Bullet in the Night

By Judith Rolfs

An intricate tale of love and renewal...

Psychologist Lenora Lawrence lingers in a coma after being shot by a sniper as a web of intrigue unravels around her. Her redemptive work with society's ex-convicts and her personal counseling with vulnerable women has created many enemies in the resort town of Lake Geneva, WI. Lenora's colleague and good friend, Jennifer Trevor, intends to see that Lenora's sniper is brought to justice, even if it means making deadly enemies herself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Prism Lux
• Release date: Apr 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781940099606

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ONE

Tucker Lawrence barged into my office and collapsed onto a chair. His lower lip trembled as he blurted out, Lenora’s been shot.

Instantly my world turned cold and dark despite sunbeams streaming through the window. My heart began to pound. Usually no one gets past my office manager, Ellen, not even a six-foot-six man with the intimidating posture of a redwood tree. Good thing my next client hadn’t arrived yet.

Dressed in khakis, dark blue silk shirt, and dry-cleaner-perfect linen jacket, Tucker could have been mistaken for a GQ model. His face, framed by a silver-gray beard, had held its handsomeness well for sixty years. He sat inert as if saying the words sucked the strength from his body.

What? It can’t be. I covered my gaping mouth with my hand. Stupid response. Like words could change this unthinkable horror.

One bullet, only one, and it penetrated her right lung as she sat at her desk. She’s alive, but comatose. Tucker’s breathing came in bursts. The ER doctor says the oxygen level to her brain was impaired. Lenora lapsed into shock before the paramedics arrived. Even if she survives, her prognosis for recovering normal functioning is poor. Tucker clenched his fists.

I blinked away tears but couldn’t control the sick feeling in my stomach. I pictured my vivacious, compassionate friend. When Lenora walked into a room, it lit up like Christmas.

How could she be near death? I shivered and reached for my suit jacket on the back of my chair.

Numb, I stared at the furrow in Tucker’s forehead. "Counseling people isn’t law enforcement. It shouldn’t be dangerous. When Lenora and I became psychotherapists, we didn’t expect the job would involve physical risk."

Exactly.

May I see her?

Sorry. No visitors except family, and I’m all she has. Tucker dragged a handkerchief from his pocket. I’ve been at the hospital all night. He blew his nose. Not that she knew.

Who would do this? I rifled through papers on my desk nervously. A disturbed client? Why shoot such a sweet champion of goodness?

My feelings too.

Was it a robbery?

Tucker shook his head. As far as I can tell nothing’s missing.

He eyed my coffee pot in the corner.

Would you like—?

He was already moving toward it.

The brown liquid dribbling into the paper cup seemed surreal in this moment. I considered Tucker as he drank. Fragile, fearful? Why had he come here in person to tell me?

As if reading my thoughts, he answered. It happened last night, too late to make the morning news. I knew Lenora would want you to know and pray.

Of course.

Strange request coming from Tucker. Had this crisis suddenly changed his beliefs? Doubtful. More likely he was anticipating what would be Lenora’s wishes.

And I came to ask a favor, he added.

Anything I can do to help.

Lenora has several counseling clients she sees at her office in our home. They’ll need to be notified. Hearing about this on the news could upset them even more. Then can you follow up with them if they wish?

Absolutely. I’ll make time. What about her clients through the foundation? My eyes smarted thinking of the rehab work Lenora did with prisoners. Do you need me to make those calls also?

The Second Chance board is on top of everything.

Okay. It seemed such an impotent word. Nothing in Tucker’s world could seem okay. "It’s all so mystifying, to say the least," I murmured, shaking my head.

Tucker took another gulp of coffee.

I pressed him for more details. Part of me didn’t want to hear, yet I had to know.

Lenora was at her desk in the den. The bullet whizzed through the screen. She probably had no warning.

My stomach tightened. Who found her?

Kirk Corsini called the police.

The man she hired?

"The ex-con she hired. His tone made it clear he hadn’t agreed with Lenora’s decision. If only I’d been there…"

Were you still at your job in the city?

Monday through Thursday, as usual. Tucker’s voice edged with sadness. Kirk would know my routine, catching the last train Thursday night. His voice trailed off. The police suspect he shot her.

