Small Town Justice(42)

She raised tear-filled eyes to Marsha. “How can I know?”

Instead of providing platitudes, the older woman clasped both her hands and began to pray aloud.

There were no fancy thees and thous, no complicated requests that sounded scripted, nor could Jamie have quoted her words if she’d had to. Yet the result was profound. The simple prayer began and ended with thanks and Marsha spoke to God as if she knew Him intimately. Trusted Him totally.

Tears rolled down Jamie’s cheeks. Tons of burdens dropped from her shoulders.

By the time Marsha said “Amen” and reached for a box of tissues, mere moments of time had passed, while years of suffering had slid away like summer rain falling from the petals of a flower.

Jamie Lynn blinked and blotted her tears. “Wow. Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, thank the good Lord. He’s the one who gives us the opportunities to help each other.” Marsha, too, was sniffling. “And He never gives up on His children, no matter what we do or how far away we wander.”

“Even my brother?”

“Of course. The thing a lot of folks forget is that we can be forgiven and still have to bear the consequences of our mistakes here on earth. Your brother can be pardoned by God without getting out of prison. You do understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes.” But she didn’t like it. Not one bit. If R.J. belonged in jail that was one thing. If he was innocent, however, there was no way she could simply stand back and let him finish out his sentence without trying to help. Research had told her that many convicts insisted they were innocent no matter how damning the evidence against them was. In her brother’s case, there was only his testimony and the supposition that since he had been found alone, passed out cold in his bloody, dented car, he had to have been driving when it had hit the beloved sheriff.

Nowhere in the files about the case was there any mention of fingerprints or DNA testing—which hadn’t been as common fourteen years ago, anyhow. Understandably, the entire community had been up in arms over the death. Whoever had been assigned to gather evidence probably did it as quickly as possible, particularly since they were convinced they already had the perpetrator in custody.

Looking around the cozy Sunday school room, Jamie noticed that Marsha and another older woman had three little girls busy coloring background for Noah’s ark, while Kyle and a friend marched pairs of plastic animals up its loading ramp.

“Do you think they saved the car?” she asked Marsha.

“I have no idea. Why would they? What do you have in mind?”

“The pictures showed B-L-O-O-D on the front seats.” She spelled to keep from alarming the children.

“So? It was a bad accident.”

“Granted.” Jamie cleared her throat. “Suppose some of it tested out as belonging to someone other than R.J.?”

“It still wouldn’t show who’d been behind the wheel.”

Jamie Lynn began to smile slightly while helping a little red-haired boy search through a tote for a lost zebra. “Maybe not. Aha!” She held up the missing animal figure, grinned and handed it to the child. “But it would prove that there were at least two people in that car.”

Eyeing Marsha, she asked, “Would you... I mean do you mind...?”

“Asking Harlan to see about it? Not at all, dear.”

If she hadn’t been surrounded by demanding toddlers, Jamie would have delivered one of the Southern hugs she’d become so fond of in the past few days.

Was that really all the time that had passed? she wondered silently. At times, it seemed she’d just arrived and at others, such as now, she felt totally at home, as if she had never been sent away.

Although that realization was unsettling, it also provided a measure of comfort. The very place she had convinced herself to hate was becoming a refuge.

And the people? Jamie glanced at Marsha and Kyle. The people were mostly loving and accepting when she had anticipated an overall reaction similar to the one she was getting from whoever was stalking her.

Jamie Lynn shivered. Folded her arms across her chest. The mere thought of previous attacks was enough to give her chills. To prickle the hairs at the nape of her neck and raise goose bumps up and down her arms.

Logic insisted she was being foolish. Imagining things. Letting wild thoughts take control and skew reality. She was in a church, among friends, watching innocent children reenact familiar Bible stories. Fear was irrational.

Turn around.

No. There’s nothing there.

Prove it. Turn around.

It was all Jamie could do to make herself look toward the glass-topped door to the hallway. There wouldn’t be anybody there, she insisted, beginning to pivot.