I didn’t feel like a good friend. In fact, a wave of guilt swept over me as I contemplated the facts. I’d been so busy over the past few weeks trying to incriminate all of my friends and neighbors that I hadn’t taken the proper time to visit with her as I should have.
I couldn’t ponder this for long because the line kept pushing me forward. Warren took my place and gave Richard a bear hug as I moved along to shake hands with Judy’s sister and her family.
I gave Brenda a little nod and said, “Your sister was a beautiful woman of God. She taught me so much.”
The woman’s eyes, red-rimmed, filled with tears as I gave her hands a squeeze. “Yes,” she whispered. “I just wish I’d spent more time with her while I had her.”
I had to agree. And Brenda’s words reminded of Pastor Miller’s sermon—about making the moments count. I vowed, once again, to do that with my own family.
After moving on to greet the others, I turned my attentions to helping Sheila in the kitchen. Several of the ladies from the church had brought food items. At Richard’s request, all Sunday school class members would join the family for a meal together in the church’s Fellowship Hall after the graveside service.
I opted to remain at the church and not follow the caravan to nearby Clarksborough Cemetery. Though torn about it, I knew some of us would need to stay behind to make preparations for the return of the others.
Ironically, Janetta Mullins found her way to the kitchen, as well.
“You need some help?” she offered.
“Sure.” I pointed to a couple of casserole dishes in need of warming and she donned a pair of oven mitts.
“Jakey and Kristina went on to the cemetery,” she explained, “but I just couldn’t. I know it sounds weird, but cemeteries bother me. Ever since my mom’s funeral—” She paused and put the casseroles in the oven. “I don’t know,” she went on. “It just tears me up to see that part.”
“I understand,” I told her. And I did. My grandmother’s funeral had left a lasting impression on me as a youngster.
Instead of dwelling on all that, we focused on the task at hand. As the three of us worked side by side in the kitchen, we found ourselves with ample opportunity to talk. Our conversation, naturally, started with the funeral service, which, we all agreed, had been quite touching. We went on to discuss a plan of action for caring for Richard over the next few weeks, including the daily delivery of meals, as well as cards and letters from the Sunday school class.
Sheila, who looked especially somber in her black on black skirt and blouse, headed out into the Fellowship Hall, where she worked feverishly to wrap silverware and set out paper plates and napkins. After that, she placed centerpieces on the tables.
Janetta remained with me in the kitchen, where we both set about slicing several loaves of homemade bread she’d brought. I took a little nibble and voiced my opinion right away.
“You know,” I said, “I don’t know if I’ve ever just come out and told you this, Janetta, but you’re a wonderful cook. I’m a little envious.”
I saw her cheeks pink, which did my heart good.
“Thank you,” she said with a bashful smile. “I’ve certainly been at it long enough. I love coming up with recipes, putting my own spin on things.”
“Well, it shows.”
“Thanks. But I’ll tell you a little secret.” She gestured to the large stove in the church kitchen. “It’s amazing what commercial appliances will do for you. Having them has totally changed my life. And my cooking. I can do things now that I only dreamed of doing before.”
“Oh?”
She told me about a commercial refrigerator she’d purchased last summer, then went on to sing the praises of her latest oven, “perfect for baking wedding cakes and prime rib, alike,” she boasted.
Almost made me wish I spent more time in my own kitchen.
Almost.
The Fellowship Hall soon filled with hungry guests and I shifted gears to the task at hand. My husband and daughters slipped into the kitchen to see if I needed any help. I assured them all was well, and sent them to spend time with Richard.
Sheila, Janetta, and I worked alongside a couple of the other ladies to feed the crew. I watched out of the corner of my eye as Jake and Richard chatted. Except for an occasional swipe of the eye with the back of his hand, Richard appeared to be doing well—as long as people kept him distracted.
I did catch him alone in the hallway at one point, leaning against the wall.
“Just catching my breath,” he explained. He reached up to run his fingers across his bald spot, and I couldn’t help but notice the trembling in his hand.
I nodded and reached up to give him a hug. “I know you’re probably hearing this from everyone,” I whispered, “But I just want you to know we’re here if you need us.”
He nodded, then pulled back and looked into my eyes with a fatherly-type smile. “Judy loved you so much. And it meant the world that you brought her that little ballerina.”
“Really? She told you about it?”
“Told me?” He broke into a broad smile, “She made me put it on the mantle at the house and—” here he broke, and the tears started. With the wave of a hand, he attempted to offer an apology for his meltdown, but I felt it unnecessary.
“It’s okay, Richard.” I gripped his trembling hands until he composed himself. “I understand.”
“S–She told me to think of her dancing every time I saw it.”
I couldn’t speak. The mountainous lump in my throat wouldn’t let me.
Richard brushed the moisture from his cheeks. “It’s sitting on my mantle right now. I’ll never move it.”
With emotions running high, I dismissed myself to return to the kitchen, under the guise of wanting to help the Sheila and the others. In reality, I needed time to absorb all of the information I’d acquired that morning.
