Key Lime Pie

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “Would you like me to answer that?” Sadie asked after the second ring.

  “Sure,” Layla said.

  Shaking her head slightly, Sadie hurried to the phone, pushed talk and raised it to her ear, turning her back on the TV in hopes the sound wouldn’t interfere with the call. “Hello?” she said.

  “Hello, is Mr. Burton there?” an official voice asked.

  Sadie wished he were. “I’m sorry, he’s not here right now. Can I, uh, take a message?”

  “What about Mrs. McCallister?”

  Sadie glanced at Layla. Was her last name McCallister? She’d said Larry used to be her husband. Sadie wasn’t thrilled about handing the phone over, but didn’t see that she had much choice. Perhaps listening to Layla’s end of the conversation would be helpful. “Just a minute,” Sadie said. She held the phone against her chest and turned to Layla. “They’re calling for Mrs. McCallister. Is that you?”

  Layla didn’t answer, but the audience burst into applause and the little woman on the TV screen raised both hands to cover her mouth. She’d won . . . something. Sadie took a couple steps forward and picked up the remote. It was very forward of her, she knew, but the phone call sounded important. She took a breath and then pressed the mute button. Layla immediately looked to where the remote had been, then up to Sadie who was holding it.

  “I was watching that!” she said, and though Sadie knew she was angry, her voice showed very little inflection.

  “Are you Mrs. McCallister?” Sadie asked her again.

  Layla was thrown off for a moment, leading Sadie to repeat the question. “Are you Mrs. McCallister?”

  “I think so,” Layla said, causing Sadie even more confusion. She thought her name was Mrs. McCallister? She wasn’t sure?

  “Then, I guess this is for you.”

  Layla paused for a moment, but then took the phone. “Hello . . . yes . . . okay . . . I don’t know . . . yes . . . okay.” She hung up and stood slowly, seeming to be more worried about displacing the cat than the content of the phone call. Once she was on her feet, she met Sadie’s eyes. “The police want me to come to the station.” Her eyes flitted to the TV.

  “It’s a rerun,” Sadie said, trying to preempt any ideas Layla might have of finishing the show before following the police’s instructions. Layla hesitated, and Sadie pressed the power button. She didn’t know what to make of the other woman, and wouldn’t have been surprised if Layla had insisted on staying. Luckily, she didn’t.

  “Did they say why they wanted you to come down?” Sadie asked, glad that she had Layla’s full attention now—though that wasn’t saying much.

  “They said it was important,” Layla said.

  Sadie’s heart started racing. Eric had said the police would know today whether or not the body was Megan’s. This could be that answer. And Layla was the one who would hear the news first?

  “Do you need a ride?” Sadie asked on impulse, suddenly worried about the other woman’s ability to hear tragic news—if in fact the news was tragic—not to mention Layla’s ability to drive. Her behavior was so strange already; if the police told her the remains they had found were her daughter’s, how would she react? Besides that, the rental car was the only vehicle Sadie had seen and she didn’t imagine Layla was authorized to drive it.

  Layla took one more glance at the blank TV then let out a regretful sigh. “Okay,” she said in that same even tone. “But Wheel of Fortune starts at noon.”

  Chapter 11

  Layla gave Sadie perfect instructions on how to find the police station, which was only a few blocks away. By the time they arrived, Sadie had drawn up the hypothesis that Homestead, Florida, wasn’t all that different than Garrison, Colorado. The towns seemed to be similar in size and endowed with equal quaintness. The cobblestone streets and businesses of the downtown area were clean and well-maintained, reflecting a historical feel. Palm trees dotted the city, just as cottonwoods and birch trees grew throughout Garrison. Old-fashioned lampposts and park benches encouraged people to stop and smell the roses—or hibiscus, as the case may be.