What would be his motive?

Kirk had his job review last night. It may have been what set him off. The police found Lenora’s notes on her desk, indicating areas where he needed improvement.

Hardly a reason for attempted murder. Hearing the word, I squirmed in my chair. How could I know this ex-convict’s thought process?

He could have had a rifle in his car, left upset, then doubled back, hiked into the woods, and shot her. Then hid the gun before he came back to the house to call for medical help.

My eyes widened. Why call an ambulance if he intended to kill her?

Tucker shrugged. Remorse after the act? Or to throw off suspicion? I’ve warned Lenora about being too trusting with these felons.

Still…why shoot your benefactor? A confrontation about work skills didn’t mean she intended to fire him. Or did she?

I don’t know. He ran a shaking hand through his hair. Maybe it was just a warning but it scared him. Who knows the workings of a criminal mind?

Did the police find the weapon?

Not yet.

Lenora had a strong passion to help ex-convicts. How horrible for her attacker to be someone she’d rehabilitated. She’d bragged to me about Kirk being her first success story when she’d hired him as the Second Chance rehab counselor. How many people would be dissuaded from helping ex-cons if they read about consequences such as this? Tucker, I’d give Kirk every benefit of the doubt at this point. That’s what Lenora would want.

Tucker pressed his palms together. She had to be wrong about this man.

She’s usually an excellent judge of character. I find it hard to believe she’d make such a mistake.

Tucker raised his voice. No one’s judgment is infallible.

Perhaps I can assist with the investigation. Maybe one of her clients will know something. Lenora may have told you I’ve helped with a criminal case before.

Thanks, but your sleuthing isn’t necessary. The police are quite competent, and there’s no doubt in my mind Kirk shot her. I’m not surprised. I’ve never shared my wife’s enthusiasm for social engineering.

I stared at him. But you helped establish the Second Chance Foundation?

Because I love my wife. He lifted his chin and gritted his teeth. Rescuing people was my wife’s love.

An awesome undertaking.

He seemed not to hear me. Kirk will be punished. He studied his hand then pounded his right fist into his left palm. I’m going to personally see to it. Tucker stood.

I said nothing. He might be right about Kirk, but the fact Kirk called for an ambulance made me skeptical. I decided to do a little checking on my own. If Kirk carried a ton of repressed anger, Lenora should have glimpsed it with her skills of perception and stayed clear. Sometimes I disliked being a psychotherapist, always questioning. Might someone else have reason to harm Lenora?

Lenora must have a file on Kirk. May I stop by tonight when you’re back from the hospital to collect it and get the names and numbers for those clients you want me to contact?

Fine. Come after nine.

I followed him to the door and patted his shoulder. Nick and I will pray for Lenora’s complete healing and for your strength through this.

Tucker straightened his jacket. Thanks for caring. Lenora is all I have… He dragged himself through the doorway.

I stared at my hands, needing something tangible to assure myself this visit had been real.

If Lenora’s attacker wasn’t Kirk, her shooter was still out there, and she wasn’t safe even in the hospital.

I taught clients to guard themselves emotionally and keep their personal lives separate from their work through appropriate boundaries, vital for a healthy life. Truth was, I often abandoned my own rules.

As I walked back to my desk, I froze. Might this person be someone else Lenora and I both counseled at one of our joint workshops? I shuddered.

TWO

At six twenty p.m. I dragged myself through the front door of our two-story colonial, normally my safe and happy place of respite. Cedar, brick, and locks are no protection against the specter of violence. My heels click-clacked across the ceramic-tiled kitchen floor as Nick strolled into the kitchen, his head halfway through the neck of a gray sweatshirt.

He pulled me gently toward him. I nuzzled my face against his neck then lifted my lips for a kiss. I took advantage of the moment to hang limp in the arms that have held me for eighteen years.

He released me quickly. Something’s happened. It’s all over you. Nick read me better than a trained counselor. Discernment was his gift, and I was his life study.

Lenora … I dropped onto one of the caned-back stools at our island counter and related what I knew, ending with she’s in a coma in ICU.

I had just begun to collect myself when our teens, Collin and Tara, bounded through the kitchen door. Just two of you? Where’s Jenny? I frowned. You know you’re in charge of your sister until I get home.

