No one who didnt deserve it.
Web threw up his hands. Guess youll have to call him back yourself to figure it out, then. Im going home. So this is your last chance to beg for help.
I dont need help. She added quickly, Youre coming in early tomorrow to check on Lucky and Devils Spawn, arent you?
Yeah. So the longest you could be trapped here is until seven in the morning. But then Web, just because he had an evil sense of humor, suddenly whistled.
Beast immediately lifted his huge black head and bounded to his feet. Everybody loved the vet. Canine, feline, human, didnt make any difference. Poppy loved him, toothe damn man was the best vet shed ever knownbut sometimes he was so aggravating she could smack him.
It hadnt been her best day. Beast had come in with a tangled mess of swamp spurs. Her two younger brothers had called to insist on her participation at a family party. Her laptop was sick. Her favorite jeans had blown out a knee.
The call from the lawyer was a bright spot, though. Why a lawyer, any lawyer, could conceivably want to get in touch with her was unguessable.
But Poppy had always loved a mystery.
Bren Price was polishing the altar candlesticks when the church door opened, letting in a sudden burst of late-September sunshine. Late Thursday afternoons, she often cleaned the altar, because invariably no one was using the church at that time. Right off, though, Bren guessed the reason for the interruption. A miserably distraught Martha Almond spotted her and all but ran up the aisle.
Bren met her at the base of the pews, her arms already opened wide. Soits bad, is it? she asked softly.
Bren already knew the story. Marthas sixteen-year-old son had been in a car accident. It looked as if he was going to lose his leg. On top of that, the teenager was to blame for the accident because hed been drinking and partying with a group of friends.
Everyones blaming me, Martha wailed. Thing is, Im blaming me, too. I just dont know how I could have stopped him. No matter what I ever said or did, he was just determined
Bren let her pour. It was the typical mom-of-a-teenager list of complaints, but the typical teenager usually managed to slip around fate. Marthas son hadnt. In time, things would get better, but right now Martha couldnt see a ray of sunshine anywhere. She was exhausted and scared and shaken.
Bren came through with tissues, a listening ear, the warmth of someone holding her. Martha wasnt the best mom or the worst. Like everybody, she tried her best, and yet sometimes her best wasnt good enough. Finally Marthas tears eased up and she sank limply against Brens shoulder, as if just needing to gather up some strength before letting go.
At least, until the door to the chancellery opened and Charles shot through the doorway with an impatient scowl. Bren, Ive been looking all over for you His expression changed from night to day. He turned back into the pastor his parishioners loved, his eyes kind and his voice a gentle, easy baritone. Why, Martha, I didnt realize you were here.
Two hours later, Bren was just putting a bubbling crock of Brunswick stew on the table when Charles walked in. One look at his face and she could feel a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Lately that sick feeling seemed to be there more often than not.
Dont you think its a little hot for a heavy meal like this? he demanded.
Yes, actually, she admitted wryly. But I knew I had a full afternoon, so I was trying to put something on that we could just come in and eat whenever we were both free.
He said nothing then, just sat down and snapped his napkin open. She served iced tea, then took the salad from the refrigerator and sat down across from him. He neither looked at her nor acted as if she were in the same room. The yellow overhead revealed the sharp lines on his normally handsome face. His posture was unrelentingly stiff, his mouth forbidding.
Now, Charles, I can see youre annoyed with me, she said carefully. But honestly I have no idea why if you dont tell me.
You know perfectly well whats wrong, so dont try that game.
Okay. So it wasnt going to be one of those times when she could coax him into a better humor. Tell me anyway, all right?
He slammed down his iced tea glass, making the liquid splash and spatter. Ive told you before. When a parishioner comes in with a problem, youre to call me. Im the minister, not you, Bren. Im the one theyre here to see. Not you.
She felt slapped but tried not to show it. Youre angry because I was talking to Martha Almond? she said, confused. Charles, she was crying. I just offered another womans shoulder
You drew attention to yourself, thats what you did. You make yourself important. The chair clattered back when he stood up, his face turning pale as ice. Youve always got an excuse. Im tired of excuses. You know what were dealing with. The Baptists have no end of funds. The Methodist church just added a wing. Were struggling to survive, and here when I need you on my side, I find you doing things to sabotage me. Youve let me down, Bren. Again.
