Last Chance for Justice, page 7
“Forgive me. Lynn Myers, of course. I always relate you to your parents, I’m afraid.”
The light came on in Lynn’s memory as she recognized Pastor Brunswick, the senior pastor of Bloomfield Community Fellowship Church, where her family had attended for as far back as anyone could remember. Pastor Brunswick had come to Bloomfield Community after Lynn moved away, and they’d met several times over the years, but not since his hair had begun to gray.
“Pastor Brunswick,” she said, smiling as she motioned them inside. “Please, come in. Rachel and I were just doing some cleaning. Can we offer you something? Some sun tea perhaps? We just made it this morning.”
“That sounds wonderful. Thank you so much.” His smile broadened. “I was so pleased when I heard you were in town and so looked forward to seeing you again. I’m sorry we didn’t call ahead, but . . . well, I don’t know your cell phone number and wasn’t sure if Myron’s landline was still functional, so we decided to take a chance and drop by. Besides, we saw your car in the driveway, so we figured you were here.”
“I’m glad,” Lynn answered. “And don’t worry about not calling ahead. Myron’s phone is still working at the moment, but probably not for much longer. There isn’t much sense in keeping it connected if no one’s going to be here.”
The pastor raised an eyebrow. “You’re not planning to stay, then?”
Lynn stifled a frown. What was it with these people? Why in the world would they all think that, just because Myron died and left her this huge, dusty old place, she would suddenly decide to move in? Honestly.
“Let’s go into the kitchen, shall we?” she said. “Rachel and I haven’t had much chance to straighten up the rest of the house yet, but Jason did a fairly decent job on that room.”
She realized then that she hadn’t introduced Rachel, and she quickly amended her oversight. “You’ve met my daughter, Rachel, haven’t you, Pastor?”
He smiled and offered his hand, speaking directly to her. “A couple of times, yes, but not since you turned into a charming young lady. I think the last time we met, you still had braids or a ponytail.”
Lynn saw Rachel’s cheeks flame as she took the pastor’s hand, and she couldn’t help but think it had something to do with the good-looking young man who couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her.
“And this is John Currey, our new youth pastor. John just moved to Bloomfield and joined our staff about a year ago. I like to take him with me on visitations to help him get to know people a bit better.”
This time it was John’s turn to blush as he shook Lynn’s hand and then Rachel’s, his eyes lingering on the younger woman even after they released their grasp. The two mumbled some basic greetings, and Lynn was certain she felt an electrical current arcing through the air.
Ignoring the sensation and its fascinating implications, she led the way to the kitchen. Even Beasley had welcomed the visitors by then, having received pats and “atta boys” all the way around. Lynn and Rachel filled four glasses with ice cubes and tea and set them on the table as they all settled in.
“And how is your wife?” Lynn asked after she’d sipped her tea. “I’m afraid I don’t remember her name.”
A light in the pastor’s eyes seemed to dim as he answered. “Georgia. Her name was . . . Georgia.” He cleared his throat. “She . . . passed away a couple of years ago. Cancer.”
Lynn’s heart caught as she recognized the signs of loss in the man’s voice and expression. She knew them only too well. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” she said. “I . . . had no idea.”
He nodded. “And I’m sorry about your brother,” he said, obviously glad to change the subject. “He kept to himself quite a bit, but he never missed Sunday services or failed to give generously to any need we had.” He dropped his eyes briefly before looking back up, and Lynn couldn’t help but notice what a kind face he had. His brown eyes telegraphed sincerity. “He didn’t let on to anyone how poorly he was feeling until the very end. I felt bad about not at least having a memorial service for him at the church, but his will specified no services, so we had to honor his wishes.”
Lynn nodded. She felt bad about it too, and more than slightly guilty at her obvious neglect, but it seemed there was nothing to be done about it now.
“On a lighter note,” Pastor said, his face brightening as he spoke, “I wanted to be sure to invite you and Rachel to church on Sunday. Surely you’ll be here at least that long, won’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” Lynn said. “At least. Possibly longer. I don’t want to leave until I know we’ve tied together all the loose ends.”
Lynn noticed a smile tug at the corners of John’s mouth, and she knew she’d given the answer he hoped to hear. She cut her eyes toward her daughter, who seemed to be working awfully hard at appearing disinterested, but Lynn knew Rachel far too well to buy it.
So, it was settled. They would all see each other again on Sunday, two days from now. In the meantime, Lynn sensed a tug to return to the library and finish up the cleaning so she could begin searching for . . .
For what? She had no idea. And why did she care? She had no answer for that question either. Still, she had some time on her hands with nothing specific to do. Maybe she could learn a bit more about her reclusive brother if she rummaged through his things. After all, he was gone now and had left everything to her, so it wasn’t like she was snooping or intruding on his private life. Myron was in a much better place, and he no doubt didn’t care a whit what happened to the material possessions he’d left behind. She might as well sort through them and see what she could find.
She tried to pull her mind away from Myron and the strange comments Jason had made about a man called Last Chance and some unfinished business between him and Lynn’s brother. Would she discover what that business might be? And if she did, would she wish she hadn’t?
