Sanctuary (16 page)

“Excuse me?”

“From little Melissa’s death,” she said almost reprovingly. “What a wonderful child. I can remember her from our church nursery. Used to substitute teach for the regular teacher on Sundays sometimes. Too old now for youngsters, though.”

“Where did their daughter die?”

Betty paused, considering Denny’s question. “You know,” she began again, “I don’t think it was here. Near the Twin Cities, I think. We heard about it, though, through friends in the church. Snowmobile accident. Can you imagine that?”

Eventually Denny hung up, after suffering through Betty’s lengthy recollections of the other Nolan family. Enough information to know he’d found the truth. Melissa Leigh Nolan of Marshall, Minnesota, born in 1975, died
years
ago. Ryan’s wife had obviously assumed her identity and obtained a copy of the birth certificate. The information left Denny reeling. Questions continued to plague him. Who was Ryan’s Melissa? But more importantly: Why had she taken on the identity of another?

Folks who assumed false identities were running from something in their past, either from creditors …
or from the law
. What was Melissa running from?

Denny returned the folder to Ryan’s filing cabinet and was closing the drawer when he heard the sounds of the upstairs back door.

Ryan was home.

  
Chapter Nineteen
  

DENNY CLIMBED THE STAIRS in time to witness Daisy’s jubilant reunion with her master. Struggling to keep his composure, Denny stood silently in the doorway.

Ryan tossed his keys on the kitchen counter and crouched to rub down his over-eager pet. “It’s too nice out to hang around here.”

Ryan’s gloomy demeanor of the weekend had faded somewhat. Having received the first bit of good news in days, his friend seemed hopeful … and now Denny had to deliver more bad news.

Giving Daisy another pat, Ryan said, “We could hit a donut shop.”

“Sure, whatever.” Wasn’t his place to throw a damper on things.

They drove past Ryan’s office building and over the drawbridge. A banner, still advertising last weekend’s Annual Mystic Outdoor Art Festival, extended across West Main Street. Ryan mentioned that Melissa often entered her work in the juried show.

Not this year
, he thought.
Maybe never again
. “So how did everyone at the office take it … about Melissa?” he ventured.

Ryan begged the question. “I haven’t told them yet. Thought I’d wait till tomorrow. Who knows? Maybe she’ll be back by then.”

Not sure how to open a can of worms, Denny fell silent. He was fairly certain that Melissa was never coming home. “Did you check back with the police?” he asked finally.

Ryan shook his head.

Denny struggled with his knowledge of the situation. What would Ryan think of his snooping around in his files, calling record bureaus of vital statistics? Even so, he couldn’t just leave his friend in the dark. Ryan would
want
to know the truth, wouldn’t he?

They found a parking space on Water Street, then walked toward West Main.

“There’s a little coffee shop Melissa liked to visit. In fact, Brad Short, the owner, is a client of mine.”

“A coffee shop owner has money to invest? Thought you guys took only
rich
clients.”

“Let’s put it this way: Brad doesn’t run a coffee shop because he needs the revenue.”

“Family money?”

“Exactly.”

The storefront boasted signs welcoming the coffee drinkers of the world. Inside, the owner, an older man with silver-gray hair and white apron tied around his waist, stood at attention behind a chest-high glass counter. He was preoccupied with a trio of giggling girls trying to decide which of the many delicious donuts to choose from behind the polished glass.

Spying Ryan, Brad nodded and gave a knowing snort. “Hey there, money man, I’ll be right with you.” He turned back to the group with an impatient look. “Ladies, what’ll it be?”

“We’ll have three of those,” said one of the girls, gesturing toward the glazed donuts.

Denny and Ryan waited for the young women to divide up the sale, then rummage around in their tiny purses. Placing his hand on Ryan’s back, Denny leaned over and said, “Listen, man, we need to talk. Somewhere private.”

Turning to face him, Ryan’s expression was one of bewilderment. “Something wrong?”

“Could be” was all he said.

Ryan frowned, glancing about the room. “Private enough?”

Surveying the shop, Denny noticed several patrons at one large table. Smaller tables for two were available near the back corner. “That one’s fine,” he said, moving toward the rear.

“Sure you don’t want anything?” Ryan called to him.

“Some coffee. Make it black.” He took the chair facing the windows while Ryan ordered. Outside he saw tourists clambering about, hauling their purchases in large shopping bags.

Over near the counter, the teenagers moved on as Ryan greeted the owner, making small talk. He overheard snippets of the conversation. Brad was saying something about the outrageous payroll taxes and how hard it was to get quality help.

“How’s the market?” Brad asked. Then, without waiting for an answer—“Hey, I got a question about the last portfolio statement your office sent out.”

