by Judith Rolfs
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
I released stress two ways, by vacuuming or exercising. I chose exercise when I returned from Lenora’s — a walk though, rather than a run since I was still in recovery from my fall.
I peeked into the family room. The kids were engrossed in the football movie, Facing the Giants. “Hi guys, anybody want to go for a walk with me?”
Blanks stares glanced my way, then back to the screen. I pulled Collin aside a minute. “Dad’s at a meeting. I’ll be right back. You’re in charge of your sisters, son.”
I changed into my tan nylon jogging suit. With an athletic bandage supporting my ankle, I could handle a short walk. A glance in the mirror showed the thin scar still on my forehead.
At the end of the driveway, I pulled on neon orange wristbands and let the peacefulness of the woods filter through me. An eyebrow of a moon accented the spectrum of stars above. Steady, serene wind kept the oak leaves in a perpetual waltz.
The sense of being alone with God was delicious.
I walked for about a mile. When I reached the main blacktop road, a car illuminated by the streetlight approached. The driver rolled down the window and called my name.
A wave of surprise overcame me. Chris? What’s she doing here?
She parked on the shoulder of the road.
I trudged over. “Hey girl, I’m just heading out for a walk.”
“I know. I stopped by the house and the kids told me. I’ll leave my car here and join you, if I may?”
“Sure if you don’t mind my setting the pace. I’m taking it easy on my ankle.”
“Wise girl. I came to say goodbye. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
We fell into a comfortable stride. “I’ve been so busy. I’d hoped to have you over for dinner before you left, but it’s been crazy.”
“Hey, you have a lot going on. Thanks for the thought anyway.”
We’d gone another half-mile when Chris slowed. “I wanted to have a private conversation with you before taking off. This is hard.” She hesitated. “I have a confession to make. Is this a good place to stop for a minute?”
“It’s a dark stretch here, up ahead the road makes a sharp turn north. There’ll be a bench and more light.”
We reached the iron bench and sat. I turned to her with undisguised curiosity. “What’s up?”
“Something I must tell you...” She paused, apparently hunting for words. “It’s important you know…” A car pealed around the corner and halted a few feet from us. Chris was stopped mid-sentence.
I recognized Nick’s vehicle. He hopped out, my second surprise of the night. “I thought you had a meeting.”
“I got a text message about your friend here and came back.” Nick stared steadily at Chris as he spoke. She looked as if she might bolt any second.
Nick directed his next words to me. “Inspector Jarston called with Sarah Nichols’ physical description. Tall, angular build, short dark hair. According to the prison summary, she’s intelligent, capable of carefully executed, well-thought out con jobs and may be armed.” He faced Chris. “I checked with the company you’re supposed to work for. They never heard of you. You lied. Why?”
Chris turned away and became antsy. “You have no idea what I’m trying to do.”
“I know you’re a former convict with parole violations, and you’ve given false information to my wife.”
“I did my time, and I’m only trying to help.” Chris clenched her teeth.
Nick put his arm around me. “Chris knew Lenora.”
My eyes danced back and forth between Nick and Chris.
“I met her a year ago.”
A police car screeched up. A young officer sprang out of the driver’s door and a gray-haired female police officer with kindly blue eyes from the passenger’s side. She frisked Chris and took a small revolver from Chris’s waistband, then rattled off her Miranda rights. “We’ll check your permit for this gun and talk at the station.”
The hair bristled on the back of my head. “Chris…Sarah.” My voice broke. “Were you involved in Lenora’s shooting? But why…?” I couldn’t finish.
She looked me in the eye. “Of course not. I’ve done nothing wrong.” Chris squirmed, trying to shake herself free as the officer handcuffed her.
Chris, that is, Sarah, directed a desperate glance my way. “Jennifer, please believe me. I wasn’t anywhere near Lake Geneva when Lenora was shot. She was my benefactor. I wanted to help. Don’t let them take me to jail. Do something.”
