Lemon Tart

by Josi S. Kilpack

  Sadie held her breath, staring at the eye of light that was giving her away. She backed closer to the wall and squinted against the bright light. A hand, a man’s hand with the cuff of a blue dress shirt showing at the wrist, reached down and grabbed the flashlight, a glint of gold flickering quickly in the light. A ring? She hadn’t seen enough to tell for sure, but if it was a ring then this man wasn’t Ron.

  She wished she could have been able to tell for sure if it had been a wedding ring—but what other kind of ring did a man wear? Could she have been mistaken and it was a watch? She began to breathe again once the spotlight was off her face, and she tried to remember everything she knew about whoever was in the room with her—a ring or a watch, black leather shoes, a blue dress shirt, and she knew he was a man.

  The boxes continued to disappear from view. She could make out that one was an old shoe box, another was a used priority box from the post office—she wished she could read the address it had been sent from. Another box, the biggest one she could see, had once contained a waffle maker. She shook her head. Why had Anne kept that—or any of the boxes? Being a pack rat was completely at odds with being a good homemaker.

  She watched as the waffle box was lifted up, but instead of it being put in the closet with the others, she heard a different sound. Like the box being shaken. And there was definitely something inside. The bed squeaked as the intruder sat down. Because of the box springs, she didn’t lose any space this time. She could hear the box being opened, and then she assumed it was turned upside down because several photographs and papers fell to the ground. Anne kept pictures in a waffle box?

  Two hands appeared, quickly gathering up the pictures—what Sadie wouldn’t do to have them. But she knew what she wouldn’t do—anything. She was terrified of being caught by this new threat. She kept perfectly still and hoped that the pictures were what he was looking for so he would leave. She thought she saw a wedding ring again on one of the hands gathering the photos, but with so little light it was impossible to be certain.

  Apparently the items in the box were exactly what the intruder wanted. He quickly replaced the box in the closet and, much faster than he had entered the room, he hurried into the hallway where he stopped. She watched the light from the police spotlight scan the room and marveled that the cops didn’t know there was not one, but two people in the house. They definitely should have done a better job at surveillance. A few minutes passed and she heard footsteps again, heading toward the back door. The sliding glass door opened, then shut, and he was gone. She’d dodged a bullet twice today.

  After waiting a few minutes to be sure she was alone, she pulled herself out from under the bed. The intruder had left the closet open and she realized that if she could find a way to tell Cunningham she knew someone had been here, he might be able to lift fingerprints from the door handle. She looked into the darkened closet, trying to find that priority mail box in hopes of reading the return address. But without a flashlight of her own she couldn’t tell which box was which and she didn’t want to get her own fingerprints on anything the intruder might have touched.

  Maybe I can come back tomorrow, she thought as she straightened the bedspread that had been ruffled when the other intruder had sat down—then stopped short. Am I insane? Planning to come back again? She hurried toward the front door, the book held tight against her chest, anxious to get out of there before someone else stopped in—then she remembered the calendar.

  Pausing at the door for the second time, she considered her options. If she found a way to tell Cunningham someone had been here and the police then found that the calendar was gone, they’d assume the intruder took it. But it would be in her possession, which could make things very bad for her. But to be this close to maybe finding some answers?

  She ran back to the kitchen and grabbed the calendar.

  Chapter 21

  She was home in less than a minute and slammed the door shut behind her, her back pressed against it, still breathing hard.

  “Mom?” Breanna asked from where she sat at the kitchen table, a big thick textbook open in front of her. “Are you okay?”

  Sadie forced a smile. “Uh, yeah . . . it’s just kind of dark out there.” She peeked out the small oval window set into the oak of the front door to see if anyone was running after her. The sidewalk was clear. She’d gotten away with it. She turned back to face Breanna and then heard an engine. Were the police back already? After stepping to the picture window she saw that it was just Jack coming back. She wondered where he’d gone.

  “What’s that?” Breanna asked, looking at the calendar and book in Sadie’s hands.

