Lemon Tart

by Josi S. Kilpack

  Remove cookies from oven and press flat with a glass dipped in sugar. (Spray bottom of glass with cooking spray for first “press” and then dip back into sugar between each cookie thereafter.) Let cookies cool 1 minute on baking sheet before removing to cooling rack.

  To make sandwich cookies, spread a layer of cream cheese frosting between cookies.

  Cream-Cheese Frosting

  1⁄4 cup butter or margarine

  8 oz. cream cheese (Neufchatel or fat-free works fine)

  1⁄2 teaspoon vanilla

  1 1/2 cups powdered sugar

  Cream butter and cream cheese. Add vanilla and mix until smooth. Add powdered sugar until desired consistency is reached; you want a thick frosting to hold the cookies together. If frosting is too thick, thin with evaporated milk. If frosting is too thin, thicken by adding more powdered sugar. Spread between cookies when cookies are cool.

  Makes about 2 dozen sandwich cookies (or 4 dozen single cookies).

  Chapter 12

  Sadie managed to thank Susan for her help without falling apart. Once outside the building she headed for her car where she sat for almost ten minutes, absorbing what she’d just learned. Ron had been at Anne’s house and he was a cosigner on her bank accounts. There was no way around it—Ron had to be Trevor’s father.

  The betrayal ran deep. What a fool she was. “He moved her here,” she said out loud as she put details together. “He moved her to the same neighborhood I lived in?”

  And Anne pretended to be Sadie’s friend, acting as if she were so needy. It was bad enough to be played by Ron, but Anne too? That cut twice as deep. And yet Sadie couldn’t even cry. She felt so spent of all emotion that to cry seemed like a waste of water at this point.

  She shoved the keys into the ignition and started the car as a barrage of questions engulfed her. Why had she come here at all? Why hadn’t she listened to Detective Madsen when she had the chance and kept her nose out of it? And yet, would she rather not know any of this? Not really, she admitted. She just didn’t know what to do with the information now.

  She threw the gearshift into drive and headed for home. It was almost two o’clock and she was ready to climb into bed and pull the covers over her head. Maybe she’d make her famous German chocolate cheesecake. It had taken second place at the state fair two years ago and had the perfect chocolate content to calm her nerves.

  It wasn’t until she was driving past the library that she remembered the papers Jean had called about. “Forget it,” she said out loud. She wanted to put her hands over her ears and sing “La, la, la, la” like a six-year-old child. But as she came up on the last entrance into the library parking lot, she cranked the wheel to the right and pulled in. She didn’t even allow herself to think about her motives as she parked the car and went inside. She’d never been a quitter and even though she wanted to forget all of this, she had started something and after years of habitual follow-through she couldn’t stop now.

  It only took a minute to pay the sixty-cent fee, claim the manila folder, and thank Jean. Sadie knew at the very least what Jean had done for her was a gray area—at the most she may have broken all kinds of federal library patron privacy regulations. Sadie made a mental note to bake her some sugar knots as a thank you gift.

  As soon as she got back in the car, Sadie took a breath and opened the folder. The first few papers were regarding establishing paternity in Colorado and looked to be printed off some official Web site. Sadie felt her stomach tighten and she quickly put them behind the other papers. The next paper was an e-mail Anne had printed out.

  On Oct 19, at 4:54 pm, Marla Boyd wrote:

  Anne—

  We’re very excited to have you join our team as well. The Boston office had nothing but positive things to say about you. They miss you. I think you’ll find our office and staff a lot like Boston, just on a much smaller scale. We’ve been very successful on the local level here—unprecedented for such a small town. As for training, since you’re a previous employee for the company, we don’t need to do the full regime. We’d like you to come in next Wednesday, just to brush up and get familiar with the Garrison office. You can start the following Monday. Let me know if there’s a problem; otherwise, I’ll see you Wednesday.

