Bitter truth, p.4
Bitter Truth, page 4
With his chair set diagonal to the square farmhouse table and one ankle crossed over the knee of his navy dress pants, he looked more like a visiting caseworker than a trusted friend and mentor. He’d folded his sleeves up to the elbows. Maybe that was his nod to vacation attire.
“Landon.” As he rose to take her hands, he studied her the same way a doctor would check a thermometer or a pulse. With the same accuracy. Zander always knew when she wasn’t okay.
A smile softened the angle of his jaw. “It appears you’re thriving.”
With Anna’s cooking and the good sea air, not to mention eluding a toxic professor, how could she not thrive? “It’s good to see you, Zander. I’m glad you can finally meet Anna.”
Zander’s presence always filled her with warm security. Behind his formal manners and his thin, earnest features lay a quiet and highly sensitive man who’d invested years of patience to support her well-being. He’d filled the role her father couldn’t fill, much like Anna had stepped in for her mother.
Anna set a steaming mug of coffee on the table along with two wildflower porcelain mugs, then carried the teapot from the stove.
“No tea for me, thanks.” Landon took a tall glass from the cupboard and filled it with cold water from the tap. The ice cream had left her thirsty. She settled in the chair between Zander and Anna. “How was your trip?”
“Very satisfying. I rearranged my schedule to leave a few days early, so I’ve been touring your scenic province.”
Overhead, a floorboard creaked. Landon glanced at Anna. “How’s Meaghan?”
“About what you’d expect.” Anna’s broad forehead creased. “Zander, you may have heard we had a shooting not far from here. The victim was my housekeeper’s father.”
His cheeks hollowed slightly, accenting the sharp cut of his chin, and he sat still as if sifting the information. “How tragic for her. Wasn’t he the one who tried to kill you both this summer?”
“Yes. I hired Meaghan when I thought Gord was my friend.” Anna’s eyes welled. “Now he’s dead. I should have visited. Talked to him about his soul.”
“But something prevented you.”
“I wasn’t ready. I’ve forgiven him in my head, but it hasn’t reached my heart. He’d have known I didn’t fully mean it, and he’d have thought the gospel hope was false too.” She palmed grey-streaked brown hair from her cheeks, accenting the sorrow lines around her mouth. “If God didn’t have someone else to speak to him—” Her hands dropped to the table.
Gord’s life choices led to murder. Wouldn’t he have already rejected God too completely to come back? Landon covered Anna’s nearer hand with her own. Focused on justice for Gord’s crimes and the sniper’s identity, Landon hadn’t thought about judgment for his soul. No wonder Anna’s pain ran so deep.
Zander watched Anna over the rim of his coffee mug. “God’s ways are deeper than we see. And forgiveness takes time.”
“Gord didn’t have time.” Anna’s chin wobbled, then firmed. “But that’s my problem, and I’m sorry to spoil the moment.”
“I understand the struggle to forgive. I’ve experienced a significant loss of my own.”
From the day Zander first spoke to her recovery group, his brooding expression and haunted eyes revealed a private sorrow. Despite his being male, Landon and the other girls knew he was no threat. He could empathize.
Footsteps in the hallway interrupted the conversation. Meaghan walked into the kitchen. “Anna, I’m—” She stopped short. “Sorry to interrupt. I’ll just put this away.” She opened the cleaning cupboard and stowed her blue plastic basket of supplies.
Anna swiped her eyes before turning. “Meaghan, let me introduce Landon’s friend Zander.”
Zander left his chair and rounded the table, extending his right hand. When Meaghan took it, he covered hers with his left. “My sympathy for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
As Zander moved out of her space, she flipped her thick red braid over her shoulder and lifted her chin. “He wasn’t a good father, but he’s all I had. I don’t expect they’ll look too hard to find his killer.”
The accusation targeted Landon, but Zander wouldn’t know that. He made a sympathetic sound. “I’m sure the authorities will do their best.”
Her lips flattened. “For a murderer?”
“For any of us. Justice matters.”
He stood in Landon’s peripheral vision. “I have connections in law enforcement. They won’t share details on an active investigation, but I can press for them to give this the attention it deserves. Things can fall through the cracks with so many needs vying for limited resources.”
Meaghan stared. “You’d do that for me? After my father tried to kill your friend?”
“Absolutely. I respect your pain.”
“Thank you.” Meaghan’s fingers bunched the hem of her baggy blue shirt. “If it was his old gang, we may never know. But if someone local killed him, they could come after me or my boyfriend. Dad made us help him. What if they don’t believe that? Or don’t care?”
Anna’s forehead puckered. “You and Hart were only involved here at the inn. Anyone else’s issue would be with Gord alone. But I can’t believe anyone here would have done this.”
Did the police? Investigating the locals in a case like this could be pure routine. On the other hand, how well did Landon and Anna know any of the others with motive?
Nigel had claimed innocence. With his strong, if complicated, sense of justice, he’d admit killing Gord and consider the jail time a small price. Elva? Hart? Landon had no idea what statements they’d made. Or if they’d told the truth. Hart had both attitude and motive. Did Meaghan fear her boyfriend had killed Gord? In revenge or in fear the man’s coercion would somehow reach them from prison?
Landon squeezed her water glass, the smooth curve firm against her skin. She needed to be firm and cool too. Not reshaped into someone who’d jump into mysteries and take unnecessary risks. Dylan and the other officers here and in Bridgewater had the skills and training to find the shooter. She needed to stay out of the way.
She tuned in to what Anna was telling Meaghan. “Call me in the morning if you change your mind about coming in. Or if you’d like to try church with Landon, I’ll stay home and cover breakfast cleanup. Grief is terrible, but walking through it with God helps.”
“Thank you.” Meaghan hoisted a roomy purse onto her shoulder and tucked a stray red curl behind one ear. “My ride’s here. See you tomorrow.”
After the back door shut, Anna sighed. “She’s been through so much this year.”
“As have the two of you.” Zander carried his empty mug to the sink and rinsed it before returning to the table. “I trust this is the end of it.”
Landon had held a similar hope when Gord was arrested. Now he’d gone from villain to victim. She swallowed the last of her water. Lunenburg County folk were friendly, hard-working, and fiercely loyal. Local trouble meant domestic disputes, petty theft or nuisance, or the occasional stash of illegal drugs. Not murder.
Now they’d had two within a year—Anna’s husband and Gord. Plus Gord’s four attempted murders.
She’d thought it was over. Gord’s death had to be a contract hit. If not, there was a new killer in town.
CHAPTER 4
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.”
