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“EVEN IN LAUGHTER THE HEART IS SORROWFUL.” —PROVERBS 14:13

S ydney walked past Barb’s desk and reached in her cubicle to retrieve her mail. She leafed through her mail and then stopped. “Barb, why was this catalog put in my box?”

Barb looked at what Sydney was holding. “Oh that. Talley Equipment has been sending us safety equipment catalogs for years.” She shrugged. “I just thought you might like to look at it.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that. But, it’s addressed to Lewis Jackson.”

“Yeah, Lewis used to work here a long time ago. He was one of our foremen. You’d think the people sending out that catalog would have enough sense to update their list. Lewis hasn’t worked here for over ten years.”

The name rang a bell. Lewis: why did that name sound so familiar? Then it hit her. Avery mentioned Lewis in his journal. He was the foreman who had dismissed the logger’s claims that they were being shorted on their loads. Avery had written that just before he wrote about the incident with the tumbling logs that almost killed him. She had asked Louellen about Lewis the same time she had asked her about Cecil Prichard. She remembered that Louellen had acted funny when she had asked about Lewis. Now she wondered. Could this be the same Lewis? She had assumed that Lewis was the man’s last name, not his first.

Sydney looked up and realized that Barb was studying her. “I believe this is the same man I asked Louellen about. She told me he was dead. Do you know how he died?”

Barb’s eyes went wide and then she doubled over in laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“Dead my foot. Lewis is no more dead than you or me. He owns a sporting goods store over in Glendale.” Sydney shook her head. “Maybe Louellen was talking about a different Lewis.”

Barb reached for a tissue and dabbed the corners of her eyes. “I doubt it.”

“Well, then why did she tell me that?”

“Because Lewis Jackson’s her ex husband, that’s why. She hates his guts.”

Lewis Jackson’s sporting goods store was located just off the town square in Glendale. Sydney parked her jeep in front of the store. A bell rang when she opened the door, announcing her arrival. A deep baritone voice sounded from the back of the store. “I’ll be with you in a moment.

”The wooden floor creaked under Sydney’s feet. The mingled smells of leather and vinyl seeped into her system. It was like one of those old dime stores, except instead of candy she saw an assortment of brightly colored sweatshirts and T-shirts, all bearing the logos of state universities. Tables were piled high with sporting accessories. One wall was covered with tennis and racquetball rackets. The other displayed football helmets, baseball caps, and bats.

She heard the same male voice again and then a woman’s voice coming from the back of the store. Sydney eased her way in that direction to see if she could get a look at the man. Hopefully he would turn out to be Lewis Jackson. She saw the woman first. She was in her late thirties and was trim with a dark tan, despite the cool weather. Fake and bake in the tanning bed Ginger would say. Her medium brown hair was stylishly cut so that it wisped around her chin. A small boy tugged at the young woman’s leg, vying for her attention. At first she was oblivious to the boy, but after a few tugs, she relented and bent over to talk to him.

Sydney turned her gaze to the man and realized he had already seen her. He was looking her over while continuing his conversation with the other woman. The woman turned to see what had caught his attention.

Sydney pretended to take interest in a set of golf clubs.

The man made his way up to the front of the store with the woman and her child following. “Grace, it’ll take about two weeks for those clubs to arrive. I’ll call you when they come.”

“Remember, Lewis, if Henry calls, you don’t know a thing. I want this to be a surprise.”

Lewis chuckled. “Don’t worry about that. I’m not the one who let it slip last time. You were.”

The woman looked sheepish and made a motion like she was zipping her lips. “No slip-ups this time. Call me,” she mouthed then walked out the door.

He winked.

Sydney had positioned herself behind a clothes rack so she could watch the exchange. She’d asked herself a million times why Louellen had told her that Lewis was dead. Maybe it was all as simple as Barb had made it out to be. Maybe Louellen hated his guts so much that she considered him dead. But why did she lie? Was there more to it? Was she protecting someone? Who? Lewis? Herself?

Lewis Jackson was in his mid sixties and very attractive. His southern drawl was so cultured that the words rolled out like a ballad. His crisp polo shirt and gray slacks seemed to be an extension of his athletic frame. His silver hair and steel gray eyes complemented his tanned skin and white teeth. He looked like he walked straight out of a golfing magazine. It wasn’t hard to see why the woman in the store was hanging on his every word. He was a picture of southern grace.

