13

Sister Harris arrived before her husband the next morning, ringing the doorbell at nine-thirty. When Cassie answered the door, the bishop’s wife smiled and exclaimed, “You’re looking much better!”

“I’m doing better, too.” Cassie stepped back to allow the older woman to enter.

“I hope you don’t mind my coming early. I had to give Sister Jones a ride to work today, and I told Alfred I’d just meet him here.”

“No. In fact . . .” Cassie closed the door and thought a moment. “In fact, it may be providential. Sister Harris, I’d like to talk to you about something. Would you come up to my room?”

“Certainly, my dear.”

Cassie led the way up the stairs and seated her in the chair in her bedroom. Before she got the briefcase out of the closet, she threw back the curtains and let the morning sun illuminate the room.

“That’s better. I do like light.” Sister Harris watched with interest as Cassie knelt beside her, opening the case and laying it out flat on the floor.           

“Oh, dear!” Sister Harris said when she saw the gun. She looked at Cassie with a wrinkled brow. “What is this?”

“This is my husband’s briefcase. I thought he was a salesman, but as I think back, he never told me that. What he said was, ‘I’m in pharmaceuticals. I travel.’ He was not reachable by cell phone while he was away. When he was gone, he was truly gone.”

Cassie went on, “When I opened this briefcase, I expected to find sales books, pamphlets, and catalogues, along with the name of the company he worked for so I could get in touch with them. This is what I found. And look . . .” Cassie took off the rubber band and opened the cardboard box.

Sister Harris’s brows went up. “Well, I declare! Are those all hundred dollar bills?”

“Yes. There must be thirty thousand dollars here.”

“What else is in there?” Sister Harris leaned over, her eyes sparkling.

“There are some navigational charts for Puget Sound—oh, and I figured out that the record that the bishop gave me is of my Chandler Jordain, after all. The fax machine made a blotch over the three on thirty-three and made it look like eighty-three. Chan was from a city on the coast of Puget Sound.”

“And what’s the notebook?”

“It’s a date book, but there’s not much in it. No addresses. No phone numbers. Just some numbers written in the calendar.” Cassie opened the book to October twelfth and showed her.

“Those look like long and lat positions,” Sister Harris said.

“What do you mean?”

“Longtitude and latitude. You could take those charts and find these positions. I don’t know what the other numbers are for. Could be times. Nine point five-A could be nine-thirty a.m.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, I worked for the forest service for a lot of years, and when you get out where there are no road signs, you do a lot of naming of things with long and lat. The other—the time—is a guess. I did a lot of guessing at what the fellows meant with their shorthand, too.”

Cassie looked at the figures again and then closed the book and put it away. Sitting back on her heels, she spread her hands. “I don’t know what to think.”

“About what?”

“About my husband.” Cassie’s voice broke, and she cleared her throat.

Sister Harris spoke matter-of-factly. “Because you found a gun in his briefcase? You’re living in the West, my dear, where the NRA is a pretty big deal. My boss used to carry a pistol, though he never used a shoulder holster.”

“And the Social Security Department couldn’t find Chan . . . though that’s because I had given the wrong information for the death certificate.”

Sister Harris took one of Cassie’s hands and held it in both of hers. “Let me ask you a question. What kind of man was Chan? Was he honorable?”

“Yes. In everything I saw him do.”

“You said he was a returned missionary?”

“Yes. He knew so much about the Church!”

“Well. If he was an honorable man, then there’s an honorable explanation. Maybe he was a government agent. Maybe he couldn’t let even his nearest and dearest know what he was doing.”

Cassie’s eyes widened. “Oh, Sister Harris! I never thought of that. But what about the money?”

“Well, I wouldn’t spend any of it,” the older lady cautioned. “It’s probably government property.” She chuckled, “Depend on it, someone will be coming around with a chit signed by your husband and asking for it back.”

“But why would he have it?”

“If people are working undercover, they often use cash—payments to informants, that kind of thing. When we were in Montana, the elders quorum president was a narcotics agent. He had to have lots of cash to buy drugs from dealers while he was setting up a sting. I think it’s a fairly common thing.”