  Sincerely,

  Marla Boyd

  Director of Human Resources, Garrison office

  Riggs and Barker Realty

  It wasn’t until the company identification at the bottom of the e-mail that Sadie caught her breath.

  Riggs and Barker Realty.

  It was the national real estate brokerage Ron had worked at for almost twenty years. He’d recently been promoted to senior sales manager of Northern Colorado.

  And Anne had worked in the Boston office?

  The main office?

  The office that hosted the quarterly training conferences?

  Sadie swallowed, but the lump in her throat didn’t go away. It was all laid out for her like a road map. Ron had met Anne in Boston. He’d fathered her child, left her in Boston, then brought her here two years later, and now he was getting her a job.

  Sadie wanted to throw up. A million questions swirled in her head, but the big question was what purpose did Sadie serve? Ron had a young, beautiful mother of his child. Why date Sadie—a fifty-six-year-old widow who, though remarkably well-kept for her age, if she did say so herself, wasn’t exactly in her prime?

  Why move Anne just down the street? That part didn’t make sense and she wasn’t sure she wanted it to. She thought back to what Anne had told her about Trevor’s father, that he had another family. Was Sadie the other family? Did somehow, for some depraved reason, he want both of them? She was going to be sick.

  She started the car and was shifting it into gear when a young mother and her children walked in front of her car. There was a little girl who looked to be four or five, and a little boy close to Trevor’s age.

  Trevor.

  He was out there somewhere, alone and scared, missing his mother who he may or may not know was dead. Sadie refused to consider that he could also have been killed. The police had enough to do with investigating Anne’s murder; could they truly give Trevor the attention he needed? The attention she could give him?

  New resolve rushed through her and she mentally put Anne and Ron and whatever may have existed between them on the back burner. She couldn’t give up. She’d come this far, learned so much, and she would tell Detective Cunningham everything as soon as she could. But facts were facts—Trevor was Ron’s son, Anne was his mistress, and he’d been at Anne’s house last night. That meant that Trevor must be with Ron. The whys and the how-comes were irrelevant in contrast to the need to find Trevor. She drove past the turn that would take her home.

  She’d made her decision—it was time to talk to Ron.

  Chapter 13

  It was 2:16 when Sadie pulled into the parking lot of Ron’s condominium complex and she reminded herself she had to be home in time for when the Bailey kids would get off the bus. With the constraint on her time she knew she should really save this for later—but she couldn’t. Trevor might be in Ron’s condo right now! She couldn’t put that off.

  Ron’s car was gone from his parking space, something that both disappointed and relieved her. If he wasn’t here, then Trevor wasn’t either. But the scared and shaking part of her was relieved that she wouldn’t have to confront him. She had no idea what she would say when that moment arrived. However, she had no intention of not making the most of her trip out here.

  She parked far away from his condo. It seemed prudent to use stealth in case he came home. The condominiums were of a San Francisco design, tall and narrow with shuttered windows and bright facades. They were built in sets of eight, stacked and scrunched together as if space was as big a concern in Garrison as it was in the Bay area of California. There were ten blocks of condos arranged to offer a narrow strip of grass in front and a small fenced-in yard with covered parking in back. Ron’s block was almost in the mi
ddle of the complex.

  She approached the outer gate and jiggled the latch that led from the parking area to the small backyard. The gate was unlocked and she opened it slowly, stepped in, and carefully shut it while scanning the area to see if any neighbors were watching—not that she’d have done anything other than wave if any of them were. But she was in luck, the coast was clear. She approached the back door and found that unlike the gate, it was locked up tight. She reached into her pocket and removed her smiley-face key ring, glad that she’d slipped Detective Madsen Carrie’s key instead of Ron’s—though she hoped the detective still believed it was Anne’s. The key to Ron’s house was right next to Anne’s on the ring. How appropriate. The key turned smoothly in the lock and she opened the door, hating how her heart hammered in her chest and wishing she were the type of person who enjoyed the adrenaline rush of rebellious behavior.

