Sunday
“THERE IS NO statute of limitations for evil.” With the open barn doors at his back, the pastor roved his gaze across the knot of people in the inn parking lot as if wanting to make eye contact with each one. He sounded like a witness for the prosecution.
Landon’s spirit hushed at the weight of his words. Around her, Anna’s guests stood in solemn silence.
He raised a hand, index finger pointing upward. “There is no statute of limitations for evil. But thank God, there is also no expiry date for grace.”
A ripple of soft exhales brushed Landon’s ears like the faintest breeze. Her shoulder muscles loosened, and she relaxed into an easier stance. She’d almost died in that barn, but the small grey structure held no fear for her now. Not after so many trips in and out helping to empty its contents.
Anna wanted the building to have a prayer of cleansing and blessing, and she’d invited people from the community and her church to join in. Landon recognized a few neighbours, including Anna’s friends, Tricia and Blaine—minus their grandson, Quinn, and his supersized attitude. Understandably absent was Elva, the other woman Gord almost killed this summer. Elva whose experience here as a teen left her unwilling to step onto the property even now.
At the opposite edge of the group, Dylan’s uniform and on-duty stance set him apart. If Gord’s assassin had come, the visible police presence was meant to spook them. The two plainclothes officers borrowed from the Bridgewater detachment were here to mingle and observe. So far, Landon hadn’t been able to pick out either of them.
She focused on the barn. Gord’s attempted murders here in July were nothing compared to the criminal legacy of the property’s original owner. That man had died over forty years ago, but his legacy of abuse lived on.
Pastor Vern swept an arm toward the empty space behind him, lit by a string of weak bulbs. “Innocence was stolen. Contraband distributed. A life lost. This summer, more lives were nearly taken. Tonight, we cleanse the taint.”
He plucked at the shoulders of his faded tee shirt. “I’m dressed this way because I expect to get dirty. We’re going inside in a minute, and we’re going to take back this building.” His gaze cut to one end of the front row, to the white-haired woman in the sole chair. “Those of you with better fashion sense and anyone with dust allergies may wish to sit that part out.”
He stooped, then lifted two tall galvanized metal pails. “We’ve claimed the cleansing blood of Jesus Christ over the evil perpetrated in this place. To symbolize that, on your way inside take a handful of rose petals to scatter over the floor. Red for the victory of the cross and white for purity.”
Before following the others into the barn, Landon stopped to speak with the black-clad woman in the chair. Maria Hiltz was the end of the family line, daughter-in-law of the infamous Captain Hiram “Jack” Hiltz.
Cradling one of Maria’s knobby arthritic hands, Landon studied her pain-lined features. “This is difficult for you, but I hope it’s healing too. Would you like to spread a few petals in memory of David?”
They’d found the bones of Maria’s long-lost son in a tunnel shaft beneath the barn. Gord claimed it had been an accidental death. They’d never know the truth.
Plastic blue glasses emphasized the paler blue of Maria’s tear-bright eyes. “Will you show me the spot?”
The elderly woman leaned on Landon’s arm as they approached the barn, their feet crunching on the gravel path. They reached the doorway as Pastor Vern swarmed up the ladder into the barn’s half-loft. The pastor might have the shape of a couch potato, but he scaled the rungs like a pro. Like a warrior.
Maria chose the red petals. Landon scooped up some of each, their silky texture cool against her fingertips. She led David’s mother through the shadowed space, its dusty air thick with the tastes of ancient hay and motor oil. Near the back, she stopped and toed the thin outline of a trapdoor in the wide floorboards. “Here’s where he fell.”
The weight on her arm increased as if Maria’s grief would pull them both to their knees. Breath rasping, Maria stretched out her gnarled hand and let her petals rain like drops of blood.
Tears blurred Landon’s sight as she stood in silent support. The lonely old woman had built her life around waiting for her son to come home. Since identifying his remains this summer, she seemed weaker each time Anna and Landon visited.
Maria straightened. “Thank you. I need to sit.”
Most of the guests had already moved outside to where long folding tables held plates of finger food. “I can get you a plate in a minute, Maria, or help you over. I need to go back to the barn first.”
“I’ll be fine. Take me back to my chair.”
After seating Maria, Landon chose the soft grass instead of crunchy gravel for a silent return to the now-empty building. She’d strewn her petals on the trapdoor as well, in praise to the God who didn’t let her die down there. Now she poured the remaining red in with the white and stirred them with her fingertips, releasing a sweet fragrance.
Pail in the crook of one arm, she walked the interior edges of the barn, sprinkling the rose petals like holy water.
Somewhere in one of these corners, fifteen-year-old Elva had huddled, crumpled and used, violated by a man in his eighties. All these years later, Anna’s neighbour had never recovered. With the past no longer hidden, Landon prayed the healing could begin.
When she’d circled the walls, she paced to the middle of the space and spun in a slow circle, eyes closed, tipping the pail to spill the last of its contents. “Amen.”
