Chapter Nine

The phone rang just as Kate finished her morning quiet time. She had been up since before dawn, unable to sleep, with a myriad of thoughts and concerns whirling through her mind. She knew from experience that her early mornings with God nourished her soul and gave her spirit rest.

The phone rang again. Paul was outside getting the morning paper, so she put aside her Bible, headed for the kitchen, and grabbed the receiver on the fourth ring.

“Kate, it’s me,” said a loud whisper. Me? Kate ran through the list of possibilities. Livvy’s voice matched her petite size: bright, cheerful, and expressive. Renee’s was low-pitched and raspy. LuAnne’s was softly Southern and friendly, the kind of voice that sounded like she was smiling.

It was LuAnne. “Good morning,” Kate said.

“They’re here—at the diner!”

“Who?”

“The two men from that resort company—the ones I told you about.”

“Oh yes, of course.”

Paul came around the corner with the Chronicle. He grinned, gave her a quick good-morning kiss on the cheek, and tossed the paper on the table. He mimed “No coffee?” which she confirmed with a shake of the head. He pulled out the grinder and retrieved a bag of whole beans from the refrigerator. A whir followed, and a lovely fragrance wafted toward Kate.

“And just as we thought, they’re up to no good.”

“What have you found out?”

“Well, I’ll get to that. But, darlin’, I just know we’re onto something. You should see how they’re behavin’. Those two fat city-slicker felines look like they just swallowed a whole cageful of canaries.” Kate could hear the clatter of dishes and utensils in the background. “Darlin’, I’m gonna have to go. But I just wanted you to know what they said.”

“You didn’t tell me what they said.”

“Oh, I didn’t? Well, silly me. That was the main reason I called. One told the other he has an insider working with him to get the church land. Those were his exact words—‘I’ve got an insider working with me.’”

Kate’s heart twisted. “Who could it be?” And how could it be? How could someone from Copper Mill betray their community this way? Then she paused. “Maybe he meant an insider in some government agency, something like that. Not the community.”

LuAnne chuckled. “Well, I could ask, but I don’t think they’ll tell me.”

Kate hung up, then sat down across from Paul and told him what LuAnne had said.

His expression was grave, but it wasn’t from her news. He handed her the newspaper. Across the top of page one, the two-inch headline read: ARSONIST’S IDENTITY DISCOVERED.

She skimmed the few paragraphs, then looked up at Paul. “They’ve used the same information Livvy and I found out. Nothing new.”

He nodded. “What bothers me is that they’re so hard on him. It doesn’t matter about the brilliant, rising star he used to be. All that matters is what he did now.”

She leaned in closer to the newspaper, examining the pictures reprinted from his high-school glory days, side by side with his mug shot. “What I wonder, Paul, is what happened during those years he was away from Copper Mill. Say he did start the fire. Why? Why would someone as bright and talented as he obviously was take this turn?” She poured coffee for them both.

“Maybe things didn’t work out for him the way he thought they should. Sometimes that happens. Kids rise to stardom too early, especially if they’re big fish in little ponds. They can never have that kind of adulation or glory again, and they end up bitter and disappointed, nursing a sense of failure because they can never achieve that sort of stardom again. They often blame everyone else, even God, for their own shortcomings.”

Paul had a point. She thought about it for a moment, then said, “What about Worldwide Destination Resorts? Do you think there might be a connection?”

Paul nodded slowly. “J.B. doesn’t really qualify as an ‘insider,’ but maybe there’s someone else who then spotted him as someone to do his dirty work.”

She shook her head. “It could have been the perfect storm—the coming together of all the elements that make for disaster: J.B.’s anger, his need for money, the opportunity to get even with God.” She paused, thinking through the possibilities. “I need to go back.”

“To see J.B.?”

“I need to find out what happened during those missing years.”

“Do you think he’ll tell you?”

“No. That’s why my first stop will be the library to do some more digging.”

LIVVY WAS AT THE FRONT DESK when Kate arrived. She looked surprised to see Kate at the library so early.

“I’m in dire need of a high-speed Internet connection. Do you have a computer I can use?”

“Mi casa es su casa,” Livvy said with a laugh. “And our computers too.”

“We’ve got one, but by the time it hits a Web site, it’s so slow I’ve forgotten what I was looking for.”

“You’re welcome to ours anytime.”

