The Whistle Blower Read online

  The Whistle Blower

  A Wing and a Prayer Mystery

  ROBIN MERRILL

  New Creation Publishing

  Madison, Maine

  THE WHISTLE BLOWER: A WING AND A PRAYER MYSTERY. Copyright © 2019 by Robin Merrill. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Many thanks to Cozy Mystery Author Sarah Hualde for helping me name this series!

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  MORE BOOKS BY ROBIN MERRILL

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “Mama, Mama, Mama!” Joanna cried from her blanket on the grass.

  “What, honey?” Sandra tried not to sound annoyed.

  Joanna pointed at the field and began to chant, “Peter! Peter! Peter!” It appeared the coach had put Peter back into the game. At six years old, Joanna worshiped her big brother. Sandra thought probably this wouldn’t last forever. She pulled her sunglasses down out of her hair and onto her eyes so she could watch the game without squinting.

  Sandra had been sitting there in her folding chair for quite some time, but hadn’t really had a chance yet to watch the game. She’d had her hands full keeping Joanna in sight and keeping baby Sammy from screaming.

  But now Peter was back on the field, so now she wanted to focus.

  A child on the home team, a portly youngster who seemed far too enormous to be in middle school, flattened one of Plainfield’s strikers.

  The crowd behind her blew up. “How can you not see that?” one mom screamed. “Blow the whistle!” screamed another.

  Sandra looked at the referee to see how he was handling such unsolicited feedback and was alarmed to see that he appeared to be at least a hundred years old. Well, good then, maybe he doesn’t hear well.

  The play was long over, but the Plainfield coach was still screaming at the ref. Sandra was embarrassed. It was only their first game of the season, but they’d had several practices, and Sandra knew that Peter really liked his coach. She didn’t look forward to trying to explain to her ten-year-old why his coach was swearing at the referee during a middle school soccer game.

  Just when she thought he’d calmed down, there was another scuffle at the eighteen, and the Plainfield coach, as well as the Plainfield parents, once again disagreed with how the referee pronounced judgment.

  Sandra put her head in her hands.

  “Why is everybody so mad, Mama?” Joanna asked, reasonably.

  “Not sure, honey,” Sandra said quietly.

  Peter got the ball. Sandra held her breath. He looked so little out there, a fifth-grade-David amidst a battlefield full of Goliaths. Peter dribbled the ball toward the goal, and then it happened. One of the Philistines came for him. And flattened him like a bug.

  There was no whistle. The crowd behind her erupted again. Peter started to cry. Sandra stood up. Her first instinct was to run straight out onto the field and comfort her baby, but he wasn’t her baby anymore. Not really. The coach certainly wasn’t extending that type of compassion to her eldest.

  “Come on, Pete, walk it off,” he said.

  She knew that Peter didn’t like it when people called him Pete. But he did pick himself up and hobble toward the bench. Sandra couldn’t help herself from going to check on him, but she did manage to restrain herself from cutting across the field. It wasn’t lost on her that no parent did that—ever.

  “Come on, Joanna, we’re going for a walk.”

  “Is Peter okay, Mama?”

  “Yes, I’m sure he’s fine. Let’s go.”

  “Did the angels protect him?”

  “Yes, I’m sure they did. Let’s go.” Her patience tank was running low.

  Finally, Joanna stood up and took her hand.

  She tried to push the stroller with one hand, but the grass made this difficult. She wished, not for the first time, that they’d sprung for one of those fancy jogging strollers. “I’m going to need both hands,” she said, wresting her hand free of her daughter’s sweaty clutch. “Just stay with me.” Even with both hands, progress was slow. They crept down the touchline and then rounded the corner to travel the goal line. As they did, Sandra sneaked a look at the ancient ref. He didn’t look so good. Was something wrong, or was he just too old for this gig?

  Before she’d even finished the thought, the official wobbled a little and then his tall, lanky frame crumpled to the ground.

  Everything stopped. Joanna stopped walking. The coaches stopped screaming. The other, much younger, ref stopped and stared at his partner. The crowd fell silent. The kids stopped moving and most of them knelt to one knee, something they were trained to do when a player was injured. The ball rolled to a stop in the grass. Sandra looked around to find the closest adult and then realized she was it. Looks like I’m going to run out onto the field after all.

  “Stay here, honey. Stay right with Sammy.” She put her daughter’s small hand on the stroller handle, in the probably vain hope that this would tether her there.

  Sandra was only twenty feet away from the fallen official, and it didn’t take long to reach him. His face was red, he was gasping for air, and he reached up for her as she knelt beside him. She took his wrinkly hand into her own.

