Hannah Grace (25 page)

Jesse's big brown eyes moved over Gabe's face. "Okay," he said. "But I'll stay by you."

"That depends, Jess. I won't let you look at anything scary, you hear me? You've had more than enough nightmares. I don't want to be the cause of any new ones cropping up."

Gus stood by the door, listening to the exchange. Out of the corner of his eye, Gabe saw his weight shift from one boot to the other. "You want me to go saddle up Slate for you?" Gus asked.

"No, Jess and I'll do that. You ride on ahead; we'll be along shortly. The pier, you say?"

"Yep, feller must have fallen right off the south side of it 'cause his body drifted up on the south shore. 'Course, he could've been pushed, I s'pose." He gave a glance at Jesse. `A crime scene ain't no good place for a little squirt."

"The boy comes with me," Gabe said. "I won't have him staying home alone. And let's not call it a crime scene, Gusnot yet."

Duly reminded of his place, Gus gave a half nod and backed out the door.

All the way there, Gabe prayed the Lord would intervene where Jesse was concerned. He also prayed for wisdom regarding the drowning victim, asking God to grant him a clear head and an intuitive sense about things-whether it was an accident or a deliberate action.

Now, heading toward Van Huff's office, Gabe thanked the Lord the boy hadn't seen the washed up, swollen body of the young man stretched out on the shore, ice-cold waves washing over him, seaweed tangled in his mouth and hair, eyes wide and round as cat's eyes. After a sight like that, he'd have had nightmares, for sure.

As soon as he'd reined in Slate at a hitching post not far from the scene, helped Jesse dismount, and then jumped down himself, he'd spotted Minnie Durham walking her toy poodle. She waved and hurried across the dirt-packed road. "How about I take Jesse up to Marie's for a dish of ice creamjust until you're finished with business here, Sheriff?" she'd suggested, her expression awash with understanding. Jesse clung tight to Gabe's hand, not knowing the elderly woman in the navy blue dress and heavy wool shawl, wide-brimmed hat covering her friendly eyes.

"Why, that'd be mighty nice, ma'am," Gabe had said, nudging Jesse forward. "I'll stop by Marie's to fetch him when I'm done."

But Jesse would have none of it, so Gabe excused himself to speak to Jesse privately. "She's safe, Jess," he'd explained, crouched at his side. "Besides, she has a dog, and folks with dogs usually turn out to be real nice people. Trust me, okay?"

He'd looked half convinced, but then shook his head. "I'll go with you."

"Sorry, buddy, not this time. I've got important work to do. Mrs. Durham is-"

"Hi, Jesse! Hi, Sheriff Devlin." The familiar female voice had both of them craning their necks. Maggie Rose Kane and a group of her girlfriends were making their way toward them.

"Maggie, hello," Gabe said, standing, nodding at the others. God's perfect timing never ceased to amaze him. "I was just trying to convince Jesse here to go with Mrs. Durham to Marie's Ice Cream Parlor."

"Really? We're on our way there now," Maggie said. "We need a little cheering up, if you know what I mean."

The remark had Gabe giving the young ladies a closer assessment, and, when he did, he noted tear-streaked faces and knew they had come upon the sordid scene at the pier.

He nodded his understanding. "I sure do." He wanted to ask them more about what they saw, but not in Jesse's presence.

Just then, Maggie's face brightened. "How about I take Jesse up to Marie's and then over to my house? You can pick him up later."

As far as he knew, Jesse had yet to utter more than a few words to Maggie, but he looked relieved to see her, anyway.

Maggie extended her hand to Jesse. "Come on, handsome, we'll all go together."

Jesse took her hand, and the entire group, including Mrs. Durham and her poodle, headed for Water Street.

Now, Gabe's deputies lifted the sheet-covered body from the ambulance wagon and carried it into Ralston Van Huff's examining room, stretching it out on a sterile table. Ralston pulled back the sheet and examined the young man's head, turning it this way and that, no doubt looking for abrasions.

"He has a bump here," Ralston said, feeling a spot slightly behind the temple area, concealed by his thick head of hair, now frizzled and matted. Gabe helped hold the body in place so Ralston could inspect the wound more closely. "It's quite a gash, but my guess is he hit a boulder when he went under. Probably knocked him out as soon as he hit it. Bet the kid never even had the wherewithal to gasp for breath-which could be a blessing when you think about it."

With Gabe's help, Ralston started removing the boy's shirt. He was a skinny thing.

"I wonder who he is," Gabe mumbled while Ralston continued his examination, starting at the neck and moving downward. One of the deputies was looking pale and excused himself, and that's when Gabe discovered Hannah sitting in a chair in the corner.

"Hannah, you shouldn't be here," Gabe said, his throat clogged with unexpected feeling.

"I told her to go home," Ralston mumbled, completely absorbed in his work. Gabe couldn't help but appreciate the doctor's thoroughness, even if his bedside manner was sorely lacking. "Humph," he tacked on.

Gabe pulled his eyes off Hannah, who was twisting a handkerchief in her hands. "What is it?"

"Humph," he repeated. "It's a tattoo right here on his left arm. See it?"

Gabe bent over the body for a closer look. A snakelike figure wove itself around inky blue letters. "Luis M.," he muttered, louder than he intended. A strange sensation, almost like mounting dread, started at his feet and scuttled upward.

He knew of a Luis M. But it can't be the same one, he told himself. Highly unlikely, in fact. But what if...?

