Blackberry Crumble

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “What are you doing?” Her tone was understandably accusatory.

  “I . . . uh, he’s helping me determine what happened to your father.”

  May’s eyes narrowed. “He’s Keith Kelly’s son. He’s not going to help you with anything.”

  “But he is,” Sadie hurried to say, her heart racing. “He got access to Keith’s calendar and—”

  “You’re fired,” May snapped, causing Sadie to pull back. “I want you out of Portland first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “May, please,” Sadie said, taking a step toward her. “Let me explain. See, I followed—”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” May screamed—really screamed—silencing Sadie once again. Tears rose in her eyes, and Sadie just wanted to die.

  After all she’d learned about May’s history and her life, Sadie had betrayed her, and while she wanted very much to justify her actions, right now she could only see it the way May was seeing it.

  “I came to you because I needed help,” May said, her voice ragged with sorrow. “I needed answers, and I couldn’t trust anyone to help me find them. I trusted you. And you went to . . .” She looked at Richard, who was standing with his arms at his sides and a stunned look on his face. “You went to him of all people.” She pulled herself up, and the tears overflowed as she looked at Sadie again. “I try to give people the benefit of the doubt, Sadie, but I have a hard time trusting people. And now I’m reminded why.” She raised a hand and wiped at her eyes, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I thought it was fate that led me to you. I can’t believe I’ve made such a fool of myself again.” Her chin was trembling, and Sadie felt tears rising in her own eyes for having hurt this woman who had already suffered so much.

  “May, I’m so—”

  “Where are my dad’s files?” May interrupted, looking around the table. Her eyes landed on the stack of files, still in the original folders, lying on the couch. She hurried to them and gathered them up, holding them against her chest. “Is this all of them?” she demanded. “Are there any more?”

  Sadie tried to swallow the rock in her throat and shook her head slowly. “That’s all of them—the copies and everything,” she said, hearing her own voice catch.

  May looked at Richard one last time, then turned on her heel and hurried toward the door.

  Sadie was frozen, but her chest was on fire, and her brain buzzed with the attempts to figure out what had just happened and how she could fix it. Finally, as May got closer and closer to the hotel door, Sadie’s feet began to move.

  “Wait,” she said, taking a few hurried steps toward May’s retreating back. “Please let me explain.” May had to know why Sadie had done things this way. If nothing else, she had to make sure May understood what was going on with Hugh. She noted a bewildered desk clerk poised at the edge of the front counter as though unsure whether to insert herself into the drama or not.

  May didn’t turn around, but pushed through the door, taking quick steps to the curb. She looked both ways and then hurried across the street for the parking lot.

  “May, please,” Sadie said after pushing through the door as well, leaving Richard and the desk clerk behind. She was glad to be wearing sensible shoes today. May was nearly at her car before Sadie managed to catch up with her. She put a hand on May’s arm, and May turned quickly. Too quickly for Sadie to comprehend the open palm coming at her face. She managed a small yelp just before May slapped her, snapping Sadie’s head to the side. The parking lot spun as intense heat and pain rushed through Sadie’s head.

  “Him?” May said in a hoarse whisper. Her expression was tight and her chin quivered. “You went to him?”

  “He came to me,” Sadie said, swallowing as she raised a hand to her throbbing cheekbone. “I followed Keith to a restaurant last night. Richard followed me back from the hotel and confronted me.”

  “And you told him I think his father is a murderer? Do you have any idea what kind of risk that creates for me?”

  Sadie hadn’t thought about that at all, in fact. Had she put May at risk? “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I . . . he . . . he was helping me.”

  “Right,” May spat. “Richard Kelly is simply another version of his father, and I can guarantee that anything you’ve told him goes directly back to Keith.” She closed her eyes and shook her head, more tears running down her blotchy face. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she muttered, raising her free hand to her face. “I can’t believe—”

  “May,” Sadie said, touching her arm again.

  Once again, May’s free hand shot out, this time stopping at shoulder height while Sadie ducked and raised her hands to protect herself from another assault. She clenched her eyes closed. “Hugh was at the dinner last night, too,” she said quickly, latching on to the only thing she could think of that might change the direction of the conversation.

  She opened one eye, though she was still cringing. May’s hand was still poised, but she was watching Sadie. Waiting. Sadie hurried to take advantage of the moment. “I didn’t know it was Hugh until he came to the house today,” she said in a rush. “He took something out of the mailbox this afternoon and hid it in his waistband before bringing in the rest of the mail. Richard says Hugh wants to sell his percentage of S&S Suppression—that’s what the dinner meeting was about. But your dad had lunch with Keith two weeks before he died, and Richard doesn’t know why.” She paused and sucked in a breath before she passed out, allowing herself to straighten slightly. “The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you, May, and I’m so sorry to realize that’s exactly what I’ve done. But please know that wasn’t my intent; I was trying to get to the truth and using any opportunity I could to get to it. I haven’t ruled Keith out, but there are other things to consider. You might need to decide if you want Keith’s head on a platter or the truth. You might not be able to have both.”

