The Hero’s Sin

by Darlene Gardner

  She popped open the panel door over her fuel tank, twisted off the gas cap, yanked the nozzle off the pump and shoved it into the hole.

  It rankled that even the mechanics going about their business made her think of Kenny.

  Up until he was fired, he’d been one of them.

  “Hey, Laurie.” Will Turner, the grizzled, gray-haired owner of the shop, waved at her from across an expanse of pavement before disappearing into the back of the shop.

  She took off after him, barely sparing a glance at the pump—it would shut off automatically.

  She hurried past a car being hoisted by a hydraulic lift and a man in overalls bent over an engine before she spotted Will peering under the hood of an old Chevy. She called his name and he looked up.

  “This area’s off-limits to customers,” Will said. “What are you doing back here, Laurie?”

  She was chasing yet another reason to keep from going back to her ex-husband. “I need to know why you fired Kenny.”

  He frowned, moving away from the Chevy. He put a hand on her arm, steering her to a relatively quiet corner of the shop.

  “I don’t know where you got the idea I fired him. Kenny quit.”

  “Quit?” That didn’t compute. “Why would he do that?”

  “Darned if I know. That boy’s the best mechanic I ever had. A born teacher, too. He’s got a real knack for dealing with the young guys. I was hoping he’d take over the business when I retire.”

  “But Kenny drives you crazy.” Back when she and Kenny were married, Kenny regularly overslept and got to work late or knocked off early without permission to hang out with his friends. “You fire him all the time.”

  “Haven’t fired him more than once or twice in the last five years,” Will said. The lines bracketing his eyes and mouth made Laurie realize he had to be in his sixties, at least. “Even then, I always hire him back. Be crazy not to.”

  “Then why haven’t you hired him back this time?”

  “Hardheaded bastard hasn’t asked for his job back yet. Say, maybe you can get him to come on by. Maybe you can even get him to think about buying me out.”

  “You really think he’s the right man to take over your business?”

  “Hell, yeah. Too bad he doesn’t think so.” Will shook his head. “That Kenny, he never has thought enough of himself.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the Kenny I know.”

  Will considered her for a moment. “Then maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

  MICHAEL HUNG BACK on the fringes of the crowd of people milling about the outdoor community amphitheater Tuesday night, enjoying the laid-back atmosphere. Couples and young families, some with picnic baskets, spread blankets on the grass. A few senior citizens, a heavily pregnant woman and a girl on crutches claimed the limited bench seating in front of the stage.

  “Not too shabby, huh?” Johnny crossed his arms over a chest that was swelling with pride.

  “Yeah,” Michael said, “put on a free concert and the crowds will come.”

  “Not the music,” Johnny protested, his eyes comically wide. “The amphitheater.”

  “Oh, did you build that?”

  “Sure did.” Johnny’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “You already know Pollock Construction built the amphitheater, don’t you?”

  Michael tried not to smile. “Your dad might have mentioned it.”

  Johnny’s lips pursed. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  Michael couldn’t hide his grin any longer. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  “Go ahead. Have your fun. But wait till you hear the acoustics. See those laminated curved wood beams on the roof? They’re the reason that amphitheater is a good little piece of work.”

  “If you do say so yourself,” Michael said with a laugh.

  “I wouldn’t have to say so if you would,” Johnny shot back good-naturedly. He inclined his head toward where Penelope sat on a blanket, beckoning to him. “Gotta go. The music’s about to start. What are you doing here anyway?”

  “Meeting Sara.” Even the sound of her name brought him pleasure. “She thinks I should be seen out in public.”

  “Like that’s gonna happen with you lurking over here by these trees. When Sara gets here, come join us.”

  “Thanks,” Michael said, liking the sound of the idea.

  Something strange had happened since Sara suggested he become more visible in town—he’d begun to enjoy himself. She was largely responsible, of course, but Indigo Springs no longer seemed as objectionable.

