Chapter
Seventeen

I was up early Monday morning, feeling prepared to return to my class but a little nervous. My students had spent three weeks with Reuben. Would they want me back? I packed my satchel and headed over to the school at seven, an hour before my students were scheduled to arrive. I wanted some time to myself before facing them again. When I unlocked the door and went inside, I was surprised to find that they’d decorated the room. A large paper banner read, Welcome Back Miss Miller! And there were several pictures thumbtacked to the corkboard, depicting me returning to school. Their efforts touched my heart and made me feel even better about coming back. I’d missed them more than I’d realized.

I was ready for them when they began traipsing in a little before eight. Several of the children brought gifts from their parents. Homemade preserves, bread, and two pies. Mary Stoltz gave me a beautiful quilted lap robe sewn by her mother, Rachel. And David Ingalls handed me a large bag of popping corn. I smiled at him. It wasn’t a secret that popcorn was one of my favorite foods.

Jeremiah came in after everyone else. He didn’t have a gift, but that wasn’t a surprise. I tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t look at me. We’d always been close, so his reaction made me worry. Had the situation with him and Cicely caused irreparable harm? I could only pray it hadn’t.

Cicely seemed fine throughout the day. She even laughed a few times and smiled at me more than once. I hoped we’d weathered our recent storm.

The day passed quickly, and I was pleased to find that Reuben had done an exceptional job with them. They were completely on track with the lesson plan I’d left. Before I knew it, it was three o’clock and time to send the children home.

As they were leaving, I asked Jeremiah to stay. Cicely shot me a strange look, but I waved her on. I wanted to talk to Jeremiah alone. She left but stood outside, in front of the window, watching us.

I motioned for Jeremiah to come up to my desk. “I need to make sure you’re all right,” I said. “I also want you to know that I appreciate what you tried to do for Cicely. It may not have been wise to follow her, but your heart was in the right place. I’m just sorry you got in trouble for it.”

His eyes finally met mine. “It’s okay, Miss Miller. I knew my father would be upset, but I was afraid Cicely might get hurt. That mine is dangerous.”

“You were willing to risk your father’s anger to protect my niece.” I shook my head. “That was a very brave thing to do.”

“My father says it was very foolish.” He sighed. “I let him down a lot, even though I try hard to please him.”

I hesitated before replying. William had already driven one son away. Would Jeremiah be next? “Your father loves you, Jeremiah. Sometimes parents don’t know exactly how to show their love. Some are too lax and some are too strict. I’m sure he was upset because you were in danger. I hope you’re able to forgive him.”

Jeremiah’s eyes grew bright with tears. “I’m trying.”

I stood up. “If there is anything I can do . . .”

He shook his head. “Father is looking for a reason to take me out of school. If you want to help me, it would be best if you don’t challenge him.” I noticed the boy was clenching and unclenching his fists. “I want an education so I can go to college.”

“I think that’s wonderful, but I know your parents expect you to work on the farm after graduation.”

He thrust his chin out and a look of defiance changed his usually meek expression. “If I tell you something, will you keep it to yourself?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

“I read some books in the library about men and women who design buildings. Big buildings.”

“You’re talking about architects?”

His eyes sparkled. “Yes. More than anything, I want to be an architect.”

His revelation amazed me. A Mennonite boy who had probably never been to a large city wanted to design the kind of buildings he’d only seen in books.

“I’ll do everything I can to help you, Jeremiah.” I frowned at him. “You realize your father probably won’t support your choice.”

“I know that, but when I’m a man, I’ll make my own choices. Like my brother did.”

I stared at him, praying God would give me the right words. “I lost my parents when I was a child. All I had was my sister, and now she’s gone.” I gazed into his brown eyes. “Even though I support your plans, I would encourage you to do everything you can to keep your relationship with your parents strong. Family is something we all need.”

“I . . . I guess.”

I smiled at him. “It may not sound like good advice now, but maybe someday it will mean more to you. In the meantime, if my niece decides to get herself into any further trouble, will you come to me instead of trying to handle the situation alone?”

His lips quivered and the sides of his mouth turned up slightly. “I think that might be a good idea. Cicely is a really good person, but she’s also . . .” He seemed to struggle for a word.

“A handful?” I finished for him.

He laughed. “Yes.”

“Thank you for being her friend, Jeremiah. She needs one. But if your friendship causes you trouble at home, Cicely and I will both understand if you need to pull back.”

