Rising Darkness (4 page)

Even though I felt encouraged, the more I thought about the task in front of me, the more I began to wonder if this was a fool's errand. I could understand Chase hiding out for a while in a small town, but with the money from the robbery, why would he stay? He couldn't spend very much of his ill-gotten gains in Sanctuary. It was possible he'd left town years ago. If so, my only hope would be to track him from here. Try to figure out where he went after leaving Sanctuary. Hopefully,
the records not only recorded new residents but also made note of the people who'd moved away. If they didn't, my job would be a little tougher.

I glanced at the clock on a small table near the door. Five-twenty. I only had forty minutes until dinner. From here on out, I'd have to stay in character. I was Emily McClure—illegitimate granddaughter of Clara Byler. Would it be difficult to concentrate on one false story while trying to investigate something entirely different? I'd picked Clara because she didn't actually live in Sanctuary as an adult. I'd figured it would be easier to fool people with someone not so connected to the town, but after meeting Esther, I was a little nervous. Would I really be able to pull this off?

I was just starting to unpack when my phone rang. I grabbed it out of my purse and looked at the number. Kansas. When I answered, I received a recording that an inmate from El Dorado was trying to reach me. I accepted the call. After a few seconds, I heard Tom's voice on the line.

“Sophie, are you there?” he asked.

“I'm here, Tom. What's going on?”

He spoke in such hushed tones, I could barely hear him. “You've got to help me, Sophie.”

I could hear the anxiousness in his voice. “Has something happened?”

“Yeah. Someone seems very interested in your visit. I think I'm in real trouble here.”

Had I actually put Tom in danger? How could that be? “Tom, are you sure?”

“It's not my imagination. Please help me before things . . . get out of hand.”

“Isn't there someone there you can go to for help? What about your guard friend?”

“No, he can't help me, and I can't get to the warden.”

“Okay. Maybe I should call the warden's office. See what I can do to get you some protection.”

There was silence for a moment. “Maybe they'll listen to you since you work for a newspaper.”

Or maybe not. Either way, I felt I had to try to help him. “Look, you stay safe, and I'll see what I can do.”

“Sophie, whatever you do, don't—”

There was a sudden
click
, and I realized we'd been disconnected. I put my phone away and wondered what to do next. What if he was just overreacting? It wasn't as if Chase was locked up in El Dorado. The robbery had occurred so long ago, there wasn't any reason to think Chase had friends who were concerned about protecting him. Tom had mentioned people wanting the money from the robbery. But that was a long shot after all these years.

After thinking it through, I came to the conclusion that whatever was going on probably had nothing to do with Terrance Chase. Regardless, I'd promised Tom I'd try to help him, and I would. Since it was after five, I'd call the prison in the morning. At least I could ask someone in the warden's office to keep an eye on Tom. I probably wouldn't mention the paper since I didn't want to get in trouble for misrepresenting them—or me. But I'd feel better knowing someone in a position of authority was aware one of their inmates felt concerned for his safety.

I finished putting away my clothes, and then I brushed my hair, checked my makeup, and headed downstairs. As I walked
down, an odd feeling of unrest washed over me. Probably due to this town and Tom's call. But I couldn't shake the sensation that something was wrong. It was as if an alarm bell were ringing somewhere inside me, but I couldn't figure out what the warning meant.

“More chicken?”

Esther's fried chicken was a temptation, but after losing almost eighty pounds, I was very careful about what I ate. “Thanks, but I'm full.” I patted my stomach. “It's wonderful, though. The best I've had since . . .” I'd almost mentioned Kingdom. Lizzie Housler, who ran a restaurant in the small town, made the best fried chicken I'd ever tasted. However, Esther's was a close second.

“Since when, dear?” Esther asked.

“Since my mother's,” I lied. My mother had been a terrible cook. When she prepared a meal, it was usually something from a can. And it tasted like it.

“Would you tell me more about your mother? And how you found out about your grandmother?”

I'd prepared myself to handle questions like that, but reciting my false story to Esther was more difficult than I'd anticipated. Esther was a kind woman, and lying to her made me feel ashamed. I quickly ran through the rehearsed narrative—
my mother had no idea she was adopted until her mother died and her father went into a nursing home. As she was cleaning out their house, she found the adoption papers in a small safe in her parents' closet. Although she wasn't in a position to search for her birth mother, she gave me the information. And now I'd come here to learn more about my biological family.

“Don't get me wrong,” I said. “I had a very happy childhood, and I'm not judging Clara—or her family. I'd just like to know more about them. I wonder if I have any other relatives somewhere.”

Esther shook her head. “No. The sisters were the only remaining members of their family. Both parents were only children, and it seems your mother was the only child born to any of the sisters. I'm sorry.”

