The why was easy—for the money. But what if there was no money? Sadie refused to think Luke might be right about anything, so she concentrated on the lawyer instead. What if he was right and there was no money? What if Abby’s letter was one last-ditch effort at garnering attention? Sadie didn’t think Abby would do that, but neither could she fathom anyone killing her. She shuddered. The funeral was over. She had no reason to stay here. Right now she wanted nothing more than to pack her suitcase, load up her car, and drive. Maybe instead of being humiliated by the butt-flap incident, she would embrace it. Aunt Abby had taught her that if you laugh at yourself, then you stop others from doing it. She would laugh it off and move on. People would forget and she would get another job, maybe something in a bigger market.
For a few moments, Sadie let herself pretend that she was going away. She imagined herself driving as far as her car would take her, finding a spectacular job, making friends, starting a new life. The dream was perfect except for the nagging voice that sounded a whole lot like Aunt Abby. You owe it to me to at least look into my death, the voice said.
I don’t want to stay here. I can’t, Sadie argued. I have nothing here. Everyone hates me. This town is my worst nightmare.
This town is your home. You are loved more than you know.
She smiled ruefully at the ceiling. The power of wishful thinking was astounding. Maddie and Tom Sawyer loved her like she was their daughter, but she wasn’t their daughter. Their love and support couldn’t make up for how much her father disliked her. And then there was Luke. Lucas, she amended, rolling her eyes. In the intervening years since their friendship dwindled, Luke had become stuffier and more serious. Back in the day he at least had the potential to be fun. Now he was a stick in the mud. Sadie felt a sudden sympathy for his students. He must bore them to tears. He bored her to tears and simultaneously made her want to repeatedly kick his shins. She hadn’t punched anyone since she was a kid and used her fists instead of words whenever she was angry. Luke was apparently making her regress because she didn’t want to be a grownup with him—she wanted to pound him good. Who cared that he was a foot taller now? She could take him. Her fists balled and itched with the urge to try.
“I hate you, Luke Sawyer,” she whispered. The ugly words floated up to the ceiling and stuck, but the ceiling didn’t reply—it had heard it all before.
Someone else was staring at his ceiling, but instead of being angry, he was nervous and a little bit perplexed. After Sadie and Luke emerged from the room with the lawyer, the contents of Abby’s will had flown through the room like wildfire. How had the old bag known what was coming for her? He suspected she knew about the money. But how had she known about the murder? That was the part he couldn’t understand. Sweat emerged from his hairline and trickled down his face. Too late he dabbed at it, making an ineffectual swipe as it glided into his ears.
What if Sadie found something? What if she learned the truth? For a moment, he let that scenario play out—discovery, humiliation, prison. He smiled. Sadie was a pretty bit of fluff with nothing but cotton between her ears. She would have an easier time discovering perpetual motion than figuring out his scheme. As long as Sadie was the one doing the investigating, he had nothing to worry about, nothing at all.
There had been a moment when she stepped into the neighborhood gathering that he thought she might know what had happened. She and Abby had always been close. How much had Abby blabbed? But then she had given him her usual vacant smile and he was reassured. No one knew his secret; Abby had taken it to her grave.
Comforted and secure once again, he rolled over and fell asleep.
Chapter 6
The next morning, Sadie was still on the fence about whether or not she wanted to stay and investigate Aunt Abby’s death. She wanted to carry out her friend’s request, but she didn’t want to have to spend another minute in the town she had stopped considering home soon after her mother’s death. Her father was the one who made the decision for her.
“You’re not actually going to listen to that letter, are you?” he asked. He had apparently been up for a while, eaten, shaved, and read the paper. Sadie stumbled into the kitchen, relieved not to see him. He appeared as she was eating her cereal, startling her with his ability to enter the room undetected. At first she didn’t answer—her mouth was full of bran. He must have taken her silence as defiance because he continued. “Sadie, you cannot go stirring things up over Abby’s death.”
“She wants me to,” Sadie said as soon as she was able.
“If Abby had thought someone was capable of retrieving it, she would have demanded the moon,” Gideon said.
“That’s not true!” Sadie exclaimed, tossing her spoon onto the table with a clatter. “Abby was the most generous person I know. She wasn’t selfish or demanding.”
“You saw what you wanted to see in her,” Gideon said.
“No, you saw what you wanted to see in her. You pigeonholed her into being a self-absorbed, eccentric airhead, but it was never the truth.”
“What do you call that crazy will if not self-absorbed, eccentric, or airheaded? Who ever heard of leaving someone a task in their will? Are you really going to tell me that it doesn’t bother you that Luke got the mansion and you got a chore? And a futile one at that?”
“I didn’t want the mansion,” Sadie said. “What would I do with that house when I don’t even live here? Luke is better suited to take care of it than I am since he seems intent on living here until he dies. Sadie gave me a task because she trusted me to carry it to completion, to find answers about her death.”
Her father snorted his opinion.