He shook his head. “We can be friends at school. My parents never come here during the day, and I ride home with Peter Johanson’s parents. They would never tell my father anything that might get me in trouble.”

“Okay, but please be wise in your decisions. And if you ever need my help, I’m here.” When I said the word help, I made the sign for it.

Jeremiah smiled. “Thank you, Miss Miller.” He turned to leave but stopped halfway to the door. “I think you’re a wonderful teacher. I’m glad I know you.” Without waiting for a response, he hurried out the front door.

Cicely met him outside and they talked briefly. Then Jeremiah climbed into the Johansons’ old station wagon, and they drove away. I’d hoped Cicely would come back inside and walk me home, but I watched through the window as she ran down the street toward Janet’s.

I quickly gathered up my planning book, the students’ papers, and the gifts the children had brought. I loaded them into an old milk crate, put it on the front porch, and locked the door before picking it up again. Carrying everything proved to be more difficult than I’d anticipated. I was only halfway home when the crate became too heavy. I set it down to catch my breath before going the rest of the way.

“Let me help with that,” a deep male voice said, making me jump.

I looked up to see a man I didn’t recognize. He wore jeans, a black leather coat, and looked to be in his fifties. He had dark eyes and black hair. His white teeth were a startling contrast to his ebony complexion.

“Thank you, but I don’t believe I know you,” I said.

His smile widened. “I’m Mike Templeton. From Kansas City. I think you’re expecting me?”

Surprised, I stuck my hand out. “Yes. Yes, I was, but I had no idea you’d be arriving today.”

After shaking my hand, he reached down and picked up the crate. “Sorry. I probably should have called. Look, let’s get you home. It’s pretty cold out here.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right.” I pointed toward Janet’s house, which was only about a block and a half away. “I’m headed that way.”

“Then let’s get going, shall we?”

I nodded and picked up my satchel, relieved that I didn’t have to carry the crate anymore. I snuck a few looks at Mike on the way home. He had a kind face, but there was a toughness about him that made me a little uncomfortable. Paul had promised to check him out, but I hadn’t heard back from him. I felt a little uneasy about letting someone into my life I knew nothing about.

When we reached Janet’s, she was waiting on the front porch. “I see you met Mike,” she said as we approached.

“You two know each other? When did you get to town?” I asked him.

“Been here a couple of hours. Janet fixed me lunch and kept me company. She’s a fine woman.”

Janet laughed. “He just likes my tuna salad.”

Mike shook his head. “Actually, it was the chocolate cake that sealed the deal.”

“Your chocolate cake is incredible,” I told her. I sighed and shook my head. “Now I want a piece of cake.”

Janet laughed and waved us both inside. “It’s freezing out here. Come in where it’s warm.”

I excused myself and went upstairs to put my things away and change clothes. Cicely’s door was closed, but I knocked and opened it. She was sitting at her desk with her books open.

“Just checking on you,” I said. “Need anything?”

She shook her head and pointed at a cup sitting next to her. “Janet made me a cup of hot chocolate. I’m good.” She frowned at me. “Who’s the guy?”

“He’s here from Kansas City. A detective sent him.”

“About my mom’s murder?”

“Yes. I just want to make sure we do everything we can to find out what happened. This man is here to help us.”

“Can I come down and listen?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Cicely. It would make him—and me—uncomfortable to talk about certain things in front of you. I’m just trying to protect you.”

“But this is about my mother, you know.”

“I know that. I promise to keep you updated. You have my word. But for now, please stay in your room and do your homework. I know it doesn’t seem fair, but if you could just trust me a little . . .”

“I trust you, Aunt Sarah,” she said quickly. “I . . . I’m sorry for what I said about wishing you’d been killed instead of my mom. I didn’t mean it.”

I smiled at her. “Yes, you did, honey. But it’s all right. Any child would feel the same way. I don’t blame you. I guess you have to realize that we don’t have the ability to make that trade though. Frankly, if it were possible, I’d change places with your mom too.”

Cicely’s eyes flooded with tears. “I thought you’d hate me for saying that.”

I closed the door and came over to her. “I will never hate you, Cicely. Never.”

She grabbed my hand and held it, wiping her eyes with the fingers of her other hand. “I’m going to try to act better, Aunt Sarah. I promise.”

