Missing Pieces

  Sarah thought about this. Could Jack really have been trying to protect her? Had he had her best interests in mind all along? Sarah nodded reluctantly. “I think I do.” Still, she couldn’t turn to Jack for any reliable information.

  “Right now you’re in the pissed-off stage,” Margaret went on. “Once you get back home, you’ll have all the time in the world to talk it through.”

  Clarice brought out their food. A tenderloin sandwich for Margaret and a hamburger and fries for Sarah. “Can I get you ladies anything else right now?”

  Margaret held up her glass. “I’ll take another one of these.”

  Sarah looked at her iced tea. “Why not? I’ll have what she’s having.” Clarice picked up their empty glasses and retreated back toward the bar.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes, Sarah wolfing down her hamburger. “I’m just so desperate to know what really happened,” she said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “And not just the basics, you know. I know it sounds morbid, but every small detail I learn makes me want to know more. Especially since Jack said he thought he saw his father at the hospital the other day.”

  “What do you mean, Jack saw his father?” Margaret asked, setting her sandwich back on her plate. A crumb was stuck to the corner of Margaret’s glossy lips and Sarah wiped at her own mouth.

  “I know he didn’t really see him, but the look on Jack’s face...” Sarah shook her head at the memory. “Part of me is worried about Jack, and part of me is just sick and tired of all the smoke and mirrors.”

  “Jack’s dad back in town?” Margaret pushed her plate away and poked her tongue into the corner of her mouth, catching the crumb. “Now that would be something else.” Clarice returned with their drinks and again they fell silent until she was well out of earshot.

  “Do you think it’s possible?” Sarah asked, taking a deep drink of her Bloody Mary. For the first time she wondered if Jack actually did see his dad at the hospital. What if it wasn’t just a trick of light or an overactive imagination?

  “No,” Margaret said quickly. “Why would he come back? That’d be crazy. He would be arrested. No, I’m sure Jack just saw someone who reminded him of his dad.”

  “Do you believe the case is solved?” Sarah asked.

  “Yeah, I think it was John Tierney. I know that Jack didn’t do it. No, he was a good, kind little boy. He would never purposely hurt someone.”

  A pressure eased in Sarah’s chest. It was immensely comforting to her to know that Jack’s childhood babysitter knew in her heart that Jack couldn’t have done this. But still, there were so many unanswered questions. Why had John Tierney murdered his wife and whatever happened to him?

  “I hope you’re right,” Sarah said, reaching for her purse slung over the back of her chair. “It’s just that so many strange things have happened in the past few days, I feel like anything is possible.”

  Margaret leaned toward Sarah and asked conspiratorially, “So what did you find out from the tapes?”

  Sarah’s meal felt like a rock in her stomach. “That most of the town thought that Jack was guilty. Nearly every single person had an example of Jack arguing with his parents. It wasn’t until no one could find his dad that they became suspicious of him.” Sarah pressed her fingers to her forehead. She shouldn’t have ordered the Bloody Mary; vodka always gave her a headache. “Have you heard the tapes?”

  Margaret tipped her glass back and chewed on some ice. “I skimmed through the transcripts quickly before I gave you the envelope, but I didn’t actually listen to the tapes,” she admitted. “Tough reading, though.”

  Sarah leaned forward, planting her elbows on the table. “Margaret, I know you’ve already gone out on a limb for me, but is there any way you can get me more of the case file?” She readied herself for Margaret’s refusal. She already had put her job in jeopardy for Sarah.

  “I figured that when you sent me the text saying that you wanted another recipe from me that you really meant you wanted more information,” Margaret said, pulling her pocketbook from her purse. “This is my treat.”

  “Oh, no,” Sarah protested, reaching for her own billfold.

  Margaret placed her hand over Sarah’s. “You’ve had a tough day. Let me.”

  “Thank you,” Sarah said quietly, touched by Margaret’s thoughtfulness.

  “You might not thank me after you see what’s in the trunk of my car. Come on, let’s go.”

