A Touch of Grace. Linda Goodnight

Barker was hurting.

      He only hoped seeing her didn’t stir up trouble. He had enough of that already.

      Gretchen gazed through dark glasses at the small group assembled amidst the sun-bleached tombs and scalding heat of Carter Cemetery. Not many had gathered to pay their last respects to Madeline Michelle Barker. As hard as that was for Gretchen to handle, she understood. Maddy’s brief life hadn’t made much of a mark.

      As the hired minister said the final “amen,” Gretchen swallowed back the sobs that seemed to be constantly stuck below her breastbone straining for release.

      The small gathering began to scurry away, eager to escape the energy-zapping heat and humidity. Who could blame them?

      Gretchen shoved her slippery sunglasses higher, saw that her fingers trembled. Sometimes she got tired of being the strong one.

      The moment the thought came, she nearly buckled. Who would she be strong for now?

      Less than twenty people, most of them Gretchen’s friends and coworkers, had attended the simple graveside services. Even Mom and Dad hadn’t come, citing the distance between California and Louisiana. But Gretchen knew the truth. They had long ago washed their hands of the daughter who couldn’t get her life together. And so had everyone else. Everyone but Gretchen.

      Tears pushed at the back of her eyes, hot and painful. She’d cried so much these past few days, she should be dehydrated. Digging yet another clean tissue from her handbag, she dabbed at her wet cheeks.

      Carlotta, her best friend and roommate, rubbed the center of her back. “You okay?”

      “No,” she said honestly. Carlotta would understand. She knew the number of times Gretchen had taken Maddy into their apartment, given her money, tried to get her clean. Enabler, some people called her. And now she was terrified that they may have been right. Had her desire to protect her sister ultimately caused her death?

      Her friend’s gorgeous Latina eyes darkened with compassion. “Ready to go home?”

      She shook her head, felt her hair stick to the side of her neck. “I want to stay here awhile.”

      When Carlotta started to argue, Gretchen said, “Go. I’m fine. I just need a little more time.”

      “The service was nice, Gretchen. Maddy would have liked it.”

      “Yeah.” Regardless of her ambivalence toward religion, she couldn’t let Maddy leave this life without some hope that things would be better somewhere else. Life here hadn’t been all that good for her sister.

      Carlotta hovered for another minute, her concern touching. Finally, she said, “I’ll see you later, then? Maybe an hour or so?”

      “Sure. Go on. I’m fine.” She wasn’t fine. She was splintered in half. Maddy had been the other part of her, and now she was gone.

      Carlotta gave her one last hug and turned to leave. After two steps, she stopped, turning back. Voice lowered, she tilted her head toward the rear of the funeral tent.

      “I don’t know if you noticed, but there’s a man still back there that I don’t recognize. The nice-looking guy in the blue shirt. Do we know him?”

      Carlotta wouldn’t leave her alone here in the cemetery with a stranger even if the guy was movie star gorgeous.

      Gretchen followed her gaze to the well-built figure, recognizing him immediately.

      Ian Carpenter. The mission preacher. She should have known he’d show up.

      She sucked in the scent of decaying funeral wreaths.

      “I don’t want him here.”

      He’d phoned her twice, though she had no idea where he’d gotten her number. Once to offer his services and the chapel for the funeral. Another time to ask if he could do anything to help her. Right. As if she would allow that.

      She knew his kind. Smile kindly, talk softly, and lure the lonely and needy into a web of deceit under the guise of religion.

      The sad, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach was replaced by a slow-burning anger. He had no right. And anger was easier to bear than raw, scalding grief.

      Carlotta gave her a funny look. “Who is he?”

      “Ian Carpenter. He runs the mission where Maddy was—” The horrible image of her sister lying lifeless on the dew-drenched grass returned with a vengeance. She, who could report the most heinous crime or natural disaster with aplomb, couldn’t seem to keep her emotions in check this time. She supposed that was normal, though she hated the weakness.

      Carlotta gave her hand an encouraging squeeze.

      “He must feel awful that she was so close to his mission and he wasn’t able to save her.”

      “I think he feels guilty.”

      From behind the cover of her shades, Gretchen glared at the preacher. He stood alone beneath the green funeral home canopy, quiet and unobtrusive, one hand in the pocket of his black slacks.

      If she’d been in any condition to notice such things, the preacher was easy on the eyes. She’d bet a special report scoop that he put those looks to good use for the cause of his mission.

      Medium height. Medium build. Medium brown hair. Everything about him was medium, except for the eyes. They were startling, a brilliant aquamarine made even more dramatic by his blue dress shirt.

      Was it those hypnotic eyes that had attracted Maddy?

      “Gretchen. Come on,” Carlotta chided, her words tinged with both sympathy and exasperation. “Guilty for what? For not knowing Maddy was out there in the middle of the night?”

      But Gretchen wasn’t ready for simple answers. She wanted to probe deeper.

      “Why was she on the mission grounds? Why not inside? She was supposed to be a resident there, getting help, getting clean. But she wasn’t. Did someone at Isaiah House hurt her? Scare her? Cause her to run away again?”

      She’d been mulling over the idea for the past two days. Maddy was vulnerable, easily wounded. Someone who liked to play mind games could do a lot of damage. And weren’t mind games what religion was about?

      “Not every ministry is dirty, Gretchen.”

      “His is.” Gretchen shot Ian one more glare and turned away. “I just know it.”

      Carlotta sighed and shoved her glossy, black hair over one shoulder. She had an amazing capacity to look cool and fresh in the worst of New Orleans’s heat.

      “All right, honey. Whatever you think. I’m not going to argue with you today. Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

      “No. You go on.” Gretchen wasn’t quite ready to leave Maddy here alone.

      “All right. Call if you need me.”

      Carlotta left, her long legs moving with grace and speed across the narrow patches of grass to her sporty car. Gretchen refused to think another thought about Ian Carpenter. For all she cared he could roast.

      Taking yet another tissue, she approached the mausoleum that held her sister’s body. She hadn’t wanted to bury Maddy here in a place where tourists prowled the tombs in search of macabre thrills. But she hadn’t much choice. California was too far away. And Mom and Dad didn’t want her there anyway.

      “Oh, Maddy. Why couldn’t I help you get over the hurts? Why couldn’t you ever heal?” Fragile Maddy had been broken by the same evil that had made Gretchen strong. No one would ever fool her again. She would spend her career ferreting out the wolves in sheep’s clothing like Brother Gordon and the Family of Love.

      She reached out to touch the white stone. Suddenly, the childhood Maddy was alive and well inside her head. The blond princess in pink ballet slippers. At six, Mama had auditioned her for commercials because she was so pretty.