  “Oh, uh, just something I got from Mindy.” She couldn’t believe she’d just lied to her daughter. Terrible. She placed both items casually on the countertop. She was searching for something to say when Breanna saved her from herself—at least for the moment.

  “Detective Cunningham called. I didn’t think it was my place to tell him about Ron but I told him you’d be right back and he said he’d come over.”

  Sadie smiled but her heart was thumping in her chest. What if he found out she’d been in Anne’s house? Would he be able to tell just by looking at her? Police were trained to see the slightest detail in the way a person talked or held their head. And what about the other intruder? There had to be some way to tell Cunningham about him without incriminating herself.

  “He’s coming right now?” Sadie asked, glancing anxiously at the calendar. She needed to hide it, but didn’t want to draw Breanna’s attention to it again. She left it there for the moment.

  “He said it would be around 7:30, so you’ve got more than half an hour. Why don’t you go take a shower or something? No offense, but you look awful.”

  Sadie glared at her daughter. “How am I supposed to not take offense at that?”

  Breanna shrugged, still grinning. “You’re the one who’s always said taking offense is like taking a hand grenade—it’s up to you.”

  “Humph,” Sadie said, smoothing her hair dramatically.

  “Okay, fine, don’t shower, see if I care.” Breanna tsked and shook her head. “Some people’s parents.”

  “Thin ice, my dear, thin, thin ice talking to me that way.”

  “I’ve got some studying to do, Mom, and then I’ll clean up the kitchen.”

  “You’ll do dishes voluntarily?” In truth Breanna was very helpful around the house, but Sadie hated to let a good banter session go to waste. And she had to admit that a shower sounded marvelous. Between the applesauce this morning and the bed-hiding of the afternoon and evening, Sadie felt perfectly filthy. But it didn’t overcome her motherly sensibilities. Sadie sat down across the table from her daughter. “Thank you for coming down, Bre, but I know you have a very demanding schedule right now. I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay here.” And yet, she really wished she would. Though Sadie sometimes judged Carrie harshly for her determination to hold on to her children too tight, Sadie had found her own children’s adulthood hard to take as well. She missed the years when she had them in her home every day.

  Breanna bit her lip and Sadie was glad to see she was considering it. “I don’t want you to be alone,” she said. “Ron’s out there and no one really knows what happened. If I get up early I can make the drive before my first class.”

  “When the detective comes I’ll tell him about Ron,” Sadie said, dreading the conversation already. “He’ll know what I should do about it, and I’ll be okay here by myself. I’m good at being alone.” Sadie patted Breanna’s arm. “What classes do you have tomorrow?”

  “Well,” Breanna said slowly, as if not having planned to reveal this. “I actually have a midterm at 8:00 and then a lab in the afternoon.” Her voice sped up as she continued. “But Trina hasn’t called to go back and it doesn’t seem right to leave you here alone. I’m sure that I could do the midterm another day.”

  “Not unless college has changed a whole lot since I was a student.” She smiled re
assuringly at her daughter. “I promise you I won’t be stupid.” Breaking into Anne’s house notwithstanding, but it’s not like she was going to do that again. “I’ll be okay.”

  “I’d feel better if I knew someone was staying with you.”

  “Not if that means you miss your classes,” Sadie reiterated. “If I have to I’ll go to Carrie’s, but it’s your senior year—no time to start slacking now.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll call Trina and see what her plan is. I know she has a midterm tomorrow too. But either way you need a shower.”

  “Do I smell that bad?” Sadie asked with mock sincerity.

  Breanna laughed. “I’m a zoology major, Mom. My sense of smell is extremely acute.”

  Sadie laughed, finally gave up, and went to the bedroom. The shower was as divine as she’d thought it would be and she used up all the hot water before she got out—only then realizing how long she’d been under the steady beat of water, mentally running through her day. She threw on a pair of yoga pants and a white T-shirt, then wrapped her head in a towel. When she got back to the living room, Breanna was wiping down the countertops. Her books were packed up and her backpack was sitting by the door. Sadie’s heart sank, and yet she was relieved to know she wouldn’t be the cause of forfeiting her daughter’s education.

