The State of Grace: The Gillian Jones Series, #3

By Lois Lewandowski

The patriarch of the Jacksonville commune has died, and taking his place is his mean and narcissistic son, Beau Baxter. Probation officer Gillian Jones is busy with her own life – an impending visit from the father she hasn't seen in twenty years and the unexpected departure of her foster daughter – the last thing she needs is the added burden of keeping Beau on the right side of the law. When Gillian's courthouse nemesis, Dot, accuses Beau of forcing her sister, Grace, to stay in Jacksonville against her will, Gillian agrees to an unannounced probation visit. While Dot is with Grace, Gillian hears the rifle shot that ends Beau's life. As the clues mount and the past reveals itself, Gillian is desperate to catch a killer before the murderer strikes again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lois Lewandowski
• Release date: Feb 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201341084

Lois Lewandowski

Lois Lewandowski is the author of the Gillian Jones Mystery Series. The novels are character-driven Midwestern murder mysteries which incorporate social issues and humor. Raised on a farm in northeast Nebraska, she’s called Lincoln her home for over three decades. During that time, she’s worked for a social service agency, a newspaper, the Nebraska State Patrol and the Department of Motor Vehicles. Lois enjoys reading, cooking, hiking and spending time with her family.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The red tractor crested the top of the hill, the cultivator behind it turning over clumps of weeds to give the young soybeans room to grow. In the cab of the tractor, Dan Derfenmeyer inhaled deeply and thought about how much he loved this life and how close he’d come to never realizing it. After college, he’d scoffed at his dad’s idea of farming together and found a good job in the city. He married, bought a house, started a family, and thought life couldn’t be any better. Then, on a visit to his hometown, he’d smelled the freshly plowed earth and something inside of him changed. It seemed like the ground itself had launched an invisible tendril and wrapped it around his gut. After that, all he could think about was moving back to the farm.

When he broached the subject to his wife, Jenny, she’d laughed it off as an early mid-life crisis. After convincing her that he was serious, she hesitantly agreed to try it, with the understanding that if it didn’t work out they would return to the city. That had been four years ago.

Dan marveled at how the dank smell of dirt could make a man drop everything and come home again. There’d been a few adjustments, but his daughters loved it, too. Sure, they didn’t have next door neighbors anymore, but they had a host of family and friends. Even Jenny now agreed that the move to Bend Brook, Nebraska had been the right decision. Everything here was good. Well, almost everything.

His eyes narrowed at a wooded area just beyond the field. The town of Jacksonville was behind that stand of trees. Years ago, a group of people who wanted to get back to the basics had taken up residence there under the direction of Samuel Baxter. They lived simply and could come and go as they pleased. That concept of coming and going didn’t seem to hold true anymore, not since Samuel’s death last January. The word around town was that his oldest son, Beau, had taken over. Samuel had been a good man. Maybe Samuel had been a bit on the eccentric side and his ideas out of step with the rest of the world, nonetheless he’d been a kind and decent person. Dan doubted if anyone would ever say that about Beau. There had always been an air of meanness about Beau, and now there was something secretive and suspicious about Jacksonville, too.

Dan hoped his Aunt Grace and her family was okay. His aunt was married to Beau’s younger brother, Dale, and you couldn’t find brothers more different than those two. Where Beau was boisterous, good looking, and downright mean, Dale was quiet, plain, and kind. Dan took off his seed cap and wiped perspiration from his brow.

Aunt Grace had always been a fixture in his life – until this year when she suddenly became too busy to see them. Grace, Dale and their two kids never missed a family get-together before Samuel died. The oldest, Kevin, had moved out years before when he’d finished high school. He’d done well, and was in England doing an internship with the BBC.

But what about Lydia? She’d be sixteen now. The last time Dan had seen her was last fall when they’d Skyped with Kevin at his mom and dad’s house. Lydia had been full of giggles that day, playing with his girls.

Movement caught his eye, and from the thicket of trees that bordered the field, a dark figure emerged, waving to him. At first glance, he thought it was an old white-haired woman in a housedress, but as he sat up in the seat and squinted through his sunglasses, he saw blond hair in braids. It was Lydia! She dropped a bucket she was carrying, waving with both arms, the way a shipwreck survivor would signal a plane. He lifted his hand in acknowledgement and nudged the throttle so she’d know he was hurrying. Lydia waved back, and then sank to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been severed.

Dan reached the end of the row. Lydia was standing close to the tractor now, her blue eyes filled with concern, her braids moving in the breeze.

I didn’t recognize you at first with your hair long like that. Dan climbed down out of the tractor cab. Are you okay?

She nodded, her expression changing to a bright smile. It’s just been forever since I’ve seen Chloe. I was wondering if maybe I could come see her?

