But Curt wasn’t listening to her. He was watching me. He took a step in my direction, pulled his hand from his pocket and reached for me.
“Are you all right?” he asked in a gentle voice.
Nodding, I put my hand in his. My heart pounded with joy. He had spoken truly about loving me. He had chosen me. I couldn’t stop grinning.
Then he gave my hand a squeeze.
I gasped and tried to pull away.
He eased his grip and, turning my palm up, looked at the dirty, bloody mess.
“I took a dive behind a tree and skinned my hands and knees,” I explained. “But I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?” It was Mr. Whitsun, looking unconvinced. He was staring not at my hands but at my legs with their ruined stockings, brush burns and blood. “If this were New York, I’d say you’d just been mugged.”
“It’s just surface injuries.” I grinned. “You should see the other guys.”
Mr. Whitsun laughed companionably.
Curt wrapped an arm around my shoulders. He seemed oblivious to Delia hanging on his other arm. Even she was finally struck with the obvious: Curt had chosen. She pulled her hand free, and immediately Curt wrapped his other arm around me too.
I rested my head against his shoulder and thought how utterly weary I was and how wonderfully sturdy he felt. I began to relax, a dangerous thing when you’re as beaten up as I was. I ordered starch back into my spine and hoped I could continue to remain upright.
I smiled prettily as Curt introduced me to Mr. Whitsun, the man from the Broughley Gallery in New York.
“Mr. Whitsun is going to take four of my paintings,” Curt said, pride and satisfaction filling his voice.
“Oh, Curt, how wonderful! I’m so glad for you. You’ve made a wise decision, Mr. Whitsun.”
Curt turned to the fourth member of the group. “Mr. Montgomery, you remember Merry, don’t you?”
Mr. M was looking at me with as much favor as his daughter.
“Good to see you again, Mr. Montgomery,” I said. “I didn’t get a chance to speak to you at the
News
when you stopped in for that brief visit the other day.”
I heard myself and flinched. It must be post-trauma stress. Rather that than that I was just too dumb to keep my mouth shut.
Mr. Montgomery looked at me, appalled. “You work for the
News?
”
I nodded.
“I thought you were just a friend of Curt’s,” he said, making it obvious that “just a friend of Curt’s” could be ignored, but if I worked for the
News
, he’d have to pay attention to me, if only to decide to fire me.
Curt heard the insult and gave my shoulders a squeeze. “Merry’s a lot more than just a friend, Mr. Montgomery. She’s the love of my life.”
His easy statement took my breath away and sent color flooding my face. Mr. Whitsun smiled indulgently at me while Mr. Montgomery looked sharply at Delia. Poor Delia.
“Merry!You’re late!” Jolene rushed up to me, took one look and said in horror, “Where have you been? You look terrible!”
“Jo, ever tactful.” Reilly stepped up and gave me quick hug. “You know Merry always looks wonderful.”
“I know.” Jo was still staring aghast. “She’s one of those cute-as-a-bug’s-ear girls who are so adorable it makes your teeth ache. Usually.”
“But not tonight.” Mac had appeared behind Jolene, Dawn on his arm. “What happened? Who did this to you?”
I grinned at him. “Have I got a story for you!” I said at the same time Curt said, “She fell.”
Curt looked at me with one eyebrow raised. “Didn’t you?”
Before I could explain, the front door to Intimations flew open, and William Poole stalked in, looking as official and authoritative as I’d ever seen him. People stepped quickly out of his way as he moved purposefully toward us.
He stopped in front of me. “He turned himself in.”
“Good.” Satisfaction coursed through me.
“He said you told him to.”
“I did.”
“When he had a gun in your face.”
I heard several gasps, but Curt’s “Merry!” was the loudest by far.
“Who had a gun in your face?” Mac demanded.
“Mike Hamblin.”
Jolene gave a little scream. I ignored her and looked at Curt. “But I knew he didn’t want to use it.”
“And just how did you know this?”
“He hadn’t killed anybody before. It was Joey who murdered Barnard Slocum and Bill Bond.”
Curt glared. “There’s always a first time.”
I waved away his concern. “I’m fine.”
“But Mike Hamblin?” Mac wasn’t about to lose the main story line over concern for me.
“Mike had a drug ring working out of his business,” I said.
