“Turn around and look up. Look there!” I cried and pointed toward the rafters above. There, a dusty old box sat tucked into the corner. The aged cardboard had faded to the color of the wooden planks that held it aloft, making it almost impossible to spot unless you knew what you were looking for. Well, I’d seen it, and something told me it held important information.
“I’ll get the ladder,” Charles said, popping to his feet. “You spot me while I climb.”
With a bit of fancy maneuvering, we were able to hoist the box from its hiding place and wrestle it to the garage floor. Inside, we found the jackpot of memorabilia—an old letter jacket, school projects, a collection of homemade clay sculptures, and a photo album.
“Bingo,” I said on the wings of a happy sigh, wasting no time before I began flipping through the pages. I recognized pictures of my great grandparents and of little Nan. Normally, seeing these new family memories would give me special warm fuzzies, but we were on a mission here.
“Wait, look there!” Charles cried, slamming his index finger on the page before I could turn it again. He’d pointed to a young man wearing a light-colored suit and standing before a church sign that proclaimed:
Easter Services
This Sunday
8 AM 10 AM 6 PM
“Look familiar?” Charles asked, lifting his finger and pointing again in excitement.
I strained harder as I eyed the picture, finally noticing the dimples that lined either side of the man’s smile. The rest fell into place shortly after that. “It’s William McAllister.”
“And look at the sign,” he urged me.
When I read the service times aloud, he shook his head and pointed higher.“The name of the church, there.” More pointing.
“Faith Baptist Church, Larkhaven, GA. Est. 1903,” I read. “Do you think the church is still there? That they would have information on William or his heirs?”
Charles’s smile widened. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Chapter Eighteen
My hands shook as I punched in the number Charles and I had found on the church website. Sure enough, it was still standing, still serving the small community of Larkhaven, Georgia.
But would the people who worshipped there now remember my nan and her William from all those years ago?
Part of me hoped they would, but another huge part was afraid of what they might reveal. William’s letter had hinted at trouble. Did I want to know if he and Nan had been engaged in some kind of nefarious doings? Or what if Nan was innocent in all this, but William had hurt her? What if she just wanted to forget, but I was forcing all those terrible memories to the surface?
Charles sat so close to me that our legs touched from hip to knee.“You can do this. Deep breaths.”
“It’s the moment of truth,” Octo-Cat said sagely from across the room. He’d found a sunbeam filtering in from between the slatted blinds, and now he and Charles’s Sphynx cats lay sunning themselves like tiny sea lions on a thin outcropping of rocks.
“Also, you can do this,” Octo-Cat added with a supportive purr.
Pringle still hadn’t returned from his investigation of the attic, but I had all the support I needed to take this next step. The only thing holding me back was my own fear.
And I’d faced down murderers before and lived to tell the tale. How could this be anywhere near that bad?
Just one little phone call…
I finished entering the number and put my cell phone on speaker.
“First Baptist of Larkhaven,” a woman with a perky drawl answered. She seemed nice, like she’d want to help.
“Hello?” she repeated when I didn’t immediately jump to explain myself.
“Oh, hi. My name’s Angie, and I’m doing some research on my family. I was wondering if you might be able to help me?” I bit my lip and waited.
“I’m here for another few hours today. Would you like to stop in for a chat?” the woman said.
Charles squeezed my knee and mouthed,“You’ve got this.”
I kept my eyes on him as I spoke to the lady on the other end of the line.“Actually, I live out of state and—well, it’s kind of a complicated situation, but I was wondering if maybe you knew a man named William McAllister? He attended your church in the late sixties, and I think he’s my long-lost grandpa.”
“Oh, dear.” She took a deep breath, and my heart sped to a nervous gallop. “That was before my time. Sad to say I never knew a William.”
Another dead end. Shoot.
“Okay, thank you for your ti—”
Apparently, she wasn’t done speaking yet, though.
“But the McAllisters still attend services every Sunday,” the woman continued. “Would you like a phone number for them?”
Charles gave me a thumbs up and bobbed his head enthusiastically. He smiled wide, and I couldn’t help but smile, too.
“Y-y-yes.” I stumbled over the short word, one that should have been easy but was impossibly difficult. “Please.”
“You’ve got it, sugar. Just a second.” The friendly secretary returned a couple minutes later and rattled off a number.
Charles typed it into a note on his phone while she read.
“That’s for a Miss Linda McAllister,” the church receptionist continued. “She’s the oldest of the bunch so the one who’s most likely to remember your grandfather. Good luck!”
“Thank you. You’ve been incredibly helpful,” I said as new tears began to form in the corners of my eyes.
We said our goodbyes, and I sat silently holding my phone and crying huge, relieved tears while Charles placed a supportive arm around my shoulders.
“Are you going to call her?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I mumbled, biting my lip again. “I’d rather Nan tell me than me having to find out from somebody else.”
“Maybe. But she’s not making a peep,” Pringle said, returning with an overloaded armful of booty from Charles’s attic. “And don’t you think you deserve to know the truth about your own life?”
“What’s he saying?” Charles asked, eyeing the raccoon with trepidation.
“That we should call,” I said simply. Leave it to Pringle to want to learn whatever secrets he could, even if it stirred up drama.
Charles nodded and looked back toward me.“And what does Octo-Cat think?”
My cat stretched in the sun, blinking slowly.“Octo-Cat thinks Angela is smart enough to make her own decisions.” It was one of the nicest things he’d ever said to me.
“He says it’s my decision,” I translated with a smile.
“And so it is. What about Jacques and Jillianne? What do they say?” Charles asked next. I knew exactly what he was doing, and I loved him for it. He was giving me the time to make the decision for myself, proving that there was no wrong call here.
The two Sphynx cats, however, had been strangely quiet this whole time. Even now Octo-Cat spoke for them.
“This whole thing is already a riddle, so they don’t have anything to add. They’re kind of nice when they shut up, aren’t they? Good nap buddies.” He yawned and rolled onto his back.
I laughed.“They have no opinion, “I told Charles.
He laughed, too, and squeezed my hand.“And here I always assumed they were these great intellectuals.”
“What do you think?” I asked, turning into him.