Weep In The Night (21 page)

 

 

 

24

 

Low voices from the front room carried down the hall, interrupting Sadie's concentration on the Bible. She flipped to the book of Psalms and snuggled back on the pillows. Truths welded into her soul years before clamored for acknowledgment. No matter how hard she tried to bury them, they kept rearing their blessed heads. Subtle stirrings of spiritual awakening had begun before she'd met Bowen, but she'd been too stubborn to realize it. Attending Hillcrest Church had slowly become a joy instead of a chore.

The Dolomite Chant released the old restraints that held her soul in bondage.

Now she couldn't let the disappointment of Hannah's disappearance drag her back to that dungeon of despair. Hope had gained a foothold and she wouldn't allow it to die again. She read Psalm 121. It had always been a favorite.
Lift up your eyes
. It was hard to be despondent when gazing on hills of hope.

Something about the voices in the living room changed. Sadie slid off the bed, combed her hair, and then set the wig in place. She walked down the hall, shoulders squared, ready to face the men and their guest.

The woman's cropped red hair—a color no dye job could imitate—softened her square face. A sprinkle of freckles sparred for space on her pale skin. Brows too full to be fashionable arched over large, wide set eyes. Packed into a burnt orange suit, her tall, svelte shape sent a stab of envy to Sadie's heart. Even the towering brown stilettos shouted superiority.

Without taking his eyes off the woman, Bowen motioned for Sadie to join him on the sofa. Erik sat in a chair taken from the kitchen. He held a can of soda to his lips, his gaze flicking from Bowen to Sadie.

Usually self-assured and confident, Sadie felt both strengths drain from her. If this was Ginger, Bowen's secretary, why did they exchange such an intense look crackling with tension?

The woman broke the awkward silence. “Hi, Sadie. I'm Ginger.” She reached out a hand to shake.

Her fingers were warm and soft. “Hi. You must be Bowen's secretary.”

Ginger placed her hands on her hips, raised her eyebrows, looked at Erik, and then at Bowen. “Something like that.” She sank into the recliner and extracted a thick folder from a leather portfolio. “Mr. Boudine, you and I need to have a little chat later.”

He slipped his left arm along the back of the sofa, his fingers lying lightly on Sadie's shoulder.

“Sure, Ms. Holland. Anything you say.”

Ms. Holland rolled her hazel eyes. “Until then, we have work to do.” She tapped the folder. “I brought information that may provide answers to several of our problems.”

“I told you to check her out.” Erik set his soda can on the floor.

“I know, and I'm sorry we didn't follow your hunch.” Ginger opened the file and handed Sadie an eight by ten headshot. “Do you know this woman?”

Short, black hair cut in a bob framed an oval face. Her clear olive skin and dark eyes added to her beauty.

Sadie studied the photograph. Her breath caught as a memory drawer slid open in her brain. Covering the dark hair with one hand, she viewed the face and nodded. “She looks vaguely familiar.” She covered more of the hair and blinked back images from the past.

Bowen removed his arm from the back of the sofa. “She's Irene Grayson, Cal's former secretary. He told us she married and moved to—“

The memory flashed in neon. “No. I've never met Cal's secretary. This is Vicky Randolph. I remember her name because I had foster parents named Victor and Sue Randolph. The coincidence stuck with me.” A cold hand strangled her heart. “Vicky worked for Duke Levasseur when Aaron and I…”

Two seconds of stunned silence before Bowen reacted. He yanked the picture from Sadie and examined it. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Vicky had light brown hair. But that's her. I'm positive. Let me see it.” Sadie took the photo. “Here's something else.” She covered the black hair again. “Bowen, look at her nose and eyes. Add a few years and a mustache and you have Kyle.”

“Doggone it. You're right.” Jabbing a finger at the picture, Bowen frowned. “She has to be related to Kyle Nelson.”

“The man from Austin?” Ginger opened the folder and held out her hand for the photograph. “Then we have work to do.”

“So Irene and Vicky are the same person? That'll be easy enough to check.” Erik rubbed his chin.

