Cape Refuge (34 page)

 

A
fter receiving Morgan's frantic phone call, Cade arrived at the boathouse entrance in moments. Morgan was there, standing in the rain near the gate and crying for help.

Jonathan had gone down after Blair, and as Cade, McCormick, and J.J. Clyde fanned out to make their way down to the building, they heard the gunshot rack the air like a thunderclap through the sky.

Cade's world seemed to retreat into slow motion, while his body lunged fast-forward toward the sound of water splashing, someone gasping for breath, a woman crying . . .

He reached the door and went in barrel first. Competing images slammed through Cade's brain: Jack in the boat, his rifle aiming, a blood cloud in the water, Sadie sputtering and splashing . . .

He raised his gun, but before his finger closed over the trigger, another shot fired, and Jack doubled and splashed into the water.

Again, the world moved slowly, seconds like hours, as Cade sought the source of the bullet. He saw Sadie calling for Blair, jerking in a circle in the angry water, seeing someone on the other side of the river.

His eyes moved up, to the lone figure standing in the trees, the man's gun following Sadie's progress as she swam toward him.

Cade raised his gun with both hands, and muttered a silent, pleading prayer . . .

He fired.

The municipal judge of Cape Refuge dropped to the ground.

Sadie went under, then bobbed back up, screaming out her terror at the horrors unfolding around her, closing in on her, floating near her—

But Cade couldn't see Blair.

“Blair!” he shouted, but he knew without waiting for an answer that one of the circles of blood at the top of the water was hers.

He dove in and swam out past Sadie, came up for a gasp of air, and looked around. Seeing nothing, he dove down again, searching for her, swimming, searching, swimming—

He came up again, and as he did, he saw Jonathan breaking up out of the water, pulling Blair with him.

She didn't gasp for air, didn't fight for release. Her face was white, and even her scars were void of color.

“She's shot,” Jonathan yelled.

Cade took her from Jonathan's arms and carried her to the river wall. Sirens blared and horns bleated, but Blair couldn't wait for help.

He laid her down, his heart wildly beating, ticking out escaping seconds. Cade bent over her and pressed his mouth against hers, began pumping air into her lungs. As he did he sent a soul-deep cry up to heaven, pleading with God not to take her yet.

 

B
lair woke to a blur of voices and faces. She began to cough and sputter; then she vomited on the dirt. Her lungs rebelled with a fit of coughing, and a sharp pain webbed out from her side.

“She was shot in the back,” someone shouted. “She's lost a lot of blood.”

Hands poked and prodded, needles pierced, voices yelled in sounds she couldn't understand.

She felt herself being lifted, rolled, loaded . . .

And numbing fatigue removed her from it all.

 

 

H
ours later, Blair woke, groggy in the aftermath of anesthesia. She recognized that she was in a hospital bed with an IV in her arm. Morgan lay in the small space next to her.

“Couldn't you afford a bed of your own?”

Morgan sucked in a breath and lifted her head. Tears filled her eyes, but she started to laugh. “You're awake.”

“What'd they do to me?”

“They repaired the hole in your side. Jack almost killed you.”

“Is he dead or alive?”

“Dead. The Honorable Judge Randy Simmons shot him. Then Cade shot Randy.”

“Randy? Where was he?”

“Across the river,” Morgan said. “It was all a setup. He told Jack to hide there with Sadie until he came. He was going to kill them both to get Sadie out of the way because Cade told him we wouldn't sell the house because of her. Jack was his pawn; someone to blame when Sadie wound up dead. He didn't count on you showing up before he could silence both of them.”

Blair just stared at Morgan for a moment, taking it all in.

Morgan tipped her head, and grief reddened her face. “He killed Mama and Pop, Blair. Just like you thought.”

Blair swallowed. “I hope he's dead, too.”

“No. He's alive. Just barely. He's in intensive care, unconscious. They don't know if he'll make it through the night. Cade arrested Nancy and Fred Hutchins a few hours ago. Nancy's confessed to her part as an accessory in exchange for some kind of plea bargain. Fred caved pretty quickly too and spilled his guts to get out of a murder-one charge. Said Randy killed Mama and Pop because they were going to expose him at the city council meeting. Randy broke into the shed and stole the speargun the night before, to set Jonathan up. It almost worked. Jonathan's fight with Mama and Pop that morning only helped Randy's plan along.”

Blair closed her eyes as the pain of that information cut through her. As much as she had wanted to know, as hard as she had struggled to solve this crushing mystery, the truth only made her grief twist into bitter, burning anger. “How did he do it?” she asked. “How did he get in and out of the church in broad daylight, without being seen?”

