When they didn’t answer, he sighed deeply and gave humor a shot. “Don’t make me ask Will, Jules. What kind of a cop am I if I can’t get a few simple facts out of three witnesses?”
Sophie, sitting on the small sofa next to Julie, nudged her with her shoulder. “Go ahead and tell him, Jules. He can’t protect her if he doesn’t know anything.”
“Protect her?” Tony had an inkling what was coming, so he wasn’t too shocked when Julie reluctantly offered up Sarah’s story.
“She was a battered wife. She opened the resale shop in the shelter and lived above it. Her ex-husband’s been in prison, and now he’s out and he came looking for her in Chicago a couple of days ago.”
“He was in prison or jail for abusing her?” Tony asked. “There’s a difference.”
“I know that, Officer Krupke.” Jules threw him a disdainful glance. “He was in prison, but not for anything he did to Sarah—although he should’ve gotten a life sentence for that, in my opinion.”
Carrie and Sophie exchanged a quick look and nodded. Obviously, they knew Sarah’s history too; however, neither of them added anything to the conversation. Clearly, getting information was going to be like pulling teeth.
“You might as well tell me what he was in there for. Save me a couple of hours on the internet.”
“About eight years ago, he backed his car over their teenaged daughter and killed her,” Julie whispered.
Jesus! Tony’s heart dropped to his socks and surged back up into his throat, making swallowing the bite of muffin nearly impossible. He washed it down with a sip of coffee as Julie continued in the same unusually quiet tone.
“His name is Paul Prescott. He was some high-powered real estate mogul in Georgia. His family practically runs the little town they lived in outside of Atlanta. Apparently, he’d gotten abusive after he and Sarah had been married a couple of years; she got pregnant almost immediately and, like so many battered women in that situation, she stayed with her abuser. She’s never told me everything, but I know the day the daughter died, he’d gone off the dial over something insignificant, smacked Sarah around in the kitchen, and stormed out of the house.” Julie cringed as she spoke.
Tony’s blood boiled at the thought of some bully beating the crap out of tiny Sarah, even though he couldn’t picture the little firebrand he’d met this morning cowering on a kitchen floor. “What happened after that?”
Julie swallowed hard. “As I understand it, he backed his giant SUV out of the garage and right over the girl, who was sunbathing on a chaise lounge in the driveway. He was in such a rage, he dragged her almost to the end of the driveway before he realized what he’d done.”
Nausea nearly overcame Tony as he sat gazing at his coffee cup, and he struggled to sit still and keep the muffin down. Finally, he looked up at the three women. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “The WTF list is endless.”
Julie nodded. “By the time the authorities got there, the girl was dead and that evil snake was screaming about Sarah, claiming to the cops that the whole thing was her fault. Of course, never mind that she was out cold in the kitchen. Fortunately, a neighbor saw what happened to the daughter and he testified as a witness. They put the bastard away. Involuntary manslaughter, I think, or reckless manslaughter or something like that.”
“That was eight years ago?” Tony asked.
“Yeah. He got sixteen years for the manslaughter, but he was never charged for what he did to Sarah, or it probably would’ve been longer. I think he served like half of the sentence. All I know is that Sarah divorced him, left after the trial, and came to Chicago to the shelter. She managed to stay hidden from him all this time, but somehow he found her and showed up at her place a few days ago.”
So many questions swirled in Tony’s head he couldn’t even form a coherent sentence, so he simply sat and gazed out the window. The street outside was bathed in sunlight, and a gentle breeze ruffled the yellow and purple pansies that had recently been planted in the flowerbeds along the sidewalk. The village was dressing up for summer, preparing for the onslaught of tourists who would soon arrive. Life was going to get busier for the sheriff’s department, which consisted of himself and Sheriff Earl Gibson. He sighed. Apparently, it had already started. “Did he hurt her? Threaten her? Is she in hiding up here?”
“Yes, yes, and yes.” July replied succinctly. “So can you sorta keep an eye on her?”
“I don’t like it that she’s got an illegal handgun.” Carrie voiced Tony’s own fears.
