forced her energy into checking receipts, preparing deposits and writing invoices. When finished, she shuffled the papers on her desk into neat piles, which uncovered a forgotten gift.
A Bible from Camillo.
The small leather-bound book had been there for months, untouched. She reached for it with a careful hand as if it might bite. Such an odd present for her twenty-fifth birthday. She did not share Camillo’s newfound faith. But today, the gift brought a surge of sentiment and fresh tears to her eyes.
For the first time, she thumbed over the thin pages, finding a passage he must have underlined.
The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge. He is my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
Emilie traced the words with her finger, considering their meaning. How is God a deliverer? It seemed to her He allowed the people who loved Him to die. Camillo. Her mother. Where was His refuge for them?
Emilie closed the Bible and flung it on the shelf above. It missed and fell back to the desk with a thud. A sheet of paper slipped from between its pages and twirled to the floor like a white butterfly. She retrieved the paper from the terra-cotta tiles and carefully unfolded the single page.
As much as I care for you, I can no longer continue this—us. I will keep my promise, though. I will tell no one. And trust you will do the same for me. But you must understand now that I know I can no longer help.
May you find peace in the Lord who loves you.
Camillo
Emilie reread the words, her hands shaking and her heart pounding against her ribs. Seeing Camillo’s soft angular handwriting brought new tears to her eyes. Who was the letter to? Not to her. That was certain. She’d never shared a promise with Camillo. Strange, she thought, to find this now.
What else didn’t I know about you, Camillo?
Placing the note on her desk, she turned away and looked out the large bay window. Morning had come and with it, she hoped, a chance to get to work and escape her heavy emotions. Quietly, she showered, dressed and headed out to the stable.
I shouldn’t take the job. Derrick cradled the phone in his palm, staring down at the number to the Cedar Oaks Stables where he’d scribbled it onto the outside cover of his phone book. After all that had happened yesterday, it seemed clear he should not take the job. He needed to call Emilie right now and tell her his decision.
So, why couldn’t he bring himself to dial the number?
Two days ago, he’d never heard of the stable. He knew Emilie by name only and most of what he’d heard had not been completely favorable. Now he wondered why. From what he gathered, Emilie was beautiful, intelligent and obviously capable of great friendship and love, as she had displayed in her complete devastation at the loss of her friend. Derrick had found her intriguing. In fact, he was having difficulty getting her amazing eyes out of his mind for more than seconds at a time.
He clenched his teeth. Great. He’d just given himself another reason to give up the position. And that was what he needed to do. Determined this time, he dialed the number on the phone book.
“Cedar. Cedar Oaks…”
Derrick paused at the quivering tones in Emilie’s voice. “Emilie? Is that you? This is Derrick.”
She didn’t respond.
“Are you all right?” Derrick swallowed hard. A feeling of panic waved through him. Something felt wrong.
“Uh…yes, Derrick. Sorry, I’m fine.” Her voice was icy.
She didn’t sound fine. Derrick scratched his head. Poor woman, she’d probably had a terrible night. And here he was getting ready to let her down. Derrick’s gut twisted as if a stone had settled in his stomach. “I’m sorry about leaving without talking to you yesterday. You were with your father when I was heading out and…well, anyway…I just wanted you to know I’ve been thinking this over and I’m not sure—”
“Okay. You’re coming today, right?” she interrupted. “My father said you’d be back early.”
What? Her father? Why would her father say that? “Emilie, what are you talking about? Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, and whenever you can get here is fine.”
Derrick could hear the emotions in her strained voice. It wasn’t just exhaustion confusing her. There was something else. Something unnatural and it was starting to concern him. “Emilie, you’re not making any sense. What I was saying is that—”
“You know, Derrick,” she interrupted again, “we’ll have to talk when you get here. The police have arrived. I need to talk with them.”
“The police?” Why would the police be back? And so early in the morning.
“Well, a forensics team is here. Okay. See you soon. You’re a lifesaver.”
“But what’s a…” Derrick stopped. Emilie had already hung up. And it didn’t matter anyway. He knew what a forensics team meant—it meant that a crime had been committed.
A strange mixture of urgency and relief spread through Derrick. Well, God, he thought to himself, that’s one way to tell me I’m making the wrong decision. As quickly as he could, Derrick packed up and headed back to Cedar Oaks.
“Murdered?” Emilie could barely repeat the heinous word. How could she think after Steele had uttered such a horrific statement?
Camillo Garcia murdered?
Steele waited for Emilie to take a seat behind her desk. Then he pulled the pen and tiny notebook from his jacket pocket, just as he had the day before. “As I was saying, the coroner suspected, as did I, that your employee’s death involved foul play. There will be a complete autopsy performed today, which should give us more insight. As you can imagine, I have more questions.”
“Of course.” She sucked in a breath, trying to hold back her emotions. With a trembling hand, she wiped her moist eyes. “I’m sorry. This is all so unbelievable….”
Detective Steele pulled his chair closer to her desk. “I understand this is difficult, Miss Gill. And it really could be as simple as Mr. Garcia having been in the wrong place at the wrong time. You said yourself that there are a lot of stable break-ins in the area.”
She shook her head. “But nothing was taken.”
“True. But I can’t rule it out. A thief could have gotten caught, panicked, killed Mr. Garcia and run…. Now, Miss Gill, how late were you at the stable Saturday evening?”
She cleared her throat. “Until nine. But I didn’t go into the old barn. I’d been there early that morning when I found the note. I didn’t go back.”
Steele jotted notes in his little book. He paused and looked up. “And was anyone else around, say between six and when you left?”
She shook her head. “No. Not that late on a Saturday night.”
“Are you
