Jack held his hands up in supplication. “I’m not interfering with anything. I’m just making sure that Amy knows that she doesn’t have to speak to you without an attorney present.”
“I don’t need a lawyer. I swear I didn’t hurt Julia,” Amy cried, stopping in front of Jack as the deputy led her by the arm from the house.
“I know, Amy,” Jack said. “I know. We’ll get you a lawyer. Just don’t say anything until we find someone.” Amy nodded and was whisked away by the deputy and into his cruiser.
“Bastard,” Jack whispered.
“At least he came out and talked to us,” Sarah observed. “That’s something.”
Jack gave a breathy snort. “You give him too much credit. Gilmore doesn’t have a whole lot of love for my family.”
Together they walked back to their cars and Jack opened the door to Hal’s truck. “Let’s just go back to Hal’s. We’ll get a lawyer for Amy and check on her in the morning.”
Sarah followed Jack along the winding roads that led back to the farm, all the while feeling as though she’d entered an alternate universe the minute she arrived in Penny Gate.
Sarah thought back to what Jack had asked the sheriff. After all that she’s been through, what we’ve been through, you think Amy would kill Julia? This was the closest to a revelation Jack had ever made about his past. At least, the only true one. Sarah knew her next conversation with Jack was critical. He had lied to her for the past twenty years. And not just small, inconsequential untruths, but epic lies that had shaken if not irreparably damaged their marriage.
By the time they reached the farm the sun had set. Hal, even in his grief, was thoughtful enough to leave the porch light on for them, but the rest of the house was dark.
Jack unlocked and opened the front door. He flipped on a table lamp and waited until Sarah crossed the threshold and closed the door behind her, locking and chaining the door.
“What a day,” Jack said, releasing a long breath. “Maybe when I wake up in the morning it will all have just been a nightmare.”
“Jack, we need to talk,” Sarah said in a calm but firm voice.
“Come on, Sarah, the last thing I want to do is talk right now. My aunt died today, my sister...” he began, but Sarah stopped him by holding up one hand.
“I love you, Jack, but if you don’t sit down and talk to me right now, I’m going to be on the very next flight back to Larkspur.”
Sarah expected him to protest, to scoff and wave her off, but he didn’t. He must have heard something new in her voice. She wasn’t going to be dismissed. She wasn’t bluffing.
“Okay,” he said guardedly. “I’m listening.”
Sarah settled onto the sofa and Jack chose the chair across from her. Though she had planned what she was going to say to Jack on the drive back from Amy’s, she found herself struggling for the right words. “You get one chance here, Jack.” Her voice trembled despite her resolve to see this conversation to the end.
“Sarah...” Jack said earnestly, leaning forward.
“No.” Sarah shook her head. “Let me talk first.”
Jack sat back in his chair, arms folded across his chest.
“Here’s what I’ve learned in the past twenty-four hours, from people I barely even know. Your real name is Tierney, not Quinlan. And I know you dated Celia. Seriously enough to consider marriage.” Jack looked like he was going to protest, but Sarah silenced him with a warning look. He huffed and shook his head in annoyance. “I’m not done,” Sarah continued. “I know your mom and dad didn’t die in a car accident. And I know that your dad killed her and disappeared and hasn’t been seen since.” Sarah paused, expecting Jack to protest, to try and explain away his lies. But he didn’t.
His expression softened and he rose from the chair and joined Sarah on the sofa.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I messed up.”
“No, Jack,” Sarah said angrily, her eyes burning with hot tears. “Messing up is forgetting a birthday or anniversary. This is so much worse.”
“I know, I know.” Jack reached for her hand, but she pulled away. There was no way, she thought, that she was going to let Jack off so easily. “Please look at me,” he pleaded. Unwillingly, Sarah met his eyes. “Before I met you, I never thought I would get married and have kids. I never let anyone in. I didn’t get close to anyone.”
