Last Chance for Justice, page 6
She risked a glance at Rachel, just in time to see her shrug.
“It’s a small town, Mom,” she pointed out, still focused on the paper. “The rest of your observations are redundant. We’re news because there isn’t much else going on. We missed the Spring Fling by a few months, so everyone’s looking for news, and it seems like we’re it.”
Lynn knew her daughter was right. Still, she wished the town folks weren’t making such a big deal about their being there. In a matter of days, a week or so at most, they’d be gone again.
Wouldn’t they?
Of course we will, she reassured herself. Just because Rachel has taken some quaint, romanticized interest in this version of small-town America doesn’t mean we’re moving back here. She nearly shuddered at the thought. Leave our perfectly good home to live in Myron’s monstrosity? Ridiculous.
She pulled into said monstrosity’s driveway just in time to see Jason skulking around the corner toward the cemetery entrance. One of the chairs on the porch rocked slightly. Had a breeze come up and stirred it, or had the groundskeeper been sitting there, watching and waiting for them? Since the other two chairs sat perfectly still, she imagined it was the latter.
She also imagined Myron had encouraged or at least accepted Jason’s familiarity with the property, even though technically he was a caretaker for the cemetery only. She knew now that whoever ended up living in the house would have to put up with Jason’s hanging around, and that would cause a problem when she went to sell it . . . which she assured herself she would do at the first possible chance. Rachel would simply have to accept it. Besides, what sort of future opportunities could her college-grad daughter expect to find in a place like Bloomfield? Lynn and Daniel hadn’t sacrificed to send their only child to Bible college just so she could get a job at a local diner or drugstore. No, indeed they had not. Surely God had grander plans for Rachel than that, and Lynn would do whatever she could to see that her beloved daughter fulfilled them.
“How about if I make some tuna sandwiches?” Rachel offered as she climbed out of the car. “We can sit outside and eat them on the porch.”
Lynn had to admit that sounded like an excellent idea. The day couldn’t be lovelier, with a clear blue sky overhead and the temperature hovering in the upper seventies. Though Bloomfield occasionally had an extremely hot day or two in the summer and a brief cold snap in the winter, for the most part the weather was ideal. And today was certainly no exception.
“That sounds wonderful,” Lynn said. “I set a big jar of sun tea outside before we left this morning. It’s no doubt ready by now. I’ll get that while you make the sandwiches.”
In less than fifteen minutes they were settled into their rockers, their tea in frosty glasses on the small wrought iron table between them, and their sandwiches on paper plates in their laps. After greeting them excitedly upon their return, Beasley now snoozed contentedly in the noonday sun, just a few feet away. Lynn had to admit to feeling the first nostalgic tugs at her heart as memories of growing up in this cozy little town danced through her mind.
It’s not the same, though, she reminded herself. Mom and Dad are gone, and so is Myron. I hardly know anyone anymore. I haven’t been in touch with my childhood friends in years, other than an occasional wave as I passed them on one of my infrequent visits—and that’s been years ago now. I always meant to stay connected with them, but life just got in the way somehow.
She imagined it was the same for her Bloomfield friends. Did they even remember her after all these years, or care what went on in her life? And if they did, were their memories positive—or did they still think she had made a terrible mistake by leaving Bloomfield behind thirty-five years earlier? She shook her head. Even if she did decide to sell the other house and stay here—which she wasn’t about to do—how would she ever go about reconnecting with the town’s residents and changing their opinion of her? At best, she’d be as much an outsider as someone who showed up here for the first time. No, moving back to Bloomfield simply wasn’t an option.
“Mom?”
Her daughter’s voice snagged Lynn’s attention and pulled her back to her late brother’s front porch. She turned to Rachel and smiled. “Yes, dear? I’m sorry. I was daydreaming a bit.”
