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“ … A POOR MAN IS BETTER THAN A LIAR.” —PROVERBS 19:22

“ H ey Syd, aren’t you going home tonight?” Sean stood in her office doorway. He looked as fresh as he did when Sydney saw him that morning. “Now that the OSHA inspection’s done, I figured that you could rest easy for a while.” He leaned against the doorframe. “Congratulations on passing.”

Her eyes met his. “Did you ever have any doubt?”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Do I have to answer that?”

She shook her head. She’d had her doubts as well. All in all, the follow-up inspection had been anticlimactic. A frail man with hair black as shoe polish and suspicious eyes showed up and made notes of all the improvements. He passed them off and then let her know in no uncertain terms that he would be back periodically to check on the situation.

“Can I walk you out?” Sean asked.

“No thanks, I still have a few things to finish up.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Sydney was thankful that she could finally be alone to complete her mission. She had to find Cecil Prichard and talk to him. Even though the log accident occurred several years ago, it was doubtful that someone would forget an incident so serious.

It was time to go to plan “B.” There had to be an employment file on Cecil Prichard, and this time she wasn’t about to ask Barb for it. Sydney’s palms grew sweaty. She stepped out of her office and tried to appear casual while checking to make sure everyone had left. When she’d finished her search, she headed for Barb’s desk. It was common knowledge that Barb kept the basement key in her top right-hand drawer. She prayed that Barb’s desk would be unlocked. It was. She clutched the key and made her way to the basement. She closed the door behind her and flipped on the light. The musty smell was suffocating. The place felt like a tomb. She pushed the thought away and willed herself to stay calm. Don’t panic, she repeated over and over. Even though she tried to tread lightly, every step on the wooden stairs sounded like a jackhammer in her ears. It took her a minute to locate the filing cabinets. A dull light bulb, hanging by a cord, made her wish she’d brought a flashlight. She searched through the first two cabinets and came up empty-handed. On the third she saw the label marked “terminations.” Surely Cecil Prichard hadn’t been fired. She frowned. Avery described Cecil as conscientious. He’d been a devoted employee for many years. She shrugged. It was worth a look. She scanned down to the fourth drawer where the “P’s” began. She pulled out the drawer and thumbed through the folders: Parker, Parkings, Perkins, and Persell. Then she saw it—a folder labeled Prichard . S he reached for the file, intending to study it. First things first , she told herself, scribbling the address on her note pad. She was just about to search the files for Lewis when she heard the voice.

“Hey, is somebody down here?”

Sydney jumped and stuffed the folder back into the drawer and shut it.

“I said, is anyone there?”

It was Sean. He pounded down the stairs, and she was sure he would hear her heart running at full speed. She crouched in the corner beside a filing cabinet and tried not to make a sound. The footsteps were getting closer. Would he hear her breathing? Would he smell her perfume?

His cell phone rang. “Now?” He sighed. “Yeah, I’m on my way.” He ran back up the steps and flipped off the light.

She waited a good five minutes after he left before she dared to move. It was pitch black, and she had to feel her way to the stairs. What would happen if Sean were waiting on the other side of the door? She opened it a fraction at first before getting the nerve to open it all the way and step through. She braced herself for the worst, but nothing happened. The office was empty. She was shaking all over like the mouse that managed to slip unnoticed under the sleeping cat’s paw. She replaced Barb’s keys, then darted out the door without looking back. She clenched her fist. She’d done it! She’d gotten the address!

If she’d stayed a few more minutes, she would have seen Sean step out of the office and lock the door behind him.

Sydney decided to go straight to Cecil Prichard’s house. She stopped at a convenience store and asked for directions, and then headed down one of the many country roads that tangled like spaghetti noodles over the area. It wasn’t until the sun started setting behind the clouds that she second-guessed her decision to drive out to a place she’d never been this late in the afternoon. She glanced at her directions and then at the gravel road. This was it.

