Chapter 18

Melender paused at the top of the stairs, unsure whether to approach Mrs. Trent as she stirred of pot on the kitchen stove.

The older woman turned, a smile on her face. “Good afternoon, Melender.”

“Hello.” Melender had yet to master the art of small talk. In prison, you kept your mouth shut and avoided eye contact with the other inmates. She still defaulted to what had kept her safe for so many years.

“Brogan called a little while ago to see if you were still sleeping,” Mrs. Trent said. “When I told him you were, he asked me to say he would be by around six.”

“Thank you.” She moved a little closer to the stove. “Something smells good.”

“Beef stew. I told Brogan to stay for supper, and you’re welcome to join us as well.” Mrs. Trent gestured toward the pot. “As you can see, I’ve made more than enough.”

Mrs. Trent replaced the lid on the tall pot. Sudie had had a battered version of that same cook pot. If Melender closed her eyes, she could almost swear she was in Sudie’s tiny kitchen, standing on a stool to stir the contents of a stew made with chunks of squirrel meat, chestnuts, wild onions, parsnips, and carrots.

“That’s very kind of you, but I don’t want to impose.” If there was one thing ingrained in her from prison, it was that no one offered you anything without a very long, very barbed attachment.

Mrs. Trent wiped the spotless counter with a sponge. “Do you believe in God?”

“Yes, I do.” Her faith had grown stronger throughout her incarceration, given that most of the time, it was just her and God against the world. But living that faith on the outside had proved to be harder than she anticipated. Not everyone proclaiming to be a Christian welcomed ex-cons with open arms.

“Nolan and I do as well. We believe our faith compels us to live our life everyday as if Christ could return at any second.”

Mrs. Trent eyed her with a thoroughness that Melender hadn’t encountered since her grandmother died. Sudie had the same penetrating yet compassionate gaze that looked beyond facades and into a person’s soul. “To us that means opening our home to those in need. You have no place to stay. We have space to offer. Stay with us, Melender. Break bread with us. Let us come alongside you for a time on your journey.”

Melender swallowed a lump in her throat. She didn’t doubt the sincerity in the other woman. “Do you know why I was in prison?”

“Yes, but Brogan says you’re fighting to prove your innocence.”

The bluntness of the reply surprised Melender. No one had given her the benefit of the doubt. She’d learned early on in prison that few were truly innocent, but most everyone claimed to have not committed their crime. She’d stopped saying she wasn’t guilty of the kidnapping or murder long ago when she’d realized no one cared. Now, looking at Mrs. Trent, she managed to get the words out. “I never hurt Jesse.”

The older woman nodded once. “We don’t think otherwise. Now, I expect you could use some more personal things.”

Melender blinked back tears She wanted to hug the other woman for believing in her. To regain control of her emotions, Melender focused on the second part of the statement. “I was going to pick up a few more outfits before my shift tonight.”

“I hope you don’t mind, but I called some of the younger women in my Bible study to help gather some clothes and other necessities.” Mrs. Trent extracted three department store bags from underneath a counter opposite the kitchen island that served as a workstation. “We guessed on the sizes, so if something doesn’t fit, we can exchange it.”

Staring at the bags, Melender tried to process what Mrs. Trent was saying. “This is for me?”

“Brogan told us that everything you owned had been destroyed.” Mrs. Trent pushed one of the bags into Melender’s hands. “I told them to start from the ground up in the way of clothing.”

Melender set the bag on the floor, then squatted and opened it. Rifling through the contents, she noted t-shirts, shorts, skirts, sundresses, undergarments, and socks. Most appeared to be in her size too. Mrs. Trent placed the other bags next to the first one. In one, Melender found more clothing similar to the first bag. In the third bag, a pair of sneakers, flip flops, and sandals, plus several hairbrushes, hair accessories, shampoo, conditioner, feminine products, and a small box holding a generous gift card to a local discount store.

“This…” Melender cleared her throat as a warm feeling of being loved wash over her. “This is too much.”

Mrs. Trent laid a hand on her shoulder. “Please don’t feel you can’t accept it. These young women were delighted to do this for you.”

Melender stood, her head bowed in an attempt to hide her tears. “But if they knew who I was…”

“They do.” Mrs. Trent spoke softly. “Ever since Brogan called yesterday, the ladies and I have been praying for you and your difficult circumstance.”

This outpouring of God’s love on her life came just when she needed it the most. Mrs. Trent enfolded her into her arms, holding her close as Melender let herself cry, releasing emotions she’d kept bottled up for years. Knowing her heavenly Father used his people here on earth to minister His love surrounded her in peace that passed all understanding.

She wasn’t alone.

