The Road to Mercy (28 page)

The spire cast a long shadow upon the ancient plots to the west, the resting place of those who had planted the church more than a hundred years ago. When he was a child, Josh had enjoyed walking through the graveyard, reading the names of those who had gone before. Even then, many of the stones stood decayed and mute. The wind and the sediment had filed away the letters of long-forgotten names. Josh wondered now if the testimony of those who lay beneath had gone silent too. How long did our work remain after we no longer walked this earth?

Looking across the hillside, he marveled at the carpet of grass that already covered the ground. Several hundred feet away, a row of newly leaved trees stood guard, just before the land dropped to a creek below. It was a scene that had forever been painted in his mind the day they laid his daddy to rest beside his mother.

Josh walked toward the rise in the terrain, near the north end of the tree line. As he approached, he could hear the babbling of the water below. The sound took him back to days long ago, when he had fished in this creek with his dad. The stream always ran clear, cleansed by the rocks protruding from the brown, Central Alabama soil.

From dust to dust
.

He had heard his daddy preach those words many times inside the old, white church behind him. The Genesis story of God creating man from the ashes of the earth had been one of
his favorites as a child. That, and the beauty of this old cemetery, had almost led him to the study of archaeology.

He smiled. Perhaps his mother’s love of music had been written stronger in his genes. He could see her now, sitting at the piano. Her face glowed when she played old hymns from a faded green songbook. She had known every page by heart, yet her expression displayed unexpected joy as she read each note.

Memories flooded back faster than Josh could comprehend. Daddy’s sudden death from a heart attack. His mom’s less merciful, extended relationship with cancer. Now Beth.

He choked back tears.

Was he destined to live his life alone? How long would it be before he knew if Beth would survive? If their child would live or die.

Tonight, he would sing for two thousand, but none could know the depths of his heart. He was thankful for that, because his faith had diminished to a shallow façade. Others saw only what he allowed them to see. Beth included. He couldn’t let down his guard, for fear others would see that he was a fraud. An actor, who wondered if he could ever believe in complete joy again.

“Josh.” Danny’s voice pulled him back to the present. “I hate to bother you, but it’s time to leave if we’re going to make the show tonight.”

Josh turned to see kindness and understanding on his friend’s face. “Yes, we need to do that. Sorry—”

“No need to apologize,” his driver said. “I spend a lot of time at my mother’s grave.” His voice faded into the rustle of the tree leaves.

Back in the bus, after a stop for fuel and a quick breakfast, Josh watched Danny merge into oncoming traffic, heading toward Jackson, Mississippi.

Several miles down the road, all of the colors appeared brighter. Perhaps it was the angle of the sun, or maybe Josh was refreshed by the time with his past.

“How do you do it?” he asked Danny.

“What?”

“How do you handle your mom’s death so well? I know from experience, it’s not easy.”

“Look straight down the highway,” Danny told him. He pointed with one hand, keeping the other on the wheel. “Do you see how it disappears into the horizon when there’s a rise ahead?”

“Yes.”

“That’s like our journey in this life.” Danny glanced at the bus’s control panel. “We’re traveling seventy miles an hour. That’s too fast to stop if for some reason the road ends over that hill.” He shook his head. “But we would never make our goal—the show tonight—if I didn’t keep the pedal to the metal.”

Josh studied Danny’s face for a clue about what he was saying.

“However,” his driver continued. “I have faith that the road doesn’t end over that hill. My faith is based on past experience that I can trust the department of transportation to continue the road.” He glanced to Josh. “Just as I know I can trust God for whatever is next. Even for those things I can’t see.”

Josh nodded.

“He has gotten me and my family through some tough times. The hardest, so far, being my mom’s passing. But the Good Lord has promised that I’ll see her again. I have faith the road doesn’t end here, and when the Lord calls us to the other
side of the hill, the view will be completely different. We will see things as he sees them.”

Josh marveled at his driver’s words. “You should have been a preacher. You missed your calling.”

“Nah.” Danny’s face turned a dark shade of red. “I’m just grateful for the blessings of my faith. And a little emotional.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Thanks for going out of your way today.” Josh’s response was interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

It was Clint Garrett.

“Hey, man.”

“Where are you?” Clint asked.

“In Mississippi, on our way to Jackson.” Josh scanned the road ahead.

“Are you ready for some good news?”

“More than ready,” Josh said. “Did we get our song cut?”

“Better.”

“YOU cut our song?”

Clint laughed. “No.”

“What could be better than that?” Josh teased.

“Are you interested in recording for AMG Records?”

“Are you kidding?”
He had to be kidding
.

“I called Ken Buckingham to let him know you were available,” Clint said. “And he wants to talk to you.”