He stalked off in the direction of his study, with Bren still sitting at the table. The steam from the Brunswick stew gradually disappeared. Both his plate and hers stayed untouched. The dusk outside slowly turned pitchy black, somehow making the old, worn kitchen look shabbier.
Finally Bren stood and started carting dishes. The enamel sink was chipped, the counter scarred from decades of different pastors families over the years. The olive-green color would never have been her choice, nor the mismatched giveaway dishes, but as Charles always said, they shouldnt be focusing on material goods. Whatever they had should be given to those with real needs.
Bren agreed completely. The hunger for nice things shamed her, made her feel selfish and small.
When the dishes were done, the kitchen scoured within an inch of its life, she stood in the sink window nuzzling two small fists at the ache in the small of her back. She knew her flaws. Her secret wish for pretty clothes, for dishes shed chosen herself, for living room furniture that didnt sag and poke. She wasnt as patient as she should be. And sometimes she stretched the truth.
She didnt used to, but lately she seemed to be truth-stretching with her husband all the time. It was the only way she could find to keep the peace. Charles was going through a terrible time. He was wonderful, as always, to the parishioners. It was her. She couldnt seem to breathe right, do right, think right. Everything about her seemed to annoy him, no matter how hard she tried.
The stress of struggling to keep the church afloat was the core problem, she thought. But there was also the childless issue. Theyd both wanted children, but at thirty-nine, Bren had quietly given up on the possibility. So had Charles, shed believed, until hed had some tests a couple years back and discovered he was sterile. It was those test results that seemed to turn on an angry switch inside him. No one ever saw it but her. No one would believe it if she tried to tell themwhich, of course, she wouldnt.
Lately, though, shed realized that nothing shed done had pleased him for years. Everyone in town thought Charles was the gentlest, kindest man in Righteous.
So had she. Once upon a time.
Now it seemed as if she woke up scared and went to bed scared. Some days she felt as if she were a stranger in her own life. She even
The phone rang on the far kitchen wallthe line that connected to the rectory office, as well. Immediately she leaped to answer it before Charles could be interrupted.
Church of Peace, she answered swiftly.
This is Cal Asher. I need to speak with Mrs. Price.
Thats me. She frowned curiously. She knew the name Cal Asher. Not personallyshed never had a reason to seek out a lawyer for anythingbut he cut a colorful reputation in Righteous, both for his drinking and his lawyering. Hed never stepped foot in Charless church that she knew of, though. Are you certain you dont want my husband, Mr. Asher
No, no, its you Im looking for. I wondered if there was a convenient time you could come in to my office.
What is this about? she asked, confused.
Its a legal matter, Mrs. Price. Im representing a client. Youre mentioned in her will on an issue that she wanted to be kept private. It wont take me long to give you the information, but Id prefer to do it in the privacy of my office, unless thats impossible for you.
No, no, of course its not impossible, she said, but a fresh knot was already tying tight in the pit of her stomach. Its a little difficult for me to pin down my husband right now. Hes just so busy
No, no, youre misunderstanding. It was expressly my clients wishes that I see you alone. Later, whatever you choose to tell your husband or anyone else is up to you, not my business. But for my part in this, I need a short one-on-one meeting with you to convey the issue in my clients will.
Bren started to say that that was impossible. The whole thing sounded hokey. Nothing secret was ever legitimate, now, was it? And more to the point, she never did thingsserious thingswithout consulting Charles. She didnt have that kind of marriage.
Mrs. Price?
Yes, Im here. She clapped the receiver tighter to her ear.
Socan you meet sometime next week? Say Monday morning, ten oclock?
Yes, she said.
When she hung up the phone, she was still bewildered how or why she could possibly have agreed.
Of course, she could go right in and tell Charles about the call this very minute.
She decided to do just that. She even took a brisk step forwardand then suddenly leaned back against the counter. She stood there without moving for a good long minute. Some instinct held her back. Maybe it was as simple as not wanting to interrupt Charles when he was already in an ornery mood.
Maybe it was something else.
She didnt know. She couldnt explain this silly, inexplicably strong intuition that she keep this information to herselfat least for now.