“But you didn’t let me in,” Sarah protested. “You made up this entire fictional history for yourself. How much could you have really loved me if you couldn’t tell me the truth about your parents?”
“I did love you. I do love you. More than anything. That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you.”
“That makes absolutely no sense.” Sarah pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes.
“Sarah, would you have seriously considered marrying me if you knew that my dad murdered my mother and that he could still be out there?”
“You really think that little of me? You think that I’m so shallow that I couldn’t see past all the things that I love about you because of something your father did?”
Jack shrugged helplessly. “I was afraid of losing you. If I could go back and change it, I would. I would have told you everything.”
“Is there anything else?” Sarah asked. “Anything you’re not telling me?”
“No, nothing,” Jack assured her. “I swear.”
“I mean it, Jack, if there’s anything else I need to know, tell me now.”
“Sarah, I promise you, there’s nothing else.” He pulled Sarah close to him and this time Sarah didn’t pull away. She wanted to melt into his arms, but something didn’t allow her to surrender fully.
“I’m going up to bed,” she told him tiredly as she broke the embrace.
“I’ll be up in a few minutes,” Jack told her. He brushed his fingers against her cheek. “I love you, Sarah,” he murmured, and kissed her softly on the lips.
“I love you, too,” she answered, not quite able to meet his eyes. She trudged up the stairs to the bedroom that Jack had slept in when he was fifteen years old. She was struck at how only twenty-four hours in Penny Gate had aged her husband. What was it Amy had said about the town when they were at the hospital? People who stay around here too long either die or go crazy.
Sarah crawled into bed, willing her brain to still itself. So many emotions were pummeling her: anger, fear, confusion. On some level she wanted so badly to return to the blind trust she once had in Jack, but she now knew that unshakable confidence was gone forever. Had he really just been a young man who was afraid of losing Sarah because of the actions of his father? Sarah wasn’t fully convinced.
8
SARAH AWOKE EARLY the next morning disoriented, not sure where she was. She thought she heard something, a light knocking, but she wasn’t sure from where it was coming. Beside her Jack slept. She rolled over in bed and reached for her phone, checking to see if either of the girls had called or left a text. They hadn’t. She clicked on her mail icon and immediately an email from someone named Seller85 stood out from the rest with an odd subject line: “Two blind mice.” She touched the email to open it.
Dear Astrid,
Two blind mice.
Iron
Cold and Hard.
A whore in a yellow dress.
See how they run?
She recalled the similar email she had received yesterday. Three blind mice, she remembered it had read. It was odd, she thought, but she was used to getting bizarre emails from readers. She deleted the email, thinking that she’d certainly received worse.
The tapping resumed, a hollow metronome that would pause for a moment and then continue.
“Jack,” she whispered. He was sleeping so soundly, so peacefully, splayed on his stomach, his breath rising in slow, even intervals.
> Now she eased from the bed, careful not to wake him, quickly dressed and closed the bedroom door behind her with a soft click. The door to Hal’s bedroom was also shut. It was still dark out and the house had that quiet, settled feeling before the hum of the day began.
The knocking continued as she made her way down the steps. Someone was at the front door. She checked the clock on the living room wall. Barely 6:00 a.m. Who could be here at this time of day? She flipped on the porch light and peeked through the small glass pane in the door. It was Sheriff Gilmore and two other men dressed in deputy uniforms.
Sarah opened the door and saw the grave look on Gilmore’s face. Sarah felt the breath squeeze from her lungs. “Is it Amy?” she asked. “Is she okay?” Two stone-faced deputies flanked Gilmore. Sarah recognized one as the deputy who had been at Amy’s home the day before.
“Amy is being questioned in connection with the murder of her aunt. So no, I can’t say that things are fine. I’m afraid we’re here on not-so-pleasant business. I need to talk to Hal and Jack. May we come in?” Gilmore removed his hat.
Sarah glanced behind her to the still-darkened house. “Can’t you come back a little later? Hal and Jack are still sleeping. They’re exhausted.”