Rachel nodded. “It’s a perfect day for it.” She paused then and set the last few bites of her sandwich on her plate before looking back at Lynn, her green eyes serious. “We haven’t gone out to the cemetery to pay our respects at Uncle Myron’s grave yet. Do you think we should?”
Lynn raised her eyebrows. She had said she would, and she knew it was the right thing to do, though everything in her resisted the thought. She still felt a bit hurt that no one had contacted her immediately when Myron died so she could arrange for the services. Then again, at his request there had been none, and Chuck Harrison had pointed out in Myron’s will that he specifically requested Lynn not be notified for at least two or three weeks simply so she could not push for a service he didn’t want. It was the way he had requested it, and his lawyer had honored his wishes. On the other hand, if she’d been more attentive to her brother over the years, perhaps things would have been handled differently. And, of course, if she’d stayed in touch with some of her former Bloomfield friends, one of them might have alerted her to Myron’s passing.
But several weeks had passed now since Myron’s death, and the lawyer had assured her that the headstone had been put in place just before she arrived. She could think of no reason to put off saying their final good-byes any longer.
She nodded. “You’re right. As soon as we finish lunch, let’s head out there and find Myron’s plot. Chuck said it would be fairly near the back side of the house, rather than in the newer section with the other freshly dug graves or even near Dad and Mom’s plots. Apparently Myron wanted to be buried as close to his home as possible.”
“Should we take some flowers?”
Lynn frowned. She wished they’d thought of it while they were in town. She knew there were at least two florist shops in Bloomfield. But they were back home now, and she didn’t feel like driving into town again to buy a bouquet or plant. She glanced around the property and considered another option. “Maybe we could put together a decent arrangement of wild flowers. There are plenty of them scattered around the place, and it’s what Myron would have preferred anyway.”
Rachel readily agreed. They finished the last of their lunch and carried their paper plates and glasses into the kitchen. With Beasley pacing between them and sniffing at every leaf or blade of grass along the way, they set about picking flowers for their bouquet. Lynn still wasn’t sure why she experienced such apprehension about their outing; after all, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been to this cemetery before. Her parents were buried there, as well as her grandparents on both her maternal and paternal side. She should no doubt stop at their graves as well. But Myron . . .
Was it because he was the last member of her family? Or did it have something to do with the fact that she felt guilty over not having paid more attention to him, made more of an effort to cultivate a closer relationship? Whatever the reason, she felt as if she’d opened a Pandora’s Box—and everyone knew such a thing could only produce all sorts of unwelcome surprises.
It didn’t take long to locate Myron’s grave. It was the only one that still had that freshly-dug appearance amidst the immediately surrounding ones that had obviously been there for years. Lynn and Rachel had left Beasley snoozing in the house, deciding it would be easier than trying to watch him and make sure he didn’t attempt to start digging. Still, they’d have to keep a close eye on him while they were here. Beasley had never spent any time at a cemetery and was completely unaware of accepted protocol.
She pushed thoughts of Beasley from her mind as she stood over her brother’s grave. “Myron Nelson Cofield,” Lynn read aloud, her head bowed as she stared down at the simple headstone. “Beloved son, brother, and uncle.” Lynn raised her head to peer at her daughter. “I’m glad it says that. It’s important for people to know that, despite the fact that he was a recluse, he was loved by his family.”
Rachel nodded. “I wish I’d known him better,” she said without looking up.
A pang of guilt stabbed Lynn’s heart. It had been her responsibility to ensure that her only child and only sibling get to know one another and have a good relationship. But she’d allowed herself to become too busy to pay attention to the things that really mattered, and right now she didn’t feel too proud of herself. “I wish you had too. But that’s my fault, not yours.”
Rachel, cradling the bouquet in one hand, reached out with the other and laid it on Lynn’s arm. “It’s no one’s fault. It just happened, that’s all.”
Lynn nodded, wishing she could believe her, but she knew better.
“Tell me about him,” Rachel said.
