Twenty Years of Silence: Lavender Creek Series, #1

By Coleen Rector

Loretta Hawthorne and the Shenanigans Book Club members are going about their daily routines until her husband's uncle, Henry Keeton is found deceased outside his country home.

A lifetime of helping others is uncovered as preparations are being made for his estate sale. Memories and evidence surface, exposing the possibility there is more to Henry's death than an unfortunate accident.

Saving memories may be the least of Loretta's worries. It could be her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Coleen Rector
• Release date: Feb 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201728588

Book preview

Coleen Rector

Copyright©2022 Coleen Rector

ISBN-9781500573065

Twenty Years of Silence is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, and incidents are the sole imagination of the author. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Except for the use in any review, no part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted without prior written permission of the author.

Cover design by Marisa Wesley of Cover Me Darling

Chapter 1

Three steps out the front door and Henry felt an excruciating pressure consume the back of his skull as an explosion of lights flashed in front of him. He cradled his head as a warm liquid coated his neck and shaking hand. His feet gave way as he landed in a heap on the sidewalk beside one of his prized rose bushes.

He struggled to recollect the last moments of his life, to hold on, to figure out if and why someone would want to end his existence.

An hour earlier

Henry Keeton eased into his favorite blue reclining chair. Years of tending to the prized roses, a bountiful garden, peach and apple trees, and eighty-six acres of farmland were catching up to him. His fingers were not as agile, knees made a grating sound when they bent, and shoulders slumped forward.

Minutes of forgetfulness turned into hours. He didn’t know the difference, but his nephew’s wife Loretta Hawthorne, Pastor Maxwell, Sheriff Caldwell, and Matt Redding brought it to his attention, not to be mean, on the contrary, they were concerned. 

Loretta had arranged for Henry to move five minutes from her to an assisted living complex. Against her insistence, he refused to move in with her stating it would invade her space. Moving into a complex was the compromise.

Henry pondered the move. It will be nice to move closer to Loretta, although I’m going to miss this old place. I’ve been extremely blessed to be able to share amazing memories with my family, the high school kids who helped me, and my friends.

Henry reached for his momma’s bible, resting on the magazine rack by his chair. He usually kept it in the bottom of a dresser drawer, were it not for trying to sort through various items that he wanted to take with him to his new place. The family bible was at the top of his list.

Several years had passed since Henry thumbed through the yellowing pages of the one book that was read from each night by his mother. His thoughts traveled back to his younger years when his momma worked endlessly providing for her five children and herself––Papa died when Henry was four. No matter what the day would bestow upon them, they sat together as a family after supper to listen to her read from the bible.

A family picture fell out from between the pages, followed by a folded piece of paper. He gave the photo a gentle kiss, placed it close to his chest, and returned it back between the pages in the bible. He carefully unfolded the hand-written note.

Dear Henry,

You told me I could call you Henry, right? You have treated me better than any homeless man deserves. You know what I appreciate the most? You calling me by my first name, William, like we really are friends. Thank you. You share your food with me and these surroundings. I   know you don’t like me sleeping in the barn. Thanks for offering your spare room, but it’s where I’m more comfortable. You say I’m good help around the farm, but we both know I am not very handy. I’m amazed at your patience and the teaching you do with these boys. Most of them really work hard and appreciate what you do for them, but I’m not sure about one of them.  I think he’s taking things out of your barn.  He sure doesn’t like me being here and told me to leave or else. He said he’s only looking out for you.  I think there are other reasons. Maybe it is time for me to move on.  You know me, wouldn’t want the dust to settle under my feet. Bless you, for being such a great friend to me.

P.S.  If anything

He knew who wrote the note by the special symbol. Henry turned the paper over. The page was blank. If anything, what? Why didn’t you finish writing, William? What had he meant when he wrote he thought one of them was taking things out of the barn? If you had time to place this note in my bible, why didn’t you finish it? Why didn’t you just give it to me or set it on the table where we enjoyed our morning breakfast, coffee, and visits?

Henry broke down and cried.  I’m guilt-ridden I wasn’t home when the barn caught on fire. It’s my fault you died. If I was home, I could have saved you. You know I didn’t like you sleeping out there. I had plenty of room inside.

It was like he was there, June 8, 2002, 8:30 P.M., reliving every single minute, feeling each single labored breath as beads of perspiration formed on his forehead and slid down his cheeks.

Henry had been to church for their monthly, second Tuesday potluck supper. Visiting and sharing a meal with neighbors and friends was a joy that he valued. Henry had pleaded on several occasions for William to join them, yet he refused each offer.

As he got closer to his farm, he could see the billowing flames and flashing red lights. He pushed the pedal harder, his truck sputtering, protesting the sudden acceleration. He arrived to commotion, yelling, and the swift precision of fire personnel, police, and EMS as they tackled the job before them. All Henry could do was watch, one hand over his mouth and the other trembling as he clutched the truck door. He prayed his wobbling legs would hold him up.

All of his possessions in the barn, and clearly, the barn, were replaceable, but what about his friend, William, a homeless man, whose circumstances weren’t in his favor.  Henry had allowed him to stay in the barn for the last five weeks.

Where was he? He didn’t see him among the scurrying crowd. 