Mom...duh. Her friend, Katlin’s, eight-year-old birthday. Remember? Tara popped her fist on her hip and rolled her eyes.

My all-too-familiar canopy of guilt descended. Moms should remember these things.

What’s for dinner? Collin charged toward the refrigerator like a starvation victim.

Fried chicken, KFC, as soon as Dad gets it. I looked imploringly at Nick.

Okay, guys. We’ll eat in a little while. First, Mom and I need to talk. Grab an apple and go shoot some hoops. Nick’s tone made it clear this wasn’t a suggestion.

When they left, my pent-up tears gushed for the first time since hearing the news about Lenora. Tears have their own agenda. Mine were noisy.

Honey, don’t take it so hard. She’s alive; hopefully she’ll survive this shooting. He put his arms around my shoulders.

I leaned into him and continued babbling. She’s close as a sister. I’m crying for you, me, the mortality of everyone I love. I reached around him for a napkin to blow my nose. I just need to get it out.

Okay. I’ll go for carry-out and phone the church to put her on the prayer chain on my way.

Thanks. I’d like some time alone.

He squeezed my shoulders and released me.

I walked into our bedroom, closed the blinds, and plopped onto our bed. Lord, don’t let her die. Please, please heal her. Lenora and I had shared so much over the years. My shoulders shook with sobs.

Thirty, maybe forty minutes passed. A hesitant knock on the door caught my attention. I turned to find Collin creeping toward me. He settled his lanky body on the rumpled bedspread next to my mounds of tissue.

Dad told us, Mom. What a stupid thing. Mrs. Lawrence’s a nice lady. I’m sorry for her. He clumsily put his hand on top of mine. It scares me to think that could have been you, Mom. Sometimes I know I’m a jerk and get mad and wish I didn’t have to listen to you, but I’d ... you know.

I sat up and looked into Collin’s wet eyes before I lifted my hand to stroke his cheek. Such sensitivity from my usually sports-and-self-absorbed young man. A lump formed in my throat. I know, son. Behind him, pictures of both sets of grandparents hung on the wall. The death of a close relative hadn’t yet touched his life.

Collin stood. Dad wanted me to tell you he’s back.

Thanks. I dried my eyes and followed Collin to the kitchen where Nick was opening round containers of fried chicken, beans, and coleslaw. My stomach growled.

Tara put plates and silverware for four on the table in the dining room. We might eat carryout often, but we always used regular dishes. Collin grabbed a gallon of milk from the refrigerator. We all settled around the table in our usual chairs.

Who wants to pray? Nick asked.

Tara bowed her head. I think you’d better, Dad.

Nick praised God for the gift of the day and asked God to heal Lenora, comfort her husband, and guard and guide our friends and family members wherever they were. He added thanks for the food before we ended with a group Amen.

All eyes turned to me and stared. No one made a sound. In answer to their concerned faces, I urged them to go ahead and eat.

Pull me together, Lord. May I respond to this situation in a way that honors You.

Tara munched a baking powder biscuit and with her free hand patted a pile of coleslaw with a paper napkin to absorb the excess mayonnaise, having begun a recent hate affair with fat. Mom, Dad said you worked with Lenora and she was your friend, too. What was she like? Tara’s pretty fourteen-year-old hazel eyes sparkled above her tiny mouth. Friends were huge priority to her.

What Lenora ‘is’ like, honey, not ‘was.’ We’re praying for Mrs. Lawrence’s healing, Nick corrected.

How to describe Lenora? I found a smile as I studied the Colonel’s picture on the bucket. Well, even when she walked, she seemed to be running. You know I always urge you to try your hardest. Lenora was the first hundred-percenter I’d ever met. She poured herself into people and any issue that absorbed her.

Where’d you meet, Mom? Collin didn’t pause from dredging his French fries with catsup.

In Theories of Personality class almost a decade ago. She was fifty-two at the time. I was thirty-five. But age doesn’t matter when you find somebody you click with. I paused to pick the breading off an extra crispy chicken breast. A few years later, she moved here. We taught several workshops together before she started her foundation and cut back on her general counseling.

What’s Lenora’s foundation? Tara asked. Who does it help?

