by Debra Webb
All the difference in the world, Deborah feared. Her crippling arthritis worsened every year. Poor Tamara was just about to graduate high school. She would be going off to college. That took money. Deborah's medicine and mounting doctor bills took money and insurance. If Christopher's secret were discovered… God, what would she and Tamara do? Tamara had suffered far too much already. Deborah understood that even if the police didn't find that dirty little sin, she would. Sarah Newton had a reputation for finding what others missed. She would not stop until she had ruined them.
If Deborah continued to wait… it might be too late. She had watched for a sign, but nothing came. God often expected his sheep to think for themselves. Perhaps this was one of those times. She had to make a plan to save herself and Tamara from Christopher's terrible, terrible sin.
He apparently did not possess the courage to act. Deborah went to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. She picked up the prescription bottle, turned it in her fingers.
Yes, she had to do something very soon.
CHAPTER 30
Cliffside Care Facility, 2:20 P.M.
Barton clasped the bag in his hand and forced his feet to walk, not run, down the corridor.
Two more doors… there.
He walked into the room, closed the door that stayed open when no visitors or facility staff were present.
For a moment he could only lean against the door, his heart pounding harder with each breath.
Was he making a mistake to bring this up?
It wasn't like he would gain anything.
But he had to do it. He could keep this misery to himself no longer.
Barton moved away from the door. The television, he noticed, was muted.
In the long narrow hospital bed, his father lay, the covers tucked neatly around him, his frail eyes staring at the images on the television screen.
Barton moved past the foot of his father's bed. Those faded blue eyes followed him around to the side of the bed. Barton lowered himself into the chair he always selected when he visited. For a long time he simply sat there, unsure how to approach what he needed to say.
Finally, when he could bear the tremendous pressure no longer, he leaned forward and peered into his father's watery eyes.
"Why did you do it?"
Thin lids blinked.
Barton didn't know why he bothered to demand an answer. His father hadn't been able to speak in twelve years. He'd lain in this very bed since his stroke. Unable to move even a finger or to utter the slightest sound. Whether or not he could hear or understand was unclear. He was kept alive with a feeding tube and intravenous fluids. Would he never die?
The thought filled Barton's eyes with tears. How could he be so heartless? He loved his father. Had always loved him. But after the stroke, this… this god-awful thing had become Barton's personal burden.
His father was eighty years old. Living on sheer willpower.
What could they do to him? Nothing.
He was a mere fragile shell of a human with only a glimmer left of the man who once was trapped inside.
But what would they do to Barton for concealing evidence?
How could he protect his family? He reached out and clutched his father's cold, feeble hand. "What am I going to do?"
Closing his eyes, Barton fought the overwhelming emotions.
Today at four the profiler from Quantico wanted to see him.
What if he had somehow learned the truth?
Barton opened his eyes.
The agent couldn't know the truth. Barton squared his shoulders, gathered his courage.
There was no way anyone could know.
Not yet.
Barton would be strong for the interview with the federal agent.
But she … she was a different story.
She was not bound by the same laws as the agent. She could dig and sneak around until she discovered Barton's secret.
He clasped the bag closer. It was his curse.
He had to make sure she didn't find out. He had to make her go away.
All of his efforts so far had failed. When she'd gone over that ledge he'd been certain he'd killed her. He shuddered. Had to be losing his mind. He hadn't meant to push her… but the impulse had overwhelmed him.
This was what he had been reduced to!
He had to be brave. Perhaps there was a way without going to such an extreme. Whatever it was, he had to find it. He had to find something that scared her enough to send her running.
No one was immune to fear.
All he had to do was find her one true fear and then he could make her afraid.
Then she would leave.
His burden, his secret, would be safe.
CHAPTER 31
Tuesday, March 3, 10:55 A.M.
Sarah stood, arms crossed, on the periphery of the crowd filing into the Main Street Methodist church for Alicia Appleton's memorial service. Sarah had observed most of the people on her watch-list drift inside.
Clouds threatening snow plotted overhead.
More snow was the last thing they needed.
Trucks, cars, and SUVs lined the parking area, each one dirty from the mixture of snow, ice, sand, and the occasional dash of salt added as necessary, that littered every street and driveway. Welcome to life in Maine.
Sarah had been damned disappointed that Chief Willard hadn't planned a strategy briefing that morning, at least not one she was invited to attend.
If the investigation had discovered additional evidence or learned new particulars on persons of interest since the last briefing no one was talking.
Memorial services were something Sarah didn't typically attend. But she was here for more than paying her respects to the deceased. She was here to analyze the others paying their respects. Not exactly a laudable reason to show, but necessary nonetheless.
She was beginning to think she should have brought two little black dresses. But since she only owned one, it would have to do.
As would the less than sophisticated Converses that were the mainstay of her everyday wardrobe.
Her editor, Tae, had called demanding an update she couldn't really give him.
