Cape Refuge (25 page)

 

W
ith the clothes Sadie had borrowed from Morgan, her hair clean and brushed, and her bruises carefully covered, Sadie had her hopes up that someone would give her a job. She walked down Ocean Boulevard, going from establishment to establishment. Commercial businesses crowded both sides of the road, tourist traps with colorful, useless products to sell.

She stopped at a hotel half a mile down the beach and inquired if they were hiring. She was politely but firmly told there were no positions open. She crossed the busy street to a gift shop where several tourists milled around. Swallowing back her tension, she approached the counter.

A tall woman, who resembled Popeye's Olive Oyl, stood beside the cash register, arranging a point-of-purchase display.

“Excuse me. Are you the manager?”

The woman looked up at her with her big eyes. Her voice lilted as she said, “Well, yes, I am. The owner, actually, if that makes any difference.”

Sadie liked the sound of her voice and the kindness in those big eyes. “I'm looking for a job,” she said. “I'm a hard worker. I'm staying at Hanover House, and Morgan Cleary can vouch for me.”

“Oh, honey, I'm so sorry about Thelma and Wayne,” the woman said. “Terrible, terrible thing.” She sighed heavily, then seemed to shake her thoughts back to the question. “I'm afraid I can't afford to hire anyone. I run this place by myself. Where you from?”

Sadie stood straighter and lied. “Hilton Head.”

“Hilton Head?” the woman asked, giving her a surprised once-over. “You don't look like anybody from Hilton Head.”

She didn't know what that meant, but she didn't appreciate it.

“Are you an ex-prisoner?”

Sadie frowned. “No. I've never been to jail, and I never will.”

“So how'd you break your arm?”

“I was in a wreck,” she lied again. “I just came here because it seemed like a wonderful place.”

“Oh, it is. I didn't mean to offend you. It's just that you don't look like an ex-con either.”

She didn't know what ex-cons looked like. She thought of sweet Mrs. Hern. Would anyone have guessed that she had served time? And would her mother come out of prison someday with a tainted, used-up look that told people where she'd been?

“I'm sorry to bother you.” She started back to the front door, but the woman stopped her.

“You know, there's an opening over at the paper.”

Her eyes widened. “The newspaper?” she asked.

“Yep. Nancy Simmons was telling me yesterday she was looking for someone who could help her put the paper together. Her assistant had a baby and quit. Doesn't pay a lot, just a little over minimum wage, but it's something.”

Sadie wanted to kiss her. “It sounds perfect. Can you tell me where the office is?”

After getting directions and being sent on her way, Sadie had more of a bounce to her step. When she arrived at the little house with the
Cape Refuge News
sign out front, she stepped onto the porch and knocked. There was no answer. She tested the doorknob and found the door was open. She stepped inside.

“Hello?” She waited a moment and heard machinery in the back, no doubt cranking out the latest issue. They probably hadn't heard her. She stepped tentatively inside, looking around at the little desk at the front and the cluttered office off the hallway. Then she stepped to the archway at the back of the house and peered inside.

“Hello,” she called again. This time she caught the attention of a woman standing behind the machinery.

“I didn't hear you come in,” the woman yelled over the noise as she came around the machine. “Can I help you?”

“The lady down the street at the gift shop told me that you were looking for someone,” she said. “To hire, I mean. I'm looking for a job.”

The woman led her back out of the room and closed the door as she surveyed Sadie's broken arm. “Don't know how much help you'd be with a broken arm.”

“It's okay,” Sadie said. “I'm right-handed, so it doesn't affect most of what I do. I'm pretty good with just one hand.”

“You new in town?”

“Yes, ma'am,” she said. “I'm staying at Hanover House.”

“Ah,” the woman said, nodding her head knowingly.

Sadie wondered if she was thinking the same thing that the woman at the store had. Maybe she shouldn't have told her where she lived.

“Hanover House, huh? So Morgan and Blair are taking care of you?”

“Mostly Morgan,” she said. “I haven't seen Blair much.”