I let go of her hand and put my arms around her. “I don’t want you to ‘act better,’ honey. I want you to be honest about how you feel. The best thing you can do for me is to let me help you and remember that I’m on your side.”

“Sometimes I feel so mean,” she said through her sobs. “And I don’t like it.”

“It’s just anger, and it’s completely natural with what you’ve been through. Talk to God about it, Cicely. Ask Him to help you, and He will.”

“Aren’t you mad too?”

I sighed. “Yes. Sometimes I feel so mad I can’t stand it. But I guess I’m taking my anger out in a different way. I want to catch the person who did this. I want him to pay for his crime.”

Cicely frowned. “Jeremiah told me that being Mennonite means you don’t fight back when other people do wrong things to you.”

I nodded. “Yes, that’s part of their religion. And I respect them for it.”

“Then why do you want the person who killed my mother to be punished?”

“I know I’ll have to forgive whoever did this someday—when I can. But I still want them caught before they hurt someone else. Mennonites don’t believe in payback, but they do believe in justice. That’s all I want.”

As I said the words, I knew they weren’t completely true. I wanted revenge. In fact, the need for revenge burned inside me. It was wrong, but it was there and it was too strong for me to ignore. I’d just told Cicely to be honest about how she felt, and I recognized that I had to do the same thing. God would have to help both of us to deal with the rage we had inside.

“You think the person who killed my mom killed my grandparents too.” Cicely’s statement was said matter-of-factly. I was stunned. How did she know?

“Where did you get that idea?”

“Mom was trying to find the people who killed them. She tried to hide it from me, but I knew.” She looked up at me. “I know about the flowers. I mean, that they were there after your mom and dad were killed.”

“And how did you find out about that?”

“I heard my mom talking to someone on the phone about it once. It was John. John Smith. About a week before she died.”

My knees felt weak and I sat down on her bed, a few feet away from her. “What did you hear, Cicely? Can you remember?”

She stared down at her books. “She said someone found white orchids when her mom and dad were killed. And then there was something else . . .” Cicely sighed. “I can’t quite remember.”

“But you knew there were white orchids at your house. I mean, when the police arrived, right?”

She nodded. “I saw them when I found Mom. They were everywhere. I wondered how they got there. I told the police I didn’t remember seeing any flowers before I went next door for the sleepover.”

“Did you tell them about overhearing your mom’s phone conversation?”

She shook her head, her eyes wide. “No. For some reason I forgot about it until just now.”

“Cicely, if you recall anything else from that conversation or something you might have overheard about my parents, would you tell me? It might be important.”

She nodded. “I’ll try. I don’t know why it’s so hard.”

I stood up. “It’s the shock, honey. It’s normal. Don’t feel stressed about it, but if something pops into your mind, let me know. Okay?”

“I will.”

I gave her a quick hug. Then I went back downstairs.

“I’d almost given up on you,” Janet said when I came into the kitchen. She smiled at me and got up from her chair. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got something to do upstairs.”

“You can stay if you want, Janet,” I said. “You know everything anyway.”

“I realize that, but I’d like to make sure no one upstairs is listening. You can fill me in later.” She smiled and pointed at the table. “I got you a piece of cake. It took some effort, but I talked Mike into another piece too.”

“Yes, she strong-armed me,” Mike said, grinning. “I finally gave in.”

“She can be very persuasive.” I gave Janet a quick smile. “Thank you.”

“Do you want to talk here?” I asked Mike when Janet left. “Or would you rather go into the living room? It’s more comfortable in there.”

“This is fine. There’s something about a kitchen that I find comforting.”

I sat down in the chair across from him. Even though he had a rough edge, there was a quality about Mike that made me want to trust him. Something in his eyes. I needed to focus on him, but my mind was still processing Cicely’s information about John Smith. Was this the J mentioned in Hannah’s notes? I didn’t know Mike well enough to share this information with him, but I needed to let Paul know as soon as possible. Maybe it would lead to something.

“I like a cup of tea in the afternoon,” I said. “How about you?”

“Actually, that sounds wonderful.”

I got up, grabbed the teapot, filled it with water, and put it on the stove. Then I opened the cabinet door. “We have Earl Grey, chai, Constant Comment, and English Breakfast tea.” I turned and smiled at him. “I also have chamomile, but I usually drink that at night.”

