Eye of the Beholder (2 page)

I
would like to express my gratitude to Farideh Arianpour, my Iranian-American friend, whose gentle resolve to treat all people with respect and dignity inspired me to weave an unanticipated thread through this story.

I extend a special thank you to Paul David Houston, assistant district attorney, Nacogdoches County, Texas, for his valuable input regarding law enforcement and legal procedures; and for taking time to read pertinent chapters and make suggestions that have added to the realism of the scenes. Paul, thanks for being accessible and also for searching out answers to my questions about drug trafficking. I’m grateful for your willingness to help.

Also, a special word of thanks to my friend, Will Ray, professional investigator, State of Oregon, for taking time to advise me on scenes pertinent to DNA evidence and private investigations. Will, you’re always so generous with your time and knowledge. You’re starting to feel like family!

I also wish to thank Kim Prothro for her perfectly timed e-mail giving me a link to an interview on the Moody Broadcasting Network regarding North American Muslims.

A warm thank you to my zealous prayer warrior and sister, Pat Phillips, for her unceasing prayers, especially when it seemed as if the story had come up against a brick wall; and also to a host of friends and readers whose prayers strengthened me as I sought to bring the story together: Susie Killough, Judi Wieghat, Carolyn Walker, Mark and Donna Skorheim, Pearl Anderson, LaVerne McCuistion, Deidre Pool and her entire fourth-grade class, my
ever-faithful friends at LifeWay Christian Store, and others too numerous to mention. You know who you are and so does the Lord. Thank you!

To my readers who encourage me with e-mails and cards and personal testimonies, thanks for sharing how God has used my words to touch you. He uses you to bless me more often than you know!

To my novelist friends in ChiLibris, thanks for encouraging and challenging me in my work—and for your many prayers on my behalf.

To my editor, Rod Morris, there’s no doubt in my mind that I would be less of a writer if you were less of an editor. Thanks for using your gift to help develop mine.

To the staff at Multnomah Publishers, thank you for sharing my heart and for working so diligently to get my books on the shelves.

And to my husband, Paul, who overlooks in me the obvious signs of aging, the challenging physical limitations, and even the character flaws—and makes me feel cherished. What a gift you are, and a powerful demonstration that beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder.

And to my heavenly Father, who, because of Jesus, looks upon me as if I had never sinned—use the words of this story to cause Your people to see others with Your eyes of love and mercy.

 P
ROLOGUE
 

Live in harmony with one another
.
Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited
.

R
OMANS 12:16
.

T
he tires squealed on Owen Jones’s black Jaguar convertible as he turned on Half Moon Drive and again on Barefoot Trace. Some father–son talk
that
had been! Why had his parents waited until he moved all the way to Florida to be closer to them to start having problems?

The pastrami sandwich he hardly remembered eating now felt like a hot coal in his stomach. He reached in the glove box and took a couple of Tums out of the bottle and popped them into his mouth.

Owen slowed the car and passed by a row of flowering crape myrtle trees, then turned into the driveway of a plantation-style house with white columns framing the front porch.

Except for his growing concern over his parents’ marital problems, his life was perfect. It seemed as though he had been handed the dream he would have wished for had he dared to hope for something this good.

After several years of working for a CPA firm in Raleigh, one of his father’s law partners had submitted his name to the president
of Global Communications to be considered for the chief financial officer position.

The president had contacted him and made the overture, citing Owen’s creative vision and financial acumen as the primary reason for their interest. Three weeks later, the job was his. And making it even more attractive was the fact that Global’s home office was based in Port Smyth, easy driving distance from Seaport, where his parents lived. Had he handpicked a job and a location, it couldn’t have been more ideal. Or so he thought.

He pulled the car into the detached garage and looked in the rearview mirror in time to see Hailey’s white Lexus coming up the drive. He got out and waited for her, his briefcase in one hand, a waiting hug in the other.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Owen slid his arm around her shoulder and pressed his lips to hers. “So how’d the interview go?”

Hailey Jones shrugged. “Who knows? They never tell you anything.”

“Think positive. There’s bound to be a position for a good HR person somewhere in this town.”

