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"Beacon
of Truth"
(Heartsong
Presents)
On the rocky and isolated coast of Maine, private
investigator Julie Rae Daniels goes undercover to try to solve her last case,
the most challenging of her career. She attains the job of nanny to two small
children whose lives are filled with secrets. The children's father, Jonathan
Taylor, was thought to have murdered his wife over a year ago, and it's up to
Julie to discover the truth of what happened that fateful night.
But complications deter her--the worst of which she is falling in love with
Jonathan, a man steeped in mystery. In her quest for the truth, evidence mounts
against him, yet Julie is determined to prove his innocence. But when her own
life is suddenly enmeshed in danger and she's a killer's target can she trust
him? Can God's healing light penetrate the darkness shrouding the Taylor
household before it's too late?
"I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths
I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the
rough places smooth. . ." (Isaiah 42:16 a, b) NIV
______________________________________________________
Memories. Some were pleasant, but most were too
painful to dwell on for long. If they could just be shut away in a box and taken
out only when desired. Everyone had told Julie that time would heal the pain.
But sometimes she wondered.
She cleared items from the scarred desk, pausing
every once in a while to brush her fingertips over a precious memento while
reliving the memories. Tears pooled in her eyes as she placed a clear acrylic
paperweight into an open cardboard box. Forever imprisoned in the center of the
small globe sat a vivid purple butterfly with lemon-yellow spots on its wings.
She’d given the keepsake to her father on his birthday when she was seven
years old. That had been a wonderful day. Later they took his small sloop and
did some fishing at a nearby lake.
The intercom on the desk gave a loud buzz, startling
her. Irritated, Julie glared at the out-dated, intrusive box with its blinking
white button. She had told her secretary she wanted to be left alone. Putting
out a hand, she pressed the button. “Yes, Tina. What is it?”
“Sorry to bother you, Miss Daniels, but there's a
woman here--and she insists on seeing you.”
Julie impatiently drummed short fingernails on the
cluttered desktop. Couldn’t anyone leave her to her grieving? “Tina, you
know that we--I mean I--am not taking any more cases.”
A short pause ensued before Tina’s voice came back
over the speaker, lower this time. “Miss Daniels, I know you're going through
a hard time right now, but the woman says you're the only one who can help.
She's really upset about something. And, well, frankly I don’t think she’ll
leave until she talks to you.”
Julie expelled a loud breath. “Okay, fine. I’ll
see her. But give me a couple of minutes first.”
“Yes, Miss Daniels.”
Julie looked at the hopeless mess on the desk. Her
father had never been one for neatness. Regretfully, she gathered the remaining
sheaves of papers, receipts, and countless personal effects and tossed them into
a cardboard box, which was then shoved toward one of two filing cabinets. The
aluminum balls from myriad sticks of spearmint chewing gum were swept into the
trash. She would go through the box later, in the privacy of her apartment.
In the adjoining bathroom, she rinsed her face with
cool water, hoping to erase any traces of tears. Looking up into the
water-spotted mirror, she surveyed her appearance. Brown eyes were still
red-rimmed, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. Unsightly red
blotches that came from weeping still covered her face. She didn’t wear
makeup, except for lipstick and nail polish, but wished for some powder right
about now.
Julie straightened the collar of her icy pink blouse
and smoothed her white rayon slacks. She wasn’t dressed for business, but
then, she hadn’t expected any. Heading back to her father’s desk, she
slipped her bare feet into white leather sandals and reached for the intercom.
“You may send her in now, Tina,” she said firmly, hoping her voice sounded
more professional than she appeared.
The door to the outer office opened, and a woman
hurried in. Julie wondered if she’d been standing at the door the entire time.
Her blond hair was immaculate, with not one platinum strand out of place. Styled
in a sleek chignon, it emphasized an oval-shaped face. Her chic clothes
undoubtedly bore expensive designer labels.
Julie briefly stood and shook the woman’s slim,
cool hand. “Good afternoon. I’m Julie Daniels. Won’t you be seated?”
The woman did so, then leaned forward, clutching the
arm ends of her chair. “My name is Claire Vanderhoff, and I need your help.”
A frown marred her smooth forehead.
“I’m sorry. I believe my secretary already told
you that we--I--am not accepting any more cases. The investigative agency of
Daniels and Daniels is officially closed.” Julie’s voice cracked on the last
word, and she paused to regain her composure. She would not break down in front
of anyone, least of all this woman who now regarded her with a studied look in
her yellow-green eyes, reminding Julie of a watchful cat.