He didn’t like it much, either. He couldn’t simply show up and confiscate the damn thing. Well, legally, he could, but the woman was clearly terrified for her life and seemingly with good reason. He was just going to have to get to know this Sarah Bennett. Given that he couldn’t stop thinking about the tiny little spitfire, with her mass of auburn curls and those big blue eyes sparking with false bravado, that didn’t sound like such a bad way to start his summer.
THREE
“Sarah? Sarah!” Julie’s words carried through the closed windows and Sarah heard her rattling the doorknob. “Open up.”
Sarah peeped out the shutter covering the wide front picture window. Julie wasn’t the only one on her doorstep. She had Carrie and two other women with her, their arms loaded with grocery sacks.
Dammit. She was going to have to let them in.
“Come on, Sarah. Don’t make me go get a key from Noah.” Julie’s voice rose another decibel.
Sarah glanced down at her coffee-stained T-shirt and crumpled shorts and raked her fingers through her messy hair. She looked like hammered shit. The women would know in a heartbeat that she hadn’t showered in a couple of days. Okay, five days… maybe six. She couldn’t remember. She’d showered the morning after she arrived—it had taken forever because she’d had to keep turning off the shower, thinking she’d heard something outside the locked bathroom door. Washing up at the sink was just easier—she could stay partially dressed that way and grab her clothes off the vanity if she needed them quickly. But the only way to wash her hair was to shower or use the big kitchen sink and sticking her head under running water left her too exposed.
Dear God, she sounded as irrational as those poor women when they first came into the shelter all battered and bruised. She was past all that. Wasn’t she?
Damn that bastard. Damn him.
“Sarah?” Now it was Carrie’s voice. “Let us in. We’ve got ice cream melting out here.”
Sarah felt in her shorts pocket for the little pistol and slipped it into the drawer in the end table by the sofa before padding slowly to the front door. She pulled aside the curtain to peek out, making sure it was only the four women, then unlatched the chain, the deadbolt, and the doorknob lock.
Julie tugged at the screen door. “Come on, Sarah. It’s us.”
Sarah managed to unhook the wooden screen door and the women trooped in, carrying at least eight grocery bags that they dumped on the kitchen counter and table. Sarah re-hooked the screen door and firmly shut the front door, prepared to lock up when Julie stopped her.
“Leave that one open. It’s musty as hell in here,” she ordered as she took fresh fruit and vegetables from a bag on the table.
Sarah straightened her shoulders. “I prefer it closed.”
“Hey, sweetie.” Carrie hurried over to give Sarah a hug, holding on until Sarah returned the embrace. “Julie’s right. You need to air this place out. It’s getting into the seventies during the day now, and the breeze off the bay is delicious.” She put both hands on Sarah’s shoulders and held her at arms’ length, chattering away as if Sarah had just arrived in town. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve missed you! It’s been months! Liam and I headed straight back here after Europe, so we didn’t even get to the fundraiser this spring.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Carrie.” Tears stung Sarah’s eyes and she blinked them back, determined not to break down. Not in front of her two dearest friends and a couple of strangers who were putting away gro
ceries as comfortably as if they’d been here a hundred times, which they probably had. If memory served, both Carrie and Julie had occupied this apartment at one time or another.
Carrie moved off to open the windows in the back while Sarah reluctantly opened the front door, verifying that the screen door hook was snugly latched. A pine-scented breeze blew through the back windows and Carrie gave her a sunny smile. “Isn’t that better?”
Sarah nodded. The air stirring the musty atmosphere did feel good, although she kept an eye on the open front door.
“This is Sophie Dugan”—Julie pointed first to the tall, dark-haired woman and then to the slightly older lady who had a startling streak of pure white in her otherwise dark brown hair—“and this is Libby Nolan.”
Sophie and Libby immediately stopped working and hurried over to greet Sarah with warm hugs and murmured hellos.
“We’re so glad to have you here,” Libby said, her blue eyes sparkling. “You’ll love Willow Bay, I promise.” Her voice was a little husky and that snowy streak in the front of her hair was so perfect, it had to be natural.
