The Fate of Mercy Alban (20 page)

“How in the world did that heavy door shut behind us?”

“That’s what I was wondering, boss,” the janitor said.

“Did you see anyone?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I sure didn’t. But when I got here I noticed the side door of the church was ajar, as if someone had left in a hurry and didn’t pull it closed.”

Do you think someone could have been following us?” I asked Matthew as we climbed into his Volvo.

He grimaced. “I don’t much like that idea … but somebody had to have closed that door.”

I rested my head against the back of the seat and stared at the ceiling. “You know what I think? I think it was Harris Peters.”

“Me, too,” Matthew said, nodding.

“I know I can’t prove it, but I’m sure he’s the one who was rifling around my room that night and very likely the one who was in the basement room, too,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “He was creeping around in the passageways trying to dig up more dirt on my family and he saw me find the letters. Now he’s read them, so he knows about the manuscript. He’s looking for it, too.”

“But that’s where it gets odd,” Matthew said. “If it was Harris, as you said, he’s looking for the manuscript just like we are, right? And we just found it. So—what? He closed us in the vault with the thing we were all looking for? That just doesn’t make any sense.”

I turned to look at him. “You’re right. It’s a rather—” The next word stuck in my throat, and I stared at Matthew, openmouthed.

“A rather what?” he said, his eyes on the road.

“A rather insane thing to do,” I said, my voice lowering to a whisper, as though someone were lurking and could hear us. “And I only know of one insane person in my life at the moment.”

Matthew pulled the car over to the side of the road and stopped. “You don’t suppose …” He didn’t finish his sentence, but I knew full well what he was thinking.

I shook my head. “It can’t be,” I said. “There’s no way my aunt could have done it. Jane has her locked on the third floor of Alban House.” As soon as the words escaped my lips, I regretted them.

His eyes grew wide, just as I suspected they would. “Did you just tell me that you’ve got that poor woman locked—?”

I held up a hand. “I know, I know, that’s how I felt at first, too,” I said quickly. “But Jane said she can’t watch her all the time, and she’s afraid she’ll get into something or fall down the stairs or get lost. Jane says she’s perfectly happy in her rooms on the third floor. That’s where she’s been living, or thinks she’s been living, for the past fifty years.” I let out a sigh. “I know it’s not ideal, but it’s just until we can talk to her doctor and get her back on her medications. I’m not sure what else to do with her.”

He put the car back into drive and edged back out onto the roadway. “Your life isn’t exactly the average church social, Grace Alban,” he said, eyeing me with a smile.

“There are some nights when I just order a pizza and watch a movie,” I said. “Really.”

He pulled into our driveway and hopped out of the car with me, walking me up to the patio. We lingered at the railing awhile and I was glad of it. Something was scratching at the edges of my emotions when it came to this man. I had to admit it—I liked being in his company. I wondered if there was anything more to it than that.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to come in for a drink?” I offered.

He shook his head. “I’d love to, but I’ve got an early day tomorrow. Robes, rituals, hymns, all that stuff.”

Of course. I had lost track of the days. Tomorrow was Sunday. “What time is the service?” I asked.

“In the summer, we’ve just got one.” He grinned, leaning against the patio railing. “Nine thirty.”

“Well, you never know, Reverend Parker.” I smiled back at him. “I might just slink through the forest to see you in action.”

“I can offer you weak church coffee and homemade lemon bars after the service,” he said. “I don’t know how you could possibly pass that up.”

After Matthew got into his car and left, I climbed the patio steps, clutching the manuscript to my chest. Once inside, I hurried upstairs to the master suite, where I tucked it into the wall safe in my mother’s study. It would be secure there for the time being.

The next morning, I showered and dressed early while Amity was still sleeping. I thought about waking her to ask her to come to church with me, but we were not normally a churchgoing family. I suspected she’d figure out immediately that the only reason I was going was to see Matthew, and I decided that was one can of worms I definitely wanted to leave closed. So I just let her sleep. I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and made my way downstairs, where the aroma of coffee perfumed the air.

