A Season of Angels (Angels Everywhere #1)(68)

Soon the vista cleared. It took her a moment to recognize the stark interior of the old church. It was the very sanctuary where Goodness had met her friends—where Reverend Fischer tended his flock of faithful believers.

Monica was kneeling at the altar, her face buried in her arms as she openly sobbed. It was her tears and her prayers that had created the humid fog. The sounds of her pain rose pitifully toward heaven as if echoing from a sound chamber.

“She’s changed,” Gabriel said gently. “Her hair is different.”

“Chet, he’s the private detective—”

“I know him well.”

“You do?”

Gabriel nodded. “Is he responsible for the other things as well? I notice she’s wearing an attractive dress and gold earrings.”

“Ah, I believe so.” Now didn’t seem the time to mention Monica’s lunch with Donna Watkins.

Gabriel’s nod was thoughtful. “I suspected as much. As I recall, the last time I saw Monica, she was trapped in the web of her own righteousness. Am I wrong, or is she a little more willing to accept the differences in us all?”

“I couldn’t really say, but I must explain, I did a bit of research on this private detective and I don’t mind telling you, he’s had a sordid past.”

“I see,” Gabriel commented with a decided lack of appreciation. This wasn’t a good sign. “How far back did you investigate him?”

“The last couple of years.”

“Did you learn about his gunshot wound?”

“Ah, I wasn’t aware he’d been wounded.”

“He nearly died. As I understand it, he stepped in front of a bullet to save his friend. He was willing to sacrifice his own life for that of someone he loved. Unfortunately it wasn’t enough, his friend died.”

“Oh, dear.” The picture Gabriel painted of Chet was becoming clearer. Goodness’s gaze slowly returned to Monica, kneeling at the altar railing, pouring her heart out in prayer. It rose like a sweet-smelling mist toward heaven. “What’s she saying?”

Gabriel stood behind Goodness. “She’s thanking God for teaching her about love, for giving her the short time she had with Chet. Her heart is filled with gratitude.”

Goodness frowned. “Gratitude comes with tears?”

“Very often it does,” Gabriel admitted with a beleaguered sigh. “It seems to me you’ve taught Monica Fischer what she needed to learn.”

“But I did nothing.” Goodness was more confused than ever. Her efforts had all been geared toward Michael. “The changes are due to Chet Costello, not me.”

“I know. Maybe we should look at him.”

Goodness pressed her lips tightly together. “He’s probably in a bar somewhere.”

“He is.” The picture of Monica faded and was replaced by one of Chet slouched atop a bar stool, nursing a shot glass. His shoulders were hunched forward and he ignored any attempts at conversation the bartender made.

“You notice he isn’t in any church,” Goodness felt obliged to point out.

“I realize that.”

A cocktail waitress ambled to his side and whispered something. “That’s Trixie.” Goodness felt it was important that Gabriel know how well informed she was. She hadn’t slouched in her duties.

“I know all about Trixie as well.”

“Then you must be aware of their ongoing relationship,” Goodness supplied.

“It’s over and has been from the moment Chet met Monica,” Gabriel said absently. “He’s doing it again, you see.”

“Drinking?”

Gabriel slowly shook his head. “No, he’s sacrificing himself for another. He loves Monica, but he doesn’t believe he’s right for her. It seems to me that a man who’s twice put the good of someone else before his own deserves something more than pain.”

“He deserves love,” Goodness whispered, watching Trixie.

Goodness thought she heard Gabriel groan. “Not Trixie,” he said impatiently.

“Who, then?”

“Monica Fischer.”

Goodness felt knocked off-balance. “You couldn’t possibly mean that the good Lord intends to answer Monica’s prayer for a husband with Chet Costello?”

Gabriel laughed, the rich and full sound echoing like a Chinese gong. “My dear Goodness, that’s what He intended all along.”

Chapter 15

Jody swore she didn’t sleep except in ten- or fifteen-minute snatches the entire night. It had been like this when Jeff had first disappeared. Mentally and physically exhausted, she’d fall into bed, immediately slip into a druglike sleep only to jerk awake minutes later. The pattern was back.

Jeff was alive.

Jeff was dead and buried. Buried and mourned.

Resurrected.

The next morning, when the alarm rang, Jody was tempted to call into work sick. The only thing that kept her from doing so was the idea of facing the day at home alone with her doubts—a day alone with her fears. Alone. It held no appeal.

Sensing her mood, Timmy was extra quiet. He dressed for school while she cooked his breakfast and drove him to the bus stop.

“Have a good day,” she told him as he climbed out of the car.

“You too, Mom.” With that he was gone, hurrying to meet his friends.