“Welcome, Sarah.” Sophie gave Sarah’s shoulders an extra squeeze before she headed back to continue unloading groceries. “Anything at all we can do for you, anything you need, just holler. We’ll put our numbers in your phone, okay?” Sophie was as tall as Julie and curvy in a jeans skirt and a knit top.
Sarah tried to remember what Julie had told her about the two women. Was it Sophie who was married to a nerdy multimillionaire and Libby who owned a winery, or the other way around? What did it matter? She’d figure it all out eventually. In the meantime, she bit her lower lip and swallowed hard as tears threatened again at the kindness of all four women—their chatter and camaraderie reminded her of the shelter she’d left behind in Chicago. Was that a week ago?
How long had she been here?
“Okay, let me look at you.” Julie closed the gap between them with three long strides. “Jesus, Sarah Jane, you look like hell. When’s the last time you ate a decent meal? Or had a shower?”
“I showered a couple of days ago, I think,” Sarah muttered, heat rising in her cheeks. Dammit, what did it matter to Julie how often she showered? Resentment flashed through her. She sure as hell didn’t need Julie and Carrie poking in, dragging strangers into her house. How often she showered was none of their affair. Neither was how much she’d been eating for that matter. “And I’ve been eating. I finished that casserole and ate the pie and salad you left me.” She gave them a nod, shoving down the anger her reasonable mind told her was silly. “Thanks, all of you, by the way.”
Julie put a finger under Sarah’s chin, gently insisting she meet her gaze. “Baby, you’ve been holed up for over a week. You’ve answered our texts, but put us off and put us off, claiming you were exhausted or had a headache or some other nonsense. I’m fairly sure you haven’t opened the door once, because Noah and Margie said the place has been shut up tight since you arrived.” She didn’t even have the grace to look sheepish for having checked up on her with the Dixons. “The shutters were all closed when we got here, all the blinds are drawn—”
“And what’s the deal with the chair wedged under the back door?” Carrie called from the mudroom. She appeared in the doorway, a new bottle of laundry detergent still dangling from her fingers.
“So what’s going on? Did something else happen?” Julie led Sarah to a bar stool and practically shoved her onto it. “It’s obvious you’re frightened out of your wits, and now, you’re scaring us, too. Jesus, Sarah! Tony said you pulled a gun on him last week when he came to finish up the closet.” She peered into Sarah’s face and enunciated firmly, “Paul’s not here. He doesn’t know where you are. You’re safe.”
Sarah folded her hands on the bar, opened her mouth to speak, and shut it again. She was a mess, Julie was absolutely right, but the terror was real and she had no idea how to express it without sounding like she’d completely slipped a cog. Perhaps she had. Maybe Paul had finally sent her ’round the bend. Wouldn’t that be the ultimate in irony? She finally fought back, but lost her mind in the aftermath. She glanced around at the four women, who were all staring at her with various levels of sympathy and curiosity. “I-I…” The words clogged up in her throat.
How could she confess she’d spent the past few days curled up in the armchair in the bedroom because it was in the corner that faced the door so she would see anyone coming up the stairs? How did she admit that hourly she’d made the rounds of the windows and doors, assuring herself each one was securely locked? That she’d finally turned off the ringer on her cell phone because every time it rang, she nearly jumped out of her skin? That the sound of gravel crunching under car tires in the parking lot at the top of the hill sent her flying to the window to peer out between the slats of the shutters to make certain it wasn’t a black Town Car with dark-tinted windows?
Libby held up a bottle she’d pulled from a six-bottle cloth carrier. “I think we need wine. I mean it’s almost two. The sun is definitely over the yardarm somewhere.” She yanked open a drawer and took out a corkscrew. “Soph, grab some glasses.” She stopped for a moment to give Sarah a concerned smile. “Unless… I mean, unless you need Sophie and me to leave.”