  “You’ve got to ... stop them ... stop them ...” he forced out.

  “Stop who?” she said, alarmed.

  “White,” he said, and then closed his eyes.

  Many had followed her lead. The field was filling with grown-ups. As Sandra felt for a pulse, another woman touched her on the shoulder. “I’m a nurse. Let me help him.”

  Sandra moved out of the way, grateful that there was someone more qualified. As she headed back toward her children standing on the goal line, the other referee grabbed her by the arm, not nearly as gently as she would have preferred, if given a say.

  “What did he say to you?”

  She yanked her arm away. “Nothing! Do you mind?” And she walked away, toward her family, wondering why sh
e’d just lied to a soccer ref.

  Chapter 2

  “Mom, I don’t want to stop at the store,” Peter whined. “I’m so thirsty.” When she didn’t respond to that, he added, “and hungry.”

  “Well, if you want to eat anything—ever—we need to stop at the grocery store.”

  “We have food at home!”

  “No, actually, we don’t, because you consume about six thousand calories per day. Don’t worry, it’ll be a quick stop.”

  “You always say that, and it’s never quick.”

  She yanked the rearview mirror down toward her face so she could look her eldest in the eye. “Did you just sass me? That sounded a little too close to sass.”

  He looked down, ashamed.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  It wasn’t that Peter didn’t have a point. Stopping at the grocery store with three children was a giant pain in the rear, but it was also a necessary evil. Their father had meetings and wouldn’t be home till late, so if they were going to eat, they had to buy food.

  She pulled into the parking lot of the mega-grocery, dismayed to see that everyone else in the state of Maine had also decided to shop at this exact moment. It took her ten minutes to get her three children out of the minivan, the shopping cart disinfected, and her youngest strapped into said shopping cart. Then she noticed Peter was still in his cleats. “Peter!” she snapped. “You can’t wear those into the store!” Another five minutes passed as Peter located and changed into his flip-flops. It started to rain. She was grateful it had waited until after the soccer game, but she also wished it could have waited until they got home.

  They entered the store, and Sandra shook the rain out of her hair. “Okay, Peter and Joanna, you can each pick out one healthy treat.”

  “If it’s healthy, it’s not a treat,” Peter mumbled.

  “Fine, then don’t get a treat. You can eat Brussels sprouts.”

  “Raspberries?” he said, his voice tinged with hope.

  “Sure. That sounds delicious,” Sandra said as she sifted through the avocados.

  They filled the cart. It looked like a lot, but Sandra knew it would only last a few days with Peter around.

  After twenty minutes in the checkout line, Sandra was able to purchase her wares. Then it was back to the minivan. The groceries and two oldest children were already in the van, and she was just buckling Sammy into his car seat, when a man’s voice behind her said, “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  Startled, she slammed the van door shut as she whirled to face him. Her first impression put her at immediate ease. His appearance was the very opposite of threatening. He was just barely taller than she (and she stood only 5’ 3”) and he was a bit on the fluffy side. He looked to be about forty, yet he still had chubby baby cheeks. His short, curly brown hair clung close to his head, and he wore relaxed-fitting jeans and a faded T-shirt. “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Sorry to bother you,” he said with perfect pleasantness. “I just need to ask you a question, and I know it’s going to sound strange, but it’s very important.” He paused.

  “Okay?” she prodded.

  “I need to know what the referee said to you before he died.”

  “He died?” She hadn’t known that. They’d whisked him away into an ambulance so fast, she’d thought he’d had a good chance.

  “I’m afraid that he did.”

  A thought occurred to her, and she scowled at the pleasant parking lot interloper. “Did the ref send you?”

  He scowled back. “The ref has gone to heaven, ma’am.”

  She couldn’t help it. She laughed so suddenly that she snorted. What a strange way to remind me that he’d died. “I meant the other ref.”

  “Oh!” her new friend said. “No, no, he didn’t send me.”

  “Well, the poor old man didn’t say anything to me,” she said, again not knowing why she was lying, and opened her car door.

  Her new friend reached over her and shut the door. If anyone else had done this, it might have been scary, but she didn’t think this man could possibly scare her. Still, she found him quite rude. “Excuse me!” she said, but at the same exact time, he said, “You’re lying,” so she said, “Excuse me?!” again to defend herself against such an absolutely accurate accusation.

  “You’re lying,” he repeated. “And that’s really okay. I understand why you’re lying”—

  You do? Because I don’t.

  —“but I really need you to tell me the truth. It’s important. And you can trust me.”

  In an instant, an overwhelming, supernatural peace flooded over her. Somehow she knew this was true. She could trust him. But she still didn’t want to tell him her secret. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Bob.”