  As soon as they pulled up to the police station, a blocky building the same color as Layla’s house, Layla let herself out. Sadie scrambled to shut off the car and follow the other woman inside despite the lack of invitation. Sadie didn’t think Layla would object and, quite honestly, didn’t know what else to do. She considered texting Eric, but what would she say? Finding the right words to explain why she’d come to Florida was much harder than she’d anticipated. Of course, it would have been much easier if he’d have answered the door like he was supposed to.

  “Can I help you?” a Latin woman at the front counter asked, cutting off Sadie’s thoughts.

  Layla didn’t answer the question. Instead, she looked around the room. From the attention she gave them, one would think the white walls, utilitarian desks, and terra-cotta tile made for fascinating décor. Sadie gave Layla a few seconds to speak before leaning in and answering for her.

  “This is Layla McCallister,” Sadie said. “I’m not sure who called her, but someone from the station asked her to come in. Perhaps something regarding her daughter, Megan Burton.” Sadie cast a sideways glance at Layla to see if she reacted, but she was looking out the front door of the police station. Sadie couldn’t see whether she was surprised to hear Megan’s name or not.

  The woman at the desk nodded and put the phone to her ear as she punched a button and lowered her chin so that Sadie couldn’t hear what she said. A moment later, she hung up the phone and directed Sadie and Layla to a row of plastic chairs on the left side of the room. They hadn’t reached them before a large black man stepped out of an office farther down the hall. He seemed to recognize Layla and came toward them.

  “Mrs. McCallister,” he said, inclining his head, which was so bald and shiny it reflected the fluorescent lighting. He put out his hand, and Layla took it, though Sadie felt sure she gave a limp-noodle handshake at best. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine,” Layla said in her flat tone. She seemed annoyed to be here.

  The man turned to Sadie and the expression on his face was so instantly familiar that Sadie nearly startled at the unexpected reminder of Pete that flashed through her mind. This man was younger, broader, taller, and darker, but the way he held his eyes and the careful smile on his face was just like Pete. It further confirmed her suspicions that such neutral expressions were taught to police detectives throughout the country. He put out his hand, and Sadie focused on giving him a firm shake, like her father had taught her to do many years ago. Dad had told her when you gave a strong handshake, it inspired confidence and respect in the other person. Sadie hoped it was true.

  “I’m Sadie Hoffmiller,” she said with a nod as they dropped hands. “I’m a friend of Eric Burton’s and was at Mrs. McCallister’s house when you called. She asked me to drive her over.” It was hard not to say more—lay out all the details—so she clamped her teeth together to prevent herself from giving in. The police in Garrison thought she was a busybody. She wanted to make a better impression on this man. She liked to think of this as a whole new start in regard to her relationship with law enforcement.

  “I’m Sergeant Mathews,” the man said with a nod, then extended his arm toward the room he’d just exited and looked at Layla, his expression softening a little. “My office, if you please.”

  Sadie tried to hide her surprise at being included. The other officers she’d been involved with had tried to keep her out of things. Of course, it hadn’t worked, but they had tried. Maybe they did things differently in Florida, or maybe they could see what the Colorado police couldn’t, that Sadie was an asset and not a liability to their investigation. The thought made her smile, and she walked a little taller as she followed Layla into Sergeant Mathews’s office.

  Sadie and Layla sat in the leather chairs across from the desk while the detective closed the door behind them. His chair creaked when he sat down, and he immediately tapped his fingers on a close
d file on his desk.

  “I had hoped Mr. Burton would be here by now,” Sergeant Mathews began, his eyes on Layla after a quick glance at his watch.

  “He said he’d be back by nine,” Layla answered. She sat up straight in the chair, her hands resting on her tanned knee, crossed over her other leg. She was very still and Sadie wondered if she was nervous about what was coming.

  “Do you know where he went?” Sergeant Mathews asked.

  “I don’t know,” Layla said in that airy voice of hers. “But he told me not to worry.”

  The sergeant nodded thoughtfully, and Sadie couldn’t help but add more information so as to help him get a full picture of what was going on. “Layla’s been trying to call him, but he isn’t answering,” she said, giving the detective an intent look she hoped would alert him to her concern.

