Dangerous game, p.4
Dangerous Game, page 4
Trish knew that her father would revel in this latest occurrence. What’s going on here, Lord? This doesn’t make any sense.
“Is there something wrong?” Elsie’s frail voice came from the hallway. She stepped into the kitchen in a worn flannel robe and slippers.
Grey hopped up.
Sheriff Harding rose, also. “Mrs. Ryerson, sorry we woke you.”
“I sleep lighter and lighter all the time. What’s wrong?”
Grey gently guided his aunt onto a kitchen chair.
The sheriff didn’t sit back down. Reading this signal, Trish rose, too. “We were just checking with your nephew,” the sheriff replied, “about his whereabouts this evening—”
“He’s been with me almost constantly since he arrived home.” Elsie glanced up at Grey who stood with a hand on her shoulder.
“That’s what Grey told us,” the sheriff said. “We just wanted to get his statement straight first, so unwarranted suspicion wouldn’t fall on him.”
Trish listened to this without letting her uneasiness color her expression. She and the sheriff said their farewells and walked out into the misty night again. Grey’s presence still summoned her to turn back, to offer to let him rest his head on her shoulder. She could feel the phantom touch of his hair upon her cheek.
Trish wrenched herself back to reality. How effective would their attempt at averting unfounded suspicion be? People would probably think that Elsie would say anything to keep her nephew from going back to prison.
But they would be mistaken. If Elsie Ryerson said Grey had been home with her at the time of the near miss, that’s just where he’d been. Trish had zero doubt about that. So that left the question, who wanted to cast guilt on to Grey by playing such a stupid, dangerous game?
With a queasy feeling, Trish wondered where her father had been this evening.
The next morning, Sunday, dawned gray and windy, one of those harsh fall days that hint at the winter to come. With each step Grey took up to the church door, his confidence shriveled. Aunt Elsie must also be under a similar strain because earlier she’d even asked if he’d like to visit a different church today. Grey had been tempted by her offer. But why postpone the inevitable?
This had been his aunt’s church since she was a child; he wasn’t going to make her change churches just because Noah Franklin was an elder here. Over seven years ago, why hadn’t it occurred to Grey that everything he did reflected for good or ill on his aunt? How could I have been so selfish?
He tried to focus on the fact that he was once again coming into the Lord’s house, a place where he could worship the God of forgiveness, the God of second chances. The God who had become his refuge and strength in prison.
Obviously in high spirits, Elsie waved at friends as they made their way up the aisle to his aunt’s favorite pew. Grey tried to focus on the church and not the people. But the back of Noah Franklin’s head drew his gaze.
As always, Noah was sitting on the aisle in the left front pew. In the pew behind him sat most of Trish’s family. He could still name her four brothers, though only three were present. Andy, whom he’d met again on his first day back sat beside his wife. Missing was the next brother, Trish’s second-oldest brother, Pete, who lived out of the county. Then came Chaney, just a few years older than Trish and then Mick, the youngest. Grey, Andy, Pete and Chaney had all been close in age. All of the Franklin men were built like lumberjacks and had red hair. Chaney glanced over his shoulder and froze when he saw Grey.
Grey looked down, avoiding Chaney’s gaze as he led Elsie to her accustomed pew. Just as he reached it, he couldn’t help himself. He looked again at the Franklin family ahead and noticed that a few of their widowed aunts also sat in the family pew. Grey tried to recall their names. One was Harriet, Jake Franklin’s widow. He’d never forget her. Florence, whom he’d glimpsed at the hospital sat beside her along with Wilma who owned the bed-and-breakfast, another Franklin relative. The women cast him dark glances; Trish an unreadable one.
Grey and his aunt sat down six rows behind them. He hoped none of the rest of the Franklins would look around again. The expression on Chaney’s face had been far from welcoming. Grey sat low in his seat and wished he could blend unseen into the old oak pew.
The organ prelude ended and Grey noted that Sylvie Patterson, the local bookstore owner, still played the organ on Sundays. She must be nearing thirty just like Chaney and she had kindly sent him books periodically while he did time. The service began. Grey found it harder and harder to concentrate on the opening hymns. Even when Grey was looking at the hymnal, the back of Noah’s head kept drawing his gaze.