"Luis M.," Ralston said, as if Gabe hadn't just announced it to the room. "Well, there's a little clue, anyway." He went on with his perusal, seemingly unmoved by the name.

The rest of the room remained in rapt silence. Standing next to the closed door, Stewart Stuyvesant, a reporter for the Sandy Shores Tribune, held a pencil and tablet in hand, and presently, his hand couldn't seem to write fast enough. Great. How did he get past the door? Gabe wondered.

He looked at Hannah. Her face was tilted down, her eyes studying her tightly clenched hands.

Lord, please protect Jesse and the people of this town, Gabe silently prayed.

he temperature dropped in the next two hours, the wind slowing to a chilly breeze. Hannah shivered and hugged herself as she and Gabe trudged up the hill to Ridge Street, where the house at the top seemed to await their arrival. Ralston, engulfed in his work, had gladly accepted Gabe's offer to walk Hannah home, especially when he explained he had to stop by the Kane house anyway to retrieve Jesse.

Death by drowning had been Ralston's determination. With no sign or proof of foul play, they could only assume the boy had fallen on the slick dock, resulting in the deadly plunge.

"I have a lot of paperwork to do, Hannah. You don't mind, do you?" Ralston asked.

"Of course not," she'd said, humiliated at how quickly he'd given in to Gabe's suggestion. Could he not have spared a minute to walk her home, or was it that their argument remained fresh in his mind? He and Gabe carried the body on a gurney to Ralston's basement, where he maintained a makeshift morgue. After filing a report for the courthouse, Ralston planned to start the embalming process. He hoped some family member would step forward and identify the body before it was buried. Until a funeral director moved to Sandy Shores to set up practice, Ralston would continue acting as both physician and mortician, having studied to become both at the university. Pete Kloosterman and Vernon Graham operated Sandy Shores' one and only ambulance company, but even their first aid training proved limited, making their operation less than reliable.

"You cold?" Gabe asked, breaking the silence between them, his voice gravelly.

She drew her shawl more snugly around her. "I'm quite fine," she fibbed.

He glanced down at her as they walked. "Oh really? Then, why are you shivering?"

"I wasn't-"

"Hush," Without a second's delay, he removed his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders, the warmth from his body remaining in its creases.

"Now you'll get cold," she said, moved by his kindness and made even warmer by it.

"I'm pretty warm-blooded," As if that should explain his generosity, he set his eyes on the road ahead, "What made you come to the doc's office tonight?"

She grasped the front edges of his coat, glad for its added warmth. "Ralston and I had just finished dinner at the Culver House when the news arrived of the drowning. I insisted on coming along, thinking maybe the family would show up and need some consolation,"

"Reverend Cooper was there for that,"

"I know, but I thought if the young lad's mother were to come by, I could be there for her. Oh, I do hope they find that poor boy's family."

Gabe nodded in the darkness. All at once, two cats shrieked, then darted across the road. Hannah lurched with surprise, and Gabe put a steadying hand to the center of her back. "Just a couple of ornery cats," he assured her. She wasn't sure what startled her more, the snarling felines or that strong hand at her back.

After they resumed their steady pace up Third Street, Gabe said in a low voice, "I do admire your compassion, Hannah," She wondered if he could sense her uneven breaths, her skittish heart. Yes, the cats had played a part, not to mention the events of the evening-her quarrel with Ralston; seeing the lifeless body of that poor, unidentified boy-but Gabe's close proximity plucked at her nerves more than anything else.

"Thank you. I-don't like to see people suffer."

"That's very evident. "

She dared give him a slanted glance. Wasn't this the man who'd once called her bristly and bullheaded? She decided not to bring up their rather bumpy start and dwelt instead on the question of why Ralston couldn't have noticed this particular quality in her, especially after four months of courtship.

"Frankly, you've been a godsend to Jesse. I doubt he'd be speaking yet if it weren't for the way you love and accept him. He feels safe with you."

"No safer with me than with you. I daresay, you're the one who's made the greatest impact on his life, opening up your house to him as you have, treating him as if he were your own son."

He dipped his face close to her ear and whispered, "Ah, but it's you he has the mad crush on."

A nervous giggle bubbled out of her. "And I on him!"

"Uh-oh, a mutual crush. Does Ralston know about this?"

He'd intended the remark in jest, but it touched a tender nerve, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from revealing Ralston's ridiculous remark about sending Jesse packing. And to an orphanage, of all places. She shrugged and feigned nonchalance. "I don't think a childish crush poses a threat to him."

They'd reached the path leading up to the front door. One lone porch light made for a dim entry. Gabe stopped her midway up the footpath, just a few yards from the first porch step, and turned her to face him. "Apparently, I don't pose much of a threat, either, or he wouldn't have been so free to let me walk you home."

His words rang painfully true. She focused on his middle shirt button, the one that came within perfect eye range. Trouble was, he lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes, tripping up her heart.

He lowered his face until his damp breath made contact with her earlobe. "Would he be threatened by this?" A chill of a different kind moved over her skin, prickling, tingling, waking her nerves, as she started toying with thoughts she'd never entertained before, not even with Ralston. Thoughts that included embracing, kissing-loving. Gracious!

Nearly frantic, her heart pounded out a desperate prayer. Lord, what is happening to me? My very soul feels as if it's teetering on the edge of some clift and is about to topple.

Remember what you read from My Word this morning in 1 Peter 5:7: "Casting all your care upon him; for he carethfor you." And in Acts 22:14: "The God of our fathers bath chosen thee, that thou shouldest know his will,. .and shouldest bear the voice of his mouth."