Chapter 15

“Uncle Nolan, how are you?” Brogan repositioned the phone as he waited in his car. From the back seat, Goliath meowed in his carrier.

“Good. Colleen was just saying it’s been too long since our favorite nephew came over for dinner.”

“I won’t tell my brother you said that.”

Nolan laughed. “Don’t worry, I tell him the same thing.”

Brogan chuckled. “Why am I not surprised?” Brogan tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he considered and rejected several ways to approach his request.

“How about you come over Saturday for dinner?”

“That would be great.” Brogan loved spending time with the Trents and their low-key family. Nolan might be a well-respected musicologist with several popular histories of folk songs, but he wasn’t stuffy or pretentious. Aunt Colleen mothered Brogan more than his own mom, always giving him a safe haven to relax when the world pressed in too tightly. After his downfall, he’d spent a few months living in their basement apartment. They hadn’t asked questions or hounded him to explain his action. They’d simply given him space to come to terms with what he’d done.

“Wonderful. Colleen will be thrilled. Now tell me what’s on your mind.”

“You know me too well.”

“Well enough to know that my favorite nephew is a busy reporter and he doesn’t call out of the blue for no reason.”

After drawing in a deep breath, Brogan plunged in. “I have a favor to ask. It’s a big one, and I’d understand if you said no.”

“Hmm. That sounds mysterious. What’s the favor?”

“Someone I know—and her cat—needs a place to stay.” Brogan scanned the Walmart parking lot for Melender, who’d needed to pick up a few necessities since not much had been salvageable from her apartment.

“We’re always willing to help.”

Brogan had expected his uncle’s quick response, but Nolan should hear the entire story first. “I know, but this one has special circumstances.”

“Okay, tell me.”

“First of all, I’m not sure for how long she would need a place. She works nights for a cleaning company and came home this morning to find her apartment had been vandalized and all her stuff completely destroyed. Her landlord kicked her out on some pretense, so she can’t move back in even after the place is repaired.”

“That’s terrible,” Nolan interjected when Brogan paused.

“Yes, it is. The police hold out little hope of finding whoever did this, but I’m not sure they will look very hard.”

“Why’s that?”

Brogan gripped the steering wheel. Now for the hard part. “She’s a former convict.”

“What was her crime?”

“Murder. She was convicted of killing her one-year-old cousin.”

Nolan didn’t say anything for several seconds. His aunt and uncle loved God and attended church regularly. They had a heart for the downtrodden, with Colleen working for a local charity that helped single mothers acquire training and skills to get better jobs. While having no children of their own, they had been foster parents for numerous children over the years. But for all that, asking them to take in a convicted child killer might be more than they would want to take on.

“God indeed has a sense of humor.” Nolan finally broke the silence.

Whatever Brogan had expected his uncle to say, it wasn’t that. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve always known that an Almighty hand directs my path, but there are times in life when that becomes clearer. This is one of those times.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain it all when you bring Melender Harman over.”

* * *

Sittingpoolside on a chaise lounge in the shade of an umbrella, Ruby flicked through the photos on her phone with her freshly manicured fingers. The before-and-after shots of Melender’s apartment would never make a glossy home-and-garden magazine spread, but she couldn’t be more pleased. Her contact had done a superb job of methodically destroying the place. Absolutely nothing remained intact, from shredded pillowcases to a decimated box of cereal.

Again, Ruby went through the photos, more slowly this time to savor the scene. She imagined the look of horror and surprise on her niece’s face. If only the man could have stuck around to photograph Melender’s reaction. For she had been very clear in her instructions to the man on what words to scrawl on the bedroom wall. To an outsider, it would have simply been read as a typical, foul-mouth rant against a convicted baby killer. But Melender would have immediately recognized the phrasing as one Ruby had said several times over the course of her niece’s arrest and trial.

Ruby’s conscience piped up that maybe she was taking her need for vengeance too far, but she ignored the nagging voice, much as she had done since leaving Maple Hollow. Uttering a word Sudie would have washed out her mouth with soap for saying, Ruby exited the photo gallery. She would enjoy looking at them again. But Quentin would be arriving home soon, and she had to be ready to pretend like everything was as usual. It wouldn’t do to have him suspect she was harassing Melender.

“Ruby?”

She froze as her husband came out onto the pool deck, loosening his tie. He wasn’t supposed to be home for another hour.

Quentin paused by her chair. “Darling? Are you okay? Consuela said you have been sitting out here all afternoon.”

Always careful of too much sun exposure, she’d only been poolside for half an hour. With a smile, she reached out a hand toward her husband. “I’m fine, but why are you home early?”

He sat on end of her lounge. “I’m not home early. It’s after six.”

Ruby blinked. She’d come outside at two-thirty after receiving the text with the photographs. Had she really lost track of time for that long? Quentin’s worried expression made her scramble for an acceptable excuse for her time lapse. “I guess I must have fallen asleep.”

Her explanation smoothed the lines from his forehead. “I’m glad you were in the shade and didn’t get a sunburn.” He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. “I heard someone broke into Melender’s apartment and trashed it.”

A tightness gripped her throat at the steady look in his eyes. He knew. Somehow, he knew she had instigated the break-in. “Is that so?”

Without breaking eye contact, Quentin continued. “Yes, there’s nothing left intact, and they left a pretty vile message spray-painted on the bedroom wall.”