I pushed open the kitchen’s swinging door and saw Jane with her head in the refrigerator. I crossed the room and poured myself a cup from the pot.

“Oh, Miss Grace!” Jane swung around, a hand to her throat. “I didn’t see you there!”

I smiled. “Sorry, Jane. I was just grabbing some coffee before I head off to church.”

She squinted at me, a peculiar look on her face. “Church is it now? This is something new. After you went through your confirmation classes, you rarely went back, as I recall.”

“Well, then it’s high time I did.” I winked at her, pouring a splash of milk into my coffee and heading out to the patio from the kitchen door.

It was another bright morning, the air clean and crisp, a slight breeze tickling the surface of the lake. As I pulled out one of the wrought-iron chairs at the patio table and sank into it, I wondered if my mother’s old rowing shell was still in the boathouse. Just then, Jane came up behind me carrying a muffin on a small plate.

“I haven’t yet got the eggs and sausage cooking, but here’s something to tide you over.” She smiled at me.

“Thanks, Jane,” I said, tearing the top off the muffin.

“A couple of meetings with a minister and he’s got her going to church,” I heard her mutter as she walked back into the kitchen. “Truly a miracle, so it is.”

I arrived just as the service started, and Matthew’s face broke into a wide grin when he saw me slip into a pew in the back of the church. “For those of you who are new here, the hymn numbers are on the wall there”—he pointed to a series of numbers on the side wall—“and the order of the service is in the bulletin.” And then, turning to his congregation, he said, “Welcome, everybody. I’m truly glad you’re all here this fine morning. Let’s get this party started, shall we?”

I fumbled through the first part of the service, scrambling to follow along, but when it came time for Matthew’s sermon, I settled in. His passion as he talked about the most important thing in his life was infectious and—I had to admit it to myself—more than a little bit sexy. He talked about things lost and found, weaving it into biblical tales, but I knew he was referring to finding the letters and the manuscript, and how those two things would bring me closer to my mother. When it was all over, I was glad I had come.

I leaned over the back of the pew while the other parishioners made their way through the receiving line to shake Matthew’s hand, watching how he smiled so warmly, exchanging personal words with each of them, even putting a hand on top of the children’s heads in blessing. He truly was in his element, and it warmed me from the inside in a way I hadn’t expected. When they had all gone, he joined me in my pew.

“It’s nice to see you here.” He smiled. “I wasn’t sure you’d show.”

“I came to extend an invitation,” I said. “That, and to save my eternal soul.”

He chuckled. “Right. We got the soul-saving part handled. What about the invitation?”

“Come to the house when you’re done for the day? I’m dying to read more of the manuscript, but since we started it together, I thought we could finish together. If you’re interested, that is.”

His eyes lit up. “You’ve got a deal, Miss Alban,” he said. “It won’t be until later this afternoon, though. I’ve got some business to finish up between now and then.”

“Just prior to dinnertime, perhaps?” I offered.

“I’ll be there.” He stood up and extended his hand, a grin spreading across his face. “And now, can I interest you in a lemon bar?”

After a polite grilling by various ladies of the church about my future plans for Alban House, I extricated myself from their web and made my way down the path toward home, hoping Amity would be receptive to the plan I was hatching in my mind.

I found her on the patio diving into the eggs and sausage that Jane had prepared. Slipping into a chair next to her, I said: “Honey, I’ve got something really exciting to tell you.”

Amity’s smile morphed into a scowl. “You do?”

“Reverend Parker and I found the manuscript last night,” I told her, lowering my voice. “The manuscript David Coleville sent to Grandma.”

Her eyes grew wide as she held her fork aloft.

“I’ve got it in Grandma’s wall safe in her study,” I said, leaning forward and squeezing her hand. “Reverend Parker and I read the first two chapters of it last night—”

Her scowl intensified. “You started without me?”