The hymn ended and Noah Franklin walked to the pulpit to read this Sunday’s scripture. The older man looked like an Old Testament prophet, dressed in a black suit, tie and white shirt. Without looking at the congregation, he took out drugstore reading glasses and began reading the parable of the Unforgiving Servant, from the Book of Matthew.
“Then Peter came to him and asked, ‘Lord, how often should I forgive someone who sins against me? Seven times?’
‘No!’ Jesus replied. ‘Seventy times seven.’
For this reason, the Kingdom of Heaven—”
In the midst of the reading, Noah glanced up, gazing out at the faces before him. And then he abruptly stopped.
Silence. Everyone looked up from their pew Bibles. Their gazes followed Noah’s and soon the whole church was staring at Grey. Caught in the older man’s crosshairs, Grey froze. The silence went on. Wind brushing the windows was the only sound.
“You,” Noah finally pronounced the single word accusation. “You.”
Sitting with her family, Trish felt as though she were standing beside a large gong someone had just struck. Her father’s voice echoed and vibrated through her. Earlier, when she’d glanced back and glimpsed Elsie and Grey entering the sanctuary, she’d known that he would balk at Grey’s presence. But not out loud. Not in front of the whole congregation. Not from the pulpit.
“Get out,” her father ordered, his quivering hand pointing toward Grey. “Get out of this church.”
The pastor, William Ray, looked stunned where he sat beside and just behind her father. Whispers flew around the sanctuary.
“Out!” Noah ordered.
Trish rose. She opened her mouth to object.
But Pastor Ray also rose. “Noah,” he said sharply, “what are you doing?”
Noah stepped away from the pulpit and stormed down the steps and up the aisle.
Pastor Ray pursued Noah. Just as the older man reached Grey’s pew, the pastor grabbed Noah’s elbow and pulled him around. “What are you doing, Noah? You’re disrupting the service.”
Noah tried to shake the pastor’s grip off, but couldn’t. “Let me go. If this murderer won’t leave, I’ll make him.”
Grey had risen.
Trish watched the color drain and then return to Grey’s face, leaving it a blotchy red and white.
After another attempt at breaking the pastor’s grip, Noah turned back to Grey. “Get out. I won’t have you in my church.”
Trish’s breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t decide whether she should join the threesome or hang back. Would she ease or worsen the situation? With her father, it was hard to predict.
“You do not own this church, Noah,” Pastor Ray stated loud and clear. “You do not have the right to tell someone to leave.”
“He killed my twin brother!” Noah shouted. “He has no right to sit in this church with decent people!”
Others rose in their pews. “Sit down, Noah. Please,” someone said. Similar murmurs seconded this.
“Noah, anyone who comes into this church is a sinner and no sin is greater than any other,” Pastor Ray stated. “Grey Lawson did not murder your brother. It was all a tragic drunk-driving accident and Grey has paid seven years in prison for his part in it.” Pastor Ray looked up at Grey. “You are welcome in this church, Grey. I was happy to see you come today.” He held out his other hand toward Grey.
Noah roared and finally wrenched himself free of Pastor Ray. “I won’t have it! I pay your salary, Pastor!”
“Well, don’t we all? Even Elsie?” Florence declared from the Franklin pew.
Others voiced support for this view. “You don’t own this church, Noah Franklin.”
Grey moved to leave. “I don’t want to cause trouble—”
But Pastor Ray now wouldn’t release Grey’s hand. “You are welcome here and you will sit down.” He looked at Noah. “And this service will continue. Noah, I believe you were reading today’s scripture.”
The three men stood in a tense tableau. Again, the sanctuary fell silent. Trish could hear her heart beating in her ears. Would her father listen to the pastor or escalate his vendetta?
At last, when Trish’s tension had reached the point where she thought she couldn’t stand it, her father charged down the aisle and out the church doors. They slammed behind him. Like a gust of December wind through pine boughs, sighs of shock and dismay rustled through the church.
Pastor Ray said, “Grey, your aunt told me that you had rededicated your life to Christ in prison. Is that true?”
