Beside Still Waters (Psalm 23 Mysteries)

  Debbie Viguié

  Beside Still Waters

  Other Books by Debbie Viguié

  The Psalm 23 Mysteries

  The Lord is My Shepherd

  I Shall Not Want

  Lie Down in Green Pastures

  The Kiss Trilogy

  Kiss of Night

  Kiss of Death

  Sweet Seasons

  The Summer of Cotton Candy

  The Fall of Candy Corn

  The Winter of Candy Canes

  The Spring of Candy Apples

  Witch Hunt

  The Thirteenth Sacrifice

  Beside Still Waters

  Psalm 23 Mysteries

  By Debbie Viguié

  Published by Big Pink Bow

  Beside Still Waters

  Copyright © 2012 by Debbie Viguié

  ISBN-13: 978-0615675978

  Published by Big Pink Bow

  www.bigpinkbow.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is dedicated to all the devoted fans out there who’ve been waiting for so long to continue on this journey with Cindy and Jeremiah. Thank you all for caring so deeply.

  Although the job of writing a book can be incredibly lonely and isolating at times, there are those who touch our lives and ease our burden. I owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to the friends, family, and colleagues who have encouraged me and helped me on this journey. Thank you for all of your efforts to keep me sane and keep me writing! Love to you all.

  1

  Cindy Preston loved Saturdays. She loved them even more when she was on vacation and as she finished eating breakfast at her hotel, the Waikiki Beachcomber in Honolulu, she thought that this might just be one of the best Saturdays ever. There was a stack of brochures on her table all extolling the virtues of various sights and activities on the island.

  As she finished her soda she thought gratefully of Harry, the man who had originally won the trip to Hawaii at the time share sales seminar but had swapped her for the mini television she had won. A long weekend in Hawaii was just what the doctor had ordered and she’d been looking forward to it for months. She had flown in the day before and was flying out on Tuesday morning, but planned to cram as much relaxation and sightseeing into that time as she possibly could.

  She tapped the top brochure on the stack with a pink fingernail she’d had manicured for the occasion. It was Memorial Day weekend and she couldn’t think of a better way to keep the holiday than by going to Pearl Harbor and seeing the Arizona Memorial.

  I wonder what Jeremiah’s doing? she thought as she stood and gathered her things. Jeremiah Silverman was the rabbi at the synagogue next door to the Presbyterian church where Cindy worked as a secretary. Since they had first met the previous year over the body of a dead man in the church sanctuary they had forged an unlikely alliance and a budding friendship that meant more to her than she liked to admit to herself.

  He had volunteered to drop her off at the airport the day before and would be picking her up Tuesday morning when she returned.

  I should have taken the whole week off work, she lamented. There was no way she was going to be in the mood for work Wednesday morning. And Geanie, her new roommate and the church’s graphic designer, had made it quite clear that if she didn’t come back with pictures of the wedding pavilions of a couple of the local hotels that she shouldn’t come back at all. Geanie had recently become engaged to Joseph, a wealthy church member and a friend of Cindy’s.

  She briefly thought about changing out of her shorts into jeans before heading for the memorial, but decided against it. Looking at her overly pale legs no one would guess she was a California native. Some sun would do her good. Plus it just felt too hot to be wearing anything more than the khaki shorts and green tank top she had donned for breakfast.

  As she grabbed a taxi and settled into the backseat her mind drifted back to her friends at home. She wanted to make sure to take them back some souvenirs. Although she suspected that was going to end up being boxes of chocolate covered macadamia nuts. She had nearly eaten an entire box herself last night after dinner.

  “Where you from?”

  Cindy jumped, startled, as she realized that the taxi driver, a large Hawaiian man who seemed to completely fill the front seat of the cab, was talking to her.

  “California.”

  “No kidding, my cousin lives there.”

  “Small world,” she murmured.

  “How long you stay?”

  “I go home Tuesday.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Yes, I wish I could stay longer,” she said.

  “It’s a good time to see the Memorial. It’s sacred ground you know.”

  “Because of the men who died there?” she asked.

  “Because of the sacrifice, the dead, the living.”

  She didn’t know what to say.

  “You like good food?”

  “Yes, do you have any recommendations?”

  “Sure. You should go eat lunch at my uncle’s restaurant. They have da kine plate lunch, best on island.”

  “Where is it?”

  “It’s off the base about a fifteen minute walk from where I’m dropping you off. He’s great friends with the sailors. I show you and you no miss it.”

  “Thanks.”

  A few minutes later when they pulled up outside the Pearl Harbor Visitor Center he pointed out how she could find Uncle’s.