Of course, you can see Chloe! We’ve all been wondering why we haven’t seen hide or hair of any of you. He studied at the shapeless black dress she was wearing. What kind of outfit do you have on?

She averted her gaze, looking out toward the field. We’re in mourning for Grandpa Samuel. We have to wear black and we haven’t been able to go out and see anyone.

Who decided that? Dan asked.

She shrugged, turning to face him. Some people think it’s a good way to honor the deceased.

Dan pursed his lips, glancing over at the trees. And you’re not coming to school in Bend Brook anymore. Why is that?

A moment of despair washed across her face. I’m home schooled now, just like the Morton kids.

Dan glanced toward the tree line, he’d never considered Ted Morton part of Jacksonville. How in the heck does Ruth have time to school the kids and take care of the younger ones?

She shrugged. Mom’s helping.

Your mom’s teaching you? Dan couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. Aunt Grace had never been particularly scholarly, and teaching Math and English wasn’t something Dan could envision her enjoying. Is that something she wanted to do?

She said it’s for the best, Lydia looked down.

But you want to go to school in town?

Yes, she said quietly.

Then why don’t you this fall? The bus goes right by the main road. Surely you’ll be done with your mourning by then.

She fingered the end of her hair braid.

Look at me, Dan took her by the shoulders, is your mom okay? Has Beau hurt her?

No! Lydia’s head jerked up. Beau didn’t hurt her. It’s just that . . .

It’s just what?

Lydia inhaled. Everything keeps changing. After Grandpa died, some people left. We talked about it, too, but Uncle Beau said we couldn’t leave. He said he had a plan and we needed to pool our resources. And . . . she trailed off.

And what? Dan asked.

And everyone’s been arguing ever since.

Dan let go of her shoulders. He looked over at the stand of trees. Whatever Jacksonville had once been, it was a bad place now. He could feel it in his bones.

Dan? Lydia asked. What’s wrong?

He forced a smile. No one should be able to tell you what you can or can’t do.

Lydia’s eyebrows lifted. Not even my parents?

Dan chuckled uneasily. In some cases, not even your parents. He took off his seed cap. Lydia, I don’t know what your Uncle Beau has told you, but we’d help your mom and dad if they wanted to move out of Jacksonville.

You would? she asked.

Yes, we would. What kind of crap had Beau put in their heads now? We’re family.

She turned and looked back toward Jacksonville, the smile on her face fading.  Mom’s probably wondering where I am. I’m supposed to be picking wild strawberries. I told her there were a lot of them over in this area. I’ve been coming here as often as I’m able, hoping to see you.

You’ve been coming here to see me? His jaw clenched at the thought that Lydia had been trying to reach him, and he hadn’t figured it out.

Lydia squinted up at Dan, scrunching her face against the sun. I just wanted you to tell Chloe that I miss her, and I want to see her.

Dan took off his seed cap and ran his hand across his forehead. You want to come with me now and tell her yourself?

Lydia’s face lit up. Today? Right now?

Yep. I’ll have to go talk to your mom or dad first. He put the cap back on.

No. She shook her with enough force to make her braids swing. Not right now. I haven’t finished picking the strawberries. I have to get back. She turned toward the fence.

Wait, Dan called after her, puzzled. I thought you were talking about today. What about tomorrow?

Lydia spun around, a smile blazing across her face. Yes! I’ll be right in this spot at this time tomorrow.

Here in the field? Why don’t I come into Jacksonville to pick you up? Maybe your mom and dad could come, too.

The smile faded. She glanced back toward the trees, I don’t know what they’d say.

I’m hoping they say yes, Dan said.

Lydia looked down. Oh, I don’t know. Mom’s really busy. She says she doesn’t have enough hours in the day as it is. I’d have to talk to them and see. She glanced towards the woods. We’d go to your house tomorrow?

Dan nodded. We could.

She looked back at him, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. What if there were people who wanted to come, but they weren’t family. Would that still be okay? She searched his face for the answer.

Dan forced a smile. It doesn’t matter if they’re family or not. We’d find a place for them. But, if I’m understanding you correctly, ‘these people’ wouldn’t be able to leave if I drove into Jacksonville?

Lydia’s blue eyes locked on his. No.

He paused, taking a breath. It was the sound of a man about to pick up a heavy object. I’ll be here this time tomorrow, Lydia, right here in the field. Tell your mom and dad and anybody else if they want to come with me, that’s okay. Do you understand?

Lydia giggled suddenly and the bucket slipped out of her hand. Dan smiled, that laugh sounded like the Lydia he knew. I hope Chloe will fix my hair, she said. It’s gotten awfully long.

I’m sure she will. The girls have been missing you, Lydia. We all have, Dan said.

She reached down for the bucket. I’d better get back with those strawberries. I have a lot to do today. She started to walk away and then turned back to wave. See you tomorrow!

