Lemon Tart

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “I—I’m so sorry,” Sadie repeated. Cunningham said nothing, but his expression showed his displeasure. Sadie cleared her throat, hating how uncomfortable all this had become. “I’m only trying to get answers,” she said lamely. “I’m not trying to get in the way.”

  “Mrs. Hoffmiller,” Detective Cunningham said, sitting forward and stretching his back. She wondered if he was sore but doubted now would be a good time to offer him a massage, not to mention it was a rather forward thing to do seeing as they were alone. “An investigation is like a living thing, with rhythms and routines. In order for the police to be effective, we need people to not interfere with those rhythms. I understand that your intentions have not been malicious. But they are causing problems—do you understand that?”

  Sadie nodded like a child receiving a reprimand. She pushed all thoughts of the calendar and book from her mind. He’d likely arrest her if she admitted to breaking into Anne’s house and taking the items. The guilt was overwhelming.

  “Problems not only with this investigation, but with my partner.” He seemed to emphasize the last word and it confused her. She was certain that Detective Cunningham and Detective Madsen were pitted against each other. Detective Cunningham continued. “You witnessed something between Madsen and me this morning that you should never have seen. The irony is that you were at the root of it.”

  “Me?”

  “Since we first spoke to you, Detective Madsen felt you were, at best, a threat to our investigation, if not a suspect. I disagreed. Based on the reputation you have in this community, and the times that our public service has crossed paths, I brought you into this investigation and when Detective Madsen questioned my choices, I dismissed them as overly suspicious.”

  Sadie tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

  “However, it’s my job to be overly suspicious, and as Detective Madsen pointed out to our captain just a little while ago, I have not been doing my job. He was right.”

  “Madsen set me up at the library,” Sadie added, but it was a weak argument. “He gave me the books then followed me and made all kinds of accusations when the library gave me some of Anne’s things.”

  “As I said, he was doing his job. I am grateful for the help you have given us. But will you please stay out of this now?”

  She nodded before considering whether or not she planned to stay out of it. But she hated that he was angry with her. She wanted to ask if they knew where Trevor was, if they had made any determinations about the cause of death, but she didn’t. He wouldn’t tell her anything now.

  Detective Cunningham closed his notebook and slipped it in the inside pocket of his coat. “Is there somewhere you can stay tonight?” he asked. “Until we can bring Mr. Bradley in for questioning you shouldn’t be home alone.”

  “I can probably stay with my sister-in-law,” Sadie said, though she really didn’t want to. Then again, she wanted to be home alone waiting for Ron even less.

  “That would be a good idea,” Detective Cunningham said, standing and heading for the door. With his hand on the knob he turned to look at her. She stood and shifted her weight, hating the tension she had caused.

  “I really am sorry,” she said again, promising herself right then that she wouldn’t keep anything else from him—and she’d think about how she could tell him about the second intruder without getting herself in more trouble.

  “I’ll wait in my car until I see that you’re safely at your sister-in-law’s. And I still need to talk to Mr. Henry.”

  “Do you want me to go with you? He might be more open . . . to a . . . familiar . . .” She let her words vaporize at Cunningham’s cold look and shuffled her feet clad in pink slippers. “Okay,” Sadie finally said, nodding.

  She let him out and then called Carrie on the cordless phone, hating the pit in her stomach at having upset Detective Cunningham. He seemed like a really nice man. She only wished he’d try to understand her situation a little better. She couldn’t just do nothing. Carrie’s phone rang and rang. Sadie hung up and dialed again, certain they were home. She headed into the bedroom to get Anne’s book and calendar. Finally, on the sixth ring, a frazzled Jack answered the phone.

  “Hello,” Jack said with impatience.

  “Jack,” Sadie said, putting the book and calendar in the bottom of a small bag and covering them with her vitamins, slippers, and fingernail clippers. It was only overnight, but she’d hate to forget something. “It’s me. Can I stay there tonight?” She added an extra pair of socks, just in case, and a small first-aid kit—you never knew when it might come in handy—a shower cap, should she decide to take a shower in the morning, and her own towel.