“Came through the water, went in the side door. Fred said that Randy told him he shot Pop first. Mama fell to his side, and Randy had time to reload and shoot her too.”

Tears rolled down Blair's face, and Morgan wiped them away. “Unbelievable,” Blair said. “The good guys die, and the bad guys live to cheat justice and move on.”

“They won't cheat justice,” Morgan said. “And Randy may not cheat death. Besides, good guys don't always die.” She touched Blair's face and tilted her head as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Sometimes the bullet misses all of the major organs, and the good guy lives to see justice done.”

“That a fact?” Blair asked in a weak whisper. “I could've sworn this was going to be that conversation you'd always remember. My last words.”

Morgan smiled and wiped another tear. “Well, I have no doubt that you
will
have the last word, in this and almost every other conversation we have. Or you'll try. But I guess I have to remind you that I'm older than you, so according to nature, and probably God, I'm supposed to go first. Sorry, Sis, but that's just the way it's got to be.”

“We'll see about that.” Blair lay still, looking up at the sister and friend who had always been there for her. She reached for Morgan's hand and squeezed it hard. Morgan leaned down and hugged her, and the two sisters clung together, as grief and relief battled for places in their hearts.

 

 

B
lair slept for a while, then woke to find her sister, sitting in a chair beside her bed, her Bible open in her lap. “You haven't been quoting scripture to me in my sleep, have you?” she asked weakly. “Trying to give me some kind of subliminal conversion experience?”

Morgan smiled and closed the Bible. “How do you feel?”

“Like I've been drawn and quartered. But hey, I'm tough.”

“God was with you in that water, Blair. I know you don't want to admit it, but he was. And he was with Sadie.”

“Good,” Blair whispered. “I mean, that she's all right. She sure had the deck stacked against her.”

“There was no deck, Blair. God was on his throne the whole time.” Morgan leaned over her, her eyes wet and sad. “Blair, after you came out of surgery, I was sitting beside you, waiting for you to wake up, wondering if you would. And I thought a lot about what you asked the other day. About where God was when Mama and Pop were screaming for their lives.”

Blair closed her eyes. “I don't want to talk about it, Morgan.”

“Well, I do,” Morgan said. “And since you're too weak to fight me, I'm going to have my say. Earlier today I read again in Genesis about Joseph. His brothers threw him into a pit—”

“I know the story, Morgan,” Blair said wearily. “I grew up hearing it just like you. His brothers were jealous, sold him to slave-traders.”

“But think about it,” Morgan said. “You want to know where God was when tragedy struck our family. He was on the same throne as he was when Joseph was in that pit, screaming and begging for his brothers to let him out. When he was bound and dragged off to Egypt. When he was thrown into jail for something he hadn't done—”

“You're making my point for me, Morgan. Either he's a helpless god watching a world spin out of control, or he's a mean god orchestrating the cruelest kind of pain. If you want to believe in a god like that, Morgan, be my guest.”

“You're not thinking, Blair. Think about the suffering Joseph went through. The injustice. The tragedy and loss and heartache. But it was for a purpose. He had to be there, to save his family when there was a famine. He saved a nation, Blair. God put him there for a reason. And he told his brothers that what they had intended for evil, God meant for good.”

Blair was getting angry. “So—what? God murdered my parents so I could save a nation? I don't think so, Blair, not from Cape Refuge, Georgia. Tell me what good can come of that.”

“Blair, when things looked dark and grim for those first people of Israel, God gave them a savior. When things were dark and grim for Mama and Pop, there was a savior.”

“No, there wasn't!” Blair shouted. “He didn't save them!”

Morgan's answer came on a tearful whisper. “Oh, yes, he did, Blair. He saved them, all right. Took them right to heaven. Salvation was there, when evil tried to take them out. Our parents probably died with the name of Jesus on their lips, and when they called him, he came for them. They're with him now.”

Blair was too tired to fight. She just let out a long, loud sigh. “It's a comforting thought, Morgan. I'm glad you believe it.”

 

 

W
hen Cade and Jonathan came in, the conversation ended, but Blair played it through her mind for the rest of the night, dreaming of her parents in heaven, laughing and young, standing at a sea of glass, full of some nameless wonder that no mortal could ever describe.

She woke up angry—at her parents, at her sister, at Matthew Cade, at the mayor, and at Nancy and the judge who had instigated the greatest injustices in her life.

And most especially at the Honorable Judge Randy Simmons, who lay in a hospital bed one floor beneath her . . . probably plotting his defense.

