Nightshade Can Be Deadly: A Christian Mystery

Nightshade

Can Be Deadly

A Christian Mystery

amy hufnal

cover illustrations by

amy Hufnal

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: 1-800-839-8640

© 2011 Amy Hufnal. All Right Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 07/11/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4567-4149-5 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-4150-1 (sc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011902149

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

*** Chapter 1 ***

*** Chapter 2 ***

*** Chapter 3 ***

*** Chapter 4 ***

*** Chapter 5 ***

*** Chapter 6 ***

*** Chapter 7 ***

*** Chapter 8 ***

*** Chapter 9 ***

*** Chapter 10 ***

*** Chapter 11 ***

*** Chapter 12 ***

*** Chapter 13 ***

About the author

In loving memory of

Grama P. & Grampa J.

I praise God for their wonderful influence in my life.

To my beloved Kenyan son Ken, my brother and sister in Christ—Evans and Cynthia, my nephew Lefo, and my Kenyan friends who are in my heart forever. May you always know that greater is He that is in you than he who is in the world.

*** Chapter 1 ***

Emma, a tall, somewhat thin girl with auburn hair and hazel eyes sat quietly in the train station, gently playing with a gold cross that hung around her neck. It was a gift from her grandmother—a true woman of God. It seemed like only yesterday that her grandma had given it to her on her 15th birthday. Now, almost 12 years later, she sat on the long oak bench—one of many in the Great Hall—closing her eyes and day dreaming about the bible stories they had shared over the years until someone brushed past her. Startled, she opened her eyes to see a rather distinguished looking man with a thick, peppery moustache and deep set green eyes stumble, trying to juggle two suitcases, a shoulder bag and attaché case across the station floor. He stopped momentarily to adjust the beret, which covered only a small portion of his bald head. Penn Station seemed unusually busy tonight, Emma thought—the cacophony of sights and sounds that could—very possibly—overwhelm someone who was just visiting the area for the first time.

Another commotion diverted Emma’s attention and she glanced behind her to see an elderly woman in a light pink polka dot dress scramble to pick up her bouquet of flowers that lay in a heap on the station floor. A late train passenger had bumped into her, knocking the flowers to the ground and did not even stop to help. Emma got up quickly and said Here Madam, let me help you. Thank you my dear, the old woman remarked and began to crossly reprimand the man, who had by now rushed down into the boarding area. Look at these! she said disgustedly. The stems are all broken. They are for my granddaughter, you know. It is her birthday tomorrow and she is spending it with me. I’m only able to see her once a year. She is a veterinarian and uses her vacation to visit her old grandma. She is coming in on the 8:55 tonight. I think that train is late, Emma said with a bit of dejection in her voice. I don’t know why trains are always late. It makes everything so inconvenient, the woman grumbled. Each looked at their watches. It was now 9:07 and still no announcement from the station loud speakers for train #206.

Well, said Emma in a reassuring voice, When the train does arrive, I’m sure your granddaughter will think the flowers are beautiful. I know I would. How kind of you my dear. God bless you for your thoughtful words. The old woman smiled and walked away holding the broken flowers tightly against her. She stopped briefly to straighten a wisp of gray hair which had fallen out of place during her upsetting ordeal.

Emma went back to where she had left her suitcase, picked it up and walked to the boarding ramp. Seeing one of the station clerks, she went up and tapped him on the shoulder. Pardon me, but when is the train due?

Which one he replied slowly. We have many. Number 206 sir. He starred at Emma and then squinted at his watch. Not saying a word, he proceeded to remove a chocolate brown handkerchief from his vest pocket, take the small bronze—rimmed glasses off his face, clean each lens and then place them back on the bridge of his nose. He raised his eye brows and said Hmmm, a bit late tonight. Emma, who was trying to be patient said, Yes, I know that sir. I would just like to know how much longer it will be before it arrives. Well, he replied in a monotone voice, should be here shortly.

Now thoroughly exhausted by the whole conversation, Emma went back and sat down. It was 9:32 p.m. when it finally pulled into the station and would be another 20 minutes before Emma could board the out-going train. She saw the old woman and her granddaughter hug and she smiled when the granddaughter squealed with joy at the lovely flowers. At 9:52 p.m. the boarding announcement was made. Emma picked up her suitcase and made her way down the ramp to the coach car. She climbed the five cast iron stairs, deposited her suitcase in the luggage bin by the door and proceeded to choose a seat next to the window.

