Four weeks later
John stood over the body of Harriet Fenton. Her living room was trashed and an end table had been knocked over. The lamp now lay in a mess of broken glass. Harriet was stretched out on the couch haphazardly as though she fell and landed that way.
John picked up the needle and deposited it in its evidence container.
“Hey.”
Bolton stood in the doorway, his face resigned like this was a scene he’d witnessed many times.
“Hey.” John’s eyes were hot and gritty, his jaw rough since he hadn’t bothered to shave in days. He’d discarded the Sheriff’s uniform almost a month before in favor of jeans and a button down shirt with his marshal’s star clipped to his belt.
When his vision tunneled, he stepped back and looked again at the room at large.
“Overdose?”
John worked his jaw back and forth. “Likely the oxycodone that went missing from the medical center yesterday morning. We won’t know until the autopsy for sure.”
“You’re thinking suicide?”
“Disgraced, marriage disintegrating. Accusing Andra of murder and then finding out it was Mrs. Pepper.” John sighed. “Suicide would be my guess.”
“How is Doctor Fenton?”
“I told him there was nothing he could do to help. He went back to work.”
Bolton made a noise, deep in his throat. “Right.”
John’s radio buzzed the noise that preceded Pat’s voice, “Dad!” John pulled it from his belt. “Dad, are you there!”
John smiled and pressed the button. “Yeah, Pat. I’m here.”
“Dad a helicopter is coming, just like Uncle Grant said.”
John’s stomach looped itself into a knot and he glanced at Bolton who tilted his head to the side, indicating John should go. John hit the button again. “I’ll pick you up on the way.”
He raced out to his Jeep and sped down Main Street, pulling up outside the sheriff’s office. Pat ran out, followed by Aaron. The young man had recovered from the assault and was back to his normal self—although now considerably happier since he’d moved into a spare room at John’s house.
John set off toward the ranch.
His son’s face was bright, the same way it had been every time he walked back from the library after Skyping Andra over the last month, while she recovered in the hospital and then at John’s mom’s house under marshal guard.
John had spoken to her over the phone a couple of times but she’d been cautious with her words and he’d been scared to ask what she decided.
Still, he’d gone ahead with the remodel of the apartment. The neighbors hadn’t been using their upstairs space, so he’d had Grant sign it over to him and immediately knocked down the wall between, making the living room and kitchen area twice the size.
With the help of Bolton and Matthias, Hal and a handful of others, they’d stripped out everything and completely redone the two apartments. Now John had a home with room for Aaron, Pat and himself. Hopefully someday, Andra too.
As an added bonus the bathroom was no longer green.
That wasn’t all he’d been working on. John’s faith still felt new, but the past four weeks had been a crash-course in walking the truth of what God had done for him.
John took a second to glance at his son. “Is that paint?”
Pat scratched at his temple, where the white stuff was crusted on his skin and hair. “Ouch. I guess.” He rubbed at it.
“Did you get the dining room finished?”
He nodded, his eyes sparking again.
In the rearview mirror, Aaron smiled. “All Aaron and Pat.”
As they got closer to the ranch the helicopter hovered and then set down. John parked and the three of them climbed out of the Jeep. Behind the vehicle, two golf carts and a truck with its bed full of people all parked and the residents made their way over.
The helicopter sat there, door closed, while they waited. The crowd of people who had come from town caught up and assembled around John, Pat and Aaron.
Then the door opened.
Andra’s eyes were bright with tears as the wind whipped her hair. She stepped out slowly, like she didn’t want to jar anything not all the way healed yet. She touched her hand to her front, just below her throat.
Tears tracked down her face.
Pat ran full speed before John could stop him. He barreled into Andra and the tackle sent them both flying back until Andra was sitting on the ground.
John rushed over, praying his son hadn’t sent her straight back to the hospital. Before he reached them, Andra tipped her head back and she burst out laughing.
She grinned at John, her arms tight around his son. John hauled first Pat and then Andra to their feet. She looked past him, taking in the crowd standing behind him. “Hi, everyone.”
She shifted her gaze to him. “Hi, John.”
John pulled her into his arms. He bent his head and whispered in her ear.
“Welcome home.”
Coming Soon
Star Witness (Sept 2014) Love Inspired Suspense
Sanctuary Buried (Oct 2014) WITSEC Town series book 2
Lisa Phillips is a British ex-pat who grew up an hour outside of London. Lisa attended Calvary Chapel Bible College where she met her husband. He's from California but nobody's perfect. It wasn't until her Bible College graduation that she figured out she was a writer (someone told her). Since then she's taken the Apprentice and Journeyman writing courses with the Christian Writers Guild and discovered a penchant for high-stakes stories of mayhem and disaster where you can find made-for-each-other love that always ends in happily ever after.
Lisa can be found in Idaho wearing either flip-flops or cowgirl boots, depending on the season. She leads worship with her husband at their local church. Together they have two children—a sparkly Little Princess and a Mini Daddy—but there’s only one bunny rabbit now (sad face).
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