Reflection Point: An Eternity Springs Novel (31 page)

Once Cam said he was headed home, Zach left the bakery. He’d just climbed back into his Range Rover when Sarah came rushing out. “I remembered her sister’s name. It’s Carrington. Lucy Carrington from Bakersfield.”

“Thanks, honey.”

On the way to the hospital, Zach contacted his friend in California and arranged to have the next-of-kin notification made personally. Then he tackled the next gut-wrenching event of his day, which was interviewing the driver of the car that had barreled through the intersection and broadsided LaNelle Harrison’s car—a sixteen-year-old new driver from Texas who would live with the consequences of today’s accident on her conscience for the rest of her life.

Both she and her father, who had been the occupant of the front passenger seat, had suffered cuts and abrasions from the deployment of airbags. The teen’s mother and nine-year-old sister, seated in the back and wearing seat belts, had escaped physical injury. However, the father’s attempt to rescue LaNelle from the burning car while the mother tended to the freely bleeding cut on her older daughter’s head had the nine-year-old screaming hysterically when Zach and Gabi arrived on the scene.

It was a hell of an afternoon and a bitch of an evening. Once he finished with the interviews at the medical clinic, he had to deal with city hall. LaNelle had been a particular friend of Mayor Hank Townsend’s wife, and when Zach arrived back at the office to write up his report, Hank had been waiting for him, wanting details.

Once he had the details, he wanted blood. “How long has that stop sign been missing?” he demanded.

“It was there the day before yesterday, Hank. I rode that route myself.”

“So it was missing a whole day and no one reported it stolen?”

“I don’t know that, Hank. I haven’t had a chance to talk to Ginger.”

“Any idea who stole it?”

“Kids, I’d imagine.”

Hank Townsend harrumphed and grumbled, “Probably that hippie kid from Georgia.”

Zach grimaced. Admittedly, the same concern had been hovering in the back of his head, but he wouldn’t abide by baseless speculation. Not within his hearing, anyway. “Hank, please keep those sort of thoughts to yourself. We have absolutely no evidence that TJ is involved in any way. For all we know, Celeste Blessing decided to take the stop sign home and polish it.”

“Now, that’s just stupid.”

“So is blaming a kid for this because you don’t like the color of his hair. He’s had a rough go of it. This sort of talk could hurt him in town.”

“Oh, all right.” Hank dragged a knuckle across his eyes, wiping away the wetness that collected there. “But I want you to find who did this, Zach. LaNelle deserves that. That poor girl who hit her deserves it, too.”

“I’ll do my best, Hank.”

He thought of his promise as he drove home that night. This wasn’t going to be easy. In a bigger town,
he’d have had security cameras to monitor. He could have canvassed the area for witnesses. But at that intersection just outside Eternity Springs, any eyewitnesses other than those directly involved likely walked on four legs and had antlers on their heads.

He tried to wipe the day’s events from his mind as he took Ace and went on a long evening run. Afterward, he showered and fell into bed, exhausted. Sleep, however, eluded him.

Even worse than most nights during the past two weeks, thoughts of Savannah grabbed hold of him and wouldn’t let him go.

He hoped like hell that the stop sign theft wasn’t TJ’s doing. Time and some good old-fashioned strong-arming by the sheriff would tell.

TWENTY-ONE
 

Savannah flipped her OPEN sign to CLOSED, then shut and locked the door to Heavenscents. The memorial service for LaNelle was due to begin in twenty minutes.

It had been a sad three days. Having attended only two meetings of the quilt group, Savannah had not known the other woman well. She had liked her, though. LaNelle had had a plainspoken manner and an inherent kindness that had reminded Savannah of Grams. Her death had hit Sarah especially hard, and Savannah had been glad to hear that Sarah and Cam’s daughter, Lori, was coming home for the service.

She arrived to find Saint Stephen’s overflowing with people. Mac Timberlake saw her and approached. “Ali saved a spot for you with the other quilters, Savannah. They are up at the front.”

“Thanks, Mac.”