As they climbed the stairs, Livvy explained the layout of the library. Kate could see the pride in Livvy’s eyes as she pointed out their modern reference room, the nonfiction stacks, microfiche machines with old editions of the Copper Mill Chronicle, the collections of historical documents about the town, and a bank of high-speed computers.

Livvy left Kate sitting at the computer bank and headed back downstairs. Seconds later Kate typed in “J.B. Packer,” then looked at the search results. One by one, she clicked the mouse on each link. The first four were real-estate agents, the fifth was someone looking for members of the same family tree. None of the next twenty-three looked promising, but she opened the sites anyway to see if there might be the slightest bit of information leading to Packer’s whereabouts during the missing years.

Livvy reappeared at her elbow with two cups of coffee from the librarian’s lounge. “Any luck?”

Kate shook her head. “Not so far.” She clicked on the last listing and leaned closer. “Is this the Web site where you found the earlier info?”

Livvy looked over her shoulder. “No. This is different, but it’s got some of the same information—his high-school achievements...” She paused, letting out a whistle. “And look at this...He was a national merit scholar. That’s new information.”

“And this.” Kate’s heart picked up rhythm as she read the heading: “J.B. Packer receives a four-year scholarship to...” The line broke off with a link to another Web site, where the article supposedly continued.

Only it didn’t. She clicked on the link, and nothing happened. “Scholarship to where?” she wanted to shout. But instead, she counted to ten, went back to the original site, and read through the article again. This time she whistled. “Listen to this, Livvy. The gist of the article has to do with scouts from major colleges and universities around the country. On this particular night, which was an all-star game, scouts attending the game were from the University of Michigan, Ohio State, USC, and UCLA.”

She grinned up at Livvy, who was still standing behind her, reading over her shoulder.

“How does this help?” Livvy asked, frowning.

“If he played ball for one of these schools, maybe his name will turn up in the archives of the school papers.”

Livvy was grinning now. “You’re good.”

“You keep saying that, but this doesn’t mean we’ll get anywhere.” She took a sip of coffee and went back to work. First she plugged in the information for the University of Michigan. Nothing. Then she tried Ohio State’s Lantern. Nothing there, either. Next was UCLA. Nothing. And finally USC. Her heart thumping, she waited while the Daily Gamecock searched for J.B. Packer.

Still nothing.

“Hey, girlfriend,” Livvy said. “I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll leave you to it. Call me if you need anything.”

Kate was ready to shut down the computer when she decided to try one more source. Maybe major newspapers in those cities featured the new recruits. Local fans loved that sort of thing. Human-interest stories, the backgrounds of the kids arriving at training camp...

It was a shot in the dark, but she tried it anyway. Holding her breath, she typed in “Los Angeles Times,” clicked on the Web site, and keyed “J.B. Packer” into the search engine.

The little bar at the bottom of the screen shot little dashes back and forth, and the hourglass icon showed the search was in progress.

At least that was something. All the other tries had ended in three seconds or less.

Then articles and photographs materialized on her screen. Kate sat back, her heart thumping, her hands trembling as she moved the mouse to get the cursor out of the way.

First she studied the pictures. Two were the same ones Livvy had found. The third was a wedding picture. Standing beside Packer was his high-school sweetheart, Rachelle Kensington, in her wedding gown. The caption read: “Tragedy strikes fairy-tale couple, seen here in happier times.” Next to that photograph was a snapshot of Packer, Rachelle, and a baby about six months old. This caption read: “Mother and infant killed by drunk driver: Husband and father, J.B. Packer.” The final photo was of Packer receiving a medal of commendation from the Los Angeles fire chief, honoring him for his courageous actions that resulted in saving lives in a raging forest fire near Lake Arrowhead. The caption read: “From commendation to AWOL. No one knows the whereabouts of crack fire jumper since fiery accident took the lives of his family.”

Tears stung Kate’s throat, and she swallowed hard. The missing years. Now she knew.

She went back to the article and reread the final paragraphs, this time aloud:

Packer was cleared of manslaughter charges because he wasn’t legally drunk. However, authorities say his consumption of alcohol was a contributing factor in the fiery accident that claimed the lives of his wife, Rachelle, and their baby daughter, Hannah Grace. This reporter traced this former hero-turned-tragic-figure to the area known as Skid Row in Los Angeles, where he is living and working as a janitor in the Union Rescue Mission under the fictitious name Jed Brawley.