After the crowd thinned, I finally took a seat at one of the tables and nibbled at some of the now-dried-out casseroles. Nothing appealed to me. I tossed my plate in the trash can and eased my way down the now-empty hallway toward the sanctuary, where I sat on the back pew for a little quiet reflection.
Didn’t last long. Within minutes my family gathered round me, full of questions. Brandi gave the opening remarks.
“Mom—” She sat, and then leaned her head against my shoulder. “I just wanted to tell you how much I love you.”
“I love you too, honey.” I kissed her hair, then nuzzled close.
Candy took a seat on the other side of me and took hold of my hand. “We don’t tell you enough how much we appreciate you, Mom.”
“We do, you know,” Brandi interjected. “You’re awesome, and sometimes we take advantage of that. We count on you for too much.”
“No,” I argued, “I need to be included. You’ll never know how much.” I offered up a shrug.
“It’s just that—” Candy’s eyes filled as she continued on, “We don’t know what we’d ever do if anything happened to you, Mom. It’s scary to think about.”
“Then let’s don’t think about it,” I whispered. In truth, I didn’t want to think about funerals. Or investigations. Or commercial appliances.
I simply wanted time to reflect on what was right in front of me. As I leaned back against the pew with a daughter in each arm, Pastor Miller’s words washed over me afresh: Encourage one another daily, as long as it is called Today.
I had every intention of doing just that.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The early bird might get the worm, but it’s the second mouse that gets the cheese. I made it my goal to be that second mouse.
With Lesson Nine’s title about returning to the scene of the crime firmly implanted in my brain, I headed off to the bank for another look at the night deposit box. I opted to go at night, several hours after the funeral ended, because I wanted to put myself in exactly the same situation Jake would have found himself in on the night the money disappeared.
My d
arling husband, God bless him, wouldn’t let me go alone. When I explained that I needed to spend some time looking over the night deposit box in some detail, he appeased me by waiting in the car with the headlights on so that I could see.
In order to search for intricacies, I also carried along a flashlight and a magnifying glass. I’d tucked my “Just the Facts” notebook under my armpit, in case I needed a quick place to jot down any clues.
I tried to envision what I must look like, stealing across the parking lot. Er… sneaking. Stealing just felt like the wrong word. Still, I felt a bit like a television detective, which, for some reason, got me tickled. Mental note: Next time wear husband’s trench coat for the full effect.
Tip-toeing over to the box, I tried to think about what things were like on the night in question. Had Jake watched in the shadows as his sister dropped off the cash deposit? Had he then inched his way toward the box he’d already rigged? Did he know how much money to expect? Had Kristina, out of sympathy, perhaps, worked with him? Did Janetta somehow play a role, perhaps to bring attention to the family business? Had the whole event been staged? Were they secretly laughing at the rest of us as they counted out their cash and brought in new, sympathetic, customers?
I examined the box with great care, looking for… well, I didn’t really have a clue what I was looking for. Signs of tampering? Bends? Breaks?
I did take note of a few scratches on the upper right section of the box, but nothing that smelled like trouble. In fact, nothing seemed out of the ordinary at all, nothing whatsoever. Well, unless you counted the part about the middle-aged woman with a paunchy middle who prowled around in the wee hours of the night in search of a villain who didn’t want to be found.
Defeated, I went back to the car and took my seat beside Warren with a sigh.
“Nothing jumped out at you?” he queried.
“No. Nothing but the cold hard facts.”
“What do you mean?”
Another sigh on my part set the stage for my next words. “I mean, it’s a cold, hard fact that I’m not a very good investigator.”
“Oh, Annie—”
“No, seriously,” I explained. “I’ve wasted your money with those courses. I thought you were the burglar. I was wrong.”
“Thankfully.”
“Yes. And, as much as I hate to think about it, I suspected Richard, too.”
“Right.”
“Then, I was sure it was Nikki Rogers.” I sighed. “But I think I can safely say she’s off the hook now. She’s got witnesses and an alibi.”
Warren chuckled. “Alibi? You’re even talking like an investigator now.”
I tossed my notebook on the floor, then leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes. “I just feel ridiculous. Everything points back to the Mullins family, and that means the police were probably right all along. When I think of the way I drilled Officer O’Henry that day at the jail—”
“Whoa,” Warren interrupted. “You talked to the police?”
“Yeah. Guess I forgot to tell you that part.”
“When did this happen?”
“The day after I ate apple pie with Jake Mullins.”
“You ate apple pie with Jake Mullins?”
“Yeah.” I sighed again, as much for effect, as anything. “Did I forget to tell you that part, too?”
“Um, yeah.” He gave me the funniest look. “Annie, you’ve got the best heart in town, but you live dangerously close to the edge. Have I ever mentioned that?”
“Yeah.”
“Problem is,” he said, “I don’t know how close to the edge you can afford to live right now with two weddings to plan and Devin so thick into the football season. Do you think, maybe, you’re reaching the point where you might want to just let this thing go? Let the police figure it out?”