  Sergeant Mathews held her eyes for a moment, and then nodded his understanding, encouraging Sadie to continue.

  “You said he was coming here. Did you get a hold of him?”

  “Yes, but we only spoke for a few seconds. He said he’d be in as soon as he could.” He paused thoughtfully. “Do you have any reason to believe he’s in some kind of trouble?”

  Sadie hesitated. Did selling his trailer and wanting Megan’s box count toward adequate reason for being worried about him? She wasn’t sure that was what Sergeant Mathews was looking for.

  “He said not to worry,” Layla cut in.

  “That’s good,” Mathews said as though to appease Layla. Sadie wondered how well he knew Eric’s ex-wife, and she wished she could ask him some questions about her.

  The sergeant pulled a notebook out of the front drawer of his desk and wrote something down. He paused, then looked up at both women. Sadie liked that he seemed to be giving her as much consideration as he was giving Layla.

  “I would postpone this if I could, but I have a meeting at the courthouse in half an hour and I wanted to pass on the information as soon as possible.” He cleared his throat. “We have the first of the medical examiner’s reports,” he explained. Though there was still a great deal of neutrality in his tone, Sadie could hear an undercurrent that seemed . . . relieved. And it relieved her as well. As much as she liked being a part of things, she didn’t like to hear bad news. Which, she realized, was likely why Sergeant Mathews had let her come in the first place—because he wasn’t going to drop a bombshell. She suspected that he also wasn’t sure Layla would understand everything going on and he wanted another witness to the event. Whatever the reason, she was simply glad to be part of the in-crowd on this one and hoped she’d be able to help in some way.

  Sadie still held her breath in anticipation of what he was about to say. Layla was looking at a spot on the floor just in front of her chair, her hands clasped together and back straight.

  “It’s not Megan,” Sergeant Mathews said.

  The room seemed to lose pressure instantly. They all paused for a moment and Layla lifted her head, her expression still causal. “Can I have the bracelet back now?”

  What bracelet? Sadie wondered, taken aback by Layla’s response. No tears of relief? No questions about who the body might be?

  “I’m afraid it’s still evidence,” Mathews said regretfully. His eyes flickered to Sadie before returning to Layla. “There’s something else.”

  Both women looked at him.

  “We found a purse not far from the body. It’s in pretty bad shape, but our forensic team has been going through it, taking X-rays and specialized photographs of the contents.” He opened the folder on his desk and pulled out a single piece of paper. He slid the paper toward Layla, and Sadie leaned forward to get a peek.

  The image on the paper reminded Sadie of a carbon copy, though one where the carbon had been bent and wrinkled, transferring smudges onto places it didn’t belong. “Is this a driver’s license?” Sadie asked. The image was enlarged, of course, and the fact that the details were all shades of the same color of inky blue made it hard to distinguish specifics.

  Without saying anything, Sergeant Mathews leaned forward and tapped the photo. Sadie followed his silent instruction and squinted at the picture on the right-hand side. It was really hard to make out many features. She leaned in closer. It looked a little like . . .

  “Megan?” Layla asked, also leaning forward. She jabbed her finger at the photo and looked up at Mathews, her eyes wider than usual and her expression animated for the first time. “Is that Megan?”

  Once again, Mathews didn’t answer. Instead he moved his finger from the photo to the date the license was issued. “We’ve requested an actual copy from the Department of Motor Vehicles in Texas—the state that issued this license—to verify the information, but it looks like this license was issued three weeks after your daughter disappeared.”

  Chapter 12

  Sadie began scanning the image with more detail. She’d seen only one photograph of Megan so she had very little to compare this picture to. The name printed on the license was Lucile Anne Powell. “Are you sure this is her?” Sadie asked, looking back at the image once more.

  “No,” Mathews said, shaking his head. “The copy is too poor of quality for us to do much with it, but seeing as the bracelet was found with the body . . .” He glanced at Layla before continuing. “We think that this could be Megan, or someone who looks very much like her.” He leaned back in his chair.

