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“THE HEART OF HIM THAT HATH UNDERSTANDING SEEKETH KNOWLEDGE.” —PROVERBS 15:4

G rief settled like a blanket of fog over Stoney Creek and residents mourned the loss of their golden quarterback. A double whammy came when Stoney Creek lost the quarterfinals and all hopes of winning the state championship went down the drain. For Sydney and Kendall, it was their own personal losses that welded them together, the merging of two souls that experienced tremendous loss.

For Sydney, the hurt was all too familiar. How many times had she promised herself she would never laugh again, never celebrate another holiday, never open herself up again to hurt? Perhaps she would have had a chance if only time had stood still. But it grinded on and on and she was forced to run along behind it, always trying to catch up.

Before she realized it, Thanksgiving had come.

The aroma of turkey and dressing, mingled with freshly baked apple pie, filled the air as Sydney stepped into Mrs. Fletcher’s kitchen.

“Hey Sydney.” Emma sniffled, looking up. She used the back of her sleeve to wipe away the stream of tears, pouring down her face.

“Emma, it’s okay. You don’t have to cry about it,” Sydney teased. She pointed to the onions Emma was chopping.

“Gee thanks,” Emma said and then started sneezing repeatedly.

“Are those onions causing you to do that?”

Emma shook her head. “No, it’s my allergies.”

Sydney remembered the case of allergy medicine she’d seen at Kendall’s cabin. “It must run in the family. Kendall has bad allergies too.”

Emma cocked her head. “Kendall? Allergies? Humph! Kendall has never had an allergy problem a day in his life.”

Sydney wrinkled her nose. “What?”

“No, he’s the lucky one. I’m the one with all the problems.” Emma motioned to the pan Sydney was holding. “What’s that?”

“Ta da!” Sydney proudly unveiled the cake that Stella had painstakingly instructed her how to bake over the phone. “It’s Mississippi Mud Cake. Kendall said he likes chocolate cake.”

“Wow, that looks good,” Emma said, dumping the chopped onions into a bowl.

“What are you making?” Sydney took a handful of walnuts and stuffed them in her mouth.

“Broccoli casserole, sweet potato casserole, and seven-layer salad.” Emma put a cup of shredded cheddar cheese into the broccoli mix.

Sydney looked at the freshly baked pies, the gigantic bowl of fruit salad, and the mashed potatoes that were heaped a mile high. “What can I do to help? It looks like you’ve already fixed enough food for an army.”

“Well, first you can get me a couple of casserole dishes from the top of the cabinet.” Emma pointed. “On the right.”

“Okay.”She handed a dish to Emma. “Where’s Kendall?”

Before Emma could answer, Mrs. Fletcher came into the kitchen carrying a basket of freshly cut mums. “Sydney, I didn’t know you were here.” She smiled and set the flowers on the counter. She came over and gave Sydney a hug. “How are you doing?”

“Great. I was looking at the leaves on my way over. They’re absolutely breathtaking. I can’t remember the last time I saw an autumn this beautiful. In Texas there are only two seasons. Summer and winter.”

Mrs. Fletcher chuckled. “We’re so glad you could spend the day with us and that Emma and I get you all to ourselves this morning.”

“Where is Kendall, by the way?” asked Sydney.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“He and Walter go quail hunting every Thanksgiving morning. It’s a tradition. The men go out and hunt while the women slave over a hot stove.” Mrs. Fletcher laughed. “It doesn’t seem fair, but I can’t imagine having to eat a Thanksgiving meal prepared by Kendall.”

Emma hooted. “That’s for sure.”

“Kendall didn’t mention anything about going hunting,” Sydney said. “He just said to come on over.” She had the uncanny sense of déjà vu. Avery and Walter used to go hunting on Thanksgiving morning while her mom and a sober Maurene cooked lunch. Somehow, the fact that Kendall was taking Avery’s place made her feel slighted. She didn’t know why she should be surprised. Hadn’t she been drawn to Kendall because he had those same attributes that Avery possessed? Why shouldn’t Walter feel the same way?

“I guess Walter and Kendall are pretty close, huh?”

“Yes, they’ve been close ever since Kendall lost his dad.” Mrs. Fletcher spoke the words without looking up as she arranged the yellow mums in a vase filled with water.

“Are they coming for dinner?”

“No, I’ve invited them several times, but Maurene always has plans of her own.”

Sydney tried not to let her relief show. “The flowers are beautiful, Mrs. Fletcher.”

Mrs. Fletcher stood back and admired her handiwork. “Thanks. Let’s go out back and cut some for the dining room table. Emma, we’ll be right back.”

“Don’t take too long. I’ll need some help shortly,” Emma said.

Sydney bent and examined each flower before selecting the ones to cut.