She joined her friends. Sarah introduced Lori, a beautiful young woman with her father’s height and eyes and her mother’s smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lori, though I’m sorry it’s under circumstances like these.”

“Me too. My mom sent me a basket of your soaps. I like them a lot.”

“Thanks.”

Savannah was distracted by the sight of Zach, who
escorted Celeste to the pew reserved for the members of LaNelle’s quilting group, the Patchwork Angels. Their eyes met, and he nodded, but she couldn’t read his expression. Then Zach smiled warmly at Lori Murphy and greeted her with a kiss to her cheek. Savannah tore her gaze away to find Sage eyeing her with a quizzical look. She was glad when the swell of organ music signaled the beginning of the service, and when beside her Nic began to cry, Savannah linked her arm with her friend’s, silently offering support.

It was a nice service, and afterward the mourners gathered at Angel’s Rest for an informal reception. As it wound down, members of the quilting group congregated upstairs in the attic workroom, where, with LaNelle’s instructive assistance, the Patchwork Angels had stitched their quilts and bonded in friendship.

“I thought it appropriate that we take time today to stitch and celebrate. While it’s true we lost our dear friend LaNelle too soon, we can take comfort in the fact that she’s in a place where her shears will never get dull.”

“Oh, Celeste.” Sarah clapped her hands to her head. “I know this sounds terrible, but I’ve heard all the uplifting sentiments I can bear today.”

“Jeez, Mom. Put a muzzle on her, why don’t you,” Lori said, then added to Celeste, “You say whatever you like, Celeste. You always know what to say, and it always helps. Honestly, sometimes what you said saved my sanity.”

Sarah’s head came up, and Savannah recognized worry in her eyes as she looked at her daughter. Celeste smiled and reached out and patted Lori’s arm. “Your mother has a point. I’m feeling sentimental today, and that’s when I tend to get a bit … well …”

“Preachy?” Nic and Sage said simultaneously.

Everyone laughed, and the sound was a welcome
change. “Not preachy, I think. Philosophical. Which brings to mind a quote from Seneca that I consider particularly appropriate for today: ‘The day which we fear as our last is but the birthday of eternity.’ I think we should celebrate LaNelle’s birthday.”

Sarah groaned, but the sound was somewhat lighter. Not for the first time, Savannah recognized that Celeste had a golden touch with words—which suited her, since gold was obviously her favorite color.

“And of course, I’d be remiss not to mention Socrates, who said, ‘Death may be the greatest of all human blessings.’ ”

Ali looked at Sarah. “You should know by now that there’s no stopping her.”

“I know,” she replied with a sigh.

“And of course, I simply cannot fail to mention Bob Dylan: ‘Some people feel the rain, others just get wet.’ ”

Savannah shared a confused look with her friends. Finally, Lori asked, “What does that have to do with death or LaNelle?”

“Nothing. I just think it’s fun.” Celeste smiled beatifically when Sarah burst into laughter. “Now, let’s stitch for a bit, shall we?”

They picked up their needles, scissors, and rulers and went to work. Eventually the women who had known LaNelle the best began to share stories about their friend, and, in doing so, offered one another comfort.

At the end of the evening, Savannah and Sage walked home together. It was a beautiful summer evening, cool and clear with a slight breeze perfumed by the flowers that lined the streets. Savannah felt better than she had in days. Well, actually, two weeks. “That was nice. It was almost as if … well …”

“Broken hearts healed a little?” Sage asked.

“Well, yes.”

“That’s Celeste’s specialty. And speaking of such
things …” Sage’s eyes sparkled. “Did you happen to notice who didn’t fully participate in the champagne toast to end the evening?”

Savannah nodded. “Actually, I did.”

“I think somebody might be expecting.”

“I wondered about that myself.”

“For a minute there, I thought we might get an announcement.” Sage glanced up at the starry sky and sighed, “If it’s true … oh, Savannah … joy will fill my heart to overflowing. Racer is going to need playmates his own age.”