Ex-convicts. She calls them lost souls in need of resurrection. I explained the basics of how it operated.

So people nobody but God cares about because of bad things they’ve done? Tara wiped her mouth with her napkin.

Sadly, yes, but they can be reformed and start a new life. I hoped that’s what her protégé Kirk did. I chose not to add that, unfortunately, the police suspected one of them may have shot her.

Okay, clear your places. Time for homework. Mom and I will clean-up tonight, Nick instructed.

I went to the sink and filled it with rinse water while Nick stacked dishes. The billowing soapsuds in the warm water took away some of my numbness. Routine household chores had a way of soothing me.

While I loaded the dishwasher, Nick wiped the table. When he finished, he sat down to peruse the newspaper. Close enough to listen if I needed to talk. I touched his arm as I reached for a glass, letting him know I appreciated his nearness.

He looked up from the paper. What does Tucker do at the foundation?

Main paper shuffler. Lenora has him do state and local reports, things like that. She dislikes anything to do with numbers.

What’s his full-time job?

Researcher at a small Illinois college. He spends four days a week there and comes home on weekends. I added soap to the dishwasher dispenser, shut the door, and pressed wash cycle. Nick, I’m wondering how to approach this investigation about Kirk. Any ideas?

He jumped up and strode over to me. Putting his hands on my shoulders, he turned me toward him, locking his eyes on mine. If you mean interviewing suspects, you’d be hunting a murderer again. Remember what happened with the Albert Windemere situation?

I trembled. It had been a year since I’d almost been shot myself. I’ll be careful.

I’d rather you not get involved, but I’ll help any way I can.

You’re a good man, Mr. Trevor. I wrapped my arms around his neck. Come with me to Tucker’s to pick up Kirk’s file. The kids will be okay for forty-five minutes.

Nick’s eyebrows lifted. Normally, I was very independent.

I know, but tonight I don’t feel like driving alone to the scene of a crime. Humor me, please.

Sure.

We left at eight forty-five with the kids settled doing homework. A lump formed in my throat as I realized I was about to see the shooting scene.

THREE

Evening shadows streaked the forest with a blackish hue as Nick steered around sharp curves on Old Bend Road. Tucker’s driveway, a half mile straight up and carved through wooded terrain, came into view. How appropriate Lenora named this place Wooded Hill, don’t you agree, Nick? No houses on either side or directly behind their house and must be a hundred trees on the property, most of them huge.

Nick whistled softly. Impressive. It seems remote, yet it’s only ten minutes from downtown Lake Geneva.

"What a find. Lenora loved—loves—this place."

I can see why.

My limbs went numb. The rustic beauty of Lenora’s hilltop home with its quaint small wings seems to mock her absence. I’ve never been here without her. My heart fluttered in my chest. It isn’t right.

A few raindrops seeped through the clouds and spattered our windshield. That’s a warning of more to come. Nick frowned. Did you bring an umbrella?

I usually keep one in my car. I groped behind me. Sorry, must have taken it in. At least it’s only a light patter.

Nick parked in front of the house. Ready to make a dash for it?

We hurried up the flagstone path leading from the parking area to the main house. My toe caught in the gravel filling the space between the stones. I staggered and almost lost my balance.

Nick grabbed my elbow. Careful, honey.

Right. Remember, Jennifer, rushing gets you into trouble.

Nick surveyed the house. How long have the Lawrences lived here?

Since they married, seven, maybe eight years. There he is now, I mumbled.

Tucker’s huge figure filled the open door frame. He must have seen our car lights approaching. He’d changed into a denim shirt and jeans and still managed to look suave.

Hurry before you get wet. This shower seems to come out of nowhere. He motioned us onto the porch.

A few seconds of silence followed. Were we both thinking about the shot coming out of nowhere to penetrate Lenora and change everything?

Tucker’s hulking form reminded me of Gulliver entering the land of giants. He remembered his manners, bent over and stretched out his huge hand to shake mine.

Sorry I’m not more presentable. Tucker threaded his fingers through his near-perfect hair, moving aside to let us enter the foyer. I might have laughed if I wasn’t still traumatized.