See you, Dan echoed as he watched her hurry away. He turned and climbed back in the tractor cab. Had he done the right thing by asking Lydia to leave without first talking to Grace or Dale? Well, there was something very wrong in Jacksonville, that was a given.

Dan started thinking about what the next day might hold, working out the details in his mind. He’d bring his pickup, leave it on the road, and walk to this side of the field. He’d better get some backup, too. How many people lived in Jacksonville? Thirty? Forty? It used to be well over a hundred, but it had dwindled over the years and several families left right after Samuel died. Well, they’d find a place for everyone who wanted to leave, one way or another. Dan sighed. Poor Lydia, she was such a sweet kid. How much of this did she understand? He watched her in his side mirror, held up his hand and waved before he went over the hill, but Lydia didn’t see him.

A GLANCE AT THE SKY made her swear aloud. The sun was high; her mother would be looking for her. She knelt down, picking the berries as fast as she could. She should have picked them already, but she’d thought she’d be leaving with Dan today. If she could just get to Chloe, she could get some decent clothes. But that would have meant leaving Beth, and tomorrow Beth would be able to go with her. Lydia snorted at the irony of it. After Grandpa died, Aunt Dot and everyone was so worried about Uncle Beau because of his episodes in the past. Well, Beth’s dad was having episodes in the present. It was a miracle Ted Morton hadn’t seriously hurt someone.

It was because of Ted that she was wearing this God-awful black dress. She and Beth tried to run away to Aunt Dot’s house, but he’d seen them. He told Beth he’d beat the daylights out of her if she did it again. The next day, he’d left and brought back a bunch of horrible old clothes, ordering her and Beth to wear them. When Beth’s mom tried to intervene, he’d told her they were for her, too! Her own dad stood up to Ted and said the dresses weren’t necessary, but then Beau entered the fray. Beau didn’t care one bit what they wore, he just wanted to pick another fight with her dad. Ted knew neither she nor Beth would be caught dead waving down a car or meeting their friends dressed like this, but Chloe was more than a friend. She was family.

Her stomach turned at the thought of what she had told Dan about being in mourning for her grandpa. Well, it hadn’t been a total lie; Grandpa hadn’t been dead for a year and people did wear black.

Grandpa Samuel probably would have called the little white lie resourceful. That had been his mantra to everyone. Be resourceful! The rest of the world may lose their modern conveniences and their power, but we’ll be fine because the only thing we depend on is ourselves! A wave of sadness washed over her, she missed her Grandpa. Things had been so much better when he was alive.

In her haste, she was getting some of the small white blooms in with the berries; she’d have to sort them out when she got back. A drop of sweat ran down the side of her face and she swiped it away with her hand. If it was this hot in June, what would the rest of the summer be like? She thought of the kids she knew from school, and their air-conditioned houses. Once she got out of Jacksonville, she was going to live in a decent house with a cell phone. Beth’s grandma had quietly slipped a cell phone in her pocket the last time she’d been there. When her dad wasn’t watching – which was hardly ever – Beth had shared it with her until the battery died. They had no place to charge it.

The brome grass pricked at her arms, she pushed it to the side in search of strawberries; her luck held – she came upon a whole nest of them. She threw them in the bucket, stems and all. She straightened up, wiped sweat from her forehead and straightened the dress that had bunched between her legs. It must be close to noon. She had to get back.

There was a path through the woods, overgrown with foliage, but still much faster than going to the gulley at the end of the woods. The problem with the path, besides its lack of use, was that it came out near Beau’s cabin. Lydia stood for a moment, debating which path to take. She decided on the quicker route. She broke into a jog and dove into the woods, shoving the branches out of her way with her free hand. The trick to running through the dense brush was to keep your head down and watch where you were stepping, so that you didn’t trip.

She could almost feel her heart grow wings; she was going to see Chloe tomorrow! She’d get out of this dress and be a normal kid for once in her life. She didn’t dare tell her mom or her dad. That was okay, though. Hadn’t Dan just told her you didn’t always have to listen to your parents?

Lydia stopped abruptly, dropping her arm and letting a branch smack the side of her face. A pair of black work shoes were planted on the path in front of her. Her eyes followed the shoes up, past the jeans and shirt to meet the vivid blue eyes of Beau Baxter.

Her cheek stung where the branch had swiped it, she touched it with her fingers and felt blood. I was just . . .

I know exactly what you were doing. He reached out and grabbed her forearm, and it was a big mistake, missy.

CHAPTER 1

Frigid air blasted the back of my neck. Irritated, I swiveled my chair around to turn off the window air conditioner. Built at the turn of the century, my office in the Jackson County Courthouse offered two temperatures on a hot August day like today: greenhouse or meat locker.