  Jack paused. “Stay here?” he repeated as if the words she’d used were long and hard to understand.

  She realized she hadn’t told Jack anything about Ron. Did she dare tell him now? Did he already know? She was tired of keeping secrets. Taking a deep breath, she said, “The police are looking for Ron, to bring him in for questioning.” In her mind they would definitely arrest him and throw him in jail. “They don’t want me home alone.”

  Jack was silent and Sadie waited for him to ask why the police were looking for Ron, but he didn’t. After a few seconds he spoke again. “I’m, uh, just leaving, but I’m sure Carrie would be glad for the company. I’ll be back later.”

  “Okay, thanks,” she said, though she dreaded going to his house now more than ever. He must know about Ron. Otherwise he’d have asked more questions. Her heart sank as her earlier ponderings on who she could trust came blazing hot into her mind. She grabbed her bathrobe, some clean underwear, face cream, clear nail polish, and another pair of socks. “I’ll just be a couple minutes.”

  “Make it at least ten,” Jack said. “We’re finishing up some . . . things. I’ll tell Carrie you’re coming.”

  “Okay,” Sadie said, hoping she wasn’t interrupting some kind of reconciliation. “Ten minutes.”

  When Sadie had locked her front door—after grabbing her pillow, her address book, and an extra pair of pajamas in case she spilled anything on the set she’d already packed and after securing all her windows and doors and turning out the lights—she hurried down the steps. The chill of the day had warmed some, despite how late it was and she wondered if that meant it might snow. If it had snowed last night there might have been footprints at Anne’s house. She’d seen a show where the police caught a bad guy by matching up his shoe tread. As she hurried along the sidewalk to Jack and Carrie’s she ignored Detective Cunningham’s car idling further down the circle and looked at the sky. It did look like snow and she wished she’d brought her coat and put some salt on the steps just in case. Jack’s truck was no longer in the driveway.

  Carrie let her in and Sadie noticed she looked absolutely exhausted. Maybe she’d been right when she’d said that Sadie wasn’t the only one who’d had a difficult day. Or maybe she was sick.

  “You can take the guest room downstairs,” Carrie said, turning toward the kitchen. “I was just straightening up, then I was going to get into a bath.”

  “Thanks, I really appreciate you letting me stay,” Sadie said. A few months ago Carrie’s oldest daughter had surprised Carrie with a home makeover inspired by a community education class she’d taken on interior design. She’d repainted the living room in a shade called “Desert Rose.” Sadie thought it looked more like bologna left on the counter too long. But Carrie had liked it so Sadie had simply smiled and nodded. Paired with an old sage-green sofa set and several family portraits in mismatched frames, the room was really quite sickly looking. There was a fire in the fireplace, filling the room with heat too thick to be comfortable. Sadie was glad she didn’t have to sleep on the couch.

  “So, Ron, huh?” Carrie said. She glanced up at Sadie quickly, then went back to straightening the counter in the kitchen.

  Sadie wasn’t in the mood to talk about it anymore. “Yeah,” she said simply. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Yes,” Carrie
said slowly. She looked toward the kitchen window to her left and seemed distracted for a moment. But then she looked back and raised a hand to brush her recently dyed blonde hair from her face—the new color didn’t suit her fair complexion. She didn’t have any makeup on and looked rather washed out. She’d never put as much into her appearance and personal development as Sadie did, and it showed, though Sadie didn’t mean to judge her too harshly. To each her own.

  Carrie said good night and turned toward her bedroom; Sadie took note of just how much weight her sister-in-law had lost. Daily gym visits had made quite a difference and Sadie wondered how much she planned to lose. Already she looked like the Carrie she’d been after just the first two girls, when she’d still been fairly active. Sadie also wondered, for the thousandth time, if there was any hope that Carrie and Jack could resolve their differences and try again. The fact that Jack had come over tonight was a good sign.