Locating a stubby pencil, Julie wrote a few names on
a stick-it pad, tore the top sheet off, and folded it. “However, I can give
you the names of other reputable detective agencies in the area that might be of
service to you.” She offered the paper to the woman. Miss Vanderhoff ignored
the proffered blue rectangle, and Julie allowed her hand to drop to the desk.
“It’s your services I require, Miss Daniels.
You’ve been recommended to me by friends, and not only that, I saw a news
article months ago, telling how you and your father captured one of America’s
Most Wanted criminals . . .”
Julie thought back as the woman talked. Though most
of their cases had been mundane or tedious--a jealous husband wanting his wife
trailed; looking for missing people, mostly children; investigating insurance
claims and the like--one of their cases had held an unusual twist, receiving
high notoriety.
Over two years ago, Daniels and Daniels was involved
in searching for a man who’d not paid alimony or child support for years and
who seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth. Julie’s leg-work had led
her to the home of Stanley Smith a.k.a. Stephen Cordova, wanted by the FBI for
suspected murder, drug trafficking, and armed robbery. Julie’s brush with
danger had helped her find the Lord, but the frightening event had also been a
contributing factor leading to her father’s massive heart attack.
After Smith’s arrest, Daniels and Daniels received
plenty of nationwide publicity in the small town of Locklin. News of their
reputation spread, until they had so many would-be clients, they found they must
pick and choose. If their services hadn’t been in such demand and their
workload hadn’t increased dramatically, perhaps Julie’s father, who’d
found it hard to refuse anyone, would still be alive today.
“I’m sorry, Miss Vanderhoff,” Julie
interrupted the woman, who was still pleading with her to take the case. “But
my father and I were a team. I did the legwork. He was the real brains behind
our outfit. I really can’t help you.”
The woman responded by pulling a picture from her
wallet and handing it to Julie. Reluctantly, she accepted the mini photo.
Two beautiful children with bright eyes and laughing
smiles looked back at her. The girl, about six, was blond and fair with matching
dimples and light green eyes; the boy, around three, had dark unruly curls and
twinkling blue eyes promising mischief. Julie looked up, curious.
Miss Vanderhoff took a deep breath. “The girl is
my niece, Emily Taylor, and the boy is my nephew, Jonathan. They’re my
sister’s children. My sister was killed over a year ago, and I feel their
lives may be in danger now, as well.”
Julie’s brow arched at this bit of information,
but she waited for the woman to continue.
“Because they found alcohol in my sister’s blood
during the autopsy, the ruling was accidental drowning--but I know better. The
boat was recovered and found with a hole in the bottom--small enough not to be
noticed until it was far from shore. But Angela wouldn’t have taken a boat on
the water without checking it first. And certainly never during a
thunderstorm!” Her eyes flashed. “My sister was a great swimmer. She could
have managed with no problem--unless, of course, she was unable to. Mark my
words, Jonathan killed her as sure as I’m sitting here! Those people were
fools to drop the charges against him.”
“Jonathan?” Puzzled, Julie stared at the irate
woman, then at the picture.
“My sister’s husband. The boy was named for
him.”
Julie nodded. “There are other agencies which can
be of service. As I said, I cannot help you.”
“Oh, but you just have to!” The woman threw her
hands out to the side, causing her diamond-crusted emerald ring to flash in the
overhead light. “You’re the only woman detective I know in this area with a
better than reputable standing.”
“What does my being a woman have to do with
anything?”
“Jonathan has been practically a recluse since my
sister’s death. He won’t let the children leave the mansion and has
forbidden visits from relatives or friends. Recently the children’s governess
quit or was fired--I don’t know which. Employees rarely last long at that
place.” Miss Vanderhoff leaned forward. “I happen to know he’s looking for
a new governess now. That’s where you come in. You could take the job of nanny
and be in the house, both to keep an eye on the children and to discover the
truth about my sister’s murder.”
“But I don’t know anything about being a nanny!
I never had any brothers or sisters--in fact, I know very little about taking
care of children at all.”
“That’s unimportant.” The woman waved
Julie’s concerns away with one hand. “I have references for you that would
assure you of getting the job. They’re good, well-behaved children--I mean,
it’s not like they’re in diapers or anything. Have you ever baby-sat
before?”
