Free The Island of Heavenly Daze by Angela Hunt Page B

a thief.

    Edith felt a weight lift off her shoulders as she crossed the threshold of her own home. Though it was clear from Vernie’s conversation that Winslow didn’t know everything going on with Cleta and her church committee, he was bound to know about Rex Hartwell.
    At least she hoped he did. She didn’t want to be the one to tell him.
    â€œWinslow?” Pulling her sweater from her shoulders, she dropped it over the back of a chair, then moved through the house. Winslow usually spent his mornings at home, so he had to be here, but the room he used as a study was empty, as was their bedroom.
    But the bathroom door was closed. And locked.
    Edith drew back her hand, perplexed. In all the winding length of their marriage, she could never recall Winslow locking the bathroom door.
    Her feeling of uneasiness suddenly turned into a deeper and much more immediate fear. What was wrong? He had cancer; he was dying; he had heard terrible news and couldn’t bear to share it with her—
    No. This was a small town, and gossip traveled as fast as a wink. He had heard what she heard, and he had locked himself in the bathroom rather than face her. Hadn’t she seen him coming from the post office with a package? So he had encountered Bea this morning, and she might have let something slip. Even if she’d only hinted at trouble, that hint had been enough to preoccupy Winslow enough that he didn’t notice his own wife walking on the other side of the street . . .
    â€œWinslow!” She pounded on the door. “Win, I need to speak with you. Please, honey, don’t shut me out.”
    Pressing her hands to the smooth wood, she sighed in relief when she heard a footstep, then a metallic squeak as the old-fashioned skeleton key turned in the lock. As the door opened she flung herself into his arms.
    â€œHoney,” she whispered, resting her cheek on his chest, “I’m with you. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know we’re going to be okay. Whatever is happening in your life, God will take care of us. He knows what’s best, and he’s in control no matter what that church committee has going on—’’
    â€œYou know about the church committee?” His voice sounded muffled, strange.
    Edith nodded, not lifting her head. “Yes. I overheard Bea talking to Vernie at the mercantile. They didn’t see me. I didn’t catch much of their conversation, but I heard something about Rex Hartwell—’’ A strangled sound came from Winslow’s throat.
    â€œWho is he, Win?” she asked, holding him tighter.
    â€œHe’s a preacher.” Winslow’s voice dissolved into a thready whisper. “And he’s coming here. At the end of the month. To look us over.”
    â€œWell, honey, that doesn’t mean—’’ Edith fell silent, searching for some explanation besides the obvious one. Why would a church committee invite an outside preacher if not to look over the congregation in view of a future call?
    â€œWell, I don’t know what it means.” She patted his back in a gesture of reassurance, then lifted her head. “But I know—’’
    The remaining words caught in her throat as she stared upward. A sudden chill climbed the staircase of her spine as she stared at the man she thought she knew, then she backed out of his embrace, her hands lifting.
    Winslow took a step toward her. “Honey, it won’t hurt you.”
    â€œJust—just give me a minute.” Edith blinked, then took another half-step back and bumped against the bureau, hurting her hip. Tomorrow she’d have a bruise, but now all she could do was stare at the black thing atop Winslow’s head.
    â€œWhat—where—’’ she stammered, one finger pointing at the dark mass crowding her husband’s forehead.
    â€œI ordered it from an 800 number,” Winslow said, stepping out of the bathroom. He