  Sarah followed Margaret as she moved through the bar, past patrons who greeted her heartily and teased her good-naturedly. Margaret seemed not to hear but rushed past them without a word. They stepped from the dark restaurant and squinted into the early-evening sunshine. Sarah welcomed the subtle warmth after the chilly, poorly lit interior of the bar. Margaret scurried down the street and around the corner to a green VW Beetle that looked out of place among all the trucks and SUVs parked along the curb.

  Margaret glanced around to see if anyone was looking their way, clicked the remote locks and the trunk sprang open. They both bent down to look inside. Margaret pulled away a jacket and revealed a large box. On the side, printed in black block letters was LYDIA TIERNEY 1985.

  “You said you wanted all the details, well, this is as detailed as you get,” Margaret said proudly.

  Sarah lifted the cardboard lid. Inside were dozens of file folders, each labeled and dated. “This is the entire case file?” Sarah looked at Margaret. “Really?”

  “Not the entire file,” Margaret amended. “There’s no physical evidence in there. They keep that in the basement under lock and key.”

  “But still, all these documents. How did you get them?”

  “I have my ways,” Margaret said cryptically.

  “No, really, Margaret,” Sarah said with concern. For the first time, Sarah noticed how tired Margaret looked. Her eyes were framed by dark circles and she was pale, though she tried to camouflage her exhaustion with heavy makeup. “You could get in big trouble for this. You could lose your job. Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure,” Margaret said with feeling. “You only live once, right? Besides, I’ve seen what Lydia’s death has done to my mother. If there’s anything I can do to help my mom, I’ll do it. Now, this is the one file that the sheriff keeps in his office. He was down on the jail side talking to Amy so I just went in and grabbed it.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened in alarm. “You broke into the sheriff’s office? Oh, my God, Margaret, you could have been caught. I thought you would just go down into some storage area to find it.”

  “Not with this case file,” Margaret said, tapping the lid of the box. “The sheriff keeps it in the closet in his office. He pulls it out once in a while and looks through it.”

  “But why?” Sarah asked. She itched to pull the lid off the box and start perusing through the contents. “The case is closed. Why would the sheriff care so much?”

  Margaret leaned in close to Sarah even though no one was near. “Rumor had it that Sheriff Gilmore and Lydia might have been having an affair. My mom said that was ridiculous, that they were just friends, but you know how people talk.”

  “No one in the audiotapes mentioned anything about an affair. Everyone interviewed said Lydia and John had a good marriage. Why wouldn’t something like an affair come out?” Sarah asked.

  “Look at who was interviewing them. Gilmore.” Margaret’s eyes shone with excitement. “They wouldn’t have said anything, at least not on the record.”

  “I don’t know,” Sarah said doubtfully. “It seems a little far-fetched.”

  A truck crept by and Margaret hurriedly closed the trunk. “I told you my mom was best friends with Lydia, right? She thought something wasn’t quite right about the whole thing since the start.”

  “She doesn’t think that John killed her?”

  “No, I’m not saying that. She just
believes there’s a lot more to the story than folks know or are saying. Can you pull your car up and we’ll put the box in your trunk?”

  Sarah trotted to her car. She still needed to stop by Arthur Newberry’s office to pay the retainer; she hoped she hadn’t missed him for the day. She climbed inside, checked her phone and found that she had several voice mails from Jack. She didn’t even bother to listen to them. She knew she needed to touch base with him, at least let him know where she was, but she was still so angry. She pulled her car up next to Margaret’s, stepped out and went around to the other side to open the passenger’s-side door.

  “You don’t want it in the trunk?” Margaret asked.

  “This is fine for now. I can’t look through it at Dean’s or Hal’s house. I’ll probably have to sit in my car somewhere and go through it.”

  Margaret hefted the box draped with her jacket from the trunk and transferred it to the passenger’s-side seat of Sarah’s car. “I’d invite you over to my house, but my mom will be there and it’s best if she didn’t know what we are up to.”

  “Thanks again for getting this for me,” Sarah said gratefully. “When do you need it back?”

