The Trouble with Angels (Angels Everywhere #2)(69)

She decided to take a long, hot shower and soothe her aching muscles. In addition, she wanted to think over the things that Thom had said to her.

Forgive Brian?

Clearly the man didn’t know what he was talking about. His wife had died. Forgiving her for dying couldn’t be compared to the craziness she’d been subjected to in the years she was married to Brian.

Thom didn’t know the half of it. She told him about the infidelities and troubles her ex-husband had holding a job. What she hadn’t gone into were the brushes with the law, the get-rich-quick schemes. The stealing.

Only what he’d taken hadn’t been from strangers. He’d robbed his own wife and daughter.

Maureen’s blood pressure rose just thinking about it. Shaking her head, wanting to throw off the ugly thoughts, she undressed and turned on the shower. The water pressure left a lot to be desired, so she cut the shower short.

Dressed in her robe, a towel wrapped around her hair, she moved back into the room. And froze.

The pad by the telephone had moved and was on the bed.

Had someone been in the room? She checked the door and found the chain securely in place.

She picked up the pad and found CALL KAREN scribbled on it. It was the most bizarre thing she’d ever seen.

Generally Maureen didn’t call her parents when she was out of town. They had a number where she could be reached, and if there was an emergency, they could phone her.

It was late, after ten, and her parents were sure to be in bed. Their sleep habits had changed now that they were older, and they retired earlier.

CALL KAREN.

Maureen didn’t know who had left the message or how it had gotten into her room, but she wasn’t messing with fate. She sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the telephone.

"Maureen, is that you? I can’t believed you called.” Her mother’s voice greeted her, sounding worried and distraught. "I was just trying to decide if I should phone you.”

"Mom, what’s wrong?” Maureen’s heart constricted with fear.

"It’s Karen. She’s had another one of those dreams.”

"Oh, dear.”

"It would help if you talked to her.”

"Of course.”

A moment passed before her daughter got on the line. "Mom?”

Maureen could tell that Karen had been sobbing; she also knew how much the twelve-year-old hated to cry. "Hi, sweetheart.”

"Are you okay?”

The kid was scared out of her mind and worried about Maureen. "I’m fine. How about you?”

"Mom?” Karen asked, and sniffled. "Do you hate my dad enough to kill him?”

Paul felt as free as the breeze. The letter of resignation was typed, copied, and ready to be mailed to the list of church elders. And to think he’d managed all that without Leta’s help. Amazing.

The one thing he didn’t know how to run was the postage meter, so he left everything on Leta’s desk with a note that explained he had resigned. He asked that she mail out the letters first thing the following morning.

Now that the decision had been made to leave the ministry, Paul experienced a sensation of freedom so potent, he felt drunk. For a man who avoided anything remotely related to alcohol, the sensation was heady.

On the way back to his house, Paul wandered into the garage and rooted through his camping equipment. Having sorted through most everything recently, he easily found the camp stove, sleeping bag, tent, and other supplies he needed. And since the car was conveniently parked there, he loaded up the gear in the trunk.

When he was finished he walked into the house. For the first time in recent memory, he was hungry. He paused in an attempt to remember when he’d last sat down to a meal. Probably one Annie had cooked, and they’d left, what?…two days ago—no, three.

He rummaged through the refrigerator, brought out eggs and cheese—a little dry and dark around the edges, but still edible. An omelet. He used to be famous for his omelets. Family famous.

He cracked the eggs into a bowl and whipped them with a fork and had the silliest urge to sing. Only an hour or so earlier he couldn’t force himself to utter a single note of a well-loved Christmas carol; now he bellowed it out as if performing in an Italian opera.

The meal was delicious, the best he’d had in weeks. Nothing against Annie, but Joe’s wife-to-be had a thing or two to learn about cooking. He remembered Barbara’s first attempts at creating meals. Once again he smiled.

He stacked the dishes in the sink, filled it with soapy water, and left to pack his clothes. He intended on packing light. A sweater and an extra set of clothes plus a few changes of underwear were all he needed, he decided.

He checked the house one last time before he headed for the car. On second thought, he went back to the church. He didn’t stay long, anxious as he was to be on his way.

He remembered what Joe had said about letting someone know where he was. Bethany might phone, and when she learned he’d resigned and no one knew where he was…well, she’d worry about him and he didn’t want to spoil her Christmas.

It was only fair, too, that he let Leta know that she’d been a good secretary over the years. She deserved that much. He didn’t worry about the elders finding a replacement for him. As far as he was concerned, he hadn’t done the church much good the last several months anyway.