I brushed her off. “Don’t worry about that, Amity. Listen. It’s really good so far. Why don’t you read those first two chapters sometime today. He’s going to come over later on, around dinnertime, and I thought the three of us could read it aloud together. What do you think?”

“He sure is hanging around a lot,” she said. “Are you dating this guy or something?”

“Dating?” I recoiled. “No! That’s ridiculous. We’re just friends.” But as I said it, I wondered what, exactly, was happening between me and the good reverend. Amity was right; he certainly was hanging around a lot.

I shook those thoughts from my mind. “Besides,” I deflected, “don’t you want to know what’s in that manuscript?”

I watched as her scowl faded and a smile threatened to break free. I held my breath as she popped another bite of eggs into her mouth. “I suppose,” she said. “I’m going to help Mr. Jameson and Cody in the garden, but after that we could read it.”

“Okay, then!” I said, and left her to finish her brunch, wondering what I was going to do with my day until Matthew arrived.

Later, we sat in the parlor, Matthew, Amity, and me, the manuscript out of its box and in my lap. With Amity curled up on one of the leather sofas, her arms wrapped around her knees, and Matthew seated in the leather wing chair next to mine, I leafed through the manuscript’s pages until I came to the third chapter.

“Ready to dive in?” I asked, looking up to see my daughter’s shining eyes.

I began to read.

Chapter Three

At breakfast the next morning, I mentioned that I had seen—or thought I had seen—a girl in white doing a midnight dance by the fire ring, but my hosts brushed it off, first with Flynn laughing about the imagination of a novelist doing strange things at Whitehall, and then Pru settling on the idea that I’d simply had a dream.

“If I were to dance by the lakeshore in the moonlight, I certainly wouldn’t do so alone.” She giggled, a musical sound that reminded me of a delicately rushing stream. “But I don’t blame you for conjuring up a dream about me, Mr. Connolly. You’re not the first man who has.”

Donny cleared his throat, his wife, Honor, smiling shyly over her coffee cup. Looking back on it now, I think I glimpsed something in their eyes then, a flash passing between them and vanishing as swiftly as it came. But hindsight plays funny tricks with memory. There may have been nothing at all.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Pru, you’re incorrigible. Can’t you go five minutes without flirting?” Flynn tossed a piece of breakfast sausage at his sister. It landed near her plate and she speared it with her fork, popping it into her mouth with a flourish.

“I flirt, therefore I am,” she purred, batting her eyelashes at me.

I didn’t meet her gaze, instead turning my attention to the scrambled eggs on my plate. I had no wish to be cast as Prudence’s love interest this summer and needed to nip this flirting business in the bud. Although Prudence was a beautiful and vivacious girl, I found myself longing for the quiet company of her friend.

“And where is Lily this morning?” I asked her. “Don’t tell me she’s still sleeping …?”

“Of course not, silly,” Prudence sniffed, as Mrs. McBride, who had been hovering all throughout breakfast, refilled the girl’s coffee cup with shaking hands. I smiled at the old woman, thinking of how the ravages of age were taking their toll.

“Lily lives down the lane, on the other side of the church,” Prudence went on. “She doesn’t stay here at Whitehall—not all the time, anyway.”

“She’ll be here soon enough,” Flynn offered, taking another helping of hashed brown potatoes. And then, looking across the table at his sister, he asked: “What do you girls have planned for the afternoon? Anything? I thought we’d play a round of croquet and then maybe go for a sail. Are you game?”

Now it was Prudence’s turn to shrug. “If nothing more interesting comes along,” she said, standing up from the table and dropping her napkin on her plate. But the dramatic wink she shot in my direction let me know that I would indeed be seeing the girls that afternoon.

“Perhaps I’ll get some writing in this morning, if nobody minds,” I said a bit hesitantly. I was unsure of how much time I was expected to spend with my hosts, but I had promised myself that I’d at least come away from this summer with an outline of a new book, a skeleton that I could fill in at a later date.