“Maybe at Thanksgiving. If you’re good.”
Sadie laughed. “I’ll be good,” she said, making an X over her heart. “I promise. Where does he live now?”
Breanna scowled. “Portland. He’s part of the Oregon Zoo bat exhibit,” she said. “And before you ask, no, I haven’t seen him yet. It’s only been a few months and it’s not like we’re dating or anything, we just e-mail and talk on the phone a lot.”
Sadie smiled, loving the sparkle in her daughter’s eyes.
“Anyway,” Breanna said, “I looked him up on findpeople.com, and there he was in Portland. I know I could have just looked him up in the phone book or something, but for $50 you can get a whole background check, and, well”—she shrugged her shoulders as if still trying to justify herself—“we had kinda, ya know, hit it off and so just in case he had a past I thought I ought to find out as much about him as I could.” She scraped the bowl with the edge of her spoon, capturing the last of the sherbet, then ate the final bite, smiling with the spoon still halfway in her mouth. “You can’t be too careful these days.”
“And no red flags?”
“Nope,” Breanna said. “I mean, other than the drug charges he’s an upstanding citizen in every way.”
Sadie raised her eyebrows.
“Kidding,” Breanna quickly added. “But I got his current info as well as former addresses, school history, and criminal record.”
“And he’s not an ex-con?” Sadie wasn’t always thrilled with her daughter’s teasing nature.
“No,” Breanna said. “But he was once part-owner of a mall kiosk that sold “Save the Wildlife” T-shirts—he had to get a business license. The point is that if I found Liam, I bet we could find Anne.”
“Well, a search like that sounds perfect,” Sadie said, finishing off her sherbet as well. Breanna seemed to have forgotten all about calling Detective Cunningham, which was fine by Sadie now that she had a lead on getting more information about Anne. “If I could find a family member, maybe I could call and talk to someone. Or an old landlord.”
“Or a probation officer,” Breanna added as they put their bowls in the sink and headed to the computer again.
“Funny,” Sadie said as Breanna slid into the office chair. Sadie grabbed a chair from the kitchen and returned to find Breanna already logged into her Yahoo e-mail account and clicking through the web site that promised to put the World Wide Web at your fingertips.
It took Breanna only a minute to get logged on to findpeople.com. She entered Anne’s name and they waited almost a minute before the site brought up a screen full of Anne Lemmons, and Annette Lemmons, and Andreas, Antonias, and Annabelles. There were 167 names. To the side of some of the names were an age, and on the left were lists of possible relatives.
“How do we know which one is the Anne we want?” Sadie asked, feeling a little overwhelmed.
“Well, we know she’s in her mid-twenties, so this one that says she’s 67 isn’t someone we need to worry about.”
“Okay, so that rules out half the list,” Sadie said, leaning against the back of her chair.
“Hang on,” Breanna said. She started clicking in little boxes. “I can eliminate a lot of them.” She kept clicking and after a few minutes the possibilities were down to sixty-four. Still daunting.
“Was Anne her full name?” Breanna asked. “Or was it short for something else?”
“I don’t know,” Sadie said. “But we know she came from Boston.”
“Right.” She started clicking again and narrowed the list down to twenty-one names. Sixteen of them had no cities listed as addresses, two had addresses in Massachusetts, and three showed Boston. Breanna clicked on “Advance Search” and a pop-up window appeared full of empty fields for additional information.
“So you don’t know anything else? What city she was born in? The street she lived on in Boston? Date of birth? If we have a little more it will narrow the search for us. Of course we’ll still have to pay for the final report, but we can be more sure it’s the Anne Lemmon we’re looking for.”
“No,” Sadie said. “But,” she paused, “she was turning twenty-six in January.”
“Do you know the exact day?”
“No,” Sadie answered. “Let’s try putting in just the year of her birth.”
A pop-up appeared with the warning that they needed more information to get the correct record.
“So you knew Liam’s birthday?” Sadie asked. “How else did you find him?”
“His full name is William Harrison Martin the third—all us interns used to tease him about that. And his birthday happens to be on July 4, so he brought cupcakes for those of us working that day. Apparently there are a lot of Anne-related Lemmons, though.”
