

### Once She Saw...

### A Blind Man

Ms Araminta Cozy Mystery Series, Book 1

### By: Deborah Diaz

#  Copyrighted material

Copyright 2015 by Deborah Diaz

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental.

#  About the Author

Deborah Diaz is a retired insurance adjustor. She is living at Tennessee and enjoys reading mystery novels during her free time.

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Smashwords Edition 2015

Manufactured in the United States of America

# Table of Contents

Copyright

About the Author

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Recommended readings

#  Chapter 1

The little Melrose suburb of Nashville, Tennessee was not the fanciest area in the world. In fact, two interstate overpasses soared over its main street, and the rich folks' area was just on the other side of the overpasses. Still, Melrose was respectable and entirely proper for a middle class maiden lady who was unencumbered by relatives.

Miss Araminta, who insisted on that title, was proud of the life she had lived. Having lost the only man she had ever loved in the jungles of Vietnam, Araminta had resolved never to marry. She was now 67 years old and retired from her position as an insurance agent, having saved enough money along the way to buy her own condo.

This condo was a new, first floor unit, and she could walk to most places she needed to go. She even had a designated parking space for her nice little Ford, and there was a crosswalk with a pedestrian-activated switch for crossing the busy highway to the area shops.

Though she was retired, Araminta was by no means idle. She volunteered with a battered women's shelter her church supported. When she was not occupied with that, she crocheted dish cloths and dish towels from cotton yarn, and mufflers, stoles, and lap robes from acrylic yarn.

Everything she made had to be washable, because needy people required things that could be washed, and Araminta made things for needy people. The only time she sold her products was at church sales; the rest she gave away to help the women who had lost everything.

Also, Araminta enjoyed following the example of Queen Mary of England by using the peg looms currently being sold in fashionable craft shops. Nowadays, there were plastic peg looms you could even use to make hats, but Araminta always cherished the idea of the future King George VI of England knitting woolen mufflers for his future subjects under his mother's critical eye. If a teenaged boy could learn to craft a muffler on pegs, Araminta knew she could also.

Now Miss Araminta got her trolley/hamper out of her hall closet to do some grocery shopping. She checked her change purse to make sure she had enough quarters to put into the hat of Bill, the blind beggar.

Bill had just turned up one day with his seeing-eye dog, and the neighborhood had taken him on as a project. Mr. Hamlin, the neighborhood grocer, let him and his dog sleep in the storage shed behind his store and kept the bathroom next to the stockroom unlocked.

Bill had refused all of Araminta's efforts to refer him to various social work agencies; he didn't want to be any trouble to anybody, he said. Outdoor living was just fine for him and Fido, as long as the grocer and his neighbors were willing to look out for them.

Finally, Sergeant Pierce of the local police force had convinced Araminta to let Bill live his life his own way. The Nashville police kept up with their homeless neighbors and understood why they had chosen their vagabond lifestyle.

Now Araminta stood just across the street from the grocery store, waiting for the traffic light to change. She could see Bill and his sweet, shaggy Fido sitting on the sidewalk with Bill's hat upside down beside him. When it was wet outside, Mr. Hamlin always brought out a bit of old box or packing material for Bill to sit on, and Mack, the record producer who was Araminta's neighbor, kept the blind man supplied with cheap umbrellas. Fortunately, today was sunny.

Suddenly, Araminta stopped and gasped. A lady had come out of the grocery store, was she bent hurriedly over Bill's hat, scooping out the coins. This lady was well dressed, too, wearing a lightweight blue wool jumper, with matching purse and shoes.

Why would an obviously well-to-do person stoop to stealing from a blind man? Araminta was so shocked she even forgot to scream. The lady robber straightened up quickly and ran into the local diner before the shocked witness could even cross the highway.

When the light changed, Miss Araminta charged across the road and knelt down beside the blind man. "Bill, you've just been robbed," she told him, knowing he might not have noticed. "I'll tell Mr. Hamlin about it when I go in to do my shopping, and I'll be back out with some quarters for you later."

"It was a lady, wasn't it?" Bill responded almost wistfully, as though he had had a pleasant experience. "I caught a whiff of the perfume on her clothes." He put out a hand and touched Araminta's. "Look, Miss Araminta, don't you go worrying yourself none. I ain't been sitting here long enough to make much money, and the folks down at the diner will find me a bit of food this evening, no matter how little I've got."

He shook his head. "Lord, if that poor woman needs what I've got, you'd best be praying for her instead of me."

When Miss Araminta ran into the store office to see Mr. Hamlin, he was friendly but discouraged her outrage. "Lord, who'd have thought anybody would stoop to stealing from old Bill? I could put in a call to Sergeant Pierce at the local station, but I can't see what he could do about it. That woman will be long gone before he could even get here. Don't worry, I'll see Bill doesn't go hungry tonight."

Araminta fumed silently as she pulled her trolley/hamper around the grocery. Mr. Hamlin was probably right, and she already knew Bill would never make any effort to keep from becoming a victim. She had always believed the unfortunate should learn to pull up their socks and help themselves, but now, every time Araminta tried to help someone, she learned more and more about their mental health issues and sheer emotional lassitude that kept these miserable people in the gutter. Well, this time she was at least going to try to find the robber in this case and give this woman a good talking to.

Finished with her shopping, Miss Araminta dropped some quarters into Bill's hat and pulled her little trolley into the neighborhood diner, where she found only the proprietress standing behind the counter. "Billie Sue," she began, "you just served a woman wearing a light blue wool dress."

"Yes, I did," Billie Sue replied without any surprise. She had seen Miss Araminta's shocked reaction to the theft from across the street. "I knew that dame was in some kind of trouble. She had mended that wool sheath pretty carefully, but I could tell that some man had ripped it half off of her not too long ago.

Her teenaged daughter came in here first – poor little thing had a black eye and a split lip - and begged for a glass of water. Of course, I gave it to her. Then her mother rushed in after her with a big handful of change, still trying to act like Miss Got Rocks, and bought two sandwiches to go. She said something about her car being over at Carl's, and the kid being hungry." Carl was an old-fashioned neighborhood mechanic who had managed to put his shop where it would be most appreciated.

"Thanks for telling me." Miss Araminta cut off further confidences. Now she was in a hurry. "Maybe I can find the lady over at Carl's." If Bill and the diner owner were right, this woman and her daughter needed help, but the woman still shouldn't have taken Bill's money. Araminta burst into the office of the little service station. Finding no one on hand, she rang the bell for service.

Carl came in after a moment, wiping his greasy hands on a rag. "Hope you haven't got an emergency, Miss Araminta," he said genially. "I'm handling one of those right now."

"For a woman in a mended blue wool dress," Miss Araminta managed not to pant after her sprint. "I'm looking to have a talk with her; she stole the money out of Bill's hat just now."

Carl walked closer and looked Miss Araminta in the eye. "Look, nobody does more than I do to take care of old Bill, but don't go after that poor woman. She's desperate. I agreed to put a new starter in her car for a flat rate of thirty dollars because that was all she had. She's running away from somebody; I've seen this happen before.

That teenaged girl she had with her had been beat up right bad, and the mother was trying to hide it. When I told the lady her car would take me a couple of hours to fix, she said she'd take the kid over to the Lazy Eight and risk her credit card there until I called."

"Oh, Lord! Somebody could track her down from the credit card in that time." Araminta had never before been scared while doing her charity work, but she was starting to be scared now. "If I can just talk to her, maybe I can get them both into a safe place." She started scrabbling in her purse. "I haven't even got my address book, or my reading glasses! Maybe I should just run home before I head to the motel."

"You better go now if you want to catch them," Carl advised. "I've just got about an hour's more work on this car." He hoped Araminta could find her quarry; those two lost souls needed all the help a church lady could give.

#  Chapter 2

Not daring to waste any time going home, Miss Araminta crossed the busy highway again and hurried up to the Lazy Eight, a low-rent motel built close to the interstate overpasses often used by commercial travelers. Once safely on the sidewalk, she opened her purse and pulled out her case for the prescription dark glasses she was wearing, in case she needed an excuse for asking about the motel guests. Mr. Patel knew her reputation as a do-gooder and didn't appreciate her calling on his customers.

But this time she didn't need any excuse. The Hindu motel owner pursed his lips when he saw Araminta. "So, the neighborhood social worker is on her rounds again," he observed. "This time I think you have arrived in the nick of time, as they say. The lady just offered me one of those sucker credit cards that companies send out in the mail.

This woman is scared, and her child has been beaten." He stopped to check the name in his register. "You will find Ellen Gleaves and her daughter in room 102. They have only rented for a few hours; otherwise, I would have turned them away."

Miss Araminta hurried out onto the concrete walk that surrounded the cheap motel. This situation was worse than she had thought! Even Mr. Patel, who usually complained about her interference, realized his guests were in trouble and that she could help them. Room 102 was, thankfully, just a few steps away, and soon she was knocking on the door.

Cautiously, one of the occupants pulled open the door as far as the chain would allow, and peeped through the gap. "Are you from the garage?" she asked shyly.

"No, but I know you and your mother are in trouble, and I can help." Araminta rushed her words out before the door could be closed again. The visible eye looked even more frightened, and then turned to seek help from someone within.

Now the door was pulled open abruptly by an angry hand. Ellen Gleaves – for it must be she – was still trying to maintain the look of a well-to-do lady and was failing miserably. Her eyes were huge, and her face was dead white; obviously, she had been trying to repair her pallor with blush powder. She still wore her expensive shoes and shoulder bag.

"You just forget you saw us, you old snoop," Ellen began angrily. "I'll come to pay back the blind man once I've found my ex-husband. I know Liam must be in this city somewhere." Reaching into her purse, the woman pulled out a heavy handgun and pointed it at Araminta. "This gun is all that he left me, and I'll use it if I have to.

Now I've gone and married a drunk, and this husband has started beating up my daughter." Ellen's free hand shot out and pulled the trolley/hamper from Araminta's slackened grip. "I'll just take this. Emily's going to get hungry again before I finally find my Liam." She slammed the door.

Miss Araminta hurriedly backed away from the door, afraid Ellen would take a shot through it. That certainly hadn't gone well, and she hoped Mr. Patel had not seen the weapon. Now that there was a gun involved, she had to report the matter to Sergeant Pierce at the police station, whether he could do anything or not.

Patel watched Miss Araminta retreat through the big window in the front office. _Old busybody,_ he thought. _Couldn't she see those two women were too scared to listen to a do-gooder? They had even stolen the old lady's groceries. Oh, well, it would serve her right. Maybe she would learn._

Before going to see Sergeant Pierce, Araminta thought ruefully, she'd have to go back to her condo and get her spare trolley, the one with the wheel that wobbled. She was determined that she would have Bill and Fido over to supper this evening to make up for their mishap, and for that she needed special food. Also, she would need to get the cooperation of Mack, her neighbor.

Mack usually treated the blind beggar and his dog to a bath once each month, and his cleaning lady would be coming in tomorrow. This would be a convenient time for her to ask him to do his monthly favor. Maybe she'd ask if Mack could trim Bill's hair, too, and give him a little bit of a shave. Clean shaven, Bill would look halfway decent when she took him to Sergeant Pierce to file a formal complaint.

Getting the slightly defective trolley from her closet and bribing Mack to do his part by offering him dinner occupied Araminta for nearly half an hour. Then she drank a quick energy drink and set out to walk to the police station three blocks away.

#  Chapter 3

Sergeant Hansen Pierce stood up from his desk when Miss Araminta entered. She was one of his neighborhood 'sources,' though usually she just provided rumors he could include in his daily report to headquarters. Today she seemed flushed and flustered, so the sergeant pulled out a chair for her and went to the water cooler to get her a little paper cone of water.

"Thanks," Miss Araminta told him once she'd gotten her breath back. "I've been running all over the place this morning, and I had to go back to my condo to get my spare trolley. I'm determined to give Bill and Fido a good supper this evening, since they've had such a shock. You see, Bill was robbed this morning. I was a witness, and the whole matter has proved much more serious than petty theft from a blind man. The woman has a gun, though she didn't threaten Bill with it."

"So why don't you tell me all about this?" Pierce drew out his notebook and a pencil.

Araminta paused a moment, thinking of the best way to make her presentation. "As I said, I witnessed the robbery from across the street and saw the woman who did it – without showing the gun. It would be stupid to wave a gun at a blind man. Then I saw her go into the diner and meant to ask Billie Sue about her after I'd gotten my groceries, but I had to talk to Bill first. You know what he said?"

"That anybody who would rob a blind man must need the money," Pierce responded. He had spent several hours on his rounds talking to Bill, and he was much more familiar with the depressed helplessness that had settled on this homeless man than she was.

"Yes, even though Bill had smelled her perfume and knew she must be wealthy," Araminta replied. "I asked Mr. Hamlin in the store to call you, but he said you couldn't do a thing. I knew the woman had gone into the diner, so I went on over there to get information."

"And what did Billie Sue tell you?" Pierce often ate at the diner and knew its proprietress could be a good witness when she chose to be.

"Oh, it was so horrible!" Araminta sat forward in her chair and addressed the policeman earnestly. "Billie Sue said the woman's teenage daughter had come in first – and that the child had a black eye and a cut lip. The poor little thing asked for a glass of water, and of course Billie Sue gave her one. Then the mother came in with a handful of change and ordered two sandwiches to go.

She said they were waiting while her car was over at Carl's garage. Oh, and the mother had hurriedly mended her nice wool dress, but it still looked like some man had ripped it half off of her recently."

"So you realized it was one of those battered woman cases your church works with," Pierce nodded, "and you went over to Carl for more information. He's another softie; it's surprising how many we've got in this neighborhood."

"Yes, and Carl can probably tell you something about her car; I didn't see it," Araminta continued. "The starter went out on her, and Carl agreed to fix it for what she offered. Imagine, thirty dollars was all she had! Anyway, she and the girl were going to hide away over at the Lazy Eight until Carl could get the car going again. Naturally, I went over to the motel immediately."

"So what did you find out?" Pierce was amused; he could just see her trotting back and forth across the highway with her trolley/hamper bumping along behind her. Where was that trolley, anyway? The one she had now looked like her old one.

"The woman's name is Ellen Gleaves, and she and her daughter are in room 102," Araminta replied. "The poor woman wouldn't believe I could help them. She said she had come to Nashville to find her ex-husband, Liam, who had left her with only the gun she was waving around.