She had sworn that when she learned who had killed her parents, she would kill him herself. She owed that to her parents, she thought. She owed it to herself.

Morgan lay sleeping on the small sofa by the window. Blair sat up, waited to get her balance, then tested her legs. Though pain shot through her side, she was able to stand. Shaking, she pulled off the tape covering her IV needle. Then she pulled the needle out.

She walked barefoot to the door, peered out, and saw that the hall was quiet. Slowly, she walked toward the elevators. She pressed the button for the fourth floor and got off at the intensive care waiting room. People slept in plastic recliners with blankets too short to cover them completely. She wondered if anyone was there waiting for word on Randy.

The double doors of intensive care required a security code, so she waited in the hall until a nurse came out. She caught the door before it swung shut, and she slipped inside. She made her way from one care cubicle to another, careful to avoid the nurses in the center station.

Finally, she saw him. She could see the long gray hair and his tanned face, though the dark circles under his eyes spoke of his battle with death. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet as she went into the room and stood over his bed. Hatred tore at her like a hungry animal as she gazed down at him. He was hooked up to several monitors and had a respirator mask over his mouth. She thought of unplugging it, watching him choke and struggle until the life smothered right out of him.

But she didn't move. She just stood there . . . staring down at the man who had killed her parents . . . hating herself for not grabbing that plug.

“What are you doing here?” The nurse's bold voice startled her, and she swung around.

“I just wanted to talk to him.”

“He can't talk to you. He's in a coma,” she said.

She let the nurse usher her out of the intensive care unit. Then she stood in the hall, feeling weak and tired and helpless. He would probably die anyway, but her parents would still be gone, and Rick Dugan's death would still be senseless and without purpose.

It was all out of her hands.

She just didn't know whose hands it was in. A benevolent, gentle god with some great purpose, or a cruel, unfeeling god who saw them all as toys to be shuffled around.

But her troubled mind wanted her life to be in someone's hands. The thought of it all being random, hopeless, was more distressing than anything else she had suffered.

Slowly, she made her way back to her room, but any kind of peaceful rest was out of her reach.

 

O
n the day Blair was to be released from the hospital, Sadie and Morgan fussed over her, driving her nuts. Sadie looked worse than she had when she had come to Cape Refuge, but her arm had been re-set and her wounds were healing. She and Morgan chattered like kids as they packed Blair's things. Then the room got quiet as five members of the City Council filed in.

Awkwardly, Sarah Williford said, “Blair, we wanted to come together today to tell you how sorry we are about all that happened . . . with us closing down Hanover House and everything. We were taken in just like you were. Fred was working us hard, trying to convince us it was the right thing to do. And with the murders and the articles coming out in the paper . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“We were caught up in the emotion and fear,” one of the others said. “We hope you'll forgive us.”

“Truth is,” Sarah said, “our phones have been ringing off the hook. Half the town has called us to tell us not to close Hanover House. Folks are fed up with change on this island. That's one change they especially don't want.”

Blair met Morgan's eyes, then looked at Sarah again. “I'm a little fuzzy with all the medication and stuff. You'll have to make this real clear for me. Are you saying . . . ?”

“We've rescinded the order to close Hanover House.”

As she and Morgan embraced with the thrill of victory, Blair began to wonder if miracles did happen, after all.

 

 

T
hat night they got Blair home from the hospital, and Morgan smiled as she apologized to Gus for suspecting him. He wrote her a song on the spot and played it with a reggae beat on his guitar. It actually made Blair smile. Sadie laughed out loud, the first time they had ever heard that, and Gus promised to write her one next.

Later that night, as Morgan lay next to Jonathan in bed, he brought up something that had been on his mind. “Something's got to be done about that baby,” he said. “Little Caleb, Sadie's brother.”

“I know,” she whispered. “They're not going to let Sadie have him. And he can't spend those crucial years going from one foster home to another.”

“Unless it was this one.”

Morgan sat up in bed and smiled down at him. “Do you really think we could take him?”

“I can't imagine leaving him there.”

“But what about his mother? We'd get attached to him, and then she'd get out of prison and want him back.”

“She'll need a place to stay when she gets out,” Jonathan said. “We could take her too.”

Morgan began to laugh and threw her hand over her mouth. “Jonathan, I love you. I really, really love you!”

He grinned and pulled her back down. “This doesn't mean we'll quit trying to have one of our own.”

“Of course not,” she whispered, and melted into a kiss that tasted like joy.

She knew the dark hours of her suffering had passed and light shone over her now. And in the rays of that sunshine, she thanked God for redeeming the pain and filling her with new hope.