Tall trees and thick hedges hovered over the narrow road, creating a gloomy tunnel. She had the eerie impression that she’d left the modern world. She reached over to make sure her doors were locked. The road seemed never ending. The farther she went, the more frantic the warning voice in her head grew. Just when she was about to turn around, she saw a small structure in the clearing up ahead. It looked like an abandoned one-room cabin, completely barren of paint. A couple of dead ferns in black pots hung from rusty clothes hangers that were bent around the beams of the porch. A rotten table with a broken leg leaned against one side of the house. At the far edge of the yard, Sydney could see the remains of an old wringer-type washing machine turned on its side in the tall grass. A few feet from the washer there was an old wrecked car filled with garbage.

She cracked her window.

“What do you want?”

The man’s deep voice seemed to materialize out of thin air, causing Sydney’s heart to jump in her throat. She looked toward the house for a face. Before she could answer, a pack of yelping dogs ran from behind the house. Thank goodness she was still safely locked in her jeep.

Sydney lowered the window a couple of inches. “Is this Cecil Prichard’s place?”

“Yeah, but who wants to know?’’ The man appeared from behind the door. He looked to be approximately forty-five years old. His thinning hair was a dingy gray and stringy, like it had not been combed in months. The stained T-shirt revealed a frail, hairy chest. His bottom lip bulged with a dip of snuff or chewing tobacco. Dried stains outlined the corners of his mouth.

Sydney tried to slow her pulsating heartbeat. “My name is Sydney Lassiter. I work at the sawmill, and I just wanted to ask Mr. Prichard a couple of questions.”

“Well, he ain’t in no shape to be answering questions, but you might as well get out so long as you’re here.”

Sydney’s first impulse was to step on the gas and get as far away as possible from this place, but she couldn’t. She needed to talk to Cecil Prichard. He might be just the key to unlock the mystery of her father’s death. She opened the door a fraction and the barking dogs jumped at her.

“Git out o’ here.” The man came down the steps and began kicking the dogs with his bare feet.

“Come on in here and meet the ol’ man and my misses.” He beckoned Sydney to follow him up the creaky steps. If Sydney thought the outside of the cabin had prepared her for what she would see inside, she was sadly mistaken. The scent of dogs and body odor hit her full force. Stacks of dirty dishes still caked with dried food littered the kitchen counter. Fruit flies were swarming around a heap of garbage in the corner. Empty beer cans were scattered around the room. A dirty throw rug covered in dog hair lay in the middle of the floor.

Sydney took a step backwards. “Where are your wife and father?”

“Well, to tell the truth, they don’t live here no more. You just have a seat Miss … uh, what’d you say your name was?” The man motioned toward a ragged recliner that had a big grease spot at the top, no doubt caused by his hair.

Sydney’s chest began to pound. Here she was in the middle of nowhere with this creep, and like an idiot, she’d followed him into his lair. What was she thinking? “No thank you. I came to talk to Cecil Prichard. Where is he?”

The man spit a stream of tobacco into a can close to where Sydney was standing. She looked down, expecting to see splatters of tobacco spit on her linen pants.

“Now don’t you get sassy with me, Missy!” The man took a step closer to her, and she shrank back against the door. The mixture of body odor, tobacco, and beer were more than she could take. Panic convulsed through her.

“I’ve obviously come to the wrong place.” She moved to open the door.

Before she could get it open, the man reached and closed it. “I’m Bernice Prichard. I’ll talk to you. I expect you and me can find lots of interesting things to talk about.” He laughed and leaned over Sydney with his hand against the door, blocking her way out.

“Get out of my way!”“You shore are pretty when you’re mad. It makes them big blue eyes shoot bullets.”

She kicked the vile man between his legs as hard as she could. He cursed and doubled over in pain. She flung open the door and raced to her jeep, knowing that she only had a few precious seconds to get away. She barely noticed the barking dogs, chasing her to the jeep. She locked the door and started the engine. Through the rear-view mirror, she could see Bernice standing in the yard, shaking his fist as her tires sprayed gravel across the yard. She hadn’t meant to kick him. Instinct had taken over. Maybe all of those self-defense classes Judith made her attend were worthwhile after all. What an utterly stupid thing to do. When would she learn to use good judgment? This was one incident that she would definitely keep to herself. She raced down the gravel road and offered up a silent prayer for her escape.