  “As soon as possible. What about tomorrow or the next day?” Margaret nibbled on a manicured nail. “God, I can’t believe I’m doing this. I must be crazy.”

  “We can stop—you don’t have to...” Sarah began.

  “No.” Margaret shook her head. “I want to. For my mom, for Lydia.” Margaret took a deep breath as if to bolster herself and continued. “The sheriff is pretty busy with Amy and the search at Hal’s house. So we should be okay until at least then.”

  “They’re still searching Hal’s house?” Sarah asked. “I didn’t think it would take that long—it’s not that big of a home.”

  “They’re searching the outbuildings, too. It looks like they might have found something on the property.”

  “Evidence?” Sarah asked curiously. Did the sheriff find something that would further incriminate Amy? Exonerate her?

  “I don’t know,” Margaret said, “but from what Tess said, they’re going to be there for a while. I’ll keep my ears open, though. Do you think you’ll be able to go through the whole thing in the next day or two?” Margaret nodded toward the box.

  “I’ll have to. If I don’t find out what happened to Jack’s family thirty years ago in the next forty-eight hours, I probably never will.”

  13

  SARAH LOCATED THE attorney’s office, a narrow redbrick building sandwiched between a bakery and a hardware store. An ornate gold sign, engraved with an illustration of a blindfolded Lady Justice, read Arthur L. Newberry, Jr., Attorney at Law.

  Sarah, making sure that the evidence box was completely concealed by the jacket, stepped from the car and peeked through the mullioned windows. A grandmotherly woman with tightly curled white hair sat behind a desk reading a novel. Sarah pulled open the door and a bell tinkled, announcing her arrival. The woman looked up from behind thick reading glasses and quickly slid the book into her desk drawer. “Hello, can I help you?” she asked, folding her arthritic fingers behind a nameplate that read Katherine Newberry. Sarah wondered if this was Arthur’s mother.

  Sarah explained who she was and asked if Arthur was available.

  “Arthur is still at the jail meeting with Ms. Quinlan. I don’t expect him back until a bit later. Would you like to wait?”

  “I’ll have to stop back tomorrow morning if he’ll be in.”

  Katherine referred to a large desk calendar. “I have Ms. Quinlan’s arraignment down for 9:00 a.m. Will you be able to stop in beforehand?”

  Sarah agreed, thanked her and turned to leave when Katherine cleared her throat. “Now there’s just the little matter of fees. Mr. Newberry prefers payment up front.”

  “Of course,” Sarah said, digging through her purse for her checkbook. She quickly scribbled out a check for the retainer and handed it to Katherine, who examined it carefully before stowing it into her desk drawer.

  “Are you related to Arthur?” Sarah asked, nodding her head toward the nameplate.

  “Oh, yes. Arthur is my grandson.” Katherine smiled proudly. “He just took over my husband’s practice a few months ago after he graduated from law school.” Sarah’s heart sank a bit and she hoped that what Arthur lacked in lawyerly experience he made up for in hard work and tenacity.

  “So you’ve lived in Penny Gate for a while?” Sarah asked. If the Newberrys had been here for any length of time, Katherine certainly would have been familiar with Lydia’s murder.

  “Our whole lives,” Katherine said. “Born and bred here.”

  “Then you might have known my husband’s parents? John and Lydia Tierney.”

  “Of course,” Katherine said. “You must be Jack’s wife. It’s nice to meet you, although these aren’t the best of circumstances. I was hoping that Jack would have stopped by himself. I haven’t seen that boy in decades.”

  “You knew Jack, too?” Sarah asked, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was well after 6:00 p.m. Sarah was torn between wanting to hear more about Jack and wanting to dig into the case file.

  “Oh, yes,” Katherine said with a smile. “Our youngest daughter went to school with Jack. We always liked him. Tragic, what happened to his family. My husband actually represented Jack for a short time during the whole mess.” She shook her head. “Poor boy. Imagine being suspected of your mother’s murder when all along it was your dad who did it? And now all that’s happening with Amy and Julia.” Katherine gave a sympathetic click of her tongue.