She claimed she knows how to use the thing. Apparently she is now married to a drunk who has started beating up on her and her daughter, and she's running for help. She stole my hamper of groceries, too, but I was happy enough to donate them to a worthy cause."

Sergeant Pierce sat back in his chair and sighed. "I know all this stuff has upset you, Miss Araminta, but there's not a thing I can do about it now, except call it in to headquarters. I will check with Mr. Patel over at the motel and with Carl to see what they can tell me about the two perps."

"That's really all I can expect you to do, especially since the woman is the only person who's stolen anything." Araminta smiled. "I am a realist, you know; after all, I used to be an insurance agent. Anyway, I am going to see that Bill and Fido have a good dinner tonight after all their troubles. My neighbor, Mack, has even agreed to bathe them."

Pierce rose. "I'll just leave you here to catch your breath and get on over to the motel, then," he told her, "and check out your information so I can get it called in."

***

Sergeant Pierce went first to the Lazy Eight, where Mr. Patel looked at him dourly. "So, Miss Araminta called on the law. Well, I'm glad enough. The two ladies have left, so I will just bill a couple of hours to this dodgy credit card. What else can I tell you?"

"Well, you might give me a good description; Araminta always forgets that," Pierce replied easily. "As I understand it, you never saw the women's vehicle."

"No, it was over at the neighborhood auto shop," Mr. Patel confirmed. Then he described the two women's clothing and their frightened demeanor, plus any bruises he could see. "I know the signs of domestic violence," he added. "Apparently we have it everywhere. American women always try to run."

"Well, thanks for your help," Pierce responded, heading out the door. As the local law enforcement authority, the sergeant had a motel passkey, which he used to examine room 102. There was nothing in it except Miss Araminta's empty trolley/hamper, he discovered, retrieving the item for its owner.

***

Fortunately, Carl was finishing a phone call in the office when Pierce arrived at his door. "I know what you're here about," the mechanic said placidly. "Miss Araminta is at it again, now she knows two domestic violence victims are loose in town."

Pierce took off his cap and wiped his forehead. "You think they're running from some man?" he asked.

"That's what it looks like." Carl sat back in his ancient desk chair. "They buzzed in here early on a tow truck with an old Dodge Dart that was acting up on them – both of them white as ghosts. Anyway, the lady practically begged me to fix whatever was wrong with the Dodge – offered me thirty dollars, all she had. Of course, I agreed. I'd have given back the money, but she was doing such a good job of pretending she was solvent that I didn't have the heart to. Then Miss Araminta came barreling in afterward, and I sent her over to the motel where they were staying. That church of hers really does have a safe house for battered women."

"I know," Pierce responded. "Now what can you tell me about the car? You said it was an old Dodge Dart – what year, and what county? I wouldn't have expected you to take down the license plate."

"You can bet I didn't," Carl replied. "And I'm only giving you straight information about the car because those two ladies obviously need help. It was a 2000 Dodge Dart that had been used pretty hard – Rutherford County plates. There was a smell of liquor in the passenger compartment, but I didn't see any bottles."

"Good enough, Carl." Pierce put his notebook away. "I'll get on the blower and see if we can get some help for these two little ladies.

***

Back at the grocery, Miss Araminta bought vegetables and stock to make a nice, filling soup, and then added some fresh, soft rolls to her wobbling grocery cart, because one never knew what kind of shape a beggar's teeth would be in. When she had paid for her purchases, she went outside and put her hand on Bill's shoulder.

"Bill, I want you and Fido to come with me," she said, bending over him. "My neighbor, Mack, has offered to give you both a good bath, and I'll provide a nice supper for all three of you. I've talked to Sergeant Pierce about your robbery. He agrees with me that the woman who robbed you probably needs his help. I'll tell you all about it after we've eaten."

"Sure thing, Miss Araminta." Bill, pleased by this extra attention, reached for Fido's leash. The dog stood up and watched carefully while his owner used a white cane to stand. Araminta had already noticed that Bill was not crippled; his only problem seemed to be the total, irreversible blindness.

Soon the whole group was on Mack's little front porch, and Mack was helping Bill into his condo like an old friend. It was because the man was so genuinely kind-hearted and helpful that Mack's neighbors put up with his occasional loud parties. Miss Araminta, relieved this part of her plan had worked out, walked on to her own front door and pulled the groceries in after her.

Once in the orderly kitchen, Araminta got out her crock pot and began peeling and slicing vegetables. She had heard that fresh foods were the most nourishing for people who lived like Bill did, and she had bought the most recommended brand of chicken broth. The rolls she could pop into the oven at the last minute.

While the crock pot performed its work quietly, Miss Araminta went into her living room and picked up the plastic loom she was using to double-knit a towel. She loved making flat objects that people could use for just about anything, because that meant she didn't have to count stitches or bother with a pattern. Even making a hat with a peg loom involved counting rows, and sometimes Araminta would get involved in her audiobook and forget to do even that.

When Mack finally brought Bill and Fido over, both looked like changed beings. Mack had not only bathed and clipped Fido, he had even wiped the dog's collar with a soapy rag and shined his dog tags.

Bill himself looked considerably better, since Mack had apparently taken some time barbering him while he ran the beggar's clothes through his washer and drier. Miss Araminta almost didn't recognize Bill. Why, the man was young! No wonder the loss of his vision had put him into such a deep depression.

Soon they were all at Miss Araminta's dinette table, quietly enjoying the homemade soup and soft rolls. Mack ate quite as well as Bill and Fido did. Araminta knew her record-producer neighbor often lived on takeout from fast food restaurants. She was glad to see Mack relax and talk as if all the people at her table were old friends.

Araminta waited until everyone had almost finished eating before she shared her news. She turned to the blind man. "The woman who robbed you, Bill, is called Ellen Gleaves, and she has a teenaged daughter who has been beaten. We believe she and the girl are running from her current husband. She said she is looking for her former husband, whom she called Liam.""

Bill's blinded eyes teared up. "Then that was my Ellen's perfume I smelled this morning. Liam was my name when I could still see. 'Bill' is just another nickname for William, and I figured that's all the name a homeless blind man would need. The minute I realized I was permanently blinded, I knew I had to let Ellen go and give her another chance at living. She'd just given birth to little Emily then. That was fourteen years ago, and I just left the county as soon as I got Fido here. Ellen must have taken back her maiden name. I guess she kept it when she married my drunk of a boss."

"Man, that's really stark." Mack leaned across the table, horrified. "You just left your wife and baby girl?"

"Oh, no." Bill shook his head. "I made my intention clear from the very beginning. I simply refused to let Ellen come near me once I woke up in the hospital and knew I'd never get any better. I had to yell at her," he remembered, "and I sure hated that, but she couldn't support me and little Emily, too. I knew the lawyers she'd hired for me would make sure all my disability money would go to her and the baby."

Araminta just stared, trying to imagine that depth of hopelessness. "Bill, if there's one thing I've learned helping battered wives," she admonished, "it's that a woman can face worse things than a blind husband. Your Ellen and Emily are now running away from a drunk. My church has all the resources to help them out, once we find them, but it's going to be a long haul getting all that done."

"I think they'd like to have you back to go through that process with them," Mack told Bill seriously. "Look, my own stepfather was a drunk, and I know how much time Mom spent wishing Dad hadn't died in Vietnam. She used to sit and look at Dad's picture and cry."

Seeing the blind man's reaction to this speech, Araminta got up and went to stand behind Bill, rubbing his shoulders and murmuring soft words.

Mack also stood up, rounded the table, and took one of Bill's hands in his own. "Now I've just gone and put my foot in it; I'm sorry. My tongue will get to wagging sometime. You need to consider what I said, though. I think somebody up there is giving you a second chance." He patted Araminta's shoulder apologetically and left.

Araminta had begun thinking fast even as she continued a soothing hum that calmed most people. "Bill," she began, "that accident you had, was it at work?"

"Jaimeson's Saw Mill," Bill answered hoarsely. It was almost as though the memories had clogged his throat. "That's why the county legal aid got involved and got me a good settlement. They said it never would have happened if Jaimeson's had obeyed the law and provided us all with safety goggles. We were way back in the country, and we mill hands didn't know such things as safety goggles and laws about using them existed."

"I was wondering about that." Araminta pulled one of the dinette chairs close to Bill on the side Fido wasn't guarding. "You see, I was an insurance agent before I retired, so I know all about handling industrial accidents. I've even kept up with professional sources that aren't available to the public. Once I get you settled down with some soothing music, I'm going to get on my computer and get all the information I can. You and I are going to see Sergeant Pierce about this situation in the morning."

Bill turned his head to face her, something he seldom did. "I'd purely love that, Miss Araminta. I know nobody can help me see again, but I'll even take some charity if it will let me help my Ellen and poor little Emily."

#  Chapter 4

Miss Araminta, who had not been an insurance agent for nothing, asked Bill a few pointed questions about his workplace and how the accident that had blinded him had happened. Then she guided him down onto the sofa – with Fido's help – and covered him with a blanket. She put the CD player on the end table beside his head, put on a disc of soft, Irish folk music, and set the player to repeat until it was turned off.

Araminta didn't perform this last service solely for Bill; she herself would need some soothing as she searched her computer for details on what had happened at Jaimeson's Saw Mill on that fateful day in 2001. The agency she had once been part of had relied on Araminta to wiggle out accident details from various computer and local resources.

Even in retirement, she still subscribed to some of her professional sources, and now she would make use of them all. She had also retained a few strategic email addresses of insurance company adjusters who were her personal friends.

After a couple of hours, Araminta turned off the computer and picked up her crochet hook and a ball of yarn. Crocheting was what she did these days instead of swearing to work off her outrage.

Liam Jenkins, the blind man on her couch, had at the age of 23 been a foreman at Jaimeson's Saw Mill. That meant he was now just 37. Like most Southern rural males, he had remained happily ignorant of all the efforts of Northern unions to make workplaces safer. Miss Araminta , of course, had known all about these activities and supported the Occupational Safety and Health Act, though she knew it would be generally ignored. Liam had been a careful and conscientious foreman, within his educational limits, and he had proved to be a strong contrast to his boss, Mike Jaimeson, a privileged man who always played county politics and enjoyed more than an occasional 'nip' with the boys.

The saw mill workers, left without guidance, had simply tied bandanas over their mouths and noses and considered themselves protected. Liam had been standing behind a trimmer saw, yelling at some new employees to slow the speed of its operation, when the wheel had hit a knot in the wood and sprayed big splinters up into his eyes.

The one redeeming feature of the accident had been that Liam's wife had, before her pregnancy, worked for the county legal aid society, and she went to her former employers for help. Shocked by the horror of the accident, these plucky agency lawyers had bucked the powers that be and won their case; it even made the regional news. The matter had finally been settled with disability payments for Liam – but he had disappeared, so the money went to help his wife raise their infant daughter.

What really angered Miss Araminta now was the fact that Mike Jaimeson had somehow sweet-talked the abandoned Ellen into getting a legal divorce and marrying him instead. It seemed the mill owner had just divorced the wife who had been his bookkeeper all those years. The no-good what-not (the worst words Miss Araminta would allow herself to think) had even shelled out money for a fancy wedding to impress his new bride. Later, Miss Araminta would find out why Jaimeson had shed his first wife, but she had learned enough for one night. She sent out some more inquiries and then went to bed.

The next morning, Miss Araminta explained all she had learned to Bill while he was enjoying a nice bowl of cream of wheat. (Fido had more dog food.) Bill was horrified.

"This is worse than I ever dreamed about," he told her, shocked out of his apathy. "I'll be glad to go with you to Sergeant Pierce to see if we can get the law to right this situation."

***

Sergeant Pierce immediately hated the whole imbroglio Miss Araminta and Bill presented to him. "I'll put all this information into my daily reports to headquarters," he told them, "and, of course, I'll call the police in Rutherford County – for whatever good that will do." He leaned forward in his chair and spoke clearly, hoping Bill would understand.

"You see, law enforcement is a dull tool," Pierce explained. "Every policeman sees a whole lot of law breaking – and some just plain bad behavior that still isn't against the law – that nobody wants to prosecute. There are some people it just costs a county or a state too much money to go after, no matter what they do. Your pal who owns the saw mill is probably a major employer in his little town, and the powers that be over there will collude to help him. Nobody wants to inconvenience an owner who's the biggest employer in the area."

"What he's saying, Bill," Miss Araminta explained with a sigh, "is that, if the Metro police do manage to find your Ellen and Emily, they'll just turn them over to my church's safe house and make us do all the legal heavy lifting of getting restraining orders, divorces, etc. that will keep them safe. I hope I've shaken some insurance trees that will investigate whether or not Jaimeson has fraudulently appropriated your money. A charge like that could bring any man down, especially if the case goes to the federal courts."

"You mean we could make Jaimeson what the guys call 'radioactive,'" Bill responded with a savage grin. Then he explained himself. "There are a few of us homeless folks who know big words and listen to the radio when we can," he told them. "Some of these guys even own one of those cheap, itty-bitty radios."

"Becoming radioactive is what I'm hoping will happen," Araminta replied. "Personally, I don't believe Mike Jaimeson got close to a ready source of money for any reason except to snaffle it. Right now we're just talking to Sergeant Pierce here because someday this COULD become a police matter."

"That's right, Bill," Pierce confirmed. "I've outlined about all I can do right now, but you can bet I'll be spreading the news around – at least to the guys here at the station. The more people you have who realize there might be a problem, the more likely you'll be to get it solved."

***

Sergeant Tom Staples of the Rutherford County Police was almost as mad as his Nashville counterpart had been when he heard the news. Mike Jaimeson was a big man in the county, and the son of a big man in the county, but, frankly, Staples was getting a little bit tired of having to deal with him.

After making a few phone calls, Staples finally found the mill owner in his own office. "You find anything out about my wife and stepdaughter?" Jaimeson had already reported their absence earlier that morning. His face was flushed from liquor, but he was sober enough to do business.

The sergeant carefully closed the door behind him, and then came to sit in the client's chair in front of the big desk. "They've been sighted in Nashville," he replied, "but they seem to have gotten loose again. The police had no reason to hold them, you understand." Staples wondered how much of this explanation Jaimeson really understood in his current state. "The potential problem for you is that the police have also identified Liam Jenkins, and they know exactly what happened to him at this saw mill."

