Cape Refuge

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Authors: Terri Blackstock
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was empty, so I put ’em into a cell for now. I have Jim Henry guarding them, with the door open so they can’t come back with unlawful imprisonment. We were very clear that we just wanted to question them.”
    Cade walked to the plateglass window on the front of the building and stared out at the passing traffic.
    â€œYou okay, Chief?”
    Cade tried to shake off his emotions. He had work to do. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
    â€œYou want me to do the interview?” Joe asked. “I don’t have a history with him. Might be harder for you.”
    â€œI’d appreciate that,” Cade said. “I’ll jump in where I need to.”
    The door swung open, and Melinda Jane rushed in. “Oh, Cade, it isn’t true, is it?” the chubby woman asked. “About Thelma and Wayne? Melba called cryin’ so hard I couldn’t hardly understand a word. Oh, it’s just terrible!”
    He swallowed and tried to look unmoved. “Melinda Jane, do you think you can do this objectively and confidentially?”
    She dabbed at her eyes and straightened her shift. “Well, yes, of course. I’m a professional, Cade. Are you interrogating the killer?”
    â€œWe’re interviewing Jonathan Cleary,” he said.
    â€œ Jonathan Cleary? Not Jonathan! Oh, Cade! He’s the one fixed my roof last month when it was leakin’. Did it for free, just because I’m a widow and on a tight budget. Well, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.” She dug into her purse for a tissue, then dabbed at the tears in her eyes. “Oh, that poor man. And Blair and Morgan . . . I just don’t know what they’re gonna do.”
    Cade wondered whether Melinda Jane would make it through the interview as he followed her back to where Jonathan waited.

 
C H A P T E R
9
    M organ’s car seemed to be on automatic pilot. She didn’t remember driving to the police station or pulling into the parking spot in front. But here she was, still behind the wheel, trying to direct her thinking, trying to remember . . .
    She should have seen something coming. She should have changed just one thing in the afternoon’s routine, something, anything—maybe discouraged her parents from leaving the house. She should have sensed the evil waiting. She should have asked more questions about where her parents were going, who they were seeing.
    But she had been too self-absorbed, worrying about her fight with Jonathan that morning.
    If only she’d paid closer attention.
    She thought back a few hours, to the last time she’d seen her parents. They had been in the small office off the kitchen at Hanover House, and she’d been helping them, hurrying to prepare a mailing to the donors who helped support their ministry.
    Her father had been stuffing envelopes while Morgan applied the address labels and Thelma stuck on the postage. They had just told her about Jonathan’s fight with them that morning.
    â€œI don’t want to move,” she said. “That’s ridiculous. What if he insists on it?”
    â€œThen you’ll have to do it,” Thelma said. “He’s your husband.”
    â€œBut what if he’s wrong?”
    â€œHe is wrong,” Wayne said. “But you’ve got to keep peace with your husband.”
    â€œBut if he makes us move out, he’s also going to want me to quit working here.”
    â€œWe’d have to get along without you.”
    â€œBut what would I do? I don’t want to leave, Mama. This is who I am.” She stacked the letters she had finished, passed them to Thelma. “It might not matter, anyway. They might close us down tonight.”
    â€œWhere’s your faith, little gal?” Wayne asked her. “The Lord didn’t bring us this far to abandon us now.”
    â€œHanover House Ministries was his idea, not ours,” Thelma said. “It’s been his all along, and he’ll take care of it.

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