“Is anyone else asking questions?” Sadie said. “Who found her? What was her cause of death? Was anyone with her when she died?”
She could tell by his expression that he didn’t know the answers to any of her questions, and she felt a moment of triumph. With Gideon, a moment was all there would ever be to celebrate victory. “You want to stay here and fill your head with nonsense, that’s fine. But I won’t support this idiocy, neither with my help nor with my money. You don’t have to pay rent or board for the duration, but if you think I’m paying your way for anything else, then you’re as batty as Abby. Get a job or get out.” He turned and stalked away, anger and frustration dogging his every step.
Sadie’s hands were shaking as she turned back to her now-soggy cereal. She stood and dumped what was left into the garbage disposal, watching as it swirled down the drain. When it was finished, she took a few steadying breaths before turning around. Now she had to stay, if only to prove to her father that she could do what Abby asked without his help. She didn’t need him; she didn’t need anyone. She was Sadie Cooper, former Miss Teen Clean Smile, weather forecaster, and all around nice person. All she had to do was get a job. How hard could that be?
Hard, as it turned out. Sadie started with a temp agency. She had visions of being a fill-in secretary for a week or two as she sorted through Aunt Abby’s death, but the only job available was handling a vat of chemicals at the new company in the industrial complex at the edge of town. She was on board with the hazmat suit, but when they brought out a waiver for her to sign, one that detailed all the ways she might die, she lost her nerve. “Isn’t there anything else?” she asked. “Anything at all?”
Mr. Hanaford studied her with a critical eye. “There’s one thing, but I don’t think you’ll be interested. The pay is low and its, uh, not very glamorous.”
Sadie’s gut clenched. What job would he think was worse than losing her hair and nails to chemical vapors? “What is it?” she asked.
He showed her a picture. She backed out of the room and ran to her car. Four hours later, she returned defeated. The town was as economically depressed as ever. No one wanted to hire anyone who only planned to be there for two weeks. The temp job was Sadie’s only hope. It was also how she found herself dressed as a giant chicken, standing in front of a restaurant, and twirling a sign.
Her on
ly consolation was that no one would recognize her behind the giant yellow chicken head. But two hours into her shift, someone did. Luke pulled up in front of her and rolled down his window. She stared at him, glaring through the nylon eyes of the chicken, trying not to sneeze or think of how many others had worn the outfit before her. If the smell was any indication, someone had died in it.
Luke poked his head out the window. “Aren’t you supposed to say something?”
She debated telling him where to get off, but that would only prolong her agony. Knowing him, he would probably run inside and tattle to the manager. The manager would fire her. He had been waiting for her to give in or mess up all day. They were cut of the same cloth—weasels, both of them. So she sucked up her courage and spit out the necessary words. “A buck, buck, buck will get a cluck, cluck, cluck.”
He pulled out a dollar and stuffed it in her beak. “There you go. Buy yourself something pretty, chicken.” As he drove away, he rolled up his window, but it didn’t matter; Sadie could still hear his laughter.
Five hours later, her shift was over. Money in her pocket helped ease the humiliation. The gig was so undesirable that she was paid at the end of each shift to keep her coming back. The job only paid minimum wage plus tips for clucking, but her job at the television station had paid so poorly that she was only making slightly less than she had then. Of course then she had dressed in nice clothes, had her hair and makeup styled by professionals, and received accolades from fans. Now she wore polyester and nylon that made her appear four times her size and instead of predicting the weather she strutted giant bird feet and twirled a sign that announced “Five fingers for five dollars is a five finger discount that won’t get you arrested!” All day people had laughed and honked at her. One group of teenagers had thrown trash at her, aiming for her beak. She remembered their license plate number, but what could she do? Call the police and file a report for fowl play?
Gideon wasn’t home. Since he retired three years ago, Sadie had no idea what he did with his days. Or nights, for that matter. Who did he spend his time with? Where did he go? What did he do? The fact that she didn’t know was a testament to their lackluster relationship and made her sad. Too bad her sadness wasn’t as strong as her resentment.
She shimmied out of her bright orange tights and rested her feet on the coffee table. They hurt. A lot. Who knew standing and walking the pavement for a few hours could be so painful? Maybe she should invest in some white padded shoes, the kind nurses use. Except this job was temporary and new shoes would probably take a day’s wages. Her earnings were so meager that she would need to hold on to every penny just to pay for her car, insurance, and gas.
Her eyes drifted closed. In the morning, she would start investigating. The conversation with Gideon had not only solidified her decision to stay for a while, it had given her a starting point. Who found Aunt Abby? What was her condition when she was found? She could ask her father who she needed to speak to in order to find that information, but she didn’t want to. This was her task, and she wanted to complete it on her own.
She didn’t mean to fall asleep on the couch, but that was what happened. An hour later when Gideon arrived home, he stopped short at the sight of a disembodied, oversized chicken head in the entryway. The initial shock was nothing compared to the surprise of seeing his daughter curled up in a pile of feathers on the couch, using a giant chicken foot as a pillow.