Jaimeson snorted. "That's why I went and married his ex-wife, to keep her under control," he responded. "Now I suppose we're in for more problems. Has the happy couple gotten together yet?"

_So Jaimeson still has a little sense_ , Staples reflected, _even if he is as cold as a snake_. A prominent employer could do just about anything he wanted to in most Tennessee counties, but there also came a time when even the most crooked or careless leader couldn't protect him anymore.

"Not as yet," the sergeant said, "but Liam has accidentally gotten himself a powerful protector. It might be a good idea for you to plead there was a little misunderstanding and make some soothing noises at Ellen and her kid. Get them calmed down one way or another, and nobody will have a reason to dig any further."

"After all the time and money I've put into those two?" Jaimeson's face grew redder than ever. "That damn Ellen even left me without any food in the refrigerator just because I disciplined that mouthy kid of hers a little bit. Before I even married Ellen, I spent more than I could afford getting rid of that damn Irene after she mouthed off about my putting a boat factory on my own property," he continued angrily. "Now, you get Ellen and that kid back here. I don't care what happens to Liam; he stopped being my problem years ago."

"So that's your final answer." Staples stood up. He was silently willing Jaimeson to give him some excuse to report the problem to his uncle.

"Of course it is!" Mike Jaimeson was almost spitting. "Now get out of here and do your job."

Staples went back to his squad car and did his duty for the rest of his shift. Then he clocked out, got into his own vehicle, and went to see his uncle.

***

Sergeant Staples' uncle was Jacob Long, who served as mayor for the small town of Brandywine, in which Jaimeson's saw mill was located. Since it was now after 5:00 PM, Staples drove around to the back yard of his uncle's home and knocked on Jake Long's private study door.

Long let his nephew in. "Thought I might see you today," he greeted Staples. "What have you found out about the Jaimeson situation?"

Staples sank down comfortably in one of the old easy chairs that dominated this informal room. He was one of the many informants Big Jake used to keep his finger on the pulse of the county. "Mike Jaimeson's going to be a problem, and I don't know that we can control him," Staples replied.

"Figured as much when I heard he'd torn Ellen's dress half off of her right there in the mill," Big Jake opined. "I know he married Ellen just to get Liam's disability check for himself, but he could have modified the way he treats women." Big Jake shook his head. "I thought the boy would have learned something when Irene's lawyers virtually blackmailed him over that misbegotten fiberglass boat factory he wanted."

After all the cost and the nasty publicity about Liam's accident, Mike Jaimeson had decided to pull in a little extra cash by renting his old warehouse to a group of locals who had incorporated themselves to build fiberglass boats. Unfortunately for Mike, his bookkeeper wife, Irene, had known how to use a computer. She had quickly learned that the one thing you did not want within 100 yards of a saw mill is a fiberglass boat plant, where often heedless employees use flammable fiberglass resins.

Taking her camera to her job as Jaimeson's bookkeeper, Irene had easily gotten enough evidence of federal safety violations in the saw mill itself to get the kind of divorce settlement she had always wanted. Then, to make doubly sure of the matter, she had given her lawyers the proposed lease agreement, along with a map of the property. (Big Jake had quietly advised the fiberglass boat partners to unincorporate themselves.)

"What really put the little tin lid on things," Tom Staples continued, "is that Ellen and Emily wound up in Nashville looking for Liam. The really freaky thing is that Liam is now a blind beggar who calls himself Bill, and Ellen stole the change right out of his hat in front of a witness."

"I see some karma coming up." Big Jake cut off the end of a cigar and lit it. He had discovered the concept of karma a few years before, and he liked the sound of it.

"More karma than anybody in Rutherford County is looking for," Staples responded sourly. "My counterpart in Nashville tells me this witness is a well-known local do-gooder. She helps run a battered women's shelter for her church, but, worse yet, she's a retired insurance agent."

"Oh, lordy – just what we all needed," Big Jake groaned. "So now we've got an old biddy who can put two and two together. Never let an insurance person get on a civil damages jury, Tom; there ain't no way you can predict what they'll do."

"I know," Staples replied sourly, "and this morning this lady was quoting chapter and verse about Liam's accident to the local police sergeant in Nashville. This Araminta Ferguson, as she calls herself, isn't going to let the case go, and she knows where to find the evidence. Meanwhile, poor Ellen and her kid are still lost somewhere in the wilds of Nashville with virtually no money. It makes me wonder where Liam's disability payments really went."

"Well, then." Big Jake blew a contemplative smoke ring. He was always quick to figure a solution to every problem. "I guess that means it's about time for us to be co-operating with the state and federal governments, much as they give me the bellyache. We'll get Jaimeson out of the way somehow – he practically invites arrest every time he gets into that fancy sports car. One of my nieces can look over the bookkeeping at the saw mill and figure out what old Mike is up to; I'll send the county auditor out there with her. You make me up a list of all the drunk driving warnings Mike's had so far." Big Jake thought some more. "I think I'll buy me that saw mill when it comes up on the block."

Staples sighed and sat back in his chair. "What makes you think Jaimeson's going to have to sell?"

Now Big Jake grinned like a shark. "Mike Jaimeson wouldn't go to all that trouble to marry Liam's money if he wasn't planning to help himself to some of it. He'll be looking to sell, all right. Here's what I've got in mind."

Jake waved the cigar at his nephew. "There's this big argument going on – mostly in retail circles – about whether you can pay employees a living wage and workers' compensation and still make money on your business. I want to try it out – safety equipment and everything. I'm betting I can make employees so loyal they'll do any damn thing I ask for."

Before Staples could argue the point, the phone in his pocket rang. He got up and went to the other side of the room for a little privacy. "What's up?" he asked.

Sergeant Hansen Pierce in Melrose sounded nearly ready to explode. He had dutifully made several calls, as Miss Araminta had suggested, and had gotten some answers he hadn't really wanted. "I've gotten some information I hadn't expected to get on the blind beggar case," he told Staples. "Meanwhile, Miss Araminta and our blind friend have gone haring off to Eagleville. Two parties who've contacted me on her behalf want to go down with me, and I want you to pick up the other person who needs to be there."

After a couple of questions, Staples hung up, fuming, and turned back to his uncle. For some reason, Uncle Jake was smiling at him. "I hear we're about to get us a little action," he remarked almost casually. "Mind if I ride along?"

***

Earlier that day, back at the condo, Bill and Araminta had been furiously brainstorming, trying to determine where poor Ellen might have gone when she had almost no money.

Shortly before noon, Bill, who had been running his hands distractedly through his newly barbered hair, looked up in Miss Araminta's direction. "I did inherit my grandpa's old home, a little cabin in the woods way out beyond Eagleville. If the government hasn't taken it for back taxes or some other damn thing, the place is still there. Just three little rooms, with an indoor john. Dad and I put in a septic tank and gravity toilet, plus an old-fashioned wood stove in the kitchen. We never did manage electricity; Grandpa was way off the grid. He always made do with oil lamps, and so did we when we went out there after I inherited the place. Ellen always liked it because it was so quiet out there; that's where we conceived little Emily. I reckon they could have gone back there."

"Give me a road name," Araminta commanded. She was seated at her computer, ready to follow up on any lead they could think of. "I'll find some driving directions and look up to see if any new development is going up in that area. If that cabin was in Metropolitan Nashville, the place would have been snatched up for condos or two family homes years ago," she added sourly. "But Eagleville is practically in the middle of nowhere."

A long three-quarters of an hour ensued, during which Araminta searched the internet and Bill tried to work out his anxieties by rubbing Fido's shoulders. Finally, Miss Araminta turned around to face her guest.

"It doesn't look like anything in that general area has been taken for taxes or eminent domain," she told him. "I'm printing out some general directions, and we'll get into Little Betsy, gas her up, and go out there. I'll be depending on your memory to guide me once we get to Eagleville; it's just a tiny bump in the road, and I don't know that I've ever been there before. These blasted Google maps aren't precisely perfect."

"Just tell me what you see when you've gotten as far as you can get," Bill told her. "Since I got blinded, I've been playing old scenes over and over in the back of my head, behind my eyes. I'll probably be able to tell you where we are."

"We'll just pray about that before we go, and then you can pray some more while I'm driving," Miss Araminta responded determinedly. Then her guilty conscience kicked her. "I should tell you that Ellen's gotten hold of your big old pistol, and she's taken to waving it around. I'll bring along my walking stick-shotgun that's only loaded with bird shot. That ought to protect us until you can call to her and reassure her.

"Miss Araminta, what in the world are you doing with something like that?" Bill demanded, suddenly sounding like the man he had once been. Then he smiled. "You'd think you had been born a hillbilly."

Miss Araminta smiled back. "I read about walking stick air guns years ago, when I was reading the Sherlock Holmes stories. After I got to be 60, I figured maybe there might an advantage to being old. I can carry a 'loaded' cane without anybody suspecting a thing, and I can fire without doing any real harm."

"Mercy!" Bill exclaimed, levering himself up. "Well, go get your protection, city girl. If my Ellen has found my old gun, she'll remember how I taught her to use it. The poor girl must be really scared of that damned Jaimeson," he added thoughtfully. "I always thought he was just a blowhard, myself."

Remembering Ellen's carefully mended dress, Araminta shuddered. "Apparently he doesn't act that way around women."

#  Chapter 5

Once Bill and Fido were settled into the car and Miss Araminta had turned on the engine, Bill spoke again. "Fill me in a little more before we get out into the boonies, okay?" he begged. "I'm still a little confused. How the heck did Mike Jaimeson manage to marry my Ellen, anyway? He had a perfectly good wife when I knew him – Irene was her name, and she did the bookkeeping for the saw mill."

"Irene divorced Jaimeson in 2005," Araminta replied. "It made the social section in the local paper. There were hints that the divorce trigger was Mike Jaimeson's plan to rent out his extra warehouse to a fiberglass boat manufacturer."

"Yea, Mike and some of the boys were talking about that even before my accident," Bill replied. "I didn't much like the idea, because a couple of boat plants had recently burned down here in Tennessee – apparently from spontaneous combustion."

Araminta snorted. "It was poor housekeeping that caused those fires, Bill. The agency I was working for back then got several warning circulars about that problem. Apparently those fiberglass resins are highly flammable, and the people who used them were incurably sloppy and left some of the cans open."

"Lord, then that's the last thing anybody would want near a saw mill," Bill responded. "That old warehouse Mike's dad had built was less than a football field away from the main plant. Irene must have figured out that the boat plant idea would be a problem. I always thought she was smarter than her husband, but then she didn't pickle her brains every day."

"Apparently your old boss started casting around for a new wife and bookkeeper once Irene left him," Araminta continued. "Your wife kept on doing the bookkeeping at the legal aid society once the baby was born, even with the disability check she must have been getting."

"Oh, Ellen was never one to sit at home and knit," Bill assured her, "not even with a new baby. She was already lining up child care before Emily was even born. I encouraged her," Bill added quickly. "My Ellen had spirit and needed a mental challenge, and a saw mill foreman out in the sticks doesn't earn all that much." After a few minutes of fidgety silence, he continued, "Ellen was our high school valedictorian, you know, though I always thought she was too honest to go along with some of the accounting dodges I realized Irene was using. Still, Ellen must have been mighty scared for her future to marry Mike at all. She probably just went along keeping the books the way Irene had always kept them. The poor girl wouldn't have known the difference, with just a country high school education." He snorted in self-derision. "Me, I thought I was big stuff when I graduated. I had been captain of the football team. You wouldn't think that to look at me now, would you?"

"Bill, I'm learning more about you every minute." Araminta had finally negotiated her right turn onto the highway that would lead them to Eagleville. "I think you just literally shut yourself down after the shock of that accident. That's what I've been hearing in all these social work training sessions, but I've never really seen the phenomenon in the flesh before. You're a mighty smart man, you know. Just from what you've told me already, I'd trust your judgment." She looked around at him briefly before returning her attention to the road.

"Not much use in having judgment if you're blind," Bill replied, nevertheless feeling immensely flattered. Then he added quickly, "Once we get to a little quick mart or something, I'd better walk Fido so he can do his business. We've got a good long drive ahead of us."

Realizing that Bill was near tears from all the things he was remembering, Araminta used her time in the quick market to good effect. She set her grocery bag on the floor of the back seat next to Fido, pulling out a small packet while Bill was getting seated and fastening his seat belt by touch. "I bought a bunch of extra handkerchiefs while I was in the store," she told him once she was seated, passing him a handkerchief. "This trip is going to be kind of traumatic for all of us." Buckling her own seat belt, she continued, "I do hope Ellen and Emily have actually gone where we think they have."

Bill was enjoying the luxury of having a soft handkerchief to blow his nose. "I'm sure that's where she's headed. It's the only place I know of that Mike doesn't know about." He buried his face in the handkerchief. "If only I had been there for her – but, honestly, what could I have done? There ain't no programs for the blind out our way. Once I got out of the hospital, they even put me in the County Home, way away from everybody I knew. It was quite a drive for even the lawyers to come out and see me."

"I understand." Miss Araminta felt grit in her own throat and under her eyes. "We haven't got anything like nearly enough services for the blind and disabled here in Tennessee. I'm only hoping we can get you and your little family into some of those services in Nashville. You didn't think I'd quit trying on you, did you?" she added, suddenly anxious about her passenger.

"So many people have tried," Bill murmured hopelessly, apparently staring at his lap, "and where has it gotten any of us?"

"Well, I'm getting into Eagleville now." Araminta spoke firmly to brace him up. "I'm going to start describing the scenery, and you sing out when you recognize something."

They had to make two extra stops in Eagleville to get the little Ford headed in the right direction. Despite Bill's blindness, the owner of the grocery store and filling station recognized him. "Lordy, I never thought I'd see you again!" The owner, who looked to be at least 65 himself, leaned in through the rolled down window to talk to Bill and shake his hand. "I'm glad somebody got you one of those seeing-eye dogs. Your grandpa always did hate to think you had to get work so far away from the old home place." Hearing Bill's request, he replied, "Sure, I'll be glad to draw the lady a picture of how to get you there. Ain't nobody tried to take the place to build on, thank goodness. I reckon them venture capitalists are running out of money, or else being awful cagey about how they spend it."