“Can I help you?” Lewis walked toward Sydney, giving her a friendly smile as he approached. She wasn’t prepared for those shameless eyes that raked her over from head to toe. Yes, he was certainly a ladies’ man. His eyes, his walk, everything about him sent a clear message that he was on the make, and at the moment, she just happened to be his closest target. Irritation pricked her.

Should she pretend to be a customer or get straight to the point? “Yes. My name is Sydney Lassiter, and I’m a consultant for Chamberland Sawmill. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Lewis’ smile remained on his face, but his eyes went cold. Or was she so convinced of his guilt that she imagined it? He glanced at his watch, and she had the feeling he was contemplating whether or not to talk to her. “Sydney,” he said, “I’ll be glad to talk to you if you’ll give me a minute to close up, and then we’ll go back to my office.”

“Miss or Mrs.?” Lewis asked. He motioned to a seat directly across from his desk.

He wasn’t missing any tricks. “Miss.”

“What can I do for you, Miss Lassiter?”

Sydney retrieved a small notebook from her purse and cleared her throat. “I understand that you worked as a foreman at the sawmill a few years ago.”

“That’s right. I’ve been gone from there for about eight or nine years.” Lewis reached in his pocket and pulled out a stick of gum. “Want one?”

“No thanks.”

He removed the wrapper and folded the stick into a neat square before placing it in his mouth. “I’m investigating some accidents at the mill and wondered if you could tell me what kind of accidents happened when you were there.”Lewis shifted in his chair and crossed his legs. “Miss Lassiter, I don’t see how anything that happened at the mill that long ago could have anything to do with what’s happening now. Besides, I can’t think of anything unusual that happened while I was there. There were always the run-of-the-mill accidents, like cut fingers, sawdust in people’s eyes. That sort of thing.”

Sydney studied Lewis’ face. She wasn’t making any progress. She swallowed hard and decided to plunge in. “Do you remember Buford Phillips’ death, Mr. Jackson? Didn’t that happen while you were there? Wasn’t that an unusual occurrence?”

She watched his eyes. He was startled by her question, though he fought hard not to show it. For a split second, she saw something. What was it? Fear? Anger?

“I hate to speak evil of the dead, but Buford Phillips was a drunk. I think it was pretty much established at the time of the accident that it was his fault.”

“Oh, I see.” Sydney looked down at her notes. “Can you tell me of any other unusual accidents during that time that come to your mind? For instance, in the lumber yard or maybe in the log yard with some of the trucks?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Her eyes met his. “Did you know Avery McClain?”

The air seemed to stand still. “Yes.”

“Do you not remember an incident where a chain broke and logs rolled off and almost killed him?”

Lewis’ face went white. Sydney looked down and pretended to check her notes. “No, I’m mistaken. The chain didn’t break.” Her eyes lifted and met his in a direct challenge. “It was cut.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who gave you that information?” His face was flushed and his eyes narrowed.“

I read it in some of the old files.”

“No you didn’t. You’re lying. Who are you, and why are you really here? You’re fishing for information.”

Her heart began to pound. “Why did you leave the sawmill, Mr. Jackson?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“When the loggers came to you, complaining about being shorted on their loads, why did you ignore them? Why didn’t you do something?”

Lewis’ face went black. “I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing, but it’s time for you to leave.”

“What are you hiding, Mr. Jackson? Avery McClain was killed in an explosion. Do you know anything about that?”

He jumped up so fast that for a moment she feared he would attack her. “You’ve got about two seconds to get out of my store.”

She stood. Without another word she turned on her heel and left.

Lewis watched her get into the jeep and drive away. He picked up the phone. “I know we agreed not to talk, but Sydney Lassiter was just here. Something has to be done.”

It took a good ten minutes for Sydney’s pulse to return to normal. As she drove back to Stoney Creek, she replayed her conversation with Lewis. He was guilty. She was sure of it. Or at the very least, he knew something about Avery’s death. She hadn’t intended to question him about Avery. In her anger the words had slipped out. Lewis’ words seared her mind. W ho are you? Why are you really here? Hers was a precarious situation. She wanted to find the answers she so desperately needed, but she aroused suspicion every time she asked those crucial questions.

Lewis was angry. Angry enough to start snooping around in her business? Why had she been so careless? If only she’d not gotten so incensed. Maybe then she could have questioned him in a less confrontational way.

