Conrad followed his eyes. “Erline gave birth on that. I’d of thrown it, but I ain’t got no others. The kids gotta have something between them and the ground.” The young man’s eyes grew moist. “It ain’t much, that load, but I need a place to store it so I can go over to the hospital and get my little girls. Can’t risk losing all that. Kids’ clothes and all.”
Sam had always lived simply, but that was by choice, not because he’d been down on his luck. The fact was, Sam made money without hardly trying.
“What kind of work you do, boy?”
“Construction. Janitor. A little mechanical, but not much.” He cleared his throat. “I’d do just about anything to keep a roof over my family’s head, sir.”
Sam didn’t need an employee. Heck, Sam didn’t even need to be around for the gas station to run itself. He’d had his share of hard times, having buried two wives, but he’d never been poor and he’d never had the worry of how to feed a family. There hadn’t been any children for him.
This young man could be a grandson.
“When did you last eat, son?”
Conrad rolled his eyes skyward, as if the answer lay in the clouds. “Not yesterday,” he said finally. “I think it was Saturday. We were camped for the night and I caught some fish.”
A smile broke over Sam’s face. “A man who can fish never needs be hungry. Tell you what, let’s go on down to the café, get a bite to eat and talk about some possibilities. This is no Fresno, but if we could find you something to do, do you think you could be persuaded to stay on awhile?”
Conrad’s face lit up. “Here? Hell, this here town’s way better than Fresno. Fresno’s an armpit. You ever been there?”
“Can’t say as I have.” Sam laughed.
“This town’s a whole lot better than Fresno. Way prettier. And the people are nicer, too.”
“People tend to be real nice in Grace Valley,” Sam confirmed. He dropped an arm around the kid’s shoulders and began to pull him down the street toward the café. “Come on, let’s get a bite. George rarely messes up breakfast, and he has the best coffee in a hundred miles.”
Conrad seemed to pull back. “Sir, my load, sir. Can I just park her in the garage?”
“Don’t you worry about that load. Not in Grace Valley. I personally guarantee it’s safe.”
Conrad’s expression became wistful. “Sure would like to raise my kids in a place safe as that,” he said quietly.
“You never know,” Sam said. “Maybe that’ll work out.”
Harry Shipton sat at his desk in the parsonage, awash in a sea of papers with his checkbook register and calculator in the middle. He kept figuring, futilely. The answer was always the same. He was overdrawn. Again.
His hand reached for the phone out of habit and he snatched it away before he placed the call to his ex-wife, Brianna. It was humiliating for her to always be right—he was a dunce with money. His priorities were elsewhere. He was great with people, with spiritual encouragement, even with counseling. It had always made Brianna laugh, that he could so successfully counsel couples in trouble while his own marriage disintegrated before his very eyes, almost without him seeing it.
Well, at least they didn’t have children.
At least? He had wanted children. Brianna had wanted children. But the children hadn’t come.
His phone rang. “Pastor Shipton,” he answered. The woman on the other end of the line told him that her elderly father had been taken to the hospital early in the morning. It was very likely a stroke. The old man was only semiconscious. “Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry to hear that. Is he in Valley Hospital? I’ll go there this afternoon and sit with him for a while. But meanwhile, is there anything I can do for you?” Prayers, the woman requested. Other than that, she couldn’t think of a thing. “I’ll activate our prayer tree immediately. Now, don’t you worry, your father is a good man and the Lord will take good care of him. And you.”
“What would we do without you, Harry,” the woman said.
“What would I do without you?” he replied. “If anything changes, call me at once.”
They said their goodbyes and Harry got right on the phone. He first called Leah Craven, then Betty Lou Granger, explaining that he needed the prayer tree activated for their fellow parishioner. Next he called George at the café and asked if he had a frozen meal he’d be willing to donate to the family, as their time was consumed with hospital sitting and they probably couldn’t take the time to prepare a decent meal. Next he called Philana Toopeek, Tom’s mother, and asked if she might wish to throw some of her wonderful baked bread into the mix. She promised to have her husband take it over to the family in need before the dinner hour. And then Harry took a moment, clasped his hands together atop a disastrous pile of bills and beseeched the Lord to care for their friend and brother in the hospital. The warmth of community love spread through him like a glow and he opened his eyes from prayer feeling stronger. As always.
But it only lasted for as long as it took him to remember that he was overdrawn at the bank and owed for cash advances on three credit cards.
This inability to manage his meager salary as a preacher had cost him his marriage. He and Brianna had started out in good shape. She drew a respectable salary as a schoolteacher and it balanced against his modest income quite well. They even managed a little savings toward their future together. But their biggest mistake was falling into that conservative old habit of letting the man manage the money. Harry was simply miserable at it. He always paid the higher interest as he juggled the bills, ended up wasting money on nonsense, invested in losers, passed by winners. Ultimately they were in a deep hole.
“We’ll just have to take the money out of our savings, Harry, and from now on, I’ll be paying the bills.”
He would never forget the look on her face when he told her there was no longer any savings. His investments were supposed to be sure things; they had been sure flops.
