The Coded Note

By Steven R. Jones

Sarah never expected that when she was called to preach that it would totally wreck her social life. In her first pastorate, she struggled with loneliness but would not give up with what she believed is her life’s work. She resigned to live alone.

One tragic day, she found the body of the closest friend she had. Near the deceased was a note beginning, “Dear Pastor Sarah.” It was clearly written near the time of death. The paper had several scriptures listed that she should think about. It was definitely written to her; so she took it, not knowing it contained a code to the identity of the killer. When she took the note, she didn’t know it would make a young detective angry. But as he works the case, he realizes that to solve this crime, he must have Sarah’s expertise.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662451126

Book preview

cover.jpg

The Coded Note

Steven R. Jones

Copyright © 2021 Steven R. Jones

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2021

ISBN 978-1-6624-5111-9 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-5112-6 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 1

Mrs. Blanche Christiansen was lying on the hardwood floor, dying. She knew the end was impending but was at peace. The woman was elderly but had been healthy all her life. Her previously auburn hair was white, but her gray eyes still worked perfectly. Aches and pains caused her to use a cane some days, but the use of the staff was dependent on the weather. Cold rainy days made her ache more, and a little extra help was all she needed. Today had been a good day, and she had not felt the need for additional assistance. She was dressed modestly, in a pullover sweater and gray slacks. Usually, she wore dark clothes, but today she put on her red sweater and a necklace from her husband. She reached up and felt the simple cross on the chain around her neck. It gave her a good feeling to remember how her husband loved her.

The love of her life died a decade ago, and she still thought of him every day. Blanche felt glad to think that she would see her husband again in just a few moments. He had worked hard all his life, running the town’s grocery which had paid off the little two-bedroom house they built together and shared. It was just a small bungalow out in the country, but it was the perfect size for them and their daughter Blaney. It was never necessary for the Christiansens to have everything like their neighbors. They lived a simple life and had everything they needed. After her husband’s death, she had no financial worries. So it gave her time to volunteer in several places. One place she spent her time was at a little church out in the country. That church had been her spiritual home since she was a little girl, and because of that, Blanche had seen pastors come and go. The attendance ebbed and surged over the many decades, but Blanche was always faithful to the church. She freely gave of herself to clean, to teach, to greet, and to pray. Still, there was more to be done, but she did not have the energy to do all she wanted.

The church had stained glass windows and some shrubs around the outside. It looked picturesque from a distance, but up close, one could see it needed a lot of repairs. The parsonage was part of the property and was about a hundred yards away from the church.

The church building itself was not essential to her, but the people were. They were the only reason for the little white-frame building with a steeple. At the moment, there were only a few faithful members that had weathered the ups and downs, and she was the oldest of that group. Some saw her as the foundation of the congregation. But when someone told tell her that once, she reminded them that it was Jesus, and only Jesus they should come to worship. She was just a servant.

Thinking of the little church made her also contemplate her pastor. Sarah was young—just a year out of seminary. The denomination appointed her, and several people resented the fact that they didn’t have a say. There was no discussion or any choice at all. The options were accept this person as the pastor or close the doors. Blanche took Sarah under her wing and helped her all she could. Blanche thought of Sarah as another servant who needed a little bit of guidance and love. Maybe this was the time to get help from her pastor. The dying woman felt like her pastor and friend needed to know the truth. But what if the evil person who did this came back to finish the job? To make sure Blanche was dead. What if her note was seen and taken? Blanche would have to write it in code.

Her legs gave out about two minutes ago, so she expected the other muscles to give up one by one. The old woman looked around the room by lifting herself up on her elbows. On the floor, over near her desk, was a notepad and pencil. Those items fell off the work surface when she collapsed onto the hardwood. Using her hands and elbows, she pulled herself over to them. Thinking quickly, she decided to write clues about her murder. If it were in code, the person would not even bother with it. Or at least she hoped so. So she wrote

She smiled. Blanche believed Pastor Sarah was smart. She would figure out what those particular references meant. Sarah would learn the truth about who killed her and how.

Moment by moment, Mrs. Christiansen was getting weaker. She used all the strength she had left and turned her body to see a work of art she painted years ago. Art had been a hobby since her husband died and she started living alone. It gave her something to do but also was a panacea for loneliness. She wanted to look upon this particular painting; it was a copy she did of a piece a young girl portrayed of the Christ. It was called The Prince of Peace.

Blanche did not try to copy it exactly. The point of working on this was to put her own thoughts into it. The face of Christ was almost the same, but his clothes were all red. She had heard that Jesus would be dressed differently in heaven from everyone else. He would forever bear the scars of His death and carry the reminders of our sins that He bore. She purposely made His clothes different. The wounds from the crown of thorns were more prominent. And the part she liked best was that He had a bigger smile. One thing she hated about trying to paint people though were the eyes. She could never get the eyes right no matter how hard she tried.

One day, Pastor Sarah was there, and the two looked at the painting. Blanche pointed out how the eyes looked dead. I could never get eyes to look alive to save my soul. Then Blanche laughed. That’s a silly saying, isn’t it? We can’t do anything to save ourselves. Painting portraits would be the last thing if there was a means. It’s all Him. She nodded toward the canvas she still had on her easel.

Still lying half on an area rug, half on the oak floor, Blanche looked at the painting. The eyes looked lifeless as always. The rest of His face looked friendly and even loving. But the eyes…the eyes suddenly began to look better to her. There seemed to be a spark of life. Were the oil paints she used moving? The pupils started to show existence. How was this happening?

Her own eyelids were getting heavy, and Blanche had to blink a couple of times and tried to hold them open. Her arms were gone now. Even her neck muscles gave out. She was stuck in this position, but it gave her a good view of the portrait. Then in the painting, the right eye winked! Oh, my goodness! she thought. Hallucinations. I must be hallucinating in these last moments. Harder. She fought to see it clearly. It moved! The smile grew to a huge grin. Then the body of Jesus stepped into the room. He came right through the painting just like it had taken on a life of its own. Blanche thought