Hidden Sins

by Selena Montgomery

  “Rabbe and Guffin are merely hired muscle.”

  “You and me. Ex-lovers drawn together by chance.”

  Mara hopped onto the hood, her legs dangling. She wasn’t touching that one. “The common thread here is the gold and the manuscript.”

  “The gold, Mara. I’m the only one who cares about the manuscript.” He launched the can with a solid kick and it soared into a ditch.

  “You shouldn’t litter,” Mara admonished absently. “Bad for the environment.”

  “Thanks for the tip, Smokey.” When she stared at him, eyes steady and censuring, he muttered beneath his breath about selective morals but stalked over to retrieve the trash. He returned to where she sat and propped his elbows near her leg. A gentle breeze drifted past, lazily pushing at the car’s antenna. Welcoming the respite from the heat, Ethan turned his face up. “What do we know?”

  “Davis Conroy is hunting for the Reed fortune. He knows about Bailey and about my grandfather. Probably about Poncho as well. Not sure about the sign at the church.”

  “As eerie as it is, I don’t see how it connects. Or maybe we’re missing something in the Christian numerology.”

  She slid off the hood, too restless to sit still. Images of her father and the other deacons sneaking into the night with another dead parishioner had been blocked out for a reason. Memory, she fervently believed, was highly overrated. “No connection. I can’t see why they’d matter to Conroy. Christian numerology has its adherents, but no actual significance.”

  Ethan wanted to press, but he could see the edges of fatigue, the glassy look that had her eyes sparkling like gemstones. “Okay, we’ll file that for now. What else have we got?”

  “We know that Davis Conroy wants to kill me,” supplied a grumpy Mara. “We know that.”

  “No, we don’t.” Sensing her disbelief, he added,

  “Think about it. If Conroy wanted you dead, why would they have kidnapped you? It would have been easier to shoot you in the alley and deliver your body to him. Conroy must think that you know something.”

  “Maybe. Rabbe can’t wait to do the deed, but Guffin wouldn’t let him hurt me.” She touched the scar tissue that had formed over her bullet wound. “Much.”

  “I can’t fathom that he knows we know each other. You did a fairly good job of hiding our relationship when we were younger.”

  “To protect you.”

  Ethan unbent himself to hold his hands up in defense. “That wasn’t an accusation. Just a fact. The only people who knew about us were your grandmother, Linda, and eventually your father.”

  “Dad wouldn’t tell the others that his daughter was a harlot. Except for Jessup and the other deacons.”

  “So it’s likely that my rescuing you was actually a happy accident.”

  “Don’t sound so pleased about it.”

  “Look, if you’re planning to be touchy—”

  Mara winced. “I’m sorry. I’m just afraid for my grandmother.”

  “Why?”

  “If Conroy wants me, it’s because he thinks I know something about the gold heist.”

  “And you’d only know it through your grandfather.”

  “Right. She’s the only person who might actually have some information for Conroy. What if I’ve put her in danger by coming back here?”

  “We’re in Shreveport, not Kiev. How many people know that she lives here?”

  “Only the staff.”

  “Then we’ll take precautions and keep it that way.”

  Odds were that Conroy had no clue about Mrs. Reed’s existence, let alone her whereabouts, Ethan thought. Nevertheless, any man powerful enough to track Mara across several states had resources he could scarcely fathom. Dropping a companionable arm across her shoulders, he steered her toward the door, held it open, and took a moment to peel down the ragtop and stow it. Rebuilding the Plymouth had been not only a labor of love but an experiment. Without an instruction manual, he’d challenged himself to follow logic and mechanics to its logical end. Like his car, scientific method required that once a hypothesis had been formulated, testing came next.

  Revving the engine, he smiled encouragingly at a pensive Mara. “Let’s go see your grandmother.”

  The reception area gleamed with recently buffed black linoleum and polished glass tabletops. Roman shades floated above wide, sparkling windows and poured in pools of natural light. Shades of verdant green and the palest rose decorated the walls, and soft, comfortable sofas stretched along their expanse. No stiff, spindly chairs here.

