Chapters (62)
- Cover
- A PENNY
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- A Sample Chapter of Don’t Take Any Wooden Nickels
- About the Author
- Other Books by Mindy Starns Clark
- About the Publisher
“There’s nothing brave about accepting the inevitable.” Nothing brave about crying for a man a full three years after he’s gone.
We concluded our conversation, and just as we were about to hang up, Tom said my name once more.
“Callie,” he nearly whispered. I pressed the phone to my ear, wondering what would come next. For a brief moment, I wanted to hear him say that when this case was over, we would plan a get-together of our own, that we would arrange the perfect place and time. I hesitated, knowing that the thought of that filled me with an odd mix of excitement and fear.
“I just wanted to say,” he continued, “that in spite of everything else, you are even more beautiful in person than you are in pictures.”
He disconnected the call then, and I sat with the phone in my hand for a long time, thinking about him, thinking about what we could, someday, be to each other. Outside, I could hear the soft patter of rain against the window. Half smiling, I turned over and closed my eyes. I was asleep in an instant, and slept through the night without stirring, my dreams for once the easy, pleasant dreams of the unencumbered.
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Seven
I awoke feeling surprisingly refreshed. I still ached, of course, from my big fall the day before, but my head was clear and I no longer felt tired. Mostly, I was full of unjustified optimism, ready to head out and wrap this matter up so I could go home.
Once I was dressed and ready to leave, I grabbed my keys and my briefcase and headed down the stairs and out the back door, grateful when I didn’t run into anyone on the way. It was still early; I would stop for coffee and a bagel at the convenience store on the corner. I knew that would certainly be simpler and quicker than making conversation in the kitchen with Nick or Angelina.
It was a gorgeous morning, already warmer than the past few days. I was headed straight for my car when I noticed something odd about the pool. I hesitated, then took a step closer.
There were dozens of small sheets of paper floating in the water. Most were drifting here and there, but some of them had clumped into a wad in the deep end, around the drain, and a few had sunk to the bottom.
I took off a shoe and stepped down onto the first step, grabbing for the closest piece of paper I could reach. I knew what it was almost before I got a good look at it. It was onionskin paper, the kind of stationery Derek used to write to Sidra years ago when he was in seminary.