  “Trina’s going back too?” Sadie asked.

  Breanna turned to look at her and nodded. “Yeah, it’s sure weird over there though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Aunt Carrie answered the phone and said Trina couldn’t talk, so I asked her and she said Trina was staying, but then Uncle Jack was, like, all mad in the background. So she said she’d call me back and a few minutes later Uncle Jack called and said that Trina was going back with me as soon as I was ready to go. So I guess she’s coming over in a minute.”

  It was unhealthy for Carrie to put so much of her security into her children. Out loud, Sadie said, “Carrie really misses her.”

  “Ya think?”

  Sadie gave her a reprimanding look, but agreed completely. “Did Jack say if he was staying over there tonight?”

  Breanna shook her head and laid the washcloth over the divider in the sink. “He didn’t say.”

  Just then there was a knock at the door, reminding Sadie of Detective Cunningham’s arrival. She reached up to find the turban on her head and panicked.

  “Tell him I’ll be right there,” she said, running toward her room, then turning around and grabbing the calendar and book from the counter, earning an odd look from Breanna before she bolted for her bedroom again.

  She was fingering some gel through her wet hair to bring out her natural curl—she didn’t have time to dry and straighten it right now—when Breanna showed up in the doorway.

  “It’s Uncle Jack and Trina. We’re going,” she said. Sadie rinsed her hands, dried them on a hand towel hanging next to the sink, and pulled Breanna into a tight embrace.

  “Thank you so much for coming,” she said, closing her eyes and reminding herself it was best that Bre go back to school.

  “I’m supposed to work Saturday morning, but maybe I can find someone to cover for me so I can come home this weekend.”

  “That would be wonderful, but if you can’t, that’s okay.”

  “I’ll try,” Breanna said again as she pulled back. “You call me if you need anything, okay?”

  Sadie nodded. “I will.”

  “And keep your phone on,” Breanna said with mock reprimand.

  Sadie saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Love you, Mom,” Breanna said as she turned and disappeared.

  “Love you too,” Sadie called after her. She heard voices in the living room, the door closed, and then the darned silence settled back into the house. She swallowed the emotion and told herself she would be okay.

  Turning back to the mirror, she noticed how tired she looked. She also remembered that Detective Cunningham would be arriving any minute. She didn’t want to put on makeup this late in the day, so she settled for moisturizer, some foundation, and just a touch of lipstick before fluffing her hair with her fingers one last time, frowning at the old lady look it gave her.

  She wondered what it would be like to be one of those women who just looked great all the time—like her daughter. In truth, though, an active life and a good diet—Sadie liked to believe homemade sweets were much healthier than their processed counterparts—had kept her looking good for her age. She couldn’t even blame her hips on childbirth or getting older; they’d always been wide, but Sadie didn’t think they were necessarily unattractive. Sure she had wrinkles and her hair might be totally gray if not for home-coloring kits, but compared to other women her age, she was doing just fine. With that thought she turned off the lights and left the room, and the mirror, behind.

  The doorbell rang before she even made it to the end of the hall. She took a deep breath and opened the door. To her relief, Detective Cunningham was alone. She was glad he hadn’t brought Detective Madsen with him, sure the younger man would have carted in his own lie detector test or drug-sniffing dog.

  “Your message said you had some things to tell me,” he said, not smiling or saying hello. The masked expression on his face told her that he was not entirely pleased with her and her stomach sank. Detective Madsen had probably told him what happened at the library.

  “Yeah,” she said sheepishly, moving aside to invite him in. “Can I get you anything? Some herbal tea, hot cocoa—apple juice?”

  “No, thank you,” he said, holding her eyes in such a way as to make her feel as though she were shrinking.

  She swallowed and realized the moment of truth had arrived. “There’s something I didn’t tell you earlier.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Only one something? That’s not what I’ve been hearing.”