“When I was in high school, but--”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine. Here’s the
address.” She placed a slip of paper on the desk as though Julie had agreed to
take the case. “They live on the coast of Maine, a few hours’ drive from
Portland. I’ll arrange for plane reservations and take care of any monetary
needs you have in association with this job, as well as a handsome salary. I
have more than enough money to cover everything.”
Julie gave an exasperated sigh, her patience
stretched thin. “Even if I were to agree to go undercover for you, I don’t
like the idea of giving phony references. I don't like the idea of lying.” The
woman raised her brows, and Julie knew the admission had shocked her. Good.
Maybe now she would leave. Julie leaned back in her chair. “I’m sorry, Miss
Vanderhoff, but as I’ve already told you, I cannot accept this case.”
Julie was beginning to feel like a parrot. And like
a parrot, her words were hardly heeded as being of any real importance.
The woman shoved the picture back at Julie.
“Surely you’d make an exception to save the lives of these precious
children.”
Julie looked at the cherubic faces in the photo and
felt her heart soften. Most likely the woman exaggerated and the children were
in no danger. But what if they were? Could Julie live with herself if something
terrible happened to them, when she might have been able to prevent it? But
taking the job of a nanny? What exactly did nannies do? Still, it couldn't be so
hard, could it?
After inwardly struggling with conflicting emotions,
Julie handed the picture back to Miss Vanderhoff. “All right. I’ll help
you.” Her tone was resigned.
The woman visibly relaxed into the upholstered
chair, a victorious smile sweeping across her face.
“But,” Julie continued, “I want to make it
perfectly clear I deal only with facts and truth. I don’t base my final
judgment on assumptions. Whether Jonathan Taylor murdered your sister or not is
still to be proven in my eyes. If I come to the conclusion that he’s innocent,
then you’ll have to abide by that decision.”
The woman grudgingly nodded.
“All right, then," Julie said, opening a
notebook and grabbing a pen. "We have much to discuss. Would you like some
coffee before we begin?”
After Claire Vanderhoff left approximately forty
minutes later, Julie snapped on her intercom. “Tina? Please come in and bring
your steno pad.”
Once her secretary was seated, Julie began. “Get
Dale on the phone,” she said, speaking of her former chief operative, the
“tough guy” every investigative agency needed. “His new job doesn’t
start for another month, and he might be willing to help us out on this one. I
want any and all information on Claire Vanderhoff, the woman who just left my
office, and a full bio on Jonathan and Angela Taylor from Breakers Cove, Maine.
Incidentally, Angela is deceased. I need anything and everything--birth records,
school records, misdemeanor charges--”
“The name of their best friend’s cats?” Tina
asked with a grin. It was an old joke at the office, a compliment to Julie that
she left no stone unturned.
Julie cracked a smile. “Yeah. Okay. You get the
picture. Also find out if I’ll need to obtain a permit to practice in Maine,
and take care of any paperwork not requiring my signature. Get me reservations
on the first flight going out tomorrow. I need to get home and pack and. . .
what?” Julie asked, her gaze again landing on Tina’s face, which was now
beaming.
“It’s just good to have you back, Miss
Daniels.”
Julie stiffened. “This is the final case, Tina,
and I felt bamboozled into accepting it. So don’t get your hopes up.”
Tina nodded. “I’ll get right on this for you.”
After her secretary left, Julie looked to the
opposite wall where a framed print hung, one she’d ordered through a Christian
catalog. A lighthouse emitted a golden beam on a murky background of dark sea
and sky, and the words underneath proclaimed: “The light of God shall burn
brightly, cutting through the darkness and revealing the hidden secrets and
mysteries therein.”
When Julie first spotted the picture in the catalog,
she’d known it was perfect for the detective agency. She saw herself as an
ambassador for Christ, helping to bring to light the dark deeds of men and see
to it that they received the justice they deserved. As she stared at the
painting now, she prayed God would once more equip her with His beacon of truth
in this final assignment . . . one that promised to be the most challenging of
her career.
Clutching her suitcase, Julie stood watching as the
taxi drove down the narrow, winding road toward the tall iron gates at the
estate entrance, which couldn’t be seen from this point because of the trees. I
should have had him wait, she thought, mentally kicking herself. Suppose
I don't get the job?
She turned her attention
to the jagged cliffs and towering evergreens that covered the remote area. A
massive two-story wood and stone house with gables and numerous multi-paned
windows stood above her, outlined against the ash-gray sky. Flanked on three
sides by white pines and golden maples, the monolith faced the Atlantic Ocean.
