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Book: Cape Refuge Series 2 in 1: Cape Refge And Southern Storm by Terri Blackstock
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Authors: Terri Blackstock
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officer,” Cade said calmly. “Morgan, you can sit here and wait. I’ll get you something to drink. You can put your feet up.”
“Don’t coddle me,” she bit out. “I have things to do. My parents are dead.” Her voice broke off, and grief assaulted her again.
She hated to cry in front of other people.
Cade reached out to comfort her. She shook him off.
“Morgan,” he said in a quiet voice. “I can promise you we won’t hold him any longer than we have to. It made me sick to my stomach when I had to put those cuffs on him. He’s the last person in the world I’d want to arrest. But there are two people I cared a lot about who are dead, and somebody murdered them. And he had a fight with them this morning . . . a real public fight. It was his gun that killed them. Can you explain that?”
“No, I can’t explain it,” she cried. “I can’t explain anything. My head feels like it’s just been clobbered with a baseball bat. You want me to explain things? Then let me explain what it feels like to know that my parents were the two most cherished people on this island, that they did something for just about everybody who lives here. People loved them. And I can’t imagine why anyone would want to see them dead.”
Cade straightened up, raked his fingers through his hair. He seemed to struggle with his own pain. Then that hard, professional look returned to his face. He went to the watercooler, got her a cone-shaped cup of water, and brought it back to her.
Staring down at it, she said, “I want to see my husband, Cade.”
“Later, Morgan. But I can’t let you right now.” He backed away and started toward the interview room, which she knew was a converted broom closet. No two-way mirrors, no hidden microphones. This was definitely a no-frills police department. How would they ever be able to find the real killer?
When Cade opened the door, Morgan saw her husband sitting behind the table, hands over his face. Joe McCormick stood in front of him, foot propped on a chair like some television cop.
Jonathan caught her eye and got up. “Honey, are you okay?” he called.
“I’m fine. Just go ahead. Answer their stupid questions so you can get out of here.”
The door closed behind Cade, and Morgan sank back into her chair. Anguish overtook her as she recalled the sight of her parents, covered with white sheets, being carried out to the hearse.
People had warned them to be more careful in their ministry, but they had always been completely sold out to Christ, going where others feared to go, loving those who were patently unlovable.
In God I have put my trust, they’d always quoted. I shall not be afraid. What can man do to me?
Yet man had killed them . . . brutally, horribly . . .
She grabbed two Kleenexes from a box on someone’s desk, wadded them, and pressed them against her eyes . Where are you, God?
The question drilled through her soul, leaving a void that she doubted would ever be filled again.
CHAPTER 10
S adie made her way up West Oglethorpe, then crossed the street at Montgomery, and walked the block to Liberty Square. It was a charming little park in the middle of the city, one with a statue of someone she didn’t know in the center of it, and little park benches placed here and there under massive oaks. She smiled in spite of herself. It was just as she had pictured it.
She adjusted her backpack and headed up West York Street past a parking garage and groomed strips of grass until she reached another park. She had heard that Savannah had been designed and built around parks, each representing some famous part of their history. She had always wanted to visit this city and see for herself, but today she was tired and hungry. She could come back and see it another day. Right now she had to find a place to stay before dark. On thirty-three dollars, it wouldn’t be easy.
She saw a diner across from Telfair Square and started toward it. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday, before
“Don’t coddle me,” she bit out. “I have things to do. My parents are dead.” Her voice broke off, and grief assaulted her again.
She hated to cry in front of other people.
Cade reached out to comfort her. She shook him off.
“Morgan,” he said in a quiet voice. “I can promise you we won’t hold him any longer than we have to. It made me sick to my stomach when I had to put those cuffs on him. He’s the last person in the world I’d want to arrest. But there are two people I cared a lot about who are dead, and somebody murdered them. And he had a fight with them this morning . . . a real public fight. It was his gun that killed them. Can you explain that?”
“No, I can’t explain it,” she cried. “I can’t explain anything. My head feels like it’s just been clobbered with a baseball bat. You want me to explain things? Then let me explain what it feels like to know that my parents were the two most cherished people on this island, that they did something for just about everybody who lives here. People loved them. And I can’t imagine why anyone would want to see them dead.”
Cade straightened up, raked his fingers through his hair. He seemed to struggle with his own pain. Then that hard, professional look returned to his face. He went to the watercooler, got her a cone-shaped cup of water, and brought it back to her.
Staring down at it, she said, “I want to see my husband, Cade.”
“Later, Morgan. But I can’t let you right now.” He backed away and started toward the interview room, which she knew was a converted broom closet. No two-way mirrors, no hidden microphones. This was definitely a no-frills police department. How would they ever be able to find the real killer?
When Cade opened the door, Morgan saw her husband sitting behind the table, hands over his face. Joe McCormick stood in front of him, foot propped on a chair like some television cop.
Jonathan caught her eye and got up. “Honey, are you okay?” he called.
“I’m fine. Just go ahead. Answer their stupid questions so you can get out of here.”
The door closed behind Cade, and Morgan sank back into her chair. Anguish overtook her as she recalled the sight of her parents, covered with white sheets, being carried out to the hearse.
People had warned them to be more careful in their ministry, but they had always been completely sold out to Christ, going where others feared to go, loving those who were patently unlovable.
In God I have put my trust, they’d always quoted. I shall not be afraid. What can man do to me?
Yet man had killed them . . . brutally, horribly . . .
She grabbed two Kleenexes from a box on someone’s desk, wadded them, and pressed them against her eyes . Where are you, God?
The question drilled through her soul, leaving a void that she doubted would ever be filled again.
CHAPTER 10
S adie made her way up West Oglethorpe, then crossed the street at Montgomery, and walked the block to Liberty Square. It was a charming little park in the middle of the city, one with a statue of someone she didn’t know in the center of it, and little park benches placed here and there under massive oaks. She smiled in spite of herself. It was just as she had pictured it.
She adjusted her backpack and headed up West York Street past a parking garage and groomed strips of grass until she reached another park. She had heard that Savannah had been designed and built around parks, each representing some famous part of their history. She had always wanted to visit this city and see for herself, but today she was tired and hungry. She could come back and see it another day. Right now she had to find a place to stay before dark. On thirty-three dollars, it wouldn’t be easy.
She saw a diner across from Telfair Square and started toward it. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday, before
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