Sarah gazed around for a moment before closing her eyes and pressing her fist to her mouth—the only way she could hold back a wail of anguish. These women had no idea. Just looking at them, she knew. They were clueless. They’d never known the cold brick of fear that she’d carried in her belly for so many years. Not a single one of them had ever hidden in a closet from a ranting maniac or been kicked in the ribs as she cleaned up an entire pot of hot spaghetti sauce that had been swept from the stove because it didn’t have enough basil in it; or re-ironed a shirt nine times while a monster stood behind her tightening an extension cord he’d wrapped around her neck.
No, they lived in this quiet, safe little place, married to gentle, kind men who wouldn’t dream of yanking them upstairs by the hair and tying them to a bedpost. When she opened her eyes, Libby and Sophie were gathering up their purses and heading for the door. Oh shit, she’d offended them and probably pissed off Julie and Carrie.
“No, stay. It… it’s okay.” She managed to get the words out around the huge lump in her throat. She really didn’t mind them being here. Surely, these women were the Posse that Julie always referred to when she spoke so lovingly of her friends in Willow Bay, and they probably already knew Sarah’s circumstances. Besides, how many broken moments had she been privy to in the shelter? Experience had taught her that women were stronger together; it was simply a fact. And how she’d longed for the camaraderie of other women during her marriage—something Paul had never allowed. He’d even fired Della, her first housekeeper, when he’d walked in on them giggling in the kitchen over a sagging soufflé. No, she didn’t have friends in Ames—he’d managed to make everyone there believe she was a little off, which of course made them cautious. Julie and Carrie trusted Libby and Sophie. She should trust them too. She should… but how could she trust anyone?
She tried again to speak, but nothing came out. They didn’t know. They could never truly know. But their expressions told her that they wanted to understand. A tear trickled down her cheek and then the sounds came gushing out—raw, tormented sobs that she could no longer control. Through a veil of tears she saw Libby’s and Sophie’s eyes grow rounder as they tossed their belongings on the sofa and came rushing back.
“Sarah?” Two arms came from behind to gently embrace her and she caught the familiar scent of Carrie’s lavender and musk perfume.
“Let it out,” Carrie whispered, her breath soft in Sarah’s ear. “You just let it go.”
Sarah turned, dropped her head on Carrie’s shoulder, and sobbed. Her entire body shook as hot tears poured down her face. Amid the storm, it occurred to her that she needed this—this surrender. If her friends thought they were scared by what they saw in her, they should’ve been inside her head. Even now as
she wept copious tears, her logical mind continued to process her raw emotions. That ability to compartmentalize and watch herself from afar was the result of years of physical and emotional abuse. It was how she coped. How she survived.
Carrie was right. She knew she’d lost her grip on reality; she was aware that locking herself up in the apartment was over the top. However, Paul’s reappearance had brought everything rushing back and her old instincts had kicked in. This release was probably what she needed, so she let it go, allowed the fear of the last couple of weeks to slowly dissipate with the sobs—that is, what she was able to let go. The fear was an essential part of her. Even though it had crippled her for the last few days, that tangible, almost material sense of terror was what had kept her sane—and safe—since she’d left Atlanta eight years ago.
Sarah became aware of Julie standing beside her, smoothing her tangled curls, murmuring soft comforts while Sophie brought a tissue box and a cool damp washcloth and offered them up. Sarah heard the pop of a cork as Libby opened a wine bottle. Glasses clinked on the bar and the glug of liquid being poured brought her completely back into the room. She raised her head, shuddery sobs still hiccupping through her. The washcloth felt like heaven against her grainy eyes and she held it there for moment before she tried to speak. “I–I’m so sor—”
“You never have to apologize to us.” Julie cut in, quiet, but deadly serious. “Never, okay?” She peered into Sarah’s face, tears filling her own eyes. “Not for this. Never ever.”
When Sarah looked around, every one of them had tears brimming over their eyelids. Libby smiled at her and blinked quickly as she poured more wine. Sophie scooted the tissue box an inch or two closer, then pulled one out and used it to wipe her eyes. Carrie kept one hand on Sarah’s shoulder and swiped at her own cheeks with the other.
Saving Sarah Page 3