She shook her head and slung her hair back out of her face. She was tired of second-guessing herself. Tired of all the headaches at the mill and tired of being sick and tired. So what if Lewis was suspicious? So what? It didn’t make any difference. Someone broke into her home and stole Avery’s journal. Anyone reading that journal could put two and two together to figure out whom she was. It was only a matter of time.

Sydney picked up one of the huge floral pillows and examined it. She gave it a squeeze and a clip from a Charmin commercial flashed in her mind. Don’t squeeze the Charmin . “Are these pillows new?”

Stella’s voice drifted from the kitchen. “Yes, I thought the living room could use some color.”

“They look nice.” Sydney placed it behind her back and tucked her feet under her legs. Stella’s home was becoming more and more of a refuge. She snuggled in the corner of the sofa and watched Stella enter the room, carrying a tray of lemonade and cookies. She rose. “Here, let me help you.”

“No, you just relax.”

Stella sat down in the love seat and Sydney noticed that there were shadows under her eyes. The tiny lines etched around her eyes looked deeper than she remembered. Sydney wondered how much stress her return to Stoney Creek had caused Stella. Guilt surfaced. This was the first time she’d ever even thought about it.

“Here you are.” Stella handed Sydney a tall tumbler of lemonade.

“Stella, I love you,” Sydney blurted.

Stella looked taken back, but pleased nonetheless. “Well, I love you too, hon. I’ve been worried about you.” Stella reached and patted Sydney’s hand.

“I don’t want you worrying about me. Everything will be fine.” Sydney sipped the lemonade. Her mind clicked over the events of the past few days. She told Stella that she suspected drug use at the mill, and she told her about the visit to Lewis Jackson. Now she second-guessed herself for doing so. She had no right to burden Stella with her problems.

Sydney looked up and realized that Stella was studying her with those perceptive eyes.

“Sydney, I know we’ve been over this before, and I hope you don’t think I’m nagging, but I want you to try to put this whole thing about Avery behind you.”

Sydney didn’t answer right away. She broke her eyes away from Stella’s and stared at some unseen spot on the rug. “You’re probably right,” she finally said. “It’s all one big dead end anyway.”

“Have you been to the cemetery yet?”

Sydney’s head jerked up. “The cemetery?”

“To visit your parents’ grave.”

Any reply Sydney could have mustered stuck like cement on her tongue, but her mind moved a million miles an hour. How could she put into words how she felt? Visiting them would make it all seem so … final. “No, um, I haven’t done that yet.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t think I’m ready to do that, but I did visit the old home place when I first got to town.” Sydney placed the tumbler on the coffee table and rose from the couch. She walked over to the double French doors and stood with her back facing Stella. After a few moments of silence, she continued in a low voice, almost as if she were talking to herself.

“When I went to see my … the house, well, thank goodness, there was no one home, so I walked around outside. There’s still a swing on the porch. I sat down in it.” She paused. “Then I saw a rocking chair in the far corner of the porch. It was in the same spot where Mom used to sit and watch me swing.” Sydney turned to face Stella. “I sat in the swing for a few minutes and closed my eyes. I could hear Mom and Dad laughing the way they used to before she got sick.”

Stella came up from behind her and opened the French doors. “Let’s sit on the patio.”

The metal scraping the brick seemed loud to Sydney as she pulled out a patio chair. The crisp autumn air splashed their faces and they sat in silence, watching the setting sun start its descent below the horizon.

Stella was the first to speak. “It’s such a beautiful sunset.”

“Uh-huh.”

“This is one of my favorite times of the day.”

Sydney’s response was automatic. “Oh,” and then, “yeah, it’s nice out here.”

“If you’ll wait a few seconds … there. Look at that.”

Sydney looked to where Stella was pointing.

“When the sun sets just right …” She stopped speaking until Sydney looked up and met her eyes. “When the sun hits the clouds just right, they burst with color, looking like puffy swirls of pink and blue cotton candy.”

“That’s exactly what Mom used to say!” It took her all of a second to realize that Stella was aware of that fact. “A cotton candy sky — that’s what she used to call it.” Sydney’s eyes grew misty and they lifted to the horizon. “We used to lie on our backs in the cool grass and watch the sunset together. Mom would reach and pluck it right out of the sky. She’d pop it in her mouth and then hand me a piece. Her description was so vivid that I swear I actually tasted the sugar melt in my mouth.”