  The soothing ambience nearly masked the astringent smell of hospital care. Nearly. Mara swiveled her head as a pink-smocked nurse hurried past, pushing a cart loaded with meds. The casters swooshed along barely making a sound, much like the staff of Haven House. Upon their arrival, perky Ms. Rao had ushered them into the waiting area, where more of the classical music she’d heard while on hold piped through hidden speakers. From her seat she could watch the star-shaped fountain on the lawn spurt streams of water through a cherub’s open mouth.

  Cheesy, she thought, but nice. A nice, quiet place with friendly staff and expensive amenities. Exactly what she’d hoped for and paid for. She crossed her legs, tapping her heel against the chair, and her lids drifted down. A nice, quiet place to cater to her grandmother’s every need.

  A poor substitute for the affection of an adoring family, but Mara assumed no one in their clan had the right to such lofty expectations. Probably preferred it that way. After all, the woman had suffered through the death of her husband, the tyranny of her son, and the desertion of her granddaughter. Being whisked away to a place that promised its residents peace and tranquility couldn’t be all bad. Had to be better than the alternative.

  “Ms. Reed?” Mara’s eyes popped open. Sparkling green eyes, the color of the potted fern on the front desk, were level with her own. “Hi, I’m Sarah Kihneman. I take care of Mrs. Reed.” Preternaturally white teeth spread into a welcoming smile. “Wanna follow me?”

  Mara nodded and motioned to Ethan. Together they trailed after the young woman along a serpentine hallway that snaked the length of the building. In deference to the age of their residents, Mara supposed, shorter corridors branched off every few yards, like tree branches. At the fourth branch Sarah turned.

  “She’s right down here. Room 147. Sweetest woman.” Sarah spoke in a singsong cadence, a high trill of sound. “I could just eat her up.”

  Was chirping a requirement for employment at Haven House? Mara wondered. “Does she know I’m coming?”

  Sarah bobbed her head in the affirmative. “Told her as soon as you arrived.” Her dark blond brows lowered sharply. “We don’t like to surprise our residents. Your arrival would have been quite the shock, let me tell you. I’m still reeling.”

  Ethan could feel her hackles rise, and decided to save the young woman from herself. “Mara and I don’t live in town. We’ve been overseas.”

  “Six years of traveling. That’s a busy job.”

  “Now, look here—”

  “Very busy,” Ethan interjected, and squeezed Mara’s elbow warningly. “My Mara hated to move to Burma with me, but it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Helping quell a civil war isn’t the easiest occupation.”

  Sarah’s smile, if it were possible, glittered even brighter. The doll eyes fluttered thick lashes in a parody of flirtation. “You stop wars?”

  “I’m simply a small cog in the works.”

  Mara almost choked with disgust.

  For his part, Ethan preened under the admiration and kept Nurse Barbie well away from the prodigal child. “Even sending letters from the country was a trial. We couldn’t be certain they wouldn’t be intercepted.”

  “You’re so brave,” she gushed, covering Ethan’s free hand. She didn’t see a ring on it, so she stroked it lightly. “Mrs. Reed will be so happy to see you’re safe. If you can wait a moment, I’ll go let her know you’re here.”

  “I’m going to retch,” Mara announced a
s the woman moved away. She clutched her throat in pantomime, and Ethan snatched it down.

  “Behave,” he hissed. “She can hear you.”

  “I’ll behave if you do. Stop flirting with the teenager.”

  “I was trying to help.” Ethan tried to mask his delight and failed. “Jealous?”

  “Of you and a teenybopper? Please,” she huffed. She was spared a retort by Sarah’s return.

  The wooden door swung wide on silent hinges, and Sarah joined them in the hallway. “All set. Come on in. She’s ready to see you. I’ll be back in a few minutes to check on the reunion. Have fun,” she added. She tapped on the next door and went inside.

  In the corridor, Mara remained stock-still. Like a steep descent from the top of a skyscraper, she could feel her stomach lurch violently. The urge to bolt speared through her and she took a step away from the door. There was no apology sincere enough, no penance dear enough, to explain her actions. That she only showed up to take more churned acidly inside her, and she shook her head in denial. “I can’t,” she whispered to no one in particular.

  “You have to, baby.” Ethan curved an arm around her waist, as much in support as to stop her retreat. He tipped her face to catch her eyes, which shone with the mix of guilt and shame that had become familiar to him in the past week. Of her sins, this was the gravest and the hardest to repent. “You can’t run away this time. She’s waiting for you.”