“I’m afraid not,” Gilmore said, and Sarah became increasingly alarmed. He held up a piece of paper. “We’ve got a warrant.”
“I think you better wait out on the porch. I’ll go upstairs and get Hal and Jack.” Gilmore didn’t argue, but Sarah also knew that the sheriff and his men weren’t planning on going anywhere.
Sarah turned on the living room lamps before she headed upstairs. The light warmed the room and made Gilmore’s unsettling visit seem more ominous. Suddenly, she knew exactly why Gilmore was here at this early hour and she hated him for it.
Her mind was racing. Foul play was suspected in the death of Julia, an object covered with what looked like blood had been found at Amy’s and now Amy was being questioned. Had more evidence been discovered? Surely it was too soon for Julia’s autopsy to be completed. Had Amy confessed to something? Sarah took the steps two at a time and stumbled, falling to one knee at the top of the landing. “Dammit,” she mumbled in embarrassment, and as she pushed herself to her feet, her eyes landed on the spot where the dark oak trim met the plastered wall.
She saw a small spatter of brown dots that looked like blood.
Sarah thought about what Amy had said about Julia being attacked before falling down the stairs. Or was it Jack who had said this? She couldn’t remember. She bent down and ran her fingers along the hardwood floor, looking for any clue into what happened to Julia on these stairs. There was one deep gouge about three inches long and two inches wide, but it was an old house, an old floor. The gash could have been there for years. Her eyes traveled upward from the baseboard to the wall. Tiny, dark spots freckled the plaster. She moved even closer. It definitely could be blood, she thought.
She decided to wake Jack first. “Jack, Jack,” she said, and prodded him gently. His eyes fluttered open and landed sleepily on her. “Everything’s okay,” she began, not wanting to alarm him. “The sheriff is downstairs. He wants to talk to you and Hal. He has a warrant.”
“Sheriff Gilmore?” Jack asked blearily. “Here? What time is it?”
“Six,” Sarah said, handing Jack his pants. “He has two deputies with him.”
Jack immediately became alert and sat upright. “Let me handle this. Let Hal sleep. He doesn’t need to deal with this today.”
“He told me to get Hal.”
“Dammit,” Jack muttered. “Why can’t we grieve in peace? Can you wake him up?”
“Jack.” She grabbed his elbow. “There’s blood on the stairs.”
“What?” he asked as he pulled on a pair of jeans.
“At the top of the steps and on the wall. I think there’s blood.”
Jack stuffed his shirt into his pants. “Is it noticeable?”
“No, there’s just a little bit, if that’s what it even is.” Sarah hugged her arms close to her.
“Don’t say anything to Gilmore,” he said shortly.
“But what if it has something to do with Julia’s fall?” Sarah asked.
“It’s probably nothing. Did he say anything about Amy?”
Sarah shook her head. “Just that she’s okay.”
“Go ahead and wake Hal,” he said firmly. “And don’t say anything about the blood on the steps.”
Sarah watched him leave the room. Didn’t he want to know what had happened to his aunt? Was it more important to protect the person who might have hurt her, even if it was Amy?
She heard Jack greet the sheriff and walked quickly to Hal’s room. He was sleeping soundly, one arm flung to the empty side of the bed as if he fell asleep reaching for his wife.
“Hal,” Sarah said as she roused him. “Sheriff Gilmore is here. I think he wants to search the house.”
“What? Why?” Hal sat up and turned on the lamp on his bedside table. He reached for his glasses and slid them onto his face, magnifying his red and swollen eyes.
“They must be investigating Julia’s fall. He wants you to come downstairs.”
He swung his bare legs over the side of the bed. They were thin and lined with spidery purple veins. His large, round stomach hung heavily over the elastic band of his boxer shorts and his hands clutched the mattress on either side of him as if to help keep him upright. “Does it have something to do with what they found at Amy’s house? Do they really think she could have hurt Julia?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah finally said out loud. “Do you think Amy could have hurt her?” she dared to ask.