“I remember.”

Tears pooled in Sydney’s eyes before making their way down her cheeks. She shook her head and used her sleeve to wipe them away. “Dad used to say that Mom saw the world through rose-colored glasses. After she was gone … well, I’m afraid I’ve never been able to look at another sunset and see that much color again.”

“Our parents lend us their glasses, and as a child, that’s how we see ourselves—through those glasses. You’re lucky to have had Susan’s, even for a little while.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

Stella cocked her head. “Do I?” She thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think it’s easy. Life is a hard road, most of it uphill I must say. But I do know one thing. All of the trials we go through make us stronger. We hate them, pray for their removal, but in the end, they often turn out to be our greatest blessings. I don’t ask the Lord to remove my mountains anymore. I just ask for help climbing them. Out of the greatest tragedy comes the greatest personal victory.” Stella looked at Sydney. “Are you listening to anything I’m saying?”

Sydney ran her hands through her hair. Her voice was tired, defeated. “Yeah, I hear you.”

“Do you think for one minute that Susan wasn’t hurting?”

Sydney’s eyes took on a wounded expression.

“Toward the end, Susan was in a great deal of pain most of the time. I imagine it hurt her to know that she wouldn’t be able to grow old with Avery.” Stella’s voice grew soft when a tear trickled down Sydney’s cheek. “That she wouldn’t live to see you grow up. She always looked for the cotton candy in every sky. It might’ve been hard to find at times, but it was there nevertheless.”

Sydney clenched her fist. Her tears were falling faster now. “I just don’t understand why everything has to be so hard.”

Stella reached for her arm. “I don’t know.” She patted Sydney’s hand. “Honey, I just don’t know. But I do know that the Lord doesn’t expect us to go it alone. He’s always there for us. He’s standing there with His arms wide open, just waiting for us to turn to Him. He can give you peace, even in the midst of your affliction.” Stella’s eyes took on a faraway look. “One of my favorite Bible verses is found in John 14:27. ‘Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.’”

Sydney’s mind was on fire. There were so many emotions churning inside that she didn’t know what to think. She wanted to believe Stella. She wanted to believe that everything would be okay. She wanted to believe … and yet there was the hideous doubt. That black mist of doubt that was so thick and deep she could never see her way through it.

“Honey, the only way you’re going to find any peace is to put closure on this whole thing. I want you to promise me that you’ll go to the cemetery. Maybe then you’ll be able to get on with your life.”

Sydney wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Her nose was stuffy and her head felt as heavy as lead. A dull headache was throbbing across the bridge of her nose. “Okay, I promise. I’ll try.”

Sydney pulled out of Stella’s driveway and took a deep breath. Stella was right: it was time for her get on with her life and put the past behind her. She intended to do just that … as soon as she found out what happened to Avery. She glanced up. The sky that was pink and blue just thirty minutes ago was turning a smoldering gray. A storm was moving in. She’d always been amazed at how fast a weather front could move in and out of the plains of Texas, but it rarely happened so quickly here. She rolled down her window, enjoying the energy that was building. She came to the edge of the mountain, just before the road started sloping down, and her eyes rested on a familiar building, The Jam Session. The restaurant was appropriately named because it offered live entertainment every evening. The Jam Session was a gathering place for amateur singers and wannabe entertainers. She remembered the times when she and her parents would drop by to grab a quick sandwich before going to a ballgame. Before she could second-guess herself, she pulled into the crowded parking lot. At the very least, it would provide a diversion from her problems.

Sydney smiled as she listened to the conversation of a middle-aged couple walking in front of her toward the restaurant. “Where did all these dadburn people come from?” the man said. “You can’t never find no parking place here no more.”

The woman looked over at him with a grimace on her face and pointed to a dark spot on the pavement. “That oil spill smells, and the grease they cook with makes me sick. Why can’t we go get something to eat someplace nice for once?”

“Cause I want to see the talents contest, that’s why.”

A talent contest? Sydney couldn’t remember ever going to a talent show at The Jam Session. Should be interesting.

The man holding the microphone looked up when the couple entered with Sydney following close behind. “Come on in,” he yelled. The couple made their way to an empty table at the back of the room, and Sydney moved in the opposite direction to a small table in the corner near the kitchen.

