Bullet in the Night (19 page)

Tucker’s eyes followed me. His voice became a whisper. “We married too late for children. Lenora joked I was her kid. I have to admit she helped me become more childlike and taught me to enjoy life.” He tensed. “Jennifer, am I kidding myself? Do you think she’ll recover? I’m afraid to get my hopes up.”

“Hope is never wasted. Many people are praying for Lenora’s healing. Prayer is powerful. I’m concerned about you as well, Tucker.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m going back to the hospital after dinner. I just need more rest.”

“Lenora needs you well and strong when she gets home.”

He lowered his head. “I know.”

His tone sounded forlorn. Did he not think she’d recover? And if she did, would she still be gifted with intelligence? How could any of us know God’s plan for her future? I steeled my nerves. Hope and prayer were the only weapons in my arsenal on her behalf.

Outside the window the woods hedging three sides of the Tucker estate seemed less ominous in daylight, but still, the property gave me the heebie-jeebies. Lenora loved this isolation. She’d said time in nature kept her from being burned out by people.

As Tucker closed the door behind me, a song on the radio blared again. Had he changed his mind about leaving immediately? 

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Sandy Reckland declined the comfy wingback in favor of my straight wooden chair with a padded seat, tucking her feet around the rungs. “My back’s bothering me, and I can’t get into the chiropractor until tomorrow.”

I made a note on the physical assessment section of her intake form. Back pain. Symptom of stress? “I’m glad you came anyway. I hope I can help. I collected your treatment history file. Let’s start with a review of your initial goals when you began counseling and now.”

“They’re the same—improving relationship skills.”

“With family, friends, work?”

“Mostly work. I’m at a primarily male corporation. My associates have been known to complain that I’m too aloof, hard to approach. I keep my distance, that’s all. It’s okay for a man, but let a woman try it and she’s labeled a people-hater. Women are supposed to be warm, fluffy, and friendly with everybody. I’m smarter than most men there, but they get the promotions.” Her face lit like a blowtorch. “It makes me furious.”

No need to use descriptors, Sandy. Anger is written all over you.

I wrote on my notes—resentment issues regarding men. “Lenora noted in your file that you weren’t willing to try new behaviors that might contribute to better relationships.”

“Because I didn’t agree with her. She said I overreacted to the opposite sex, and she wanted me to release the deep-seated aversion I have toward men, work on becoming comfortable talking honestly with them. I told her she was wrong. I just keep my guard up because we’re in competition.” 

“Might your aversion not be competitive but a fear of men, period?”

“I’m not afraid. I choose to protect my emotions until I meet a man I can trust. What’s wrong with that? I just never have. And in the meantime, I refuse to pander to the male ego.”

“Lenora mentioned to you that could be a cop-out?” Associating my words with Lenora helped me make my point without alienating Sandy.

“You bet. Said I wasn’t being honest with myself.” Sandy rubbed her chin.

“True?”

“Maybe.”

“Have you dated since your divorce?”

Sandy flushed and shook her head. “I’m not a lesbian, if that’s what you’re thinking. I intend to marry someday. People always want to fix me up with guys,” she ranted. “I don’t know why. What’s wrong with being single at my age?”

I lifted my palms as an imaginary shield to deflect her wrath. “I only asked the question.”

“I’m going to have a business card printed that reads, ‘Personal Life Private.’ All new acquaintances ask, ‘Are you married?’ When they find out I’m not, they assume I’m pining for a guy and want to arrange a date. They always know just the person.” Her complaining seemed a well-formed habit.

I chuckled. “I agree. Matchmakers can be insensitive.”

Sandy removed her jacket. “It’s warm in here.” Her tight turtleneck accentuated the pudginess around her middle when she fiddled with her Harley designer belt buckle.

I smiled. Maybe I was getting through to her. “I’ll turn the fan on.” I pulled out Sandy’s yellow social history form and frowned. It was blank. “Why didn’t you fill this out?”

“I don’t like anyone digging into my past.”

“Let’s see. You dislike counseling and resent people implying that the single life is inadequate, but you admit you’d like to marry eventually if you meet a kind, loving man. You’ve had relational problems in the past you don’t want to talk about. How would you like me to help you, Sandy?”

