10

Over the now-cold grilled cheese sandwiches, Alison scrolled through the calendar feature entry by entry, while the children looked on, eating their lunch without a word. She noted the days in September highlighted in red that she believed he’d met with the cloche hat lady in San Francisco. He’d entered the date he’d last taken the Piper Cub out on a day off. Probably when he took the picture of the sunrise. She found the note Frank had written to call Pete and Gary. A few weeks later there was a reminder to drop by Pete’s office.

Flipping ahead, she saw Frank’s flight schedule recorded—flights he would never fly. The only other notation, color-coded orange, was the date of every Weathersby House board of directors meeting for the next year. Almost as an afterthought were a series of numbers.

4155557654 7719208120

6489317176 0922012

Puzzled, she searched her memory for important family dates like birthdays and anniversaries. She left the children to brainstorm for ideas while she retrieved her telephone/address book from the kitchen desk. She checked the numbers against the numbers of friends and acquaintances.

Claire pointed out the seven digits, plus three contained in all but the last set of numbers. “Maybe they’re out-of-state telephone numbers.”

“I could run a check through the Internet and see what comes up,” Justin volunteered.

“Maybe it’s a secret code.” Claire’s mouth drooped. “But we don’t have the key.”

Alison sighed. “I do think it’s something important. Something your dad wanted to remember.”

“Something Dad wanted Justin to find, in case something kept him from completing his mission.” Claire’s voice rose with excitement.

Alison wasn’t sure she’d go that far, but seeing the bright, interested look on Claire’s face, she decided anything was better than the apathetic, alternately angry Claire they’d seen for the last week.

“Go ahead, Justin. See what you can find out before the detective gets here. Claire, would it be possible to make copies of every calendar notation? We’ll need to hand the phone over to Barefoot.”

Claire reached for the phone. “I’ll select the calendar items, e-mail them to the home computer, and print the file.” She looked at Justin for confirmation. “Right?”

He nodded. “Don’t worry, Mom, we’ve got this.” Both of them jumped up, eager to do something.

As she cleared the table, she questioned her early morning impulse to venture out to Orchard Farm Road. Was she like the children? Wanting to do anything to keep from thinking, from grieving? Looking for any distraction to keep busy?

I need to remember I’m not alone, God. I don’t have to figure this out by myself.

She picked up the wireless phone from the kitchen, and taking a deep breath, she dialed Pastor Fleming’s home.

“Bryan? I’m sorry to bother you on a Saturday.”

“No problem. Most of my congregation thinks us pastors only work one day a week anyway.” He chuckled to let her know he was kidding.

“I did something last night, and now I don’t where to go from here.” She rushed to tell him about her prayer before she lost her nerve.

“Oh, Alison. I’m so glad you’ve come into a relationship with Jesus Christ.” He went on to ask her if she owned a Bible.

Feeling like a heathen, the impulse to lie struck her, but she ignored it. “No.”

As if somehow guessing her thoughts, Bryan reassured her, “No reason to expect you would until you were a believer. I’d like to give you one, if I may. The only way to get to know someone is to spend time with them, and God has graciously provided us His Word—His love letter to His children—so that through its pages we might come to know Him better. You can also get to know Him through prayer. Spend time with Him and let Him speak to you—and you to Him—in the quietness of your heart.”

“I don’t know the right words to pray.”

“There are no ‘right’ words, Alison. You’d never refuse to listen to one of your own children if they didn’t speak just the ‘right’ words. It’s the same way with God. He’s your Father, and He delights in whatever you say to Him. All you have to do is talk to Him openly and honestly from your soul.”

She closed her eyes as she held the phone to her ear. Peace washed over her like a gentle low tide.

Her Father. How grateful she was to be His child. But she had so much to learn. “I’m planning to attend services in the morning.”

“That’s an excellent place to start. I’ll see you then and mark some verses for you to look over in the next few days.”

“Thank you.”

“Congratulations, Alison. You’ve embarked upon the most exciting journey men and women are permitted to experience in this life—the journey of faith.”

Placing the phone into its receptacle, she found Claire standing stock-still in the doorway, the copied papers in her hand. How long had Claire been listening? She hoped one day Claire would share in this life-changing experience.

She waited for Claire to say something. She didn’t have to wait long.

“If you think I’m going tomorrow to that bunch of hymn-singing, boring, badly dressed, prayer—”

Justin appeared behind his sister. “I’d like to go. Those people have something. I see something different about you, too, today, Mom. You don’t seem so scared. You always seemed afraid, even before Dad’s murder.”

He was right. Until today, she couldn’t remember a time, from the earliest days of her childhood, when she’d not felt fearful. God had already changed her.