  Sadie went downstairs. The guest room was painted stark white, and cluttered with mismatched leftover furniture pieces from the kids. A bookshelf had been painted a brilliant green, whereas a cast-off dresser was covered in bumper stickers with phrases like “Jimmy Buffett for President” and “Go Navy.” However, outside of looking like a pathetic secondhand store showroom, it was more comfortable than the meaty walls upstairs. As soon as the door was shut on the little room with a queen bed and an old quilt Sadie’s mother had sewed decades earlier, she opened her overnight bag and pulled out the book she’d taken from Anne’s bookshelf, My Father’s Eyes.

  Even in full light Sadie couldn’t read the back cover. It took her a moment to find her reading glasses in her bag, next to her cough medicine, and try again. She sat back against the headboard, pulling the quilt over her legs—it was chilly down here. The back cover seemed to be an excerpt from the book.

  “You’re ending this?” Marci said, her heart seizing in her chest as she placed a hand on her belly, pregnant with the life their love had created. “What about our family? What about me?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said with tears in his dark brown eyes. He reached out and pulled her against his chest one last time and she thought about how much she’d miss his tight embrace. Memories of their nights together washed over her like ocean waves intent to drown her in their depths. “I love you,” he continued, “and you’ve given me more joy and passion than any other woman ever could. But she’s got money, Marci, and an impeccable reputation that can further my career. At least this way I can support you—and our child. What else can I do?”

  But Marci’s heart would not be denied. How could she convince the man she loved, the man she’d given her heart to, that being his mistress wasn’t enough for her? She would stop at nothing to prove to him she was all he’d ever wanted. Her daughter would know who her Daddy was—and they’d live happily ever after . . . one way or another.

  Sadie’s eyebrows went up and she read the pathetic excerpt again. She turned the book over and looked at the cover. It was a picture of a man, an older man judging by his gray hair even though he was built like a teenage lifeguard. He gazed into the adoring eyes of a young woman holding a child.

  “Oh my goodness,” she breathed as several pieces fell into place and the significance of this particular book became apparent. “Anne, what did you do?”

  Chapter 23

  It was almost 1:00 am when Sadie finished the book. She stared at the final page for nearly a minute.

  Sadie could hardly believe it, but it was there—in black ink on mass-market paperback pages, riddled with dangling participles, an obnoxious indulgence in adverbs, and sappy descriptions.

  In the story, the character Marci had a two-year affair with a man who’d been engaged to another woman. When she became pregnant he refused to call off the wedding. So a few months after the baby was born and the man was married, Marci moved to his hometown. Everything other than the marriage fit—even down to Anne’s friendship with Sadie, who seemed to be the substitute for the fiancée-turned-wife character in the book. In the story, the wife—who was in her forties—befriended the much younger mistress, who then learned all the details of taking care of the man she loved.

  But Anne had died before her story finished. In the novel, the man eventually realized he couldn’t live without her, but only after she’d proven herself capable and determined to have him in her life. He eventually left his wife and came to the mistress, promising a lifetime of love and devotion to her and her alone. Because of community property laws, when he divorced his rich wife, he also got half her fortune. Sadie was sure that would never hold up in real life, not when he was such a scoundrel, but that was romance novels for you.

  As far as story lines went it was weak, immoral, and in Sadie’s mind, completely ridiculous. But obviously Anne had seen something of merit in it. Enough that she’d lived it—even used it as a blueprint. She’d tried to resurrect the copy of the book that had been ruined, and when that didn’t work, she’d stolen another copy. Sadie felt sick to her stomach at how orchestrated it all had been.

  All this time she’d been some pawn in Anne’s game to get Ron? Or had Ron gone along with it like the man in the book? Maybe it was even his idea. And Sadie was stupid enough not to notice. She heard the front door shut upstairs. Was it Jack? Footsteps crossed the floor above her head and then stopped. She listened for a few more seconds but heard nothing but voices muted by the floorboards above her.