Mrs. Fletcher cleared her throat. “I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while about Kendall.”

Sydney stood and looked at Mrs. Fletcher in the sunlight. She was very attractive in spite of her age. The lines around her eyes and mouth did not mar the inner beauty that shined through. Sydney wasn’t sure what to expect next. “Oh?”

“Let’s sit over here where we’ll be protected from the wind.” Mrs. Fletcher pointed to a bench nestled close to the house. “In high school Kendall was a fun-loving boy. I’m sure he’s probably told you that he was the quarterback on his high school team.” She trimmed the dried leaves from the stems. “Well, after his dad died, he changed. Walter was the only one he would even talk to.”

“I had no idea that Walter was such an important part of your family.”

Mrs. Fletcher nodded. “Oh yes. You see, Walter and J. W. were close friends. They had been ever since J. W. went to work at the mill. When J. W. died, the life insurance company didn’t want to honor the claim because J. W.’s death was suicide.” Mrs. Fletcher looked off in the distance, and Sydney could tell that remembering was painful. “If Walter hadn’t stepped in, we would’ve lost everything. He convinced the insurance company to pay us.”

Mrs. Fletcher gave Sydney a sad smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I shared that with you.”

Sydney was touched. “I’m glad you did. It helps me to understand Kendall better.”

“After J. W. died, Kendall was so sullen and withdrawn that I worried about him all the time. He was mad at J. W. and at the world. But lately, he seems more like his old self. I think a lot of that has to do with you, and I just wanted you to know that.”

A lump formed in Sydney’s throat, and her eyes grew moist. She could only imagine the anguish this poor woman had suffered, first over the death of her husband and then worrying about her son. She wished they had had this conversation several months ago. For the first time, she felt she was getting a true picture of Kendall and his family.

She thought about Jarilyn and what she must be going through this holiday season. Sydney was glad that she’d gone to Knoxville to be with her sister. At least Jarilyn would be surrounded by family. She felt a twinge of guilt that she was here with this wonderful family and would be with Stella tonight while Jarilyn was mourning the loss of Reggie.

“I’m glad we had this conversation, Mrs. Fletcher.” She gave Kendall’s mom a hug.

“We’d better get back to the kitchen before Emma comes looking for us.” Mrs. Fletcher stood and brushed away a tear.

Hazel’s curtains opened and closed when Sydney drove into the driveway. In a few seconds she was hollering out her door and waving one arm at Sydney while bending down and picking up Dixie with the other.

“Sydney!”

Sydney got out of the jeep and walked over to greet Hazel. “Hi, Hazel. Did you have a good Thanksgiving?” Sydney thought back to the first time she saw Hazel peeking out. It had been so annoying back then. It was amazing the difference a few months had made. Now she looked forward to coming home and being greeted by Hazel.

“Oh yes, I did, Sydney. Did you?” Hazel said, ushering Sydney onto the porch.

Sydney smiled and reached to stroke Dixie. “It was wonderful. I spent the day with Kendall and his family and afterwards, I—” Sydney stopped, realizing that she’d almost told Hazel she’d spent Thanksgiving evening with her grandmother.

Hazel looked past Sydney to the street. She whispered. “Not out here. Let’s go inside.”

Sydney looked back, trying to see what had caught Hazel’s attention.

“The eyes are watching. Let’s get away from the eyes.”

A shiver ran up Sydney’s spine. Was someone really watching them or was she letting Hazel’s paranoia draw her in?

Once inside, Hazel was back to her normal self. “I brought some cake from Wally’s house for you.”

“Wally?”

“Yes, Louellen and I always go to Wally’s for Thanksgiving, and he was so nice to us this year, but Maurene was really, really ugly.” Hazel moved a stack of magazines out of the chair so Sydney could sit down.

“Maurene? Hazel, do you mean Walter and Maurene?”

“Yeah, you should have seen her. Every time I asked for seconds on the rolls and cheesecake, Maurene would roll her eyes at Wally and blow out her cheeks like a blow fish, but he just pretended he didn’t see. Wally knows I love rolls and cheesecake. That’s why he always has them for me on Thanksgiving. Louellen even got mad at Maurene this time.”

“Hazel, how are you and Louellen related to Walter and Maurene?”

She moved some pillows and sank down on the sofa. “He’s our brother, but we never call him Walter. We call him Wally.”

Sydney let the information sink in. The fact that she didn’t know that Walter was Hazel’s older brother was very unsettling. Why hadn’t she made that connection? There was really no reason why Walter or Louellen should have told her, but it just made her wonder what other connections she had missed. What other surprises did Stoney Creek have in store for her?

Hazel interrupted her thoughts. “Sydney, do you want some cheesecake? Wally gave me all of the cake that was left!” Hazel put her hands on each side of her mouth and giggled. “Ooh, this made Maurene really mad.”