Soon, the old man had spread out a big order tablet on the trunk of the car and was drawing pictures and explaining to Miss Araminta where to turn on unmarked, unpaved roads. "Well," she remarked whimsically when he had finished, "we'll see how my city-bred tires hold up."

Araminta fervently hoped the tires would hold up – and the vehicle undercarriage as well. Cell phone coverage out here in the boonies was chancy indeed.

***

Finally, the car wound up at the end of a set of tire tracks on a dirt road. "I can see a house in the distance," Miss Araminta reported, putting her gear shift into park and turning off the engine. "It's a little cabin with a corrugated tin roof and bricks propping up the front porch. If this is it, I'd better not park too close. We don't want to scare our people away."

"This is the place," Bill assured her, sniffing the air. He had opened his own car door as soon as Araminta shut the engine off, and Fido now jumped across the back seat to join him. "Fido and I had better lead the way." The man spoke now like the property owner he was. "I'll start calling out as soon as I get within hearing distance, and Ellen should be able to recognize me. Mack did a real good job of barbering," he remarked thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "I was surprised at the care that boy took with Fido and me; you must have really laid down the law to him."

"Oh, I doubt that." Miss Araminta replied easily. She had gotten out of her own side of the car and grabbed her walking cane shotgun, plus the groceries and her crochet bag. "I bet we'll get a new country music song out of your experience; Mack always thinks in music." She was happy to walk behind Bill, and Fido was sniffing the country air as though he couldn't get enough of it.

There was a challenge before they had gotten ten feet from the car. "Alright," called an assertive female voice, "whoever you are, you stop right there. I've got the drop on you, and I know how to use this thing."

"Oh, Ellen, lovey!" Bill called out, sounding stronger than he had since Araminta had known him. "They told me you came to Nashville looking for me and that you were running from somebody."

"Oh, my God!" The intruders heard something clang into an old-fashioned metal porch chair, and now someone was running through the long grass and weeds, apparently heedless of where she was going.

"Liam!" Ellen Gleaves ran toward him, still wearing the mended blue dress and her fancy shoes. She stopped where she could look at him. "Mercy on us, it really _is_ you, and somebody's gotten you a nice seeing-eye dog."

Ellen ran straight into her former husband's arms and held on like she would never let go, spilling out a plethora of words. "Oh, Liam, it's so good to see you. I don't care if you ARE blind – and neither does Emily. I understand why you rejected me at the hospital. It was so horrible to see you with your eyes all bandaged! Mr. Prosser kept me updated as long as the court case was going on, then he broke it to me gently that you were just going to walk off, and there was nothing I could do about it." She buried her head in Liam's shoulder. When she wasn't frightened to death, Miss Araminta noticed Ellen Gleaves was still remarkably good looking.

A teenaged voice interrupted the touching reunion. "Mom, this guy's brought the old snoop with him. I don't think you should trust him."

"Calm down, girl!" called Liam – and it was indeed Liam speaking, the factory foreman chiding a careless employee. "Put that gun back down. Miss Araminta's my friend who brought me out here, and I won't have you calling her names."

"Father?" Emily said questioningly. "Mom, is this guy really my father?"

"Yes, he is." Ellen turned her head back over her shoulder to look at her daughter. "Now come out here and meet him properly."

Emily came down the rickety steps carefully; Araminta realized that the girl's legs were causing her pain. Hopefully, there would still be some bruises visible by the time they got her to a camera.

Now Emily walked slowly through the long grass, her eyes fixed on the strange man in front of her. She stopped beside the still entwined couple. Liam put out his left hand and touched the girl's cheek. Slowly, his hand moved around the lower part of the girl's face.

"They tell me you've got a black eye," Liam explained carefully. "I'm trying not to hurt you. It's hard to believe my little girl's grown so big."

Emily stared into her father's face, her eyes tearing when she saw his closed eyes.

Meanwhile, Fido came up and nuzzled Araminta's leg, signaling that he approved of her. Then he barked sharply at Ellen and her daughter. Liam laughed. "Fido's telling you the lady's alright," he assured them. "Miss Araminta gave us a bed last night, and a couple of wonderful meals. She even persuaded her neighbor to clean Fido and me up so we'd be presentable to tell our story to the police."

"The police!" Ellen leaned back and stared at Liam, her pupils dilated in horror. "What have you told them, Liam?"

"Let's all go inside and sit down," Liam commanded. "As I remember, the chairs are right nice, and Miss Araminta isn't as young as she used to be. She's real smart, though."

The whole party walked into the house, and Fido immediately led Liam to his favorite chair. Liam laughed as he sat down. "Nothing beats a dog's nose," he admitted, "though my own sense of smell has gotten pretty good. That _was_ Ellen's perfume I smelled this morning, Miss Araminta. That's why I didn't want you pursuing her; she'd brought me a good memory."

Ellen was staring at Liam as though she had never seen him before. "It was you I robbed?" she asked incredulously. "That neighbor of yours must have done a mighty good job; I didn't even recognize you sitting there on the sidewalk."

"You saw what you expected to see," Miss Araminta told her. "Nobody thinks blind beggars are really people; that's what I've learned doing my volunteer work. You told me you were looking for Liam; how did you expect to find him?"

"Through the Union Rescue Mission," Ellen replied. "We'd heard about that, even at Rutherford County Legal Aid. I knew if they couldn't identify Liam immediately, at least they could provide a little something to eat for Emily and me while they made some inquiries. I figured Liam had gone to Nashville because that's the closest place a homeless person can go and be accepted."

"The Union Rescue people are a good group," Liam told her, "but I sincerely hope you and Emily never get desperate enough to look for help from them. It was alright for me, you see. I had no hope of living normally ever again, and I was still young and strong. Nashville is no place for a homeless family."

"Did you forget about us, Father?" Emily asked. She was having a much harder time coming to terms with the truth than her mother was.

"Never." Liam shook his head, making his barbered hair bounce. "I just knew I couldn't keep you. There was no way I could support a family, and your mother would have come to hate a useless man. I learned that early on, watching my crippled older brother and his wife. That damned asbestos insulation Ron used to install ruined his health, and he was never anything but a burden to Lula after that." Liam looked back toward the daughter whose life he had missed. "I always prayed for you and your mother, though. Every time I walked into a church, I spent a few minutes on my knees. When I had money, I even bought some of those candles you light to pray."

Miss Araminta had sat down in a comfortable, old-fashioned chair. "Ellen, now that we've chased you all over the country, tell us why you married Mike Jaimeson and what sent you and Emily tearing off like scared rabbits."

Ellen sank down into a chair beside her husband and reached out to take his hand. "Miss Araminta, I'm almost ashamed to tell you. When Liam left just after Emily was born, I still had me a decent salary with the legal aid people and was putting most of the disability money into a savings account for when I needed it. Then, when Mike and Irene Jaimeson had that big blow-up, I just ignored the whole thing. They were rich folks, and nothing to do with me. Probably you know more about that kind of thing than I do, Miss Araminta, since Carl at the garage told me you're a social worker. All I know is that after the divorce from Irene was all finished, Mike Jaimeson came into Toowy's on the Square looking all hang-dog and bought me some lunch."

Liam growled an objection, and Ellen squeezed his hand. "I'd been going on with my life, one day at a time, trying to raise Emily and forget that at one time I had been a happy woman. I sort of blamed Mike for the whole disaster – Mr. Prosser told me that if Mike had been a responsible mill owner, that accident never would have happened. But the whole thing had happened five years before, and I was tired of holding on by myself. Mike was looking all hang-dog and had just lost his wife, so I listened to him."

Liam growled again in his throat and spoke. "I tried to keep all my work troubles to myself, lovey, because you heard such misery working with those lawyers. I should have told you that Irene was the brains of the pair; Mike made all kinds of stupid decisions when she wasn't around. Didn't Mr. Prosser try to warn you?"

"Oh, he wasn't happy when Mike offered to marry me," Ellen assured Liam quickly. "He warned me that it would mean the end of the disability pay I was getting. But then he told me how I could put the money in a trust in Emily's name and keep on getting it, since Emily is Liam's heir."

Miss Araminta stared accusingly over the tops of her glasses at Ellen. "I bet your lawyer friend didn't tell you not to let Mike Jaimeson become trustee of the trust fund, though."

Ellen began to cry, and Araminta got up to give her another handkerchief from her quick mart packet. "I feel so stupid," Ellen muttered. "Mike hadn't mentioned a thing about the trusteeship until after he'd given me a big wedding and put me into his father's house." She looked over at Araminta. "You've got to understand; I'm just a country girl. I'd never even _seen_ anything like the house Mike inherited from his parents. It's right next door to a twelve-year public school, too, so Emily could just walk over there and go to school in the same place until she graduated from high school. I was even thinking I could send her to college."

"And then Mike started carrying on about how broke he was," Liam broke in nastily. Apparently he'd heard the same thing from his former employer many times.

"It wasn't until I started doing the books at the saw mill that I realized how razor-thin Mike's profit margins were," Ellen responded. "He sat me down when I mentioned the matter and told me such a sob story that we went to his bank half an hour later and made all the arrangements to make him Emily's trustee."

"Okay, so what did he tell you?" Liam's anger was now so palpable that Fido sat up straight and stared at Ellen.

Ellen seemed to wither under her former husband's scorn. "The whole problem, according to him, started with your accident," she began. "Mike had never considered that he'd have a workers' compensation claim, especially like the catastrophic one you had. According to him, things really got bad when I took your case to my legal aid friends. After the award we got, Mike found himself with a 275 percent loss ratio on his workers' compensation insurance. If he didn't renew at a higher rate with that particular company, they'd throw him into the assigned risk pool, and he could never afford that kind of coverage. And the law was watching him, so he had to keep coverage."

"What's the assigned risk pool?" Liam looked over at Miss Araminta for an explanation.

"By law," Araminta began, "all companies who have ten employees or more have to have workers' compensation insurance. There are also some companies that nobody in his right mind would willingly insure. These are usually people who manufacture things like dynamite or people who won't enforce safety practices. Such companies go into an assigned risk pool, and every insurance company who writes workers' compensation in a particular state has to take a certain percentage of its pool clients. Assigned risk business always involves at least 175 percent of the normal premium, and the companies watch their new clients closely for signs of improvement."

Liam's lips twitched. "So old Mike told you he was in a bit of a mess, and it was your duty to help him out."

"Yes," Ellen admitted limply. "He also carried on about how Irene had stripped him bare in the divorce settlement and how the law wouldn't let him do what he wanted to with his own property. I admit, I didn't understand it all. In fact, I agreed to his proposal just to shut him up. It would be ages before Emily was old enough to go to college. I figured I'd have time to put things right if I'd made a mistake."

"And then, just recently," Miss Araminta said evenly, "he left some incriminating papers where you could find them."

"Yes," Ellen sobbed, burying her face in the handkerchief again. "I thought trustees were always held accountable for their expenditures."

"Maybe in a perfect world," Liam told her, "but a businessman in a little county where he's got the most prosperous business in the area can pretty well do what he pleases. As I remember, Mike always favored that ritzy branch bank that set up here just after he inherited the saw mill, not that little savings and loan you used."

"That's right," Ellen replied into her handkerchief. "The branch is part of a national chain, so I thought it was reputable. I went and got a money order for most of the balance in my own savings and loan account, and we settled the trusteeship the next day."

"Mom!" Emily ran over and knelt by her mother's chair. "You haven't done anything wrong. Nobody could have known any better. Don't go feeling guilty."

"I found out the truth about the 'good old boys' the hard way myself," Liam admitted angrily, "when that bastard of a trustee got away with my brother's mesothelioma settlement."

"Ellen, tell us what happened to make you run and when it happened," Araminta commanded. "Then we'll all know what needs doing."

Ellen looked up, squeezing the handkerchief in her fingers. "It was just yesterday – oh, God, I can't believe it was just yesterday! I had dressed up special because the insurance inspectors were coming in the morning. That's why I wore my best outfit. Anyway, Mike was out of his office, playing host to the inspectors, and I went in there to find a pencil. There was a piece of crumpled up paper on his desk. I uncrumpled the thing so I could file it properly." Ellen choked, applying the handkerchief to her eyes again. "It was a bank transfer slip, showing where Mike had taken a lot of Emily's money and put it into his own account. I just stood there, not knowing what to think, and the next thing I knew, Mike was standing right in the door staring at me. The insurance people must have gone to lunch, because he was just standing there looking at me, and there was no sanity in his eyes. Then he pounced on me, called me the most horrible names he could think of, and virtually ripped this dress right off of me. When he had finished with that, he just threw me down on the floor, and rushed out to his car."

Now Ellen was blushing a fiery red. "The saw mill foreman rushed into Mike's office to see what all the noise was. He sort of looked away when he saw me and suggested I run into my own office and use my sewing kit. He promised to head Mike off on some pretext if he came back before closing time. Anyway, I limped as fast as I could back to my own office and repaired the dress." She gave Araminta a watery smile. "I took sewing in high school and I make all of mine and Emily's clothes. I am good for something."

"And Mike went home to wait for Emily and beat her up." Liam's face was set like stone, and it occurred to Miss Araminta that, sighted or not, this man would be a fierce opponent.

Ellen looked up at him piteously. "Liam, I went home as soon as I was decent again, taking that transfer slip with me. School had gotten out by the time I left the saw mill, and I was afraid for Emily. I pulled our old car into the garage and ran to unlock the kitchen door." Ellen burst into freshets of tears again. "Liam, Emily was crawling through the kitchen toward me. Mike had beaten the backs of both her legs bloody with his belt."

"And then he put the bloody belt back on and drove off," Emily completed in disgust. "Mom came in and washed all the blood off me, and then we worked on first aid. I made Mom put on an old rain poncho first," the girl added helpfully, "so she wouldn't get her nice dress all bloody. Then she gathered up the few things we needed and helped me out to the car."

Ellen took a deep, cleansing breath and continued. "All I could think of, Liam, was getting into Nashville and finding you. I didn't even consider how much money I had until we stopped in that little suburb to ask for directions, and the car wouldn't start again. Luckily, I was able to flag down a wrecker to take me just a couple of blocks."