Turning back to my desk, I searched through court and criminal records for any information on Beau Baxter. I’d never met Beau, but I’d heard a lot about him after he’d conveniently moved his cows to a field next to Lester Tenbetter’s prize winning Angus bull. The barbed wire fence had been cut and most of Beau’s herd impregnated. Lester confronted Beau about the fence, and incensed by Beau’s cavalier attitude, insisted that charges be filed for his damaged property. Newt, the county sheriff, followed up on Lester’s complaint and, infuriated by Beau’s lack of remorse, charged him with felony theft and burglary. The county attorney offered Beau a deal, if he’d plead guilty to the misdemeanor charge of theft by unlawful taking. Beau refused, and now faced a charge of cattle rustling. He’d opted for a bench trial in front of the judge rather than a traditional jury.

Today I counted myself among the people thoroughly peeved with Beau’s decisions. The judge and the county attorney had requested my presence at Beau’s trial this afternoon. I did not want to be here today when I should be saying goodbye to my foster children, Jessica and Logan. The word goodbye buzzed around in my mind like an irritating mosquito. I didn’t want either of them to leave, especially not Logan.

The pen slipped from my hand, and I reached for the framed picture on my desk. The photo was of my former probation client, Jessica, and her three-year-old son, Logan. They’d moved in the previous August with me and my husband, Clint. In May, Jessica graduated from high school. The plan was for her to commute to a community college while she and Logan remained living with us. At least, that had been my plan. That all changed in December when Jessica was accepted into the Mother’s Living and Learning program at the College of Saint Mary in Omaha. I hadn’t even been aware she’d applied there. The program allowed Jessica to live in a dormitory with other young mothers. Jessica, a somber and studious teenager, had been quietly elated. Clint and I tried to be happy for her, or at least give the appearance that we were. Today was Move-In Day and Clint was moving their things to the dorm, spending this last day with them, while I was stuck here in my office waiting for Beau’s trial to start.

The phone on my desk rang. I checked the caller ID. It was Clint.

We’re back, he said.

How was it? I put the picture frame back.

You didn’t miss much. It’s just your typical dorm, Clint said, except there’s a whole floor for the moms and their kids. They have a study room and play room. None of the moms have more than two children and none of the children are older than nine. Actually, most are a lot younger. Everything is very structured. Still, it seems like a lot of people. It’s much more hectic than our house.

Maybe they won’t like it, I said.

Gillian, he said gently, she’s not changing her mind.

I’d tried to persuade Jessica to leave Logan with us until she settled into a schedule. Jessica wasn’t long on words, but it was clear she was taking Logan with her and any discussion was futile. She might not consider it today, but maybe after she starts her classes, she’ll change her mind.

Clint hesitated. I wouldn’t bank on it. It’s set up pretty well. She can walk to daycare with Logan and then go on to her classes. Tomorrow she’s taking Logan over there and staying with him so he can get used to it. She knows it will be an adjustment, but she’s thinking of him. She loves him. He paused. Not that the rest of us don’t.

I could hear the hurt resignation in Clint’s voice. We’d been trying to have a baby for four years, with no success. I’d decided maybe children weren’t in our future, but settling into a mother role for Jessica and Logan had been one of the best things that ever happened to me. We’d melded into a family within days. I shouldn’t have gotten so attached.

We all got too attached, to both of them. Which reminds me, we are having a birthday party this afternoon, not a going away party.

I got up from my desk, pushing the office door shut with my foot. But we’ve already had their birthday parties! Logan’s fourth birthday had been on the tenth of August and Jessica had turned nineteen this past week. I don’t want another birthday party. You know how hard my birthday was this year.

I know, Clint sounded torn. It’s just Mom. She starts to cry every time someone says ‘going away’ party.

Can’t you just tell her I don’t want another birthday party? I asked.

Clint was quiet for a moment. This is my mother we’re talking about. I think right now we’re all a little emotional.

I was silent.

I’ll see what I can do, he said.

We said goodbye and hung up. The past May had marked my thirty-fifth birthday, the age in the fertility world when your eggs become old and less viable. For me, turning thirty-five had in essence been a going away party to my ability to have a child. The fact that Jessica and Logan were leaving, coupled with my birthday, brought on a mid-life crisis for me. In a state of panicky proactiveness, I’d had eggs harvested, wanting to keep our invitro fertilization option open with youthful eggs. Clint didn’t think it was ethical to freeze embryos unless each and every one of them was used. We’d argued about what we’d do with any leftover embryos, so we stopped after the egg retrieval rather than taking it to the next step. The procedure had taken a bite out of our savings and put a strain on our marriage.

In hindsight, I knew we should have agreed on an IVF plan before scheduling the procedure. We’d both seen it differently, though,