To Julie’s right, the sea churned against a large outcropping of rock, sending
up showers of white spray. As breathtaking as the setting was--like something
from a picture postcard--it nevertheless emitted a formidable atmosphere. Julie
felt as if the house itself had already rejected her.
This is silly! I’m letting my imagination get the
better of me.
Pulling her linen suit jacket closer around her middle with one hand, she
hurried up the steps. A ring of the doorbell soon revealed a tall, middle-aged
housekeeper, who narrowed her eyes in an icy stare. She suited the place well.
“I spoke with you on the intercom outside the
gate,” Julie said. “I’m here about the advertisement for a nanny.” When
the woman didn’t respond, Julie held out the newspaper opened to the
classified section with Jonathan Taylor’s ad circled in red. She had been
relieved and somewhat surprised to run across it. All during the plane ride she
debated how to broach the subject of a job, unaware he’d advertised in a local
paper. “My name is Julia Rae,” she added, giving her first and middle names.
The woman stared down her nose at Julie through a
pair of silver-rimmed spectacles matching her hair. Her gaze dropped to the
battered suitcase sitting beside Julie, and she frowned. “Do you have an
appointment?”
“No--I just got into town today. If Mr. Taylor
isn’t busy, I’d like to see him. Barring that, I’ll have to use your phone
so I can call a taxi. The one that brought me already left.”
“Wait here. I’ll see if he’s available.” She
shut the door in Julie’s astonished face.
Julie stood shivering on the porch while almost five
minutes elapsed, according to her wristwatch. She could have at least let her
stand by the door on the inside! Though the cab driver had mentioned how mild
the weather was this time of year by Maine’s standards, Julie, who’d lived
most of her life in Florida, felt the cold intensely.
The door opened and the woman motioned Julie inside.
She followed the housekeeper into the foyer and down a hallway to a medium-sized
room where she was told to wait. After giving Julie one more look of
disapproval, the woman disappeared into the hall and shut the door.
Julie eyed the dark paneled walls, the unlit
fireplace, the scarred black walnut desk with a computer console on top, the
muddy brown furnishings, the towering cluttered bookcases--obviously an office.
Just as the outside of the house was, this room, too, felt remote, cold.
Soon the door opened, and the master of the house
strode inside. He could be no one else. The very set of his broad shoulders and
lift of his square chin exuded authority and gave an impression of power--barely
contained. An inky-gray turtleneck matched the color of his eyes and served to
outline every muscle in his arms and chest. His hair gleamed black as midnight
and was lightly shot with premature silver strands at the temples--which did
nothing to detract from his looks, but rather intensified them. His face held
strong yet classic features blending perfectly with his powerful physique.
“Good afternoon,” he said, his voice as deep and
silky as Julie expected it to sound. “You wish to speak with me?”
Feeling much like the lowly peon confronting the
lord of the castle, Julie stood speechless, managing a nod. He motioned to one
of two chairs facing the desk.
“Please, have a seat.”
She did so, watching as he sank to the studded
leather chair behind the desk with a languid grace, much like a panther resting
after a long night’s hunt. His gaze rested on Julie’s face, and she
swallowed nervously at the strangely forbidding look in his eyes. Though he was
polite, it was obvious he didn’t particularly want her here.
This house was perfect
for him. Both the man and his residence had strong lines and beauty, but both
seemed remote and untouchable as if there were a sign posted saying, “Keep
Out!”
His gaze dove over her
slight form in the sand-colored linen suit and navy blouse, then roamed her
fresh face and short, curly hair. It was obvious by the look he gave her that he
wasn’t impressed. “My housekeeper tells me you’re here about the ad in the
paper. You’re a bit young, aren’t you?”
“I turned twenty-eight last November. It’s
because of my height that I’m often mistaken for a teenager,” Julie
explained, accustomed to these types of aggravating comments.
He looked at her thoughtfully. “Are you certain
you’ll be able to handle two, often-times rambunctious children? My daughter
isn’t much smaller than you are,” he said, doubt evident in his tone.
Julie lifted her chin with a confident air. “I may
be only five-two, but I’m stronger than I look. I participate in many athletic
activities which help give me a higher endurance level.” Julie made it a point
to keep her body well toned with aerobics, jogging, and self-defense classes.
Surely, two small children wouldn’t be such a problem.
He nodded, seeming satisfied with her response.
“Very well. You’ll need to be in shape to keep up with those two. They’re
a handful at the best of times.” He paused. “I assume you have
references.”
