9

Roger wiped a smudge of toothpaste from the corner of his mouth. Self-satisfaction oozed from his pores as he peered in the bathroom mirror. He had hit a home run last night with Lillian. Fate had thrown the man in front of her car. And as an added benefit to a glorious night, Ted had doubt growing in his gut. There was no one Ted loved more than his wife. And Bill already had questions about Lillian. Life couldn’t be better.

He straightened his tie and imagined Ted finding excuses to be in the house rather than out in his shop when Lillian was home. And if Ted looked hard enough, he would find something suspicious about her.

What had Lillian told them after he left? Gloating, he imagined praise and gratitude for his rescue. As the coffee slowly leak into the carafe, he envisioned shielded glances directed toward Lillian as the men, over the rims of their cups, tried to catch a glimpse of her murderous heart.

Glancing at the clock, he gulped the hot coffee and placed his cup in the dishwasher. Why not visit Ted and Trina before heading to work? He locked the door behind him.

The barb of guilt, still shiny in its newness, snagged his conscious. Clenching his jaw, he focused on the goal. Justice must be served, and sometimes the innocent had to play a role. Anger bubbled to the surface as he gripped the steering wheel, and he embraced the familiar feeling. No one deserved a second chance more than he. He dwelled on the anger, massaged it, and rolled it in his mind like putty to be shaped and formed at will. And as though having a will of its own, the anger seeped into his veins and coalesced in his heart, where it fed the darkness.

He parked his car along the curb a block from the bed and breakfast and watched until Lillian pulled out of the drive and headed toward Pocket Road, her chosen route to the university. He didn’t want to see her; the information he sought was best coming from the couple themselves. Too bad Bill had already left for work.

As he walked through the back door, Trina entered the kitchen carrying an empty tray. “Hey, Roger.”

Ted, mouth full, nodded a welcome.

“More guests?” Roger asked.

“Came yesterday. Nice couple from Texas.” Trina placed the tray by the sink and lowered herself into a chair at the table.

The space seemed changed, different somehow.

Instantly on alert, he stiffened but quickly realized he had never been to the house in the morning. The early sun streamed by the red gingham curtains and highlighted the room. In the natural light, the fresh paint on the old cupboards gleamed. The original wood floor glowed with mellow age.

The tension drained from him, replaced with a homey sense of comfort. He could live in a room like this. He slammed his mind against the sentimentality. What was wrong with him lately?

“Want a banana muffin?” Trina asked. “Coffee’s on the counter.”

The muffins smelled good. Maybe that had been part of his gut reaction to the room. “I don’t wake up to home bakes like this at my house,” he said, settling at the table.

“Whose fault is that?” Trina asked. “The way I see it, you have two choices: get up earlier and do some cooking, or find yourself a wife.”

“Or I could just stop here,” He forced his best smile.

“So, that’s why you stopped?” Ted asked. “You smelled muffins half way across town?”

“No, actually I came to check on Lillian.” He looked around as though hunting for the woman. Voices filtered from the dining room and he stared that direction even though he knew she had eaten her breakfast at the family table, not with the guests.

“You just missed her,” Ted stated. “She left for work about five minutes ago, but she seemed back to normal.”

Trina handed Roger a muffin, and he chewed slowly. Ted got lucky with Trina; she could cook. He took a second bite. “She was still shaking when I dropped her off last night. In the car she kept saying how grateful she was…” He took an intentional sip of coffee.

“Poor thing, she’s had a really bad start in the south,” Trina said. “Did you know the professor she’s replacing was murdered right in her office—the one Lillian has now?”

“Is that right?”

“She didn’t know if she wanted to be in that office or ask for a different one, but she’s so tough.” Trina shook her head. “Really, she’s amazing. She decided to keep the office and see how it goes.”

“It’s not like the body’s still there,” he said, remembering the slumped form draped over the desk.

Ted set down his cup. “Not too many people would want to have an office where someone had been murdered. I know I wouldn’t.”

From across the table, Trina frowned. “Roger, about last night. Paul said you should have called the police.” She drained her juice.

His back stiffened. “How did Paul get involved?”

“He usually stops by after his evening shift.”

His cup clunked as he placed it on the table. Two pairs of eyes stared at him.

