backyard.
“You boys go back to your mischief,” Deputy Arnold called. “We’re not here to talk to you. Jack, Detective Johanson has some questions.”
Jack sighed. “All right. I got nothing to hide.”
Christy searched his eyes. He met her gaze briefly, then looked away. She kissed him on the cheek, then headed back to her car. A peek in her visor mirror showed wild blue eyes and flushed cheeks.
As she drove home, she glanced across at the service station on the corner. She spotted a woman deep in conversation, unaware that gas was flowing out of her tank.
That’s how I feel
, she thought,
like fear is rolling up and spilling over
. Fear pumped by frustration and worry. She knew Jack well—well, in fact, that it would have been out of character for him to leave Bobbie that night, his emotions churning, and drive straight home and go to bed. Either he would have wanted to talk about his big evening with J.T., who might have been at Cora Lees house, or he would have stopped off at some late-night gathering place to have a relaxer and ponder his evening.
What if he had seen Eddie either coming out of the motel or going into it? He might have wanted to hurt him, but the last thing he would do is kill him and leave him in Bobbies storage unit. What if they hadn’t planned to leave him there? What if he was merely stashed there until he could be moved to a better place?
Christy massaged her forehead. Why was she thinking such crazy thoughts? She couldn’t believe that her brain was actually concocting such a theory. She felt ashamed of herself, as though she had betrayed both her aunt and the man she loved like a father.
And speaking of fathers…she was approaching the community church, its tall bell steeple inviting all who were weary or heavy laden to come for rest. A lighthouse had once dominated the narrow stripof land that jutted into the Gulf, but several years ago a tornado had swept through, destroying most of the lighthouse. The remnants were then torn down, and the stretch of land cleaned up. The community decided they needed a church and worked together to build one. A simple white clapboard church now offered a beacon of hope to replace the lighthouse.
She turned on her left blinker and swung into the driveway. She spotted her dad’s car, along with Martha Ann’s gray compact. Martha Ann had to be the most dependable church secretary on the face of the earth. She never missed work, although she suffered from allergies and arthritis. Her devotion to Pastor Grant Castleman lined up directly behind her husband of thirty-six years.
“Hi,” Christy said as she breezed past Martha Ann. “Is anyone with him?”
“No. Mr. Hayward just left. You know his wife…” Martha Ann’s voice faded, her eyes sadly conveying the condition of Mrs. Hayward.
Christy nodded and hurried on.
Grant Castleman hung up the phone just as she entered, and he turned worried eyes to her. “Where have you been? Your mother has called your house, your cell phone, Bobbie’s cell phone—” He picked up his phone and punched an extension. “Martha Ann, hold my calls, please.”
Before Christy could answer, he continued. “Earlier, I got a phone call from Ed Bailey—you know Ed, one of our deacons. He has a unit out at Hornsby’s and was unloading a chest when the police arrived. He heard that Bobbie’s ex—Eddie Bodine—wasfound in Bobbies unit.” His forehead rumpled in a worried frown. “I assume that’s why you’re here.”
“One of the reasons.” She sank into the chair opposite his desk. “Bobbie was giving a demonstration at the Red Hat meeting when Deputy Arnold interrupted and called us outside. He took her down to headquarters for questioning in the death of Eddie Bodine. I followed them downtown and then brought her back to my house. She’s lying down now.”
A lump that felt as big as a fist clogged her throat. She fought tears. “She didn’t do it, Dad. We just don’t know why someone is
“You boys go back to your mischief,” Deputy Arnold called. “We’re not here to talk to you. Jack, Detective Johanson has some questions.”
Jack sighed. “All right. I got nothing to hide.”
Christy searched his eyes. He met her gaze briefly, then looked away. She kissed him on the cheek, then headed back to her car. A peek in her visor mirror showed wild blue eyes and flushed cheeks.
As she drove home, she glanced across at the service station on the corner. She spotted a woman deep in conversation, unaware that gas was flowing out of her tank.
That’s how I feel
, she thought,
like fear is rolling up and spilling over
. Fear pumped by frustration and worry. She knew Jack well—well, in fact, that it would have been out of character for him to leave Bobbie that night, his emotions churning, and drive straight home and go to bed. Either he would have wanted to talk about his big evening with J.T., who might have been at Cora Lees house, or he would have stopped off at some late-night gathering place to have a relaxer and ponder his evening.
What if he had seen Eddie either coming out of the motel or going into it? He might have wanted to hurt him, but the last thing he would do is kill him and leave him in Bobbies storage unit. What if they hadn’t planned to leave him there? What if he was merely stashed there until he could be moved to a better place?
Christy massaged her forehead. Why was she thinking such crazy thoughts? She couldn’t believe that her brain was actually concocting such a theory. She felt ashamed of herself, as though she had betrayed both her aunt and the man she loved like a father.
And speaking of fathers…she was approaching the community church, its tall bell steeple inviting all who were weary or heavy laden to come for rest. A lighthouse had once dominated the narrow stripof land that jutted into the Gulf, but several years ago a tornado had swept through, destroying most of the lighthouse. The remnants were then torn down, and the stretch of land cleaned up. The community decided they needed a church and worked together to build one. A simple white clapboard church now offered a beacon of hope to replace the lighthouse.
She turned on her left blinker and swung into the driveway. She spotted her dad’s car, along with Martha Ann’s gray compact. Martha Ann had to be the most dependable church secretary on the face of the earth. She never missed work, although she suffered from allergies and arthritis. Her devotion to Pastor Grant Castleman lined up directly behind her husband of thirty-six years.
“Hi,” Christy said as she breezed past Martha Ann. “Is anyone with him?”
“No. Mr. Hayward just left. You know his wife…” Martha Ann’s voice faded, her eyes sadly conveying the condition of Mrs. Hayward.
Christy nodded and hurried on.
Grant Castleman hung up the phone just as she entered, and he turned worried eyes to her. “Where have you been? Your mother has called your house, your cell phone, Bobbie’s cell phone—” He picked up his phone and punched an extension. “Martha Ann, hold my calls, please.”
Before Christy could answer, he continued. “Earlier, I got a phone call from Ed Bailey—you know Ed, one of our deacons. He has a unit out at Hornsby’s and was unloading a chest when the police arrived. He heard that Bobbie’s ex—Eddie Bodine—wasfound in Bobbies unit.” His forehead rumpled in a worried frown. “I assume that’s why you’re here.”
“One of the reasons.” She sank into the chair opposite his desk. “Bobbie was giving a demonstration at the Red Hat meeting when Deputy Arnold interrupted and called us outside. He took her down to headquarters for questioning in the death of Eddie Bodine. I followed them downtown and then brought her back to my house. She’s lying down now.”
A lump that felt as big as a fist clogged her throat. She fought tears. “She didn’t do it, Dad. We just don’t know why someone is
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