“Get on it right away and see if you can find a connection to Kyle.” Ginger placed the picture in the folder. “Bowen, you—“

“Wait.” Sadie scooted to the edge of the seat and frowned. “I remember something else about Vicky. She had a mole high on her cheek. It's not in that photograph. So either she had it removed, or she has…a twin.”

“That's possible,” Bowen said.

“I know Cal.” Sadie twisted her hands in her lap. “He would never hire someone who'd worked for Brady Holdings. So it stands to reason these are two different women.”

Ginger nodded and turned to Erik. “Check on it.”

Still on the edge of the sofa, Sadie jiggled one knee up and down. “If you give me access to a computer, I can find out. Remember, I worked on Brady's systems.”

Erik and Bowen focused on Ginger. She pursed her lips and shook her head. “No. Our guys will handle it.”

“Can I at least talk to Cal?”

They exchanged another glance that excluded Sadie.

“Considering the leak and Evelyn's disappearance, I think not. Communication with you can't be traced if there is none.” Bowen patted Sadie's arm. “I know it's hard, but for now we have to keep you isolated.”

Sadie slouched onto the overstuffed cushions. A few forays into cyber space would confirm her suspicion that Irene and Vicky were Kyle's sisters. Although she understood the need for caution, being tucked away in a safe house was getting old. She ached to use her skills to provide answers that would bring Hannah back to her and keep Lonnie away forever.

An awkward silence followed.

Ginger stood and straightened her jacket, smoothing her hand over her flat stomach and slim hips.

Erik eased out of the chair and grabbed his jacket. “I'll go to the office and investigate Irene and Vicky.”

“I have to leave, too. Sadie, nice to meet you. Next time, I hope Hannah's with you.” Ginger picked up her leather purse that matched her shoes and raised her eyebrows at Bowen. “I need to see you.”

Bowen followed Ginger outside. Sadie tried to eavesdrop, but they stood too far away from the house beside Ginger's sleek, metallic gold car at the curb. About the same height, their faces were inches apart. They chatted, getting closer and closer. Sadie's heart clenched.
I like redheads. I like redheads.
Bowen's words when she bought the wig burned like a repeating branding iron in her brain.

Bowen bounded through the front door. “Hey, Sadie. You hungry?”

“Sort of. That burger—“

“Let's go out. There's a terrific restaurant down the block.”

She studied his face. Eyes bright, worry lines gone, and dimple tweaking his cheek. That conversation with Ginger must have been quite encouraging. “Sounds good. I'll get my jacket and purse.”

Bowen followed her down the hall.

In her room, Sadie picked up her jacket and purse from the worn dresser. At least the soda bottle vase and flowers added a bit of cheer to the dreary surface.

“Hey.”

Startled to hear Bowen's voice, she swung around.

“I need to do laundry. How about you?”

“You read my mind.”

“We can stop at a laundromat before going to eat.” He left, mumbling something about garbage bags.

Sadie sorted through her suitcase and dumped dirty clothes on the bed. Bowen returned with two black plastic garbage bags. “When you're ready, bring them to the kitchen. I'll get my things.”

While stuffing the bag, Sadie thought of everything she'd left behind in Austin—clothes, a car, friends. April's sweet face, Julian's concern for her promotion, Pastor Patterson's sermons, Kyle's…was he really related to Vicky and Irene? Is that how he located Sadie?

The Bible still lay open on the bed. She slipped it into her purse. Waiting in a laundromat might be the perfect time to reacquaint herself with more of her favorite scriptures. It would also keep her mind from dwelling on her precarious circumstances.

Bowen met her at the end of the hall. He hefted her bag of clothes and opened the back door.

“Do you have detergent?”

“We'll use the vending machines there.”

While driving, Bowen hummed as if they were going on a picnic.

“You're in a good mood, considering the bad news we received today.”

He turned into a gravel lot and parked at the end of a row of vehicles. “We missed Hannah this time, but we found a connection between Cal's company and Brady Holdings. Plugging that leak will be major. I'm confident we'll get a lead on the Adams woman soon. Let's get our clothes in the washers, have a good meal, and forget our problems for a few hours.”

How she wished she could forget.