“After you left,” Trina said, “Lillian wanted to go back to the shelter and check on the man she hit, but thankfully Paul arrived and convinced her to let him go instead.”

“She didn’t hit the man.” He clenched his teeth against his rising anger. “The man jumped out in front of her. The car never touched him, and he refused to go to the hospital.”

“But Paul said you should have called.”

His mind tried to process this unexpected information: Paul had been talking to Lillian. What were the potential ramifications? The muscles around his head tightened and he rubbed his forehead. “So Paul’s been here almost every night?”

“It’s kind of funny,” Trina mumbled through a mouthful of muffin, “I think he’s sweet on her. You know he rescued her when she arrived in town, so now he’s got this idea he has to protect her.”

“She doesn’t need police protection.”

“Have another muffin,” Trina offered.

“No thanks.” Roger pushed himself from the table. “I probably have people waiting at the office.” He flexed his fingers against the anger that wanted to vent through his fists. In spite of Roger’s efforts, Paul had still managed to worm his way into Lillian’s life. But that didn’t mean she wanted him there. After all, if Paul was assuming the role of protector, the Lillian-of-the-past would never allow that.

But what about this new Lillian? Last night, even though he had played a part in her rescue, had she really needed his help? And had she even appreciated him being there? He dug at an itch under his beard. Sure, she had thanked him, but what had he really done other than drive the car? She had made all the decisions.

Paul had become a threat to his plan. Did he need to deal with the threat, or could he use it to his advantage? This would take some thought, and right now his brain wasn’t up to the task.

“I meant to ask you before and forgot,” Trina said, her usual spark resurfacing. “You are planning on coming for supper tonight, aren’t you?”

He wrinkled his brow, his mind still envisioning his hands wrapped around Paul’s neck. “Our usual Friday night?” he finally mumbled.

“Sandra’s coming. And Jimmy. I want them to meet Lillian.”

Trina had invited Lillian? She never invited the bed and breakfast guests to the Friday night family time. He glanced at Ted, but the man stared at him with expressionless eyes. It seemed as though Trina and Lillian were becoming more than landlady and guest. Surely, Ted would kill that relationship.

“Sandra and Jimmy are coming?” Roger mumbled, still trying to process the fact that Trina had invited Lillian.

“She said they would.”

“You ever consider buying this place from Sandra? She could use the money to raise Jimmy. I heard her son didn’t leave her much, once the bills were paid from the car accident.”

Ted stared at him. “I never heard that. Who told you?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t remember now. It’s just one of those things that you hear and it sticks with you.”

“So what about Friday night?” Trina asked.

Ted locked eyes with Roger. “Paul’s coming.”

“Great. Good. Count me in.”

How can I keep Officer Studler from interfering with my plan? Maybe I need to move up my timetable.

~*~

At work, the hours dragged, and his foul mood bled over to his clients, resulting in heated arguments over nothing or, worse still, giving in to their meaningless requests.

The job had been one of desperation. He needed to relocate quickly, and the job at the Housing Authority had popped up on his web-search. Not a job of choice, but one of convenience. The work wasn’t hard, but tedious.

The number of families who couldn’t afford housing grew every year, while the number of landlords willing to rent their property to a government-subsidized program became disproportionately smaller. As a result, hours were spent trying to stretch resources that long ago stopped meeting the need.

People expected him to be some sort of magician, able to pull miracles out of a hat. He wasn’t sure why he tried so hard; it wasn’t like he really cared. Like church, its usefulness would soon be over.

Latoya entered his office. “Desmond Brown’s here, askin’ to see ya. I pulled his file.” She handed Roger a thick manila folder.

Latoya was Roger’s success story, if there was such a thing. She had been one of his first clients: homeless, two kids wrapped around her legs, and pregnant. He had found her an apartment and helped her get a job. Over the next eighteen months, she had earned her GED, and attended classes at Florence Darlington Technical College. When his receptionist quit six months ago, Latoya had applied. Devoted to the end, she would protect his back.

The willowy secretary’s long nails were painted red today. Not bright cherry red, but a deep red, like blood. How did she react to the sight of blood? Was she a screamer, or a fainter, or did she grab a rag and start cleaning it up? He had a feeling she was well acquainted with grittier things.

“Sir?”

He pulled his attention from her nails to the folder dangling from her hand. Desmond Brown held the title of most detested client. “Tell him to come in.”