She was devastated. So they sold their house, paid off the debts, restocked the savings account and started over.
Harry had meant to surprise her by recouping the money. He found a couple of investments that should have paid off in less than six months. To hedge against failure, he spread the money around, a diversified and balanced portfolio. To his delight, a couple of his long shots came in high, doubling his investments, so he set up some margin calls. Then he had to liquidate a little to pay a debt. A couple of investments cratered and he liquidated other stocks to buy at a low, sold some stocks short and, wouldn’t you know, they came in high, causing him a loss. He had some markers called in, exercised a couple of margin calls, had some options come due…
“What?” she had screamed at him. “You lost the savings? Again?”
“It wasn’t supposed to go like that,” he’d said lamely.
So she left him. He could hardly blame her. It wasn’t a question of love, they loved each other still. And if they’d had children together, she would have set up a college fund and he would have blown it on some bet or investment or long shot that was supposed to pay off big. Every once in a while he thought his luck was changing, then wham! Down he’d tumble again.
If it weren’t for money, Harry would have a perfect life. He loved God, loved his church, loved the people, loved the work. He was never happier or more at peace than when he was kneeling, or in a pulpit delivering a meaningful and uplifting message to the flock, or when helping someone with a problem or need. But too soon that part of his life would pass and he would grapple with paying the bills again.
He had a hundred bucks, an overdrawn checking account and credit card bills due. Grace Valley was a chance for a fresh start, if only he could turn things around. If he could just pay his bills, he’d never take another chance on anything. He’d hire one of those money-manager types who would collect his paycheck and dole out an allowance, and he’d never stray off his budget. Never.
He opened his top desk drawer and took out a racing form. It had worked before, i
t could work again. He had a really good tip on a horse. If he came in, he swore to God he wouldn’t place another bet. He punched the numbers on the phone.
Tom was alone in the police department, sitting at his desk in his office, which was the largest bedroom in the converted three-bedroom house. One deputy was on patrol and the other was resting so he could work that night. Tom, whose day had started even earlier than usual, was just thinking about lunch when he heard the tinkling of the bell on the front door. “Back here,” he yelled, pen poised over paper.
A loud snort that fell into a snore issued from one of the two other bedrooms that had been converted into a cell. The bed was being used by Rob Gilmore. He’d had a little too much to drink the night before and his wife, Jennie, had locked him out of the house and called the police chief.
Tom looked up and waited. Whoever had come by was sure taking his time. Tom didn’t hear any footfalls, but he could hear the hallway floorboards squeak. He put his hand on his sidearm just in case, though being ambushed in his office was the last thing he expected.
At last Jim Post stood in the frame of the door. He gestured with a thumb over his shoulder. “What’s his story?” he asked.
“His wife put him out,” Tom answered.
“I can see why. Listen to that. Sounds horrible. Sure am glad I don’t sleep that loud.” The noise came again. “Jesus, how long has he been doing that?”
“Since I brought him in here at 4:30 a.m.”
Jim shook his head. “You must have nerves of steel.”
“I don’t get nearly the credit I deserve,” Tom pointed out with some humor.
Jim took another step into the office. “Got a minute?”
Tom threw down his pen and indicated one of the two chairs that faced his desk. Tom had only just met Jim, but in many ways he felt that he was an old friend. This was June’s man, for one thing, and June was the closest thing to a best friend Tom had, excepting his wife, Ursula. Being the town cop, he did a lot of business with the town doctor. Additionally, they had grown up together. In fact, if Tom recalled correctly, they were blood brothers. That would have been before June realized she was a girl. The memory caused him to smile to himself.
“Something funny?” Jim asked.
“I was just remembering that once, when we were kids, June Hudson was my blood brother. We cut our hands and everything. And now she’s your… What is she? Your fiancée?”
“At the least,” Jim said.
Tom considered it a stroke of luck that he took to the guy June had chosen. Add to that, Jim Post had spent his career in law enforcement. Once they knew each other better, there would be stories to trade. Tom looked forward to that.
“There are a couple of things I want to talk to you about. Are we alone? Except for what’s-his-name in there?”
Tom nodded. “As long as you can hear him, he’s not listening to you.”
“Gotcha. Okay, number one. Confidentially, if you don’t mind. I’m retired DEA.”
“I know.”
The surprise registered on Jim’s face. “No, you don’t. You just guessed.”
He shrugged. “Have it your way. You were part of the raid last summer.”
More surprise. “Did June tell you that?”
Tom rested his elbows on his desk and leaned forward. “What do you think?”
He rubbed his chin and pursed his lips. “She told you about the gunshot wound. The late night visit to the clinic. And from there you made assumptions.”
“Actually, I have one or two reliable sources.”
“That makes me uncomfortable,” Jim admitted.
“Well, relax. We’re on the same side, after all.”
“I was mixing it up with some real badasses,” Jim admitted.
“Mostly behind bars now, thanks to you and a few others. The DEA brought in the army, for God’s sake. And those that slipped away aren’t going to hang around here.”
“Yeah, well, this is what we hope,” Jim said.