The woman shook her head. “Horrible thing that happened to their parents. Who'd have ever thought?” She clicked her tongue, as if she wasn't all that sorry. “Do you have any experience in the newspaper business?”

Sadie wished she could tell her that she had worked on the high school paper as she had wanted to, but the day applications were due she had been in the hospital with a broken jawbone.

“No, ma'am, but I learn real fast.”

The woman assessed her again with that critical eye of hers. When Sadie expected her to show her the door, she said, “You can start tomorrow.”

Sadie caught her breath. “Really? You're giving me a job?”

“You'll have to work hard,” the woman said, passing her in the hall and heading to her office. Sadie followed. She searched her desk for something, then turned to the file cabinet and pulled out some papers. “Here's an application. Fill it out and bring it back tomorrow. And here's a Social Security form and a few other things. The job mostly consists of running errands and helping me with the layout. If you can write, sometimes I might even have you write an article or two.”

Sadie's eyes lit up. It was too much to believe. “It sounds wonderful.”

She started out of the room with the papers in her hands, when the woman caught her by her good arm and turned her back around.

“How old are you, anyway?”

“Eighteen,” she lied.

The woman stared at her for a moment. “You don't have anything shady in your past, do you, ‘cause my husband's the judge of this town, and it wouldn't do for me to have any shady characters from Hanover House working for me.”

Sadie frowned. “No, ma'am. Nothing.”

“So you just blew into town one day, and they took you in at Hanover House?”

“It wasn't like that exactly,” Sadie said. “I've always thought it would be nice to live at the beach. As soon as I graduated from high school I headed out. They said I could stay at Hanover House until I got on my feet. So I'm trying to get on my feet.”

“All right,” the woman said brusquely. “Be here at eight tomorrow ready to work. When are you getting the cast off?”

“Another month or so,” Sadie said.

“Well, I guess it's all right,” the woman said. “We'll just work around it.”

Sadie wanted to dance and turn a cartwheel as she headed back to Hanover House, but she didn't want the reputation of a crazy reprobate before she started her new job as a newspaperwoman.

 

T
he next morning, Morgan scrambled eggs for the Hanover House guests with one hand as she filled glasses with orange juice with the other. When the phone rang, she grabbed it up and held it to her shoulder.

“Morgan, it's Cade.”

She froze, bracing herself for news about Jonathan. “What is it?”

“I've been going through your parents' bank statements,” he said, “and I have their canceled checks. And there's one here for ten thousand dollars, and the notation on the memo says, ‘Paid debt RM.' Did they mention this to you?”

She turned from the stove and gave her full attention to the phone. “No. Where would they get ten thousand dollars?”

“It came from their savings account,” Cade said. “And RM is Rick Morrison. He told me they'd given it to him to pay off some debts. I'm not sure I'm buying that story.”

“I don't know anything about it, Cade. They never said a word to me.”

“All right,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Cade?” Morgan clutched the phone. “When are you releasing Jonathan?”

“I have no plans to do that, Morgan.”

“Come on, Cade. You suspect Gus, and you suspect Rick—you know Jonathan didn't do it. Let him go!”

“I still have more evidence on him than anybody else. He owned the murder weapon.”

“Well, then why are you holding Gus?” she asked. “You can't have two suspects for the same crime, unless they were working together, and you know that wasn't possible. Jonathan didn't even like Gus.”

“I'm holding Gus for possible breaking and entering into Blair's house. Two different crimes.”

“But you know that break-in was related to the murders.”

“Morgan, I can't talk about this with you right now.”

“Cade, I
need
my husband. He has no business being locked up in a jail cell.”

“I'm keeping him until I'm satisfied that he's innocent,” Cade said, “and I'm not completely satisfied yet.”

Morgan slammed down the phone and pressed her forehead against it. She was soul-weary of this whole thing. The mystery of her parents' murders, Jonathan's incarceration, Blair's anger, her parents' past . . . Smoke rose up from the pan and she swung around. She had burned the eggs.

When the doorbell rang, she felt like screaming, “What now?” She moved the pan off the burner, then wearily went to the door. Melba Jefferson stood there holding a steaming casserole.