Within seconds, the man, built like a bull and just as mean, barreled into the office. Steam almost billowed from the man’s nose. Desmond thrust a paper across the desk, ignoring his extended hand.

A verbal fight was building and, as in the past, he regretted the paper-thin walls. Very little money had been spent modifying the historic house from an elegant home to an office complex. Each substantial wall torn down had been replaced by three flimsy ones. Even though fortunate to have his own suite, he shared one of the new walls with the City Planning Department. Of course, he had overheard several heated debates from their side of the wall, too.

“Have a seat, Desmond.” Not removing his gaze from the man, he settled into his chair.

With large palms flat on the desk, Desmond leaned toward him. The man’s breath reeked of stale beer and cigarettes. His black eyes became slits. Bulging arms flexed. The bull was preparing to charge. “How can you do this to me?” Desmond yelled. “You gonna put three kids out on the street, just like that?”

Although Desmond intended to intimidate, Roger also knew the underside of life: he had spent most of his years there. Leaning forward and placing his hands on the desk, he mirrored the man across from him. “Desmond, I sent you that certified letter because you are three months behind in your rent.”

Desmond stood upright, his hands at his sides.

Roger did likewise.

“I told you I’m gettin’ a new job soon. I’ll be able to make it up.”

“That’s what you said last month.”

“Well, that job fell through. He promised it to me, and then backed down. I can’t control that. I’ve been lookin’ for better work.”

Still standing, Roger fingered the file Latoya had handed him. He knew what was inside.

So did the man on the other side of the desk.

Roger opened the folder and pretended to read. “You still have your job with Takis, right?”

“Yah, but I go home smellin’ like stale food. The kids don’t like it. They run to the back of the house.”

“Cleaning tables is honest work.”

“But I can do better. They have me workin’ split shifts now.”

“That’s because you asked for more hours.”

“Because you made me!” The man’s glare drilled into his face. “So what you gonna do about this letter?”

Roger’s open door provided a modicum of safety. Latoya could hear every word. So could the City Planning Department next door, most likely.

“Look, sit down and let’s talk this through.”

Desmond dropped into the chair opposite the desk, his dark scowl deepening.

“You make enough money at Takis to pay your rent.” Roger spread out the budget sheet they had developed together. “You only have to pay 40% of the actual rent. The government pays the other 60%. Where’s the money going?” He frowned at the big man.

“The government can pay it all.” Desmond’s shoulders slumped. “They’re the reason a man can’t get a decent job.”

“But you have a job, Desmond.”

“So you gonna put my old lady and my kids out on the street like all the others you shoved outta their houses?”

“You’re doing it to yourself.” Roger hissed through clenched teeth. Freeloaders. Bums. All standing with their hands out instead of doing an honest day’s work. He knew how to take care of users unwilling to meet their obligations, but in Darlington, his options were limited to those socially acceptable. Desmond ranked among the worst of the abusers. “What are you doing with the money you’re supposed to send here? You signed a contract. You agreed—”

“You can’t tell me what to do with my paycheck!”

“I can if you’re not paying your rent!”

They stared at each other, blazing gray eyes meeting hateful black slits.

Desmond might believe cleaning tables was beneath him, but he had endured this job for the past two years. Even after the fire, he still had come to work. Men do that. At least Desmond had the decency to not bring his kids this time. Last month their pathetic faces had bought him another thirty days, but that trick wouldn’t work again.

“You have a week to pay up before I evict you.”

The wooden chair hammered against the wall as Desmond jumped to his feet. “Just try,” he snarled. He turned to leave then stopped. “You know, there are more ways than one to get what I want.”

“Are you threatening me?”

The man laughed and gooseflesh rose on Roger’s arms.

“I see you hangin’ around Takis when that woman is there eating.” He leered at Roger. “Not enough of a man to come in and talk to her; you got to spy on her. It sure would be sad if something happened to that pretty face.” His laugh followed him from the room.

No doubt, Desmond was capable of hurting, or even killing another human being. But would he? And how would that work into Roger’s plan if Lillian were removed by someone other than him? How long before someone puts a bullet through my chest? This business with Lillian needed to be finished before someone like Desmond ended it for him. He clutched his head as a second hammer joined the first in his brain. Grimacing against the pain, Roger passed a disinfectant wipe across the surface of the desk in steady, even swipes.