"You fell into good hands, lovey," Liam assured her. "Carl's a friend to anybody who's down and out. I've lived in the Melrose area for the last twelve years, and he's always been nice to me. So has everybody else." He grinned. "Sergeant Pierce even stopped Miss Araminta from preaching to me about the desirability of registering with a social work agency and getting some real help with my needs."

Araminta grinned over at young Emily. "You see," she admitted cheerfully, "I am sometimes an old snoop. It's something to do with my time now I'm retired, and occasionally I can even help somebody."

"I do appreciate it," Ellen told her, "and I fired up the kitchen stove here and used your groceries to feed my hungry daughter right away." She turned to Liam. "I even managed to get a little oil and some wick for the oil lamps on the way over here. Once we hit Murfreesboro, I realized how low on money I really was." Now she smiled devilishly and pointed to her left ring finger. "Mike bought me a honking great diamond when he wanted me to marry him. I pawned the thing in Murfreesboro to get us some ready cash. I'd just love to see his face when my lawyer gives him the pawn ticket!"

"Wait a minute!" Araminta held up a hand. "That car you drove here, Ellen, is that in Mike Jaimeson's name?"

"No, it's in Liam's," Ellen replied instantly. "I was giving thanks for that all the way to Nashville. I managed to keep the Dodge, and paid the license renewal out of my own salary and that secret savings account I have." She smiled over at her blind husband, who must have understood her by telepathy.

"Ellen had started a savings account over at the savings and loan next door to her work before I got the sense to realize I wanted to marry her," he explained. "Once we got married, we had a little talk with the bank manager, and he agreed that she could keep the savings account under her maiden name. He told us it isn't against the law to keep an account under absolutely any kind of name, as long as there's no intent to defraud. It sounded good to me; I knew how comparatively little I was making at the saw mill. I've blessed that man ever since, because he was looking out for my Ellen."

"I even kept my parents' old post office box," Ellen continued. "We had always lived out in the sticks where there was no mail service." She smiled like a naughty little girl. "I got all my statements at the P.O. Box and sent in my taxes with the same return address. See, Liam had told me a few home truths about Mike Jaimeson, and I knew I'd better keep me a bolt hole." Then Ellen sobered. "I should never have let him be Emily's trustee, though; I just wasn't thinking."

"He laid a guilt trip on you," Emily insisted. "And you were still depressed and missing Father."

"Yes, I've always missed Liam." Ellen looked around her. "Gracious, how the time's gone by! I'd better get out one of those lamps and fire it up. I can see well enough to do that by the light of the kitchen stove."

"Wait a minute," Liam commanded. "I heard some cars in the distance, and old Fido here is as tense as a drum. We may have some visitors."

"I swear Mike doesn't know about this place," Ellen gabbled. "That was never the kind of marriage where we exchanged confidences."

"Even I didn't know about this place," Emily asserted loyally. "But I think maybe we should go out and get that gun," she added.

"The gun is here in my crochet bag," Miss Araminta told the girl. "And there it's going to stay until we know some more. I don't see how Sergeant Pierce could have tracked us here, but let's be real quiet and see what happens."

***

Two cars were carefully blundering their way along the overgrown road, their lights on low beam. Tom Staples was swearing under his breath as he shifted to 'granny low' and tried to follow Pierce's tail lights without running into his big Crown Victoria. Finally, Pierce pulled his squad car to one side. "Pull off on the other tire track," Pierce spoke through the radio. "Target's up ahead."

Staples thankfully parked, then turned to his passengers. "You two sit tight until I find out what my pal Pierce is planning." He carefully got out of the car and pushed his way through the undergrowth to the Nashville policeman.

"That's Miss Araminta's car up ahead." Pierce nodded toward a darker shape in the twilight when he saw Staples approaching. "I've got to go slip the homing device off her bumper."

"But what are we going to do for lights in there?" Staples hissed, nodding toward the house as he fought to keep pace with his companion. "That old house has GOT to be off the electric grid."

"I've got a temporary lighting rig in the trunk," Pierce replied. "Now, stay back here. We've blocked the drive so our pigeons can't get out." He slipped through the darkness while Staples fumed silently behind him.

Apparently their arrival had not been silent enough. Staples heard a door opening and a figure clumping out onto the porch. "Alright, that's far enough. Identify yourselves and state your business," called a commanding voice.

Sergeant Pierce had returned to Staples' side. "Lord, I didn't know the fellow had it in him." He strode forward, unclipping his flashlight and turning it to reveal his own face. "It's Sergeant Pierce from the Melrose station, Bill. I've brought out some people who need to talk to you. Nobody's in any trouble."

By now, another figure had arrived on the porch, and this one was armed with a flashlight. "How the devil did you find your way out here, Pierce?" Miss Araminta asked.

"Well," the Sergeant admitted shamefacedly, "after you left, I told Johnny Lee to slip down to your condo and attach a homing beacon to your car."

"You did WHAT?" Two voices rang out at once, Liam's bass complimenting Araminta's angry soprano.

Pierce looked down and brushed the grass diffidently with one foot. "After all, it was obvious when you folks left the station that you weren't satisfied by what I was telling you. I could see you both brainstorming, and I knew Miss Araminta would charge off if our blind friend gave just the slightest direction." He held out the offending device in his palm. "Look, I just took the thing off – honest. I'll never use it on you again."

Araminta favored him with a basilisk glare. "Are you sure you're not running errands for Mike Jaimeson? He seems like a big man in certain quarters."

"Jaimeson's in jail." Tom Staples walked into the light of Pierce's flashlight and flashed his own badge. "All hell seems to have broken loose in this county, and we locals are looking to you people for an explanation."

"Oh, feeling put upon, are we?" Araminta responded. "Well, who all have you got with you? I just brought one jar of coffee."

Car doors were opening behind the policemen; Big Jake had never been one to wait patiently. "I'm Jacob Long, Mayor of Brandywine," he announced loudly. "And this here is Vince Prosser from the county legal aid office. I believe Miss Gleaves knows him."

A woman came forward, almost into the light. "It's Myra Shuvalov, Miss Araminta, and I'm anxious to meet this family you've gotten together. We also have Barney Probst with us. He's a claims adjuster from Philadelphia who flew down on the redeye because of an email you sent last night."

"Well, come on in," Liam invited, turning with his cane. "If you have any of them fancy lights of yours, bring them, too. Ellen's just gone to fire up our old oil lamps."

***

"Let me go first and clear our arrival with Fido," Sergeant Pierce told the little group assembled around him. "Fido knows me." Nobody objected, for Fido was standing beside his person, looking almost as fierce as Liam did.

Pierce went down on one knee on the middle step and spoke on the dog's eye level. He held out a hand. "You know me, Fido. Sometimes I walk you and Bill around to the storage building when it's bed time. Now I've got a few friends here who want to talk to Bill and all these nice, new people you've been meeting today." Fido briefly put his front paws on Pierce's shoulders and licked the policeman's face. "THAT'S how we do it," Pierce encouraged. "Come on folks. Keep it quiet and orderly.

Once inside, Tom Staples, who perforce was carrying the temporary lighting fixture, met Ellen Gleaves holding up an oil lamp. "Just show me where you want to set this thing up, and I'll light the area while you do it," she told him.

"Well, it's actually Sergeant Pierce's equipment," Staples replied, "and, once he finishes talking to the dog, I hope he'll come over here and show me how to use the thing."

Pierce came over, grinning. "Okay, Tom. Right here against this wall will work best, I reckon; that way you ladies will get a little benefit of light in the kitchen."

While all this was happening, Barney Probst of Elite Cities Insurance Company was examining his disabled client, Liam Jenkins. "You don't need to be living like a beggar, Jenkins," he declared. "Not with a jaw like you've got. With the right disability equipment, you'd be a natural in our back office. We've already got one blind person taking recorded statements."

Liam smiled, a beautiful sight for those who had never seen him so happy. "I'm just a guy from the sticks, Mr. Claims Adjuster," he replied, "and I've never believed in any of your fancy equipment. But if I'm going to be a husband and father again, I certainly need some training."

"So how did you know I wasn't Mr. Prosser?" Probst asked.

"Prosser's voice I know," Liam replied, "and the mayor announced himself. I heard Sergeant Pierce giving the light fixture to his co-worker while he calmed Fido. You are not a woman. Therefore, you are the claims adjuster."

"Liam has always noticed everything and kept his ears open," Miss Araminta told Probst. "He'd sort of lost himself in limbo until he found out Ellen and Emily had come looking for him. So, you're down here because of one of my emails?"

Probst looked over the little spinster with her nicely permed hair and bright print pants suit. "Old Marty Singher called me as soon as I got into the office this morning. He's retired now, but he told me you were the best little bloodhound any company had ever had, and I better get down here if I want to keep our company's tail out of a crack."

Miss Araminta grinned at him companionably; here was a man who spoke her language. "I hope you folks can get this all straightened out. Your disability funds for the Jenkins family have been misappropriated for the last eight years or so. The case isn't as simple as I'd like it to be, because there's a nasty divorce and some domestic violence involved in it, but I hope you'll stick with us and see it through."

Just then the temporary light went on – brighter than anyone really needed, since the equipment was designed to illuminate accident scenes. Pierce hurriedly turned down the light.

***

Myra Shuvalov found her way into the kitchen, where Ellen had placed a couple of oil lamps on top of a low cupboard and was poking at the logs through the open stove door.

"I'm here from Miss Araminta's battered women's shelter," Myra announced. "My only interest right now is seeing that you and your daughter have all the help you need."

"I never expected my Liam would have a contact with so many friends," Ellen exclaimed, turning around from her task. "I certainly do want to talk to you, but I'll also need to talk to Mr. Prosser. He's probably the one who will handle the divorce."

Myra sat down in one of the hard kitchen chairs, closing her eyes briefly while Pierce dealt with the emergency light. "One thing I'd like to do is take pictures of the injuries you and your daughter have. I know you'd feel more comfortable having a woman take them, and we could give copies to the police later."

"Oh, yes, Emily and I would appreciate that," Ellen assured her. "Although in my case, the damage is mostly just to my dress. Let me make up some instant coffee first. Miss Araminta brought us a whole jar, with artificial cream and sugar, and a couple of bags of potato chips. If we get all these men fed and happy before we start, we'll have all the time we need."

"That ought to work," Myra said comfortably.– "And, frankly, I'm fascinated by this cast iron wood stove. How in the world are you going to make coffee on it?"

Ellen turned from the cupboard with a deep, old-fashioned saucepan in her hands. "I'll fill this up with water – thank goodness I knew how to turn the plumbing on! – and then you can watch. Emily!" she called to her daughter. "Come on in here and be ready to fetch me things when I need them. I'm going to show you and Ms. Shuvalov how to make coffee the old-fashioned way."

Emily ran in from the living room. "Well, we've found just enough seats for everybody. Mr. Prosser and Sergeant Staples are sitting on the arms of the sofa, and Sergeant Pierce is on Father's footstool petting Fido."

"Good," Ellen replied. "Now, the most important thing you do with men is to feed them. If we hand around coffee and some of these potato chips Miss Araminta brought, we'll have plenty of time to discuss our own business." She turned to the heavy porcelain sink. "I'm going to run some water into this pot to make some coffee. Meanwhile, you root around in the cupboard and find me that old metal pitcher."

Myra Shuvalov watched in fascination as Ellen lifted a round, iron cover off the hot surface and stuck the bottom of the big pot into the flames. Turning, Ellen called to Emily. "Have you found that pitcher yet? Good! Now, open the coffee jar and put eleven teaspoons of coffee into the pitcher. We'll have to get a big wooden spoon to stir it with when we add the hot water."

Myra was still watching the stove in wonder. "You can control the flame?" she asked.

"To some extent," Ellen replied. "You have to sort of get used to working with a stove like this. It's not really hard, but it takes a lot of time and trouble, especially if you're baking. When we've stayed here, I've always confined myself to skillet cornbread."

"You've lived in this house before?" Myra asked, pulling out her notebook.

"Only for vacations," Ellen replied serenely, then, with barely any prompting, told the story of her happy marriage to Liam. She kept an eye on the stove while she talked, and commanded her daughter to bring the pitcher to the sink the minute she was ready to pour.

Then Ellen carried the pitcher of coffee while Emily struggled with a tray holding seven assorted cups, bowls of sweetner and non-dairy creamer, and a bag of potato chips. Once the men (and Miss Araminta) were settled, the two ladies came back into the kitchen and offered refreshments to Myra. Now they could get on with their own business.

***

Liam, finding himself acting the host in his own home after years of living on the streets, felt a little bit at a loss. Then he remembered that these were city people, who probably felt as strange in such a house as he did himself. He began to explain the house.

"This was my Grandpa's place, and he left it to me in his will because Pa and I had worked to make him comfortable in his last years," he began. "I was just nineteen when we started coming over here, weatherproofing the old place, and getting in some home comforts. We had to pay a septic tank company to come out here, but the artesian well was already in place, and Pa and I handled the plumbing. We put in a sink and a new stove in the kitchen, but this little old stove here in this fireplace was the one Pa was proudest of." Liam pointed his cane in the direction of the fireplace. "That there is a parlor stove Pa got out of an old building he was tearing down. Rich folks had lived there at one time, he reckoned."

"Your folks lived over around Brandywine," Big Jake objected.

"Sure did," Liam agreed. "That's where all the businesses we knew how to work for had plants and jobs and such. We knew there was not much else for the likes of us, unless we moved to someplace like Murfreesboro or Smyrna."

"We've got low hopes and low expectations in all the 'collar' counties here around Nashville," Miss Araminta interjected. "You might want to take note of that, Mayor Long."

"That's too damn big a challenge for a simple mayor," Big Jake replied somberly. "The best I can do is clear the way for somebody who shows real talent, like Liam here. I heard what Probst said to him earlier, and it's probably all true. Now, what can we do about this case, since I see the refreshments are coming?"

When everyone had some kind of cup of coffee and the potato chips were being passed out, Miss Araminta summarized the case as it had been presented to her. "So you see, Ellen has been able to retain a portion of the disability funds from before her remarriage, but the rest of them have been effectively alienated from her and her daughter. Liam has never claimed anything for himself as an individual. All three of these parties would, in the absence of the aforementioned trust funds, be eligible for relief from some state or federal program. Our business, as I see it, is to see that all three get the best deal possible at the current time."