“I don’t know, honey.” I leaned my head on his shoulder and thought about it. “Maybe.” I’d have to pray about that.
At that moment, the parking lot filled with lights. Flashing lights, actually. Red flashing lights.
“Oh no.” Warren slapped himself in the head. “Now what have we done?”
I looked out the window to find a patrol car, light bar lit up like our subdivision at Christmastime. A rap on Warren’s window caught our attention. He rolled it down and Michael O’Henry leaned in, a look of chagrin on his face.
“Do you folks mind if I ask what you’re doing here?”
“I, um— I work here?” Warren tried.
O’Henry shook his head, frustrated. “I know that, Warren. But you don’t work here at eleven o’clock at night. And why in the world are your headlights pointed at the night deposit box? Do you realize what that looks like?”
A wave of fear shot through me as I realized how things looked. Had we just put ourselves at the top of the suspect list with this goofy move on my part?
“Michael,” I interrupted, “You know me. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of this crime. I want to solve this thing as much as you do.”
“Yes, I know.” He leaned in a bit further. “But I told you that we’re on the job. There’s not a thing you can think of that we haven’t already considered.”
He hadn’t lost his touch with that stare. Very effective.
“I’d suggest you folks get a move on before I think up some reason to put you both in the back of my patrol car and take you in for questioning.” A hint of a smile caused his lips to curl upward, but I sensed a little shiver go up my spine, regardless. A sign from above that I should let this thing go, perhaps?
“Have a pleasant evening, Michael.” Warren waited until O’Henry backed away then rolled up his window.
I fought to regain my composure, but nerves made it difficult. Two different things caused the trembling in my hands. Fear topped the list, naturally. But anger played a role, too. There’s not a thing you can think of that we haven’t already considered. His words frustrated me to no end. He had no clue as to my thoughts. In fact, he’d never once given me the time or the opportunity to share them with him in full. No, he had dismissed my attempts at crime-solving altogether, a fact that truly bothered me.
It would be different if the police had actually made progress over the past few weeks, but they hadn’t—at least from the outside looking in. They appeared to be taking their sweet time solving this crime, for sure. And if they really had their man with Jake Mullins, why was he still running around scot-free? Why hadn’t they brought charges against him?
I leaned back against the seat and tried to relax as Warren made the drive home, but my thoughts now spun out of control. A thousand things ran through my mind, and pieces to the puzzle remained scattered all over the place.
“When all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.” I repeated Sheila’s words aloud.
“What do you mean?” Warren asked.
“That’s what Sheila says.”
I considered, for the first time, that things weren’t always what they appeared to be. Returning to the scene of the crime had somehow convinced me of that.
No, things were not always what they appeared to be—and in this case two wrongs did not make a right.
But three lefts did.
I tapped my fingers on the armrest as my thoughts raced backwards in time. I saw several things come into focus at once, and seeing them so clearly almost frightened me.
“I’ve been swinging at anything and everything,” I whispered, “and ignoring the obvious.”
Warren slowed the car to make the turn onto our street. “What’s so obvious?”
Just the facts, ma’am. Before speaking a word, I offered up a quick prayer. The Lord’s response of affirmation to my heart was swift and sure. So much so, that it startled me. Oh Lord, is this what it’s like to hear Your voice?
I waited until I felt sure I’d heard His answer before hesitantly sharing my thoughts with Warren. He seemed stunned to hear what I had to say, but didn’t interrupt me to give an opinion. Instead, he pulled the
car into our driveway then put it into park, where we sat together as I took him on a journey through my thought processes.
“Do I sound crazy?” I asked finally.
“No.” I could hear his pained sigh, even in the darkness of the vehicle. “In fact, it sounds like you were headed in the right direction all along but just didn’t go quite far enough.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I think so.” Warren turned off the car and opened his door. As he did, the car light overhead popped on and I could read the concern in his eyes. “Looks like you’re not supposed to give up,” he said with a shrug. “To be honest, it sounds like you’re really on to something here, Annie. Just keep following the scent. You’re on the right trail.”
“I am. I know I am.”
We climbed from the car and made our way—hand in hand—across the very dark yard toward the front door. For some reason, the eerie black canvas of the night reminded me of something else Sheila had once said. What was it, again?
Oh yes. “It’s always darkest before the dawn. So if you’re going to steal your neighbor’s newspaper, that’s the time to do it.”
The words hit me like a bolt of electricity. Whether she’d meant to do it or not, Sheila had given me the most critical piece of evidence yet.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The following morning, I took a quick peek at my tenth and final www.investigativeskills.com lesson before heading off to the Mullins home. The title didn’t surprise me. In fact, A GOOD INVESTIGATOR DRAWS A LOGICAL CONCLUSION made perfect sense, and provided even more confirmation that the Lord was “in this,” as it were.
I read over my Bible verse for the day, knowing it would somehow calm my troubled mind. Sure enough, I found the words from Matthew chapter seven to be just what the doctor ordered: “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened.” The words brought courage to my heart when I needed it most.