“You all right?” Latoya asked from the doorway.

“Do me a favor, will you? Call Children’s Services and let them know they’ll have three kids needing foster placement in a week.”

The phone jangled. He turned his back to the glare of the window. “Roger Jenkins.”

“Meester Jenkins?”

His heart clenched. Why today? Why now? He would rather be dealing with a scum like Desmond than taking this call. “Hello, Mrs. Hernandez.”

“I went to see the place you told me about. It is so small.”

“It will only be temporary.” He talked slow, enunciating each word, hating that he didn’t have better options for Mrs. Hernandez. Then he remembered. Because of Desmond, there probably would be a vacancy. “There is another house that might be available next month.”

“So we stay here for now.”

“You can’t stay there, Mary. We’ve talked about this. The inspector found lead paint on the window frames when he was there. By law, I can’t allow small children to live in that house.”

“But I keep it clean. I keep Mica in his playpen.”

“You know what could happen to Mica if he eats lead. You don’t want him to be retarded.” They had talked about the risks of children in lead-tainted houses.

“We work so hard…”

“I know that.”

“I send money home to my parents. They want to come here, you know. They can help me with the children. I can work more hours.”

“Mary, your children cannot live in a house with lead paint.”

The unfairness of life. His throat swelled with frustration. He needed to pound the desk until only splinters remained. Or punch Desmond in his smug jaw. Instead, he kicked the waste basket, sending it flying against the far wall, leaving bits of torn paper scattered across the thin carpet. After taking a deep breath, he swallowed a mouthful of stale coffee, regaining control before speaking to Mary again.

The sound of children filtered through the receiver, their Spanish voices mixed with the clatter of small feet.

“I called your homeowner,” Roger finally said. “I asked him to pay for the lead abatement that would allow you to stay there. I told him how well you care for his house, what a good woman you are.”

“And he said yes?”

The hope in her voice added to the spikes already in his head. “He said no.”

“Sì. You have done your best.”

“I’ll arrange a moving van for you.” He ended the call, knowing that because of the size of the family he could have made an exception, but no…the lead. The headache devoured his brain. He closed his eyes, seeking relief, but instead the limp body of his newborn daughter filled the anticipated blankness. A knife pierced his heart. He stumbled from the office. “I’m going home.”

Latoya stared at his face. She knew. She had been in Darlington when it had happened.

~*~

Roger drove blindly, the pounding in his head keeping time with his pulse. Stumbling into the kitchen, he gulped two pain killers and collapsed on the living room couch, the pressure between his temples intense. How much more could he stand?

An hour later, with the worst of the pounding gone, he walked to the bedroom and closed the blinds. From the top shelf, he pulled down the fireproof box, lowered it to the bed, and inserted a key into the lock.

Most days his fingers wandered through the contents, randomly drifting from one item to the next: his marriage license, Elizabeth’s birth certificate, the title to a non-existent house. He would linger over pictures of smiling faces, an envelope with a snip of auburn baby hair. And then he would come to the death certificates on the bottom of the box: three of them.

Ignoring the memories, he dug through the box, searching for the blue thumb drive, an ordinary object purchased at an office supply store that now earned placement among his treasures.

The sound of his fingers tapping against the desktop seemed loud as he waited for the computer to boot up. He logged in with an encrypted ID, pulled up the new data he had sent himself, and downloaded the contents to the thumb drive.

He stared at the list of sub-files. He had made them all, added content as needed. Choosing one, he opened it, typed for a couple of minutes, hit save, and logged out. The thumb drive was returned to the metal box, and then the box was locked and shoved deep onto the shelf.

~*~

By the time Roger arrived at Ted and Trina’s, Paul’s car was already in the drive. He had wanted to show up early and watch Lillian’s face when Paul walked through the door, gauge her interest in the man, but no big deal. There would be opportunities to check out Lillian’s feelings throughout the evening. After a cursory push to the front doorbell, Roger let himself into the foyer.

“Hey Roger, right on time,” Bill said from the hall. “Put these on the table, will you?” He handed Roger a stack of dinner plates and lumbered back to the kitchen.

The smell of basil, oregano, and thyme permeated the air. And garlic. Always garlic. Roger whiffed appreciatively as his stomach growled in hunger. He had missed lunch. Again.