I stood with my jaw hanging, staring at Chris. This was TV crime show material, not my life.
“What about the night Jennifer fell?” Nick yelled accusingly. “You showed up because you were stalking her? When she fell, you drove back pretending an offer to help. Right?”
“No!” Chris’s voice held an edge of panic. “Jennifer, the night of your accident I was driving by to find out where you lived to keep an eye on you and protect you. I knew you were friends with Lenora and feared you were the next target. I also followed you the day you met with Russell.”
So I had seen her that day. How could I believe in her innocence? Hadn’t she deceived me with lies? Was this how you felt, Jesus, when your friends betrayed you?
Her eyes pleaded. “Somebody was following you the night you fell, Jennifer. How could I protect you and Lenora without a gun? I’m not supposed to have a weapon. It’s the only thing I did wrong. I’d never hurt you; I only intended to help.”
I heard my voice as if coming from a cavern. “The shot in the woods?”
“Wasn’t me.” She groaned and twisted her body toward me. “Lenora helped me get my life together. Guarding you, investigating her shooting, snooping around on my own to find her shooter was the least I could do.”
The police officer tugged on Sarah’s handcuffs. “Let’s go. We’ll check her story, Ms. Trevor.”
Mesmerized by the scene, I was speechless. Lord, can I believe her? Should I? “Chris…Sarah, I’ll see what I can do.”
Her frantic final glance was one of the most pitiless sights I’d seen.
When the police car pulled away, I fell into Nick’s arms. “How did you know where I was?”
“Collin said you went for a walk and that Chris came by. Chris, that is, Sarah may have been watching our house and waited for when you went outside. She seems to excel at that.” Nick spoke in soft and soothing tones. “We have our sniper.”
I climbed into our car, numb all over. “I’m not so sure. Something doesn’t fit.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Who shot Lenora? If not Chris or Kirk, who? I sat in my office writing the three words over and over on my yellow legal pad. The gold ball hanging in the sky outside my window reminded me of the amazing God who alone could bring good from this huge mess in Chris and Kirk’s lives.
I’d blocked out two hours in my office to prepare for a workshop later in the day, but Lenora’s situation disrupted my concentration.
Lenora would be home soon. I wanted her to have twenty-four hour police protection, but that wasn’t going to happen because her husband and the police believed the case was sewn up against Kirk, although to their credit the police were combing through Sarah’s recent activities.
Raucous drilling from a jackhammer destroying the cracked sidewalk outside my building made it even harder to concentrate. I went to the window and closed it to deaden the noise and block the dust drifting in.
Jagged-edged concrete chunks soon would become archaeological history in some landfill project. Dear Lord, we’ll all be history, too, one day. May it be Your perfect plan, Your way, and Your time. Please keep Lenora alive to complete her normal life span, okay? And me, Nick and our precious family, too, please.
Returning to my desk, I picked up my pen to write another question on my pad, a pressing and mysterious query that had never been answered. Who called the hospital pretending to be Lenora’s brother checking on her condition? I never believed it to be a mix-up in names or rooms. Way too co
incidental for me. Besides, the nurse had said the caller clearly wanted to know Lenora’s condition. Undoubtedly checking if she were capable of revealing information about her assailant yet.
Had it been Denton? I’d had bad vibrations the first time I met him, an uncanny sense he was involved in some kind of deception.
Ellen knocked and entered my office.
I blinked. She was dressed in a bright lime green short-sleeve knit shirt and 1970’s beige and green jacquard slacks. Nothing neutral about my office assistant. “Nice outfit.”
“Thanks. I bought it in a consignment store and spent the money I saved on more mystery books. At least those I can solve in my head,” she added with a twinkle in her eye.
I ignored her comment and smiled as she consulted her message pad.
“Carrie called. Rob is furious about her joining the group. She wants to come anyway but is letting you know in case he succeeds in stopping her.”
