death?”
“Just attorney’s fees. That wouldn’t be a very strong motive.” Jess thought for a moment, trying to make a mental list of anyone who might have had contact with the artist. “Well, our neighbor down the road, Nettie Cameron, told me Dr. bin Yusuf has a sister in Zanzibar town. Maybe his sister was holding something against him. Nettie told me everyone expected him to leave her the house.”
“Perhaps you should pay this woman a visit.”
“What if she knocks me on the head?”
“We should take Solomon with us for protection.”
“Are you kidding? He’s the primary suspect, Mama Hannah. Besides, he’s at the police station in town.”
“No, he returned in the Renault one hour ago. Miriamu told me.”
“The police let him go?” Jess glanced around, instantly wary. She had assured herself the artist had been killed by someone who had a motive tied directly to him—and who would not be interested in coming after her. But she still felt uncomfortable. Had the death of Dr. bin Yusuf resolved the killer’s problem and assuaged his rage? Or would he . . . or she . . . feel compelled to strike again?
“Miriamu told me the police could find no reason to arrest Solomon at this time,” Hannah said. “He has returned to Uchungu House while the police continue their investigation.”
“Do you think we’re safe here, Mama Hannah? If anything happened to Splinter . . . or to you. . . . Maybe we should move to a hotel in town. With so many people around, we’d be safer.”
“‘The Lord is my light and my salvation—so why should I be afraid? The Lord protects me from danger—so why should I tremble?’”
“Sounds good, but even David ran for his life when Saul was chasing after him. Remember the psalm? ‘O Lord, how long will you forget me? Forever? How long will you look the other way?’”
“Ehh, you have not forgotten the Word of the Lord!” Hannah beamed. “I believed that perhaps the root of bitterness had eaten too deeply into your heart.”
Jess leaned against an arched verandah support and stared up at the palm trees swaying in the afternoon breeze. Again, she found herself fighting a lump in her throat. It was an odd feeling. How many years had it been since she had allowed herself to cry? How many years since she had swallowed the ache and forced herself to feel nothing?
“This morning when we were sitting on the cliff-side steps, Rick asked me to forgive him,” she said. Her voice was barely audible over the murmur of the palm leaves. “I don’t want to.”
“Ehh.”
“Would you , Mama Hannah? I mean, I’ll admit I played a part in the fiasco of our marriage. I was young and unrealistic. I expected Rick to conform to my image of the perfect husband. I pushed him too hard, and I was impatient with the struggles he was going through. I’d fallen in love with him for his wildness, for that rebel streak that made him do crazy things. But once we married, I wanted him to settle down and act like a responsible husband.”
“You wished to change him. You forgot that only God can change a man.”
“I made a mistake, and I acknowledge that. But I wasn’t the one who drank beer until three in the morning. I wasn’t the one who rode around on a motorcycle and spent nearly every waking hour scuba diving. And I wasn’t the one who took off and left a pregnant wife.”
She crossed her arms and glared out at a bougainvillea bush loaded with purple blossoms. Just the mention of what she had been through made anger eat at her insides. She could feel it gnawing. She could feel the pain as though it had all just happened.
“I don’t see how I can forgive Rick for what he did,” she said. “I just can’t.”
“God can do what men cannot, toto .”
“God’s got his work cut out for him if I’m supposed to forgive Rick McTaggart. Just the sight of the man makes me sick. I hate him, Mama Hannah. I really do.”
The old woman ran her dark fingers over the green
“Just attorney’s fees. That wouldn’t be a very strong motive.” Jess thought for a moment, trying to make a mental list of anyone who might have had contact with the artist. “Well, our neighbor down the road, Nettie Cameron, told me Dr. bin Yusuf has a sister in Zanzibar town. Maybe his sister was holding something against him. Nettie told me everyone expected him to leave her the house.”
“Perhaps you should pay this woman a visit.”
“What if she knocks me on the head?”
“We should take Solomon with us for protection.”
“Are you kidding? He’s the primary suspect, Mama Hannah. Besides, he’s at the police station in town.”
“No, he returned in the Renault one hour ago. Miriamu told me.”
“The police let him go?” Jess glanced around, instantly wary. She had assured herself the artist had been killed by someone who had a motive tied directly to him—and who would not be interested in coming after her. But she still felt uncomfortable. Had the death of Dr. bin Yusuf resolved the killer’s problem and assuaged his rage? Or would he . . . or she . . . feel compelled to strike again?
“Miriamu told me the police could find no reason to arrest Solomon at this time,” Hannah said. “He has returned to Uchungu House while the police continue their investigation.”
“Do you think we’re safe here, Mama Hannah? If anything happened to Splinter . . . or to you. . . . Maybe we should move to a hotel in town. With so many people around, we’d be safer.”
“‘The Lord is my light and my salvation—so why should I be afraid? The Lord protects me from danger—so why should I tremble?’”
“Sounds good, but even David ran for his life when Saul was chasing after him. Remember the psalm? ‘O Lord, how long will you forget me? Forever? How long will you look the other way?’”
“Ehh, you have not forgotten the Word of the Lord!” Hannah beamed. “I believed that perhaps the root of bitterness had eaten too deeply into your heart.”
Jess leaned against an arched verandah support and stared up at the palm trees swaying in the afternoon breeze. Again, she found herself fighting a lump in her throat. It was an odd feeling. How many years had it been since she had allowed herself to cry? How many years since she had swallowed the ache and forced herself to feel nothing?
“This morning when we were sitting on the cliff-side steps, Rick asked me to forgive him,” she said. Her voice was barely audible over the murmur of the palm leaves. “I don’t want to.”
“Ehh.”
“Would you , Mama Hannah? I mean, I’ll admit I played a part in the fiasco of our marriage. I was young and unrealistic. I expected Rick to conform to my image of the perfect husband. I pushed him too hard, and I was impatient with the struggles he was going through. I’d fallen in love with him for his wildness, for that rebel streak that made him do crazy things. But once we married, I wanted him to settle down and act like a responsible husband.”
“You wished to change him. You forgot that only God can change a man.”
“I made a mistake, and I acknowledge that. But I wasn’t the one who drank beer until three in the morning. I wasn’t the one who rode around on a motorcycle and spent nearly every waking hour scuba diving. And I wasn’t the one who took off and left a pregnant wife.”
She crossed her arms and glared out at a bougainvillea bush loaded with purple blossoms. Just the mention of what she had been through made anger eat at her insides. She could feel it gnawing. She could feel the pain as though it had all just happened.
“I don’t see how I can forgive Rick for what he did,” she said. “I just can’t.”
“God can do what men cannot, toto .”
“God’s got his work cut out for him if I’m supposed to forgive Rick McTaggart. Just the sight of the man makes me sick. I hate him, Mama Hannah. I really do.”
The old woman ran her dark fingers over the green
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