The Baker's Wife (19 page)

Diane rushed out of the library without thanking the woman for summoning yet another nightmare into her life.

Jack was still sitting in his driveway, in his car, when the rain started. He watched the drops hit his windshield with polite little tapping sounds that would soon turn more extreme and angry.

The appearance of the rain drew his attention to the juniper bush in front of his home-office window, the bush under which he'd found Audrey's earring. The branches of the juniper formed a green umbrella over the spot, sheltering it. Preserving it for his timely discovery.

The truth quacked like a duck. The Bofingers were guilty. It wasn't merely a job that Geoff had lost, not merely the status of being a pastor's wife that Audrey had lost, the coveted status of sitting at the right hand of a man appointed by God. They had fallen hard, almost as hard as Ananias and his wife, Sapphira, struck down dead for lying to God and the church.

And the Bofingers' lies were even more egregious. The family had stolen the purity of his daughter, murdered his unborn grandchild, then lied about their own culpability.

They might have confessed, even received forgiveness.

Forgiving the trio would have been difficult, but Jack would have done it if their hearts were truly contrite. It was required of him, and he was an obedient man who respected the authority of both men and God. Instead, the family denied and denied, lied and lied.

But the king will rejoice in God; all who swear by God will glory
in him, while the mouths of liars will be silenced
.

As a man who swore by God, Jack usually found peace in this psalm. After the Bofingers were dethroned, it seemed they had been silenced, even though Jack wished God had struck them dead in the center aisle on their way out the door.

But then they had proceeded to silence Jack's daughter—who would no longer speak to him—and then his wife, and their deception had spread even to his colleagues, blinding them to truth! Was this God's justice, that Geoff Bofinger should be standing with his wife and son while Jack's own family fell away?

No. Instead, this must be God's message to him, God's command that Jack Mansfield finally exercise the authority he'd been given by the government and by the heavenly powers to right a serious wrong. The longer he waited, the worse it would get. Would he himself be next to die by the devil's hands? Captain Wilson and others believed the victim's body was rotting, though her spirit was not yet saved.

This was the thought that brought Jack to his religious knees. This was the robbery that was more terrible than his wife's murder: namely, that God had promised Jack her salvation, and this promise had been snatched away from him. Jack would not tolerate the man who would tread on the promises of God.

It was Jack's duty to save his wife's soul.

It was his obligation to bring God's promises to light.

Justice is mine
.

Jack got out of the car and stood in the rain, letting it wash his mind until he was clear about what would happen next.

He walked into the house to gather some guns and make his plans.

CHAPTER 17

By the time Ed had lifted his mother into the passenger seat and careened into Miners Rest, where he could get to a telephone that worked, she was insisting that there was no need to call anyone or take her anywhere but home. She was able to convince him that he'd waste more time and worry more people by stopping to call than if he'd just get on the road.

“I'm taking you to the hospital,” he said firmly.

“No, you're not. But we'll call your dad when we get cell reception again.”

And by then she was sitting up in the seat, and the tremors in her hands had calmed down. She talked with her eyes closed and her head tilted back against the headrest.

“You're a good driver.”

“I think you're too sick to know exactly what I'm doing.”

“Ha ha. Strangely, I think all the swaying has really helped. I'm a baby in a cradle. All I need is a nap. Don't bother Dad for this.”

“Right.”

Leaving as soon as they'd arrived turned out to be a good thing. The forecasted rain arrived sooner than expected and was coming down evenly at the foot of the mountains by the time Ed descended. They would have been caught in the bad weather before they'd come down from Silver Gap.

Ed called his father as soon as his mom fell asleep. Geoff left the Torres farm right away and was standing in the driveway when they pulled in. As if she possessed some inner homing device that was activated by familiar movements of the vehicle, Audrey woke as soon as the sloping drive tilted the car.

His dad helped her out and into the house, sheltering her from the wet weather with a jacket draped over her head. Ed followed.

“You're warm,” Geoff said to Audrey.

“Run-of-the-mill fever. Bring me some ibuprofen?”

Ed went to get it from the bathroom and shook out a couple of tablets into his hand. When he returned to his parents' room with a glass of water, his mom was under the blankets and his dad was perched on the edge of the mattress, holding her hand.

“This hasn't happened for a while,” his father was saying, and Ed wondered what “this” was. He couldn't remember his mother ever being sick enough to pass out, except for that time she'd crashed in their kitchen a few years ago.

“It's probably just something I ate, or a bug,” she insisted. “Let me sleep the day away and I'll be all better by morning.”

“It came on too fast for that, don't you think? You know anyone who's this sick? Is there someone I ought to go see?”

Ed paused at the doorway.

“No idea,” she murmured. “I doubt it's what you're thinking.”

“Why?”

“Because it doesn't make sense.”

“It never made sense, honey.”

“I don't have any bread to give anyone. The bread's in the bakery now—do you know what I mean?”