Sadie stared at the screen, thinking about the calendar on the fridge at Anne’s house. She got up casually and went to the front window, only then remembering she couldn’t see Anne’s house from there. Stupid tree. Heavy clouds had moved in during the last hour, making the day seem more spent than it really was; it was barely 5:30.
“Huh, well I still need to call Detective Cunningham,” Sadie said, feeling defeated as she eyed the clouds and wondered if they were holding rain or snow. She’d spent this whole day trying to figure things out, and all she’d succeeded in doing was uncovering Ron and Anne’s relationship and making Detective Madsen extremely mad. “Maybe he’s figured out her date of birth.”
“I don’t think he’ll tell you, Mom, he’s the detective.”
“And I’m Anne’s friend,” Sadie said, turning from the window. She smoothed a lock of hair off her face, only then remembering what a mess she was. Her hair was sticky and for a moment it confused her, but then she caught sight of the jars of applesauce on the counter. She was always a sticky mess when she put up fruit. She attempted to reshape her hair and hoped it didn’t look too awful. “You know, they won’t even tell me what’s going on. Outside of harassing me, they give no consideration at all to my stake in this. Trevor’s still gone and they won’t tell me anything.”
“It’s not their job to tell you anything,” Breanna said, turning in her chair to face her mom. “I know you cared about Anne—though if I were you, I’d be a heck of a lot more upset about what she was doing with Ron—but the police can’t just hand information out left and right. They don’t know you.”
Sadie snorted. “They won’t even try to get to know me. If they did they would know that I am only trying to help, not to mention that all the nonprofit work I do ought to speak for itself.”
Breanna started laughing and gave her mom an are-you-kidding? look. “Mo-om,” she said as she shook her head. “The world doesn’t work that way. They are trying to solve a murder.”
So am I, she thought to herself, but she knew better than to say it out loud. Breanna seemed primed to lecture her and Sadie braced herself for it, just as a little bell dinged. Breanna quickly turned around and began typing into a pop-up window that had appeared on the screen. Sadie moved close enough to look over her shoulder.
“Liam?” she asked after reading the user name of BatmanBrit.
“Yeah,” Breanna said with a nod, suddenly distracted. She typed some more and then looked up at her mom. “A little privacy?” she asked. “And don’t you need to call Detective Cunningham?”
Sadie smiled and took her cell phone and Detective Cunningham’s business card to the back bedroom. Once the door was closed, however, her smile fell. She did not relish this at all, but she picked up the card and punched the number into her phone.
As she listened to the phone ring, she realized she still didn’t know what she was going to say or just how much she was going to tell him. By the time the phone had rung three times everything she’d done seemed stupid since she really hadn’t figured anything out. All she had were more questions. After the fourth ring, the call went to voice mail. She was relieved.
“Detective Cunningham, this is Sadie Hoffmiller. Could you please call me at your earliest conve
nience? I have some information I need to tell you.” She hung up the phone and stared at it. “So not fair,” she said, throwing the phone on the bed. She was working as hard as he was.
When she returned to the kitchen Breanna was still instant messaging on the computer and the rich chocolate scent of baking brownies was beginning to fill the room. Sadie took a deep breath of the heavenly aroma, rolled up her sleeves, and set about doing the dishes. After that, she retrieved her phone and went through the messages—two from Breanna and half a dozen from Ron—she deleted them without listening. She stared out her window, the color of the setting sun had turned to a more appropriate shade of gray and the already darkened sky seemed to isolate her from the world on the other side of the glass. She thought about everything she’d learned today. She officially admitted to herself that she’d been wrong; Trevor wasn’t with Ron. At least not anymore.
The cold outside the window was seeping inside, surrounding her, making her joints ache and her head throb. Trevor’s alive, she told herself. She refused to believe he was dead—it was impossible. Ron must have taken him somewhere, but where? Trevor was two years old, he couldn’t be left alone. But who would Ron have asked to take his son? One of his other kids? It seemed unlikely he’d do that when he’d been working so hard to keep his secret a secret.
