Boo (44 page)

Reverend Peck prayed along with all of them, and never in his life had he felt the presence of God the way he did now. It was as if time didn’t exist, and he wasn’t exactly sure how much time was passing. For once he didn’t care.

It wasn’t until he felt a firm hand on his shoulder that he opened his eyes and looked up. The congregation was still there, and standing next to him was Sheriff Parker. He hadn’t even realized the sheriff had joined him on the platform.

“I just got a call from the hospital,” the sheriff said into the tiny microphone on the lectern. “Wolfe is awake. Looks like he’s going to make it.”

“H
ERE YOU GO
,” Ainsley said, delivering the hot chocolate to Wolfe, who sat in his favorite leather chair by the fire. “Fresh hot cocoa with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles.”

Wolfe smiled at her and sipped the cocoa. “Perfect.”

She joined him in the living room and sat on the couch next to the chair. “You’re feeling okay?”

He laughed. “Stop it. You’ve been asking me that for three weeks. I’m good as new.”

“The doctor says you should take it easy.”

“Sitting in a chair drinking hot chocolate by the fire isn’t taking it easy?”

She smiled at him. “I just want to make sure.”

“I feel great. I have all my fingers and toes. I’m fine.”

“I know, I know,” Ainsley said, shaking her head. “I’m being over-protective. I’m sorry.” She looked at him. “I think I still feel guilty. Wolfe, I’m so sorry about what happened.”

“Stop apologizing. Please. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I should’ve—”

“Don’t. Things worked out the way they were supposed to. I’m kind of enjoying all the attention. How else would I get someone to make me hot cocoa with sprinkles? Huh?”

“I’m just glad the truth was exposed. It was a rotten thing Garth Twyne did.”

“Yeah, but he did it because he cares for you.”

“That’s no excuse.” She leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. “There is one question I have to ask. And I have to admit, I’m not the only curious one.”

“Okay, look, it’s true. I’m not a big fan of cats, but fifty percent of the population hates cats. However, I can understand why you might’ve thought—”

“No, no,” she laughed. “That’s not what I was going to ask.”

“Oh.”

“The question is, who shared the gospel with you?”

“What?”

“Who witnessed to you, as they say? Who got you to convert?”

“That’s the question?”

She nodded. “Everyone wants to know.”

He shook his head, smiled, and set down his mug. “I guess that ranks up there with the question, ‘Who was Deep Throat?’ eh?”

“In a town this size it does. So who was it?”

He paused, then said, “You.”

“Me?” She laughed. “Me? How could it be me? I never even spoke to you before that day in The Haunted Mansion.”

“True.”

“In fact, I was kind of mean to you.”

“Also true.”

“So how is it me?”

He shrugged. “I watched you a lot. I was attracted to you the first time I saw you. But one of the first things I noticed about you was how you treated people. You were kind to old people. You took the time to talk to those who seemed lonely. You were patient with those who were needy. More than once I saw you put your tip in that bottle for the orphanage at the front counter.”

Ainsley frowned. “But I never talked to you.”

“I know. But when I saw you doing all those things, in a way, you did. You weren’t doing it for attention, but that’s where I saw your heart. In what you did, not what you said. You lived out your faith instead of talking about it. And I knew, deep in my heart, that’s what I wanted to do and be.”

“I still don’t understand. It was no secret that I wasn’t your biggest fan.”

“True. But you were sticking to your convictions, and I admired that about you.”

Ainsley leaned back into the couch, trying to absorb what Wolfe was telling her. All this time everyone thought there was some conspiracy to convert Wolfe, and in reality just living out the gospel gave God room to do His own work.

When she looked back at him, he was beside her, kneeling. He took her hand, and she closed her eyes. She loved how this man prayed. When was the last time she had knelt to pray? Or offered up a prayer to God in the middle of the day for no apparent reason? She took so many things for granted in the Christian faith, even got lazy about them, but Wolfe showed her after peeling away all the layers what it was really about.

She longed to hear him pray again. The prayer he’d prayed at Thanksgiving was one of the most beautiful she’d ever heard. There was a poet somewhere deep inside this man … She’d have to figure out how to bring him out. She waited patiently for him to begin praying, wondering what he would thank God for, how he would offer up praises, or what he would ask for. But suddenly she wasn’t hearing a prayer. She was hearing laughter. She smiled herself, figuring he was just filled with pure joy—something she longed to reacquaint herself with. But the laughter continued, and Ainsley had to open her eyes to learn the reason for it.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“You are.”

“Me?”

“You.”

“Why? I’m just waiting for you to pray.”

“But I’m not praying.”

“You’re not?”

“I’m asking you to marry me.”

Ainsley’s heart stopped as she watched Wolfe hold up a ring in front of her. “A ring.”

