by Hope White
“Oh,” Claire said, thinking for a minute on that one. “Can you draw?”
Sara bit back a smile at the random nature of her question. “No, not really.”
“Mommy says everyone can draw.”
“She created wonderful things.” Sara eyed the sketches pinned to the walls.
“No, I’ll take her home and pick up Marissa on the way,” Will said into the phone. “I think she should be grounded, don’t you?” He glanced at Claire.
His daughter shook her head no, that she didn’t want to be grounded.
“Nonrefundable, huh?” Will continued. “Okay, I guess you can swing by in the morning and pick them up... See you then.” Will pocketed his phone and looked at Claire. “Nanny and Papa spent a lot of money on tickets to the museum, so I’m going to let you go with them tomorrow, and then tomorrow night we’ll talk about the consequences of your actions.”
“Don’t ground me next week, please, Daddy. It’s after-school art camp.”
“We’ll talk about it later.”
The little girl looked as if she was going to burst into another round of tears. Sara did not envy Will’s job of being a single parent.
“Let’s go,” he said, reaching out for Claire. “Sara needs to get some sleep.”
Claire ignored her father’s hand and studied her shoes.
“Claire?” Will prompted.
“Whenever I come here—” she hesitated “—I usually say a prayer for Mommy.”
Will’s expression softened. “Good idea.”
Claire pressed her fingers together in prayer, as did Will.
Sara hadn’t prayed since...well, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d prayed. She figured, why bother? It hadn’t helped when Mom was sick, and what kind of God would take Sara’s father away from her?
“Don’t you know how to pray?” Claire asked Sara with a frown. “It’s easy. You put your hands together, see?” She nodded at her own fingers.
Sara had to stop thinking about her own pain and consider little Claire’s emotional recovery. Sara pressed her hands together, the feeling so awkward and uncomfortable. “Like this?”
“Yes, then close your eyes.”
Sara did as requested. How could anyone deny such a sweet little girl who was still grieving for her mom?
“Dear Lord,” Claire began. “Take good care of my Mommy because she always took good care of us. I hope she’s helping you in Heaven, and I hope she’ll never forget us. I love you, Mommy. Amen.”
“Amen,” Sara and Will said in unison.
She didn’t know about Will, but Sara could hardly speak past the ball of emotion in her throat.
“Good,” Will said in a rough voice. “Good prayer.”
“You did good, too, Miss Sara,” Claire offered.
“Thank you.”
Claire went to take her father’s hand.
“Hopefully there won’t be any more excitement,” Will said to Sara. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You don’t—”
“I’ll bring breakfast by after my in-laws pick up the girls.”
“We want to come for breakfast,” Claire said. “Please, Daddy, please?”
“Enough, sweetheart. Let’s get your sister and go home. We’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”
Claire grinned. Sara wondered if the little girl had Will wrapped around her finger.
“Until tomorrow, then.” Will escorted Claire to the top of the stairs.
“Good night, Will,” Sara said. “Sweet dreams, Claire.”
Claire smiled at Sara. “I’ll say a prayer for you tonight so you won’t be scared anymore.”
Claire started down the stairs and Will glanced at Sara.
“She’s adorable,” Sara said.
“Yeah.”
With an odd, almost sad smile, Will disappeared down the stairs with his daughter.
After everything that had happened today and this evening, Sara realized spending time with Will and his girls for breakfast tomorrow was a horrible idea. She’d be hiding behind a shield of lies, and that was starting to feel terribly wrong.
As she stretched out on the bed, she heard Claire’s prayer: Take good care of my Mommy because she always took good care of us.
That was what Will and his girls needed most: someone to take care of them. Sara was a dangerous diversion from that goal, although Will didn’t know how dangerous.
She felt something brewing between she and Will: a closeness, a connection. She couldn’t let that happen.
“Stop thinking about them.”
No matter how much a part of her enjoyed watching Will interact with Claire, listening to Claire pray for her mother and taking refuge in the loft, the reality was, Sara had a job to do. If only her boss would call her back.
Until then, she had to stop involving innocents like Will and his girls, for their own good.
* * *
Sara got up early the next morning and tried to leave, but Officer McBride asked her to wait until Nate arrived. Asked? More like ordered her to stay put, up in her tower.
Sara could have argued, but she wasn’t an idiot. Making enemies with the local cops wasn’t a great idea, especially since she’d need their support, not their suspicions.
As she gazed out the window, she imagined what it would be like to live in a small town like Echo Mountain. Sara had hopped from one place to another after high school, first switching colleges to get the best criminal justice degree, then taking jobs to support her goal of becoming an FBI agent.
Yet life seemed so peaceful in Echo Mountain.
She sighed. Things always looked different from the outside. Like the bureau, and how it was nothing like she’d imagined. They didn’t rush out and nail the bad guys. They had to follow protocol and procedure, and sometimes that meant a criminal wouldn’t be prosecuted.
As she gazed at the mountain range in the distance, she wondered if LaRouche and Harrington had come down from the mountain, and what story they’d tell.
