Chapter 45
FORTY-FIVE
Friday Morning
Cullowhee
Old River Road narrowed to two cracked lanes before giving way to gravel.
Burke eased his truck beneath a canopy of towering maples and followed the winding drive until a white cottage came into view.
A wraparound porch stretched across the front, shaded by climbing roses that had long since claimed the railings. A porch swing moved lazily in the mountain breeze. Hydrangeas bloomed in every shade of blue imaginable.
The place looked peaceful.
Burke shut off the engine and glanced at the planner resting beside him.
Tea with Patsy.
Lunch with Patsy.
Church with Patsy.
The name appeared as often as Eleanor Harper's.
Before he reached the porch, the front door opened.
A tall woman stepped outside.
She wore white linen slacks, a pale blue blouse, and pearls.
Her face brightened.
"You must be Sheriff Scott."
Burke removed his sunglasses.
"Yes, ma'am."
"I'm Patsy Jordan."
"I appreciate you seeing me."
She waved a hand. "Come on in. Coffee's on."
Burke smiled.
The aroma of fresh coffee and something baking drifted through the cottage.
His eyes wandered to a hallway lined with photographs.
One immediately caught his attention.
Four young people stood beside a lake.
Harold Blackwood.
Mabel.
A broad-shouldered man Burke assumed was Patsy's husband.
And Patsy.
"They were your friends."
Patsy followed his gaze.
"My best friends."
Her expression softened.
"Mabel and I met the first day of ninth grade."
"And Harold?"
"He was chasing her before either one of them realized it."
Burke glanced back toward the picture.
"And your husband?"
"My Fain."
The smile that crossed her face wasn't sadness.
It was love.
"Fain pastored First Baptist for thirty-six years."
Burke nodded.
"I've heard his name."
"He married half this county."
She laughed.
"And buried the other half."
The humor faded naturally.
"I still catch myself waiting for him to come through that door."
Burke looked toward the kitchen table.
Two coffee cups already sat waiting.
She noticed.
"I know."
A small smile touched her lips.
"Old habits."
"For Fain?"
"For company."
She picked up one cup.
"Turns out the Lord's pretty faithful about sending someone."
Burke couldn't help smiling.
He liked her already.
They settled at the small oak table.
Between them sat Mabel's planner.
Patsy's eyes softened the moment she saw it.
"I gave her that."
"You did?"
"Christmas."
She reached out, gently touching the worn leather cover.
"Mabel said she had too many people to pray for to trust her memory anymore."
Burke opened it to several marked pages.
"I kept seeing your name."
She nodded.
"We had lunch nearly every Thursday for...Lord." She smiled. "Over fifty years."
Burke raised his eyebrows.
"Fifty?”
"Missed a few when babies came along."
She laughed.
"And after surgeries."
"But otherwise..." Her expression softened. "Thursday belonged to us."
Burke looked down at the planner.
Tea with Patsy.
Lunch with Patsy.
Church with Patsy.
Suddenly, the entries didn't seem remarkable at all.
He closed the planner.
"I've been talking to folks around town."
"I'm sure you have."
"They all tell me the same thing."
Patsy folded her hands.
"And what's that?"
"Harold Blackwood."
A shadow crossed her face.
"Yes."
"They say Harold came between Anne and Mabel."
Patsy was quiet for several moments.
Finally, she shook her head.
"No."
Burke waited.
"Harold was the breaking point."
Patsy looked out the kitchen window toward the mountains.
"But he wasn't the whole story."
Burke frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Patsy's smile held more sadness than humor.
"People like simple stories."
"They do."
"They'd rather believe two sisters quit speaking over one handsome man."
Burke uncapped his pen.
"I think," he said quietly, "I'd like to hear that story."
Patsy looked toward the photograph hanging in the hallway.
Then back at Burke.
"So would've Mabel."
She folded her hands around her coffee cup.
"But Sheriff...that's a long story."
Burke smiled.
"I've got all morning."
Patsy returned the smile.
"No."
She looked out toward the mountains.
"I think you've got thirty years."
Outside, the wind stirred the maples.
Inside, Burke realized he wasn't investigating a murder anymore.
He was about to uncover a family's history.