"Meanwhile, I have also set divorce proceedings in motion against Mike Jaimeson, who is currently in the slammer for drunk driving." Vince Prosser said his piece resignedly.

"That drunk driving's just a holding charge until we can prove he's been misappropriating funds," Big Jake said. "Knowing that boy, I imagine this trustee business will just be the tip of the iceberg."

"I've given him DUI warnings five times myself," Tom Staples added. "I've been marking the citations on my calendar. By now, his blood should be pure antifreeze."

"But what are you going to do with us tonight?" Liam asked. "I've been listening to everybody, and now I feel like a pawn on a chessboard. What are you going to do with us?"

Barney Probst, who sat where he could see the kitchen door, noticed the photographic flashes that occasionally appeared around its edges. "Mrs. Shuvalov is getting those pictures the police will want without distressing our victims, I see. Personally, I vote we sit here and start making up our contact lists until she gets finished with her business. Then, frankly," he looked over at Liam, "I'm thinking about getting Mr. Jenkins and his wife and child into a Nashville hospital for a full diagnostic work-up so we'll know exactly what we're dealing with. Medicine's changed in the fourteen years you've been on the lam, Mr. Jenkins. I won't hold out any hope for your eyesight, but we might find some other things that need treating if we look. Anyway, we need an up-to-date medical record on you in our files, and I imagine Mr. Prosser needs the same for his clients. We'll bear the hospital costs until we see what is what."

"You'd best check which hospitals will welcome service dogs," Miss Araminta reminded him. "You'll want to talk to Myra Shuvalov about that."

"I imagine I'll be calling on Nashville legal assistance no matter what happens," Prosser said resignedly. "My office has never handled a case this big or explosive on our own."

"I'll be watching over you, boy," Big Jake promised. "I imagine Ms. Shuvalov's folks will have some suggestions, too." He looked thoughtful. "Maybe I should try to get some kind of domestic violence awareness out my way."

#  Chapter 6

It was two days after this conversation before Mike Jaimeson's lawyer ventured to enter the county jail. The lawyer's secretary had politely acknowledged Mike's call for assistance, and then a turnkey had informed him that bail was being denied because of Jaimeson's previous record. Now an angry and unintentionally sober Mike Jaimeson glared at Leonard Underwood through his cell bars. "Big Jake must have cut me loose," Mike declared angrily as Underwood took his place on a portable stool in the hallway. "Otherwise you'd have been here yesterday."

"The matter's gone beyond Big Jake's authority," Leonard Underwood solemnly told him. "You lost out when you let Nashville get involved, not to mention a big national insurance company."

"That's what I get for listening to you in the first place," Jaimeson riposted sourly. "You were the one who told me I'd better get some workers' compensation insurance since I had more than ten employees. You told me I'd never have a claim on my policy, either."

"It was hardly my fault your foreman's wife worked for the county legal aid society," Underwood responded. "Those boys that worked at your saw mill would never have thought to ask for the benefit if Jenkins' wife hadn't started talking about it. After all, you've never had another claim since then, even when Irene blackmailed you into a divorce by getting photographic evidence your mill is a pig sty."

"I made a mistake about Rennie," Jaimeson admitted. "Pa always told me not to marry a college girl, but she proved damn useful in helping me level the playing field. I didn't understand what Pa had meant until she went off her rocker about that fiberglass boat deal."

Underwood didn't want to rehash that truly lurid spectacle, so he went for the jugular. "Big Jake's niece is down at the saw mill now with the county auditor. Your bank has gotten involved, too. They've figured out how you've misappropriated Liam Jenkins' disability payments since you became trustee of little Miss Emily's trust fund."

"Dammit, I was providing the kid with everything she really needed! By the time she got out of high school, I could have replaced all that money," Jaimeson exploded. "I even paid her mother for working at the saw mill so she'd have some money of her own. You know I didn't have to do that."

"That gesture, Michael," Underwood replied, rising, "was about the only decent move you ever made, and even that will probably be counted against you now. Don't count on getting out of here anytime soon. Those insurance people, and even the feds, are going to be going over your business with a fine-toothed comb. The best lawyer in the world can only do so much under these circumstances."

***

Meanwhile, young Emily Jenkins, unable to sleep, was crying softly into a pillow at one of Nashville's hospitals. Emily had managed to infect one of the open sores on her legs while she was trying to help her mother. She alone had been considered to need a regular hospital bed, complete with an IV drip. Both her parents had narrow cots in the normally double occupancy room, and Fido had been allowed to stay as long as Ellen Gleaves was willing to take him outside and perform clean-ups as necessary.

Emily was a confused young woman, almost overwhelmed by the information that had poured over her the previous evening. She was amazed to find a large, weathered hand covering her own. She looked up in the dim light provided by the hospital nightlight. "Father?" She saw a man sitting in a leather chair by her bedside, a dog at his feet.

"I told the nurse I wanted to sit up tonight," Liam Jenkins answered. "Sometimes I do my best thinking at night, when it's quiet and cool. All the people we've had in here today have given me a lot to think about, and I thought you might be restless as well. It's about time I pulled my own weight and let your poor mother get some sleep."

Emily could just barely see the reflected light on Liam's face. The duty nurse had lined the chair with a blanket and provided him paper house shoes. She stared at the austere, blind countenance and let her free hand cover the hand that held hers.

"Father," she began, "how did you spend the last fourteen years? What in the world did you do with your time?"

"Darn few young ones get to thinking about what a blind man does," Liam responded quietly. "Nobody wants to think about not being able to see. I tell you, daughter, it's a dark, scary world. I reckon Miss Araminta was right; for a while there, I just tried to shut myself down. I had no job, no future, and I had to leave my dearest behind for their own safety. When I got Fido, we just started walking and asked for help along the way until we reached Nashville."

Liam was obviously thinking, trying to answer Emily's question. "When I was out in the county home after I left the hospital, I figured out that the one thing a blind man needed to know was how to recognize each kind of coin by its feel. Not bills; there's no way a blind man can cope with those. Beggars mostly get loose change, though, and that I figured I could handle. The folks at the home gave me some coins and some other small objects to work with, and I spent hours learning the feel of everything. Right now, I can count and add up change just as well as you can."

"But that's not enough to keep you from getting bored," Emily objected. "You can't just turn your mind off – at least, I can't."

"I don't suppose I did, either." Liam seemed to be looking over the girl's head, straight out the window. "I sort of deadened myself to the insults and all the filthy smells I found around me. It's a damned job to keep yourself clean when you're homeless, but there were always a few kind souls who gave us soap and washcloths. A few places had showers we could use, and all of us learned which places those were. We learned by word of mouth, since beggars have nothing to do but talk all day, and gradually I learned how to filter out the good tips from the bad."

"You said you'd been out where Miss Araminta found you for twelve years," Emily reminded him. "How did that happen?"

Liam smiled, making his face almost beautiful. "That was Sergeant Pierce's doing. You know, the foot and bicycle patrols in Nashville keep in pretty close touch with the city's homeless population. You never quite stop being scared of cops – often they're coming around to make you move on – but, still, we talk to them, and word about who needs what gets around pretty quickly. Pierce knows his people in Melrose pretty well, and he knew Mr. Hamlin at the grocery would be willing to let me sleep in his storage shed."

"You slept in the storage shed, and you begged in front of the store during the day," Emily said, fingering his hand as though she would memorize it. "You must have done something else with your time."

"When the grocery closed, I begged in front of the diner until that closed," Liam replied. "They play some nice music on their juke box sometimes. Then I'd go around and sit in front of the bars. Sometimes they had their television on so loud I could hear it, and I knew enough about football to enjoy listening to the games. Sometimes in a political year, a bar would host a debate watch party, and then I'd get to hear that as well. The tips in my hat were pretty good, too. Once in a while, a drunk would come out of a bar and talk to a poor blind man, especially after everybody started cracking down on smoking."

"You don't smoke, do you?" Emily stared at her newly-found father with big eyes.

"No, but I've often enough bought a pack or kept the odd cigarette on my person," Liam replied. "To a homeless person, cigarettes are just the same as money. You trade them for food and information all the time."

"What do you think you're going to do now?" Emily asked. Her legs were burning now, and she was tempted to ask Liam to push his call button for a nurse. That would mean another shot that would put her right to sleep, though, and she wanted to listen.

Liam laughed a sort of muffled bark that wouldn't disturb any sleeper. "Those folks who have been in and out of here all day have been talking enough to make a man's head spin, haven't they? Whatever happens, I do know now that I've still got some talents that I can maybe make a living with. That braille they were showing me – I think I'm going to get up my courage and use the telephone to call Miss Araminta tomorrow."

***

Somewhat earlier that evening, Sergeant Tom Staples had been briefing Big Jake in his informal home office. "What a bloody day!" Staples exclaimed. It had been his responsibility to determine what evidence existed in the case of Mike Jaimeson's assaults on his wife and stepdaughter.

"You found evidence he did all the things the ladies mentioned?" Big Jake blew a smoke ring.

"Well, first, I went to the jail and confiscated the belt and pants Jaimeson had been wearing when we pulled him in. Lord, what a slob! That belt had leaked fresh blood all over the waistband of his pants, and God only knows what the Nashville lab will find on the belt itself." Staples blew out his breath in a big whoosh. "While I was there in Nashville, I got word the Jenkins girl had managed to get one of those damn welts on her legs infected. The news media is just going to love that."

"What did you find when you came back and searched Jaimeson's house?" Big Jake asked. He was personally ready to wallow in some sensationalism at the expense of the man he had mistrusted all these years.

"Worse than I expected," Tom replied, settling back in his deep chair. "I've documented it, but you'll probably want the Nashville media to come out and film the place. Apparently our man threw a temper tantrum when he discovered his victims had walked out on him. I swear he must have taken the dress-making shears to all the female clothing in the house, Ellen's AND Emily's. He'd also literally destroyed Ellen's sewing machine with god only knows what; I didn't find an appropriate tool that would do it in the basement."

"Probably a tire iron," Big Jake responded almost disinterestedly. "Meanwhile, we're having good results with the audit at the mill, and the county auditor has managed to get Jaimeson's bank manager involved. Did you learn anything about the assault out at the mill?"

"The foreman had taken an impromptu vacation," Staples responded sardonically. "Mike's office doesn't show any signs of a struggle, but several employees I talked to saw Mrs. Jaimeson with her clothes all torn off. I confiscated her office sewing kit so we can at least get a match on the blue thread. I hope we can get that dress into evidence from Nashville."

"Oh, Prosser will manage that. Meanwhile, I'll call the Nashville media and let you take them on a tour of Jaimeson's house tomorrow," Big Jake told him. "One way or another, we're going to close the bag on Michael Jaimeson."

***

The next morning, Miss Araminta's telephone rang just as she was putting her groceries away. She had been very busy around the neighborhood this morning; everyone she met wanted to know all the exciting developments in her little investigation. Now she closed the refrigerator door and scrabbled in her purse for the cell phone. "Araminta Ferguson," she answered.

A victorious chortle at the other end startled her. "Hey, I could get used to this!" Liam exclaimed. "My first telephone call in fourteen years. How are you this fine morning?"

"Oh, Liam," Araminta responded, immediately recognizing the voice. "Have they already found time to introduce you to a little braille? I didn't think social services could move that fast."

"Oh, the social services are still conferring," Liam told her. "This was just some ladies at the hospital. Anyway, I was hoping you could come over and see us. Mr. Prosser just called and said our story would be on the five o'clock news. Frankly," he lowered his voice, "I kind of want some support for Ellen and Emily. They're getting hit kind of hard by all this mess."

Araminta looked at her kitchen clock. "I'll be over there around four o'clock, then," she estimated. "I really want to hear what the doctors say about you and your family."

***

Later that afternoon, Araminta rode up on the hospital elevator with Ellen and Fido. "They're doing lots of tests on Liam," Ellen confided. "Though poor Emily is the one we worry about. Somehow one of her legs has gotten infected, and Mr. Prosser has been here to take some pictures of the infection site and get affidavits from the doctors."

The elevator door opened, and Fido almost bounded out, dragging Ellen in his anxiety to get back to his proper person. Someone had helped Liam dress fully after all his tests, and now he sat in the big leather chair, running his fingers along what was obviously an elementary braille pamphlet.

Liam looked up when Fido touched his leg with a wet nose. "Ellen? That was fast."

"Miss Araminta's here," Ellen told him as she unfastened Fido's leash. "Did you get the results on all those tests they were doing?"

Liam leaned back in his chair and smiled where he imagined Araminta might be. "Well," he responded, "I'm a lucky man. The doctor told me if one of those splinters had gone an inch or two farther in, it would have punctured my brain. So, I guess I'm lucky even if I'm still blind. Otherwise, I'm supposed to take a lot of vitamins and keep warm. So far, sleeping outside hasn't hurt me, but apparently now I'm getting old enough for the medics to worry about things like pneumonia."

"Yes, that happens to all of us," Araminta told him dryly. "Getting older is a right curse." She looked over at Ellen. "I bet they've been on to Ellen about making sure her well woman exams and immunizations are up to date."

Ellen laughed shamefacedly. "How did you know? I haven't been to the doctor in two or three years; that sort of thing sort of slips right by you when you're running a household AND working."

"Stop tiptoeing around telling everybody just how impossible Mike has been all these years," Emily spoke up from her bed near the window. "He wouldn't turn on a television or go to the refrigerator to get a beer if Mom was in the house. He even ordered me to bring him stuff he could have gotten for himself."

"Those days are over," Liam said firmly. "I may be blind, but I can find my way around in the streets, and I'll certainly learn how to navigate in a house. Just you make sure you don't change the furniture around on me, and I'll run my own household errands."

Araminta sighed as she located a straight chair she could sit on. "Myra Shuvalov's pulling all kinds of strings trying to find someplace we can park you people while all of you do some therapy and training. Since it doesn't seem likely Mike Jaimeson is going to be free to chase after you, it doesn't look like the safe house would be appropriate. She's looking for apartments that are centrally located for services you'll need."

"Yes, we will have to stay here in Nashville at least until Liam learns some new skills." Ellen sat down on her own cot. "We'll also need to get Emily back into some kind of school as soon as she's able. And, while we're here, I'd better freshen up my bookkeeping skills. I never went further than high school, you know, and I did the books at the mill just the way Irene had done it. I didn't dare ask questions about anything I didn't understand."