  The band broke into its opening number, a lively bluegrass tune. A few kids, no more than seven or eight years old, jumped to their feet and started to dance. Others joined in until a mass of children were clapping their small hands and stamping their little feet in a whirling, joyful circle.

  “That’s about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” Laurie Grieb was suddenly standing next to him, the music having drowned out her approach, speaking to him as though they were already in the midst of a conversation. “It makes you want to get out there and dance with them.”

  “Yeah, it does,” he agreed, surprised to discover it was true. One of the children spun around in tight little circles until he fell over like a top that had run out of steam. Laurie laughed. He’d always liked her despite her interest in Kenny, who’d never deserved her.

  “Sara should be along soon.” Before he could ask how she knew he was waiting for Sara, Laurie explained, “I overheard her on the phone this afternoon making plans to meet you. She’s probably regrouping after the bad day she had.”

  That was the first he’d heard of Sara’s bad day.

  “The women’s club canceling on her wouldn’t have hit her so hard if she hadn’t had that unpleasant visit from Jill Coleman this morning.” Laurie kept on as though Sara had already filled him in on the day’s events. “I understand Jill’s upset about her husband, but really!”

  He got a sick feeling in his stomach that he was the direct cause of Jill Coleman’s visit. Apparently unaware of how strongly her comments had affected him, Laurie scanned the crowd. “You haven’t seen Kenny, have you?”

  “No,” he said, his mind still on Sara.

  “Let me ask you something. Did Kenny ever seem…um…unsure of himself to you?” Laurie’s gaze fastened on him as though his answer mattered.

  He tried to switch gears and focus on her question, but wasn’t sure he’d understood. “Unsure of himself? Kenny?”

  “Never mind.” Laurie shook her head. “I shouldn’t have asked that of you of all people. Kenny probably only seems like a jerk to you.”

  She had that right.

  A woman who looked like an older version of Laurie, complete with frizzy hair, gestured wildly to her from the other side of the park.

  “There’s my mom,” Laurie said. “Born and raised right here in PA and she loves bluegrass. Go figure.”

  Laurie left him with a little wave, picking her way through the crowd of people toward her mother’s side. The band launched into another song as energetic as the first, and more people got up to dance.

  Michael had been watching the park entrance for Sara, so he spotted her before she saw him. For long moments, he just stared. In low-rise tan slacks, chunky sandals and a form-fitting white shirt, with her brown hair long and loose, she looked like she belonged here in the park among the concert-goers. Like she belonged in Indigo Springs.

  He’d do anything in his power, he realized, not to jeopardize that for her.

  She smiled when she spotted him. Pleasure spiraled through him, the frustration he’d felt searching for a man nobody could find dissipating. She met him halfway, anchored her hands on his shoulders and kissed him briefly but sweetly on the lips.

  “Hi,” she said, smiling into his eyes. She smelled wonderful, like the peach-scented moisturizer she kept on a shelf in her bathroom and the warm scent that was uniquely hers.

  “Hi, yourself.”

  The musicians on stage we
re the focal point of the evening but Michael noticed that some people in the crowd, probably all who knew he was a suspect in Quincy Coleman’s disappearance, had witnessed the kiss.

  He stepped back.

  “Want to find a place to sit?” she asked close enough so he could hear, her warm breath teasing his ear.

  He’d planned to lead her to the blanket where Johnny and Penelope sat listening to the music, saving a place for them. But that was before he’d talked to Laurie.

  “I’d rather hear about your bad day,” he said. “I ran into Laurie, and she said something about a women’s club canceling on you.”

  “It’s nothing.” She waved off his concern.

  “Why did they cancel?” he pressed, even as a likely reason occurred to him. “Is Jill Coleman a member of the club?”

  “It doesn’t matter if she is,” she said. “I told you, it’s not important.”

  Yet Michael feared it was vital.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

  He thought she might protest, but after a moment’s pause she nodded her agreement. They walked away from the park and the happy, laughing, dancing crowd, leaving the lively beat of the bluegrass music behind them.

