The Reckoning Stones: A Novel of Suspense by Laura Disilverio Page A

banners featuring Biblical scenes. “It’ll go behind the altar, floor to ceiling. There are plenty of women in the church who can do the needlework, Mercy, but we need a sketch, a drawing they can use as a blueprint or pattern. And what with you winning first place in the state fair art contest—. I thought maybe Samson in the temple for one panel, Saul on the road to Damascus for the middle one, and a scene from Revelation for the third. What do you think?”
    Flattered at having her opinion asked, Mercy shifted slightly away from the heat of Pastor Matt; he stood so close their hips touched. “I could do that,” she said, her mind fizzing with possibilities. “Maybe for the Old Testament scene you could have Ruth and Naomi in the field, or Esther pleading with the king to save her people? Having a woman in one of the scenes would be good, someone besides Mary, that is.” To look at most of the paintings and sculptures Mercy’s art teacher was so fond of, you’d think there hadn’t been any women in the Bible besides Jesus’s mother. Mercy wanted to break new ground and draw a Biblical woman with more personality than Mary seemed to have had.
    “My daughter would like it if we used Esther,” Pastor Matt said, tugging on his underlip with his thumb and forefinger. “Or the dogs tearing Jezebel apart would make a powerful scene.”
    Mercy couldn’t imagine looking at something like that every Sunday and said, “I don’t know if I can draw dogs so good. How ’bout I do a few different scenes and you decide what you like?” Lot’s wife turning to salt with Sodom and Gomorrah exploding into a fireball in the background would be dramatic, or David slingshotting Goliath, although that was almost as overdone as Mary … .
    “Great idea.” His hand absently kneaded her shoulder as they studied his rough sketch laid out on the table. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with, Mercy—you’re such a talented girl. Creative. Remember, though, that this is our secret. Don’t want the whole Community knowing about it before the anniversary!” He squeezed her shoulder one last time and let his hand drop. It brushed her rear as it fell to his side. An accident, surely.
    “Absolutely,” Mercy said, her mind working on the composition and content of possible scenes. “Our secret.”

twelve
    iris
    Weary from her sleepless night, early departure, travel, and the emotions whipping through her like debris sucked up by a tornado, Iris returned to her car and drove slowly out of Lone Pine, wishing she’d pre-booked a hotel room. The Sleepytime Motor Inn came into view and, on impulse, Iris pulled into its small parking lot. Frost heaves in the asphalt made walking difficult as she crossed to a small A-frame building whose roof sloped almost to the ground. A sign on the door said “OFFICE.” She pushed it open and a bell tinkled.
    “Minute!” a voice called.
    Standing on decades-old indoor-outdoor carpeting that had faded from blue to brownish-gray, Iris faced a short counter that hinged to allow the innkeeper access to the small reception area. Old-fashioned keys with plastic tags hung from hooks numbered 1 to 8 behind the counter, and a rack of colorful brochures advertising local activities ranging from cog rail rides up Pikes Peak to tours of the U.S. Air Force Academy, stood by the door. She was already regretting the impulse that had made her stop at this dumpy motel, but a woman she recognized as Mrs. Welsh emerged from the room behind the counter before she could duck out.
    Petite and graying, she wore a corduroy dress with clogs and the worn-down expression of many small business owners in the tough economy. Small pearls graced her neat ears, her only jewelry. When she said, “You’d like a room?” in a hopeful voice, Iris didn’t have the heart to head for the nearest Embassy Suites or Hyatt as had been her original plan.
    “Yes, please.” Iris pulled out her credit card. “I don’t know how