to get these to the post office before it closes. Then we can go by the church for our meeting before we head over to City Hall.”
“What meeting?” Morgan asked.
Her mother grabbed her purse off of the hook on the wall.
“We’ll tell you about it later. We’d better run now. Be praying.”
That was it. No good-bye, no farewell hug, no premonition that she would never see them alive again. Now she pressed her forehead against the hot steering wheel, groping for the tissue she had dropped on the seat next to her. She blew her nose, wondering when—and if—there would be an end to these tears.
She had sometimes wondered whether people who died suddenly left clues. Whether there was some subconscious preparation, some hastily scrawled note, a conversation that, when remembered, gave peace and comfort to those left behind.
But there had been nothing like that this morning. Just another few moments in their busy lives, a frustrated exchange, a rushing out the door.
And there was so much unfinished business. Didn’t God know that? Didn’t he understand?
She forced herself out of the car. Wiping her face, she tried to summon some strength, but she found she was still shaking. If she could just get Jonathan released, she could lean on him—and then she could fall apart, knowing that he would be there to help gather the scattered pieces.
She stepped in the front door and felt the whish of air-conditioning blowing her hair back from her face. She didn’t know why they kept it so cold in here. It wasn’t as if the police department on Cape Refuge had that much to do. There weren’t car chases, foot pursuits, or adrenaline jolts keeping them hot. Not until today.
The few other times she had come in here she had seen police officers with feet propped up on their desks, reading the newspaper. Today, however, every police officer on the island had been called in, and she knew that most of them were working the scene. This would go down as one of the busiest days in Cape Refuge police history.
The day Thelma and Wayne Owens were murdered.
She imagined the residents using this day as a marker. Where were you when you heard about the murders? They would each have their own story. The trauma would spread over the island and linger for years.
Her parents never did anything small.
She swallowed a lump in her throat and let the glass door close behind her. She saw Cade standing over a fax machine.
“Where’s my husband?” she demanded.
He looked up at her, and she saw the strain on his face. “We’re about to question him,” Cade said. “You can’t go in.”
“This is cruel!” she managed to say. “They’re my parents, Cade. He is my husband. Why in the world would he want to kill them? You’re wasting time when you could be out there looking for the person who did it.”
His face changed, and for a moment he was the man who sat on the second row, middle pew, every Sunday, sometimes shedding tears as he praised the Lord. “Morgan, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you for the world. I loved your parents too. You know that.”
“Then let their son-in-law go!” she said, surprised at the volume and force behind her words. “Let him out so he can help me get through this. Don’t you understand? I’m afraid to go home. I don’t think I can do this alone.” She covered her mouth and collapsed into a chair. “I’m afraid to do anything, Cade. What if they’re after me too? And Blair? What if they’re after Jonathan and he’s sitting in there like a target?”
“He’s not a target,” Cade said. “There’s nobody in here but us.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Morgan asked. “Who’s in there with him?”
“Joe McCormick,” he said.
“I went to high school with Joe McCormick,” she said. “He has more skeletons in his closet than the tenants at Hanover House. Why does he have the right and I don’t?”
“He’s got the right because he’s a police
Ellen Crosby
Angelique Jones
Ken White
Ian Tregillis
John Saul
Lorraine Heath
Eileen Goudge
Brandy Wilson
Shea Berkley
Timothy Zahn