“Yes, that would be great. I’ll take a small piece.”

“Good,” Hazel got up and went into the kitchen.

Doubts raced through Sydney’s mind. She ran her fingers through her long hair. Maybe she should have called Walter instead of just showing up on his doorstep. Her leg ached, and she willed the pain away as she held her breath and rang the doorbell. Please let it be Walter, not Maurene who answers the door.

“Sydney, what a nice surprise,” Walter said and motioned her in.

“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

He waved her comment away. “Oh no. Maurene has gone to Glendale to shop.”

She followed him to the den where he settled into the sofa and crossed his legs. As usual, he looked impeccable in khaki pants and a plaid button-up shirt. He reached for the remote and clicked off the television. Sydney smiled, not surprised that he was watching a football game.

“What can I do for you, young lady?”

She could feel her palms going sweaty. “I wanted to talk to you about a couple of things.”

She began by telling him about Helping Hands and how she wanted to help people in the community. When she finished, he looked at her in admiration and shook his head.

“You’re so much like Avery. This is a wonderful thing that you’re doing. I would love to help. Do you have a building yet?”

“Well, no. I’m still working on that part.”

“I’ll hook you up with a friend of mine, Tess Lambert. She’ll find you a good deal.”

“Yes, I know Tess. She helped me find the house I’m renting.”

“Great. I would like to be one of your sponsors.”

“Wonderful. By the way, I just found out that I live next door to one of your sisters.”

“Hazel?”

Sydney nodded. “I didn’t know that she and Louellen were your sisters. I just love Hazel.”

Walter laughed. “That Hazel’s a character.”

All the while she and Walter were making small talk, Sydney’s heart was pounding. She cleared her throat. “There’s something else I need to talk to you about.” For the hundredth time, Sydney prayed she could convince Walter to believe her. He’d already done so much to help her, but she needed him now more than ever. She was up against a brick wall with nowhere else to turn. There was no dancing around the issue.

“I’ve been investigating Avery’s death.” She watched Walter’s eyes to see his reaction before continuing. His expression was unreadable.

“And?”

“I’m more convinced than ever that Avery was murdered.”

She saw it then, the guardedness in his eyes. She willed herself to remain rational—to take her time and lay out the facts.

“Shortly before his death, Avery wrote a letter to my aunt, asking her if I could stay with her. He told her that he was very worried about some things.”

“Did he say what?”

Sydney shook her head. She knew how flimsy this must sound. “No, he was vague. I think he was planning to tell her everything when he saw her. Unfortunately, he never got the chance.” She switched gears. “And then there’s Buford Phillips.”

Walter’s eyebrow arched. “What about Buford Phillips?”

“I found the accident report at the mill that Avery filled out. It said that Buford was killed by a chunk that split off from a log.”

“That sounds about right from what I can remember.”

“Someone else added that Buford had been drinking. Mrs. Phillips swears he was sober. She told me that Buford became religious prior to his death and that he’d given up alcohol. Mrs. Phillips believes that Buford was involved in some sort of illegal activities going on at the sawmill. She thinks that he wanted to come clean. According to her, he tried and was killed for it.”

“What sort of activities?”

Sydney shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

Walter scratched his head. “It’s only natural for Mrs. Phillips to want to defend Buford. I don’t blame her for wanting to protect his memory. I must tell you, though, this sounds a little far-fetched to me.”

“I know how it must sound.”

Walter ran a hand through his silver hair. “Honey, I can’t even begin to imagine what it has been like for you to lose both of your parents. But putting yourself through this won’t bring Avery back. His death was an accident. Sometimes things just happen.”

“No!” The word exploded from her mouth. “No,” she repeated softly. “I don’t think so.”

He was about to interrupt again, but she stopped him. “Just hear me out … please?”

He nodded, then waited for her to continue.

“I spoke to Lewis Jackson.” She saw Walter’s eyebrow twitch and knew this was a possible sore spot because Lewis was Walter’s ex brother-in-law. “I confronted him about the accident in the log yard and how Avery thought the chain had been cut. I told him that Avery suspected him of short-changing the loggers. When I asked him about it, he practically threw me out of his store.”

Walter was sitting with his arms folded. “Yes, Avery told me about the accident in the log yard, but how did you know about it? Did he tell you about it before he died?”

“No.” She looked him in the eye. “That’s the clincher. I read it in his journal.”

“What! Avery kept a journal?” He stood and walked to the fireplace and reached for the poker and began stoking the fire.

Sydney scooted to the edge of her seat. She’d finally caught Walter’s attention. She gave him a moment to let the information soak in. He turned toward her but kept one hand on the mantle. “Where did this journal come from?”

“It was in a box of things that Stella, my grandmother, gave to me when I first returned to Stoney Creek.”