Cassie was quiet for a moment. “Chan said he was in phar—” She didn’t get to continue the thought because the doorbell rang. Looking at her watch, she said, “It’s ten. That’s either Ben or the bishop.”

As Cassie began closing the briefcase, Sister Harris asked, “You were looking through those things after dark, weren’t you?”

Cassie blinked. “Yes. How did you know?”

“Oh, things have a way of getting exaggerated after dark. Remember, there is always a rational explanation.”

“I’ll remember,” Cassie smiled. “Thank you!”

The doorbell rang again. “I’d better get that,” Cassie said. She jumped up and ran down the stairs, opening the door to find Bishop Harris, Ben, and Ricky. Ricky was holding a well-used Elmo doll.

“Come in,” Cassie invited. “Hello, Bishop.” She shook his hand.

“Hello, Ben.” She offered her hand, and Ben took it, staring hard at her.

“Are you all right, Cassie?” he asked.

“If I’m not right now, I will be.” Going down on one knee to be eye-level to the little boy, she said, “Hello, Ricky. I’m so glad you came to see me!”

Ricky’s dark liquid eyes, so like his dad’s, met Cassie’s blue ones. “Sad, Tassie?” he asked in a gentle voice.

“Well, you know, Ricky, I have been. But I’m trying to be happier. A hug would help.”

Still holding Elmo, Ricky spread his arms wide and wrapped them around Cassie’s neck in a tight embrace.

“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear. “I needed that.” She kissed Ricky on the cheek and then stood.

“Where would you like to sit, Cassie?” the bishop asked.

“Let’s go into the living room,” she replied.

Bishop Harris looked around. “Where is Sister Harris? Isn’t she here yet?”

“I’m right here,” his wife said, coming down the stairs. “I was just putting something away for Cassie.” She met Cassie’s eyes and said, “It’s back in the closet.”

Cassie smiled her thanks and sat in the chair that Bishop Harris indicated. Sister Harris sat down on the couch and patted the place beside her. “Come sit by me, Ricky,” she invited.

Ben led Ricky over and helped him get settled. Then he came over to stand beside Cassie, and rested his hands on her shoulders. “What is your full name, Cassie?” he asked.

“Cassandra Lee Van Cl—No. It’s Cassandra Lee Jordain.”

“All right, then.”

Cassie closed her eyes as Ben moved his hands from her shoulders to her head. She felt the gentle pressure of Bishop’s hands as well, and then Ben began to speak, haltingly at first, as if searching for words or waiting for inspiration. Tears seeped from under closed lids and beaded up on her lashes as Cassie listened to Ben’s assurance that the Lord was mindful of her, that God would not ask her to suffer more than she could bear. Other phrases stuck in her mind as they were voiced: learn empathy; forget yourself in service; you will be given strength; you will be protected as you travel; listen to the still, small voice; all these things will be for your experience. Then the amens were said, and the two men removed their hands, and Cassie felt bereft, as if she had lost connection with someplace safe.

“Where are you going, Cassie?” Ben asked.

“How did you know I was going anywhere?”

“I didn’t. Where are you going?”

“Mmm.” She lowered her eyes and shook her head. “I’m not sure I’ll go anywhere. But I may go to Washington state to tie up some loose ends.”

“Let me know if you do,” Bishop Harris said, shaking Cassie’s hand.

“I will.” Cassie stood and turned to hug Ben. “Thanks, mi amigo.”

“I was afraid you were going to shake my hand again,” he kidded.

Sister Harris, who had been quietly playing pat-a-cake with Ricky, gave him a squeeze. “I’ve got to go, Ricky my boy. Yes,” she said laughing, “I see you can do it all by yourself. Uuuuup in the oven. That’s a boy!”

Still smiling, Sister Harris arose and came to embrace Cassie. “What a fine blessing. I hope you listened to every word.”

“I did,” Cassie assured her.

“Well, I’m on my way. You need to come too, Alfred,” Sister Harris admonished from the entryway. “We’re due at the dentist in half an hour.”

“I know, I know, Mother.” Bishop opened the door for her, and she twinkled up at him as she passed through.

“Race you,” she challenged. “First one there is last in the chair.”