She spotted Will’s Jeep cross the property. He parked and got out, with both little girls in tow.
“Will, no,” she said. Bringing the girls here would only make things harder.
He carried what looked like a pastry box. Sara couldn’t believe he’d awakened his daughters this early to bring her breakfast.
“Sara?” Will called from the bottom of the stairs.
“Come on up!” It’s not as if she could turn them away. She wouldn’t be that cruel, especially not to two little ones.
Will, Claire and her little sister came up to the loft. “Marissa, this is Miss Sara,” Will introduced.
“You look like Mommy,” Marissa said matter-of-factly.
“She does not,” Claire argued.
“Girls,” Will said. “Show Miss Sara what we brought her.”
Claire shook her head disapprovingly at her little sister, then placed a box on the desk. She opened it slowly, reverently, as if she was showing off the crown jewels instead of creatively designed pastries. “These are Maple Bars, these are Chocolate Chipmunk Bars and these are Penelope’s Pink Pansies.”
Marissa leaned over the box, her green eyes widening. She looked a lot like her father. “Pansies are my favorite.”
“I’m guessing these didn’t come from Healthy Eats,” Sara said.
“You’d guess right.” Will smiled.
“We only get these on special occasions,” Claire explained.
“Yeah, special occasions,” Marissa echoed.
Was that what this was, a special occasion? Sara was in deeper trouble than she thought.
“Wow, how do I rate?” she asked Will.
“Thought it might help your aches and pains. Here.” He pull
ed napkins out of his pocket and put them on the desk. “We’re calling this first breakfast.”
“Yeah, because Papa likes to eat breakfast out so we’ll have second breakfast with him,” Marissa said, licking the frosting off her Pink Pansy pastry.
For a brief second, Sara enjoyed the warmth of family, of children. In that moment, she shoved aside all thoughts of LaRouche and Harrington.
She reminded herself that this, the smiles of little girls licking frosting off their lips, was only an illusion, one that would evaporate soon enough.
Claire lifted a doughnut out of the box and raised it to her lips, eyes rounding with delight.
“It’s terrifying, isn’t it?” Will said.
Sara looked at him. “What?”
“The expression on her face when she’s about to eat copious amounts of sugar and fat.”
“If you think that’s terrifying, how about this?” Sara grabbed a Maple Bar, took a bite and rolled her eyes from side to side, and up and down.
The girls giggled.
“You look crazy,” little Marissa said.
“She looks happy,” Claire countered.
“Happy doesn’t look like this.” Marissa imitated Sara. “It looks like this.” Marissa cracked a broad grin, exposing frosting on her teeth.
“Gross. You are so immature,” Claire said.
“I’m not manure.”
“I didn’t say...” Claire sighed. “Oh, never mind.”
Will and Sara shared a smile.
“Tell Miss Sara where you’re going today,” Will said, plucking a chocolate doughnut for himself.
“A doll museum,” Claire said with awe in her voice. “They have dolls from all over the world. Even Russia.”
“Is that far away?” Marissa said.
“Of course it is,” Claire countered.
“How do you know? Have you been there?”
“You know I haven’t been there.”
“Then, how do you know it’s far away?”
“I learned it in school, silly.”
“Oh.” Marissa thought for a second, then looked at Sara. “Do you draw?”
“No, not really.”
Marissa looked at her sister. “Mommy said—”
“Miss Sara hasn’t learned yet,” Claire explained.
“Let’s teach her.” Marissa scrambled off her chair and rushed to the other side of the room. She grabbed a sketch pad and dashed back to her sister.
“Pencils?” Claire said.
Again, Marissa raced across the room, went to a shelf and snatched a few pencils.
“Good.” Claire cracked her knuckles.
This was quite the operation, Sara mused.
Claire nodded at the doughnut in Sara’s hand. “You’ll have to put down the doughnut.”
“Right.” Sara laid it on a napkin and brushed off her hands.
“Hold the pencil between your fingers like this.” Claire demonstrated. “Watch me.”
Marissa studied her sister and mimicked her every move.
Sara caught Will’s expression, a mixture of pride and sadness, punctuated with a thoughtful smile. Drawing obviously reminded him of his wife.
“Then you draw a t in the middle of the page.”
“Why are you drawing a t?” Sara said.
“It’s how you draw a face. You connect the corners.” Claire nibbled her lower lip. Marissa imitated the motion of drawing a circle. “And there you have the outline of the lady’s head.” Claire held up the sketchpad.
“Why are you drawing a lady?” Marissa asked.
“Men are boring. Ladies have hair and makeup and fun stuff like that,” she answered her sister. She pointed to her drawing. “Then you’ll draw the eyes here.” Claire pointed. “See, the eyes are above the cross line, like on a real face. You try.” Claire handed Sara a pencil.
Sara made a t and drew an oval shape by connecting the tips of the letter.
“That’s good, now make the eyes,” Claire said.
Will’s phone buzzed.