  Mara wagged her head, unaccustomed to the surge of panic. “I failed her.”

  “Don’t be such a ninny, Mara Elizabeth.” The wispy command floated from inside the room and nearly buckled her knees. “Come inside and say hello. Bring your beau with you.”

  With stumbling, frantic steps, Mara rushed inside and, with a sob, launched herself at the figure lying against a pile of yellow pillows. “Oh, Nana. I’ve missed you.”

  Chapter 13

  “Stop blubbering on me, child.” Aiko propped herself up on the sunshine pillows the nurses insisted on stashing in her room. She didn’t particularly care for the cheery hues, but it made the staff happy, so she obliged. Life was entirely too confounded to pester about the insignificant details. Like the color of pillowcases or blame for making choices that ripped at the heart. Softly, she stroked at the bowed head that lay gently in her lap and thanked the Lord for the astonishing gift. “Mara, honey. You keep on weeping and they’ll have to bring a mop in. Dry your eyes and introduce me to your fiancé. Sarah tells me you two are getting hitched.”

  Hiccuping, Mara shot her head up and offered a watery denial. “Not married, no. We just said it to get him in here.” She waved to where Ethan remained in the doorway. “Ethan Stuart, you remember my grandmother, Mrs. Aiko Reed.”

  “Ethan? My goodness, let me get a look at you.” Aiko reached for the spectacles she wore on a chunky gold chain around her neck. Given that she was forever misplacing the cursed things, it seemed the best thing to make in the tedious seniors’ jewelry and craft class she took on Wednesday afternoons. “Well, boy, you did grow into a fine drink of lemonade, now didn’t you?”

  Flushing, Ethan shifted his feet and barely resisted the urge to mumble Aw, shucks. Instead, he cleared his throat and replied, “You’re looking lovely yourself, Miss Reed. Haven’t aged a day.”

  “You’re a liar, boy, but silver-tongued devils are God’s sweet reward for living right.” She waved an imperious hand at him. “Stop holding up the door and come inside. The nosiest biddies live on this wing, and if they get a listen to that lumberjack voice of yours, I’ll have to fake a heart attack to get them out.”

  “Wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.” Pleased, he kicked the door closed behind him, not noticing a pair of curious onlookers who’d paused in the hallway. “I appreciate you seeing us on such short notice.”

  “Not often I get gentleman callers, Ethan. And when they bring my baby home, I owe them a debt of gratitude.”

  “Coming to visit you was Mara’s idea.” He stopped near the bed and laid a soothing hand on Mara’s shoulder. Rubbing his thumb along the wires of tension he could feel beneath, he continued, “She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  Mara shot him a grateful look. All the speeches she’d planned over the years—with carefully crafted lies and elaborate explanations—vanished the moment she saw the beautiful, beloved woman responsible for a quarter of her genes. The almond-shaped eyes and their pale brown color, both legacies of Aiko’s Japanese heritage. Exquisite creamy skin wore their eighty-six years with an effortless grace, and as she hungrily studied the beloved features, she catalogued their reflection in her own. The haughty cheekbones, a delicate mouth that pouted slightly, the elfin ears.

  “I look like you.”

  “Better me than that pinched-faced woman who spawned you,” Aiko affirmed. “Luckily, all you got from her was your nose. Mine would have been too small on that face.”

  Instinctively, Mara rubbed at the long bridge. “I guess you’re right.”

  “Faces are maps, my dear. Tales of sorrow and triumph.” Lightly, she traced Mara’s brow. “Here, you’ve grown a few lines. Comes from thinking hard. But the furrows aren’t deep, which means you’re probably quick on your feet. Can’t spend too long pondering when there’s a decision to be made.” The fingers trembled almost imperceptibly as they drew the curve of her chin, the sweep of her cheek. “You take care of your skin, use your beauty to your advantage. But you’re not vain.”

  “How can you tell that?” Ethan ventured, mesmerized.

  “Skin is soft, well-cared for, but not pampered. Mara has seen the world, carries part of it with her, but she knows when she needs to let go.” The tender contact turned firm. “That day, honey, you had to let go. Obadiah didn’t leave you any outs. I knew it then and I understood. I understand. So say your apologies once, for yourself, and let that be the end of it.”