Laughter erupted from the kitchen. While Roger stood listening for Lillian’s voice, Paul, his fist full of silverware, walked into the room with Lillian close behind, holding napkins.

Always attractive, but tonight there seemed to be a special glow about Lillian, as though a stage light had been assigned just for her. With eyes flashing and a smile that seemed to be ongoing, she didn’t look like a helpless maiden in need of rescue.

Jimmy, Sandra’s six-year-old grandson, ran through the door and slid to a stop on the wooden floor. “Miss Lillian, I have another one for you!” His blue eyes sparkled.

Lillian waved the napkins in the air. “No more!” she said, laughing. “My sides will split open if you tell me one more joke.”

“After we eat?” he asked.

“After we eat.”

“Hi, Roger.” Lillian smiled and nodded toward the plates in his hand. “Looks like you have a job, too. Trina runs a tight kitchen.”

Thankfully, she said nothing about the ruckus of the other night. Best to avoid the topic with Paul around. No sense angering the man in Lillian’s presence.

Roger scowled, wondering whose side Lillian would take. He began placing the plates on the table.

Lillian followed with the napkin and Paul trailed her with silverware.

The thump, rustle, and chink as they worked reminded Roger of musical chairs. Who would end up without a seat? It won’t be me.

“Watch out! Heavy load coming!” Sandra balanced a tray with glasses of ice water.

Paul rushed toward her. “Here, let me take that.” He lifted the burden from her hands.

“Thanks, Paul. You’re good to have around.”

What a kiss-up. Roger took a deep breath; already his nerves felt as if they had been sprinkled with some of the red pepper flakes that he knew Trina would put in the pasta sauce.

Trina entered carrying a cloth-covered basket, and the aroma of baking bread mingled with Italian seasoning. “All right, guys, time to eat.”

Roger frowned when Trina directed him to a seat across from Lillian, until Paul was given the spot beside him, with Bill next. Lillian sat between Jimmy and Sandra. Ted and Trina filled the ends of the table.

“Let’s pray,” Ted said, extending his hands to Bill and Sandra.

Roger hated that part of the Hancock tradition. He extended his hand, hoping Paul would ignore it, only to feel the pressure of the man’s grip.

~*~

The taste of garlic mixed with oregano, basil, and a hint of thyme made Lillian’s mouth water. Looking at the heads bent over food, listening to the clink of silverware on stoneware, she smiled. These were her friends.

Jimmy sat beside her slurping strings of spaghetti through his lips.

Sandra turned toward the boy, but Jimmy remained focused on his plate.

Lillian smiled, glad she could run interference for him.

“Do any of you know anything about the homeless shelter here in town?” Lillian asked.

Roger raised an eyebrow.

“What do you want to know?” Ted asked, licking sauce off his lips.

“Is it a good place? Is it well run? How is it staffed?”

“I used to go one day a week and help cook and serve supper until I got too big to fit behind the counter,” Trina said with a laugh. “But the rest of the family still goes.”

Jimmy tugged at Lillian’s arm. “I help too.”

“You thinking about volunteering, or are you just curious?” Sandra’s strong southern drawl sounded right at home in the historic house. “We can use all the help we can get.”

Trina giggled. “Remember that time mashed potatoes was on the menu and the electric potato scraper broke? We had to peel 30 pounds of potatoes by hand.”

“I remember,” Ted interjected. “I thought my hands were going to fall off.”

“Well, I got the blasted machine fixed,” Bill said. “I’m not peeling any more bushels of potatoes. Reminds me of the Army.”

“It wasn’t bushels, Dad.”

“Close to it.”

“But the men really enjoyed the meal,” Sandra added. “That’s what’s important, y’all.”

“Do any of the local attorneys volunteer?” Lillian asked.

Roger’s head turned toward her as if he stared, but when she looked at him, he was intent on twirling spaghetti in his fork.

“Not that I know of,” Sandra said.

“What if I volunteered a few hours a week, maybe on the night you guys work? Do any of the men need legal counsel? I won’t be able to serve as their attorney, but I can advise them on the law.”

“I can’t think of a greater need.” Bill wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Some of the men are homeless because of the red tape they don’t know how to navigate.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Roger bit into warm garlic bread.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Lillian challenged him.