She leaned back. “You’re like Lenora, direct. I hated her boldness, too.”

“Hate’s a strong word.”

“Deal with it. Don’t think it gives me a motive to shoot Lenora.”

Thank you. I’ll give it more thought now that you brought it up. 
Where did her anger come from? I eyed her closely.

“I believe in violence when it’s called for. I carry a concealed weapon and don’t care who knows. I have a license which makes it legal here but, unfortunately, not everywhere.”

“You’re armed because you’re fearful?”

“It’s just smart. The crime rate dropped after people were allowed to protect themselves. If it comes to my life or somebody else’s, I’ll fight to stay alive but only shoot in self-defense. You can be sure of that. Anyway, maybe I got a little ticked off, but that’s not a reason to go after Lenora Lawrence.”

A line from Shakespeare’s Hamlet ran through my head:
My lady doth protest too much..
.

How had Sandy connected with Lenora? Did they know each other prior to establishing a counseling relationship? I asked.

“No need to go there. I’m her, what do you call it, her counselee, period.”

“I’m wondering why, since frankly you appear rather resistant to the process.” Might as well be truthful.

“I have my reasons.”

I looked at the wall clock behind Sandy’s chair. I positioned it so I never have to check my watch directly when with a client, which seems rude. It was easy to lose track of time during counseling sessions. It was best when I wasn’t tightly scheduled and could ignore the clock, a utopian idea. Real life didn’t co-operate.

“Unfortunately our time is up for today. How about continuing counseling in the small group?”

“I’ll think about it and get back to you.”

“My secretary will call you when we get the group time nailed down, and you can let me know then.”

She grunted an okay.

Was Sandy truly motivated toward self-improvement? For her sake, I hoped so.

She shrugged and stood up. I noted her height, approximately five-foot-ten, on my initial assessment form. Height and weight I record if I believe they may affect a person’s emotional state. For Sandy, being almost six foot could limit the number of men available to date. Although some shorter men are comfortable dating taller women, most are not.

I recalled the driver’s account of a man walking on Old Bend Road the night of Lenora’s shooting. With a cap over her head, Sandy’s build and stride could be easily mistaken for a man’s. How much hatred did she have?

Stretching back in my desk chair, I extended my arms overhead and stretched before I summarized her notes: 
Major issue—unsatisfying relationships with males, perhaps females too. Pent-up anger needs release.
 The question weighing most upon me, I wouldn’t write in her file.

Had Sandy released her anger on Lenora?

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

My
Journaling Through Trauma
group ended at four p.m. Sweet group of young women, all traumatized by the actions of a loved one either through divorce or abuse. After five months, I saw real progress in each of them.

I’d earned a social break. How I treasured special moments with girlfriends, few as they were at this time of life. I smiled as I placed the call—recent research confirms that women thrive on time with female friends as much as exercise. I combined both with Mary, my warm and funny workout partner. A native of Lake Geneva, she knew everyone in town and most of what was going on. And I had more questions I wanted to ask her about the Dentons.

I reached Mary on the third ring. “Are you up for a hike to celebrate this gorgeous day? Actually, it’ll be more of a slow walk; I’m still nursing a sore ankle. And I warn you, I also want to pick your brain about someone.”

“Hold on.”

Through my office window, I gazed upon sun-drenched, colorful shrubs. The day was picture-perfect for anything but staying indoors. I hoped Mary would be available. She came back on the line. “Sure. I’m nursing the baby. Does that make us even? As for my brain, I hope you can find something useful in there. I’m sleep-deprived. Where shall we meet?”

“How about the lake trail between Williams Bay and Fontana?”

“Okay. Bill can babysit—he’s home early. I’ll meet you downtown Williams Bay in half an hour. Bill can pick us up in Fontana afterward and drive us to our cars so we don’t have to hike back. Is an hour long enough?”

“Perfect.”

Next I dialed Chris. “Hey, girl.”

“Jennifer! Nice to hear your voice. What’s up?”

“My ankle’s fairly healed, and I’m going for a short hike with a friend. Want to join us?”

“Thanks for the invite. Can’t. I’m in the middle of paperwork. A rotten task but it’s got to be done. I hope to be on the road for home by five. Keep in touch.”