  “Represented Jack?” Sarah repeated, not sure she had heard Katherine correctly. “Was Jack actually arrested?”

  “He was arrested but never charged,” Katherine assured her. “Julia Quinlan called my husband once she learned the sheriff was focused on Jack as a suspect.”

  Sarah’s stomach flipped. Another lie from Jack. She contemplated getting back into the rental car, driving to the airport and heading back home to Larkspur without a backward glance. But something kept her there. The need to know the entire truth? Love for her husband? She wasn’t sure anymore. “Do you have any of that old paperwork?” Sarah asked. “Any notes from when your husband met with Jack?”

  Katherine gave her an uncertain look. “Why would you want anything from back then? It was a terrible, terrible time.”

  Sarah thought fast. “Since coming back to town, lots of memories have been dredged up for Jack and he’s been going over things in his mind. Asking a lot of questions, reading a lot of the old news articles.” Sarah couldn’t believe she was lying so easily to this poor woman.

  “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt anything,” Katherine said more to herself than to Sarah. “I’ll just go and see if I can find the file.” She rose and disappeared through a doorway in the back of the office and emerged a few moments later with a thin file folder in hand.

  “This is all I could dig up,” she said, thumbing through the pages. “Like I said. Arthur represented him only for a very short time. Once the sheriff realized that John Tierney had disappeared all the focus went away from Jack. There’s just a few pages of handwritten notes here.” She handed a file to Sarah. “Here, I made a photocopy for you. Tell Jack to stop in and say hello while he’s in town.”

  “I will and thank you,” Sarah said, sliding the folder into her purse. “And I’ll be in tomorrow morning at eight to talk with your grandson.”

  The sun was slowly dipping behind the tree line, tingeing the clouds pink and gold. Daylight was fading fast. Jack had sent her several more texts giving her updates and asking where she was. The sheriff’s department was still at Hal’s farm. They hadn’t finished the search yet. The wake was scheduled for the next evening and the funeral for the following day. He had tried to go and visit Amy at the jail but she was meeting with her attorney
at the time. Was something wrong? Please call.

  Is something wrong? Sarah began to text. How about finding out your husband was the main suspect in the murder of his mother and was arrested? You forgot to tell me that part. Yeah, something is wrong. Sarah exhaled in frustration and then hit Cancel. She thought for a moment and then typed again. Just have had a lot to think about. I’ll be back soon. At least Jack had made the effort to go see his sister. That was something the Jack she thought she knew would do.

  She climbed back into the car and tried to figure out where she could read the case file without interruption. A hotel? That was certainly appealing. She hated the thought of returning to the house where Jack’s mother died, hated facing her liar of a husband. In a hotel room she could spread out the entire contents of the box and go through each document thoroughly, take notes and try to fit the pieces of her husband’s early life together. Somehow this seemed wrong, though, deserting Jack the night before his aunt’s wake. She was hurt and possibly irreparably angry with Jack, but she couldn’t completely abandon him, not here, not now. Not yet.

  Sarah found herself back on the same stretch of gravel road where she first listened to the audiotapes. She had only seen the one vehicle with the hunters here earlier in the day and hoped that it would be equally deserted now. The sun was dipping below the horizon and she knew she had only a few minutes of daylight left to use as light to read by. She pulled off to the side of the road, put the car into Park, turned on her hazard lights and turned off the ignition. She didn’t want to be rear-ended by a car coming up unexpectedly behind her.

  Sarah locked the doors, rolled down the windows a few inches and felt a cool light breeze brush across her skin. The road was empty for as far as she could see. A cornfield that had yet to be harvested sat to her right and a meadow filled with long grass and clover sat to her left. No homes rose up in the distance, no silos stood sentry. She was all alone. The only sounds were the rustling of grass and crickets announcing autumn with weary, almost melancholy chirps. She fought the urge to start the car again and turn on the radio just for the noise—she didn’t want to miss hearing a car approaching.