“The fun’s just beginning,” the announcer said. “Our first contestant is a pretty lil’ thang. She’s gonna do a cloggin’ number called Born to Boogie .”

The music rolled on, and the energetic brunette clogged while the crowd roared and clapped. Sydney looked around the room. It was just as she remembered it. The crowd was made up of mostly country people from the surrounding area. Or good ol’ salt of the earth folks, as she’d heard Avery say. Many of the older men wore overalls, and she counted at least three silver-haired women in the audience whose hair was swept up in large buns. Every three days or so, these women would go to the hairdresser to have their hair set. S et was an appropriate word because once set, like cement, there was no moving it. Nostalgia swept over her, and she couldn’t be sure but thought she experienced a vague sense of familiarity when she looked at the faces. The majority of the younger women still had the eighties hairstyle. The one where the bangs were so tall they could almost stand up and walk by themselves. The men donned faded jeans and cowboy boots. She scanned their faces, wondering if any of them worked at the sawmill.

“Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

Sydney looked up to see a skinny waitress standing beside her, practically yelling over the music.

“Yes, I’ll have a Sprite.”

The announcer was on the stage again, thanking the girl for her performance. “Next, we have Larry Joe. Now y’all give ’im a big round of applause. He ain’t no feriner to these parts. He’s from right here on the mount’n.”

The crowd clapped louder.

“Where’s Judy? She’s a bustin’ a gut to get to sing instead of doing her job,” an angry male voice yelled from the kitchen.

“I said I’m fixin’ to come and help, and I meant it,” the skinny waitress said as she smoothed her apron and took her time sauntering back toward the kitchen.

A smile spread over Sydney’s face. No, things hadn’t changed much.

It was dark when Sydney stepped out of the restaurant. A taste of rain was in the misty air. She’d stayed longer than she’d intended, but it was worth it. She’d actually enjoyed herself. The parking lot had been so packed when she first arrived that she’d been forced to park at the far end. All thoughts of her pleasant evening vanished when she felt the familiar fears return. It was that same feeling of being watched that ripped away her confidence and stripped her to the core. Why did she always feel that way? Was she losing her mind? The hair on the back of her neck stood and she glanced around the parking lot. All the vehicles were empty except one, a beat up gray Chevy. A man was sitting in the truck. Was that who was watching her? She quickened her pace to get to the jeep. She could still hear the music and the crowd inside as she climbed in. In the safety of her jeep, it was easier to laugh at her paranoia before heading off the mountain. The man in the Chevy was probably waiting for someone inside. The mist turned to rain, and she got caught up in the rhythm of the wipers, listening to them wick away the drops that were spilling on her windshield.

The lights came up behind her so suddenly that they seemed to appear out of thin air. She glanced in her rearview mirror. The lights were getting closer. She pushed the accelerator. A few more miles would put her at the foot of the mountain and closer to town. The lights were directly behind her now, and whoever it was had left them on bright. She willed herself to remain calm and wished that there were two lanes going down the mountain instead of one. Maybe then this bozo could pass her instead of tailgating. She sped up even more, hoping to distance herself. Her stomach dropped. The lights stayed right on her tail.

She looked in her rearview mirror, trying to see what kind of vehicle it was. It was hard to tell for sure but it looked like a pickup truck. She turned her attention to the road ahead. Her jeep lurched, and the pavement slipped out from under her. She was hydroplaning! She fought the urge to slam on her brakes and eased her foot off the accelerator. She fought to keep the wheel straight. Panic ripped through her when the truck jarred her jeep. It had bumped into her! She gripped the steering wheel, her body stiff. Before she could question whether the hit was accidental, it hit her again, this time sending the back of her jeep sliding sideways.

“Get off my bumper!” she yelled, as if the person behind the two menacing headlights could hear her. She forgot about the wet pavement and sped faster and faster down the curvy road, trying to get away from the truck that stuck to her like a magnet.

Lightning flashed overhead, and the steady drizzle turned into sheets of rain that pelted like golf balls. Sydney’s heart beat so fast that she thought it would jump out of her chest. Her temples throbbed in sequence. She thought her back wheels would surely go off the road with every swerve that she made. Then it happened. The vehicle raced around, cutting so close in front of her that she ran off into the shoulder of the road. She could see the tail lights as it sped away into the darkness.

Sydney’s whole body was trembling. She would never know for sure but thought it was the same beat-up Chevy she’d seen at The Jam Session.