Hailey arched her eyebrows, her round blue eyes filled with skepticism. “I’m interviewed out. There are qualified people in line for every position. I may never find what I want.”

Owen pulled her closer. “You don’t
have
to work.”

“What would I do all day in this big house by myself?”

“I don’t know, enjoy it?” The reproving look in her eyes made it clear that he’d better not push it. “Don’t worry. Someone will snatch you up when they realize what an asset you are.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Too bad you’re not doing the hiring. I could use someone who’s applicant friendly. I feel like a number.”

“Maybe Brent McAllister would put in a good word for you. I still can’t believe his phone call to Global got my foot in the front door.”

“Me either. It was a real gift.”

Owen unlocked the front door and held it open, then followed her inside. “I’m certainly grateful for getting a break, but it’s not as though I’m unqualified for the job.”

Hailey turned around, blond tresses draping her shoulders, her expression contrite. “I didn’t mean it that way. You’re going to be a fantastic CFO. I’m just feeling insignificant at the moment.”

Owen took her into his arms and held her close. “Then I’ll just have to make you so happy you’ll have no regrets. I didn’t think we’d ever be able to afford a house like this. What a great place to raise a family.”

Hailey wiggled out of his embrace. “Don’t even go there. Right now, I just want to get settled and find where
I
fit. I have no desire to be dependent, house or no house. Why are you staring at me?”

“You’re so much like my mother,” Owen said, fighting the urge to smile. “I guess we Jones men are irresistibly drawn to women who have a mind of their own.”

“As well you should be. And I consider being compared to Ellen the ultimate compliment.”

He laughed. “Mother can get a bit overzealous.”

“I admire her zeal. She’s articulate and opinionated, yet she’s open to new ideas.”

Owen nodded. “I wish you had known her when she was a newspaper editor. She’s not as revved up now that she’s writing novels.”

“Maybe she’s sounding off through her characters.”

“Speaking of
characters
, my mother’s collection of friends is about to drive my dad nuts. That’s all he talked about at lunch today—
again
. Gave me indigestion.”

“I don’t get it. Guy’s out of town as much as he’s in. Why should he care who Ellen’s friends are?”

“Boggles his mind that she’s drawn to the ‘strays,’ as he calls
them. He’s embarrassed to be associated with them. Thinks it’s bad for his professional image.”

“They seemed nice to me. Don’t some of them go to your folks’ church?”

“Yes, but he’d just as soon keep a comfortable distance.”

“Well, he’d better get over it. When have you known your mother to be uppity?”

Owen put his finger to his chin and looked up, his eyes moving one direction and then the other. “Let’s see … there was that time back in 1985 …” He smiled. “Actually, Mom’s always had a range of friends from different backgrounds, and Dad’s never objected before.” He lifted his eyebrow. “But expecting him to share Sunday dinner with a pair of kidnappers, the kidnapped, and the falsely accused is a bit over the top. And then there’s that nosey neighbor lady and the Muslim woman she met out jogging.”

“But they all seemed very nice.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then tell me the point.”

Owen put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “For the first time in his life,
Guy Langford Jones
is on his way to the top. And if Mom doesn’t care that her choice of friends is tainting his image, it’s liable to split them up.”

“Come on, Owen. Your folks’ marriage is rock solid. They’re mature enough to work through this.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

 1
 

G
uy Jones slammed down the receiver when the answering machine clicked on, lamenting that he couldn’t even connect with a real person at his own home! Ellen was probably out gallivanting somewhere, no doubt being used by of one of her needy friends. A knock on the door stole his attention.

“Will you look at this?” Kinsey Abbot squeezed through the doorway, her arms around a huge basket covered in green cellophane. “Brinkmont Labs sent this gift basket for you. You want it on your credenza?”

“Sure. Here, let me help you with that.”

“We’re all so proud that you pulled off a win on the Brinkmont case,” she said. “The entire office is buzzing.”

“Thanks. But I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“True.” Her smile told him she was only half kidding. “Is Ellen going to drive up to celebrate with us?”

“I’m still trying to reach her.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask—has she heard back from any of the publishers she submitted her novel to?”

“She’s had several rejections. But she’s still got several manuscripts out there.”

“Must be discouraging.”