It was a hopeless circle of questions without answers and she turned away from the window as the police car that had been stationed at Anne’s house left the cul-de-sac. It would be dark soon, and Trevor was still out there somewhere. It was going to be a long night.
The timer on the stove startled her and she removed the brownies from the oven while Breanna continued typing. Sadie folded some laundry, and paid a couple bills that had come in the mail. Finally, at nearly 6:15—the brownies sufficiently cooled enough for travel—and Breanna still online, she told Breanna she was taking the brownies to Mindy and she’d be back soon. She pulled her green oven mitts over her hands, then had to take them off in order to put on her jacket. A couple minutes later, she let the screen door shut behind her, took a deep breath of the crisp air, and began her journey down the front steps. Amid everything else, Sadie absolutely hated knowing Mindy was unhappy with her, and with so much heartbreak and despair, she very much wanted to repair things if she could. There was so much she couldn’t fix that she was glad there was something she could make better.
Sadie’s Better Brownies
24 oz. (11/2 bags) semi-sweet chocolate chips (using 1/2 mint chocolate chips is delicious!)
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter
6 large eggs
2 cups granulated sugar
1 tablespoon vanilla
11/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1⁄4 teaspoon salt
1 cup walnuts (pecans are better than walnuts though Shawn hates both)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees and melt chocolate chips and butter in a double boiler. (Or melt in microwave in 30-second increments, stirring between each heating until smooth.) Remove from heat and set aside to cool slightly. In a separate bowl, mix together the eggs and sugar. Mix in the melted chocolate and the vanilla. Add the flour, baking powder, and salt to the chocolate mixture and mix well. Pour into a 9 x 13 greased pan and bake for about 35 to 45 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out with just a few moist crumbs. Remove from oven and let cool before cutting into 2-inch squares.
Makes 24 brownies.
Chapter 18
Sadie headed down the walk, glancing into the windows of Jack and Carrie’s home as she approached. It was a ranch-style home, almost a perfect square, with a carport on the side furthest from Sadie’s house. Jack had talked for years about buying some land and building their dream house, but Carrie had wanted the kids to finish their schooling in the same district, then she’d wanted them to come back to a home they’d always known, so the dream was put off over and over again. But they had a nice house, and Jack had already paid it off. The white aluminum siding seemed to glow in the darkening evening, the windows shining just a little bit brighter behind the closed blinds.
Sadie really was glad Trina had come home tonight. Otherwise, despite Carrie’s earlier lack of sympathy, Sadie would still have been trying to find a way to comfort her. It was nice to have one less person to worry about—though Trina wasn’t necessarily gifted in thinking about other people. Carrie had held on tighter to her youngest child, Trina, than to any of the other girls. If Jack hadn’t forced her to go to college, Trina would probably have lived at home forever.
Sadie was crossing Jack and Carrie’s driveway when she heard the squeal of tires around the corner. Her first thought was that it was Ron tracking her down, demanding they talk about this again. She immediately planned her self-defense—she’d throw the still-hot pan of brownies in his face and run for home, screaming if necessary. She looked over her shoulder long enough to see a truck, not a black Jetta. It was coming right for her though and she turned toward Jack and Carrie’s porch, her heart hammering as she tried to get out of the way.
She was halfway up the front steps when the truck came to a screeching halt in the driveway. It was all she could do to hold on to the brownies while she ran. The driver’s door opened and she imagined herself being gunned down. She was a risk to Ron, since she’d told him she knew everything. Would he try to silence her? For good? Would Breanna be able to find a decent picture for the obituary?
“Sadie?” said a voice she knew all too well. She stopped and turned, letting out a breath as she recognized Jack’s truck that had been only a blur of headlights a moment before. She would not die today. Thank goodness.
“Jack,” she said with relief. It had been more than a month since she’d seen him last and she wanted so much for him to give her a little-brother hug and assure her that everything was fine. He’d been there to do just that during every other trial of her life, every other loss. But things were different now. She could feel it. Jack looked past her to the front door, and then back at her. She sensed he was eager to get inside.