  Sadie hadn’t left the room since opening the book, and hadn’t eaten since Breanna’s Alfredo in the early evening. Throwing back the covers, she changed into her pajamas, robe, and slippers before heading upstairs in search of something to eat—a glass of milk if nothing else. But she also tried to think of what she could say to Jack. She had to know if he had been in on Ron’s deception, if he’d been keeping it from her too. The imagined heartbreak of his treachery was almost too much to bear. As she reached the top of the basement stairs she realized what she really wanted was some sympathy, some understanding. Jack was her brother, he’d always taken care of her and she longed to have him pull her into his arms, smooth her hair, and say “Ah, Sadie-Sadie, I’m so sorry.”

  When she reached the kitchen she could hear Jack and Carrie’s voices, only whispers, but they were arguing, which made her hesitant to interrupt and somewhat irritated that her opportunity for comfort wasn’t going to happen as she’d hoped. She considered returning downstairs but she was so close to food—not to mention her insatiable curiosity as to what they were arguing about. She wondered if they were rehashing Jack’s decision to send Trina back to school that evening. Carrie had wanted her to stay, but Sadie mentally sided with Jack on this one, even if he was possibly a secret-keeping louse of a brother. She tiptoed into the kitchen, scanning the countertops for something edible. It was dark except for the light above the sink that cast just enough light for Sadie to see around the room.

  She spied her pan of brownies, half gone, and her mouth began to water. She moved as quietly as she could and put two brownies on a napkin before tiptoeing to the fridge. She couldn’t have brownies without milk.

  “I know,” she heard Jack say in a louder voice. She stopped and leaned closer toward the door. What did he know?

  Carrie said something in reply but she whispered and Sadie couldn’t make it out. She took another step closer to the kitchen doorway. When Jack spoke again his voice was softer, but she made out the word “Sorry.”

  It annoyed her that Jack would give into whatever it was Carrie was haranguing him about. Couldn’t she see that the fact that he was here meant they had a chance to make things better with their relationship? Sadie took another step and the floorboards creaked under her foot. The voices stopped and she hurried across the kitchen as the door to the master bedroom opened. The family calendar was tacked on the wall next to the sink and she pretended to be absorbed in the comings and goings of her sister-in-law. There were work hours written on the last week, and for the next two weeks, bringing to mind the fact that Car
rie hadn’t gone to work even though the schedule still seemed in place. She also noticed that Trina had had an appointment on Monday—but didn’t she have school that day? Sadie’s back was facing the doorway when she heard someone enter the kitchen.

  “You’re up,” Jack said.

  Sadie turned to look at him, raising her eyebrows as if surprised he was there. She busied herself by getting a third brownie even though she couldn’t possibly eat that many. She still hadn’t gotten any milk. “I’m sorry, I’m just starved. I’m going back down.” She met his eyes again and opened her mouth to ask about Ron, but the words abruptly congealed in her throat.

  Jack wasn’t dressed for bed. He still wore his work clothes and she suddenly felt dizzy. The house was dark, but the light above the sink glinted off his wedding band—just inches below the blue cuff of his dress shirt.

  The brownies fell to the floor and she just stood there while Jack moved forward to pick them up. They’d landed facedown, but he put them back on the napkin and stood. “Ten-second rule,” he said, with the hint of a smile on his otherwise sad face.

  Sadie stared at him. It was Jack! He had been at Anne’s house. She couldn’t breathe and didn’t know what to say. He handed her the brownies and she took them and pulled them to her chest, crushing them in her napkin.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  In her mind she was talking herself out of it. It couldn’t be. Why would Jack go to Anne’s house? Why would he have a key? She looked into his eyes. “Jack?” she asked. Other thoughts and details tried to push their way into her mind, but she refused them, overcome by her unexpected realization.