Sabotage. Kit Wilkinson
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stood on the concrete sidewalk in front of his ten-year-old Honda. It looked like scrap metal wedged between a shiny Escalade and a fully loaded Ford F-350.
He searched his pockets for his keys then groaned, remembering he’d left them and his rain gear next to Redman’s stall. He hated to go back inside. He didn’t know if he’d be able to hold back if he saw Mr. Gill again.
But Emilie. He needed to go back for her. He’d shaken hands with her. Promised to work there. She’d just lost someone she’d been close to. He shouldn’t walk out without saying a word.
Derrick made his way to the Redman’s stall. His rain jacket and pants lay there, his car key inside the jacket pocket. Redman poked his head over the door and stared at him with liquid eyes. He stroked the horse’s face. A feeling of peace seemed to flow straight from the animal to the pit of his soul. Derrick pulled away and nearly collided into the full wheelbarrow and manure fork he’d left in the aisle.
Seems you never finish what you start. Mr. Gill’s words tore at him.
Derrick rolled the waste to the compost pile then swept the concrete aisles. Afterward, he put away the equipment and walked toward Emilie’s office. The drone of Preston Gill’s voice filled the hallway. Derrick slowed his steps, wincing at the man’s harsh words.
“You don’t need to hold a memorial service.”
“But, Daddy, he worked for us for four years. We have to do something. Help me. I don’t know how to deal with this.”
Derrick’s heart twisted at Emilie’s compassionate plea. Surely, her own father would be moved.
“It was a tragic accident. But there’s nothing any of us can do. And I have to go. This unplanned event has made me late for an important meeting.”
Unplanned event? The man called death an unplanned event? Mr. Gill’s callous attitude made Derrick itch and burn to step into the conversation. But who was he to do such a thing? He hardly knew Emilie. It wasn’t his place. And now that he thought about it, she might not appreciate his interference. Best to walk away. Go home. Cool off. Think things over and give Emilie a call in the morning.
So, Derrick left. He could talk to Emilie tomorrow. She’d been through enough for one day.
THREE
Sleep would not come. Each time Emilie closed her eyes, her head clouded with distorted visions of Camillo. His twisted body. Blood.
After restless hours, she slipped from her warm bed, tossed a sweatshirt over her pajamas and wound her way through the large house. In the kitchen, on the antique secretary, she found something to busy her unsettled mind—a stack of work-related documents, waiting for her undivided attention.
Emilie forced her energy into checking receipts, preparing deposits and writing invoices. When finished, she shuffled the papers on her desk into neat piles, which uncovered a forgotten gift.
A Bible from Camillo.
The small leather-bound book had been there for months, untouched. She reached for it with a careful hand as if it might bite. Such an odd present for her twenty-fifth birthday. She did not share Camillo’s newfound faith. But today, the gift brought a surge of sentiment and fresh tears to her eyes.
For the first time, she thumbed over the thin pages, finding a passage he must have underlined.
The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge. He is my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
Emilie traced the words with her finger, considering their meaning. How is God a deliverer? It seemed to her He allowed the people who loved Him to die. Camillo. Her mother. Where was His refuge for them?
Emilie closed the Bible and flung it on the shelf above. It missed and fell back to the desk with a thud. A sheet of paper slipped from between its pages and twirled to the floor like a white butterfly. She retrieved the paper from the terra-cotta tiles and carefully unfolded the single page.
As much as I care for you, I can no longer continue this—us. I will keep my promise, though. I will tell no one. And trust you will do the same for me. But you must understand now that I know I can no longer help.
May you find peace in the Lord who loves you.
Camillo
Emilie reread the words, her hands shaking and her heart pounding against her ribs. Seeing Camillo’s soft angular handwriting brought new tears to her eyes. Who was the letter to? Not to her. That was certain. She’d never shared a promise with Camillo. Strange, she thought, to find this now.
What else didn’t I know about you, Camillo?
Placing the note on her desk, she turned away and looked out the large bay window. Morning had come and with it, she hoped, a chance to get to work and escape her heavy emotions. Quietly, she showered, dressed and headed out to the stable.
I shouldn’t take the job. Derrick cradled the phone in his palm, staring down at the number to the Cedar Oaks Stables where he’d scribbled it onto the outside cover of his phone book. After all that had happened yesterday, it seemed clear he should not take the job. He needed to call Emilie right now and tell her his decision.
So, why couldn’t he bring himself to dial the number?
Two days ago, he’d never heard of the stable. He knew Emilie by name only and most of what he’d heard had not been completely favorable. Now he wondered why. From what he gathered, Emilie was beautiful, intelligent and obviously capable of great friendship and love, as she had displayed in her complete devastation at the loss of her friend. Derrick had found her intriguing. In fact, he was having difficulty getting her amazing eyes out of his mind for more than seconds at a time.
He clenched his teeth. Great. He’d just given himself another reason to give up the position. And that was what he needed to do. Determined this time, he dialed the number on the phone book.
“Cedar. Cedar Oaks…”
Derrick paused at the quivering tones in Emilie’s voice. “Emilie? Is that you? This is Derrick.”
She didn’t respond.
“Are you all right?” Derrick swallowed hard. A feeling of panic waved through him. Something felt wrong.
“Uh…yes, Derrick. Sorry, I’m fine.” Her voice was icy.
She didn’t sound fine. Derrick scratched his head. Poor woman, she’d probably had a terrible night. And here he was getting ready to let her down. Derrick’s gut twisted as if a stone had settled in his stomach. “I’m sorry about leaving without talking to you yesterday. You were with your father when I was heading out and…well, anyway…I just wanted you to know I’ve been thinking this over and I’m not sure—”
“Okay. You’re coming today, right?” she interrupted. “My father said you’d be back early.”
What? Her father? Why would her father say that? “Emilie, what are you talking about? Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, and whenever you can get here is fine.”
Derrick could hear the emotions in her strained voice. It wasn’t just exhaustion confusing her. There was something else. Something unnatural and it was starting to concern him. “Emilie, you’re not making any sense. What I was saying is that—”
“You know, Derrick,” she interrupted again, “we’ll have to talk when you get here. The police have arrived. I need to talk with them.”
“The police?” Why would the police be back? And so early in the morning.
“Well, a forensics team is here. Okay. See you soon. You’re a lifesaver.”
“But what’s a…” Derrick stopped. Emilie had already hung up. And it didn’t matter anyway. He knew what a forensics team meant—it meant that a crime had been committed.