Savannah grinned. “You’re calling him Racer, too?”

“Did I do that?” Sage winced. “Curse that husband of mine.”

“Well, I hope there’s something to it.” They crossed the footbridge over Angel Creek and Savannah added, “It feels fitting to me. Death and life. I’ve had enough death for a while. I’d really enjoy some life.”

Sage gave her a sidelong glance. “Then why did you dump Zach?”

“I didn’t dump Zach!” Savannah stopped abruptly. She hadn’t dumped him. She’d just … rejected his love. “Why is everyone saying that? Did he say something?”

“Zach hasn’t said squat to anyone as far as I know. That’s what we’ve speculated. He seems to be kinda cranky.”

“That’s because he’s trying to find who’s responsible for the death of our friend,” Savannah fired back. Immediately she regretted it. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be Debbie Downer. I just don’t want to talk about Zach.”

Sage slipped her arm through hers. “Okay. Just let me say one thing. He is a good man.”

“He’s definitely a man.” She deliberately changed the subject. If one more person told her how good Zach was, she would scream.
I know he’s good. He’s Sheriff Andy
. “I didn’t have a chance to talk to Colt today, and
I wanted to thank him for sticking up for TJ at the pub last night.”

“Heard about that, did you?”

“First thing this morning.”

“I heard Gabi Romano has knocked on the door of half the residences in town asking questions. The sooner they can find who stole that sign, the better for everyone.”

They’d reached the intersection of Cottonwood and Fourth, and they waited for a pickup to pass before stepping out into the street. “I asked TJ if he knew anything about it,” she confessed. “Not that I thought he did it. Despite his attitude, TJ is a smart kid.”

She reconsidered that observation when she entered her kitchen a few minutes later to find the bread, peanut butter, jelly, and chips spread across the countertop, and the slow cooker filled with beef stew she’d made early that morning untouched.

“The least he could do is clean up after himself,” she muttered before walking to the base of the stairs. In a loud voice filled with frustration she called, “TJ Moore, you come down here right now!”

The call came in while Zach met with his deputies to go over the day’s events. Ginger knocked on his office door and said, “Sheriff, I think you should take this.”

“All right.” He picked up the receiver and punched the button of the line that was blinking. “Sheriff Turner here.”

The voice was little more than a whisper, disguised—a towel over the receiver, if he had his guess—but he could tell it was a young person. Boy or girl, he wasn’t certain.

The two short sentences sent his stomach plunging. The line disconnected before he could ask any questions. “Ginger! I need the caller ID on that number.”

“I’m on it, boss.”

Zach considered his next move. Ordinarily he’d follow up a call like this one by knocking on the suspect’s door and asking to have a look around. Under these particular circumstances, he’d better do everything by the book.

Ace wandered over to rub against Zach’s legs, and he absently petted his buddy as he thought through his choices. LaNelle had been a good woman. She deserved justice.

He picked up his phone and placed a call. “Judge? Zach Turner here. I need a search warrant.”

TJ lay sprawled across his bed, his mind spinning, his stomach rolling with nausea. He never should have eaten that peanut butter sandwich, but years ago when his great-grandmother made him peanut butter sandwiches, it had always made him feel better.

Tonight the sandwich sat in his gut like a rock.

He was so screwed.

Maybe he should steal Aunt Savannah’s money and run away. She hadn’t gone to the bank that day, and between her wallet and the cash bag, she probably had three hundred dollars he could snatch. He could steal her car while he was at it. He knew how to drive, since he’d been driving his dad home from bars for years. Although the crappy old Ford probably wouldn’t get him over Sinner’s Prayer Pass.

You could tell her the truth
.

“Just shoot me now,” he muttered.

Savannah stabbed a carrot with her fork. The stew tasted very good, but she’d lost her appetite after she’d lost her temper with TJ. So he’d made a mess in the kitchen. Big deal.
He’s fourteen. That’s what fourteen-year-olds do. It’s no reason to go total shrew
.

She’d taken out her own bad mood on him, and that shamed her.