She told the children as simply as she could about finding the petal in Frank’s note. Without going into details they didn’t ever need to know about their dad, she told them how alone she’d felt and how she was tired of struggling by herself.

Alison told them about her prayer. “I’m trying to forgive all the hurt your father caused me. I’m not there yet, but I know I need forgiveness, too, and so I have to forgive others. God has given me a peace and a joy I can’t begin to explain.”

“God?” Claire threw the papers onto the kitchen floor. “Where was God when someone put a gun to Dad’s head? If He’s so great, He could’ve stopped all this from happening. He could save our house, so we don’t have to move. Why didn’t He stop Dad from sleeping with—?” Claire clapped a hand over her mouth.

Alison wrapped her arms around Claire and Justin.

“I don’t know the answers to your questions, Claire,” she whispered. “I wish I did. There’s so much I want to know. Some things, I have a feeling, we might never know until we see God face to face, but I’m going to keep on praying and asking God. Tomorrow, I want us to go to church together, as a family.”

Claire pulled away, but Alison held on.

“I wasn’t doing so hot by myself before. I don’t know about you, Claire, but I was desperate for help, for strength. Being with God’s children is the best place I can think of to start.”

“I think it’s a great idea.” Justin placed one arm around his mom and the other arm around his sister. “Claire, after everything those people have done for us and for Dad over the last week, it’s the least we can do.”

Claire lifted her head and sniffed, but she could tell Claire was mulling over that thought.

She reflected Justin was as wise in dealing with his sister as Claire had been with him earlier. Thanking God for them, she sent up another quick prayer for Him to continue to move upon their tender, grieving hearts.

Claire nodded slowly. “When you put it like that, I guess that’s the proper thing to do, to thank them, I mean.”

A start.

Justin gave them both a hard squeeze. “It’s the right thing to do.” He smiled. “And I got a hit with one of the numbers. Claire was right. 4-1-5. That one was an out-of-state phone number, a hotel in San Francisco, California.”

Alison grimaced. Thanks a lot, Frank.

Mike rang the doorbell at the Monaghans’ mid-afternoon, the large manila envelope balanced in the crook of his arm. While he waited, he glanced at the dark sky. He’d come to an unorthodox decision—one that, if he turned out to be wrong about Alison, could cost him his career. But he’d learned over the years to be as well informed as he could be and then to act on what his gut was trying to tell him.

Life was all about taking chances. Carefully calculated risks had propelled him thus far in his meteoric rise within Raleigh’s police ranks. He’d learned the hard way in Iraq that ignoring his hunches was at his own peril.

Claire answered the door. Unsmiling, she let him in.

An image of a high-strung filly came to his mind when he thought of Alison’s daughter. Or that nervous feeling he’d gotten when trying to disarm land mines in Fallujah.

In that cool, grown-up voice he’d come to associate with Claire, she dropped a bomb of her own. “We found Dad’s smartphone and made some discoveries. We have a lot to show you.”

We?

In the family room, he found Alison and Justin seated at the farmhouse table in the breakfast area, poring over the display screen of a smartphone. Pink polka dot flip-flops rested beside Alison’s chair. Her feet, tucked under the table, were bare. Mike noticed again the comfortable mixture of contemporary and antique furnishings. Homey.

Alison looked up when they entered. “Good. You’re finally here.”

He gritted his teeth. And people thought he was single-minded? “Sorry to have kept you waiting. I didn’t realize I was on your clock.”

Justin laughed and Ice Princess Claire cracked a smile.

The corners of Alison’s mouth twitched. “Forgive me. We’re just excited about finding Frank’s phone.” She explained about the golf bag at the country club and how Justin had found it.

“If you want my opinion,” Claire examined her fingernails with a studied nonchalance. “And I know you probably don’t—”

“But,” he sighed. “You’re going to tell me anyway.”

“I think,” Claire ignored the interruption. “Dad knew he was in danger and left home that last morning, dropping the phone off at the club to retrieve later. Or maybe for one of us to find. In his note, he practically instructs Justin to go get it.”

Mike rubbed the back of his neck. “Speaking of notes?”

Alison gestured for him to pull out the chair beside Justin.

She placed three ivory note cards on the table, smoothing them for him to examine.

He picked up the one addressed to Claire and scanned the note.

“Interesting.” From the inside pocket of his jacket, he pulled out two small black books. “These, I believe, belong to you.” He handed them to Claire, hovering over her mother’s shoulder.

Claire inhaled. “It’s Grandma Irene’s prayer book and Papa Joe’s Bible.”

Justin flicked a glance toward Mike. “Where did you find them?”

“They must have been inside Frank’s briefcase. We found them tossed with North American flight schedules in his car. Whatever our murderer was looking for, it wasn’t those. Now, what’s this about a phone?”