“You’re young. And pretty. All those men—”

“Oh, for heaven sakes, Roger,” Sandra said. “What do you think those men will do to her?”

“I have to agree with Roger,” Paul said. “We don’t get that many calls at the station from the shelter, but the ones that do come are serious. Knifings, for instance.” His eyes softened but maintained their seriousness as he looked at Lillian. “Some of the men have shady backgrounds. The city has a volunteer legal service for the low income. I think the office is actually located in your building, isn’t it Roger?”

Roger nodded. “I’ll be glad to connect you with them, Lillian.”

“We can discuss this later.” Sandra tipped her head toward a wide-eyed Jimmy.

“Anyone for seconds?” Trina passed the pasta bowl to Paul.

“I saw in the paper one of your houses burned down last night.” Bill sopped up the last bit of sauce on his plate and popped the saturated bread into his mouth.

Lillian’s throat tightened and she tried to close her ears against the conversation.

“What happened?”

“The fire marshal’s reporting it as arson.”

Lillian felt the color drain from her face.

“That big one on Miller Street?” Trina frowned. “Who would want to burn down that old house? I thought it was beautiful.”

“The owner comes to mind first,” Roger replied.

Lillian lowered her fork to her plate, her heart blocking her throat. “What happened to the family?”

“They moved out a couple of days ago.”

“So the house was empty?” Trina asked. “Thank goodness for that.”

“Excuse me,” Lillian murmured as she slipped from the table.

Trina smiled as she passed. “Now you’re taking up my habits!”

She ran up the stairs and closed the bathroom door behind her. Wobbly legs supported her as far as the edge of the tub, where she settled on the side and put her face in her hands. Craig and Susan’s burned bodies filled her mind, the stench of their burned flesh still real. A sob shoved its way from her tight chest, releasing the emotional flood it had been blocking. When would the pain end? As the sound of fire crackled within her mind, she moaned and rocked back and forth against the pain. Her family. Her life. All gone.

A soft knock sounded at the door followed by Sandra’s voice. “Lillian. Are you all right?”

She brushed the tears off her cheeks. “I’m fine. I’ll be down in a minute.”

After splashing cold water on her face, she ventured back down the stairs. She eased back into her chair and picked up her fork, but little food actually got to her mouth.

Conversation lagged. Faces held guarded expressions, as though an unwelcome guest sat in their presence. What had they been talking about while she had been gone? The fire? Most likely her, and the embarrassment made her want to retreat to the safety of her room.

“You all right, Lillian?” Bill asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Just thought you looked a bit wane.”

“Dad means tired,” Trina said. “Dad, no one says wane anymore.”

“It’s a good word,” Bill said, his lips rigid.

The monster in the room had its claws in more than her. She had never heard Trina correct her father before, at least not in public.

And Bill seemed to be on the verge of exploding.

“All right y’all, time to do dishes.” As Sandra rose from her seat, she winked at Bill, and, as though on cue, everyone stood and carried a handful of dishes to the kitchen.

Soon the last plate was dried and the sink wiped clean.

Sandra draped the dishcloth across the sink. “Trina, let’s go see that baby room you’ve been talking about.”

The evening had started pleasantly, but for the second time Lillian found herself tense. First the fire, now the expectation that she accompany Trina and Sandra to the nursery. Hopefully, her well of tears had gone dry.

Sandra accompanied Trina up the stairs. As Lillian followed, her throat tightened and she fought tears that wanted to pocket in the corners of her eyes. Why had she not invited Sandra into the bathroom and cried on her motherly shoulder? Rigid independence had blocked her ability to accept Sandra’s friendship. The aloneness that always pressed against her suddenly pushed until the weight felt as if her feet might sink right through the tread of the stairs.

Laugher broke through her thoughts as Jimmy bounded up the stairs, passing all of them in his rush to be first.

The revelation occurred so suddenly that she stumbled. A huge smile formed on her face, and a laugh erupted from within her.

“You OK back there, Lillian?” Sandra asked.

“Never better.” She had been living a solitary life surrounded by stoic and serious people. She needed Jimmy’s goofy jokes and Ted’s loving glances at his wife, the unconditional friendship of Trina. The weight holding her down crumbled and the lightness left her feeling as if she could float up the stairs. God had not abandoned her. He had given her just what she needed. A cleansing breath poured from deep within. She sat in God’s protective hand.