  “I should have written.”

  “A letter or two might have been nice, but that father of yours probably would have burned it first. Or had one of those hell-spawn deacons do it for him.” Aiko shrugged negligently. “When it counted, baby, you took care of me. After Obadiah passed away, the church folk were simply lost. Deacon Cornelius tried to make a run at anointing himself, but even fools can see dross when they look closely enough.”

  “Eventually.”

  “But, now, how did you come to hear about your father?”

  “The Kiev Post.” At Ethan’s puzzled look, she dipped her head, mortified. “I have a subscription,” she muttered defensively. “People should read the news.”

  “Oh.”

  Aiko shared a knowing grin with Ethan over Mara’s bent head. “That gorgeous lawyer you sent down told me you’d found this place for me. How is Mr. Caine?”

  Ethan scowled at the name, but Mara didn’t notice. “Sebastian is well.” She decided not to mention that Sebastian’s encounters with lawyers likely ended with him pleading no contest. Mara skimmed the room, for the first time taking in the pleated drapes adorned in a symphony of tulips, and the ornate oak bureau that stood sentinel against a buttercup yellow wall. The aged wood had a familiar veneer. “Is that the dresser Grandpa made for you?”

  “Carved it himself. Feared he’d cut off his hands, but Micah could do more blind than most sighted men.”

  Taking advantage of the opening, Ethan asked lightly, “How did it happen? How’d he lose his sight?”

  Aiko stiffened, the gracious smile fading. “Had an accident in 1937.”

  “What kind of accident?” Mara patted the hand that rested on her knee. “You’d never talk about it.”

  “What’s past is past.”

  “Not if it’s trying to hurt your granddaughter,” hazarded Ethan. “Was he hurt during the robbery?”

  Narrowed eyes focused on Ethan, then traveled to Mara’s expectant look. With a deflated sigh, Aiko sank into the pillows at her back and shook her head wearily. “Old coot loved to tell this child stories. Would brag about his sins like they were
badges of honor.”

  “He’d tell me about my legacy. Six bags of gold coins waiting for me to discover them. But you’d never let him finish.”

  Aiko gave a short chuckle. “Used to make him right mad. Biggest story of his life, and I wouldn’t let him tell it.”

  “Tell me now.”

  Hesitant, Aiko cast a suspicious eye over Ethan.

  “Who’s trying to hurt Mara? What does a seventy-year-old robbery have to do with anything?”

  “A man named Davis Conroy is trying to grab her,” Ethan said. “And he hired me to examine the remains from the cemetery next to the church.” He watched her carefully for reaction, and he got one. “Found your husband’s bones and Poncho’s body. Mara has a journal belonging to Virgil Bailey. He mentions Poncho’s brother Guerva and another man named Reese. What can you tell us about them?”

  “Reese. Reese Conroy,” she whispered, nightmare returning with a vengeance that shook her soul. The sins of the father.

  “Conroy?” Ethan locked eyes with Mara. “Are you sure?”

  Aiko bowed her head. “One doesn’t forget men like him.”

  “Who is he, Nana?” Mara cupped Aiko’s cheek, this time to soothe. Fear emanated in stunning waves, mixed with a rage that felt palpable.

  “Reese Conroy took Guerva’s life and your grandfather’s sight.” Years later the metallic taste of horror still lingered on her tongue. “Micah led a troop of evangelists. They were also bank robbers. It was a good cover. Negro preachers were a dime a dozen, and no one expected them to steal. Micah worked most of the Hill Country and West Texas before he learned about the greatest heist of his career.”

  “The train to the Dallas Fed.” Ethan offered her a glass of water from the pitcher by her bed. “Micah’s job.”

  “Slick as satin, he was. They dressed as porters and slipped off the train in San Antonio.” She reached for the glass Ethan held toward her. Sipping slowly, she recounted how they’d come to her booth at the circus with their odd request. “Mortified me, I’ll tell you. Living at a circus quiets most of a lady’s inhibitions, but I’d never seen so many naked derrieres before. Micah had me tattoo these little pictures on the men’s hips. Painful as all hell, because the needle kept striking bone.”