“I’M BACK.” Kate stood outside J.B.’s cell.

When he looked up, she could see that his eyes were red-rimmed, the lines in his face deep. She pulled a bag of cookies out of her purse and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he said.

All the way to town hall, Kate had prayed for the right words to say to J.B. Now as she stood before him, words seemed inadequate. What could she say? The emotions were too complex, ran too deep. She remembered the words of Saint Francis of Assisi: “Preach Christ; if you must, use words.” She hadn’t come to preach, but she had come to reflect Christ’s love to this prisoner. Maybe her presence was enough. Maybe she didn’t need to worry about what to say.

“I just came from the library,” she said.

“More digging, I suppose. I hope you’re satisfied with what you found.” He turned away from her.

“You’ve been waiting for the rest of the story to be discovered, then?”

“I figured the sheriff would be all over it like...never mind.”

“You want to see what I found?” He turned, and she held out a copy of the Times article and photos.

“They got it right,” J.B. said, his voice low. “All of it.”

“About Rachelle and Hannah Grace?”

At the sound of their names, he looked up, tears in his eyes. “Yes. Everything.”

A sting of tears crept to the back of her throat. She swallowed hard and blinked. “Oh, J.B., I’m so sorry.”

A small flicker of a smile came to the corner of his mouth. “Call me Jed. I’m so used to it by now that J.B. sounds like someone else.” He opened the baggie and grabbed a cookie. “These do help,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You didn’t do it, did you?”

“Oh yes. We’d been out for pizza. I’d had a couple of beers, maybe more—there was a pitcher on the table. My reflexes weren’t what they should’ve been. I didn’t see the other car when I pulled onto the freeway.” He looked away from her.

For a moment Kate didn’t speak, then she said, “I meant the church fire, Jed. You didn’t do it, did you?”

He stared at her. “I thought I did at first. That’s why I confessed. I was nearby, saw the flames, the smoke, and ran to the church. Old instincts are hard to break. I wanted to help get anyone out who might’ve been inside.” He dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his eyes. “That’s when something snapped,” he said, his shoulders trembling. “I opened the door and got hit by a wall of flames. I thought I saw Rachelle’s face...the baby’s...” His voice choked. “All I could think about was that it was my fault they died. The fire was my fault.”

At the end of the corridor, the heavy door opened, and Skip Spencer stuck his head in. “Everything okay in here?” he called down to Kate.

Kate exchanged a glance with Jed, who nodded, then she called back. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Alrightee, then. Just checking.”

When the door slammed closed, Jed took a deep breath and began again. “I tried to get inside, but the wall of flames stopped me. Apparently I was running away from the church when the fire department got there. Saw me running; thought the obvious.”

“You’ve got to tell them.”

He shrugged. “Who’s gonna believe me?”

“You’ve got to try.”

He stared at her, unblinking, for several moments. The hollow look was gone, but in its place was too much pain and sorrow for one human being to bear. “You don’t get it, do you?” His voice was husky with emotion.

She didn’t speak.

“I deserve to be charged with this crime. Charged and sentenced and punished, just as I should have been when my family died.”

“I’ll tell the sheriff, then,” Kate said, stepping closer to the bars.

“I’ll deny everything I told you.”

“They’ll believe me. I’m the minister’s wife.”

He gave her a gentle smile, and she saw in his expression the man he used to be. “Yes, that you are. And my friend.” He stepped toward her. “But I’ll still deny it.”

“What about the one who really did it? Can you let the courts prosecute the wrong man while the real criminal gets away?”

“Maybe it was an accident.”

“I talked to the sheriff. It was no accident.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

“I have to tell the sheriff what I found out.”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t make any difference to me.”

THE SHERIFF WAS OUT, so Kate handed a copy of the L.A. Times article to Skip. “Make sure the sheriff gets it,” she said.

But Skip’s eyes were glued to the article, and he didn’t seem to hear. All he said was “Whoa!” Then he let out a whistle between his teeth and said “Whoa!” again.

KATE STEPPED FROM THE TOWN HALL into the bright autumn sunlight, momentarily blinded. Then she saw the pink Sub-Zero parked next to her Honda and told herself not to groan.