* * *

Brogan struggledto see over the three copier paper boxes as he mounted the steps to the Trents’ home. He should have texted his aunt to meet him at the door before grabbing the boxes from the back seat of the SUV. Now he tried to shift his load to one side in order to use an elbow to push the doorbell. But before he could attempt that, the front door opened, and he saw a pair of bare feet on the threshold.

“Need some help?” The laughter in Melender’s voice warmed him more than the heat of the August day.

“Yes, please.” Brogan twisted sideways to maneuver into the house without dropping his load.

“Brogan, dear, I’ve set up space for you in one of the back rooms,” Aunt Colleen said. “This way, down the hall.”

He moved by memory more than sight behind her and into a room on the right.

“You can set the boxes on the table.”

After putting down his load, he straightened to see she’d outfitted the small space with a long folding table and a couple of straight-backed wooden chairs with padded seat cushions. “This will work out great, thanks.”

“It’s no problem.” She eyed the trio of boxes. “Now, can you tell me what this super-secret project of yours is? You were rather cagey on the phone when you asked about space to go through some files.”

“Is that everything?” Melender said from behind him.

Brogan turned to see her just outside the door. He looked back at his aunt. “All the FBI files from the kidnapping of Jesse Thompson.”

“Any word from Fairfax County Police about those files?” She came into the room and touched one of the lids.

“I’ve filed an FOIA but haven’t heard back yet.” Brogan flexed his fingers to get the blood circulating again. “That could take weeks, so for now, we’ll start with this.”

“Not until after dinner.” Colleen squeezed past him to exit the room. “It’ll be ready in about ten minutes.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I’ve got it under control,” she said, then went down the hallway to the kitchen.

“Your aunt is very nice.” Melender took the lid off one of the boxes and riffled through the stack of papers. “You’re blessed to live so close to the Trents.”

“In some ways, they’ve been more like parents to me since I moved here just over a year ago.” Brogan had stopped hoping Mom and Dad would help him pickup the pieces of his shattered career, but he had been grateful to the Trents for their generosity in opening both their home and their hearts to him.

His phone signaled an incoming call. An unfamiliar number with a local area code flashed on the screen. “Excuse me while I take this call.”

“I’ll go see if Mrs. Trent would like the table set.” Melender slipped out of the room as Brogan answered the call.

“Gilmore.”

“Good evening. Detective Livingston here.”

Brogan stifled his surprise at hearing from the detective so soon after their impromptu lunch meeting, but decided the other man’s greeting didn’t warrant a response from him.

“I pulled a few strings and had copies made of our files related to the Thompson case.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.”

“The boxes are with the on-duty sergeant at the front desk under your name. I had the bill for the copies sent to your Herald office email address.”

A small price to pay for getting the information quicker than he had anticipated. Curiosity nibbled around the edges of his elation. “What made you change your mind from lunch?”

Livingston didn’t answer for several seconds. Just when Brogan thought the other man must have disconnected the call, he spoke. “We couldn’t definitively link Melender Harman to the ransom.”

“You think something might have been overlooked in the original case?”

“Let’s just say that I’ve never liked convictions based solely on circumstantial evidence.”

“I see.” But Brogan wasn’t sure that he did.

“But that doesn’t mean I think there’s been a miscarriage of justice in this case. Since it’s a solved case, I don’t see the harm in having you take a look through the files.”

“I appreciate your expediting my request.” Brogan itched to get started on the boxes he already had, but it might be wise to include the files from the police station. He could leave after supper to retrieve them, in case Livingston had second thoughts.

“All I ask is that if you do manage to open a new avenue of inquiry related to the ransom, you’ll do me the courtesy of a phone call before you print the story.”

Brogan wasn’t surprised at the request. Law enforcement always wanted to be kept apprised of anything that popped up related to open or closed cases. “Aren’t you looking into the ransom aspect now that some of the money was found?”

“We are, but, as we both know, people are usually more forthcoming with a reporter than they are with the police.” Livingston said something Brogan couldn’t catch but that sounded like it was addressed to someone else. “One more thing you ought to consider.”

“What’s that?” Brogan moved to the doorway after his aunt called out that dinner was ready.

“Melender Harman might have been involved in the ransom after all. I doubt it’s a coincidence some of the money turned up now when she’s out of prison.” Livingston disconnected the call without a formal goodbye.

Brogan slipped the phone back into his pocket and left the room. He didn’t want Livingston’s warning to be true because he had begun to think of Melender as being more innocent than guilty. He needed to stay impartial in order to write a good investigative piece, but his interest in the case had started to tilt more into helping her prove her innocence than discovering what really happened to Jesse.