She glanced up at Gabriel. “Not the way you think.” And because that sounded so cold, she added, “Our marriage was over long before he died. He’d been on a path toward destruction for a while, a long while. His death, like so many others, was a direct result of readily available drugs on the street. But if it hadn’t been cocaine, he’d have found some other way to self-destruct. Reggie was just like that.”
She walked up the steps leading to the porch at the house and tucked three of the brochures in the mail slot on the front door.
“It doesn’t look like anyone lives here,” Gabriel observed.
The house had the stillness of decay and neglect that said it had been abandoned for some time. Dead leaves, spiderwebs and debris including potato chip bags and mangled beer cans jammed the corners, mixing with peeling paint chips.
“You’d be surprised, Reverend,” Susan said.
She bent to the mail slot and hollered through. “Hello to the house. I dropped some information about Galilee Women’s Shelter in your front door.”
When she turned to go, Gabriel paused.
“What’s wrong?” Susan asked him.
“I thought I heard something.”
As if she were guiding along one of the twins, Susan took his hand. “Come on. You probably did. People coming to see what I put in there.”
Gabriel remained silent as they descended the steps and continued their walk. But he looked back at the house.
“Is there a lot of that?” he eventually asked.
“A lot of what?”
“People living in abandoned homes?”
“In certain parts of the city, yes.”
“And this is one of those parts.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Welcome to the hidden and forgotten underside of Colorado Springs. This would be the part not in the tourism brochures.”
A couple of people sitting on a stoop called out to Susan. She waved, then spotted one of the pillars of the neighborhood sitting on her front porch. Susan motioned for Gabriel to follow. They stepped carefully around an area of buckled sidewalk.
“How are things with you, Mrs. Turner?” Susan called in greeting.
The frail-looking woman sat on a plaid sofa that had seen better days, but looked as comfortable as the woman holding court. “’Bout as well as can be expected for an eighty-year-old blind lady.”
Susan smiled. “You may not have your sight, but you know everything that happens on this block.”
“That’s the truth,” the woman said. “Who you have with you today?”
Gabriel looked startled.
Mrs. Turner smiled. “My eyes don’t work, son. There’s nothing wrong with my nose and my ears. You smell good. Come on up here. This your beau, Susan?”
She blushed, not that Mrs. Turner could see it, but Susan had a feeling the elderly woman knew anyway. She quickly made the introductions. “Nothing like that. This is Reverend Gabriel Dawson, the new pastor at Good Shepherd. Reverend, this is Mrs. Mattie Turner.”
“A preacher, huh?” Mrs. Turner said. “That’s a lot better than what you had before, God rest his soul.” She turned unseeing eyes toward Gabriel. “I used to go to Good Shepherd. It’s nice meeting you, Reverend.”
Gabriel took her hands in his. Contrary to her appearance, Mrs. Turner’s grip was strong and sure. Susan got a kick out of again seeing his surprise.
“Well, you’re a tall one, aren’t you.”
“Yes, ma’am. Six foot three. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. You said you used to be a member of Good Shepherd. I’d like to invite you back. We have some innovative programs for members of all ages. I think you might enjoy it.”
“He’s a charmer, isn’t he,” Mrs. Turner said to Susan.
She agreed, but had no intention whatsoever of admitting that. Susan made a noncommittal sound.
“I’ll think about it,” the elderly woman said. “Don’t get around as well as I used to.”
She invited them to sit, then she started telling them about her “great-grands.”
There was no point in rushing Mrs. Turner. When she had a point to make, she made it—even if it took an hour or all day. Susan settled into one of the straight-back kitchen chairs that had been hauled to the porch for the sole purpose of this kind of entertaining.
In addition to squiring the handsome preacher around the neighborhood, Susan’s walk had another purpose. By knocking on doors, she hoped to find the twins’ classmate’s house. Hannah and Sarah thought Jasmine lived in this block, but they weren’t sure. Jasmine, the girls said, wasn’t allowed to have company.
Susan had in her pocket an invitation to a tea party. Granted, there’d been no tea party actually scheduled, but it would be easy to round up a few little girls for an outing. With the twins and Jessica’s daughter Amy, they’d have a full complement. But before she could invite Jasmine and her mother to a fact-finding tea, she had to find them, period.
And if anyone existed in this neighborhood who knew everyone, it was Mrs. Mattie Turner.
“So, what are you two out doing today?” the elderly woman finally asked.
“Mrs. Carter is showing me the neighborhood.”
Mrs. Turner chuckled. “Trolling for lost souls on both ends now, huh?”
Gabriel smiled. “Something like that.”
“How has your hip been doing?” Susan asked.
“Supposed to be just like new,” Mrs. Turner said. “Those doctors just gave me a tune-up and said I’m good for another one hundred thousand miles.”
Susan turned to Gabriel. “You wouldn’t know it to see her moving down the street, but Mrs. Turner had hip replacement surgery a while ago.”
“Slowed me down, it did,” Mrs. Turner said.
They all chatted for a few more minutes about the weather and how Gabriel was getting along at Good Shepherd. Then, when she couldn’t think of a way to finesse her question into the conversation, Susan figured she’d just blurt it out. “While we’re out, I’m trying to find Jasmine Shaw. She’s in the girls’ class and I have an invitation for her. But we’re not sure about the address. Hannah and Sarah think she lives somewhere around here.”
“Shaw?” Mrs. Turner said, stroking her arm. “Shaw. Let me see. Well, years ago, there used to be a Shaw family lived around the block, over on Madison in the first block. But I think they’re all gone now.”
Susan tried to hide her disappointment.
“But wait a minute,” Mrs. Turner said, shifting in her seat. “There was a grandson. Trifling sort, from what I recall. Don’t know if he’s still around or if that’s the right one. It’s the only Shaw I can think of.”
Susan patted the woman’s hand. “I’ll check there.”
“I hope I’ll see you on Sunday, Mrs. Turner,” said Gabriel. “We have two services. One at eight and one at eleven. And we have a van that can pick you up.”
Mrs. Turner nodded. “Do tell. I didn’t know about that. I’m an early riser, Reverend. I’ll think about taking you up on that eight-o’clock invitation.”
“You said you used to attend Good Shepherd, but stopped. May I ask why?”
“Simple enough,” Mrs. Turner said. “Those sermons were deadly. Preacher