“My mother’s.” He locked eyes with her. “That’s why I’m kneeling. To ask you to marry me. Your father, by the way, has already said yes.”

Ainsley had cried many tears of frustration, heartache, and fear
recently, but the tears that flowed from her now were nothing less than pure joy. “Oh, Wolfe.”

“Say yes. Make my dreams come true.”

“Yes. Yes! I’ll marry you!” She didn’t wait for him to slip the ring on. Instead she fell into his embrace and threw her arms around his neck. They kissed, and then he put the ring on her finger, and it fit perfectly. It was so dainty, yet so beautiful.

“I love you,” she said to him.

“I love you, too. I have for more years than you know. Your yes is like the warmth from a sun that I’ve only been able to observe from far away. Your rays have finally reached me.”

She took his face in her hands. “You should write poetry.”

“Oh? I’m not sure Alfred would go for that.”

“You’re eloquent with words. Your heart is deep. And you see things that others don’t.”

He smiled at her, kissed her again and said, “Maybe I’ll give it a try someday.”

Missy Peeple stood silently behind her screen door, looking out at her once glorious town. Things were already changing. She could sense it. Soon there would be no tourists. No fame. Nothing out of the ordinary except their name, and that was even spelled wrong. Cute when attached to the hometown of a horror novelist. Dumb for any other reason.

Skary, Indiana. Just another little town nobody’s ever heard of.

For a few long moments Missy watched cars go back and forth on her street, thinking briefly of Mayor Wullisworth and love lost. But her eyes suddenly caught something on the corner of her porch. Something black. She wrapped her shawl around her bony shoulders, unlatched the screen door, and stepped into the cold.

There, sitting on the rail of her small porch, was a black cat—its tail swishing, its eyes narrow and perceptive.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the feline who is single-handedly responsible for the despicable cat population in this town. Hello, Thief.”

The cat meowed and hopped over an empty flower pot to come closer. He sat and stared at her.

Missy looked around and then at the cat. “Worried about whether your secret is safe with me, eh?” She smiled a little. “What would you do with your days, dear Thief, if things were ‘fixed,’ as they say?” His attention was fully on her, and she regarded him with a cocked eyebrow. “Driving around with the sheriff all day long with nothing more to do than observe the man at work. What a torturous life.”

Then something struck Missy Peeple. And it wasn’t lightning. No, it was an idea. A brilliantly clever idea. An idea that would put her little town back on the map! She clutched her cane and laughed excitedly. Thief’s ears flicked with perky awareness.

“Of course,” she said. “Of course!” If this town couldn’t be known for the gory and the gruesome, then by golly it was going to be known for something. Cats. Cats! It would be a phenomenon that nobody could explain. People from all over the country—no, the world!—would come to buy cats from a place that seemed to birth them from the bowels of the earth. She winked at Thief. Of course, she knew all the better. There could be theater productions of the play
Cats
, and they could run
That Darn Cat!
all day long at the movie theater. There could be merchandise. They could rename all the streets for every breed of cat.
Arsenic and Old Lace
could become
The Cat’s Meow
, a bed and breakfast just for cats and cat lovers!

Yes. Yes! Once again, Missy Peeple would save the town of Skary.

She turned to the cat and looked him in his golden eyes. “I think you will come in handy. Very handy indeed.”

I
T IS UNFORTUNATE
that only one name is on the cover of a book, as there are so many people who contribute to the process of its creation and production. Thankfully, God knows and sees everything. I thank all of you who contributed to
Boo
. May God richly reward and bless you.

I want to especially acknowledge Erin Healy, whose creative additions to this novel have made it more than I could imagine; Dudley Delffs, too, for your continuous encouragement, contribution, leadership, and behind-the-scenes work; Laura Wright, for helping finish up this package by studying every last detail; and finally, the entire WaterBrook Press team, where I most definitely feel part of a large loving family.

I’m also so thankful for a loving church family, who supports me and cheers me on, but most of all teaches me what it means to be like Jesus. WCC, the Flock That Rocks, I’m your biggest fan!

Speaking of family, I am incredibly blessed to have a talented, wonderful, handsome husband, who is such a delight to his wife and children. Sean, thank you for your sacrifice. Only I know what terrific things you do so that I can do this. And kids, I love you so much too. Thank you to the rest of my family for always being supportive and happy to help however you can.

I’d also like to acknowledge Judy Secrist, Patty Pace, and Sandy Bourquin, who are continuous supporters and loving contributors to my work.

And finally, how can one not acknowledge our Father? He is the One who gives me a mind filled with imagination, a heart to tell a story, and hands to form the words on the page. Lord, every day I get to do this is a gift straight from You. Thank You with all my heart.