“I don't think your . . . sensitivities were ever about bread.”

“Let me sleep on it.”

His dad motioned for Ed to come in with the pills. She gave her son a halfsmile. “We should have done the nature trail,” she said, then threw them back.

Ed touched his father's elbow as they left the room. “What were you talking about? Someone this sick—you think she caught something contagious?”

Geoff closed the door without looking at him. “Your mother is susceptible to certain things.”

“Is something going on that I don't know about? Is she really sick?”

“It's nothing to worry about. She'll be fine. Let's keep an eye on her today.”

The sound of the rain on the roof made the house feel hollow to Ed as he watched his father's back move down the hall, away from him. Ed saw it as a kind of abandonment—his father's refusal to trust him with important information. It didn't feel to him like the kind of shielding a parent did to protect a child; this was the cold shoulder of one man deciding that the other wasn't worthy.

The stark assessment flicked a spark of anger to light in Ed's mind.

Maybe his mother was right. Maybe Jack's refusal to tell Miralee what had happened to her mother was somehow morally wrong, a wrong that could be reversed. Miralee and Ed were both adults, both capable of living in an unsanitary world.

Audrey's day pack was still in the backseat of their sedan. Ed retrieved it and took it into his room, which was at the end of the house opposite the master bedroom. He hadn't bothered to put anything on the walls since moving in. None of the things that had been important to him eight months ago were important any longer, and he hadn't decided yet what values would replace them. He wasn't supposed to be living here, in his parents' home, anyway. He would be moving out as soon as he knew where he was going.

The room was stark: unmade bed, minimal clothes in the closet and dresser, dusty laptop closed on the desk, untouched basketball going flat under the window. The parsonage had a hoop in the driveway; this new rental did not. His Bible, which he hadn't read since Miralee's announcement that she'd aborted their child, sat on his nightstand under a stack of paperback sports-celebrity memoirs.

He sat at the desk and placed the pack at his feet, then rifled through it for his mom's phone. If he used his own, Miralee would recognize the number and probably refuse to answer it.

Ed palmed the old flip-top in his hands and decided what he might have time to say before she hung up on him, or to leave in a message before she deleted it. He dialed, half hoping she'd be in class or uninterested in answering an unknown number from her hometown area code.

She answered halfway through the first ring. “Yeah?”

“Miri, your mom's missing and your dad's decided not to tell you about it.”

Her silence dragged on so long he thought she might have hung up. Or he'd dialed the wrong number. Or the person who'd answered wasn't her.

“Ed?”

“Yeah. Hi.”

“Is this a joke?”

“No. She's been gone for almost a week.”

“What the—”

“Have you had any contact with her lately?”

“That's none of your business.”

It wasn't, of course.

“Jack thinks my parents are responsible.”

This made her laugh. And laugh. Her amusement pricked his pride, and by the time she finished, Ed had thought of five other things he could have said instead.

“Of course he thinks that. Everything you religious freaks do is so inbred.”

“Well said by a girl who doesn't need anyone.”

“You're so full of yourself, Ed.”

“Look, maybe you don't care about your mom, and that, too, would be none of my business. But I think anyone deserves to know if something like this happens to their mom. I'm calling because I think your dad's wrong to shut you out of it, that's all.”

Miralee's laughter had tapered off. “You're going to be a preacher like your dad someday.” She said it without the rancor, though. “What do you mean,
missing
?”

“Vanished. Disappeared. Left everything here except the clothes she was wearing.”

“She'd never do something like that.”

“I don't think anyone's suggesting that she walked off into the sunset.” He decided not to tell her about the accident. That might be counterproductive at this point, though she needed to understand how serious things were. “They found a lot of blood. I guess it's hers. I hate saying it that way, but it looks bad from any point of view. I'm sorry.”

“And my father couldn't be bothered to tell me this? Tell me what you know.”

“My family's under a microscope. No one's saying anything to us. I don't know squat.”

“Is
that
why you're calling me? Because our parents are butting heads and you want my help to break up the fight? I left Cornucopia to
escape
that kind of preschool.”

“Get over it, Miri. The world is so much bigger than your little universe.” He waited for her sharp tongue, but she held it. “If you know anything that will help your mom, tell someone. Doesn't have to be me, okay? Probably
shouldn't
be me. But whatever you've got against your dad can't be worth . . . risking the worst.”

“Okay.”

Ed held the phone off his ear and looked at it.
Okay?
He didn't know what to say. He waited for her to say more.

“I always liked you best when you were just yourself,” she said. “Not trying to be anything else.”

Streams of rain flowed down his windows. He thought he should hang up.

“How're you liking Davis?” he said.
I should be there with you
.

“It's fine.” Her voice had shifted into a neutral tone, the way she had spoken to him the first time he had dared talk to her.

“I'm sorry about your mom. We're hoping for the best.”