Page 31 of Justice Delayed

The waitress stood by their booth, steaming plates of food in her hands. “I have biscuits and gravy with scrambled eggs and the Farmer’s Wife platter.”

Brogan released Melender’s hand as the waitress set the plates on the table. After the woman inquired about them needing anything else and they declined, she left the booth.

He snuck a glance at his beautiful companion. Talk about good timing. If the waitress hadn’t arrived when she did, he might have spilled even more of his guts.

“I’m starved. How about you?”

“Me too.”

She bowed her head. These days, prayer was something Brogan did more frequently. The faith of his childhood—instilled during his summer visits with his aunt and uncle—had become much more real to him in the dark days after his exile. He might not talk about it, but it was ever present.

He had to find out if Melender was blessing the food. “Would you like me to ask the blessing?”

Her head came up, surprise written in the wide eyes. “Are you a Christian?”

No one ever asked him that directly. “Yes, I am. Are you?”

She nodded. “I would be glad for you to pray over our meal.”

“Dear God, please bless our food and our conversation. In Jesus’s name. Amen.” He picked up his fork. He’d wanted to grill her about her faith and if it was a jailhouse conversion. Instead, he told her about the FBI files. “I hope to hear back from the bureau this week.”

“That’s fantastic.”

The hope in her eyes made him inwardly wince. “Melender, the FBI conducted a very thorough investigation into the kidnapping. If they concluded you were guilty, then I seriously doubt the files would have anything that would prove otherwise.”

To her credit, she didn’t flinch at his words. After putting her fork down, she leaned toward him. “You read the transcript. The evidence was only circumstantial. It was the testimony of my aunt and others who convinced the jury of my guilt.”

“That might be true, but that doesn’t mean the FBI files will have anything that would exonerate you.” He crunched on a piece of bacon.

“Will that be everything the bureau had relating to the case?”

“As far as I know.”

“That means we’ll be able to see who else was on their suspect list before they zeroed in on me.” She took another bite.

He hadn’t thought of that. “I suppose that could be true.”

“Will you let me know when you have the files?”

Ah, there was the rub. To stay objective, he should keep her well away from his investigation. But Melender’s statement of faith tipped the balance in her favor. “I’ll give you a call.”

Brogan wasn’t sure that was the right thing to do, but to get a clear picture of the players involved, he needed her input. He only hoped it wouldn’t compromise the investigation.

* * *

Melender pulledinto the parking lot of Fox’s Music and cut the engine, thankful once more for the We Are His Hands ministry that taught her to drive and gave her a good used car to help her get back on her feet after her release. Jazzed from her breakfast meeting with Brogan, she stepped into the humid morning. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead and hustled to the door.

In her wildest imaginings, she had never once considered that Brogan would turn out to be a fellow believer. Maybe that’s why she instinctively felt he could be trusted. His avowal of impartiality was exactly what she wanted. She needed someone to look at the evidence and the facts without a bias toward her guilt or innocence. Perhaps his faith would ensure a fair rendering of his ultimate verdict.

A blast of cold air brushed over her as she opened the door, the sudden cooling of her moist skin giving her shivers. She hurried to the back of the shop where the owner displayed instruments for customers to try.

Jimmy Stork stood talking with Mr. Trent, but her eyes immediately strayed to the instrument on the tabletop. Mr. Trent’s dulcimer had undergone a metamorphosis since Monday with the addition of new strings and a thorough cleaning. Now that the dirt and grime had been removed, two delicate cutouts near the bottom of the tear-shaped body were more visible. Her heart pounded.

“Mel, I’m glad you could join us.” Mr. Jimmy nodded as she stopped by the table. “You remember Nolan Trent?”

“Yes. Good morning, Mr. Trent.” Melender smiled, but the man didn’t reciprocate. In fact, she would have labeled his posture as defensive with his arms tightly folded across his chest, but she figured it had nothing to do with her and returned her gaze to the dulcimer. “It cleaned up nicely.”

Mr. Jimmy laughed. “That’s an understatement.”

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