~*~

After the women headed upstairs, Ted wandered toward the parlor, and Bill went in search of the deck of cards.

Roger found himself alone in the kitchen with Paul.

“I need to talk to you about the other night.” Paul’s lips pressed together so hard they almost disappeared.

Blood rushed to Roger’s head, suffusing his face in heat. He stiffened his back, ready for the fight. “What about it?”

“When someone is hit by a car, you need to call the police. We have to fill out a report. You know that.”

Roger glared at Paul. So smug and self-assured, thinking he owned the world. The knot of hate that lived in his stomach swirled into his mouth. “No one was hit, so there was nothing to report.” The words hissed from his mouth. “The man stumbled off the curb and Lillian stopped in front of him. I would think the police would have better things to do, like catching the person who burned down my house last night.”

“So it’s your house now?” Paul’s eyes narrowed. “You make too much of yourself. We play as a team around here.”

“A team? All your team does is set up speed traps.”

Paul’s face reddened. “You know very well—”

“What’s going on in here?” Bill stood in the doorway. “You boys better stop or take it outside. I don’t want the women upset.”

“Sorry, Bill,” Roger looked at the floor. “I forgot myself for a minute.”

“I’m out of here.” Paul walked stiffly from the room.

“Aren’t you staying to play cards?” Bill asked.

“Tell Trina thanks for supper,” Paul said over his shoulder as the outside door closed behind him.

“What was that all about?” Bill asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows? Paul’s always been moody.” It was all he could do to keep the snicker out of his voice.

~*~

Trina placed her cards on the table and yawned.

Roger knew the time to reveal his plan had come. His heart trilled within his chest. After two years, payment would be made. “It’s late and I need to get home,” he said. “Besides, no one can win with Lillian playing!”

“Hey, Ted won the first two games,” Lillian quipped, a smile lighting her face. “Do you guys do this every Friday?”

“Most weeks,” Ted said.

Trina grabbed Ted’s arm and pulled herself up. “You’re welcome to join us. Even after you move.”

Lillian laughed. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Never!”

The evening had brought out the best in Lillian. She recovered her pleasant mood soon after the card game started, and Jimmy had helped to keep her entertained until Sandra took him home. Lillian, looking like someone without a care in the world or a sin to atone for, stretched her arms above her head. “This has been nice. I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun.”

Her façade of innocence sickened Roger, but he could play that game too. While others had focused on the cards, he had stacked one scenario on top of another until he had come up with the best course of action. He only needed a reason to bring it up it, and Lillian had just given him the opening. “The fun doesn’t have to end,” he stated, maintaining eye contact. “How about going jogging with me tomorrow morning?”

“You’re a runner?”

Ted’s gaze was on him.

“I’m not sure I would call myself a runner, but I like to put in a few miles every now and then. I thought you might like to see Williamson Park. It’s a great place to get some exercise, if you avoid the tree roots.” Roger gave her his little boy, friendly puppy smile.

“Sure. What time?”

“How about eight? Is that too early?” The earlier the better for his purposes. Most Saturdays, people didn’t start showing up at the park until after lunch.

“Eight’s fine.”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” He furrowed his brow. “I have to make a quick stop in the office first. Can I meet you there instead?”

“Sure, no problem. The parking lot is off Spring Street, isn’t it?”

“That’s the place. Or I can come by and pick you up, but meeting you would save some time. We want to get our run in before the crowds start showing up.”

“I’ll just meet you there.” Lillian smothered a yawn behind her hand.

“It looks like Trina’s not the only one tired.” He turned and waved a hand as he headed toward the door. “Thanks for the supper and the company.” And enjoy your last night in a bed, Lillian.

The click of the deadbolt sounded behind Roger. Retribution would not happen at the bed and breakfast; he could spare his friends that much.

The evening had ended more perfectly than if he had planned it. Paul running off and Lillian accepting his invitation. A smile creased his face as he bounced toward the car. And it had been a good touch on his part to throw in the “I have to go to work first” line. That would be his alibi.

Tomorrow promised to be both an end and a beginning.