  Even as a little girl Sadie would get sick with anxiety when she played hide-and-seek. One time she had actually started crying when the child who was “it” kept walking around and around the shed where she was hiding. The fear was too much for her—and she’d been ten. She’d rarely bothered to play the game after that. This felt the same. What if Ron came home? What if he found her? And what was she hoping to find anyway?

  Toys, she told herself, diapers, cookies, dirty toddler clothes—that’s what I’m looking for. I’m doing this for Trevor. She looked around, slowly at first, her ears pricked to every sound. A car drove by outside and she froze, then tiptoed to the back door—relieved that Ron’s parking spot was still empty. She let out a breath and locked the door for good measure.

  The first thing that caught her attention in the kitchen was a box of graham crackers on the counter. Trevor loved graham crackers. But so did Ron. It wasn’t conclusive evidence by any stretch, but it was a start. She searched each room on the main floor one by one—kitchen, living room, master bedroom, bathroom, and laundry area—looking in corners and closets, under beds and in drawers, anywhere he might have hidden evidence.

  The condo was very clean, more so than most single men’s homes she was sure. Ron always said his mother didn’t tolerate much of a mess, and it had stuck. She began thinking about how things would change when they got married—she’d have to do better at picking up around the house so he didn’t end up cleaning up after her—then she stopped herself. Everything was different now and she knew there would be no wedding. The thought brought tears to her eyes and she tried not to think about it.

  She’d finished the first floor and found nothing except the knowledge that Ron wore briefs. She’d have guessed him to be a boxer man. She made her way upstairs, proud of herself for feeling more relaxed. This isn’t like hide-and-seek at all, she told herself. No one knew she was here and she’d leave nothing behind to indicate she ever had been. It was an expedition, not a stakeout. Nothing to it.

  The second level consisted of a loft-type den, a guest room for when his kids and grandkids came to visit, and another bathroom. She was sure the guest room would be her best bet, and she took a breath to prepare herself as she opened the door. And yet, preparation aside, she was shocked at what she saw.

  Strewn across the bed and floor were the contents of the toy box Ron kept for his grandkids. Even though she’d prepared herself to find exactly this, she was shocked to be proven right so quickly and she just stared as the acceptance seeped into her heart. Ron’s grandkids hadn’t visited for weeks which meant Trevor had been here. Why did being right feel so horrible?

  But then, where was Trevor now? Where was Ron? Had Trevor been in the car when Ron had stopped by her house this morning? For nearly a minute she thought about these questions but had no idea what the answers could be. She remembered seeing some receipts on Ron’s dresser—maybe there would be another clue there. And there was also the basement—a workshop of sorts. She’d nearly forgotten about that.

  After hurrying down the stairs, she was in the doorway of the master bedroom when she heard a key in the lock.

  Chapter 14

  No! She screamed in her head as her heart rate doubled. Her eyes darted around in search of escape and she realized she was trapped. It had turned into hide-and-seek after all. She hurried toward the walk-in closet, the only obvious place to hide, but there were no doors on it, just an archway that led into a space almost as big as the room itself. It was the kind of closet meant for a woman with a shopping addiction. Ron had it less than half full—nothing to hide behind. She heard the back door open, the rubber weather strip scraping against the tiled floor, and thought she might pass out.

  Her eyes scanned the room again, her heart pounding. She focused on the antique wrought-iron bed set against the middle of the opposite wall. There was no other option. Flattening herself on the floor, she army-crawled underneath the bed using muscles she didn’t know existed anymore. Were it not for her yoga class she’d surely have broken something. As it was, they had never done this in class.

  Only when her head struck a box did she realize she should have checked to see if there was anything under the bed. Then again, she hadn’t had much time. She reached forward and carefully pushed the box toward the head of the bed, causing a pile-up of other boxes. She paused and then pushed more slowly, trying to keep quiet and making sure none of the boxes popped out of either side of the bed—the whole time she pictured Ron in the doorway watching her. The boxes moved a few feet, but then stopped—sufficiently crammed against the wall.