"I'd been worried about that," Liam admitted. "Miss Araminta, we need to let the lawyers know that Ellen doesn't have the training to realize how Irene was gaming the books. Before my accident, I heard enough tidbits to know the company wasn't quite on the up and up, but I didn't feel like that was any of my business at the time."

"I'll call Mr. Prosser tomorrow and warn him," Araminta promised. "I need to go over some other things with him anyway. – Meanwhile, isn't it about time for the news?" Since she was familiar with big city remote devices, Araminta grasped the control and pointed it at the television.

Both Ellen and Emily wept as the ghoulish television crew went from room to room in the Jaimeson house, chronicling the destruction Mike had wrought on their personal property. Liam's jaw simply grew harder while he listened, and he smiled when he heard that the announcer was displaying Jaimeson's unflattering mug shot.

"The boys he was depending on finally turned on him," Liam said gleefully. "The powers that be in rural Rutherford County have covered up for him too many times."

"But...that was all our clothes!" Ellen sobbed. She had somehow migrated into Liam's lap.

"We'll get you girls outfitted from our Thrift Closet," Miss Araminta promised. "You won't have the room or the time to use a sewing machine for a little while, Ellen." She went over to soothe Emily, who was sobbing in her corner bed.

"That's why I never asked for a kitten or a puppy, Mom," Emily said tearily. "I knew better than to leave any living thing I cared about where Mike Jaimeson could get it."

"I know, honey," Ellen replied. "I just sort of ignored Mike's nasty tendencies and played the hand I was dealt. We'll be able to have a pet you can love on when all this is over."

Araminta lovingly smoothed the hair from the teenager's forehead. Fido, who had somehow decided this child was related to his person, jumped up on the bed to lick her face.

***

Once the lawyer Elite Cities Insurance Company had retained in Nashville had traced the former Irene Jaimeson to Bermuda, she promptly requested immunity from any offences she had committed in Rutherford County as the price for her testimony. This request took some time to go through all the necessary procedures, so the audits for the saw mill and the financial statements from Jaimeson's bank were also on lawyer Robert Pendragon's desk by the time Irene flew to Nashville to make her affidavit.

Vincent Prosser was present as well since Irene's testimony might also have a bearing on the domestic violence/divorce case he himself was developing. There was also a court reporter with her specialized machine, as required by law.

"Your name is now Irene Morrow," Pendragon began, "of Sandoval and Morrow, purveyors of ladies' sunshades in Bermuda. You are here after being granted special immunity from all acts committed in Rutherford County, Tennessee. Why did you request this immunity?"

"My business in Bermuda is completely legal," replied Irene, a well-coiffed blonde who was stylishly dressed, "but in Rutherford County, when I was younger, I engaged in a few dubious accounting practices for my ex-husband. I believe he may have continued these, and forced his new wife to continue them, after our divorce."

"Why were you willing to 'cook the books' for Mike Jaimeson?" Prosser asked.

"I was young and dumb and in love," Irene replied acerbically. "Have you ever seen pictures of Mike Jaimeson before he turned himself into a blotter for liquor? I met him while I was going to Middle Tennessee State University, where he cut quite a dashing figure. I didn't realize until some years later how basically stupid the man is."

"Please elaborate on that last comment," Pendragon commanded, leaning back in his chair. _This one is a tartar,_ he thought.

Irene Morrow blew her cheeks out. "The Jaimeson family was county aristocracy," she explained. "All they knew was the saw mill operation and rural economy. I grew up in military housing at Sewart Air Force Base in Smyrna, so I learned about military safety regulations. It turns out there aren't many safety regulations in rural Rutherford County, and there is even less regard for the federal and state governments.

"At first," Irene admitted, "I thought it was cool that you could fix anything at the city level and not have much trouble clearing it with the county. So much government stuff seems like Mickey Mouse, especially to young kids. Mike Jaimeson was a go-getter, and I thought that with his personality and my brains we could really make some money together in a no-rules economy."

"You helped Mr. Jaimeson skirt various state and federal regulations you considered irrelevant?" Prosser wanted to be very sure about this.

"I just worked with the accounting end of the business, but I used every loophole I could find in the books. Folks in Brandywine just didn't seem to know or care about the law, as long as you didn't skin them personally. I don't think my snooty father-in-law ever forgave me for getting a degree when his precious son and heir couldn't be bothered to. The old goat didn't even thank me when I put my own money into his family business."

"Mr. Jaimeson refunded this investment at the time of your divorce." Pendragon consulted the papers on his desk.

"After I threatened to blow the whistle on him." Irene smiled in remembered satisfaction. "The elite people always kept an eye on us after the Jenkins accident." She turned to Prosser. "I hated what happened to Liam Jenkins; he was an honest, decent acting fellow. It tickled me when that mousy little wife of his went to your people and got OSHA interested."

"That was when you started seeing that safety regulations have their place in business," Prosser remarked. "Your husband wasn't so impressed, as I remember it."

Irene seemed to stare at the wall for a moment. "Now that I think of it, it was after that court case came up that Mike started drinking so heavily. He'd always gone through a fair amount of booze, but that's when things got really bad. I had to cold-cock him one night; he had even started trying to beat on me."

Irene affirmed that the quarrel over the fiberglass boat plant had produced the final rift in the marriage and allowed her to free herself. She had had no direct or indirect contact with Mike Jaimeson since 2005, aside from the monthly checks his bank sent her. "I'm making enough now with Sandoval and Morrow that I won't miss the checks if they stop coming," she added, "but I am going to have my own lawyer watching out for my interests throughout this litigation."

***

A couple of days later, Myra Shuvalov and Vince Prosser accompanied Miss Araminta to the hospital.

"I'm here to explain the financial realities," Prosser told the assembled company. "Also, I drove Liam and Ellen's Dodge Dart down here to the Melrose station. Sergeant Pierce is going to run me back home when he's finished his shift. – The car is free and clear for Ellen to use, and Big Jake threw in a tune-up and oil change as a sign of his good will."

He sat down in one of the straight chairs the hospital had brought in for the Jenkins' frequent visitors. "Ellen, the money in your name at the savings and loan bank is yours, free and clear. All the government auditors have agreed with what the bank manager told you. I suggest you transfer it to a banking establishment here so you can use it easily. Ms. Shuvalov can advise you on how to do that."

Prosser took a deep breath. "Mike Jaimeson's trust account for Emily Jenkins has been frozen, pending investigation, but you'll need to inform Barney Probst when your new bank account is set up so he can send the next monthly payment by direct deposit. This money is more than enough to disqualify the family from most government programs, except the ones for Liam's blindness. Ms. Shuvalov has been working her community networks for all of you, and I'll let her tell you about that."

"I've managed to snag you a little two-bedroom apartment that's convenient to the resources for the blind Liam will be using." Myra Shuvalov had made herself comfortable in one of the portable chairs and now held out a brochure to Ellen. "This is a first floor unit with one and a half baths, and it's zoned to a reputable Metro school for Emily. Stove, refrigerator, heating, and air conditioning are all provided, and the first month is on the church. The place is unfurnished, so Araminta and I are going to take Ellen out to look over the furniture the church has collected and then to a thrift store to meet your other current needs."

Ellen was looking over the brochure. "This place even has a parking space right in front of the apartment. We ought to be able to make out alright."

"And never forget I'm just a phone call away," Miss Araminta reminded her. "With all the scheduling conflicts you'll have, I figure you'll need an extra vehicle available."

Prosser seized the conversation again. "That's it for your coming attractions. The damn lawsuits are going to take longer. Your divorce, Ellen, is coming along well enough. Mike Jaimeson isn't contesting anything, and you'll probably get everything the rest of the vultures leave."

"I'm going to be consulting with Liam more about money now," Ellen assured him. "Now that he's gotten a braille calculator, he's really a whiz with numbers. He always was in high school, too, you know. I thought it was kind of a waste when he took that job at the saw mill, but there weren't that many jobs available in our area."

"As soon as he gets more training under his belt," Prosser replied, "we're probably ALL going to be consulting Liam, if he's as good as you say. The domestic violence and driving under the influence charges, though, are almost insignificant beside the mess Pendragon's firm is handling in the Jaimeson criminal case. Abuse by a trustee of funds in an F.D.I.C. bank is something that gets the feds really worked up, especially if the area senators and representatives start weighing in on the deal. Big Jake is having a field day working his contacts, and Barney Probst's company is applying the pressure, too. Everybody in the legal business figures this is a perfect case to set a precedent that will slap dishonest trustees down. Stealing a blind man's disability payments – especially when your company caused the disability – is a great emotional hook for a jury."

"That means the damn case is going to be appealed forever." Liam remained pessimistic. All this good fortune couldn't be raining down on him after all this time.

"Only if some outside group decides to prop up Jaimeson," Prosser told him. "That could happen, of course, but it's kind of a long shot. Jaimeson's going to go broke pretty soon."

"Those poor guys at the saw mill." Naturally, Ellen thought of her former fellow-workers. She turned a distressed face to the lawyer.

Prosser grinned at her. "Don't worry, Ellen. Whatever happens to them is going to happen very, very slowly, and I imagine some other saw mill operator will scrape up some financing to buy a going plant."

***

Left alone that afternoon with Liam, Emily whispered, "I'm scared, Father. You and Mom act like you're going to live here permanently."

"Well, we'd be pretty stupid not to live here, Emily honey," Liam told her. "After all, Nashville's the closest place we can get services for the blind. I've been doing without them, but, now that your mother says she needs me again, I'm going to need that kind of help. She can get courses here to improve her own skills, too, and you can get a good education as well. Is that what you're afraid of, Emily? Going to a new school?" Liam's concerned face turned toward this still unfamiliar daughter.

"Father, I'll never be good enough to make it in big city schools." Emily began pouring out her worries. "I know they'll put me back a grade, and then I'll never be able to catch up again. Not to mention those stupid school uniforms they have. Of course, Jaimeson cut up everything I had anyway, so I'll have to start with fresh clothes. And then all the kids I meet will know about this messy court case."

"Emily, honey, we're trying to keep you out of our legal problems because you're still a minor," Liam soothed. "Mr. Prosser said earlier that the only thing they're giving the news stations about your injuries is a sketch drawing of your legs showing where Mike beat you. Nobody wants to exploit a minor, believe me, and I'll stand in the way of anybody who tries. As for the damned school uniforms everybody insists on nowadays, Ms. Shuvalov will know what color skirts and blouses you'll need." Liam bared his teeth in a fearsome hiss. "From what I hear on the radio nowadays, all everybody wants is for the schools to be harder and the kids to be tested more. They've already dropped all the electives, and would even have dropped football if the communities would stand for it. I swear I'd like to shake me a couple of radio commentators."

"I'm beginning to think I picked a lousy time to be born," Emily complained, "even if I had been born into a normal family." Suddenly, she stared, horrified to see tears run down Liam's cheeks. "I didn't mean it like that, honest," she gabled.

"I understand." Liam swiped a hand casually over his face. "I held you when you were a baby, Emily, and I thought you were the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to me. That's why I knew it would be best just to wander off rather than let you or your mother down. I'd lost my ability to support you. I'll tell you what, though." Now his lively mind reached out to meet his daughter. "I hope to get my hands on a voice-activated computer in a few weeks, with a braille keyboard and some instructions on how to use the stupid thing. How about if you and I went over your schoolwork together? I know I've just plain lost some of what I learned in high school."

Emily found herself thrilling to his vision; this was a father the way she had always imagined one could be. "That would be great if you could help with my homework. Mom told me you were real smart in high school."

"And I played the fool after I graduated," Liam concluded angrily. "I couldn't see any future there in Brandywine except to do manual labor, and your mom went and got herself a job and a savings account while I was still helping the neighbors with Pa for food and spending money. I even did bush hog work for Big Jake one summer. That's when Mike Jaimeson figured I would do well working in his pa's saw mill. I helped Mike change a tire on that damned sports car of his one afternoon."

"And then you proposed to Mom when you got the job and started handing your pay envelope right over to her because she had a desk job."

"That's what the men in my family were trained to do," Liam explained to her. "That's just how things were done in the country. Most men didn't hold jobs, except for doing a little farming. We helped our neighbors build barns and houses and such, and accepted whatever they wanted to pay us. Handling money was a woman's job, just like raising the hens and making preserves."

Emily stared at her father unbelievingly. "The world's changed a fair amount since then, Father."

"Yes, and we've got to change with it," Liam assured her. "That's one reason I want to stay here in Nashville, unless we get a chance to build our lives in some other place with services for somebody like me. All of us really need the opportunities you can find in a city." He lowered his head in thought and put down a hand to pat Fido. "You know, a guy named Mack over in Melrose saw to it that Fido and I were bathed and barbered to go to the police station. Mack always let me do everything I could for myself, but that night he gave me the clean shave your mother admires so much. Anyway, Mack told me that somebody up there was giving me a second chance, and I believe it."

"Somebody's giving Mom and me a second chance, too." Emily felt tears spilling over her own eyes. "We were so scared that day we drove down here. Mike had never carried on that bad before, and we thought we were trapped. He'd always told us that if we tried to leave him the Rutherford County Police would just bring us back."

"That's a bully for you." Liam sounded disgusted. "Mike Jaimeson always was a bully, even as a kid, egging other kids on to misbehave and then tattling on them. He used to act like we ordinary kids were just trash – and, in a way, I guess I believed him."

Now Liam began thinking out loud. "Your Mom just said I was always a whiz with numbers. Back in high school, I remember I could make the numbers dance – sines and cosines, solid geometry – all those things seemed beautiful to me. But I couldn't work out how math could be of any use in the real world. I ran up all the board and feet figures for Jaimeson, but that was the only part of my job where I really used my mind. I thought men were meant to use muscle instead."

"Just like women are supposed to be happy to earn seventy-eight cents on the dollar," Emily told him. "Maybe, among the three of us, we can kill those misconceptions."

***

Myra Shuvalov and Miss Araminta were showing Ellen the apartment they meant her family to move into. Ellen turned all the appliance switches and tried all the doors and windows, noting the pre-installed beige curtains.