Renee got out of her car as soon as she spotted Kate. “I finally figured out what you’ve been doing here. I brought you the first time, and you wouldn’t tell me what you were up to. Then I saw your car parked here again...and then again, not more than a day or so later. I forget which day, but no matter—here you are again. And I’m sure it’s to visit the perp.” She stepped closer. “Am I right?”

Kate sighed and shot a prayer heavenward. “You’re right, Renee. I did come to visit the prisoner. In Matthew, Jesus said—”

“What did you find out? I told you I was going to investigate on my own. You should have told me where you were going so we could share information. It’s the only way we’re going to keep the perp in the slammer. We’ve got to build the case against him.”

“I think we’re on opposite sides of this, Renee. I happen to think he’s innocent.”

Renee sputtered and didn’t seem to be able to find the words to voice her dismay.

Kate decided to leave before Renee hit her with another lecture about seeing justice done.

“I must go, Renee. I’m sorry.” Kate hit the UNLOCK button on her key ring, got in the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Then she stopped and looked back at Renee, who stood staring after her, looking terribly alone. And lonely.

She let her breath out on a sigh. Okay, Lord, I know what you’d have me do. But I have to tell you, it’s hard. She laughed lightly as she backed up. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

She pulled up beside the Oldsmobile, pushed the button on her door console, and lowered the driver’s-side window. “Renee, how about coming by for some tea? I need to tell you what I’ve found out about the case. Maybe you can help me with some input.”

Renee stared at her for a moment, then sniffed and checked her watch. “Well, I suppose I can squeeze it in. I’ve got an appointment in an hour.”

“Wonderful. Would you like to ride with me? I can bring you back to your car later.”

Renee reached in her car and retrieved Kisses, who wagged his tail when he spotted Kate. “Guess what, little umpkins,” Renee cooed. “We’re going to Grandma’s house for tea.”

Kate choked. Grandma’s house? Renee was a good decade or two older than Kate. Grandma?

“Look at that, will you?” Renee climbed into the Honda and closed the door. Kisses scrambled to sit on Kate’s lap beneath the steering wheel. “He’s thrilled to be going back to the parsonage—aren’t you, little umpkins.”

Kate tried her best to keep her next thought from form-ing words, but they spilled out anyway: “How about if I babysit for little ump—ah...for Kisses while you go to your appointment?”

“How about that, punkin’?” Renee said to the dog. “Grandma wants to babysit.” She fixed a stare on Kate, then said, “Just because I’m letting my precious umpkins stay with you doesn’t mean I’m not still upset.”

“I understand,” Kate said between clenched teeth.

OVER TEA RENEE READ the Times article. She blinked back tears when she read about Rachelle and Hannah Grace, but when Kate told her that Jed didn’t set the church fire, she said, “I don’t believe him. I still think he’s as guilty as dirt. Besides, if he didn’t do it, who did?”

“I don’t know.” Kate related what LuAnne overheard at the diner.

“That woman is too nosy for her own good,” Renee pronounced, dismissing the information with a flutter of her fingers.

Kate suspected that if Renee had been the one to garner the same information, it would have been taken as gospel truth and spread throughout the town as such.

Renee looked at her watch. “I must go. I really shouldn’t have let you talk me into leaving my car at the town hall. I’m in a fine fix now, having to depend on you for a ride.”

“It’s not a problem,” Kate said. Her jaw was beginning to ache.

They stopped in the entry hall, and Kate helped Renee into her faux leopard-skin jacket. Renee’s attention seemed to be caught by something in the large living room. She took a step toward the doorway and stopped, staring at the sliding-glass doors.

“Did anyone ever tell you those water spots look like a flock of sheep?” she said.

A hint of a smile lit Renee’s eyes. “Really, dear. You should do something about this room.” She rolled her eyes and headed for the door.

“And while you drive me to my car, I’ll tell you about Eli Weston. I didn’t want to go into the details with Pastor Paul last night, but really, it’s a story you should hear.” She snapped the jeweled leash on Kisses.

Kate did her best to avoid gossip. She didn’t spread it, and she didn’t want to hear it. “I’m sure Eli will tell us what he wants us to know when the time is right.” She opened the passenger-side door for Renee. Kisses hopped in with her.

“Fine. But he won’t tell you. It’s too terrible for him to talk about.”