  Sara seemed content to walk in silence, perhaps sensing they’d reached a pivotal place in their relationship.

  He wished they could keep walking straight out of town, that he didn’t feel compelled to get the answers that would change everything.

  “I hear Jill Coleman came to see you this morning,” he said, breaking the silence. “Was it about me?”

  They’d reached the quaint stone church where Penelope and Johnny had been married, which somehow seemed appropriate. He’d gotten his first glimpse of Sara inside this very church.

  She didn’t answer immediately, instead sitting down on the steps of the church. He joined her, resting his elbows on his knees, waiting her out.

  “She had this misconception I was your lawyer,” she said. “She was talking nonsense, trying to convince me to stop representing you.”

  “What did she say?” he prodded.

  Based on set of her shoulders and the depth of her sigh, she didn’t want to tell him. “She read me parts of some letters her daughter wrote her.”

  He must have gone pale because she put a hand on his arm. “I’m sure she took them out of context. Even if she didn’t, the only thing they prove is that Chrissy was unhappy.”

  “What did she say the letters proved?”

  Sara shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Then tell me.”

  She clamped her lips together, as though reluctant to let any words escape, but then finally she started to talk. “She said you were responsible for her husband’s disappearance. Even if you weren’t, you were using me and I shouldn’t let you fool me the way you fooled Chrissy.”

  He was silent, digesting that. He’d tried to convince himself he wasn’t hurting Sara’s chances of integrating into the town, but it had become abundantly clear over the past few days that wasn’t true.

  Already Joe Wojokowski knew they were sleeping together. Jill Coleman had obviously figured it out, too. So far the damage to Sara had been minimal, but Michael foresaw trouble ahead. This time it had been a woman’s club canceling her speaking engagement. Next time it might be an acquaintance who decided not to be a friend. Or a client who refused to walk through her door.

  Her eyes seemed to ask him to contradict Jill Coleman’s claims, but if he told Sara how deeply he was falling for her, she’d stick loyally by his side until he left town.

  Then she’d be left with nothing.

  “I hope you told that old busybody you were using me, too,” he said. “I’d have liked to see her face when she found out our relationship was just about sex.”

  She stared at him, a bemused expression on her face. “I hadn’t realized it was.”

  He forced himself to look her in the eyes, keeping everything he felt for her from his face. “Come on, Sara. You said you were fine with a short-term affair. We’ve known each other for less than two weeks. What else would it be about?”

  “Mutual respect,” she said, the bewilderment changing to hurt. “Caring.”

  “I care about you just fine,” he said, “especially when we’re in bed.”

  He could see her wondering why he was saying such hurtful things, but he couldn’t give her the chance to cross examine him. He couldn’t afford to have his facade crumble so he said the one thing guaranteed to put an end to whatever was growing between them.

  “You’re an even better lay than Chrissy was.”

  The moisture he’d seen gathering in her eyes dried up, and her expression hardened. She got up from the porch steps with the dignity of a queen.

  “Let me walk you home,” he said.

  “Don’t bother,” she said coolly. “It seems like I’m going to take Mrs. Coleman’s advice after all.”

  She strode away with her head held high and her shoulders thrown back, a woman who’d taken a blow and weathered it. His admiration for her grew, and he had to clutch the church railing to keep himself from rushing after her and taking everything back. He’d done the right thing, he told himself.

  So why did the right thing hurt so much?

  THE WHISTLE came from the open door of a storefront across the street, where construction workers were tearing up wooden floorboards with a pry bar.

  Sara stopped and pivoted, her internal temperature rising. She wasn’t going to take being whistled at. Not in her new hometown. Not this morning when she was officially open for business and when she was in a lousy mood. Not after finding out Michael’s interest in her was only sexual.

  She marched across the street, mentally preparing her verbal attack, ready to blast whoever had whistled.