~*~

Lillian gathered the popcorn bowls from the table. Green plastic, cheap, most likely purchased from the thrift store, but they had provided more fun than she had had any time in recent memory. She ran her finger along the bottom of her bowl and placed the greasy tips in her mouth. Salt. That brought to mind a sermon she had heard on friendship being the salt of life.

As she carried the bowls toward the kitchen, she contemplated the possibility of friendship. Friendship was beyond what she hoped for, and she had been content moving to Darlington to live a solitary life. But then something happened. It felt as though she had known Trina for years. And then Ted and Paul and Roger. Dare she call them friends?

“You look deep in thought,” Trina said as she sidled past Lillian in the kitchen doorway. “Anything I can help you with?” She dumped the paper plates into the waste basket.

“Sorry. I guess I was lost in my own world for a minute.”

“I would be in a daze too if I had two eligible bachelors dangling on my every word.” Trina grinned, walked to the table, and indicated the seat next to her.

Should this conversation happen? She knew where sweet Trina’s thoughts were headed, but Darlington was to be her retribution, not a place to kindle romance. The scent of popcorn still clung to the air and with it thoughts of the evening: the laughter, the times when she had felt accepted, almost part of the family.

The wooden chair slid over the waxed floor with a soft scrape as she pulled it from the under the table. The overhead light brightened the room.

Comfort. That was the word she had been searching for, the emotion she had been experiencing. When had this house become a safe haven for her? Was it possible that those living in it were part of her safety? She shook her head at the odd thought. Safety from what? She had left the danger in Cleveland.

Rather than being able to see through the kitchen window, a reflection off the glass shone back at her, hiding what lay beyond. Her gut twisted. God had led her to Darlington, but she still knew danger waited for her just beyond that black window; something hidden beneath a light-filled image. She shivered and tried to shake off the strange premonition.

Trina bounced in her seat, eyes sparkling. Her eagerness to share girl talk raked against Lillian’s somber mood.

“You’ve only been here a week, and already Roger is swooning over you. I have never seen him act like this with anyone. And Paul.” Trina chuckled, her eyes crinkling around the edges. “He gets chased all the time by the women. You know how it is, man in a uniform. But he’s never given any of them a second look until you came along. He’s smitten all right.”

Lillian stared at Trina, remembering her accelerated heartbeat when Paul had stopped her coming into Darlington, and the emotion had nothing to do with the ticket. And Roger. Dark, handsome Roger. She couldn’t go there.

“You’ve got a battle going on for your heart.”

“Who has a heart?” Ted asked as he entered the kitchen.

Trina used her hands to shoo her husband away. “Girl talk. Go to bed. I’ll be up shortly.”

Ted raised his eyebrow. “I thought you were tired.”

“Go to bed,” Trina said, her voice stern but her eyes laughing.

When Ted’s footsteps sounded on the steps, Trina turned back to Lillian. “So which one is it going to be?”

The eagerness on Trina’s face made her regret not being able to share the joy. There would be no relationship with either man. Trina’s conversation was as if two high school friends were discussing which of the hunks they hoped would ask them to the prom. But this was real life. The prom had ended and her carriage had turned back into a pumpkin. She tried to get up from the table, to end the nonsense of the conversation, but the warmth of the kitchen seeped into her bones, and Trina’s voice became a soothing lotion rubbed into her long-neglected skin. “I really don’t….”

“Well, each one will try their best to win your heart.” Trina put her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “So what are your first impressions of Roger?”

“He’s nice enough.” The typical tall, dark, and handsome, but with a secret pain kept close to his chest. “We’re going jogging in the morning.”

“What about Paul?”

Before she could stop it, a grin spread. “He makes me laugh. But I’m not ready for a serious relationship. It’s too soon.”

Trina squeezed her hand. “When you’re ready, there are two men waiting.”

Hope filled the hollow in Lillian’s heart. “You’re so good for me, Trina.”

“You belong here, I know it. God has something in mind.”

As she followed Trina up the stairs, she contemplated whether God could have romance as part of His plan. Just one week ago, she had not even hoped for friendship. God had provided so much more than she had expected. Why not a second chance at love? A shiver of excitement crept over her.

Too many changes too fast. And tomorrow, a date with Roger. Was it really a date? No, they were meeting to go running together, just as friends did.

But as unexplained jitters became her bed partner, she flipped on the lamp and grabbed her Bible. Was this another premonition?