“That's too bad,” I answered, even though I'd already known those things. “But as I said, I feel blessed to have been raised by a wonderful mother and father.”

Esther handed me a bowl of green beans, and even though I'd declared I was full, I helped myself to another small serving. They were delicious, cooked with bacon and onions.

“And where are your parents?” she asked.

“They're doctors, working in Africa.”

Actually, I felt rather proud of my concocted tale. No way to contact my supposed parents. No way to confirm my birth through other Byler family members. I felt pretty confident no one could poke a hole in my story.

“A noble cause,” Esther said. “And what is it you want to know about Miriam? And Clara, your grandmother?”

I put down my fork and took a deep breath. “I guess I just want to know what kind of people they were.”

Esther nodded. “Well, Miriam was a dear friend. Very kind. She loved people, and she would have loved you. She was also a very honest person. As I told you, I am very surprised she never mentioned you. Even if there was some shame associated with having a baby and not being married, I am surprised Miriam felt embarrassed to tell me about it.”

“Perhaps Clara asked her sister to keep her secret. Was Miriam the kind of woman who would take a promise to her sister very seriously?”

Esther appeared to turn this over in her mind. Finally, she said, “Yes, I guess most sisters would protect each other's secrets. That might explain it.”

She smiled at me, and I breathed an inward sigh of relief. It looked as if my cover story would hold up just fine.

“Thank you, Emily,” she said. “Miriam's friendship meant a great deal to me. If I really believed she could not trust me with something so important in her life, it would cause me pain. But as you say, a promise to a sister is sacred.”

“I'm sorry, Esther. My intent isn't to hurt you.”

“It is not you, my child. You appear to be the innocent one in this situation.”

My tenacity took a serious hit as guilt coursed through me. Suddenly, Esther's delicious dinner felt like rocks in my stomach. Here she'd opened her home to me, offered me her food, and I was using her for my own advantage. I quickly corrected my thinking. If I wanted to be an investigative reporter and write stories about crime, I had to have some backbone. Be willing to deceive people for the information I needed. It was part of the job. I pushed away any feelings of remorse. It
was time to steer the conversation toward my real interests. I wanted to learn more about Sanctuary.

“Esther, I'd really like to know more about you—and this town. It's such a lovely place.”

She took a sip from her glass of tea and nodded at me. “Of course. Why don't we do that over coffee and cake?”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

As I helped her carry the dishes from the table, I was able to see her kitchen. All in all, it was an average kitchen. It could have used a little updating, but it was warm and inviting. There were wooden cabinets painted a faded cornflower blue and old linoleum counters that testified to a lot of use over the years. A colorful rag rug lay in front of the sink. The most striking thing in the room was the old stove. It was huge—gas burners on top and two big doors on the front. It looked well used and had probably watched generations of Esther's family come and go. On one side of the room was a wooden table with four chairs. It appeared to be handmade and had been painted the same blue as the cabinets. It was covered with a navy-blue-and-white-checked vinyl tablecloth. A wooden napkin holder with a rooster painted on one side sat next to two old jadeite salt and pepper shakers. Esther opened her cabinet door and took out two jadeite coffee cups. Once I left Kingdom, I'd been surprised to find out that jadeite was highly collectible. It was common in my old hometown. I wondered if Esther knew or cared about the value of her dishes. Probably not.

Once the food was put away, she cut two large pieces of chocolate cake and carried them into her comfortable living room. She was almost to the coffee table when Clyde suddenly jumped out from under the couch and ran between her feet.

Esther scolded him. “See what I mean? You must be careful. Especially on the stairs. That bad, bad cat.”

Clyde dashed across the room and bounded up the stairs. To him this was obviously a fun game, and it amused him that his antics got so much attention.

“I will fetch the coffee. Cake cannot be eaten without coffee.”

“Sounds great. Let me help you—”

She shook her head. “No. You stay here. You look weary. How do you like your coffee?”

For some reason, the words
from Starbucks
jumped into my mind, making me want to laugh, but I kept a straight face and said, “Black is fine.”

Ever since moving to St. Louis, I'd worked to purge Kingdom from my life. Even in regard to my coffee. Most Kingdom residents would be horrified to hear that anyone would buy flavored coffee at prices they would consider extravagant. But every day before work, my first stop was the Starbucks next door to the newspaper office. I really missed my morning Cinnamon Dolce Latte.

While Esther went to get our coffee, I looked around her simple but cozy living room. The furniture was old but made with care. The couch had large, carved wooden legs shaped like balls. Although I was certain it had been re-covered many times, the couch was currently encased in a navy brocade with light white and gold flowers. It was easy to see that blue was Esther's favorite color. Her coffee table was mahogany with claw-foot legs and carvings around the sides. The windows were covered with sheer white curtains, and on the floor was a gorgeous azure and white Victorian hooked rug. It was obviously old, and a little faded, but its beauty was still evident.
The rug covered polished parquet floors. Nothing in the room was new, but everything was clean and neat.