  It would have to do. She curled around herself and pulled the rest of her body under the bed. The bed was old, something Ron had inherited from his mother, and didn’t have the traditional box springs to support the mattress. Instead it had a metal lattice—bedsprings—like fencing stretched across the metal frame. The bed wasn’t high off the ground either. She could barely lie on her side and did the best she could in order to get her feet in. She pulled her knees up as high as she could and clenched her teeth when a box corner poked into her back. How long would she have to stay here? Her knees were already aching.

  The sound of footsteps in the kitchen took her mind off the stabbing pain in her back. She tried to hold her breath, though after ten seconds or so she realized that was a bad idea and let the air she’d been holding out as quietly as possible—her lungs lobbying heavily for a fresh breath. Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears and she was sure Ron could hear it. If it was Ron. She didn’t think anyone else had a key to his place, but a lot of things she had believed to be true yesterday had been proven false today. She didn’t dare not be suspicious of everything.

  She heard footsteps coming from the kitchen and into the bedroom. Whoever it was fumbled with something on the dresser. If a person could die from fear, Sadie knew she’d have no need for the pesky breathing anymore. She’d never been so scared in her life.

  “Sadie,” she heard Ron’s voice say.

  She held her breath again and began to panic. He knew she was here! How?

  “I really wish you would have answered the phone. We need to talk,” he continued, and she realized he was talking to her voice mail. “I’m late, I know that, but I had to do some things. I stopped by your house a little bit ago but I’m hoping you’re home by now. If you are, please call me as soon as you get this message.”

  She started breathing again, as slow and quiet as possible, terrified she would sneeze or do something else that would alert him to her presence. She heard him sigh.

  “Sadie, I’m so sorry, but let me explain this and please don’t tell the police—not yet. I had a hard time finding the information I needed in an hour, but it’s not what you think. I’ll try your cell phone again. When you get this message, call me, please.”

  She heard a nearly silent beep—him ending the call—then he dialed another number. Several seconds passed before he spoke.

  “I just left another message at the house. Please call me back—we really need to talk.” He hung up the phone with another quiet beep and Sadie heard him sigh. He walked to the
side of the bed; she watched him step out of his shoes before he sat on the bed. She willed him to remember something he needed to do on the other side of town. Instead, he lay down. The mattress and bedsprings sank a couple of inches, pinning Sadie’s shoulders between the bed and the floor. She closed her eyes and bit her lip.

  He’s going to take a nap? she screamed in her mind. With all this going on he can sleep? Her opinion of him, though dismal at the moment, sank even lower. Then again, he’d been back and forth to Denver and at Anne’s house last night—no wonder he was tired.

  After what she assumed was five minutes, her shoulder was throbbing, her knees ached, and the box corner in her back had surely drawn blood. The sound of Ron’s soft breathing was the only noise in the house. If he snored, and she weren’t pinned beneath his weight, maybe she could sneak out, but he didn’t snore and she was pinned. The situation was hopeless. What was she going to do?

  That’s when she remembered her phone. She’d put it in her hoodie pocket after shutting it off at Susan Gimes’s office. But could she reach it, all crunched up in a ball the way she was? And if she could reach it, then what? She couldn’t call him, he’d wonder why her voice was in stereo.

  Text message.

  Bless you, Breanna, for insisting I learn how to text message, she thought as she tried slowly and carefully to adjust her position enough so she could retrieve her phone. It took at least an hour, she was sure of it, well, more like another ten minutes of slow, painful contortions—first to free her arms, then to find the pocket, and eventually the phone. She was nearly in tears, due to the physical pain of certain movements she had no right to be performing at her age, and the sheer frustration that everything was so difficult. All the while she had to be sure she didn’t move so much that the bed moved with her.