  May lowered her hand, but her expression didn’t relax. For a moment Sadie hoped that she was softening, that she was able to see the reasoning behind Sadie’s assertions. The hope was short-lived.

  “You’re fired,” she said again, turning and taking the last few steps to her car. She glanced at Sadie briefly before sliding into the car and dumping the files on the passenger seat. Just before she slammed the door, she added, “I never want to see you again.”

  Chapter 36

  Sadie wiped frantically at her own tears as she entered the hotel lobby, having lost all control of her emotions following the confrontation. Richard stood near the front door and gave her a sympathetic look. “I didn’t think following you would help. Are you okay?”

  “No,” Sadie said, embarrassed to choke out the word, but unable to hide the absolute devastation she felt. She raised her hand to cover her trembling chin and walked past him without looking.

  “I’m really sorry,” Richard said from behind her.

  Sadie sniffled, shaking her head as she wiped her eyes again. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I knew she’d be upset when she learned I’d talked to you.”

  “She confirmed what I told you about us, then?” Richard asked.

  “Lois did—her neighbor.”

  “What are you going to do now?” he asked, looking out the front door again.

  Sadie was sure May was long gone. Every thought of May made her insides clench. She’d never been yelled at that way, never been slapped, for heaven’s sake. Thinking about it caused her to raise her hand to her cheek again.

  “I’m going to get some ice,” Sadie said, heading toward the table to retrieve her laptop. “I’ll figure out the rest of it in the morning.”

  “Do you still want me to talk to my dad?”

  Sadie stopped and lowered her hand. What was she going to do now? Leave Portland, like May told her to, and just forget about all of this? Could she really turn her back on everything she’d discovered? She didn’t feel close to any kind of breakthrough; quite the opposite—her brain was boggled with information, none of which seemed all that relevant
as to who did, in fact, kill Jim Sanderson—assuming anyone killed him at all. But could she turn her back on the things she had learned? Was she simply a head to hire and fire, or was she personally invested enough to pursue this on her own—against May’s wishes?

  “Honestly, Richard,” she said, meeting his concerned eyes. “I don’t know. You heard May. I’ve been . . . fired. She wants me to leave Portland.”

  “She’s angry,” Richard said. “She’ll calm down.”

  “It’s been ten years, and she’s still pretty ticked at you.”

  Richard looked down. “Well, that’s true.”

  “I don’t know what I would have done differently, but it sure seems like there should have been another option. Something I should have done that would have allowed me to make this less painful for her.” She groaned again at the memory of May’s face, of her words, of the absolute shock and disappointment of her expression when Sadie had first looked up and found her standing there. Oh, to rewind the whole thing and meet with Richard somewhere else.

  She gathered her computer, glancing at the couch where the files used to be. If May looked through them before she put them away, she’d find Hugh’s information. She’d know Sadie had gone through her dad’s personal files. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm the firestorm of emotion raging in her chest. Then she turned to Richard, who looked as defeated as she felt. His arms hung at his sides, and his hair was disheveled. She forced a smile she hoped would make him feel better. “I’m so sorry you were here for that,” she said. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to arrange that face-to-face meeting with May. At least, not the kind you were going for.”

  “I’m just . . . sorry,” Richard said.

  Sadie let out a breath. “Why don’t I call you in the morning, when I know for certain what I’m going to do about all this, okay?”

  Richard nodded. “Okay.”

  He walked her to the hallway where the rooms started, and then they said their good-byes.

  When Sadie entered her room a minute later, she put the laptop on the bed full of equipment and then fell facedown on the other bed, whimpering into the coverlet. She couldn’t get the look on May’s face out of her mind. The last thing Sadie had wanted to do was hurt her. But she had. And she couldn’t undo what had been done.

  Was there, however, a way to make it right? Was there anything she could do to make it better?

  Find the answers, she said to herself. If she offered May the truth, May could make an informed judgment rather than one based on her emotional reaction to Sadie having met with Richard . . . and her breaking into the filing cabinet . . . and asking too many questions about her family.

  Sadie suspected that any answer other than proving Keith Kelly had killed Jim Sanderson wasn’t an answer May wanted to have, but it felt wrong to leave the situation undone and unfinished. If Jim Sanderson had been murdered, the killer deserved to be brought to justice. May deserved to know the truth—even if it wasn’t the truth she wanted.

  Sadie had no delusions of absolution. She’d hurt May and didn’t anticipate that anything she did would make that better. Rather, she feared it would make things worse. But she wasn’t ready to go down with the ship. She didn’t feel good about leaving Portland with so many loose ends.