“Problem?”

“No, no. Just curious. By the way, how’s that wife of yours?”

Ryan covered well, casually sidestepping Brad’s innocent queries, but Denny noticed that his demeanor changed, shoulders slumped. Ryan soon brought two coffees and several donuts on a tray. Sliding the tray onto the table, he sat down with his back to the front door and took a quick sip of coffee. “Speak to me, my friend.”

Denny sighed.

“Hey, you look like you’re carrying the weight of the world.”

“I think I am.” Forging ahead, Denny said, “You told me you didn’t know Melissa very well when you married her.”

Ryan regarded him curiously. “So? What’s the point?”

“I have a feeling she’s not coming back.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe I should start at the beginning—”

“Good idea,” Ryan said.

Denny began with an apology for poking his nose into their personal files, then about finding the hidden photo. He removed the picture from his shirt pocket and handed it to Ryan, pointing out the aspen trees “in fall colors.”

Ryan seemed alarmed initially but said nothing.

Denny pushed ahead to Melissa’s birth certificate, revealing what he’d learned during his calls to Marshall, Minnesota. He shared the exchange with Bill and Betty Nolan, too, the startling disclosure of Melissa Leigh Nolan’s untimely death at age five.

Staring blankly, Ryan remained silent, but his jaw dropped and his face suddenly paled. He sighed deeply, as if gathering enough strength to speak. “You’re saying that Melissa lied about who she is?”

Denny nodded respectfully. Telling Ryan had been harder than he’d imagined. He felt his friend’s anguish, the sting of disbelief. “She assumed the identity of a child who died years ago,” Denny managed to say.

“How do you know you’re not mistaken?”

“Well, we could follow up with the death certificate, contact the parents of the original Melissa … verify their story.”

Ryan shook his head, defeated. “No … actually …” He stopped, eyes glistening. “I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised at anything, after all this.” He shrugged, unable to continue.

How many hits does a guy have to take?
Denny felt lousy being the one to deliver the blow.

A tray fell, clattering to the floor. They turned in unison to look. A long line of customers, eager for donuts and varieties of coffee, stretched nearly to the door.

The girl behind the counter came around sheepishly, bending down to clean up the mess on the floor. “Oh man …” she said, evidently embarrassed by her clumsiness.

“Just let it go,” the owner hollered from another room.

Flustered, the young clerk straightened and scurried back behind the counter to take orders, then filled them single-handedly.

“Nice guy, this client of yours,” Denny interjected, feeling sorry for the poor girl.

“A little rough around the edges” was Ryan’s distracted comment.

Observing the clerk’s attempt to juggle the crowd, Denny’s gaze zeroed in on a middle-aged man sauntering in the doorway, wearing gray slacks and a white shirt. Standing in line, the man made a furtive sweep around the room, stopping at their table. Then he turned away, a look of recognition on his face.
Strange
, thought Denny, who was particularly struck by the lone tuft of gray in the man’s full head of dark hair.

He returned his attention to Ryan. “Has anyone ever contacted you about Melissa?”

Seemingly preoccupied, Ryan shook his head. “No. Listen—”

Just then, Ryan’s pager chirped. He pulled the pager off his belt, scrutinizing it, then finding his cell phone, he punched in a couple of numbers and waited. “Cover twenty thousand shares immediately,” he barked. When he was finished, he shook his head. “I need some air. Let’s take a walk.”

Finished with coffee, they rose from their seats well after the man with a splash of silver in his hair had strolled out the door.

“Take it easy,” Ryan called to the owner.

“Hey, don’t I wish!” came the crusty reply.

Outside the donut shop, Ryan turned suddenly. “I forgot, Brad had a question. Can you wait a minute?”

“No problem.”

“See you in a few minutes.” Ryan hurried back inside.

Waiting, Denny leaned up against the glass window, watching the hustle and bustle around him. Tourists gawking and shopping, young mothers pushing baby strollers, traffic backed up.

Everyone seemed caught up in the movement downtown, everyone except himself … and the man he’d seen earlier in the shop, now across the street, casually drinking his cup of coffee. For no particular reason, Denny felt wary of the man. But he dismissed his unexplainable caution and went back into the shop, where Ryan and Brad were chatting at the far end of the counter, going over some figures on a piece of paper.

Ryan spotted Denny and nodded.

“Take your time.” Denny poked his thumb toward the door. “I’m going to check out the gift shop up the street.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll meet you there.”

Denny headed up the sidewalk, trying to shake his apprehension. But he had an odd feeling that he was being watched. He covered half a block before peering over his shoulder again. The man had disappeared. Denny scanned the area, wondering how the man had slipped away so quickly.