“I heard about Anne,” he said, his voice low. He cleared his throat and seemed to be uncomfortable. Then she wondered if he knew Anne too. He’d been to the Boston office many times, though not as often as Ron. Her stomach sank lower. Had Jack known all along? Had he been hiding this from her as well? Were all the people she believed to be above reproach liars? Really good liars? Suddenly a hundred questions flooded her head. Jack continued, “I . . . uh, came to see how Carrie’s doing with all this.”
Sadie shrugged since she really didn’t know. She held out the pan of brownies. “I was bringing this over,” she said on impulse, wondering if she could weasel a few answers from him. “It’s hot so I’ll just take it into the kitchen.” She had to find the right way of asking him about Anne and Ron. And she was curious to see him and Carrie together. That he was here for her was a good sign, Sadie thought. Maybe all was not lost between them. And then she wondered if Carrie also knew about Anne and Ron. Was Sadie the only person who didn’t know the truth?
“Oh, um, I’ll just take it in for you,” he said, but when he grabbed the pan it was too hot and Sadie hurried to get it back from him.
“Just let me bring it in,” she said with irritation. Did everyone have to be so difficult today?
But Jack had already shoved his hands into his sleeves and reached them out to take the pan—just as she had when she removed the lemon tart from Anne’s oven that morning. “You’re sweet to think of us,” he said, taking the pan from her while she tried to think of another protest. Preferably one that would work.
He quickly walked past her and kicked the door a few times, as if knocking with his loafers. Trina opened the door. Her blonde hair was down, but looked unkempt, and her eyes were red as she ushered him into the house.
“Thanks, Aunt Sadie,” she said, trying to manage a smile. Then as fast as she’d opened the door, she shut it again.
Always a dramatic one, Sadie thought after stan
ding there a moment. She didn’t remember if Trina had even met Anne, but she reminded herself that sometimes young people were deeply affected by such tragedies. Slowly descending the steps, she shook her head at having wasted the pan of brownies. They hadn’t garnered her any answers at all and now she had nothing to take to the Baileys.
She turned toward home, trying to decide whether to make another batch or put the apology off until tomorrow, when a police cruiser drove into the circle. It slowed as it passed Anne’s house, shining a spotlight across the property. Sadie headed toward home, slow enough to listen to the car, but not making herself too obvious by looking over her shoulder. Less than thirty seconds after the car entered the circle, the engine revved up again and the car drove right back out. It seemed an inadequate inspection to her and she wondered if all the talk she’d heard about budget cuts affecting the Garrison police department was something she should pay more attention to. When she reached the top of her porch steps, she looked back at Anne’s house and wondered if they were going to keep driving by all night.
“Is Mindy okay?” Breanna asked, still at the computer.
“I ended up giving them to Jack,” Sadie grumbled, shaking her head at the waste of time and effort.
“Uncle Jack’s home?” Breanna turned in her chair and looked at Sadie. “That’s good.”
Sadie reflected on the encounter and shrugged—there simply was no accounting for the way people acted when something like this happened. Jack finally came home, overwhelmed with concern for his estranged wife, and Trina acted as if the perpetrator would dive through their front door if she opened it more than a foot. “Yeah,” Sadie answered. “It’s good. But now I don’t have anything for Mindy.”
Breanna scrunched up her face as if in deep thought. “Why don’t you take the leftover fettuccini?” she suggested. “We made plenty and you’d be right in time for dinner.”
Sadie considered that and looked in the fridge to assess just how much leftover fettuccini she had. It wasn’t enough for a family of seven, that was for sure. But maybe she could make some more. It took only a minute to realize she had enough cream and Parmesan for the Alfredo sauce. And she always had plenty of pasta on hand since it was an easy meal to whip up, either for herself or for her and . . . Ron if he happened to stop by after work. Ron, she thought, allowing herself a moment to fantasize about the man she had thought he was, the life she had thought they would have together. Then she shoved those thoughts away and reprimanded herself sharply. It was masochistic for her to dwell on what could have been. Instead, she thought about the edible apology she needed to offer Mindy. If she worked fast it would take only fifteen minutes to make another batch of noodles and sauce, compared to forty if she made a new pan of brownies. It wouldn’t be chocolate, but cheese and cream was the next best thing.
Lemon Tart Page 13