On second thought, maybe it was best left alone. Lynn knew she could probably walk away from all of this—Myron’s house and his unfinished business as well—but she sensed it wouldn’t be easy convincing Rachel to do likewise. Especially now that she’d met the handsome youth pastor named John Currey.
She smiled and focused in on Pastor Brunswick’s words about the church picnic on Sunday, immediately following the morning service. Something told her she and Rachel would be attending. And why not? She’d always enjoyed church outings, and it might be fun to see a few of her friends from decades ago, though she couldn’t help but wonder what they’d think of her after all these years. Still, she hadn’t been to the town’s main park, with its charming gazebo and walking paths, in years. Might as well see it one time before she and Rachel packed up and left Bloomfield to head back home once and for all.
The library was now spick-and-span, and Rachel and Lynn had even broken away for a quick fast-food meal in town before kicking off their shoes and unwinding a bit over a pre-bedtime cup of herbal tea. But now Rachel and Beasley were sound asleep, and Lynn found herself staring into the darkness at an unseen ceiling. She’d thought sure she’d drop right off after such a busy day, but her mind ran at double-time. If she stayed there much longer, she’d no doubt fall into the abyss of missing Daniel and end up crying, which she wasn’t about to do with Rachel sleeping next to her.
Moving slowly, she slipped out of bed, careful not to awaken her daughter. Beasley raised his head as she donned her robe and slippers, but she patted his soft fur and whispered to him to go back to sleep. Then she padded softly to the door and let herself out into the hallway where a couple of soft lights she and Rachel had left on earlier now lit her way down the stairs.
Would another cup of tea help her sleep? She doubted it. But she’d spotted some instant hot chocolate in the cupboard and figured she’d give that a try.
By the time the steaming cocoa filled her cup, she knew she wanted to start going through her brother’s things—not that she really expected to find much, but maybe it would make her drowsy enough that she could head back upstairs soon and catch some shut-eye.
Pleased at the clean, lemony fragrance that greeted her as she opened the library door, she set her steaming mug down on top of some papers on Myron’s desk and settled into his oversized leather chair. If she were going to stay here—which she wasn’t, she reminded herself—she’d have to replace the chair with something that fit her. Myron had been quite a bit taller and heavier than she, so she could easily picture him sitting in this massive seat.
She pulled open the top right-hand drawer, which turned out to be stuffed with old receipts, some dating back several years. Apparently, her brother had been faithful in retaining his paperwork but not very diligent in using it for income tax preparation.
Lynn smiled at the thought. Myron had always been somewhat of a packrat, so even if she didn’t come across anything important in his desk drawers, she could easily dispense with most of it.
She pulled a trash can from underneath the desk and began dumping everything dated beyond the past seven years. It didn’t take long before the container was almost full, and she hadn’t even started on the left-hand drawers yet. She had nearly finished her hot chocolate, so she picked up the cup and the trash can and carried them to the kitchen, placing the cup in the sink and emptying the can into the larger trash receptacle in the corner. As she thought of the size of Myron’s house and all the nooks and crannies where he may have stuffed things, she realized she could have a full-time job on her hands just going through all he had left behind.
But did she really need to do that? She sighed. Yes, probably so—especially since she was going to sell the place. She certainly didn’t want strangers coming in and going through her brother’s personal things—better to do that herself. She’d enlist Rachel’s help again in the morning, and they’d plow through it a lot faster together.
She returned to the library and plunked back down in the chair. Time to start on the drawers on the other side of the desk.
She pulled open the top one and nearly laughed aloud. Paper clips—hundreds, thousands of them, of all colors and shapes and sizes—seemed to stare back at her. What in the world had her brother been thinking? An army couldn’t use all these paper clips, not in a million years!
Determined, she scooped them from the drawer into the trash can, and then opened the next drawer. There, on the very top, sat a dark brown, leather-bound book. Beneath it were several others just like it. Her eyes widened. What were they? Ledgers? Records? Or was it possible they were personal journals, entries that might give her more insight into her beloved but reclusive brother?
Last Chance. The name spoken by Jason rang in her ears. Might she learn something about him as well? And why did it matter? If she hadn’t seen his headstone in the cemetery next to Myron’s, she would have dismissed Jason’s words as the ramblings of a less-than-stable old man. But she had seen it, and as strange as the name was, it seemed obvious the man had, at one time, existed, living right here in Bloomfield. But so what? A lot of people lived—and died—in Bloomfield. Well, maybe not a lot compared to most places, but enough that Last Chance Justice couldn’t have been all that unique. Could he? Why had Myron been so concerned with this particular man?
She pulled the top book from the drawer and opened the front cover. Sure enough, Myron’s handwriting recorded his daily events in dated order. She’d never realized her brother kept a diary of sorts, but obviously that’s what she had discovered. Would she invade his privacy if she read them?
He’s dead, she reminded herself. He no longer cares whether or not you read what he wrote. In fact, since he left everything to you, he probably knew you would find them one day, and therefore intended for you to read them. And have you really got anything else that pressing to do with your time right now?