“Whoops, that’s Nanny and Papa. They’re wondering where you are. Let’s go, girls.”
The girls grabbed their doughnuts and headed for the stairs. Claire turned to Sara. “Don’t eat all the Pink Pansies or you’ll get a tummy ache.”
“Okay, I won’t.” Sara smiled.
“I’ll be back in twenty,” Will said.
“I’ll be here, practicing my drawing.”
Marissa ran up and hugged Sara’s legs. “Don’t worry. You’ll be able to draw someday.”
So stunned by the display of affection, Sara didn’t immediately return the hug. Her heart sank. She never realized what she’d been missing. Just as she wrapped her arms around the little girl, Marissa sprung free and skipped up to her dad and sister.
“Dolls, dolls, dolls!” Marissa chanted.
Will cast one last smile at Sara and led the girls downstairs. Sara went to the window. She watched them get into Will’s Jeep and pull away.
An ache permeated her chest. They were such a lovely family: a protective, gentle father and two sweet, albeit precocious little girls. Will’s family seemed so perfect, so...
She turned back to the room. How could they be so grounded and at peace after having lost a mother, a wife?
Sara wandered to the table where they had practiced drawing. A day hadn’t gone by since her father’s murder that Sara hadn’t felt the burn of anger.
The Rankin family had suffered a great loss, but didn’t seem to let the grief shadow their conversations.
Their every thought.
All of Sara’s decisions since Dad’s death had been motivated by anger and the need for justice. Get a criminal justice degree, work her way into a job with the FBI and hunt down bad guys and put them behind bars.
Make them pay.
Because her dad’s killer was never caught, never served his time.
Now, in her thirties, Sara was all about her career. She had no personal life, no boyfriend or even close friends for that matter. She never had time to nurture those kinds of relationships.
Being with Will and his girls, seeing how the community rallied around him and protected him, triggered an ache in Sara’s chest for that which she would never have.
“One more reason you need to get out of here.” She grabbed her backpack and considered her options. If Officer McBride wouldn’t allow her to leave until she spoke with Nate, perhaps she could talk him into taking her to the police station to wait this out. One thing was for sure—staying here, in Will’s deceased wife’s studio, was messing with Sara’s head. Big-time.
She glanced around the loft to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. Her gaze landed on a photo of Will’s wife with an arm around each of her little girls. Sara had a photo a lot like that one, of Sara, her dad and little brother, Kenny. It was taken at the beach. They were happy, laughing.
A perfect moment lost in the chaos of murder.
You and your brother hide in the closet. Do not come out until I say it’s okay.
The slamming of a car door outside ripped her out of the memory. Time to distance herself from Will and his girls. It was stirring up too many memories and buried grief.
Grief she’d been able to neutralize with determination to get justice.
She headed downstairs, deciding she’d sleep in a cell if she had to. She’d be safe at the police station, and a lot safer emotionally than if she continued to stay here.
As she headed for the patrol car, she saw Detective Walsh talking on his phone. He didn’t look happy. Then he shot her a look, and she slowed her step. Something was very wrong.
“I understand. Text me the coordinates and I’ll pass them along to SAR. We’ll send a team.
Once they’re down I’ll want to interview each of them individually....Yes, I have her in custody.”
In custody? Sara dug her fingers into the strap of her backpack.
Nate ended the call and turned to Sara. “Mr. LaRouche and Mr. Harrington finally called in. They said David Price disappeared after he got into an argument with you.”
NINE
“What?” Sara said in disbelief.
“They claim the last time they saw Mr. Price, you two were arguing over money.”
“Unbelievable,” she muttered.
“Is it true? You were arguing about money and, what, he fell?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Just the same, I need you to come with me to the station.”
Her heartbeat sped up. “Are you arresting me?”
“I’m bringing you in for questioning.”
“They’re lying. I don’t care about money,” she ground out. “I only care about...”
Don’t say it. Not yet.
“Ma’am?” Detective Walsh prompted.
“Forget it.” Of course they’d pin the murder on her. It was an easy solution to fix their problems. And they’d get away with it. They’d discredit Sara and make her a viable suspect.
“Is there anything you want to tell me?” Nate asked.
She clenched her jaw, wanting to tell the detective who she really was. Sara feared losing traction with this case if word got out and LaRouche and Harrington discovered she was FBI.
She noticed Will’s Jeep heading toward them. Perfect. This would drive him away, Will and his adorable girls, girls who didn’t need to be exposed to the ugliness of Sara’s life.
“Do what you have to do,” she said to Nate.
Nate studied her with creased eyebrows. “Let’s go.” He motioned for her to get into his unmarked squad car.
Will pulled up beside them and hopped out. “Hey, what’s going on?”
“I’ve been accused of murder,” Sara said. “Okay? I’m dangerous. Stay away from me.”
She climbed into the car and Nate shut the door. She couldn’t hear what they were saying because they’d stepped away from the car, but she could tell Will argued fiercely with the detective.
Finally, Nate shook his head in frustration and got into the car.
