for counseling? If she had? Had therapy taken place or a social visit? Was her name crossed out because she’d come and the appointment was over or because she’d cancelled? A casual friendly visit wasn’t likely given Angela’s apparent aloofness.
Or, was there another woman named Angela? I couldn’t rule that out.
If Angela had met with Lenora, would Denton be upset? Some husbands, like Rob Malone, were creepy. They got scared at the prospect of having their wives become healthy. Often that meant the husbands would have to change some of their own erratic behavior. Might that be true of Denton?
The day passed uneventfully, a pleasant and rare event of late.
On the dot of three o’clock Denton sauntered in wearing a pinstripe suit, maybe the same one I’d seen the other night. “Now, about Angela.” He plopped into a chair making himself at home. I braced myself. Could I trust a husband’s perspective? I worked hard not to let my impressions of a person be colored by what family members said. It wasn’t always easy to block.
Denton flashed his banker’s smile, not too much teeth, good eye contact, showing no trace of his former testiness. This man could exude great warmth. Great demeanor for a salesman. He definitely looked trustworthy. If the logistics were right, I’d buy insurance from him. Banking was competitive nowadays, too. He probably did well. So why the rundown house? Lack of interest in personal surroundings? Financial issues? Doubtful. Or to keep people away? Strange. He dressed professionally, though.
“Jennifer, I want to apologize for appearing rude yesterday.”
I bit my lip to keep from saying, “More than appearing. You were. Let’s be accurate.”
He turned one of my straight back chairs backwards and straddled it. My body analysis kicked in. I considered this a motion of exhibiting superiority.
He glanced behind him. Was he checking that the door was locked? “I’ll get right to the point. Few people know about my wife’s situation. I certainly don’t intend to broadcast her past, but you seem genuinely concerned. Under the circumstances of what happened to Lenora, I’m going to confide in you.”