Henry yelled for his friend and dropped to his knees when he saw the rescuers bringing out a body. Flesh and clothes burned.  

He recognized the shoe hanging off the lifeless person’s foot. Henry had bought William a well-fitted, thick-soled walking boot to replace the thin-soled, too-small shoes he had been wearing. The body had to be William, a man with no apparent family, except for Henry, who cared deeply for his friend. 

Henry took care of the funeral expenses, a burial plot, and a tombstone. It was the least he could do for one of God’s children.

Later, when a sheriff’s officer came out to Henry’s to give him the investigation report of the fire, Henry never questioned it. He knew it could not be true. The report stated the cause of the fire was initiated by a vagrant, William Stephen Benson, age forty-one, no known address. Henry knew in his heart William would not have started a fire. By accident?  Maybe. The final result of the fire didn’t matter to Henry. He had lost a friend.

The slam of a car door brought Henry’s thoughts back to the letter. He quickly tucked the note in his momma’s bible and slid it under an assortment of magazines in the newspaper rack. He would read it again later.

The Guest came in without knocking. Henry, how many times have I told you to keep your door locked? Anyone could just walk in, steal you blind, and do you harm.

Henry’s eyes scanned his small, comfortable home. Don’t be silly, who would want any of this? Besides, if they need what I have that bad, let them have it. This is a surprise. What are you doing here this evening?

I was driving by your place and thought I saw a light on in your barn. When I pulled up and got out, I noticed you looking through the living room window. Not meaning to alarm you, I decided to come inside and check on you.

Was there someone in the barn? Henry moved to the edge of the chair.

No. When I’m done here, I’ll go back out and give the barn a detailed inspection.

I appreciate that. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll wrestle up a snack. We share Sunday breakfast before church, not Saturday dessert. Henry let out a little chuckle.

It’s not necessary. I’m not hungry.

You’ve been incredibly good to me all these years, checking in on me and running errands. I can never repay you for your generosity.

Oh, you have, you just don’t know it, the Guest answered in a jeering tone.

Henry motioned for his guest to take a seat on the couch. Please, sit down.

No thanks. I don’t have time to stay. I need to take care of an unexpected situation.

Henry caught a glimpse of the wall clock. It’s nine-thirty. What kind of business do you have at this hour? You be careful out there.

The Guest took in a deep breath, savoring the moment. I’ve always been able to take care of myself. That being the case, there is no need for you to add that to your worry list.

Since you’re here, I have a question for you. I was going through miscellaneous papers, and I found a note from William.

The Guest stiffened up and loomed over Henry. That wretched old bum that burned your barn down?

A weight of empathy pressed down on Henry’s heart. How could the Guest think so little of William? He had no reason to burn my barn down.

What did the homeless guy write? Did he talk about me?

He may have been homeless, but his name was William Benson. He was one of God’s children, just like you.

The Guest snapped back. He was trouble. You should have never let him stay in there. Oh well. He received his punishment.

That was a terrible incident. Henry paused before finishing. And right after Nathan died. Tragedy after tragedy.

Well, two people both acting foolish. They paid for their errors. Besides, do you really think anyone missed a vagrant with nowhere to call home and a foster kid with no parents? If you want my opinion, I think Nathan helped you out as a resource to steal from you. You know teenage boys.

I appreciated all of you kids helping me out with chores around the farm. Henry shifted his weight and found himself in the sagging middle of his chair. A sudden onset of nausea overtook him. I think it’s time you leave. I’m getting tired, and I don’t feel well.

The Guest’s face reddened. Why did you treat them differently than me? You gave them whatever they wanted.

I didn’t treat you any different. You were fortunate. You had a family who provided for you as much as possible and gave you what you needed. You were blessed with food and love.

Maybe needed, definitely not what I wanted. The Guest sat down and cracked each knuckle, accentuating each tiny movement.

Please leave now. Henry’s hand trembled as he reached for the phone. I’m calling Loretta.

You’ll do no such thing. The Guest lunged from the couch and yanked the phone cord from the outlet sending the phone tumbling to the floor.

Panic set in. Before Henry could get out of his chair, the guest pushed him back.

The Guest’s eyes darted from Henry to the front door. You know it’s your fault that Nathan died. His too-good conscience was over the top. When Nathan started helping you on the farm, he thought it was his job to protect you.

Henry lifted his hands. Why was it my fault when Nathan crashed? And what was he protecting me from?

If he hadn’t focused on what was behind him and paid attention to the way he was going, he wouldn’t have lost control of his bike. Besides, he shouldn’t have been riding that motorcycle like a maniac on a dirt road.

Nathan was careful on that bike. Henry’s throat clenched. He paused, waiting to regain his voice. He wouldn’t put himself in danger by speeding or acting recklessly. How do you know how Nathan’s accident happened? Were you following him? Did you kill Nathan?

Please. Enough with the interrogation. The Guest scoffed at such a statement. It was an accident. Just like it was an accident, the barn burned down with a bum trapped inside. Why does the whole world think it’s their job to protect you?

That’s enough, Henry shouted, taken aback by the sound of the gruff response. He managed to get out of his chair this time. He grabbed his truck keys from the credenza and opened the door. He