The incident with Bernice Prichard had shaken her up, but Sydney was determined to find Cecil. For several days her mind raced for a way to locate him. It finally came to her—the one person that would know: Barb.

She found Barb in the break room. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Barb placed her coffee cup by the pot and turned to Sydney. “I’m busy. Is it important?”

Sydney tried to keep her voice casual. She focused on the stack of papers in Barb’s hand. “Do you remember a man named Cecil Prichard who worked at the mill several years ago?

Barb’s face grew curious. “Yeah, I remember Cecil. Why?”

“I’d like to ask him about some of the accidents that were happening back then.”

“You’d better let old dogs lie—if you know what I mean.” Barb turned her back on Sydney and filled her cup with coffee.

“Barb, I need to know where he is.”

“Is that right? Well, I guess you’re just out of luck.” Barb flashed a smile and walked away, sipping her coffee.

Louellen’s cultured voice came from behind. “Cecil Prichard is in Shady Side Rest Home. It’s located in Beline, about forty miles from here.”

Sydney turned and faced her. “Thanks,” she said with more gratitude in her voice than she wished to convey.

“You’re welcome.”

Sydney thought of something else. “Louellen? Have you ever heard of anyone named Lewis?”

Louellen’s eyebrow raised. “Why?”

“I was going through some of the old files and came across the name several times.”

Louellen studied Sydney and waited. Finally she spoke. “Yeah, I know who Lewis is.”

“Well, do you know where he is or what happened to him?”

“Yes.”

“Well?” she prompted. This was about as useless as trying to eat a bowl of cereal with a fork.

“He’s dead.” Louellen turned and regally walked away.

What was that about? Louellen had freely given the information about Cecil Prichard, but when Sydney mentioned Lewis, Louellen clammed up.

The nursing home was a far cry from the Prichard’s home place. Sydney couldn’t help but compare the old shack and junky yard to the modern buildings with the meticulous landscaping. “Are you a relative of Mr. Prichard?” the girl behind the glass window asked.

“Yes, I’m his niece,” Sydney said, hoping that Mr. Prichard had one.

After a few minutes of waiting in the lobby, a nurse appeared and escorted Sydney out of the administration building, across the lawn, and into the large room of another building where an elderly bald man sat in a wheelchair, looking out the window. He was neatly dressed and had a blanket spread over his legs. Although they were the same build, it was hard for Sydney to believe this was the father of the repulsive man she’d met a few days before.

“Cecil, I’ve brought someone to visit you.” The nurse smiled and left Sydney with him.

“Cecil.” Sydney held out her hand.

“Hello,” he said, studying her face.

Sydney looked around to be sure the nurse had left before starting her conversation. “Mr. Prichard, you don’t know me. My name is Sydney Lassiter, and I work for the sawmill where you used to work.”

“Yeah.” The man nodded.

He did remember! “Do you remember a man named Avery McClain?

“Yeah, I knew Avery.” Mr. Prichard smiled and nodded again. “I thought a lot of Avery. He was a fine man.”

“Mr. Prichard, do you remember the log accident in the wood yard where Avery was almost killed?”

“Yeah, I remember that. Like to have scared me and him both to death. That chain didn’t just break, you know. It was cut.”

“Can you tell me who would have wanted to do such a thing?”

Sydney held her breath and waited for an answer. Then Cecil smiled like he recognized her for the first time. “Honey, I thought I were never gon’ see my little girl again. You do love your old daddy after all, don’t you?” He held out his hands.

At another time and place, Sydney would have gladly offered her hands to someone like Cecil, but not today. “What? No, we were talking about Avery McClain and the log yard accident. Don’t you remember? Just a second ago, you said you knew Avery. Listen to me!” She felt like shaking Cecil.

“Yeah.” Cecil laughed. “You look just like your momma. Where is she?”

“Ma’am.” The nurse patted Sydney’s arm. “Don’t let Mr. Prichard upset you. He don’t mean to. He has Alzheimer’s.”

Sydney nodded. She tried to sort through her mixed emotions. Yes, pity was the word she was looking for, but she wasn’t sure who she was feeling sorry for—Cecil Prichard or herself.