“Constant Comment, please. That’s what I drink at home.”

“Sounds good. I’ll join you.” I leaned against the counter, waiting for the water to get hot.

“Doug Sykes told me a little about your situation,” Mike said. “I’d like to hear it from you though, if you don’t mind. I want to hear your view of things.”

“It’s not complicated. My parents were killed eighteen years ago by two men. They left white orchids at the scene. My sister, Hannah, was murdered about three weeks ago. White orchids were left with her as well.” I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to tell Mike too much. I still didn’t know him, and I had no reason to trust him. “She’d been looking into my parents’ deaths. Something she discovered frightened her. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to get away in time. Whatever she found got her killed. The police believe her death was the result of a robbery that went wrong. They blamed it on a man named Steven Hanks, a drug addict who was picked up a few blocks from my sister’s house the night she was killed.”

His eyebrows shot up. “And you don’t think he did it?”

“No. Why would some thief trying to steal things for drug money leave white orchids around my sister’s body?”

“Maybe someone else sent him there.”

“If I wanted someone dead I wouldn’t hire a down-on-his-luck drug addict. Besides, as far as I can tell, they don’t have any direct evidence tying this guy to my sister. And certainly not to my parents. They were murdered almost twenty years ago. Steven Hanks would have been in elementary school. How could he be connected to us?”

“And these flowers are the only thing you have to go on?” Mike shook his head slowly. “It’s not enough, Sarah. It’s clear to me why the police didn’t take your concerns more seriously.”

“There are . . . other reasons.” I took a deep breath. “A reporter from The Kansas City Star gave Hannah some information that convinced her the two cases are connected.”

“Can you show me that information?”

“I . . . I don’t know. Maybe. I’m sorry, Mike. I just don’t know you well enough yet to—”

“Trust me?” He smiled. “I understand, but at some point, I’ll need to see what the newspaper reporter gave your sister if you want me to help you.”

I didn’t answer, just nodded. “There’s more. Whoever killed her also burned down her house, hoping to destroy evidence. Thankfully, it didn’t work. I have most of her personal papers. I’m going through them, looking for something that will explain why someone wanted Hannah dead.”

“And what is it you want me to do?” Mike asked, frowning at me.

“I want you to find the truth. I need the police to take my concerns seriously.”

“Even though you think the truth got your sister killed?”

I nodded. “Yes. Look, I’m not a risk to anyone. I just want the police to do their jobs. And I want justice for my family.”

“But what if pursuing this puts you and your niece in danger, Sarah? How do you feel about that?”

His direct challenge startled me. Why did he think I might be in danger? “If I really thought something could happen to us, I wouldn’t pursue this. But I’m in Sanctuary, Missouri. A town so small no one except the people who live here even knows it exists.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be found, you know.”

“I realize that. But I’m convinced the truth is the only thing that will keep us safe.” I sighed. “I know my story might sound fanciful, but Detective Sykes believes me. Surely he explained all of this to you. He wouldn’t have sent you if he didn’t think there was a good reason.”

“He didn’t actually send me.”

I frowned at him. “I don’t understand. He called and left a message saying you were coming.”

Mike stared off into the distance for a moment. “That wasn’t Doug. That was me. Doug did mention your case to me. He’d been told to leave it alone. Quit investigating. The powers that be are sure your sister was killed by Steven Hanks—or some other random burglar. I guess she lived in an area where there’d been quite a few break-ins. Addicts looking for anything they could sell to feed their habit.”

“But . . . but Doug called me. He was concerned about the case . . . and about us. Wanted to talk to me.” I started to tell him that Doug had warned me to stop talking about the case and act as if I believed Steven Hanks killed Hannah. Obviously, talking to Mike meant I wasn’t following Doug’s instructions, but if he sent Mike, shouldn’t it be safe?

Mike nodded. “Yes, he was concerned, Sarah. That’s why he asked me to help him with this case. But it was my decision to come here. I told your aunt I was Doug so you wouldn’t be shocked when I showed up.”

“I don’t understand.”

Mike looked away from me and shook his head. Finally he said, “I’m afraid I’m all you have, Sarah. Doug Sykes can’t help you anymore.”

“Why not? He promised . . .”

The expression on Mike’s face pulled me up short. For a few seconds I couldn’t breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he said slowly. “Doug Sykes is dead. He died a few hours after he last talked to you on the phone.”