Hal stood, and the hardwood floor creaked beneath his bare feet. “Of course not,” he said emphatically, and Sarah wondered if he was trying to convince himself as much as Sarah.
While Hal dressed, Sarah went to the bathroom to quickly wash her face and brush her teeth. She turned on the tap, scrubbed her hands under the hot water and looked at herself in the vanity over the sink. She looked the way she felt, which was downright haggard. The trip and lack of sound sleep had left her skin dry and her lips cracked. Her hair, usually smooth and shiny, was dull and frizzed, and she futilely tried to pat it down with her fingers.
She glanced around in search of a hand towel and in the corner noticed a wicker basket lined with Spanish moss and filled with what Sarah could only describe as old farm tools. A small pulley, a rusty hand trowel, a worn leather tape measure and several other items that Sarah couldn’t identify. One spot stood glaringly empty, as if one of the tools had been removed. Sarah flashed on the bloody object found in Amy’s home. Wouldn’t it have fit perfectly within the empty space? What if Amy, in a fit of rage, pulled the bale hook from the basket and attacked Julia at the top of the steps?
She tried to push the thoughts away. Don’t borrow trouble, she told herself. Her imagination was working overtime. The autopsy results on Julia were still pending and the supposed weapon found at Amy’s home was probably not connected to her death at all.
Sarah called Dean to let him know what was happening. She hadn’t seen him since she had witnessed the violent incident with Celia, but she knew Hal would appreciate having his son there.
By the time she came back downstairs, Gilmore and the deputies were standing in the living room with Jack and Hal. Hal was staring down at a piece of paper, and Jack looked fired up and ready to pounce. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he said in bewilderment.
“I’m going to have to ask you all to leave while we execute the search,” Gilmore explained, ignoring Hal’s statement. “It shouldn’t take very long. We also need to ask each of you some questions. Why don’t I meet you all down at the sheriff’s department and we’ll talk. I know you’ve got some hard days in front of you. That’s why we thought it was best to come early and let yo
u get on with your business.”
“I don’t understand,” Hal said as he sank into a chair.
“We can’t go into the specifics, but as you know, we have reason to suspect that Julia’s death was not an accident. We need to conduct a thorough investigation. We’ll be out of here as quickly as possible.”
Jack pointed a finger at Gilmore, a crimson flush creeping up his neck. “You’ve had it in for my family since my mom died.”
“Just doing my job, Jack,” Gilmore said mildly. “Just like I did thirty years ago.”
“What parts of the property are you going to search?” Sarah asked, hoping to diffuse the tension between Jack and the sheriff. “Just the house?”
“The house and the three outbuildings,” Gilmore answered. “Like I said, the quicker my people can get to work, the quicker you can go about your business.” Hal rose from his chair and together they moved outside.
The sun hadn’t yet risen and the farmyard was quiet. In the distance a deep rumble rolled down toward them, and Dean and Celia’s pickup came into view. They came to a stop behind the two sheriff’s vehicles parked in the grass just off to the side of the dirt lane. They were followed by a white van emblazoned with the words Sawyer County Crime Scene Unit across the side. Dean and Celia stepped from the truck and came rushing toward them.
“What the hell is going on?” Dean asked, his words clearly focused at the sheriff. “Can’t you have some fucking decency and leave my family alone? We’re grieving, for God’s sake!”
“Settle down, Dean,” Sheriff Gilmore said calmly. “I know this is upsetting, but we’re trying to get to the truth behind your mother’s death. I know you all want to be able to lay Julia to rest knowing that the person who did this is held responsible.”
“Everyone knows who did this just as well as I do,” Dean spluttered. “Amy and Mom had an argument. Amy found her at the bottom of the stairs. Amy’s in jail. Why come here upsetting my dad more than you already have? You’ve got Amy.”
“My goal isn’t to upset anyone,” Gilmore said, his voice still amicable, but there was a new shrewdness in his eyes. “Now what’s this about an argument?”