  Chapter 22

  “That’s all you have to tell me?” Detective Cunningham asked a few minutes later after she told him all about Ron—his being with Anne last night, the toys at his house, the scene at the restaurant. The tone of Detective Cunningham’s voice reminded Sadie of the questions she asked her children when she already knew the answer. She wasn’t sure how to respond.

  After a few seconds of silence Detective Cunningham spoke again. “And what about the information you got from Susan Gimes?” he asked, tilting his head.

  He knew about that? She said nothing out loud as he continued to stare her down. Even when he was annoyed, he was a very distinguished-looking man.

  When she stayed silent, he continued. “Susan and I have worked on cases together before. She’s a good attorney, a smart woman—smart enough to tell me the truth when I asked her if you’d come by today. She can get in a lot of trouble for giving you any information.”

  “She said it was okay,” Sadie explained. “That it wasn’t confidential.”

  “Confidential or not, she told you information that was meant only for the police.”

  “That was not my fault,” Sadie said, suddenly in a hurry to defend herself. She wondered how Susan Gimes had explained it. “If Detective Madsen hadn’t bullied her then she wouldn’t have told me anything.”

  “Bullied her?” Detective Cunningham asked before flipping open his notebook and reading as if their conversation was casual.

  This gave her courage to keep going. “You should have heard him. He was telling her that if he came back with a warrant he’d trash her office. She said she’d dealt with him before and couldn’t stand him.” She remembered what she’d learned about Madsen that afternoon and pushed forward. “I think I understand more of what’s going on with the two of you now, though.”

  “Meaning what?” Cunningham asked, his attention on his notes as if her opinion didn’t matter much.

  “She told me about the attorney general and how Madsen ended up in Garrison. I bet that drives you crazy.” She smiled, hoping he’d soften into the Detective Cunningham she’d known that morning.

  He looked at her with a stee
ly gaze. “What really drives me crazy, Mrs. Hoffmiller, is when I give people the benefit of the doubt and they betray my trust. It not only impedes our investigative work but it makes me look very foolish.”

  Sadie straightened in her chair and blinked. It didn’t seem as if she’d made much headway to the let’s-work-as-a-team option as she’d been vying for.

  Cunningham leaned forward. “I responded to the call about Ron Bradley this afternoon at Baxter’s restaurant, but after talking to him, and being assured the man he assaulted didn’t want to file charges, I let him go because I had no other reason to detain him since I hadn’t yet talked to Susan Gimes.”

  Sadie swallowed and berated herself for not coming clean sooner.

  “Had I known all of this, I wouldn’t have let him leave. That means he’s still out there, on the street.”

  “You think he did it?” Sadie asked, leaning forward. “You think he killed Anne?”

  Cunningham let out a breath in frustration. “You do,” he said bluntly. “And the rest of the investigation is moving very slowly. It’s likely the best lead we’ve got—ten hours late.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Sadie said, looking at the carpet beneath her feet. She thought about the intruder at Anne’s house this evening and felt even worse. Whoever it was wasn’t Ron, but how would she tell the detective that?

  “Is there anything else you would like to tell me?” he asked.

  “I got some papers at the library,” she said, standing slowly and heading to the computer desk where she’d left them. She picked up the papers and brought them to the detective. She sat down and waited until he had scanned each paper. “I also sent an e-mail to the human resources person at Riggs and Barker in Boston asking about Anne—that company is the same one Ron works for—and I thought maybe they would—”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Sadie gasped and Detective Cunningham looked up to meet her eye. “You seem to believe that while you’ve been looking for answers, we’ve been doing jumping jacks in our back office.” His voice was tight, his hazel eyes slightly narrowed. “But in fact we have been investigating this—and we spoke to the head of human resources at the Boston office this evening. When your e-mail came in she called us; it seemed suspicious to her in light of Anne’s death, which the entire office had already heard about. But we’d already let Mr. Bradley drive away from Baxter’s and he hasn’t gone back home. We have, as they say, lost him.”