It was so different from our dirty, unkempt house in Kingdom. I'd tried to keep it clean, but my parents were so messy, eventually I gave up. I shuddered as I remembered old food, dirty dishes, sticky floors, filthy clothes, and stacks of papers piled up in every corner, a monument to my parents' lack of respect for themselves—or me. The church had tried to help them more than once, sending people by to clean and repair our dilapidated house, but my parents didn't appreciate it. They expected charity and got angry if someone didn't come over every week to assist them in some way. Finally, frustrated with all their excuses, the church backed off. For my sake, however, every once in a while a group of church women would come by and clean. And if our neighbors noticed a serious problem with the house, they would stop by and take care of it, often without asking for permission. I never heard my parents thank anyone. It was true they weren't in the best health, but they were capable of keeping themselves and their home tidy. They just didn't want to. Since I'd left Kingdom, I'd become almost obsessed with cleanliness. I couldn't relax unless my apartment was spotless. I'd suffered through a severe case of the flu a few months ago, but even then, I couldn't sleep unless the dishes were done and everything was clean and in its place.

“Here we are.” Esther toddled into the room with two cups and saucers in her hands. I jumped up and took one from her.

“Thank you.” Even though I missed my usual latte, I had to admit that Esther's coffee smelled great. A small sip confirmed it. Rich and robust, it was delicious. It reminded me of the
only thing my mother had ever made that wasn't a disaster. Coffee. She'd known how to make great coffee. However, finding a clean cup to put it in was another thing.

“So you want to know more about Sanctuary,” Esther said after she sank down onto her couch. I sat across from her in a comfortable overstuffed chair. The coffee table was between us, and I put my cup down on a coaster, next to my cake plate.

“Yes. How long have you lived here, Esther?”

Her eyes took on a faraway look as she considered my question. “I came here as a small child. My parents and I lived on a farm just a little ways outside of town. They died a long time ago. When I married, my husband bought this house. We raised our children, Rebecca and Benjamin, right here. My husband is gone now, too, and my children have moved away. They have their own lives. Unfortunately, I don't get to see them very often.”

“I suppose most of the people who live in Kingdom now were born here?”

“Most of them, yes. But we also have some residents who moved here more recently.” She smiled at me. “We do not try to keep people out, Emily.”

“The town seems . . . peaceful. What if someone wanted to, I don't know, open a liquor store in Sanctuary?”

“Again you remind me so much of my Emily. She once asked the same question.” Her expression became more serious. “They would not find a place to put their business. There are not many vacant buildings in Sanctuary, and any that exist are either owned by a resident or by one of the churches.”

That told me that even though this wasn't Kingdom, where people needed permission to join the town, in Sanctuary pro
spective residents were probably checked out rather carefully. If Chase had been here, he must not have raised any red flags.

“Pastor Troyer told me there are records at the church that track the people who have lived in Sanctuary. Surely they don't include everyone. That would be quite a task.”

Esther took a sip of her coffee. “It is not that difficult in a town this size. Tell me, are you thinking about Miriam or someone else?”

I almost choked on Esther's chocolate cake. Before I could come up with an answer, there was a knock on the front door, giving me time to regroup. I was moving too fast. If I didn't backtrack, I might make Esther suspicious. And I needed her on my side.

She excused herself and went to the front door. I heard her ask someone to come inside. A middle-aged woman stepped through the door. She was dressed in black slacks and a deep purple blouse. Obviously not a Conservative Mennonite.

“Emily, this is my friend Janet Dowell,” Esther said. “She lives next door.”

As I stood up, Janet walked over and extended her hand. “I'm so glad to meet you,” she said. “Esther adores company. I'm sure she's thrilled you're staying with her.”

I shook her hand. “I hope so. I'll do my best not to be a bother.”

Janet was a lovely woman with blond hair, blue eyes, and a joyful smile. She instantly seemed like someone I'd like to know better. Unfortunately, I wasn't here to make friends.

“Esther isn't bothered by people,” she said. “She loves everyone.”

Esther laughed. “You are embarrassing me, dear friend. I am afraid I cannot live up to your wonderful words.”

Janet grinned at her. “You more than live up to them.” She looked over at me. “I'm so sorry to interrupt, but we're planning a church supper Saturday, and we need Esther to bring a couple of her incredible pies.” She swung her gaze back to the elderly woman. “Do you have time to do a little baking for us?”

Esther's eyes sparkled. “I would love to. I also have some apple butter I put up last season, and it needs to be eaten. May I bring that, as well?”