  “It’s not her,” Layla suddenly said, causing Sadie and Sergeant Mathews to look at her. She was sitting in her chair, her back straight and her mouth thin. Sadie, sitting beside her, could see the muscles bunching up below Layla’s ear, the only betrayal of her tension. Layla shook her head for emphasis and repeated herself. “It’s not her.” She began looking around the office as though searching for something else to focus on.

  Sadie looked at Sergeant Mathews, who sat in his chair watching Layla. He began talking again. “We’ll be getting the original from Texas any time, which will better allow us to finalize the results.”

  Layla let out a breath and made eye contact with Mathews again. “It isn’t her,” she said. The emotion had drained from her words and her face, returning her to her usual flatness.

  “Why don’t you want to believe it could be her?” Sadie asked, instantly aware of Mathews looking at her and wishing she could bite back the words, or at least not ask them quite so sharply. I am not a busybody. I am not a busybody. I am not a busybody.

  Layla didn’t answer. Instead she stood up. “Can I go? I don’t want to be here anymore.”

  Mathews watched her carefully and nodded. Layla headed for the door. Sadie didn’t know what to do except stand up as well. She turned to the sergeant, looking for some way to close this strange meeting. She felt as though she should apologize for Layla, but she’d only known the woman for forty minutes. More than anything she worried that Layla’s actions would come across as suspicious to the police, and although she didn’t know this woman or understand why she was so . . . oblivious, she felt protective of her for some reason.

  “I, uh, well . . . um. It was nice meeting you.” She turned to see Layla heading toward the front of the police station. “And I’ll be sure to relay this information to Mr. Burton as soon as I speak to him.”

  Mathews stood as well, but didn’t speak right away. “Do you have a moment?”

  “Um,” Sadie looked to see Layla push her way out of the front doors. “I think maybe I should make sure she gets home okay.”

  “Layla’s all right,” Mathews said. “We all keep an eye on her; she’ll probably walk home.”

  Sadie snapped her head around to look at the sergeant. “You keep an eye on her?”

  Mathews smiled, revealing a slight gap between his front teeth that Sadie hadn’t noticed before—probably because he hadn’t smiled since she’d met him. He gestured for her to sit down again. “Everyone looks out for Layla. She’ll be fine.”

  Sadie sat, holding her purse on her lap with both hands. “Looks out for her?”

 
; Mathews also returned to his chair. “How well do you know Layla?”

  “Not well at all,” Sadie explained. “I know Eri—Mr. Burton. We’re . . . friends and we live in the same town in Colorado.”

  He nodded, and Sadie felt an uncomfortable flutter in her stomach at his easy acceptance. Easy acceptance was not a trait police officers were all that good at—not the officers Sadie had met, anyway.

  “But Mr. Burton told you what to expect with Layla, right?”

  “Not exactly,” Sadie said, relaxing her hands where they were gripping the handles of her purse too tightly. “I was worried about him and he needed some things from his house, so I brought them to him, only he wasn’t there. That’s when I met Layla.”

  “Today?” Mathews asked, his heavy eyebrows rising onto his forehead.

  Sadie nodded again, shifting in her seat. “Less than an hour ago.”

  “And you haven’t seen Mr. Burton since your arrival?”

  “No.”

  He seemed to consider this for a few moments. “Do you mind telling me what had you so worried about him?” Mathews asked, using that careful tone police were so good at.

  She opened her mouth to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. Eric didn’t even know she was here; he hadn’t had a chance to explain what was going on yet. What would he think if she just downloaded her concerns to Sergeant Mathews? But right on the heels of that thought was the reminder of all the times she’d been the one sneaking behind the back of the police. It might have turned out okay, but it had also landed her with community service and caused her to question her own character.

  Mathews was watching her and he suddenly reminded her of Pete—of the first time she’d met him and all the times they’d been together since. More than once Pete had told her that telling the truth made all the difference in a police investigation. Sadie was going to shoot straight this time around; she wasn’t going to be underfoot or hiding anything.