Dead Giveaway

'I didn't know that. By the way, is the pastor feeling better?' I was feeling a tad guilty about playing up to folks I didn't exactly like.

'He is better. You had no way of knowing what an emotional man he is, always has been. He's off to practice his sermon, so no harm done.'

'Would you have time for a few questions now rather than later?'

She lowered onto the edge of a chair. 'If Lawrence needs our help, of course. Though I'm not sure what I can offer.'

I sat opposite her. 'You met with the young people in his group every week, right?'

She nodded.

'Did Lawrence have a special attachment to anyone?'

Noreen Rankin smiled knowingly. 'You mean was there a teenage romance going on? I can't speak to that, but you know adolescents. They wouldn't share that information with me. During our meetings we focused on our purpose, which was for those young people to become generous, God-loving adults who'd become assets to their church home. We read the Bible, we discussed the Bible. Anything that went on between them that didn't involve God stayed outside of our meetings.'

'I was hoping that since Lawrence was the only African-American in your group at the time, maybe you could recall a little more about him than the others.'

'I wish that were so, but Andrew and I both had such a difficult time that year. We thought surely Sara would be safe on that mission trip and—' She bit her lip, took a deep breath. 'Anyway, perhaps if you can get in touch with someone in Lawrence's group, they could better help you.'

'If I knew who they were. I need more information. Can I spend a little more time in here?'

She licked her glossed lips, thought for a second. 'Our library is open to everyone, but we do have our church historical society meeting here in about... ' She checked the thin silver watch on her wrist. 'Oh, my goodness. They'll be here any second and B.J. hasn't set up the chairs. Would you mind returning? Say, tomorrow?'

I stood. 'Sure. Thanks so much for your help. Let me put this book away before I go.'

'B.J. will take care of it.' She gave me another one of her clutching handshakes and gleaming smiles. She really was attractive and warm and all the things you'd expect of a pastor's wife, but she reminded me too much of Aunt Caroline and her rich friends. I was not feeling the love, but then maybe that was because I was so focused on getting what I needed.

At least I have one picture, I thought, as I walked out to the parking lot. With my luck, the library would probably be ransacked tonight and every single thing related to Lawrence Washington would be gone when I came back.

When I started to pull out onto the freeway feeder road, a church van was just driving in. The woman made a wide turn and nearly hit my front fender. She offered an apologetic wave as she steered right and drove into the lot. I noticed in the rearview mirror that the van was wheelchair-equipped, and I thought of Thaddeus. He could use wheelchair-equipped anything, and I might have to do something about it.

19

On my way home, I decided I had to face Joelle with the news about the break-in and the stolen files. This wasn't something I could do over the phone, and now was as bad a time as any. I called first to make sure she was home, and she sounded so excited to hear from me, I felt even more guilty about losing the files. I also made a call to Will's mother and updated her, told her I had spoken to Will and what I had learned so far. Mrs. Knight's concern was for Will and how he was handling this news, but she told me she was still behind him one hundred percent. If he wanted me to continue my work, then that's what I should do. Her commitment shored me up for the unpleasant task ahead.

I drove on to Joelle Simpson's, and she welcomed me wearing baggy jeans and an oversize cotton shirt. If she paid a little attention to her appearance—kept her hair dyed, wore clothes that fit—Joelle would be a pretty woman. Perhaps in her mind she was still married to Frank and being frumpy was a way to protect her relationship with her dead husband by keeping any interested male at bay.

If dressing down didn't work, a house filled with grief-filled photographs sure could scare suitors away. This time a shiver climbed my spine as I walked that hallway to her living room and passed those haunting photographs. She offered iced tea and I refused. I needed to get this over with.

Once we were seated, her on the couch and me in a worn recliner that I realized too late had probably belonged to Frank, I said, 'I hate to tell you this, but someone stole the file you loaned me.'

She tilted her head, her face expressionless. 'Really?'

'Yes. I feel so stupid for not taking better care of it. I should have locked it up or something before—'

'But that's wonderful.' She smiled.

I was so stunned by her response I couldn't speak for a second. 'You don't have a sarcastic bone in your body, so I assume you're serious.'

'Don't you see, Abby? That means Frank was right. Lawrence Washington was innocent. Why else would someone want that file? This would have meant so much to Frank.'

She might be making a leap in logic—or more like faith—but it did make sense, in a way. 'I'm relieved you're not mad about me losing the files.'

'They were stolen, not lost. That's a huge difference.'

Will had said the same thing, and as the weight of guilt lifted from my shoulders, I smiled. 'You don't have to make me feel better.'

'I'm not, Abby. What would I do with the file if you brought it back? Believe me, I have plenty more things in this house that need to go. I feel like I can't move on until I've finished what Frank so desperately wanted after he retired. Even in death, if he helps to right one wrong, then his obsession with those old cases was worth it. I believe you are an angel sent to help him rest in peace.'

First golden lights and now I was an angel? What was I missing when I looked in the mirror? 'You are one of the kindest people I've ever met, Joelle. Thank you. Was there anything else Frank kept besides the files? Because even though I only had one real run-through on the information, I've learned he might have missed something—and that doesn't seem like him.' I was thinking of the girlfriend angle that Frank apparently had failed to uncover.

She sat back against the cushions. 'As I'm sure you've figured out, Frank wasn't the most organized soul in the universe. Maybe we should check the attic? Before he went back to San Francisco after the funeral, our son hauled plenty of boxes up there. I'm not sure what was in them and I don't go up to the attic. Pull-down stairs are hard to climb when you get past fifty.'

So I was the one who climbed the pull-down stairs, my second climb in search of evidence today. It was hot and dirty up there, and I was dressed in a skirt and blouse. Not exactly attic attire. At least I hadn't been stupid enough to wear hose.

I removed my clogs to better navigate plywood and beams, and started my search. I found lots of old soccer and baseball equipment, a three-speed bike, a disassembled crib and plenty of clothes in plastic bags. I bypassed bolts of material, an old sewing machine, photography magazines, stacked police journals and Christmas ornaments while balancing my way to the cardboard file boxes I'd spotted in a far corner. The boxes weren't marked, but that was to be expected from Frank. The first few I opened held slides and photos damaged by years in the heat of a Houston attic. Nothing police-related. Looked like the beginning attempts at Frank's photography hobby.

I moved these aside and opened the last box. When I did, I discovered my trip to this corner had been worth it. Inside were evidence envelopes from HPD. The first one made me wince when I looked inside. It was marked 'Rape-Murder, Jane Doe #2' and held a box cutter. I decided not to check any of the others unless they were marked AMANDA MASON. Close to the bottom of the box I did find that Mason envelope, and inside was a bullet.

Yes. Pay dirt.

I'd been resting on my already sore knees and nearly slipped in my haste to get up, but I finally navigated my way back to the ladder, grabbed my clogs and was soon in the nice, cool hallway.