“She had it this whole time?”

Sydney nodded.

Walter shook his head. “I had no idea.”

“Avery wrote that he had an appointment with Judge Crawford from Glendale. The appointment was scheduled for the day that Avery was killed. And get this. Judge Crawford was killed that very same day. My Aunt Judith had a newspaper clipping of Avery’s death that she kept with the article about Judge Crawford. Don’t you see? Both the Judge and Avery were killed the same day. And they both died in explosions.”

Walter stroked his chin. “Sydney that could be a coincidence.”

“Two men in towns right next to each other? No one ever found out who killed Judge Crawford.” Before Walter could interrupt, Sydney rushed on. “I’ve spoken to Judge Crawford’s widow. She said her husband told her that he was headed to an appointment. He also said that he’d gotten a major break in a case he was working on.”

She shook her head. “I’m sure there are other clues in the journal.”

“Did you bring it with you? I knew Avery better than anyone. Maybe I could take a look at it.”

“That would’ve been good, but it’s impossible now.”

“Why?”

“It was stolen.”

Walter rocked back. “What? When?”

“Someone broke into my house and took it.”

“Well, that’s convenient.”

His comment sliced her to the core, and Sydney jumped to her feet. “You wanna talk about convenience? I’ll tell you about convenience. Do you think it was convenient when someone ran me off the road or threatened me with a switchblade?” She paced back and forth in front of the sofa.

“Why didn’t you tell me all this was going on?”

Sydney threw up her hands. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m just so sick of it all.” She stopped pacing and looked at him. “I was trying to gather enough evidence so that you would believe me.”

He moved toward her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s sit back down, and I want you to tell me about the knife and how you were run off the road.”

He listened without comment while she related all that had taken place. Finally, he shook his head. “I had no idea you’ve been going through so much.”

“It has been rough.” Her mind went back to that day on the boat. “Avery asked me to check the bilge for fumes.” She bit her lip to stay the emotion. She’d not planned on telling Walter all of this, but somehow it just felt right. “I’ve replayed that day over and over in my mind so many times, trying to remember if I smelled gasoline. I keep thinking that if only I’d checked more carefully then maybe …”

Walter touched her arm. “Oh, Honey, it wasn’t your fault.”

She blinked back the tears. She wasn’t looking for sympathy from Walter. She just wanted him to understand. “I know how all of this must sound. Believe me, I’ve even had my doubts. There was a time—before the journal and the threats—when I feared that I was looking beyond the mark, trying to find something that wasn’t there so I could ease my own conscience. But now there are too many unanswered questions. Too many things that just don’t add up.”

She sat up. “Look, here’s what I think happened. I think Avery found out that something was going on at the sawmill. He went to Mrs. Phillips’ house shortly after Buford’s death because he suspected that it might not have been an accident. I think he told Judge Crawford, and that’s why they were both killed.”

“Why would Avery go talk to Judge Crawford? If he suspected foul play, he would’ve told me. Avery was like a brother.”

Sydney shook her head. “I know. You’re right. There are so many holes, but I have this feeling that I’m on the right track. I’m sure that’s why I’ve been threatened. There’s something missing, but I don’t know what. Walter, you were the general manager of the sawmill then. Can’t you try to remember?”

“You can bet your bottom dollar that if something had been goin’ on at my sawmill, I would’ve known about it.”

“I believe that something’s going on at the sawmill right now.”

Walter’s eyes widened. “What?”

Sydney told him about the fight between the two men and how she found the drug apparatus nearby. “If the guys at the sawmill are taking drugs, then that could explain all the random accidents. Look what happened to Reggie Kelly. He was out of his mind when he climbed on top of the bridge. And then there are the trucks.”

“What trucks?”

She told him about seeing the trucks leaving the sawmill late at night.

“Have you told anyone your suspicions?”

“Yes, I’ve talked to Sean O’Conner, the manager, about the drugs. He told me that he would check into it.”

“Well, I guess we’ll have to trust that he will.”

Sydney smirked. “I’m not holding my breath on that one. I don’t believe that Sean O’Conner has a clue about how to run a sawmill. He makes too many obvious mistakes.”

Walter chuckled. “Spoken like a true safety consultant.”

Their words got lost in silence and they sat staring at the fire. Walter spoke first. “I’m glad you told me about Avery’s journal. You’ve raised some good questions. And you don’t have any idea who stole it?”

“No.”

“I want you to know that I’m going to do everything I can to get to the bottom of this, but you have to promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“If I come up empty-handed, you have to let it go.”

Sydney stared into the fire and watched the flames devour the logs. She thought of Avery, then looked up to meet Walter’s eyes. “No, I won’t let it go. I can’t. I have to find the answers … even if I die trying.”