Her eyes followed the people as they moved down the aisle. Some carried newspapers and steaming cups of coffee while others walked briskly past with their coats carelessly draped over their arms. A woman wearing a large black hat with a stunning turquoise band and a peacock feather caught her attention. The woman sat down just opposite Emma and she stared at the woman. She was quite handsome with high cheek bones and crimson lipstick. When the woman realized Emma was starring at her, Emma quickly diverted her eyes to a young man who was trying, rather unsuccessfully, to fold the Evening Bulletin. She watched him struggle and then glanced once again at the woman. The lights dimmed in the coach car, the conductor blew two long, almost deafening blasts on the whistle and the train began to move. It jerked at first and the jolt almost knocked the woman’s hat off her head. Emma watched her readjust it, mumbling under her breath. Oh, it always does that, Emma said with a smile but did not receive any pleasantry in return. Not even a glance from the woman.

Emma turned and starred out the dark window but found that if she positioned herself just right, she could see the woman reflected in the glass.

She watched with curiosity as the woman picked up her rind stone clutch bag and looked through the main compartment. When she couldn’t find what she was searching for, she paused, looked around the coach and then frantically opened a small compartment on the back side of the bag. Probing inside with her right hand, a look of relief washed across her face when she touched what she had apparently been searching for. Very carefully, she extracted a sparkling emerald necklace and placed it around her neck. After it was securely fastened, she removed a photo and small bit of paper. Emma strained to see the photo but could not make it out in the reflected glass. After the woman read the note and looked a bit longer at the photo, she tucked both back into her clutch. She leaned back in her seat and whispered It’s beautiful Joseph, but it’s not enough. Emma—who had been watching all of this in the reflected window made an audible sound but quickly tried to cover it by coughing twice. The woman looked up at Emma. Emma continued to look out of her window, pretending not to have seen anything. The woman starred at Emma for several minutes making her feel very uncomfortable. Emma readjusted herself in the seat—she was becoming very sleepy. Leaning her head gently against the rattling window, she tried to fall asleep but found that to be quite a challenge, for whenever the train roared over a switch it made an awful clacking sound. Even so, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep—her destination still two hours away.

She dozed on and off waking only once to catch a glimpse of Boat House Row—each building lit with hundreds of white lights that outlined the angular shapes of the structures. When she woke, she noticed that the woman in the black hat was gone and now a large, rough looking man with steel blue eyes and a gaudy orange striped tie was sitting in that seat. Good evening Emma. Startled, Emma sat straight up in her seat, closed the belt on her coat and placed the strap of her purse securely around her wrist. With hesitation she said Good evening. Do I know you? No, he said but the woman who was sitting here earlier told me your name. The woman… but… who? The train whistle blew loudly.

I believe this is our stop, isn’t it Emma. Emma did not answer the man. She felt very unnerved and got up abruptly. Pardon me sir; I must get my suitcase. She grabbed her pursed and whisked past him not even thinking to ask his name. She made her way to the back of the coach where she had stowed her suitcase. The Coachman hollered Next stop Paoli, Paoli next stop. Emma turned around to get another look at the man but now, he too was gone. The train slowed, pulling into the station, wheels squealing as the brakes were applied. Emma grabbed her suitcase, stepped off the train and walked quickly to the end of the platform. She headed to the lot where she had left her dads old Ford two weeks earlier. Before placing the key in the trunk lock, she looked around to see if the man who knew her name was in sight. Seeing only the exiting passengers, she opened the trunk, placed the case inside and slammed it shut. When she opened the car, she checked the back seat, got in and closed the door. Just a fluke, she thought glancing in the rear view mirror. She drove out of the lot and headed for home. It was almost 12:30 in the morning and she was desperately tired.

The phone rang and Emma slowly reached for the receiver, knocking her water glass off the night table and on to the mauve carpet below. She glanced at the clock. Hello she said in a groggy voice. "Oh, good morning Mrs. Baxter. What time is it? Oh. That’s all right. Yes, I arrived late last evening. No, no. Not at all. It’s fine. Tell