Indignation rose in her like an erupting volcano. “She has no right to be walking around, living like a normal person. Not when our Jesse is still out there, somewhere.”

“I understand those feelings.” He cupped her cheek with his hand. “I miss our son every day too.”

Ruby stared at him. He rarely spoke of Jesse, didn’t cry on his birthday or Christmas like she did. As the years slipped by, she had begun to think her husband didn’t care that their son had no final resting place. But looking into his eyes, the depths of his own pain and loss became visible again, sharply reminding her of how she’d chosen not to notice his own pain.

Her hand over his, she turned her head and kissed his palm. “My darling, I’m so sorry.” Hers had simply been the more vocal, the more public grief. His had been more private, and therefore, less conspicuous.

Quentin scooted back on the lounge and drew her into his arms. Ruby nestled closer, laying her head on his shoulder. She would confess what she had done since he seemed to already know.

Together, they would come up with a plan to force Melender to tell them where Jesse was, and they could bring their little boy home. At last.

* * *

Melender cutthe engine and unbuckled her seatbelt. Brogan had insisted on following her to Walmart, then having her follow him to his aunt and uncle’s house. Since he offered to take Goliath in his car to keep the cat cool while she shopped, she’d agreed to the plan. The rambler tucked into an older neighborhood in Fairfax City was worlds away from the Thompsons’ McLean mansion, but the neat landscaping spoke of care. She still wasn’t sure about staying with Brogan’s aunt and uncle, but he had insisted they were willing, even after knowing her background, so here she was. He’d told them she needed to catch a few hours of sleep before her night shift, so she hoped it would be a quick introduction.

She had no sooner grabbed her bag of hastily-purchased clothes and minimal toiletries and climbed out of the car when the front door of the home opened. A plump older woman stepped onto the porch. The woman’s hand planted on her hip reminded Melender of the nursery rhyme about a little teapot short and stout. Melender stifled a chuckle.

“Brogan!” The woman threw her arms up for an embrace. “You’ve finally decided to come visit your aunt and uncle.”

“Aunt Colleen, it’s good to see you, too.” Balancing Goliath’s carrier in one hand, Brogan bounded up the short flight of steps and enveloped the woman in a one-armed hug.

Melender paused at the bottom of the steps leading to a covered porch that stretched down one side of the house.

Brogan released his aunt and turned to Melender. “Aunt Colleen, this is Melender Harman. Melender, this is Colleen Trent.”

Trent. Surely, it would be too much of a coincidence if Brogan’s aunt was married to the Nolan Trent from the music store. Melender pushed away that thought as she came up the steps and held out her hand. Mrs. Trent took Melender’s hand in hers and gave it a little squeeze before releasing it. The touch was over before it had barely began, leaving Melender feeling bereft and not quite knowing why. Mrs. Trent gazed straight into her eyes. “Welcome to our home, my dear.”

The kind words nearly undid Melender’s composure, but she hung on to her emotions by a thread. “Thank you for letting me and Goliath crash here.”

Mrs. Trent patted her arm, then moved to open the front door. “Let’s get inside out of this heat. I swear, August gets hotter and more humid every year.”

Brogan held the door for Melender. “Is Uncle Nolan home?”

“Nolan Trent, the musicologist?” The question burst out of Melender before Brogan could close the screen door behind her.

“Yes, that’s right.” Brogan frowned. “Do you know him?”

“We’ve met at Fox’s Music store,” Nolan Trent called from the top of the basement stairs to the right of the front door. He handed his wife a light bulb. “I can’t remember where we put these to recycle.”

Melender nodded when Brogan turned her way and raised his eyebrows. “I like to talk about music with Mr. Jimmy, the owner.”

“I see.” Brogan probably didn’t see, but the strange coincidence of Nolan Trent being Brogan’s uncle made Melender a little uneasy, especially after the way Mr. Trent had practically accused her of extortion over her grandmother’s dulcimer.

“Miss Harman, when Brogan told us about your situation, we were delighted to provide a place for you to say. And, Goliath, of course.” Mr. Trent offered her a slight smile as her cat meowed from the carrier. “It’s the least I can do after jumping to unfounded conclusions the other day at the music store.”

Melender pinched the bridge of her nose, a headache forming. She couldn’t deal with this right now. She desperately needed a few hours of sleep before she collapsed. “I appreciate it, but I only have a few hours before my evening shift, and I’ve been up since yesterday afternoon.”

“Of course.” Mrs. Trent bustled forward, touching Melender’s arm. “Just follow me, and I’ll show you the basement apartment. We took the liberty of setting up a litter pan, food, and water in the bathroom for Goliath.”

With a quick smile of thanks to Brogan, Melender followed the woman down the stairs to a compact apartment that boasted a bedroom, a full bath with shower and tub combination, a small kitchenette, a and larger living/dining room space, all separated from the rest of the house by a sturdy door with a deadbolt. Melender released Goliath into the bathroom and closed the door.

“There are clean sheets on the bed and fresh towels in the bathroom.” Mrs. Trent smiled. “I’ll leave you to your nap.”

Alone at last, Melender threw the deadbolt, set her phone’s alarm, then tumbled, fully clothed, on top of the bed. Her last conscious thought centered on the fact that she didn’t believe in coincidence, so what was she to make of finding herself in the home of Nolan and Colleen Trent?