“And amen.” Bobby’s soft echo came from behind her.
She hissed in a breath and whirled to face him.
He approached, holding out his hand, and she took it, somehow understanding his intent. They walked to the square of floor where Gord had forced them into the unlit tunnel. A memory of damp, mineral-heavy earth filled Landon’s nose. She inhaled deeply, replacing the past with the bruised-rose-hay-oil present. As one, they stooped and gathered fallen petals, then let them flutter to the trapdoor.
Bobby released her hand. “I still have nightmares sometimes.”
The dim light shadowed his features beneath his rumpled-haystack hair. He’d shaved for church this morning, and without the weekday layer of stubble, he looked younger and surprisingly vulnerable.
He’d been afraid of the gun. Her terror came in the tunnel. By God’s grace, they’d rescued one another.
Nightmares. “Me too.”
“What’s Anna going to do with this place?”
“She’s not sure.”
When they stepped out onto the gravel path, they almost collided with Zander. Landon stopped. “Zander, I wanted to introduce you to Bobby. Bobby Hawke, Zander Luca.”
Bobby stuck out his hand.
Zander shook it, his olive complexion darkening. “What were you thinking, letting her confront a killer?”
She tensed, but Bobby let out a soft breath. “I asked myself the same question in the tunnel. With all due respect, though, Landon’s tough to stop when she puts her mind to something.”
“I’m standing right here, and I hear you both.” She pressed her palms into the soft cotton of her capri pants, refusing to make fists like an angry child. “Bobby didn’t have to go anywhere near Gord. It wasn’t his fight. It was mine. And if he hadn’t, Anna and I would both be dead.” Not waiting for an answer, she dodged around Zander and stalked toward the refreshments.
People stood chatting in twos and threes. A knot of damp-eyed older women huddled close as if sharing past pain. More than once Landon heard gentle scoffing about prayer and muttered epithets about Captain Hiltz. Nobody mentioned Gord, and no one looked guilty or satisfied to have killed him.
Nigel had been on the fringes earlier, perhaps to represent Elva. He’d likely spotted the two undercover officers. More importantly, had he observed any telltale clues?
Landon poured a red plastic cup of lemonade and strolled toward where Anna stood with Maria and Zander. Maria refused the drink, so Landon sipped it herself. From Maria’s closed expression and her tight-folded arms, they’d been talking about Jack.
Anna continued, “He had a long, painful death. Plenty of opportunity for regrets and repentance.”
“He deserved no such chance. Where’s the justice for his victims?” Maria pushed herself up from her chair and hobbled toward the tables.
Anna started after her, then turned back, shoulders sagging. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”
Behind Anna, Bobby’s grandfather detached himself from a cluster of people and intercepted Maria. His white head dipped toward hers. Then he offered her his arm and escorted her up the stairs to the deck.
Landon touched Anna’s wrist and nodded toward the inn. “Roy’s got her.”
Roy’s gruff compassion had warmed Landon to him when they first met. He’d lived next door for years, even when the inn was still Maria’s private home. Long enough to remember Jack as an old man.
Landon rested her fingertips on the back of the empty chair. Anna’s tender heart wanted everyone to be saved, but no wonder Maria took offence. “Hurt finds a level of comfort in justice, but what it wants is punishment.”
“Even revenge.” Zander glanced at the barn. “Anna, this was a moving ceremony. I know you didn’t plan it to coincide with my visit, but I’m glad I could participate.”
“I hope you’re more secure now about Landon being among friends here.”
“Indeed.” He rubbed his knuckles against a smudge on his sleeve. “In hindsight, your pastor had the right dress code for the evening.”
Landon hadn’t seen Pastor Vern come down from the loft, but when Bobby had ventured up there in June, he’d shot out of the barn slapping cobwebs from his hair. Bobby had been so supportive all along, to her and to Anna. And to Roy, moving in to help while his leg was in the cast. He didn’t deserve Zander’s blame.
He stood balancing a plate of food, in conversation with Meaghan. Observing her drooping posture, Landon stepped closer to Zander. “Gord caused a lot of harm in his life, but killing him adds to Meaghan’s and Anna’s pain. It’s not right.”
“These things are difficult.” Zander rocked back on his heels, hands clasped behind him. “We can’t condone the means of delivery, but justice is served. The hurting are free to heal.”
Lips compressed, Anna peered out across the bay.
How could Anna heal when she feared for Gord’s soul—and blamed herself for not doing more to reach him? The fact that the responsibility lay with Gord’s own choices wouldn’t comfort her. Landon looped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed.
“Thank God for you being here.” Anna drew a tissue from the pocket of her denim skirt and wiped her eyes. “I hope the investigators find the shooter soon. Meaghan needs closure.”
Despite Meaghan’s fears, there’d been no sign of danger for her or her boyfriend. If Gord’s former syndicate had ordered a single hit, the shooter should be long gone and might never be found.
What stirred Landon’s dread was the chance the person was local after all. And had been here today.