“I know I'm early, honey,” she said, “but I wanted to get this to you so you could feed the guests for breakfast if you wanted.”

Morgan's eyes rounded with relief. “A breakfast casserole,” she said. “Melba, you're a treasure. Come in. I had just burned breakfast.”

The woman bustled into the kitchen behind her. Morgan turned on the stove's fan to suck the smoke out of the room.

“I need coffee,” she said. She poured them each a cup and urged Melba to sit down.

“So why are you up so early?” Morgan asked.

Melba shrugged. “I didn't sleep good last night. I was thinking about Thelma and Wayne.” Her voice broke and she reached for a handkerchief in her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “I'm sorry. I don't mean to get you going too. I know you're having worse trouble than I am.”

Morgan sank down across from her and reached out to hold her hand. “Melba, you've known my parents a long time, haven't you?”

“Since the day they came to Cape Refuge,” she said.

“Tell me about that,” she said, her eyes riveted on the woman. “I mean, what were they like then?”

“Well, they were just the sweetest people I've ever known. Precious through and through.”

“Really?” Morgan asked. “I mean, were they Christians then?”

“The genuine article,” Melba said.

Morgan sat back in her chair, trying to decide whether to be honest with Melba in hopes of getting some information—or just trying to pump more out of her. She finally chose honesty.

“Melba, Blair and I ran across some information that was very disturbing to us. It had to do with my father being in jail. Do you know anything about that?”

Melba didn't look surprised. She dabbed at her eyes again. “Oh, honey, I promised your mother I'd never say a word. . . .”

“Then she confided in you?”

“Well, of course she did,” Melba said. “She was my best friend.”

“Melba, it would mean a lot to us if you could tell us whatever you know. Our imaginations are running wild. All we know is that Pop was accused of starting the fire that burned Blair—and that he wound up in jail for it.”

“Oh, they didn't want you to know that,” Melba cried. “What am I going to do now? I can't betray their confidence.”

“You don't have to. We already know it. I just want you to clarify a few things.”

Melba gave a sigh of resignation. “They changed, you know. Your father changed when he was in prison. There was a Christian group that came there and ministered to them. He accepted the Lord, then led your mother to Christ. They came here to start their lives over clean, where nobody knew them and they could work for the Lord unhindered. The Hanovers, who owned this place at that time, took them in right here in this house. And they started that seaman's ministry down on the dock, and then their prison ministry, and it was such a success. And then the church. Why, your parents hit the ground running as Christians and never looked back.”

“Melba, did my father go to prison for insurance fraud?”

Melba looked down at her hands, as if trying to decide whether to tell her the truth. “Yes, but you know he changed. You know that in your heart.”

“Did he start the fire that gave my sister her scars?”

Melba's face twisted. “Oh, honey, that plagued him till the day he died. God forgave him, but he never forgave himself for that. It was the defining moment in his life. The thing that brought him to his knees and made him realize that he had to change.”

Morgan wilted. Blair was right. The newspaper articles were real. She looked around, trying to find something to do with her hands, something to keep her busy and get her mind off of this horror. Her parents putting her family in harm's way, almost killing Blair, altering her life.

She didn't want to break down in front of Melba, so she breathed in a cleansing breath. “Jonathan and Blair want to sell Hanover House.”

The woman expelled a heavy sigh, then dabbed at her eyes again. “I kind of thought you would. It's a lot to handle, even for someone as young and energetic as you.”

“I don't feel young or energetic right now,” Morgan said. “I feel empty and numb, like I've been beaten up and shot with morphine or something. I don't want to be in this position. And I don't want to sell.”

Melba looked around at the big, homey kitchen. “This was your folks' dream. They loved it so. It was a miracle when the Hanovers left it to them.”

The woman got up and stuffed her handkerchief back into her pocket. “Well, I'd better be getting on now. I've got things I have to do.” Morgan could hear the emotion still quaking in her voice. “You take care now, you hear? And let me know if there's anything I can do to help you.”

Then pulling that handkerchief back out of her pocket, she headed out to her car.