“Call me if your business brings you back to Walworth County.”

When I reached Williams Bay, cool breezes stole the afternoon’s warmth. No matter. The exquisite Lake Geneva waters held a million beckoning sun diamonds on their surface. I parked in the visitor lakefront area and popped my trunk to pull out my gym bag and running shoes from the collection of golf clubs and tennis rackets. I liked to be ready for any sports opportunity.

Ducking inside the restroom, I donned a gold cotton sweatshirt and jeans then slathered sunscreen on my face. I folded my clothes and placed them in the car before starting down the paver brick path.

Mary appeared behind me race-walking, arms bending at the elbow and moving rhythmically. My dear friend gave up a posh public relations job to mother her third child, born three months ago. Her small mouth shaped into a smile. “All set. I didn’t take time for make-up.”

“I’m sure the trees won’t mind, nor I.” I marveled at her natural beauty.

Mary laughed. She didn’t have a shred of self-focus—by-product of a super-secure childhood.

We threaded our way past the picnic benches to the start of the trail. Mature oak trees and thick woodsy bushes bordered the path. “You’re glowing.”

“I love being home with Emma. She’s such a joy. I enrolled the other two in daycare six weeks after birth. This time I told Bill no way I’m missing out.”

I stumbled over a tree root and regained my balance. “Good for you. I stayed home two years after giving birth then started back part-time. I wish I’d waited even longer. I actually had a clutter-free house when I didn’t work because I had time to put away all the books and papers Nick drags out, not to mention the shoes and clothes. It’s stupid to rush this down time.”

“You’re right. Two months back on the job, people will forget I’ve ever been away. I’ve seen it happen with other gals. Financially, Bill and I are doing without a few luxuries and squeezing by, but we don’t regret our decision. ” She winked at me. “So what if Goodwill is my clothier of choice.”

“Hey, I’m all for bargains. Consignment shops are my Macy’s substitute. I need to economize to pay for my husband’s hobbies—fishing and golf. It’s better than gambling or other women, he reminds me often enough.”

Mary chuckled. “Bill likes having me calmer, although he jokes about living like a missionary. Come to think of it, we both laugh a lot more.” She chattered on. “I know not every woman can be so lucky.”

“Or brave. It takes guts to walk out of a successful career and hope to hop back in.”

“I should have done this before, but I was too scared to give up my paycheck. I figure being a calm, focused mom is what God wants, and He’ll provide to make it work.”

“So Bill’s good with your being home now?” We walked side-by-side as the path widened.

“The hardest thing was persuading him to downsize our house. Now he thinks it was his idea. Go figure. Our friends think we’re crazy, but we’re truly happier in a smaller nest.”

Two walkers approached from the opposite direction. We exchanged greetings, edging over to give them room to pass.

“What’s the latest with Lenora’s situation?”

“The police completed their investigation.”

“I’m out of the news loop since we’re using our daily paper for the new puppy. At the speed he goes through them I won’t be getting more than iPhone headlines for a year.”

“Mary, who but you would get a puppy and a new baby at the same time?”

“There aren’t many women this dumb.”

“No, just on the unpredictable side. The police are pinning Lenora’s shooting on Kirk Corsini, the ex-convict she befriended, but evidence is circumstantial at best.”

“I hope Kirk didn’t do it. For Lenora’s sake.”

“I’m counseling Lenora’s clients and trying to get a line on any other potential assailant while nosing around in her world. Speaking of that, I could use help.”

“Sure. How?”

“Some local info.”

Mary stumbled on the steep path and began to slide down the hill toward the water.

I lunged for her, eyeing Lake Geneva fifteen feet below us. She’d already grabbed a tree branch with her other hand and secured her feet again.

We straggled over to a white wooden bench bordering the path.

Mary was panting. “That was scary. I’m happy to help if I can stay out of the lake. Shoot with the questions.”

“Okay. What do you know about the Denton family apart from what you already shared about their daughter, Joann?”

“Chuck and Angela Denton?” She brushed her forefinger across her lips. “Well, she grew up here. Maiden name was Ty something. Tysen, I believe. She’s older than me by three years and was a senior at Big Foot High my freshman year. I didn’t know her personally. As I recall, she left the area after graduation.”