Primarily because she couldn't explain why she was still here. There was no logical reason. The story she'd come here to follow was basically nonexistent at this point. Sure, there were myths and legends and tales all over this rocky coast. And no doubt many believed those things were as real as any angel or demon or biblical fable. But the truth was out in the open now. Valerie Gerard and Alicia Appleton had been murdered by someone as human as they were. Likely someone they had known, possibly well, or all their lives.
End of story.
Except something wasn't right.
Her instincts were screaming at Sarah to stay. To find the truth. After all, that was the real story.
Maybe it wasn't cloaked in magic or ghosts, but it was thoroughly shrouded in secrets.
Secrets being kept by the most heinous of villains.
Intimates.
People known and maybe loved by the victims.
The mystery here was far more involved than the perp the police were looking for, and certainly more involved than Lex expected. She couldn't label why yet… couldn't even put it into words. But she knew it was wrong.
Just wrong. That was all she knew so far.
For the first time in ten years Sarah felt she was a part of something bigger; that her task was more than demystifying bedtime stories.
Conner spotted her across the parking lot and started in her direction. She'd managed to avoid him this morning… until now.
After a futile search for Matilda and several attempts to meet with Reverend Mahaney or his niece, and Barton Harvey, she and Conner had parted ways late last evening.
Spending another night with him would have been an even bigger mistake than she'd already made. She was getting too close… allowing him too close.
Sarah'd turned off her cell phone and spent the night reviewing
her notes and what few evidentiary details she'd begged, borrowed, and stolen. Then she'd tried to sleep. Dreams had kept her from achieving that ever-elusive goal. Only these dreams had been different… they had involved him.
"I tried to catch you at the inn." She'd known he would. So she'd left early and driven around. Sarah had found herself at the chapel, or at least as close to it as the police perimeter would allow. "I had things…"
He nodded. "My family's over there." He motioned to his I mother's minivan where his father, stationed in his wheel-chair, was being hydraulically lowered to the ground. His brother who'd come home from the University of Massachusetts for the memorial service, hovered nearby. "I thought maybe you might like to sit with us. You haven't met my brother Jamison yet."
"Sure." Sarah didn't exactly have an excuse to say no. Conner looked good in black. Straight-cut suit, crisp white shirt, narrow black tie. Even had the leather wingtips to match. No flannel or boots today. That she noted every little detail was not a good sign.
His gaze traveled the length of her and back. "It's the only dress I brought," she explained for no good reason. Why should she care if he noticed she'd worn the same thing three times already? Not to mention her coat was not exactly suitable for wearing to church.
"You could wear it every day and the facts wouldn't change."
His hand settled at her lower back as he ushered her toward his family.
Had she just been insulted?
"What facts?"
He smiled. "The facts of how great you look in that dress."
Irrationally annoyed, she pointed out, "That's one fact, Conner."
He leaned closer as they reached the minivan. "The others are private."
"Sarah." Before she could analyze that comment, Polly Conner rushed up and gave her a hug. "You have to sit with me." With a covert glance at her mom, she added in a whisper, "I'll tell you about everybody."
Ellen and Peter Conner greeted her as if they hadn't seen her in ages and were thrilled to have her join them. Conner introduced her to his brother who looked like a younger, carbon copy of him.
It felt… awkward… too personal.
Conner pushed the wheelchair, his mother walked on one side while his brother tagged along on the other. Polly hung on to Sarah's arm.
The whole situation was somehow uncomfortable.
Sarah was a stranger.
Apparently they hadn't noticed.
"Let's find a seat," Polly urged as the rest of her family headed for the handicapped-accessible entrance.
Having no ready way to disengage herself, Sarah smiled at the girl and went along.
They followed Marta Hanover and her husband up the steps.
Marta glanced at Sarah but quickly looked away.
See? Sarah was not one of them. Why hadn't the Conners noticed?
If that one furtive glance wasn't proof enough, the blatant glares she garnered inside the sanctuary confirmed it.
"Here." Polly tugged her to the wide aisle designed for those physically challenged. She settled on the very end of the pew next to the main aisle and patted the spot beside her.
Conner and his mother entered the row from the other side. When his mother was settled alongside his father, he took the seat next to Sarah.
That his arm went automatically behind her set off another of those gut-level alarms.
Before she could reflect on the maneuver, much less the motive, Polly whispered in her ear. "You see the girl hanging all over Brady?"
Jerald Pope's daughter.
"That's Jerri Lynn. She's been after Brady forever. She and Alicia hated each other. 'Course I can't say much since I had a little crush on Brady, but I got over that and hardly anyone knew."
Jerri Lynn wasn't alone in her efforts to console Brady. Several others, male and female, including Tamara Gilbert, sat around him. But Tamara's presence was merely on the fringes. It was obvious that she was latched onto Jerri Lynn and that alone was her ticket to the party.
"Oh, my God," Polly murmured, still leaning against Sarah's shoulder. "Reverend Mahaney is here without his wife. And he's not sitting with his niece." She bent around to look Sarah in the eyes. "That's weird. They always do everything together." She peeked in the reverend's direction then turned back to Sarah. "His niece is like the biggest nerd in school. Nobody likes her except Jerri Lynn. That's her all over Jerri Lynn," Polly added as an aside, not realizing that Sarah already knew. "Tamara always tells her uncle everything, especially about the youth group members. That's another reason nobody likes her."