  With a sigh, she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She began unbuttoning her blouse, but then paused. Was that the phone? She hurried out of the bathroom and to the hotel phone, pausing only a moment before she picked up the handset. Would May have reconsidered and come back to the hotel to talk to her?

  “Hello?”

  “Sadie?” a familiar voice said on the other end of the line, but it wasn’t May’s voice. “It’s Jane. We need to talk.”

  Sadie gripped the hotel phone. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I have my sources,” Jane said. “I really need to talk to you. Can I come to your room?”

  “To my room?” Sadie repeated, trying to make sense of this.

  “Yeah, I’m in the lobby. I can be there in about twenty seconds.”

  Chapter 37

  Perhaps it was exhaustion that made her agree to let Jane come to her room, but as soon as Sadie hung up, she shifted into hyperdrive and began stashing boxes and equipment in the closet. Everything inside her told her to use extreme caution when dealing with Jane Seeley.

  When she heard the knock—an eight-knock rhythm—she took a deep breath. I’ll let her say what she came to say, but I’m not inviting her to sit down, Sadie determined as she moved toward the hotel room door and pulled it open.

  Jane stood there, grinning broadly. Her red skinny jeans matched her lipstick and Converse sneakers. The shirt she had on was white with a rainbow stretched across the front. Her fingernails were purple. As soon as the door was open all the way, Jane entered the room and walked straight for the first bed.

  Sadie knew she was scanning the room, looking for anything that might give her information Sadie wouldn’t offer.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, remaining by the open door.

  “You invited me,” Jane said with a smile.

  Sadie felt her eyes narrow. “Not what are you doing in my hotel room, what are you doing in Portland?”

  Jane’s smile faded, and a trace of insecurity crossed her face. Sadie didn’t trust it and therefore refused to react.

  “I’m trying to make amends,” Jane said, fiddling with the tassel on the big purse she had under one arm. She met Sadie’s eyes. “I really made a mess of things, didn’t I?”

  “You want my forgiveness?” Sadie refused to let Jane be in charge of this conversation. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Yes,” Jane said.

  “Fine. You’re forgiven.”

  Jane scrunched her nose. “I’d rather you meant it.”

  Sadie sighed. “You can’t play with people’s lives and expect that they will trust you; life doesn’t work that way.” Her words gave her own conscience a zing. Had she played with May’s life?

  “I know,” Jane said. “But I am really sorry about all this and . . . it’s just that . . . ” She took a breath, and then spoke quickly. “They’re talking about having Ms. Jane take on a couple more writers. They think I’m losing my edge, that I’m getting tired. I didn’t realize that they own the column, not me, so they can bring anyone else in at any time, which is exactly what they’re thinking of doing. I had to do something big. Something that would prove once and for all that I wasn’t just a columnist, but that I could get the big stories, ya know?”

  “So you thought you’d pump up your feature reporter skills by becoming a muckraker at my expense?”

  “I’ve been watching you,” Jane said, giving Sadie a hesitant look. “Almost since the first time we met. I knew about Florida months ago; I read up on the case and talked to a detective down there. I know what you did. I’ve looked into Eric Burton too—he’s a player, by the way—and Pete Cunningham, who I might try to hook up with myself if things don’t work out between the two of you. I know about your daughter and her fiancé. And about Shawn and the precarious position of his scholarship. I know it probably sounds crazy, but I feel like I know you, Sadie, like we’re friends.”

  Sadie blinked, trying to keep her expression neutral. In reality she was completely creeped out by Jane’s admission. “You’re a stalker,” she summed up. One unlocked door, and Sadie would be murdered in her bed!

  Jane’s eyes went wide. “No, I’m not a stalker,” she clarified. “I just . . . I find you fascinating.”

  Sadie took a step backward and pulled open the door a little wider. “Get out of here,” she said.

  Jane sighed but made no move to leave. Instead, she folded her arms over her chest defiantly. “Okay, I get how that sounds, but I’m not here to hurt you, and I really didn’t mean for the article to be so negative. I’d had a fight with my editor, and I needed something sharp, something intense. I might have gone around him to get it in the paper
, and I might have taken things too far. I might even have regretted it later. But it happened, and I was written up for it. I might lose my entire career over this. I’ve learned my lesson, Sadie.”

  Sadie stamped out her rising sympathy before it got too far. Jane did not deserve Sadie’s compassion, but no sooner had she thought that then she remembered that everyone deserved some kind of compassion.

  “And you want me to feel sorry for you?” She didn’t like hearing the softening of her tone. She wasn’t really falling for this, was she? “It’s called consequences; reaping what you sow. It’s the law of the harvest. They talk about it in the Bible—you should read it sometime.”

  “I’ve read the Bible,” Jane said. “It also talks about forgiving your enemies, blessing those who hurt you, and who—”