  “Here, I give you business card. You need taxi, you call me I take good care of you. And go to Uncle’s for lunch. Tell him I sent you. He give you local discount.”

  “Thanks,” she said. She took the business card he gave her and slipped it into her purse.

  She walked into the Center and began to look around. There were displays talking about the attack on Pearl Harbor during World War II. A screen showed the few bits of footage they had of the actual attack. People were milling around quietly. She headed into the gift store and bought a small book and a couple of postcards. At the register there were miniature decks of playing cards with pictures of Hawaii on them. She added them to her purchase on an impulse.

  After about an hour she boarded the boat to head on over to the U.S.S. Arizona Memorial. A tour group was on the boat as well and she listened as the guide explained what they were about to see.

  “The memorial itself actually straddles the sunken Arizona. In the middle of the memorial you’ll be able to look down into the water and see one of its gun turrets. The sailors who died on the Arizona are still there on the ship.”

  Cindy shuddered as she felt her pulse begin to race a little. She couldn’t help but think about her sister who had died when they were children. Her body had been recovered, buried in a grave where family could visit. The sailors were interred in their watery grave. How hard must that have been on friends and family?

  She bit her lip and forced herself to refocus on what the guide was saying. “Other ships were sunk as well. The Oklahoma capsized almost immediately. Some sailors were able to survive by escaping through the portals. The portals were so narrow, though, that only the skinniest made it out. Their friends and comrades who could not fit helped shove them through unti
l they themselves drowned.”

  Horror stole through her as she thought about what those trapped men had gone through. She couldn’t imagine a worse death than drowning. And yet they had had the courage to help push their friends to safety. She understood suddenly what her taxi driver had meant by sacrifice.

  As they neared the dock she looked around. Leis and wreaths floated in the water all around the Memorial. Hallowed ground, she thought. As she stared at the floating tokens she felt tears sting her eyes.

  The boat docked and a minute later she was standing on the U.S.S. Arizona Memorial and around her people’s voices were hushed.

  Because we’re standing on top of graves, she realized as her eyes scanned the list of names on the wall which was accompanied by a plaque that proclaimed: To the memory of the gallant men here entombed and their shipmates who gave their lives in action on December 7, 1941 on the U.S.S. Arizona.

  One older man covered in tattoos was standing, tears streaming freely down his face. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d had a relative who had been killed there or if it was just the power and poignancy of the place itself that so touched him.

  She walked around, looking out at the harbor around them. She skirted the section in the middle where you could look down on the ship itself. She couldn’t bring herself to look, afraid that she would start crying uncontrollably. Chills kept washing over her. The day before Pearl Harbor had just been a name to her, a place, an historical event. And now it felt so real and she mourned the men who had died there decades before she was born.

  She could tell people around her were feeling the same way. A woman nearby was crying and hugging a uniformed soldier, thanking him for his service to his country. Cindy respected her reaction and felt the need to thank every member of the armed services personally and individually for their service, their sacrifice.

  It was more than she’d expected to feel and it overwhelmed her. She thought about Jeremiah. He was from Israel and like all of its citizens he had served his time in the military.

  He could have been killed, just like the men here. There is so much violence in that part of the world, so many attacks though smaller than this one deadly still. And he could have lost his life in any one of them. And then I never would have met him. And I would have been killed last year.

  Now she was crying freely and she had to leave. She felt like she couldn’t breathe and she struggled not to think about the men who had drowned here, gasping for air when there was none.

  I can breathe. There is air. In. Out.

  She got onto the boat and fixed her eyes on the shore. She had been thinking of taking the boat tour around the harbor, circling Ford Island, but she couldn’t. She just needed to get away.

  As soon as she made it back onto dry land she hurried away from the center as fast as she could. Her mind was racing and she felt queasy. She should stop, get on one of the buses or take a taxi, but she just kept walking, sucking the warm, fragrant air into her lungs and reminding herself that she was alive.

  She heard a shout and she turned and saw a man on a small boat helping a man in a wetsuit with scuba gear onto the boat. They turned and looked at her and the man on the boat waved. She gave them a little wave back before hurrying on. Everyone was so friendly in Hawaii.

  That friendliness was just one thing that seemed to make the place so unique. The flower-scented air, the casual, laid-back attitude of the locals, and even the pigeon English all combined to give the place a unique feel.

  She was enjoying soaking it all in so much that it even made her think of her brother who had a television travel show and was constantly visiting strange and exotic locations. Was it something akin to the sense of wonder that she had been feeling since she arrived that drove him?

  Of course, Kyle always chose places that were dangerous and activities that registered somewhere between insane and suicidal. She wasn’t sure if he’d been to Hawaii, but if he had he had probably found it all too safe.

