The Wedding Caper by Janice Thompson Page B

used to do these silly moves all around the
living room like little girls do, pretending I was on a big stage. I’d
forgotten all about it until recently.”
    I fought
to hold back the emotion as she continued on.
    “See,
about three weeks ago I started telling the Lord I wanted to dance. The desire
just—returned. And—” here her voice broke, “He told me I could.
Very soon.”
    I wanted
to say something, but couldn’t. The presence of God washed over me afresh and
tears filled my eyes. The oddest conglomeration of joy and sorrow came in waves
and kept me in utter silence for quite some time.
    Judy
didn’t seem to notice. She continued to run her finger across the delicate
ballerina, a look of sheer delight on her face. She eventually placed the tiny
glass dancer on the bedside table, and we dove back into conversation. However,
I couldn’t help but notice she paused every few minutes to give it another
happy glance. Funny, how such a little thing could mean so much. And funnier still that the Lord would have spoken so clearly to my
heart to purchase that particular item.
    We
chatted at length about things at the church. She didn’t mention anything about
Richard’s resignation from the Sunday school class, so I didn’t bring it up. In
fact, the tone of our conversation made me wonder if she knew at all. Before
long, she shifted gears, and I realized she knew more than she’d previously
expressed.
    “I’ve
been following the news—about the $25,000.” Her knuckles turned white as
she gripped the bed railing.
    “Oh?” My
heart rate increased a bit.
    She
nodded and sighed. “Richard told me that Sergeant O’Henry had been around to question him. What about Warren?”
    I nodded.
“Yes. They talked with him, too. A couple of times.”
    “It’s all
so strange.” Her brow wrinkled as she continued on. “But I’ve got to believe
there’s been some kind of mistake. How do we even know the deposit was made?”
    “I don’t
know.” Truthfully, that thought had entered my mind, too. Maybe Janetta’s daughter had pocketed the money and . . .
    Aw, who was I kidding? That scenario didn’t make any sense.
    On the
other hand, none of the scenarios in my head made a lot of sense.
    Judy and
I shifted gears, diving into a chat about Sheila, and reminiscing about old
times together when we’d worked on the “Get Out to Vote” rally. All of our
stories were positive and upbeat. As we finished our time together, I reflected
on three things.
    First,
Judy Blevins, weak as she was, was in “tip-top” shape spiritually. She might
not be up to crime fighting, but she certainly understood what it meant to
fight for the things that mattered. And, I dare say, she could chase the enemy
of her soul down a back alley and snag him in a heartbeat.
    Second, I
wanted—and needed—a fresh reminder of the things that were
important, truly important. And I wanted a heart that yearned to dance with my
heavenly Father.
    Third, my
desire to mark Richard Blevins as the perpetrator of this particular crime flew
right out the window the minute I looked headlong into his situation. No wonder
he’d been so evasive. With so much going on, his desire to “slip away” was
certainly understandable. Surely he just needed more time with his wife, while
he had the opportunity. Yes, all the dear man needed from me was my prayers and
a kind word in passing.
    And
perhaps all Judy needed. . . I glanced at the bed once
again and observed—with my www.investigativeskills.com eyes—the
peaceful expression on her face.
    Maybe all
she needed was a loving embrace.
    I reached
down to kiss her on both cheeks before leaving and whispered a quiet, “Thank
you” in her ear.
    She never
asked what I thanked her for. Somehow I think she just knew.
    I drove
home with the radio off and tears spilling every which way. Though I couldn’t
quite explain it—even to myself—I felt like a woman transformed.
Yes, my body still ached. And yes, my upper arms