Grey only nodded.
“Then let me extend to you the hand of fellowship.” Pastor Ray clasped both Grey’s hands in his.
“Thank you, Pastor.”
Trish could hardly hear Grey’s reply.
Pastor Ray urged Grey to sit back down. Then the pastor leaned over Grey to take Elsie’s hand. “I know you’ve been waiting and praying for this day a long time, Elsie.”
Elsie wiped her eyes with an old lace hankie and nodded.
The pastor then strode back up the aisle toward the pulpit. He paused by Trish. “I think it’s time we had a woman read the scriptures occasionally. Trish, will you come up and finish the reading for your father?”
More whispering.
Nonplussed, Trish simply obeyed, following him up to the pulpit. Pastor Ray sat again in his chair and Trish tried to calm her cantering heart and lungs. She cleared her throat and lifted the Bible slightly. She began again.
“For this reason, the Kingdom of Heaven can be compared to a king who decided to bring his accounts up to date…one of his debtors was brought in. He owed him millions of dollars. He couldn’t pay so the king ordered that he, his wife and children and everything he owned be sold to pay the debt. But the man fell down before the king and begged him…”
Grey listened to Trish’s voice gain confidence, becoming stronger, surer as she read the story of the servant who’d been forgiven much but who hadn’t been forgiving with another servant. Her bright hair gleamed in the pale autumn light and against the oak-wood and white-plaster interior. Dressed in fall colors, she radiated a warmth, a cheer that brightened the room. Like a warm flame, she drew Grey toward her—an antidote to the chill left by her father.
From Noah Franklin, he’d expected shock and hostility. But never a public confrontation during the worship service. Did I do right in coming here, Lord? I didn’t mean to cause a rift in Your body, this church.
After church, Grey tried at first to hurry his aunt out and home, but gave up. It seemed that everyone in the congregation wanted to talk to him or Elsie or both. Everyone had an opinion about his homecoming, Noah, and this morning’s event. Grey stood as a silent sentinel beside Elsie.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noted many of the Franklins leave by the far aisle to avoid him. Again, Chaney, with a little boy obviously his son at his side, glared at Grey. But Penny and Andy, who still looked pale and moved slowly, came around the pew to thank him again for his help the night of the deer accident.
Where had Trish disappeared to? Grey finally was able to get Aunt Elsie out into the aisle and turned toward the door.
Out of nowhere, Trish appeared, offering her hand to him. “I’m glad to see you here this morning, Grey.”
He couldn’t doubt her sincerity. What made Trish Franklin tick? “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “about your dad. And everything.” He made himself let go of her soft hand.
Trish inhaled deeply, but merely shrugged. She patted Elsie’s arm and spoke softly to her. Then naturally as if he’d never been away and they’d been friends forever, she joined them in walking toward the doors.
Grey could hardly wait to escape. Trish should know better than to be seen walking with him.
Shirley Johnson, Tom Robson and a teen wearing an old pea jacket whom Grey didn’t recognize, met them just inside the double doors. Tom introduced the young man as Chad Keski, Shirley’s foster son. “Grey, I wanted to ask you if you would help out with the local food pantry,” Shirley said.
Grey was surprised to be asked. “Sure. What do you want me to do?”
“Right now we’re gathering food to help many of our families get through the lean winter months when seasonal unemployment will start hitting people. We start biweekly distribution in mid-October. We have various drop locations around the county and we need another person to pick up the canned and boxed goods left at them. Would you be able to take up a route?”
“Sure.”
“Yes, my old buggy is running great,” Elsie said, smiling, “thanks to Tom. When are you two setting the date?”
Shirley blushed.
“Show her,” Tom urged.
Shirley reached into her pocket and slid a diamond solitaire onto her ring finger. “Tom wanted me to wear it today, but I chickened out. I didn’t want to cause a fuss.”
Me, neither, Grey echoed in silence.
Aunt Elsie and Trish cooed over the ring as women do. Then Grey was finally able to get his aunt out into the furious north wind. He hurried her to the Chrysler and helped her inside. Trish went to her red SUV and waved farewell to them. He made himself look away.