“Okay, thanks.” Lord, don’t let this man take his anger out on his poor wife.
I loved my job but it definitely wasn’t easy. When I became a psychotherapist, I didn’t know it would lead to tough situations like this. I’m privileged that clients work on personal issues with me. The depth of their pain continued to surprise and distress me.
For Rob to be m-a-d seemed appropriate. The acronym in military circles stood for mutually armed destruction. Wasn’t this exactly what some marriage partners engaged in? Would Rob shoot Lenora to keep her away from his wife? I wrote his name down as a possibility.
My cell phone began to play Marimba, my musical tone of the moment. I checked caller identity and tapped the screen. “Hello, wonderful husband.”
“I’ve got news you’re going to like. Chris, it turns out, has an airtight alibi putting her two states away the night Lenora was shot. Her only crime was carrying. I’ll try to get leniency for that since she was protecting you and hunting for Lenora’s shooter.”
“That’s a relief. I’m eager to talk to her.”
“She has an aunt posting bond for her and will be released this afternoon. Now to my next important item. What’s for dinner?”
We chatted about choices.
Nick offered to stop by the store and pick up vegetables and French bread to serve with the homemade spaghetti sauce I froze in quantity.
“You’re a sweetheart.”
“I’ll show you how sweet I am later. Hurry home.”
I returned to my notepad. Back to the top of my page, I underlined “Who shot Lenora?” There still seemed to be something, someone I was missing.
Hartford and his wife, Sheila, needed to be added to my list. What was he capable of doing for the sweet satisfaction of retaliation?
Next I wrote the name Angela Denton. Was she capable of an aggressive act? Did she regret sharing her secret with Lenora and want to silence her? Buyers had remorse, sometimes counselees did too. I’d see her again next week if she returned to the group.
Could Angela handle a gun? People under duress often performed amazing feats of strength, and some multiple personalities developed extraordinary acting ability.
It was time to pay another visit to the Denton homestead. I picked up the phone. To my surprise, Angela answered. I didn’t give her a chance to object. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” I mentally finished my workshop planning during the car ride.
Half an hour later, I picked my way through vines seemingly even thicker than my last visit and rapped on the paint-chipped door.
Angela’s slim, white hand pulled the picture window drapes back, then dropped them. Moments later she drew the door back. Her terrified eyes reminded me of a little girl’s who had been spun in circles too many times. I pressed past her into the living room before she could retreat in fright or shut the door on me.
In a corner of the living room I saw a bucket of soapy water and some rags. She must have been scrubbing the tile floor on her hands and knees. Everything looked spotless. So that was what she did all day. The home, a remodeled cottage, had a very simple design —country décor, stark motif, and a few knick-knacks.
I shaped my lips into a smile while my mind whizzed in several directions. Concise and direct, I reminded myself. Why not try a bold approach? “Angela, I know,” I said with conviction.
She froze in place and remained motionless, feet planted on the floor. Her coloring, pale pink at first, turned gray.
“You may as well tell me the truth.” I spoke in the tone I’d use with a child who misbehaved.
Angela shook her head as if to lose sight of an ugly picture. She began to babble. “He’s always sorry afterward. He doesn’t mean to do it.”
Professional ethics loomed before me. “Angela,” I said gently. “I can’t offer confidentiality for what you say if I believe you or anyone is in danger, but I will help you in every way I can.” I feared these words would silence her, but I had to do the right thing.
She talked like a wound-up doll. “To protect our daughter and our home, Chuck said I needed to keep quiet. He can make me agree to anything. I always did.” Angela shuddered. “I stay home so nobody can see the marks.”
What she said didn’t shock me. At some level perhaps, I suspected all along.
I fought the sudden urge to throw up. “Why not tell the police?”
I asked but knew the answer. In our first apartment I’d wake during the night and hear our neighbor beating his wife. The next day she’d smear make-up all over her face and deny it.