Julie tensed. Though deception was a normal part of
a detective’s work, she felt uncomfortable stating an out and out lie. She’d
used that ploy in her job before she’d become a Christian, but shied away from
such tactics now whenever possible. Which meant she’d denied Miss
Vanderhoff’s phony references--choosing instead to trust God to go before her
and provide a way.
“No. No references.”
Jonathan raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I’m
sorry, Miss Rae, but under the circumstances--”
“Please, give me this chance,” Julie
interrupted. “I love children and will do my best where yours are concerned. I
don’t smoke or drink--”
“I am sorry,” he said, overriding her
plea and rising to his feet. “But I can’t give you the position without
proper references. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have pressing business I need
to get back to. My housekeeper will see you to the door.”
She rose mechanically and
followed the sour-faced woman who suddenly appeared at the entry. Within a
minute, Julie found herself outside on the doorstep. It came to her that she had
no way to reach the airport and could hardly walk the distance on the muddy road
to the nearest town, toting her luggage. She should have asked to borrow the
telephone for a taxi, but in the face of Jonathan’s immediate rejection, she
hadn’t thought clearly . . .
She grimaced. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t
a quitter! She just needed time to think things out, maybe take a walk by the
ocean and plan her next move. How could she get him to reconsider? With the
little she’d seen of Jonathan Taylor, such an occurrence would take a miracle.
Pulling the edges of her
suit jacket tighter about her, Julie hurried down the steps, leaving her
suitcase behind for the moment. Keeping her arms crossed around her waist,
partly for warmth, partly for comfort, she picked her way down the hill.
Lord, I thought this is where you wanted me. I felt
I was supposed to help those children. Did I miss you? Or is there some other
angle you want me to use rather than going undercover as a plant in this house?
What should I do now?
Instantly a thought came to her as swiftly as the
wind that whipped strands of hair into her eyes: Trust me; it is My will that
you are here. But do not lie to attain your goal.
Seconds later, a scream ripped through the air.
Turning her head sharply over her shoulder, Julie
saw a little girl kneeling on a huge boulder at the water’s edge and clutching
the wet rock with both hands. A dark head bobbed on the water, then disappeared.
Julie raced toward them,
dropping her purse and stripping off her suit jacket as she ran. She kicked off
her loafers and jumped from the rock where the girl perched. The frigid water
robbed Julie of breath, and for a moment her chilled limbs refused to obey what
her brain told them to do.
She dove under the
frothing water, searching for the victim, then came up for a gasping gulp of
air. After another try, her hands came into contact with a small body, and she
saw that the jacket was caught on the rocks, pinioning the child. She grabbed
hold of the slight figure and pulled, hauling the small body close. Breaking the
surface of the water, Julie managed to swim to a large, low rock a short
distance away. She pushed the unconscious child up onto the semi-flat boulder
and, with some difficulty, hoisted herself up next to him.
Her limbs protested, and Julie wanted nothing more
than to collapse on the hard, slick surface and close her eyes. But there
wasn’t time for that. She put her fingers to his neck and found a weak pulse.
Seeing the boy wasn’t breathing, she turned his head sideways, then straddled
his legs, moving her hands to his upper abdomen. With the heel of her hand, she
pushed in quick upward thrusts, forcing the seawater from his lungs.
The girl stood silent above them, transfixed, fear
evident in every line of her trembling body. Julie took a precious few seconds
to glance up and snap out, “Get help--quick!” Instantly the child took off,
her blond braids streaming behind her.
The boy started to make choking sounds then began
coughing, much to Julie’s relief. She wouldn’t have to administer CPR since
he was now breathing on his own. His eyelids flickered and she found herself
looking into a pair of very scared, brilliant blue eyes--full of unshed tears.
The same eyes that had smiled at her from Claire Vanderhoff’s picture.
Trembling, he lifted his weary arms to her. Julie
drew the boy close, holding him on her lap. He cried, his teeth chattering.
Slowly, she began to rock him and hum a soothing lullaby, while the icy wind
drove relentless fingers through their wet clothing. She tried to cover him with
her hands and arms and warm him as best she could, though such a feat was
impossible, as chilled as she was. Too shaky to stand, Julie decided it would be
better to wait for help to arrive rather than try to make it all the way back to
the house with the boy. Surely it wouldn't be much longer until someone came.
Rapid footsteps pounded
the ground and scattered rocks. Julie turned her head to meet Jonathan
Taylor’s shocked and angry gaze as he closed the distance between them.
Her
eyelids sliding shut, she
began to pray.
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