She sighed. The decision was already made. She would read Myron’s journals and see what secrets, if any, her brother might have left for her to discover. She only hoped she wouldn’t be unduly surprised or upset by what she found there. It seemed she’d had enough surprises in the last few days to last her several lifetimes.
By the time Lynn finally stumbled up the stairs to bed, her eyes were bleary and felt as if she’d rubbed them with salt. She hadn’t intended to read for so long, but a particular entry at the very end of the first journal—which apparently was Myron’s last—had hooked her.
“I’ve got to find out what happened to the money,” he wrote. “It might only be seven dollars and fourteen cents, but it was enough to besmirch a good man’s reputation. If it’s the last thing I do in this life, I must clear his name. I’ve got a couple of ideas that just might help.”
The entry was dated two days before Myron died. Had he been able to accomplish his goal? Had he found the missing seven dollars and fourteen cents? Somehow she doubted it. But why was it so important to him? And who was this “good man” he had mentioned? Could it be Last Chance Justice, the man buried next to Myron in the cemetery?
Though Lynn had gone back to the beginning of the journal and continued to read through to the final entry at the end, hoping to find more clues along the way, she had simply grown too sleepy to press on. At last she had closed up the top journal, nearly overwhelmed to think there were five more in the drawer, and who knew how many others somewhere else, that might or might not contain the answers to this small-budget but apparently big-stakes mystery. She would have to get some sleep and tackle it again tomorrow, this time with Rachel’s help. The two of them could get a lot more reading done together than Lynn could on her own.
She cracked the bedroom door and peered inside. Beasley raised his head but lowered it again when Lynn shushed him. She tiptoed across the floor, pulled back her side of the covers, and slipped beneath them, drifting off nearly as fast as her head hit the pillow.
Chapter 7
“Morning, Mom,” Rachel mumbled as she entered the kitchen and headed straight for the counter. She had clipped up her long dark hair on top of her head, with several strands spilling downward. She still wore her pajamas.
“I smelled the coffee from upstairs,” Rachel said as she snagged a mug and filled it. “It was a nice way to wake up, but I have to admit, I’m a bit surprised that you’re up already. I woke up last night around midnight and you weren’t in bed.”
Rachel turned toward the table and noticed her mother’s smile. “What?” Rachel asked, sitting down across from her. “Did I say something funny?”
Lynn shook her head. “It’s just . . . the way you look this morning. It took me back to so many mornings when you were little, coming to breakfast in your pajamas.”
Rachel returned her mother’s smile. “Those are great memories for me too, Mom. But you haven’t answered my question. Why weren’t you in bed last night?”
Lynn sipped her coffee before answering. “I had trouble falling asleep, so I thought I’d go down and start going through your uncle’s things, now that we’ve got the room cleaned up.”
Rachel hugged her cup with both hands, enjoying the warmth. “Did you find anything?”
“I did. Want to hear about it?”
Rachel laughed. “What do you think? You know it doesn’t take much to get my curiosity stirred up.”
After only a brief pause, during which Rachel was sure she saw a glimmer of light dancing in her mother’s eyes, Lynn said, “I found his journals. Six of them. For all I know there may be more somewhere, but I just started on the most recent one last night.” She took another swallow of coffee. “One of the last entries, written not long before he died, intrigued me.”
Rachel leaned forward. “Really? What did it say?”
“It alluded to the loss of seven dollars and fourteen cents, and someone whose reputation was apparently damaged by the incident. Myron wrote that he wanted to find it so he could clear the man’s name . . . if it was the last thing he did on this earth.”
Rachel felt her eyes widen. “Apparently he wasn’t able to,” she said, leaning back in her seat. “But really, seven dollars and fourteen cents? How important could it be?”
“Important enough to cause Myron to enter it in his journal and to express his desire to resolve the issue.” She paused before adding, “And I imagine it was important to the other man too, if it somehow damaged his reputation.”
Rachel frowned. “Seriously, Mom, can someone’s reputation really be damaged over such a small amount of money? And who do you suppose the man was?”
Lynn shrugged. “I don’t know on either count, although I suspect he may have been referring to Last Chance Justice. Though it doesn’t appear they knew each other well, Jason said Myron was the best friend Last Chance ever had because he was so determined to clear his name. It just makes sense that he’s the man Myron meant, don’t you think? I hope to find some clues as we read through the rest of the journals.”
“We? Sounds like I’ve been drafted.”
“You have,” Lynn admitted. “There are six journals full of entries. I figure we can get through a lot more of them in a whole lot less time if we work together.”
“But what are we looking for? What if we read them all and don’t find anything? And how will we even know if we do find something?”
“Three more I-don’t-know questions. But we can try, right? I can’t explain why this has suddenly become so important to me, Rachel, but it has. Maybe it’s because I feel so bad about not spending more time with Myron before he died, and it helps to think I might be able to finish something that he started. And yes, I’m nearly positive that it all has something to do with the man named Last Chance Justice who’s buried next to your uncle.”