“Read Justin’s note.” Alison pushed the paper toward him. He read it.

With the air of entrusting Mike with the crown jewels, Justin handed him the phone. “We were wrong to think Dad’s phone went missing with his briefcase. He’d hidden it for safekeeping.”

Justin told him about the numbers and his successful Internet search. Mike listened as he thumbed through the contents of the calendar.

“Good work, young man.”

Justin flushed with pleasure.

Alison smiled at her son. “Justin is a computer whiz.”

Mike scrutinized the list of numbers. “Any idea what these other numbers refer to?”

Justin shook his head. “But I’m not giving up yet. They could be bank account or passport numbers, computer file codes, etc. . . .”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to get my people working on this, too.” He smiled at the boy. Justin grinned back.

He well remembered fourteen. Its pain. Its awkwardness. Its confusion. He’d already lost his father, too, at that age. Though not to murder.

Alison and the children exchanged a look. “The kids are going upstairs to finish homework while you and I, Detective Barefoot, finish our talk.”

He figured this was a prearranged signal because the children cheerfully bid him adieu and went upstairs to their rooms without arguing.

“Now that we’re alone”—Alison folded her hands on top of the pine table—“there are issues you and I need to discuss. Why don’t you read the note Frank left for me?”

Mike picked up the remaining letter, and with a quick glance over to Alison’s now shuttered face, he bent to read.

“Hawaii?” he asked after a minute.

“We spent our honeymoon there.”

A feeling of great sadness came over him as he finished reading the short note. Sadness for Alison, surprisingly, for Frank. What a waste of what should’ve been. But he was convinced more than ever he was doing the right thing. Alison wasn’t guilty of her husband’s murder.

He laid the note in front of her. “Let’s stop tap dancing around this issue of mutual trust. I think we’ve reached the point of full disclosure. I’m willing to trust you’re not the killer we’re both looking for.”

She grabbed the edge of the table, leaning forward. “Do you mean it? We can work together?”

“Whoa there.” He held up a hand. “As my granny used to say, ‘Don’t go hog wild on me.’ ”

Alison laughed. It was a little rusty, he decided, but pleasant.

“Sorry. Most of my friends would be shocked for anyone to think I—of all people—would go off half-cocked over anything. I’m usually the quiet, cautious one.”

Drawing the manila envelope from his lap, he laid it on top of the table. He upended the contents until they slid out of the envelope to rest in front of her. “The personal effects we found at the crime scene. I’ll need to take some of this back with me to the station.”

With a shaky hand, she reached for the wallet. Flipping through it, she studied Frank’s driver’s license and counted out the credit cards and cash. “Everything appears to be present and accounted for.” She leafed through the North American Air documents. “Nothing unusual here.” Fingering the plastic baggie, which contained a lone cigarette butt, she frowned. “Frank didn’t smoke.”

“Frank, I assume, didn’t wear red lipstick, either.”

She examined the red ring. “I still believe his murder is connected to Frank being on the board at Weathersby.”

“Why?”

Her teeth tugged at the edges of her lip. “Because of where he was murdered. Because of the significance he attached on the calendar to the board meetings. Because you and I were shot at over there this morning.”

“Good reasoning.” He nodded. “I tend to agree with you though I do think the shots this morning were a way of warning us off. If the killer had wanted to kill you, he or she,” acknowledging her motion of protest, “could have done so twice over before I got there. Our killer definitely knows how to handle a gun.”

“Have you questioned the other board members at Weathersby?”

“Extensively and repeatedly.” He rubbed his chin. “The investigation is at a dead end, but I’m still working a few angles.”

“Frank was either duped, or someone cleaned us out of most of what we had.” Her mouth tightened. “CompuVision is a subsidiary in Bill Lawrence’s computer empire.”

He took out his small notebook and jotted down the information. “Linda Lawrence is the only one I’ve observed so far who smokes and has a connection to Weathersby or Frank.”

“You noticed that, too, at the funeral, I mean.”

He gave her an appraising look. “Very observant aren’t we, Miz Monaghan?”

“And she wears crimson red lipstick. But what was the motive behind Frank’s murder? Greed or . . . ?”

“Or a woman scorned.” He finished for her. “Look at this.” He handed her another small baggy containing a crushed tissue with a smudge of tangerine lipstick.

“Oh, Frank.” Her shoulders slumped. “Multiple rendezvous?”

Mike tapped his pen against the notebook. “I don’t think so. It appears Frank wiped this off himself with his own saliva.”

Her mouth twisted. “Getting rid of the incriminating evidence of adultery.”

“Don’t be so sure. He could’ve been removing an unwelcome intrusion. I think Frank was well-acquainted with his killer. So well-known to him, in fact, the killer could put a gun to his temple and pull the trigger before Frank knew what was happening.”