Relax
, Denny thought, ignoring his sense of foreboding.
Stop playing detective. You’ve done enough harm for one day
.

He resumed his mission to buy a gift for Evelyn.
Something “New England,”
Denny decided.
She’ll like that
.

  
Chapter Twenty
  

“I DON’T KNOW WHEN I’ve eaten food this delicious,” Melissa noted after the last bite of the noon meal.

“Well, thank you.” Lela, sitting opposite her, smiled. “I wanted to cook up something extra special for you.”

Lela was perhaps one of the sweetest women Melissa had ever known. The fact that the Plain woman was past thirty and not yet married was astonishing. The truth was, the hostess had everything going for her—great cooking skills, gardening talent, a well-kept home. Why hadn’t she married? Any reasonable man would find Lela Denlinger an excellent choice.

But Melissa knew little of the dating and courtship practices in the quiet community, and she wasn’t about to ask. She
did
recall the blush of embarrassment on Lela’s face, the slightly flustered speech, just yesterday morning. So did she have a man friend after all?

Their conversation turned to Elizabeth and Thaddeus and their little ones. Lela, it seemed, adored her nieces and nephews. She was also quite fond of Elizabeth. “We had the most interesting childhood,” Lela said. “Always together, till school issues separated us. But, nevertheless, we had our evenings … and the summers.”

“What happened at school?”

“Elizabeth began dating Thaddeus, a young Amishman, so she dropped out of higher education, so to speak, preparing to follow in his Old Order ways.” Lela explained that the Amish stop educating their young people after eighth grade. “Since Elizabeth was well past that level, she decided to honor her fiancé.”

“She quit school for Thaddeus?”

“To please him, you know.”

Melissa hadn’t heard of such a thing. Women’s rights had been the top issue in college. The notion of a woman giving up her plans for a man was foreign to her.

“Did Elizabeth ever second-guess her decision?” she asked.

“Never, so far as I know.” Lela paused. “But, then, Thaddeus has always been a good, kind man. He and Elizabeth became the best of friends, even before their marriage. Still are, I suspect.”

Best of friends …

She’d always viewed herself and Ryan that way. And they
had
been close friends, in spite of their occasional disagreements. The commonalities between them made up for other things. They both loved dogs—Daisy was proof—and they enjoyed their quaint abode on Lord’s Point, the sea, the sailing, and all that the prime cove-front property afforded.

How she missed being there, Ryan at her side. By now he would’ve read her e-mail message, and he would know she was safe and sound. She wondered how he’d reacted. Did he long to return a note to her? Did he …

She couldn’t follow in this vein of thought. Lela was dishing up dessert. Time to continue their visit, try not to think about the phone over there on the counter, the telephone that was much too silent today.

“Would it be possible for me to visit Elizabeth’s little store?” she asked, accepting the rhubarb tapioca dessert and a warm-from-the-oven coconut oatmeal gem—a delicious cookie.

“Oh sure.” Lela beamed, her eyes bright. “We can go over after bit.”

She wasn’t sure how soon “after bit” was, but she would be ready whenever the time came. “I’m curious about the type of quilts you make to sell.”

Lela nodded. “I’d be ever so happy to show you some of my patchwork upstairs, if you’d like.”

Anything to kill some time. She wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of examining piecework, quilting, all of that. But she was curious about Lela’s simple life in Amish country. The young Mennonite didn’t own much, though her home was nicely furnished, her wardrobe pleasant, if plain. She hadn’t cared or bothered to learn to drive a car, didn’t own one either. Lela’s greatest joy seemed to come from within. She had an amazing sense of herself, not so much self-assured as she was settled. At peace.

They worked side by side in the kitchen, and at one point, Lela began to hum a tune. The melody offered a reprieve from Melissa’s angst, if only briefly.

While drying dishes, she made a decision. If her contact had not returned her phone call by two o’clock Eastern Daylight Time, she would phone him again. This waiting was impossible. She had to know what she was to do next. For both her sake and Ryan’s.

Lela’s sewing room was a tiny spot situated under the garret. Wall shelving accommodated many spools of colorful thread and other sewing notions. An electric sewing machine was positioned under a window, and there was a table on the opposite wall for cutting out patterns. She also had a small bookcase, where she kept extra tracts and devotional books. The room was her “quiet place.”

“As you can see, it’s small but efficient,” Lela said, showing Melissa around.

Melissa was most interested in the quilted goods, and Lela was eager to oblige, showing her the original pattern. “I’ve used this to make hundreds of pillow shams,” Lela said.

Marveling at the tiny quilting stitches, Melissa found herself enjoying this creative side of her Mennonite friend—a common thread that tied her to this woman and brought more than a small measure of comfort.