Lynn looked at her again, but her daughter’s head was bowed as she contemplated her uncle’s headstone. “He was a wonderful big brother,” Lynn said at last. “Quiet, reserved, but generous. Always looking out for me. And he lived at home until he was in his late thirties. I left home ahead of him, for that matter, even though he was fifteen years older than me. But then he met Roxanne, a real beauty who moved into town and knocked him right off his feet. When she agreed to marry him, everyone said he was like a new man. His feelings ran deep—always did. When Roxanne changed her mind and moved back to where she came from, Myron was devastated. I don’t think he ever got over it.” She glanced around the cemetery and toward the house before returning her attention to Rachel. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. “Apparently, he just didn’t feel like he wanted to stay at home with Mom and Dad after that, and so he ended up here.”
Rachel remained silent for a moment, and then she knelt down and laid the flowers on the grave, just below Myron’s headstone. “Goodbye, Uncle Myron. I look forward to getting to know you better in heaven one day.”
The tears pushed out from Lynn’s eyes onto her cheeks then, but before she could speak, she sensed they were no longer alone. Lifting her head, she spotted Jason standing just a few yards from them. The look on his face told her he’d overheard their last exchange.
“A good man,” he said, nodding as he squinted at them.
Rachel’s head tilted upward as she too became aware of the man’s presence.
“A good man and a good friend,” Jason said. He took a step toward them. “Just ask Last Chance. Myron was the best friend Last Chance ever had—even though they hardly knew each other—only met a few times when Myron was just a kid, not long before Last Chance died. Myron always wanted to help him, but then he died too. And now . . .” Jason shook his head. “That’s why you have to stay, you know. To finish the job. All I could do was bury ’em side by side, like Myron asked. Can’t do nothin’ to finish what your brother started. It’s not my job.”
He took another step in their direction, and Lynn felt herself draw back, even as Rachel rose from her knees to slip an arm around her mother’s waist.
“It’s up to you now,” Jason said. “‘If somethin’ happens to me before I solve the mystery about Last Chance, tell my sister to help him.’ That’s what Myron told me before he passed on. So I’m tellin’ you, just like he asked me to.” He pointed toward an old grave directly to the right of Myron’s. “There he lays, right next to your brother. Last Chance and Myron, just waitin’ to see if you’ll do the right thing.”
The lazy caw of a circling crow split the silence as the three of them stared at each other. At last, Lynn found her voice. “And just what is the right thing?” Lynn asked, annoyed with the slight tremble that crept into her words. “What sort of unfinished business did my brother leave behind?”
Jason’s smile resembled a slow sneer as he cackled. “That’s for me to know and you to find out, ain’t it?” With that, he turned and began to move away in the direction of the old shed where he lived. “I’d advise you to start with Myron’s journals. I never seen ’em up close, but I know he kept everythin’ there. I don’t read much, so there was no point in me lookin’ at ’em. If this business with Last Chance was important to Myron—and it surely was—then you just might find somethin’ about it recorded there.”
As he disappeared inside the hovel he called a home, Lynn and Rachel turned to one another and raised quizzical eyebrows. What in the world was that all about? Lynn had no idea and was relatively certain she didn’t want to know. But before they turned to walk away from Myron’s grave, she couldn’t help but peek at the plot on the right. She read the epitaph out loud. “Here lies Last Chance Justice. Beloved son and brother . . . and a man of mystery and sorrows. May he one day rest in peace.”
A chill passed over Lynn as she forced her eyes away from the weathered headstone. She had no idea what any of it meant, and she had even less desire to find out.
All the more reason to tie up the loose ends of Myron’s estate and get out of town, she told herself. Whatever business my brother was working on regarding this Last Chance guy is dead and buried with him. And that’s exactly where I intend to leave it.
Chapter 6
After a brief stop at Lynn’s parents’ and grandparents’ graves, mother and daughter returned to the house, neither speaking of Jason’s visit until Rachel finally broke the silence.