“You think he never saw it coming?”

“Not until it was already too late. I have found such life and death moments—the few I’ve experienced myself—to be surreal.” He ran a rough hand through his short sandy hair. “Seconds morph into slow motion, and then real time rushes back in double time with all its horrific consequences.”

She gave him a quizzical look. “Your bad guys?”

He shrugged. “The ultimate in bad guys. War.” His military background and its painful disillusionments weren’t topics he chose to discuss with just anyone, much less a comparative stranger.

“Natalie Singleton wears tangerine lipstick.”

“You noted this at the funeral, too?” He smiled, relieved at her willingness to change the subject and put him at ease. “I had your cell phone company provide a list of calls Frank sent and received over the last two months. He got a call after he landed that afternoon. The call issued from one of the Weathersby extensions. That’s why he didn’t come straight home.”

She squared her shoulders. “Somebody lured him to his death.”

“Exactly. The murderer is clever, and you could be putting yourself into danger by getting too close to the truth. I want you to stay away from those people at Weathersby. I promise I’ll keep you in the loop on any new developments.”

“I need to do something, Detective Barefoot. For my own sake and for Frank’s. Can you understand that?”

“Yes, I can. But you’ve got enough to deal with right now with the kids and settling Frank’s estate—”

“You mean his debts and getting a job to put food in my children’s mouths.”

Mike flushed. “That, too. But watch your back.” No way would the Chief authorize any drive-by protection on department time. Better get used to long nights in his truck until Frank’s killer was behind bars and Alison and her kids were safe.

“You’ll make a praying man out of me yet.”

Hearing him as he’d meant her to, she smiled. His gut twisted.

And he realized his granny used to say almost the same thing about him.

With a great deal of secret pleasure, Alison watched Val’s eyes almost pop out of her head when she caught sight of the Monaghans straggling down the middle aisle. She gave a tiny wave to Val, seated in the choir loft, the delighted shock on Val’s face worth a thousand words.

“Our text comes today,” said Pastor Bryan from the pulpit, “from Romans 8. Who will separate us from Christ’s love? Will we be separated by trouble, or distress, or harassment, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword?” She shivered. Evil had reached out its hand to engulf the Monaghans. It had been victorious with Frank.

Or had it?

“But in all these things we win a sweeping victory through the one who loved us.”

What a concept. What a God.

“I’m convinced that nothing can separate us from God’s love in Christ Jesus our Lord: not death or life, not angels or rulers, not present things or future things, not powers nor height or depth, or any other thing that is created.”

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, she felt he gazed directly at her little family. “For those who belong to Christ, death is not the end. But even in death, evil cannot win against those in Christ Jesus. For in Christ, though we die, we live. We’ve already won. Because, my beloved brethren, God is enough.”

Pastor Bryan closed the service by inviting all who wished to make a public profession of faith or who needed prayer to come forward.

Shaking like a beech leaf in the wind, she nevertheless found herself surging forward with others to the front of the sanctuary. She and Bryan had discussed this on the phone yesterday. Tears streaked down Val’s face as she went. Stephen squeezed her hand before she rose. Justin and Claire stared, mute.

Bryan put an arm around her for support. He introduced her to the congregation and told them she was a brand new child of God. He welcomed her and her family to their body and encouraged the congregation to greet her after the service.

She felt as light as she’d always felt swinging high above the treetops as a girl.

As people made their way out of the church, she caught a quick glimpse of the back of a man with sandy-colored hair. She couldn’t see his face, but he reminded her of Detective Barefoot.

Surely not? Mike Barefoot wasn’t the church-going type.

You weren’t, either, she reminded herself, until today.

He was probably doing more off-duty surveillance on her family, believing they were in danger.

But instead of fear, she experienced comfort. A flutter in her stomach of something she didn’t wish to examine too closely.

Not only did she have an all-powerful heavenly protector, but she had an earthly one as well. Mike Barefoot, she realized, was not your run-of-the-mill guy.

Outside the church, fluid cluster groups gathered on the steps and on the lawn. Justin gave her a smile and moved away to speak with some boys his age whom she recognized from school. She hadn’t known their families were members of the Redeemer church. They were, she remembered, nice young men. She was glad Justin had a positive peer group in his life.

Claire brushed by her without a word. She reached for her, but withdrew her hand. Now was probably not the best time. Claire was confused and angry. It might be better to let Claire make the first move. But she resolved to use what she now knew to be the best tool in her arsenal for Claire. Prayer.

She watched as Mike’s truck pulled away from the Redeemer parking lot. She had an uncomfortable feeling she’d be needing prayer a lot more from now on.

For more than one reason.