“And he’s down at headquarters singing away, telling us all kinds of interesting things,” William said with satisfaction.
“What’s he saying, William?” I knew I’d get a fuller explanation at a later time, but for now I wanted to get some holes filled in. “I know they were trafficking in drugs, but I haven’t the vaguest idea how. I know they used Barnard Slocum—”
“Who?” Jolene demanded.
“Barnard Slocum. You know. The guy found dead in Randy’s car.”
Everyone nodded except Delia and Mr. Montgomery, even Mr. Whitsun who hung on every word. Both Mr. M and Delia looked like they’d eaten a very sour grape.
“You know they inventory the lot monthly.” William looked at us to be sure we were with him. We all nodded. “Well, between inventories, Slocum would take a car off the lot with a temporary tag and drive the drugs wherever he was told. The car would reappear back on the lot a day or two later, no one the wiser. They would use a different car for each run, so there
was never a pattern or a particular vehicle the authorities could look for.”
“Is that what happened to the missing car you thought Tom might have stolen? When this Slocum was murdered, the car never made it back?” Mac asked.
William shook his head. “No, Tom did take that one.”
I nodded. “But he only took it because Joey was shooting at him.”
William nodded. “So Tom told me.”
A surge of joy shot through me. “Tom’s awake?”
“And well,” William added. “A bit weak and beat up, but all things considered, he’s fine.”
“What did he say about the missing money?” I asked.
“He didn’t say anything, but Mike admitted it was all a hoax to pin suspicion on Tom so that if he was found, his word would be doubted.”
“So you’re saying Tom Whatley stumbled on this drug ring, and that’s why he was shot,” Mac clarified. “He never took the money, and he’s completely innocent of any wrongdoing.”
William nodded.
“Well, I just knew he hadn’t walked out on Edie.” Jolene’s tone of voice said that being shot wasn’t nearly as surprising as walking out on his wife would have been.
“Why didn’t he just go to the hospital or the cops?” Mac asked.
Ah, the big question. We all looked at William.
“He said that he was afraid for Edie and Randy. They wouldn’t be in danger unless he was near them. He felt he had to stay away, had to hide. He said all he could think about was the bad drug bust where his best friend was killed. He said he panicked. He drove to Hibernia, hid the car well then hid himself. Then before he knew it, he was too weak to do anything.”
“So how did you find him?” Curt asked.
“Merry found him.”
Curt turned one of my hands over and ran a finger gently over the scrapes. “That’s how you got these?”
I shook my head. “I did this when Mike tried to run me down with his car.”
“That was after she knocked out Joey,” William added.
“Joey?” asked Mr. Whitsun, still trying to sort everything out.
“The murderer.” I smiled. “It’s confusing.”
“But it won’t be when you finish writing the story,” Mac said. “I can see it now. Another Keystone Press Award for Merry Kramer!”
“That’s right,” Jolene said, throwing herself back into the conversation with renewed enthusiasm. “Mr. Montgomery, did you know that Merry Kramer,
your
reporter, just won a Keystone Press Award for the outstanding series she did last winter? Isn’t the
News
fortunate to have a reporter like her on its staff?” She beamed at me. I beamed back.
Congratulations swirled around my head, and I basked in them. It took some time before I became aware of Mac clearing his throat and looking pointedly at me.
“Oh!” I turned to Mr. Montgomery. “I couldn’t have won the award without Mac. The story idea was his, and he’s such a great editor, and he’s done such a fantastic job at the
News
and—”
“What she’s trying to say,” cut in Jolene, “is that the
News
has a wonderful staff starting right at the top with Mac. He’s a terrific editor. And Edie with the family page and features is great. And so’s Larry, the sports guy. And of course there our award-winning Merry Kramer, Amhearst’s own Lois Lane. And then there’s me. I’m the best administrative assistant or whatever you want to call it that the paper’s ever had. We’re a unit, Mr. Montgomery, and together we’ll give you the best newspaper in Chester County, maybe Pennsylvania.”
Sometimes Jolene really got it right.
NINETEEN
E
aster Sunday was a beautiful day, warm and sunshiny, just the way it’s supposed to be. Curt and I walked hand in hand beside Chambers Lake at Hibernia Park, enjoying being together after the chaos of the past week. Our companionable silence was rich with satisfaction and tenderness. Any man and woman could make conversation. Only a special few were able to keep silence.