CHAPTER 2
When Poppy clomped up the steps to Cal Ashers office, it was five minutes to ten. She was crabby at having her Monday workday interrupted and shed forgotten her thermos. No oneat least no one who knew hercould possibly expect her to be civil without her caffeine quota, and shed been too darn busy this morning to guzzle it.
She charged in the gloomy vestibule and promptly found another reason to scowl. She wasnt alone. Someone else had obviously arrived ahead of her and was waiting to see Cal.
More annoying yet, the lone woman sitting there waswell, Poppy couldnt immediately remember her full name, but she was pretty sure the last name was Price and that she was a ministers wife.
Poppy liked to think of herself as tolerant, but in her heart she knew perfectly well she was allergic to churches. She had no problem with religion. Hell, she even had some herself, even if she tended to be quiet about it. But something seemed to happen to a lot of people when they attended church. They started turning into serial sinners, tended to claim their beliefs were the only right ones and then felt obligatedfor God knows what reasonto push those beliefs on everybody else. Poppy knew everybody else hadnt noticed it, but as far as she could tell, something about chronic church attenders turned normal people mean, besides. They took cuts in line. Shoved in the grocery store. Demanded to be taken care of first at the vet, the doctor, the dentist, as if their problems were more important than everybody elses.
In principle, Poppy didnt care what anybody did as long as they treated their pets well. But wasting a good work morning in a lawyers office with no one to talk to but a pastors wifewell, it sucked.
She plunked down on a hard-back chair and glanced at her Swiss Army watch, willing the minute dial to hustle along. Shed always been very good at doing, very bad at waiting. She hadnt dressed up for this shindig because she was going straight back to work, but her one pride and joyher mane of thick russet hairwas freshly washed. And shed taken the trouble to throw on a sweatshirt without holes and jeans more reputable than most. Naturally she hadnt bothered with makeup because she didnt own any.
As a young teenager, she remembered believing all the advertisements zealously pushed on girls to make them think that makeup had the power to change their looks. Eventually shed recognized that scam for what it was. Nothing was going to make her pretty. Makeup made her more vulnerable instead of less, because it drew attention to her potatoes-plain face. Better for people to think she didnt give a damn about her looks than to reveal she was sensitive about them.
Poppy glanced at her watch again, discovered less than forty seconds had passed and jumped to her feet. Might as well look around, since she couldnt sit still.
Cal Asher still practiced law in the old family home on Main Street. Everybody knew the story about how hed been the sole holdout when the town council fought to renovate the rest of Righteous. The tall, skinny brick home was tucked between Our Waythe town newspaperand various other commercial ventures, from Silver Dream to Marcellas Expert Hair Salon.
Cals house stood out like the eccentric he was, inside and out. The parlor/waiting area may have seen an update in the 80s, but that would have been the l880s, as far as Poppy could tell. All the furnishings would have looked elegantin another century. Doubtful it had been dusted since. The big room was crowded with characterlots of furniture with feet, lots of cracked crown molding and blistered woodwork, lamps with fringe and dangling crystals. She accidentally caught a glimpse of a funny-looking woman with a disheveled mane of reddish hairrealized it had to be her in that wavy, gilt-framed mirror on the far wall and swiftly turned away.
She wasnt ignoring the pastors wife. Just couldnt see a point in starting a conversation with someone she had nothing in common with. And she kept fretting who Cal was going to see firstyeah, the woman had arrived before her, but Poppy was the one who had a ten oclock appointment. For which shed been early. And for which Cal was now two minutes late.
The far double doors were opened by a scrawny little guy wearing a bow tie. Miss Thompson and Mrs. Price, come this way, please.
Poppy tossed a startled look at the pastors wife. The woman shot an equally startled look back at herthen smiled. I didnt expect we would be called in together, the woman said.
Neither did I. I dont understand anything about this, Poppy admitted.
Me either. I have no idea what Im even doing here.
Okay, Poppy thought. So the Price woman wasnt the stiff-as-dried-mud preachy type shed instantly assumed. But they were still from alien planets. Price was wearing a mid-calf-length dress, a print with little flowers and a tidy belt. Her wheat-pale hair swayed just to her shoulders, curling under, a style that suited her perfectly. Her posture was perfect. In fact, she could have aced the course in modesty and decorumwhich Poppy couldnt do if her life depended on itand most aggravating of all, the damn woman was beautiful.