“Chuck said the police would believe I made it up because he’s such a respectable citizen. Said it would support the mental illness story he told about me. He laughed at the idea of my telling.”
“Did you ever try calling them?”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand.” Angela’s eyes blazed. “Chuck can persuade people. He’s powerful with words. He talks ’till you think yellow is black and lies are the truth. Everybody trusts him. Nobody would believe me.”
“But there’d be physical evidence.”
“He’d say I appeared beat up because I fell and was hallucinating because I was demented. He’d lie his way out. I know.” Angela pled with her eyes for me to understand.
“Did you ever consider escaping to a shelter for battered women?”
“He’d find me. I wanted to run away lots of times, but where would I be safe? And, what about our daughter? He would take her away from me. I’ve quit caring about myself. As long as I stay drugged up enough, I can manage.”
“Exposing him and getting free would be hard but not impossible. I’ll help. I promise. You and your daughter don’t have to live like this.”
“Nothing will ever change.” Angela’s eyes darted toward the door with a worried look. “I shouldn’t be talking with you.”
“Did you really go to several psychologists as Chuck asserts?”
“Only once for meds before my visit with Lenora. He stayed with me all the while. Said I was afraid and I had fits if I was out of his sight. He’s such a liar.”
“Your daughter?”
“Chuck threatened that he’d hurt her if I ever let on and she told anyone. I cover the bruises as best I can, but sometimes she sees me beat up. He tells her its part of my illness. I keep falling down.”
I sensed my fists clench. I had to keep my rage toward him under control.
“The beatings happen usually late at night. In the beginning, he’d stuff my mouth with a handkerchief, but it’s gotten so I can’t cry out anyway. I just go numb all over.”
“Angela.” I spoke with infinite tenderness. “You can’t go on this way.”
“I want to die but can’t because that would mean leaving my daughter with him. He swore he’d put me in an asylum and take away my freedom if I ever talked about what he does. I finally told Lenora—more like she guessed it just like you did. And look what happened to her. I should never have shared this with anyone.” Her eyes widened.
I’d seen this before. The exhausting releas
e that follows truth-telling, coupled with concern for what will happen next.
I helped her to a chair at the kitchen table. She dropped her head in her hands and sobbed. “Now I’ve put you in danger, too.”
I patted Angela’s back soothingly. “I’ll be okay. And think of revealing the truth as giving Chuck a chance to get help, not an act of betrayal. Maybe it’s not too late for him. Some men respond well to treatment for spousal abuse.”
“There’s something else you don’t know.” Her sobbing intensified. “My husband killed his first wife in a fit of rage one night after he’d been binge drinking.”
I wasn’t surprised. Without an intervention, the behavior would continue. “Want to tell me details?”
“One night he said she threatened to leave him and report him. He caught her, dragged her back, knocked her out, and set fire to the house they were renting rather than face being exposed. He made it look like an accident and was never caught. Life’s all about image for Chuck. He’ll say anything, do anything. You see?”
“You could accuse him of murder.”
Angela bowed her head. “I know he’s afraid if I go for treatment there may be questions leading to re-investigation of his first wife’s death. I think he wishes he’d never told me. He did it to scare me into keeping quiet about the beatings.”
“This isn’t the kind of life God wants for you, to be continually depressed, fearful and abused. God wants you free.”
She shook her head. “I walk in the woods and fields almost every day. Things are free there. I feel close to God when I’m outside. It lifts me a little. When the weather is bad, I walk to punish myself for the bad decisions I made ruining my life.”
A thud reverberated from outside. Angela rushed to the door and clicked the lock while I peered out the window. I reassured her. “No one’s there.”
My mind moved 100 mph. Had Lenora confronted Chuck Denton in her office and threatened to turn him in? Was that when Estelle heard a man’s raised voice?
“Chuck’s due home soon. Now that you’ve come, I’m afraid for you. He’ll guess I told you, too. He mustn’t find you here. I need you to leave.”