  “Well, Bob, I don’t know you. And it is raining. And I am not wearing a raincoat. And I need to get home before my ice cream melts.” She started to open the door again. Again, he put his hand on it and prevented her from doing so. This time, she tried to pull it open anyway, against his resistance, but the door didn’t budge. This small man is stronger than he looks. She looked him in the eye. His eyes were brown, soft, and gentle. “Get your hand off my car or I will tell my son to call the police.”

  He didn’t move his hand. He looked in the car and said, “Your ten-year-old has a cell phone?”

  “How do you know my son is ten, and no, he is currently playing a game on my cell phone. Last warning. I will tell him to call—” She stopped talking because she saw a police officer crossing the parking lot. She started to call out “Officer!” but Bob clamped a hand over her mouth so all she got out was “Off!” which was also appropriate in this case. She pushed him in the chest. “Do not touch me!” Then she tried to hail the cop again.

  Again he placed his hand over her mouth, but this time he held it there and leaned in close to whisper to her. “Don’t do that! You’re just going to make a fool of yourself, and I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

  He sounded sincere enough, but she couldn’t believe he could mean such words while he was actively trying to smother her. She brought her knee up fast, homing in on his groin area, but he seemed to know it was coming and twisted his hips to protect himself. She longingly watched the police officer getting farther and farther away.

  She saw a woman approaching a pickup parked nearby. Sandra widened her eyes at the woman as if to plead for help but the woman just looked at her as if she was looking at a crazy person and hurriedly got into her truck.

  “I will explain,” Bob said, “but you’ve got to promise not to draw any more attention to us.”

  Sandra nodded quickly.

  Bob removed his hand.

  “They can’t see me,” he said. “Only you can see me.”

  For several seconds, Sandra did not respond to this. Then she said, slowly, “I beg your pardon?”

  “No one else can see me. Only you. Even your kids can’t see me. Actually, the baby can, but Peter and Joanna can’t. If they weren’t staring at screens right now, they’d wonder why their mother was standing in the parking lot talking to herself while their ice cream melts.”

  Sandra looked through the window at Sammy, who was chewing on his fingers and grinning foolishly. Then she looked at Bob. “Why can Sammy see you?”

  “All babies can see me.” He took a deep breath. “Sandra, I’m an angel of the Lord, and I really need you to tell me what Frank Fenton said to you before he died.”

  Sandra burst into laughter. She tipped her head back and laughed at the sky. Raindrops splatted onto her closed eyelids. She hooted until she had to gasp for air.

  “Are you finished?” Bob interrupted.

  She looked at him through teary eyes. “An angel?”

  He frowned. “Yes. An angel. Watch.” He held out his hand and his palm burst into flames. Then just as quickly, it went out. Bob looked bored.

  “Neat trick,” Sandra said dryly.

  “Sandra, I know you are a believer. Can w
e not drag this part out?”

  Suddenly, Sandra knew. A weird certainty flowed through her, and she just knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this man before her was a heavenly being. This knowledge brought on another bout of laughter. “I’m sorry,” she managed between cackles, “I believe you, I do, I’m just ... I’m just a little ...” She tried to stop laughing. She had pictured angels before. This wasn’t it.

  “It can be overwhelming to meet an angel face to face, I know. Now, please tell me what he said.”

  “Why?” Sandra asked, trying to catch her breath.

  “Why what?” She hadn’t known angels could look so annoyed.

  “Why do you need to know?”

  “Because I’m an angel, that’s why.”

  “But doesn’t God know? Can’t he just tell you?”

  Bob looked embarrassed.

  “What?” she prodded.

  “I’d like to handle this on my own, if possible.”

  “I always get into trouble when I try to handle things on my own, without God. Are you in trouble, Bob?”

  He flushed red. “I am not. But I have a job to do, and I would like to do it.”

  “What job?”

  “Will you puh-lease just tell me what he said?”

  “Sure, as soon as you tell me what your job is.” She was rapidly growing more comfortable with this alleged angel.

  Bob appeared to be weighing his options. Then he said, “It was my job to protect the souls involved in that soccer game.”

  She gasped. “So you are in trouble!”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I need to know what he said.”

  She decided to stop torturing him. “He said, ‘You’ve got to stop white.’”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  And Bob was gone. There was no bright light, no puff of smoke—he just vanished. He just wasn’t there anymore. Sandra looked around the parking lot, suddenly self-conscious of how she must have appeared to everyone for the past several minutes. But no one seemed to be paying her any mind. She shakily climbed into the van, thinking her kids would chide her for taking so long, but they just continued to stare at their screens. “Peter?”

  “Yeah?” He didn’t look up.