"It's not really much bigger than the cabin Liam inherited, but at least there are two small bedrooms." Ellen started planning out just what and how much furniture they would need. "For the living room, I'll need a sofa and a couple of chairs – a big, comfortable one for Liam – and maybe a standing lamp or two. I know he's going to want some kind of computer set up in there." Moving to the bedrooms, she remarked sadly, "I guess we'll need twin beds in the master bedroom, given Liam's disability."

"Having twin beds doesn't mean you can't have intimate relations," Myra told her bracingly.

"Oh, I know that," Ellen replied. "We just had twin beds in the little apartment Liam and I shared. Mike Jaimeson and I had a double bed, but we never used it the way you mentioned. Mike was real polite about being intimate until right after we were married; then he let me know the whole thing was just a convenient business arrangement." She sighed. "I guess he had really loved Irene."

"I doubt Mike Jaimeson ever loved anybody but himself," Miss Araminta responded acerbically. "Nobody's told me anything to indicate the man cares a fig for anybody else."

"I suppose that's true." Ellen drifted back into the reasonably spacious kitchen and started looking into the cupboards. "I suppose I'll have to buy mismatched china and used cook vessels from the thrift stores; I wouldn't take anything from the Jaimeson house even if it was offered to me. All the dishes Liam would remember I left in our little apartment when Mike and I got married. What Mike's parents had left him was so much better."

"Well, let's get over to the church regional headquarters and see what we've got in the furniture storage room," Myra responded, putting an arm around Ellen. She was an old hand at preventing emotional outbursts in vulnerable clients.

***

For several weeks after the Jenkins family moved into their new home, a small bus provided by services for the handicapped picked Liam up every morning, while Ellen drove to accounting classes at the local vocational/technical institute. Miss Araminta took young Emily to school and picked her up afterward; she seemed to understand the teenager's shyness better than her parents did.

Soon Liam was able to buy for himself all the equipment the relevant charities couldn't afford to give him, along with a sturdy metal computer table on rollers that sat in front of his comfortable chair. Father and daughter worked every week night in the small living room, making sense of homework assignments. Indeed, Liam was providing what the school seemingly could not – a touch of common sense and lectures on how the subjects related to real life.

In return, Emily helped her father (and Fido) learn how to use the public transportation system that ran in front of the apartment building. She was very proud to be able to help him with HIS homework for a change. Soon Liam was going to and from his training sessions by himself.

Weekends were devoted to audiobooks. Since blind library patrons got a special audio player and a larger list of titles than normal people did, Miss Araminta often joined the family in listening to a favorite book on Saturday. She always brought her cotton yarn and crochet tools and generally presented Ellen with a brand new washcloth at the end of each story.

"It's a different experience," Araminta told them, "hearing someone read the story instead of reading it yourself. You even get to hear British and Irish accents when the characters are supposed to have them."

"These books are a real blessing," Liam responded, "but I don't think I would have paid them as much as a never mind when I was a young man. Sometimes you don't realize what you've missed until you get older. At least now I have Ellen and Emily to operate that blasted complex audio machine."

"Having a warm bed every night will lengthen Fido's life, too." Emily looked up from grooming the dog. Apparently she had accepted him as the family pet she had always wanted. "We took him to the vet last week, and he told us Fido would benefit from some tender, loving care."

"Give me Mack's email address so I can put it in my contacts folder," Liam requested suddenly. "I need to thank him for all those times he's stood in line with Fido and me to get the annual immunization tags. You know, he always told me to send word to him if Fido got hurt or something."

Araminta slowly spelled the address out. "Mack's a good man," she concluded. "I'll have to invite you all over to dinner to meet him sometime. I heard your divorce decree just went through, Ellen. When do you reckon you and Liam can get married?"

"Was that divorce ever a relief!" Ellen sank back onto the sofa cushions. "Mike didn't contest a thing, of course, and he certainly didn't want custody of Emily. Financially, of course, everything is up in the air until they get the criminal case settled. But at least I have Liam again." She smiled contentedly at the blind man. "Not to mention a happy life."

"I'm thinking of asking your pastor to come over to the social services building." Liam had evidently been giving the matter some serious thought. "He comes over to shoot the breeze with us every week anyway, and most churches don't want a service dog on their fancy carpets."

"Liam and I never really subscribed to any religion," Ellen explained rather apologetically. "The country churches seem so harsh and narrow-minded. I'd almost rather Emily socialize with that nice bunch of Buddhists at that café where I bought my recipe book." Ellen had been much taken with the fragrant vegetarian stews she had been experimenting with.

"Religion takes some people that way," Araminta ruminated. "And never more harshly than here in the South. Just know I'll be happy to stand up with you wherever you wed; and, Liam, whatever heaven I inhabit will always have room for Fido."

Liam looked down as though he could almost see Fido sprawled out on the floor next to Emily's legs. "It feels kind of stupid for a grown man to care about an animal," he began roughly, "but I'll have to admit I do. Nobody really knows animals until they get to be dependent on them."

"That's why horse stealing used to be a hanging offense," Miss Araminta told him.

***

Shortly after the wedding, during which an Episcopal pastor and a Venerable Rinpoche from Tibet both blessed the happy couple, Liam finally found his chosen profession. The blind man, given the proper tools to overcome his disability, was a natural city planner. Numbers and facts danced together on his voice-activated computer, and his fingers were nimble on his braille keyboard. Soon he had consulting contracts in several Middle Tennessee cities. He did not make any final decisions, of course, but it was his plans mayors and governing councils were studying. His delight at being a wage-earner in a difficult economy was inspiring.

Ellen became certified in income tax preparation and related services that would allow her full-time employment. No longer was she working from instructions learned in high school or by blind obedience. Now she had all the relevant facts at her fingertips, complete with access to special databases.

Both Ellen and Emily had become accustomed to life in the smallish apartment they called home, and now both women searched for a hobby they could share to replace the space-consuming sewing activities they had previously enjoyed together. Mike Jaimeson's baleful memory had cast a blight on that particular enterprise, anyway. An advertisement for spinning classes made by the arts and crafts community seemed heaven sent.

Instructions in both hand spindles and spinning wheels were offered, and there were multiple incentives for mother and daughter alike. This was a quiet, constructive hobby that did not take up much space. They could even spin yarn for Miss Araminta!

Araminta's yarn products had even impressed Liam, who loved to finger them and feel the individual knots while he washed himself. Ellen still had to shave him, but anything he could do for his own self-care delighted him. All the years of being dependent on the community had weighed on him, and now he took a special joy in the smell of various soaps and hand creams. Smelling the normal household scents produced by living with two women almost made up for his lack of sight.

***

While the Jenkins family was prospering, Mike Jaimeson had finally been sentenced to an unbelievable number of years in federal prison. Mike bore no animosity toward either wife as he was borne in chains to his destination. Both, he knew, had at least given affidavits against him, but that was no more than he had expected. Women, after all, could not be held to the same standards as men. His simmering hatred was directed principally at Big Jake, who was the authority he believed had betrayed him.

Things like this, Mike explained at length to the disgruntled prisoners who made the out-of-state journey with him, were not supposed to happen to the scions of big men in county politics. It was only because of official animosity that he was going to do hard time, he assured them. He personally was in no way responsible, having done nothing more than imitated what other county figures had done before him. Mike's fellow inmates just looked at him. They had heard it all before.

One thing that gladdened Mike's heart was that his attorney had instructed him to file bankruptcy proceedings as soon as the charges were filed against him. That way, with any luck, the lawyers who argued the case would get most of the money – not that stringy, whiny girl from whose trust account he had taken from.

Actually, Mike reasoned, the whole affair was really the government's fault. The federal government had decided to set safety standards – without consulting him. It had also instituted this downright socialist system of workers' compensation, again without his knowledge or consent.

The end result was that Mike Jaimeson was considered unresponsive and was consigned to work in the prison laundry, where the guards could compel obedience.

***

Liam insisted that the moment he got his first paycheck, Ellen should drive him and Emily over to Carl's garage to pay its owner the full price of the starter he had installed. Their arrival shook the little Melrose neighborhood out of its late afternoon stupor.

Carl accepted only the actual cost of the replacement part, then closed his shop and led the family over to the diner. "Hey, Billie Sue!" he called out when they entered. "Come and see who I've got here."

Billie Sue simply stared from the kitchen doorway, then came out and addressed the lone patron who was still sitting on one of her corner bar stools. "Mr. Hamlin, this here diner is officially closed." She stalked over to the front door and flipped its sign to 'Closed.' "Now get on that cell phone of yours and get Miss Araminta and that Mack character to come on over here. Our lost sheep just turned up, and we're going to have us a private party. You folks just come over here and sit right down in this corner booth," she invited, turning to the newcomers.

Soon Mack's little sports car zipped into the small parking lot, with Araminta in the passenger seat. Billie Sue opened the door, and they both rushed in. "Hey, people!" Mack called cheerily. He showed Miss Araminta into the seat beside Emily, then pulled up a chair to the end of the table. "I've been hearing a lot about you folks." Mack's smile encompassed the whole booth. Then he peered under the table. "Fido, old friend! Long time, no see," he sang out, shaking the dog's paw, much to Emily's amusement.

Mr. Hamlin, the grocer, abandoned his unfinished coffee and grabbed a chair, which he placed opposite the record producer's. "Miss Araminta told me about her day in the country, but she's clammed up ever since. I'm truly glad to see all you folks are well."

Billie Sue came up with a tray load of coffee, plus a soft drink for Emily. "I'll bring out some water for Fido in a second," she told them. "One of my girls will take your orders in a minute, but don't you dare start telling stories until I can get out here. I want to hear all the news that's fit to print."

"Thanksgiving is in a couple of weeks," Araminta began while they waited. "I want all you folks who aren't otherwise engaged to come over to my place for dinner. I've already started my holiday fruitcakes, and I'm just about ready to start on the pumpkin pies."

Carl and Mr. Hamlin excused themselves, both having families of their own, but Mack and the Jenkins family accepted with alacrity. "You've got no idea how many Thanksgiving dinners I've had at Waffle House," the record producer told them. "Usually I spend most of that day on the road, or else in some cramped little studio mixing tracks."

***

Liam, who had endured far too many artificial Thanksgivings at various shelters, was startled to realize that Ellen and Emily were just as excited by the invitation as he.

"Holidays when you're all just pretending to be family are really miserable," Ellen told him as she guided the Dodge home from Melrose later that evening. "Mike apparently spent most of his Thanksgivings drinking until he passed out at the Smyrna Country Club. They used to put him up for the night until he was fit to drive home the next day. I learned to buy just a frozen turkey breast for Emily and me, with a can of cranberry sauce and some of that Stove Top Stuffing to let us know we'd had a holiday. We always baked some kind of dessert together to get Emily familiar with how to use a kitchen."

"Mike wouldn't tolerate my trying to cook anything," Emily added angrily. "He told me that cooking was what he had a wife for, and I should go back and play with my dolls – even when I was already into video games."

Liam felt a twinge for what his womenfolk had suffered when he had been trying to spare them. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "everything we've got right now we owe to Miss Araminta. We'd never have been reunited if she hadn't insisted on sticking with a good deed until it was done. Whatever else we do, we've got to get her a great, big Christmas present. The poor woman doesn't seem to have any family left to care about her."

"Actually," Emily scuffed her shoe against the back of her father's seat, "Miss Araminta told me once that she considers me her surrogate granddaughter. I was awfully pleased, since I've never had a Nana of my own." Rural women often didn't live long enough for their grandchildren to remember them.

"We'll give her the best present anybody ever saw," Ellen promised. "I saw an advertisement last night for some of that washable wool roving that we can spin for her. You know how she insists that every item she makes has to be washable so she can give it to poor folks. Miss Araminta has never used real wool yarn for precisely that reason; she uses acrylic instead."

"We'll spin her some, then," Emily decided. "And after that I want to learn to make socks. Miss Araminta won't do those because you have to follow a pattern."

"She does love her audiobooks while she's working," Liam agreed. "Maybe I ought to order her one of those, too – a special book, one of her favorites."

***

Thanksgiving Day at Miss Araminta's was a holiday all her guests truly enjoyed. Mr. Hamblin had saved a ham bone with plenty of meat still attached for Fido's pleasure, and Araminta had boiled it to make sure it was soft enough for his aging teeth.

For the humans, there was homemade cranberry sauce, succotash, and Chinese style green beans to go along with the turkey and dressing. Araminta topped off the meal with a latte coffee drink to go with the pumpkin pie. Each family also got a fruitcake to take home and enjoy throughout the holiday season.

Mack brought along his guitar and, after dinner, he sang his newly published song about the blind beggar who received a second chance. "I've written up a full band score, and I've got some big names interested in recording it. Nobody will ever know who the inspiration was behind this," he added, beaming at Liam and Miss Araminta. "I just used initials on the dedication."

"That's a mighty nice song." Liam's face was a little flushed as he responded. "But it offers hope for better chances than most people will ever get."

"Sometimes hope is all it takes to get a man started on the right track," Mack replied, strumming softly as he spoke. "Hope's a pretty powerful motivator if a man thinks about it enough." Mack didn't add that he himself had been sober for the last two months.

"It doesn't have to be a male who does the hoping," Ellen added softly. "Women can grasp at that same motivation – I know I have."

Afterward, Mack paid for a limousine to take the Jenkins family home because the roads were getting icy.

***

As Christmas approached, Liam's family decided to decorate their own apartment and invite Miss Araminta and her neighbor to have dinner with them. "Make sure you bring a big car over here," Liam told Mack when he accepted the invitation. "This weather isn't fit for man nor beast, and my ladies have fixed up a big present for Miss Araminta. I don't want her lugging everything around in that little Ford all by herself." He didn't mention his own contribution to this effort, or how hard Ellen and Emily had worked to make a nice, warm pair of socks and a matching neck scarf for the producer.

When the guests entered the gaily bedecked apartment Christmas morning, Miss Araminta, remembering all this family had suffered, burst into tears. Mack hugged the older woman to him and hid his face in her bright hat to hide his own reaction. After a moment, he raised his head and quipped, "Auntie Araminta, I think we've finally got us a family."

#  Recommended readings

1. Cozy Mystery Six Book Set (Cozy Mystery) by Cozy Creek Publishing

2. Murder to Go (Food Truck Mysteries Book 1) by Chloe Kendrick

3. Dead & Buried (Blackmore Sisters Mystery Book 2) by Leighann Dobbs