We rounded a bend and came upon a pair of Canada geese nesting in the high grass at the water’s edge. As we approached, the male began hissing at us while the female continued to sit on her eggs.
“We won’t hurt her, Papa,” I said softly. “Don’t worry.”
He didn’t believe us, but he did settle down after we were past them.
A big boulder by the water beckoned, and we sat side by side, shoulders touching. Curt had on his dress slacks and shirt, collar open and sleeves rolled back. I still wore my church clothes but had changed to walking shoes. I’d done enough fancy footwork in dress shoes to last for years.
I lay my head on Curt’s shoulder, content just to be sitting next to him. He slid his arm around my shoulders and gave a gentle hug.
“Imagine,” I said. “Randy and Edie both came to church this morning.”
“I think they were impressed too,” Curt said. “I watched them while Sherrie sang and the bell choir played. They were sitting at attention the whole time.”
“Yeah?” With my minimal musical abilities, I had to concentrate so hard on my chimes that the whole congregation could have risen and walked out, and I wouldn’t have noticed. “Especially Randy, I bet.”
Curt laughed. “You should have seen his face. The boy has it bad.”
“Poor kid. I think he’s doomed to failure with Sherrie. But it’s probably a good thing. Fifteen is too young to be that involved with someone.”
“If he had any ideas about trying to talk with Sherrie after the service, Jess and Lacey cut him off at the pass. They were climbing all over him.”
“It’s good for him to be loved like that by the little ones. And it’s good for their mother to be loved by Edie.”
“Tina was pretty brave coming today with her face still so damaged. She’s one courageous lady.”
“I hope they all come again. I hope they come all the time.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised, especially if you ask them.” He smiled down at me. “They owe you big-time.”
I frowned. “I don’t want them to come because they owe me. I want them to come because of the Lord Jesus.”
“Maybe eventually that’s why they’ll come.” Curt reached for my hand. “In the meantime, who cares why they come? Just so they’re there to hear the Gospel.”
“You’re right.” I laced my fingers through his. “I mean, Mac comes strictly because of Dawn, but maybe someday he’ll fall in love with the Lord too. At least that’s what I keep praying.”
A pair of mallards floated by, the male’s deep green head iridescent in the bright sun.
Apparently Curt was looking at those marvelously tinted feathers too. “God makes colors that I’ll never be able to reproduce, no matter how hard I try.” His voice had a fatalistic ring to it.
“But that’s what keeps it interesting,” I said. “The trying. If you could automatically do it perfectly, where would the challenge be?”
“And I need challenge?”
“Sure. We all do.”
“Speaking of challenge, is Mac going to accept Mr. Montgomery’s offer to remain as editor at the
News?
”
“He already has.” I grinned. “It was all he could do not to shout, ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ when the man called, but he acted very maturely, just like a responsible editor should. ‘I’ll give you my answer within a week,’ he said, all quiet and controlled. Like the answer was ever in doubt!”
“So the whole staff stays intact.”
“Every last one of us, right down to Jolene, who probably saved us all with her impassioned speech the other night.”
Curt ran his thumb across my healing palm. It tickled in a wonderful way. “She’d make a great politician. She could sell anyone on anything.”
The thought of Jolene running even our town, let alone the county, state or country, was daunting, especially since she could probably organize us better than anyone had in years. I wondered what party she was registered under, assuming she’d ever gotten around to registering, which was doubtful.
“I saw her and Reilly talking with Stephanie Bauer this morning,” Curt said. “They were very intent. What’s going on there?”
“Jolene’s going to give Freedom House some much-needed funding.” I tried not to sound too smug.
“And who planted that little seed in Jolene’s mind, I wonder?”
“I wonder.” I giggled.
We fell silent, and I watched a glorious billowing cloud sail across the sky, entranced as wisps spun off to trail behind, then slowly disappear completely.
“What color is the sky?” I asked. “Azure? Indigo? Sapphire? Lapis? Delft? Cobalt? Ultramarine?”
Curt looked up and studied it with his artist’s eye. “Blue,” he said emphatically. “Very definitely blue.”
I laughed. “I love you.”
“Mmm. Me too.” He bent down and kissed the top of my head. “Did I thank you yet for coming to my show the other night?” His voice was surprisingly serious.