Sarah nodded, but her real attention was on Melody Harvey who sat with her parents. Seemed strange that she didn't sit with the other kids her age as her brother did. Maybe she, too, was considered a nerd like Tamara. Invisible, that's what Melody had said.
It appeared every police officer on the Youngstown force was in attendance. Except maybe the one guarding the crime scene. The Popes sat together near the back on the other side of the sanctuary.
As if her thought had summoned him, Jerald gave Sarah one of those vague nods of acknowledgment. Sarah returned the gesture. His wife looked regal. She was the only one in the room wearing a hat and dark glasses.
Matilda had been right. Pope was a little freaky. But that didn't make him a killer any more than his generous donations to the victims' families did. Matilda was just a kid. Admittedly, one with an uncanny sense of those around her, but a kid nonetheless. Sarah had to stop allowing her empathy for the kid to filter her assessments.
Sarah shifted her attention from the standing-room-only crowd to the front where a long table had been arranged in honor of Alicia. Her senior portrait served as the centerpiece. More photos, trophies, crowns, and the memorabilia that represented her too short life spanned the width of the altar.
When the minister stepped up to the podium, the murmur of soft voices and the whisper of fabric in the crowd settling came to an abrupt stop.
The service began with the minister's thoughts on the deceased. Close friends and family approached the altar, one by one, and spoke about the young woman who would be so sorely missed. Rachel Appleton sat stoically through every word of every recitation.
Sarah watched her, trying to remember how she'd felt at her father's memorial service… or even at her mother's. She'd felt numb, uncaring. In a way, relieved.
But not Rachel Appleton. She sat there wearing a brave face and dying inside.
With the discovery of her daughter's body, Rachel Apple-ton's life had ended. It didn't matter that she had two sons. Her daughter had been her life.
Sarah ached for her, sensed with every fiber of her being that this tragedy could have been prevented… somehow. This woman, a mother who loved so much, gave so much, had lost a child. Sarah had not known a mother like that… maybe she ached in part for what she'd never had… for what Rachel Appleton would miss.
When the service ended, a few stayed behind to talk, the rest filtered out. There would be refreshments and grief counseling available at the high school auditorium.
It wasn't until Sarah stood outside again that she noticed Lex August. He must have been with the crowd at the back of the sanctuary.
She could have cared less if she'd ever seen him again in this lifetime, except she wanted an update. She didn't care where it came from as long as it was accurate.
"How did your interviews go?" She walked right into his personal space, toe-to-toe.
There had been a time she would have admired how he looked in a suit, as she had Conner. But not anymore. Because she knew all too well that behind that handsome face and well-maintained physique beat the meager heart of a complete prick.
He adopted that fake smile that seemed to work on everyone else. "Well enough for preliminary groundwork."
Code for: I didn't get shit.
"No new evidence?" She shouldn't get any glee that he'd already been here over twenty-four hours and he hadn't learned anything new—that the killer didn't give him.
B
ut she did.
"Not yet." He adjusted the knot of his tie. "We're still waiting for the final test results and the full-on autopsy report."
"No briefing today?"
He glanced right then leveled his gaze on hers. "Not today."
Lie.
"Really?" She frowned. "At a dead end already?"
Those blue eyes she'd once thought were so gorgeous tapered. "When we have something, you'll get it, Sarah. Don't be a bitch."
Such a turnabout from yesterday. Split personality, maybe? What had she ever seen in him?
She smiled, enjoying every damned minute of this. "Me? A bitch? Never."
Walking away felt good.
Damned good.
Conner glanced up as he closed the side door of the minivan and smiled at her. Perfect white teeth. Truly beautiful eyes… and so damned handsome.
"Sarah!"
Her attention turning to the sound of her name, Sarah spotted Polly running toward her and waited.
"Hurry up, Pol," Conner said. "Mom's waiting."
Polly practically bowled Sarah over, cupped her hand over her ear and whispered, "Look over by the picnic tables."
Sarah's gaze went instantly to the row of white picnic tables under the trees beyond the parking lot.
Matilda Calder lingered there.
"She didn't come inside," Polly said secretively. "She thinks nobody likes her." Polly shrugged. "She is kind of weird but I like her. I guess I'm her only friend."
"Thanks, Polly." Sarah patted the hand clamped on her arm. "You'd better go. Your mom's waiting."
"Polly!" her mother called on cue.
Conner's sister rushed to the minivan, and Sarah headed for the picnic tables.
She worried that Matilda would make a run for it but she didn't. She waited, wearing the usual ragged getup, with a cigarette dangling from one hand. Sarah really should buy the girl some clothes. Give her some money for clothes and food, at least. After visiting the house on West Street, Sarah was pretty sure Matilda wasn't getting nearly enough of either. A stop at an ATM would handle that.