“I keep a pretty close watch on things,” Tom said, trying to reassure him. “See if you can relax. You have other matters to—”
“One more thing,” Jim said. “Did you happen to notice a pickup loaded with household goods parked at Sam Cussler’s gas station?”
“When?” Tom asked, which made it obvious he hadn’t seen it.
“When I was leaving the café with June to drive out to her aunt’s house, the truck was parked outside the garage. When I brought her back to the clinic just now, I noticed the truck in the garage. June and I happened upon that truck out on the road. It was disabled. The man’s wife was in labor and June delivered her in the back of her own pickup. There are also two little girls. John Stone brought the ambulance and took everyone but the husband to the hospital while I bought him a new tire from Sam.”
“You had a busy morning,” Tom observed.
“I changed the kid’s tire and told him not to hang around. He tried to give June a couple of twenties for delivering the baby. He had a pocketful of drug money.”
Tom leaned back. He picked up a pen and tapped it a few times. Finally he asked, “Why do you suppose he’s hanging around here?”
“I have a lot of theories. His pupils were as big as ink blots this morning when the baby was coming. He was high. Sluggish and inattentive. I don’t think he’s looking for a fresh start. Though I’ve never seen him before, I’m pretty sure he came out of the mountains where he either worked for a grower or had a small operation of his own.”
“If it was an outdoor farm,” Tom said, “it might’ve shut down. Pot growers aren’t the only farmers who fall on hard times when the weather turns. We see some layoffs around here in winter. Social services gets real busy. Maybe he’s just one more hard-luck story.”
“When you see his eyes…when you talk to him…you’re going to know what I know. He’s not what he pretends to be. He’s not just another hard-luck story.”
“You expect me to arrest him for the look in his eye? Or run him out of town because we don’t like the smell of his cash around here?”
“I expect you to keep a real close eye on him. Because he’s up to no good. I’m sure of it.”
Tom smiled lazily. “You aren’t all that retired, are you?”
Jim returned the smile. “Old habits die hard.”
“I can imagine,” said Tom, who had barely had a day off in twenty years.
“Plus, old Sam seems like a good guy and I’d hate to see him burned by the kid. It’s gotta be Sam helping him out.”
“Sam’s pretty savvy, but just to be safe, I’ll put a word of caution in his ear.” Tom stood and stretched. “You had lunch?”
“I’ll have to take a rain check,” Jim said. “I have errands to run. And I think I’ve had all the café exposure I can take for one day.”
The afternoon sped by for June, for she had more than the usual number of patients with decidedly minor complaints, mostly curious about her new status as expectant mother and, it was assumed, prospective wife.
She found herself frequently thinking, you gotta love a small town. The questions were not couched in any phony politeness. “Well, how long have you known him then?” And “When is this baby due, exactly?” She was an expert at evasion. She would answer “Long enough” and “Babies tend to come when they’re good and ready.” But by far the most common question was “When is the wedding?”
And her answer? “When we have a date, you’ll be the first to know.” By the end of the day at least forty people were deemed to be first.
By the time the dinner hour approached, June had had a full day. She was clearly sinking. She knew that exhaustion was par for the pregnancy course, but she hadn’t been so plagued before. “I’m absolutely wilting,” she told Susan Stone.
“Yeah, I think that’s the worst part, the total and consuming fatigue. Worse even than the nausea.”
“I don’t know about that,” June said, a hand going to her stomach. “Did I tell you about my visit
with Aunt Myrna today? She dragged my mother’s old wedding gown out of the attic and I threw up on her Oriental rug.” She made a face. “I think it was the smell of mothballs. And the tea Endeara made me, which tasted like dishwater.”
Susan erupted in laughter. “No! Really?”
“Would I make that up? I was mortified!”
Jessie, upon hearing the laughter, came down the hall from her secretary’s cubicle. “What’s so funny?”
“June threw up on her aunt’s rug,” Susan reported.
“No way!” Jessie said.
“Way,” confirmed June.
John came out of an examining room to join the discussion. “What did the daddy do?” he asked.
June had to think a minute. “I think he looked the other way,” she said.
“But he didn’t run for his life, did he?” Susan asked.
“No, he hung in there. It was truly horrible.” June sank wearily to a stool in the hallway. “You know, he’s almost forty and never expected this—”
“Hell, June, you’re almost forty and never expected this,” John reminded her.
“I’m almost thirty-eight. Don’t rush me. But you’re right about the expecting part….”
“You never expected to be expecting?” Jessie asked.
June lifted an eyebrow and peered at her young, pretty twenty-year-old office manager. “Let this be a lesson to you. Anyone can find themselves in the family way, without warning. So be careful.”
“Well, since you brought it up,” Jessie said haltingly, “that’s exactly what I’ve been wondering. How someone like you…”
“Excuse me” a voice called from the waiting room.
“Thank God,” June said, dragging herself up and heading toward the voice. Over her shoulder she said to Jessie, “I can’t talk about that yet.”
John whispered into Jessie’s ear. “I can talk about it. She wasn’t prepared. At all.” He leaned back, lifted his brows and looked down at the young woman. “Do we understand each other, Jessica?”