The Kleen ‘N Brite Laundromat, to the left of the lot, had one door boarded up. Bowen pulled open the other one and waited for Sadie to enter. Floral scents from a dozen brands of detergent and fabric softener mixed with chlorine to swirl in the warm humid air.

They found three empty washers. Sadie and Bowen combined their dark clothes into one, and then used the other two washers for their separate loads. No way did she want his private things to mingle with her shirts and underwear.

Bowen deposited coins in a dispenser to purchase miniature boxes of detergent. When water surged into the washers, he took Sadie's arm. “The restaurant's right next door. I figure we have about forty-five minutes.”

They enjoyed the authentic Mexican food—beef fajitas with the works. Bowen kept the conversation light and impersonal, sharing amusing anecdotes of his time with Erik.

When they returned to the laundromat, the washers were finished. They sorted clothes into two dryers, one for Sadie's lightweight articles, and the other for thick, bulky items, and then chose seats along the front wall. Two young women chatted as they folded clothes. A toddler pushed a yellow plastic truck on the floor, making engine noises as he scooted back and forth. A TV mounted high on the wall blared Spanish. Since Sadie had limited knowledge of the language, she pulled out the Bible while Bowen appeared to be engrossed in the TV drama.

Sadie located the book of Philippians and started at chapter one.

When Bowen lost interest in the TV show, he slid his arm across the back of her chair. His head inched closer as he eyed the white pages. “What you reading?”

“Philippians. The words of Paul the Apostle have a special significance to me.” Other than Bowen's visit to Hillcrest, she knew nothing about his religious beliefs. “Do you know who I'm talking about?”

“I do.” His gaze left the pages and roamed the interior of the pale green room.

Sadie couldn't tell if he wanted to continue the conversation or not. With the faded ribbon marking her place, she closed the Bible and tapped Bowen's leg with it. “What do you remember?”

“I remember a lot. My mother took Charlotte and me to church every Sunday. Dad joined us when he could. Good memories.” His voice cracked, and he stared outside.

“So what changed? I get the impression you don't attend anymore, that going to Hillcrest was a ruse.”

Bowen pointed to the wall of dryers. “I think your clothes are ready.”

The dryer with her delicates and lightweight tops had stopped tumbling. She slipped the Bible into her purse and held it out to him. “Hold this a minute.”

At the dryer, she pulled out the warm items and dumped them on another table near the two women. Surely Bowen had seen women's underwear before, but having him watch as she folded hers sent heat creeping up her neck. To distract from her actions, she asked again, “What changed?”

Holding her purse under his arm like a football, he opened the other dryer door and felt the clothes inside. “Not dry.” He closed the door, jabbed the button, then raised his gaze to the TV. “I don't know. Life, I guess. Work, marriage. Everything tugged me away.”

The women loaded their piles of clothing into plastic baskets and left the laundromat with the toddler dragging his yellow truck behind them.

With Sadie's clothes neatly stacked on the table, she moved to a chair closer to the dryers. Her jeans and dark shirts tumbled and dried with Bowen's things. She watched them make their circular dance. They mimicked her jumbled thoughts.

“How'd you handle it?”

She reclaimed possession of her purse. “Handle what?”

A deep frown lined his brow. “The trial. Aaron's death. Loss of everything. How'd you keep your faith?”

“I didn't.” She hugged her purse to her chest. “I blamed God for everything. How could He treat me that way when I'd served Him for so long? How could He take my family?” Even now the accusations struck a chord of truth.

“How'd you overcome that?”

Memories of her nights of anguish clouded her focus. She stared at the stained concrete floor. “I'm not sure exactly. I turned my back on God, but after a while, my knowledge of the scriptures knocked down the wall I'd built, brick by brick.” She glanced at Bowen. “Reece Patterson's counsel helped, too. I realized God wasn't responsible for the Levasseurs' actions. We each have freedom to choose good or evil. God doesn't force us to make that choice, either.”

A dryer buzzed, but they both ignored it.

“But if we've chosen evil, will he take us back?” Bowen searched her face.

Although he didn't use the words
I
and
me
, she sensed from his tone and the intensity of his gaze that this issue was close to his heart.