The next morning, Sadie woke achy and determined. First, she hopped in the shower. How she had slept on the disgusting chicken suit all night was beyond her. The thought that she might not be the first person to do so kept trying to intrude, but she wouldn’t let it. As far as she was concerned, she was the first person to ever wear the suit; the company had bought it brand new for her. Never mind the fact that it had multiple cigarette burns, she was determined to believe she was the first person to ever don the thing.
She emerged from the shower just as the doorbell rang. She threw on her old robe from high school and went to answer. Luke stood on the other side. He surveyed her from the top of her dripping head to the tips of her painted toes. Sadie suddenly remembered all the times they had run naked through the sprinkler together and resisted the urge to tighten her robe.
“Dad’s not here. The meeting of the ‘I Hate Sadie Club’ has been postponed. Sorry you didn’t get the memo.”
He held a rectangle of paper in her direction. “I found this when I was going through some of Abby’s things at the house. It’s addressed to you.”
She glanced at the envelope and bit her lip to hold back the rush of tears she felt at the sight of Abby’s shaky scrawl. “Thanks.” Absently, she tried to close the door, only to have Luke step in and preempt her.
“I want to know what’s in it,” he said.
Sadie’s head rose sharply. “It’s addressed to me.”
“And it was in my house. That makes it my business.”
“Does not.”
“Does too.”
They squared off, glaring. Luke could tell they were headed for a battle. He took a breath and reminded himself that he was the mature, rational adult in the equation. “You can either waste time arguing before I see it or you can cut to the chase and let me see it now. Either way the outcome is the same—I’m going to look at that letter.”
Sadie’s cornflower eyes turned frosty, her expression haughty, but he knew her too well for that to work. “Save your self-righteous condescension and open the thing,” he said.
The frostiness was replaced by fire once again as she rolled her eyes. “Come in, you’re letting in a million flies.”
Another Sadie tactic—lose and then quickly pin the blame on someone else for something unrelated. Luke didn’t engage. He congratulated himself on that as he followed her to the living room. She opened the letter and scanned it, moistening her lips with her tongue as she read. Luke looked away; she was always the most appealing when she wasn’t trying to be. Now with her wet hair, makeup-free face, and tatty robe, she was practically irresistible. Or she would be to someone who didn’t know there was only a hollow shell where her soul once stood.
She finished searching and handed the note to him. “Turns out it is your business,” she said. She sat and crossed her legs. The robe tumbled open to reveal a smooth expanse of shapely leg. Luke forced himself to look away again as he sat and read the letter.
Dear Sadie,
If you are reading this, it’s because I’m dead. I always wanted to write that to someone. I’m so happy it could be you.
I’m concerned this letter may fall into the wrong hands after my demise. For that reason, I can’t go into detail or use specifics. Suffice it to say that I’ve met with foul play. Knowing our beloved friends as I do, I can guess that none of them believe it. ‘She was old,’ they’ll say, especially Gideon—the codger.
But you and I know the truth—I was young at heart and had plenty of time left. Someone stole it from me—someone stole everything except my mind. They underestimated me, Sadie, but you won’t.
Remember how when you and Luke were little I used to make treasure hunts to entertain you on long afternoons? Well, I’ve done it again, only this time the treasure is real.
I’m counting on Luke to help you. He calls himself Lucas now and likes to pretend he’s outgrown all our old games, but he’s still the same sweet boy at heart.
Begin where it ended, my dear; that’s always the place to start.
All my love, Abby.
PS., I know what happened between you and Luke. I saw it all. Time to kiss and make up, for keeps this time.
Luke finished reading but didn’t put the paper down. There had been almost too much to take in. Abby truly believed she was murdered. Abby had left a treasure for them. And, most of all, Abby had known about him and Sadie; Abby had born witness to the worst day of his life and never mentioned a word.
He chanced a glance at Sadie. She looked at him. Tears glistened on her lashes, real tears, not the croc
odile kind she could muster at will. The sight of those tears propelled him back in time seven years to the day he had long since stopped thinking about, the day Sadie’s mom died.
Summer break had only just begun. Luke had just finished his junior year of college. Everyone knew Victoria Cooper was running out of time, but no one expected the end to come so quickly.
Luke hadn’t seen Sadie since they left for college. The intervening years since the end of their friendship had worked a sort of magic over him. Sadie and the many memories they shared together would always hold a special place in his heart, but they had grown apart.
Through the grapevine, he knew that Sadie was dating the quarterback of her Big Ten school’s football team. The guy was rumored to be the number one NFL draft pick for the following season. Sadie had been shown with him on television a few times. Luke had to admit that the camera loved her, and why shouldn’t it? She was beautiful. The more he saw her, the less he was able to reconcile her with the gawky girl of her youth, and that was a good thing. The old Sadie was gone, and a new one had taken her place, one who was a stranger to him.
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