Bishop caught Cassie’s eye and winked. “Now, now, Mother. Act your age.” He spoke to empty air, because Sister Harris was trotting across the parking lot. Bishop quickly closed the door and scooted decorously out to his own car.

Cassie smiled as tires squealed on the blacktop. “What a pair they are!” she said to Ben. “They still have fun.”

“They’re still in love,” he said and then dropped his eyes. “Um, come sit down, Cassie. I want to talk to you a minute.” Ben sank down on the couch by Ricky and pulled the boy onto his lap.

Cassie stood warily behind the easy chair. “What about?”

Ben’s eyes flashed and his voice had an edge. “Who do you think I am? Do you think I’m going to make some kind of move on you at a time like this? I only wanted to ask you what the police are doing to find the hit-and-run.”

Cassie felt her face turning red, and she covered her cheeks with her hands for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Come and sit down.” Ben’s voice had lost its sharpness. “I’m the one who should apologize. I hope we can get past all of that.”

Cassie sat.

“Now,” Ben began, “what have you heard from the police?”

Cassie frowned in puzzlement. “Nothing.”

“They didn’t report on their progress from the investigation?”

“I don’t know that there was an investigation beyond what they did on the day of the accident. No one took a license number. All anyone could say was that the car was a dark color. Some said blue, some said black.”

“Did they give you profiles to look at? Silhouettes of the shape of cars? Did they canvass in the offices that face onto the road around the medical center?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask them.”

“But they took Chan’s clothes, didn’t they? The things he was wearing when he was hit?”

“No. I have Chan’s clothes. I was going to wash them this morning.”

“You didn’t wash them!”

“No. Sister Harris came before I got to it. Why?”

“Well, we dodged a bullet there.” Ben went on to explain, “If someone gets hit with a car, sometimes there will be microscopic paint chips embedded in the clothes. That’s especially true if he was wearing Levi’s or a belt with a buckle.”

“Which he was. They’re all in the sack from the mortuary.”

“Will you get them for me? Can I take them?”

“Yes. Wait here.” Cassie returned in a moment with the bag and handed it to Ben, who was standing by the door holding Ricky’s hand.

“Stay in touch, won’t you, if you go wandering off?” he requested. “I may have questions to ask. I’m going to bird-dog this. It isn’t precisely my department, but I’ll make sure it doesn’t get lost in the shuffle.”

“Yes. I will.” Unaccountably touched by his promise, Cassie felt tears spring to her eyes and knelt down to talk to Ricky to cover her feelings. “Good-bye,” she said. “Come see me again, won’t you?”

She didn’t fool the little boy. “Sad, Tassie?” he asked, reaching with his finger to touch a tear that was resting on her cheek.

“Sometimes,” Cassie said, smiling sadly.

“Here.” Ricky held out Elmo.

“Oh, does Elmo want to give me a hug?” Cassie cuddled the fuzzy red Muppet. “Thank you. Now I feel better.” She handed the doll back to its owner.

“No! Elmo is for you. You’re sad.”

Now the tears were really flowing. Unstrung by the charity of a toddler, Cassie, still on her knees, clutched Elmo and sobbed. Ricky’s chin began to quiver.

“Oh, no!” Ben said. “We’re going to have a situation here.” Scooping up the child, who had just begun to wail, he said, “I’ve got to go, Cassie.”

Cassie, laughing through her tears, stood and embraced both father and son together. “Thank you, Ricky,” she said. “Don’t cry. I’m not crying, see?” Cassie forced a smile and tried to give him back his toy, but he pushed it away, weeping.

Ben felt behind him for the door handle, turned it, and pulled the door open. “Good luck, Cassie.” Ben spoke loudly over the noise of Ricky’s bawling as he held up the black mortuary bag. “I’ll let you know what we find out.”

“Thank you for coming, Ben. Thanks for the blessing.” Cassie stood at the door and watched as he made his way down the sidewalk and buckled the wailing child into his car seat.

“It’s going to be a long drive to my mother’s,” he called to Cassie.

Smiling, she waved as he drove away. Then, carrying her well-worn gift, she went inside to make plans.