As he shut his aunt’s door, he looked over the hood of the car and saw two of Trish’s aunts still staring at him from down the street. Their sour unfriendly expressions chafed him like the violent wind. They were Florence and her sister who’d been married to one of Noah Franklin’s brothers. Florence’s earlier retort aimed at Noah didn’t mean she’d forgiven Grey. She just didn’t like Noah much. And Noah had had five brothers, all dead now. All had been older than Noah except his twin brother, Jake. Jake Franklin—the man Grey had killed along with Eddie’s girlfriend in a head-on collision seven years ago when he’d driven drunk one night, one of many drunken nights.
Sunday evening
She slid behind the wheel of the hidden gray sedan. She’d almost decided not to try another game of chicken. After her first near miss, her weak heart had pounded for almost an hour. Nausea had hit her in violent waves. Afterward, she’d been so relieved that her “victim” had been one of the summer residents, a stranger to her. She didn’t want to scare anyone she knew out of their wits. Now she decided that this couldn’t be helped. She had to risk another game of chicken. She had to.
Because this morning Grey Lawson had had the nerve to come to church before God and everybody. It wasn’t right. Just recalling it, she boiled with resentment, sour bile filling her mouth. Noah had stood up to him. But a fat lot of good that had done her. The murderer had stayed in his seat and afterwards been greeted like a returning hero.
So grateful for the fog, she started the rough-sounding motor and drove down the rutted road, rocking on bad shocks. She positioned herself at the same point off Bear Paw Road and waited, listening for oncoming traffic. The tourist season had slowed from summer, but she hoped for another stranger to come unsuspecting into her trap.
In her mind, she went through the maneuvers she’d planned. Out of the mist, she’d drive straight at the oncoming vehicle. And at the last minute, she’d swerve to her right since she figured most drivers would swerve to their right, as well. And then she’d drive on up Bear Paw Road around the bend and disappear down the old logging road and onto the forgotten grass road that finally led to her shed. Then she’d park the car—
She heard a motor ahead in the mist. She drove into position and began to gain speed. The other vehicle purred closer. Closer. Closer.
The other driver hit his brakes. His horn. She swerved to her right. He swerved to his left—not his right!
The oncoming car was dead ahead! She screamed and twisted the wheel.
FOUR
Sunday evening
He’d barely closed the door of the hunting shack behind him when he heard a rough-sounding car motor, growling closer. He cursed silently and on reflex, bent low to avoid being seen from the windows. Would whoever was coming see his pickup parked behind the row of fir trees? Then he remembered that fog draped the dark night. Good. But what would he do if they were coming in the shack? Why would anyone come here anyway? It wasn’t hunting season yet. Wasn’t there anyplace left where a man could go to be left alone?
He inched along low, crablike, to the windows toward the sound. He glimpsed the veiled glow of headlights and then heard a car door being opened and shut and then a wooden door scraped over ground and latched. He cautiously moved to get a better angle to peer out. He eased up an inch or two to see if he should make a break for it.
Suddenly out of the mist loomed the figure of a large person. Was it a man or a woman? The person was moving oddly, kind of bent over. What was wrong with the stranger? He tracked the figure as well as he could through the night and fog, all the time preparing to head out the other way if the stranger looked as if they were going to enter the hunting shack.
Then he heard what sounded like a woman moaning. The damp air seemed to magnify the depressing sound. The stranger, who looked like a woman from her walk, paused and leaned against the wide trunk of an ancient maple tree. Was she having an attack? Should he go help out? Finally, the stranger straightened up and walked away, swallowed by the mist.
In a few minutes, he heard another smoother-sounding motor start up and drive away. What was going on here? And what was in that shed?
He sat down on one of the old musty-smelling bunks and thought all this over. Finally, he got up and walked to the door. Enough time had passed since the unidentified stranger had left and the fog looked thicker than ever. He walked outside, closing the door against critters and headed toward the old shed back in the woods. When he got close, he saw the fresh tire tracks, still visible from the dampness on the road. He paused only a moment before he unhooked the peg securing the rusty latch. He opened the creaky old plank door.