“You know we’re going to have to go in there. Into Uncle Myron’s library, I mean. I peeked in there last night and saw a big desk sitting there, in front of rows and rows of cobweb-covered books. The room needs some serious cleaning, but I’m willing to do it if we can start going through his things and maybe find out what all this Last Chance business is about.”
Lynn stood in the middle of the kitchen, studying her daughter, who once again leaned up against the counter, her long legs stretched out in front of her. Instead of jeans, she wore cream-colored slacks and a short-sleeved peach blouse. With her dark hair hanging loose around her shoulders, she looked even lovelier than usual. But Lynn knew that behind that sweet, attractive exterior lay a determined, adventurous young woman who wouldn’t be easily dissuaded from digging into what she no doubt saw as a fascinating mystery. To Lynn, it seemed more of an annoyance or distraction, something she couldn’t possibly foresee as bringing them good results. Besides, she’d grown up in this town. If this Last Chance thing was that big a deal, why didn’t she remember hearing about it? And why in the world pursue it now?
The gleam in Rachel’s eyes gave her the answer. Not only did her daughter love a good mystery or adventure, but she was also the ultimate champion of underdogs. Whoever this Last Chance was, Rachel seemingly saw his cause as one that fit his last name—Justice.
Lynn sighed. “I suppose it can’t hurt. From what Chuck told us this morning, it will take a few days to get everything finalized with your uncle’s estate, so we’re going to be hanging around here until then anyway. Maybe this will give us something to do besides sit out on the porch and eat.”
Rachel laughed. “That’s for sure. We’ve only been here a little over twenty-four hours, and already my pants are getting tight.”
Lynn rolled her eyes. Her daughter’s metabolism operated at double-time. She seemed able to eat most anything without gaining an ounce—and how Lynn envied her that! Of course, she had to admit that she’d also been like that once, though it seemed eons ago.
“All right,” she agreed, “though I don’t believe you for a minute about your pants. But I did see some basic cleaning supplies in the cupboard on the back porch, over that ancient washer and dryer—which, by the way, we should try out just to see if they even work. You go grab some scrubber and disinfectant, and let’s see what we can do with that library.”
Before long, a fresh lemony scent began to wend its way into the air, rising up to the high-beamed ceilings, and even enhancing the fragrance of the old leather-bound books as the odors of must and dust dissipated. Lynn reveled in how good it felt to establish cleanliness and order in a room, and the sensation invigorated her.
“What next?” Rachel asked, her cheeks flushed and her hair now pulled back in a ponytail. Some sort of dark smudge marred her once-clean peach blouse, and Lynn groaned.
“Oh, Rachel, I should have insisted you change into your old clothes before we tackled this. Look, you’ve ruined your blouse.”
Rachel glanced down, then she looked up and shrugged. “Haven’t you ever heard of a dry cleaner, Mom? I’m sure even Bloomfield has one or two.”
Lynn opened her mouth to answer, but the ancient sound of chimes interrupted her. She’d forgotten about Myron’s melodic, if somewhat eerie, doorbell, and now it seemed they had company. Had Bailey come back to see how they liked the article? She certainly couldn’t imagine who else would be at the front door.
Tucking her hair behind her ears and hoping she didn’t look quite as disheveled as she felt, she led the way to the front of the house, with Rachel following close behind. Beasley reached the door first, barking and growling a warning. It seemed it hadn’t taken long for him to feel territorial about this place, and in some ways Lynn was glad. No harm letting people know that a watchdog prowled the premises.
Gingerly, she opened the door, reminding herself that she needed to find some oil to stop the creaking. “Yes? May I help you?”
“Lynn Cofield?”
Two men stood on the porch, one with a salt-and-pepper military-style crew-cut who appeared to be just a few years older than Lynn, and the other a tall, handsome younger man in his mid- to late twenties. The older man offered an apologetic smile.