“No way!” AMG was Clint’s label, the best in town.

“But there’s one condition.”

Of course, he had known it was too good to be true
.

“You have to let me produce the project.”

“All right!” Josh screamed loud enough to wake everyone in the back of the bus. Even if he did, they would be happy to hear the news. This could be the biggest break of his career.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Clint laughed.

A warm wind stirred the brown leaves from last year’s fall against a backdrop of new life, chartreuse tufts of spring grass and flowering shrubs. Josh watched as Buster ran figure eights around the patio, making an attempt to catch them. The little dog had more energy than should be allowed at this time of afternoon. Or, perhaps, it was just that the convoluted merchandise reports had zapped Josh of energy.

His eyes stung from studying copies of the handwritten merchandise summaries Ryan had turned in for the month of February. The signs were there, just like his accountant had pointed out earlier in the day.

“Embezzlers try to make their numbers look ambiguous,” Bob Bradford had said. “Look at the sevens on the report. They could easily be fours.”

Josh had agreed when he studied the paperwork.

“His writing is extremely legible in other ways,” Bradford had noted. “Alphabetical letters are written with perfect penmanship, but the digits are indistinct.”

Once again, Josh agreed. But it was Bradford’s last comment that intrigued him. “The brain will read the number it
expects to see, although that may not be the number used in the computation.”

To test his accountant’s theory, Josh calculated the music CD sales total for the last week of February. Adding up the numbers resulted in a tally of one thousand eight hundred and fifty-four dollars. However, the total shown on the report was one thousand and fifty-seven dollars. A difference of seven hundred ninety-seven dollars.

Josh studied the numbers and confirmed the ambiguity of the handwritten digits. If he read the eight as a zero and the four as a seven, he could account for the missing money.

Accident or intention?

He ran totals for several more columns. Based on Bradford’s premise, some amounts worked out, but some did not. The worst part, however, was that Ryan’s numbers didn’t jibe with the merchandise company reports. His road manager’s numbers were short, leaving reason for concern.

Josh ran his fingers through his hair. He needed to know for sure. A false accusation would be not only embarrassing but also hurtful and counterproductive. In defense of Ryan, he held two positions, plus this recently added responsibility of merchandise accounting. Perhaps he had made an honest mistake and misread his handwriting.

Josh stretched his aching shoulders, and turned his attention back to Buster. The little terrier was now preoccupied with a cluster of bugs, some of the first of the year. Poised to attack, he eyed his prey. When none moved, the dog provoked them with a well-placed paw. A swarm of crawling creatures scurried across the patio in every direction. Buster ran after one, then the other, zigzagging across the cement.

Josh laughed, happy to take his mind off work for a few minutes.

It was an interesting game of getaway. Some of the insects stopped in their tracks when the dog approached. Others ran. Josh noticed that Buster always pursued the bugs that moved, and he ignored those who stood their ground.

Bingo! Why hadn’t he thought about it before now?
Make the “bug” move
.

He would feed Ryan just enough information to make him uncomfortable if he were guilty.

He would make him move.

With so many things on his mind, Josh couldn’t sleep. He would be leaving for the road again tomorrow, and he had checked his to-do list over and over. As always, his main concern was not what he had left to do, but what he could not control, the well-being of his wife, who lay asleep beside him. And their child, whose life was vulnerable to every decision they made.

Staying busy always helped assuage his fears, so during his days off he had jumped headlong into the physical preparation of the baby’s room. The small, ten-by-ten-foot room lay directly across the hall from their master bedroom. According to Beth’s request, he had painted the walls in rainbow colors, one pink, one green, one yellow, and one blue.

It had been Alex’s idea to emboss a large letter into the center of each wall, spelling the word B-A-B-Y. She had volunteered to hand draw and paint the letters onto the pink, blue, and green walls. Beth’s job was to embroider the final letter onto a pull-down shade for the window wall. The result had been spectacular. Standing in the center of the finished room gave the illusion of being surrounded by a huge pile of wooden baby blocks.

During the past two days Josh had built and painted a removable shelving unit for the nursery closet. The custom compartments, or cubbyholes, would soon hold stacks of diapers, baby clothes, and stuffed toys. The money to buy the materials for the project had come from his quarterly airplay royalty check from BMI. The amount had been enough to also buy bed linens and pay off the chunk of debt that Beth had run up for the nursery furniture. He would be leaving for the road exhausted but feeling fulfilled.

And ready to catch a thief.

“Josh, can I see you for a minute?” Ryan signaled from the bunkroom.

Josh followed his road manager into the back lounge and closed the door behind them.

“What’s going on?”

“We have a problem.” Ryan said, taking a seat on the right side sofa. “Some of the merch money is missing.”