Please accept my sympathy over your wife’s tragic shooting. Nick offered condolences with his usual graciousness. We’re praying she’ll recover fully.

Tucker nodded. His eyes narrowed as he answered quickly, Her condition’s the same.

Unchanged. Lord, I’d been hoping for an instant miracle. I hunted for words of comfort counselors provide and only came up with platitudes I bit back.

I’m going back to the hospital to spend the night.

I hope you didn’t come here just for me?

I needed a change of clothes. That’s right, he had said that earlier. Where was my memory? Floating about somewhere in the tragic event threatening Lenora’s life.

We followed Tucker down a quarry-tiled hall. A sense of heaviness overpowered me. What if Lenora never returns here? I’d last seen my colleague in her living room in a tailored black pants outfit looking elegant, her chestnut hair swept off her forehead, except for a few strands that had escaped the barrette.

Two teardrops slid down my cheeks. I pushed them away with the back of my hand and focused on the pattern of the Berber carpet in the great room, the array of natural wicker and painted baskets strewn extravagantly on shelves, tables, on the floor next to furniture and in corner nooks.

Not simply showy, her accessories held audiotapes, CD’s, tea, and napkins. This open, cozy setting reflected Lenora’s sense of beauty and practicality, making me even sadder.

Tucker dropped into a chair at an oak dining table with carved legs massive enough to support a grand piano. Nick and I chose chairs on either side of him. The kitchen area with its maple cabinets was adjacent to us. Three bananas and two apples filled a wooden bowl on the table.

I scanned the rooms quickly. My eyes focused on the ornate glass-faced gun cabinet. I jerked back around to find Tucker had followed my gaze. I used to be a hunter, he said, but Lenora couldn’t bear for me to shoot the deer and wild turkeys on our property. Not even a rabbit, although I will say she nearly weakened when a pesky woodchuck kept burrowing under the house.

I tried to manufacture a smile.

Incidentally, the police checked my guns to see if the bullet came from one of them, thinking perhaps Kirk had used it. He hadn’t.

And to check you out, I imagine. Routine. Husbands were always prime suspects.

Tucker brushed his hand across the polished tabletop. Lenora enjoyed informal entertaining in this room. Unfortunately, because of my work, I missed too many events. She tolerated my schedule, but neither of us liked it. His lips stiffened.

I leaned forward. You were away a lot, but I never knew her to complain.

All the same, I can’t stop berating myself for being overinvolved at the university this past year and barely available for Lenora’s foundation work. He shook his silver head. I suppose you hear similar things in counseling all the time from grieving spouses.

More than I’d like. I nodded.

Tucker shrugged. At least I could bring the foundation paperwork with me and complete it in the city.

I’m sure you were a big help, Nick offered.

I agreed. Why? Courteous response. How could I know? I disliked when I spoke automatically.

Outside, an owl emitted a deep hoot. What night creatures were present during Lenora’s tragic shooting? If only birds or animals had voices to tell us now what happened that night.

Tucker, would you be willing to repeat what you told me earlier for my husband, Nick? As a lawyer, he may catch something in the sequence of events that I missed. Plus, I could benefit from hearing it again. I admit I was pretty much in semi-shock earlier when you told me.

He nodded. I realize talking is supposed to help, but does it really? I’ve been over this several times, and it remains traumatic. Tucker lifted his hands, palms up, in a helpless gesture. This probably isn’t the last time I’ll ever have to speak of the horror of last night.

I understand. Nick averted his eyes.

Well, I took the train home for the weekend from my job in Illinois, arriving at my usual time, ten-fifteen p.m., just as paramedics loaded Lenora on a stretcher. He turned his head as if to block the picture before completing the account of the chain of events.

And Kirk’s story? I asked.

"Says he had a seven p.m. appointment

Reviews for Bullet in the Night

[penelopemarzec · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A psychotherapist as an amateur sleuth is a brilliant idea in my opinion. When Jennifer Trevor’s best friend, Lenora, who is also a psychotherapist, is shot, Jennifer takes on her friend’s clients. There are plenty of suspects in this story and I found all the characters fascinating. Everyone seems to have a serious gripe against Lenora, who also ran a foundation to give jobs to ex-cons. Lots of twists and turns in this mystery. It kept me glued to the page!