When the two women set out later in the afternoon, the road to Thaddeus King’s farmhouse was deserted. It was paved, but only a two-lane, and that hardly wide enough for cars to pass each other. The stretch of road was ablaze with the westerly sun, its dips and turns accented by tall, lovely trees scattered here and there along the wayside.

When they neared the large clapboard house, Melissa noticed three of the King children at play in the side yard. School evidently was not yet in session.

“Baby John’s probably down for a nap,” Lela commented, pushing a strand of hair under her prayer bonnet. “I daresay Elizabeth’s taking full advantage of the quiet house, cleaning and baking and whatnot.”

Melissa was a little surprised that Lela seemed to know her sister’s schedule so well. “Isn’t it hard to keep up with four children?” she said, as they made the turn into the Kings’ dirt lane.

“Not so hard, really. Elizabeth knows how to make the children mind. Besides that, Mary Jane and Timothy help the younger two. The more children, the less work a mother oughta have.”

The idea of the older ones assisting the younger children was something Melissa hadn’t known, being an only child … and a half orphan for the first ten years of her life.

In the Jane Austen novels she loved, there was a hierarchy of duties among children, she remembered. She had no way of knowing where Plain people got
their
ideas, not having had contact with any of them before. She did find the ordering of domestic duties fascinating. Things ran like clockwork at both Lela’s and Elizabeth’s homes, almost effortlessly.

“We aren’t perfect,” Elizabeth said after greeting them and serving up some shoofly pie. “Don’t ever think that.” Melissa’s awestruck comments had elicited the disclaimer.

Mary Jane came over and plunked down at the table across from her. “I sewed my first stitches just this mornin’,” said the adorable child. “Wouldja care to have a look-see?”

“I’d love to,” Melissa said, marveling at the girl’s confidence. She herself had been lacking in such characteristics, especially at Mary Jane’s tender age. The years following her mother’s death had left her unsure of herself and her future. Her loss had been so deep that the mere act of getting up and off to school was a daily burden.

Mary Jane came back, face full of eagerness to show the straight stitches she’d sewn into a scrap of fabric. “Mama helped me,” she whispered.

“Your mama’s the best one for the job,” Lela agreed.

Elizabeth waved her hand, as if the compliments were not accurate. “Ach, I can’t take much credit, really. Mary Jane’s a born quilter, I should say.”

Lela grinned at young Mary Jane. “We know who’s one of the best quilters around these parts, don’t we?”

Mary Jane and Linda, her wee sister, nodded their heads. “And Mama makes wonderful-
gut
food, too,” Linda, just four, said, her eyes growing bigger by the second.

Baby John began to cry upstairs, and Lela slipped away from the kitchen to get him. Bringing him down, she soothed him, rubbing his tiny back gently. She was so comfortable around little ones. Melissa wondered if being at ease with children was something a person had to be taught. Or were there women who took to it naturally, like both Elizabeth and Lela?

“The honor system must be in use today,” Lela commented about the little store behind the house.

“Jah,” said Elizabeth, “and so far nobody’s seen fit to steal from us, which is right nice.” She paused. “Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you I sold another set of your quilted pillow shams first thing this mornin’.”

“So you must be down to about three sets?” Lela walked up and down the kitchen with John nestled in her arms.

“What’s left will go fast, I daresay.” Elizabeth prepared a snack of applesauce for the baby.

“I best be getting busy, then,” replied Lela while the children contented themselves with coloring at the table. “I oughta make up a batch more of them, fast as they go.”

Melissa enjoyed watching the moments unfold, as if observing a scene from an old-fashioned movie. She was impressed with the children’s good behavior, as small as they were. She found herself wondering what it would be like to have youngsters around her. Ryan might not be interested, as busy as he was. But if she taught her children to help take care of each other, as Elizabeth had, Ryan wouldn’t have to be concerned over his hectic work schedule interfering so much. Now, thinking about the possibility of being a mother someday, she wondered why she’d never discussed the idea with Ryan. And why
he
hadn’t broached the subject with her.

Allowing her hopes and dreams to run wild was a mistake. Most likely she was going to be a very lonely woman, and for a long, long time.

Elizabeth’s store was a small but tidy portion of a shed, though it was as well organized as any shop Melissa had ever seen. There were quilted items such as pillows—square, round, and heart-shaped—on one long row, with prices pinned to each. Doilies, table runners, pillowcases, and linens of all kinds—each handmade—graced the Amish store. Kitchen items included potholders, mitts, and aprons.

There were crocheted sweaters and shawls of various colors for women, as well as sunbonnets in all sizes, some small ones for girls. Baby items—terry-cloth bibs with appliqués for both boys and girls, tiny hats, dresses, baby sweaters, booties, and blankets.