  “Hi, Sara.” Johnny Pollock exited the store, wearing one of his friendly smiles. “Hope you didn’t mind the whistle. You didn’t hear me when I yelled.”

  She joined him on the sidewalk, desperately trying to regain her poise, silently chastising herself for mistaking an innocent attempt to get her attention for a wolf call.

  “Not at all,” she lied, then gestured behind him to where one of his coworkers continued to rip out a portion of the wooden floor. “It looks like you’re renovating.”

  “Just started this morning,” he said. “The new owner’s turning it into a candy store. When I got a chance, I was gonna head over to your office, but then I saw you walking by.”

  “What’s up?” she asked. Please don’t mention Michael. After the hurtful things he had said last night, she wasn’t in the mood to hear his best friend champion him.

  “I heard what happened with the women’s club,” he said.

  She relaxed but only slightly. She wasn’t keen about discussing being blacklisted by Jill Coleman, either. “I guess it’s true what they say about gossip and small towns.”

  “Indigo Springs isn’t so small anymore,” he said. “I only know about it because my mom’s a member. She says they’ll ask you to speak again once things settle down.”

  “You mean once Quincy Coleman is found?”

  Johnny inclined his head. “Yeah. Mrs. Coleman’s dead wrong to blame Michael, but it’s bad timing to have his lawyer speak to the group.”

  Sara gritted her teeth, finding it ironic that she also had to speak Michael’s name. “As I’ve already told Mrs. Coleman, I’m not Michael’s lawyer.”

  “Okay. His girlfriend, then.”

  “I’m not his girlfriend, either.” She’d been trying to convince herself that Michael had done her a favor last night. She’d been preparing to let him go anyway. Finding out he cared more about what they did in bed than about her should have made the whole process easier, but it hadn’t.

  Johnny looked surprised. “When did this happen?”

  “Last night.” She didn’t give him a chance to comment. “Look, I’ve got to get going. I’m headed to Jimmy’s Diner for coffee, then I need to get back to
work.”

  “I could use some coffee, too. Did you know that you can get some at Abe’s?” The general store was next door to the shop he was renovating. “Let me buy you a cup.”

  She hesitated, unwilling to get pulled into a conversation about Michael, but he seemed to have accepted that. “Sure.”

  Abe’s General Store sold groceries and necessities like toiletries and first-aid supplies, just as Sara had expected. She didn’t anticipate the nostalgic snack counter at the back of the store, with a line of five stools covered in red vinyl and an old-fashioned soda machine as a centerpiece.

  “I had no idea this was back here,” she told Johnny after he’d paid for their coffees and the girl behind the counter left to help in another part of the store. Sara had intended to take her coffee and go, but the atmosphere made her want to linger. “That soda machine looks like an antique.”

  “It’s worth quite a bit,” he said. “That’s why Michael got time in juvenile detention.”

  Sara felt as though she’d been blindsided. “Excuse me?”

  “Did he tell you he got arrested for breaking and entering when we were high-school seniors?”

  “Yes, he did,” she said, cursing herself for agreeing to have coffee with him, “but I don’t want to—”

  “Did he tell you I was with him?” Johnny interrupted. He rubbed the back of his neck. “No, he wouldn’t have. He never told anybody, even though it was my idea. And all because of a damn cherry cola.”

  He wasn’t making sense, but neither had Michael’s bare-bones version of the story.

  “Abe wouldn’t serve him,” Johnny continued. “He died a couple of years ago, but he used to be tight with Quincy Coleman. He told Michael not to come around anymore.”

  Sara wasn’t a good enough actress to pretend she wasn’t interested in his story. “Because Michael was dating Chrissy?”

  “He wasn’t dating her exactly, but she was always coming around, making it clear she was hot for him.” Johnny inhaled, his eyes trained on the stainless-steel soda machine instead of on her. “The lock on the back door was pretty flimsy. Michael followed me into the store, trying to get me to leave, but I wanted to pour him that damn cherry cola. When we heard the sirens, it was too late.”