  Safety, though, was one thing Cindy prized highly. Hawaii was just about her speed. Anything more would make her crazy.

  After walking a few more minutes Cindy made it off the base and finally found herself standing outside a little restaurant with a sign that read Uncle’s. It made her smile. Apparently the proprietor wasn’t just her cab driver’s uncle, but everyone’s uncle. She had heard somewhere that it was local custom to refer to older people as Auntie or Uncle and people your own age as Cousin, regardless of relation.

  It was early, only just after eleven. The open sign was lit and a small hand-lettered sign declared that they opened at half past whenever and closed when they felt like it.

  She laughed, beginning to feel better. The island lifestyle and slower pace was something she’d heard about, but it played out in the most interesting ways.

  She pushed the door and it swung open freely. The interior was brightly lit but empty. There were half a dozen tables with chairs clustered around them. A counter at the back was positioned with a menu hanging on the wall above it.

  She walked forward, perusing the menu.

  She had finally settled on the Loco Moco which was supposed to be a favorite according to the sign.

  Having decided she looked around for a bell to ring but saw none.

  “Hello?” she called.

  There was no sound from the kitchen area which she could see a sliver of through an open doorway.

  “Hello?” she called, louder this time.

  Silence.

  Maybe they weren’t open yet.

  But the sign outside had been lit.

  And the door had been unlocked. Maybe that wasn’t uncommon here.

  She turned to go and her eyes fell on an iPhone sitting on the counter. It seemed out of place. Beside it was a Tip Jar that was stuffed full.

  Better just go, she told herself.

  And then her eyes fell on the cash register. The drawer was open and she could see money just sitting there.

  There had to be someone in the restaurant. There was no way they would just leave the drawer open and leave.

  She bit her lip, torn. Finally she picked up a take-out menu and dialed the phone number listed there.

  The iPhone rang and she jumped.

  “You’ve reached Uncle. Leave me a message and tell me how you like the food.”

  She hung up.

  There was nothing else she could do. The restaurant and the money weren’t her responsibility. She walked out the door and as it swung shut she noticed an emergency contact number in the window.

  It would be stupid to dial it. Obviously someone was either there or would be back soon. Maybe they were just in the bathroom.

  She wanted to believe that was true, but another part of her whispered that there was something wrong. Someone could be sick or injured. Uncle must be older and he could need help.

  She gritted her teeth and dialed the number. It started to ring and she heard a shrill ring coming from inside the restaurant.

  And then it went to voicemail.

  She hung up and took a deep breath. She glanced around. There were several other businesses close by. Maybe she should go inform someone at one of them of what she had found.

  But what if someone steals the money because I didn’t do everything I could? she asked herself. And what if someone’s injured and needs help?

  For all she knew Uncle was a large, overweight man who could have had a heart attack. She walked back inside and headed toward the counter.

  This is stupid, it’s not your job.

  And she thought of the men on the Oklahoma, dying, and yet still pushing others to safety. She took a deep breath. Finding out if the owner needed help was such a little thing.

  “Hello?” she shouted this time.

  Still no answer.

  She walked around the counter and took a step into the kitchen.

  And that was when she smelled blood.

  The hair on the back of her neck raised up and she gripped the doorja
mb hard.

  Uncle could have fallen, hit his head.

  She forced herself to take another step, and then another.

  And then she could see all of the kitchen. She saw white countertops, stainless appliances, and a dead man on the floor lying in a pool of blood, a bullet hole in his forehead.

  2

  Cindy screamed and then clamped a hand over her mouth as she realized that whoever killed the man might still be nearby.

  She dialed 911 with shaking fingers and when the dispatcher came on she explained where she was and what had happened in a halting, terrified whisper.

  And the woman made her repeat the information several times until she could hear sirens in the distance.

  “They’re almost here,” she whispered and hung up.

  A minute later two uniformed officers came through the front door, hands on their guns.

  “He’s over here,” she called, voice shaking.

  The one officer pushed past her and the second took her elbow and steered her back out to the dining room and had her sit at one of the tables. She put her small bag of purchases from the Pearl Harbor store on the table and after a minute opened up the deck of cards and began to shuffle them in her hands.

  When the officer came back to her he raised an eyebrow.

  “Nervous habit, sorry,” she muttered. The deck had been held together with just plastic and there was no case so instead of dumping the cards back in the bag she slipped the deck into her pocket.

  “Ma’am, I’m Officer George Li. What happened here?” the officer asked, staring at her intently.

  She closed her eyes for just a moment, wishing that none of this had ever happened. Or wishing that instead it had happened back home and she was talking to Detective Mark Walters. Wishing couldn’t change anything though so she took a deep breath and told him everything she knew.