“Do you think she’d resort to suicide?”

Pastor Glades sighed. “Her faith is solid, and she knows Jesus, but who can say where the depths of depression could lead her. She internalizes everything.”

“A pastor here is counseling her.”

“Yes, I’ve chatted with Pastor Emory, but he hasn’t broken confidentiality.”

“Those who’ve befriended her have become loyal in a short while,” I said. “The café where she works has a little gift shop. Her jewelry is there on consignment, and already she has orders. I understand you taught her the craft.”

She chuckled. “I showed her the basics, and she did the rest. Shelby has a natural skill in my opinion.” The chaplain paused. “If she knew the location of the money, she’d have told the authorities where to find it.”

“Do you have any information that could help identify the person behind these threats, someone from prison?”

“Possibly, but I have no proof. I can’t state something without backing it up.”

“Is there anything you can tell me? I want to eliminate the threats and let her put an end to the past.”

“She’s a strong young woman and has overcome incredible obstacles. Shelby understands and practices sacrifice. You’re an investigator. Look beneath the surface for the truth.”

30

SHELBY

Creating something beautiful from raw materials seemed to be my purpose. I felt God’s presence, encouraging me to express my love within the context of my heart, mind, and fingers. I polished the stones on two completed necklace and earrings sets. Tomorrow I’d deliver them to Amy-Jo for customers who’d placed orders. The name and Scripture reference for each item gave them meaning. Satisfaction swirled through me, much like in high school when I selected furniture, fabric, and room designs, pasted images of them in a scrapbook, and stored them in my closet for a future in interior decorating.

But the time to fashion a jewelry piece also caused my thoughts to dive into dark places. God helped me there too. My resolve to find out the name and reason someone wanted me dead refused to budge. One of the things I’d learned in prison was those allowed to bully continued their insatiable quest until they were stopped.

My burner phone rang—Sheriff Wendall. I hoped he didn’t plan to stop by. Although the time only read 7:03, I was ready to catch up on the sleep I’d missed the previous night.

“Shelby, I have a bit of bad news for you. Your father called. Your mother is in stage 4 of pancreatic cancer. Critical condition. She’s home and under the care of hospice. Askin’ to see you.”

An image of my strong mother, weak and dying, seemed wrong. A horrible mistake. “Dad chose not to contact me?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“He made himself clear of my status with the family a long time ago. My guess is he’s against a visit, but Mom’s insisting.” When the sheriff didn’t respond, I took a breath while treasured memories of my mother touched my heart. “I want to see her.”