Key Lime Pie

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “I don’t know what to think about all this,” Sadie said. “I feel like I’ve been . . . taken advantage of somehow.” She remembered how he had laughed on the phone, acting as though this was funny, like she was the butt of some joke.

  “What, exactly, are you mad about?” Eric asked.

  “You put my name down on the permission form,” Sadie reminded him. “To me that says you knew I’d come out here, which makes it all feel very manipulated.”

  “I put your name down because other than Larry you’re the only person I could think of that I’d trust the police to talk to. I admit I was hoping you would reconsider my invitation, but the last thing I expected was a call from you saying you were here.”

  Hmmm. That was an obnoxiously plausible explanation. She circled back to her early question of herself—was she more upset that he’d assumed she would come, or that she had come in the first place?

  Busybody.

  So much for Gayle’s romantic notions; that part hadn’t come to fruition at all and if anything she felt cautious with Eric rather than connected as she’d hoped.

  When she didn’t say anything, Eric continued, “Look, I knew there was a chance you would look in the box if I asked you to ship it. And I knew if you did that you might . . . want to be involved. I meant it when I said I wanted you to come with me.” He smiled a soft, vulnerable smile that made Sadie feel a little soft and vulnerable too. “Have you thought about why I put your name on that paper? Why I invited you to come in the first place?”

  In fact Sadie had not thought about that at all but didn’t want to admit it so she just looked at him expectantly.

  “You have a gift, Sadie,” he said.

  Sadie pulled her eyebrows together. A gift?

  “You have a heart with room in it for other people’s problems, you sincerely want to help, and you will do almost anything it takes to do the right thing. I understand why you wouldn’t come with me when I asked you back in Garrison, and I respect that.”

  Sadie felt her cheeks heat up at the reminder of the almost-kiss two days ago, and she glanced away, but only for a moment before Eric took her chin in his rough hand and turned her to look at him. She felt herself slipping—he was such a smooth talker. Too smooth for her peace of mind sometimes.

  “I also knew you truly wanted to help me, that you had sincere sympathy for what I was going through. It meant a lot to me to have that kind of support. It still does—more than ever.”

  Sadie liked the way he was summing this up, smooth talk or not. It was much better than being called a nosy busybody, but she still felt conflicted and didn’t know what conclusion to draw from all of this.

  Eric let go of her chin and pulled back a bit, looking out the car window at Layla’s house. “Coming back to this world isn’t easy for me. I moved to Garrison in hopes of starting a new life. I left my past here in the swamps of Florida.” He smiled at his own description, but it quickly faded. “My past is now my present, and the next few days will be very difficult, regardless of what I learn about Megan. I could really use someone on my side, someone as genuine and compassionate as you. A little more of that Bonnie and Clyde thing we had going for us in the past.”

  Wow. It was hard to argue with that. The comment about Bonnie and Clyde took her back to when they’d met during another murder investigation. They’d made a good team back then, and she really did have a great deal of compassion for his situation which, she could only imagine, was as horrible as anything Sadie had ever faced.

  Her cell phone rang and she gave him an apologetic smile as she pulled it out of her purse. It was Gayle. Now wasn’t a good time to talk to her, so Sadie pushed the end button, sending the call to voice mail. Besides she was probably calling to tell Sadie the trailer was clean. She returned the phone to her purse and managed a smile for Eric. “I guess I am acting a little paranoid. I didn’t tell you I was coming because I really thought you were in trouble.”

  Eric made a nodding-shrugging gesture. “I am in trouble, kinda.”

  Sadie lifted her eyebrows.

  “But it’s a good trouble, I think.”

  There was a good kind of trouble? Sadie thought, frowning at the concept.

  Eric continued. “I’m close, Sadie,” he said, his voice low and a little breathless. “I know I am. It sounds all mystical and stuff, but it’s like I can feel her here.”

  “Here?” Sadie said. “In Homestead?”

  “Maybe not in Homestead, but here, in Florida. It wasn’t Megan’s body the police found, but whoever it was is somehow connected to my daughter, and . . .”

  “And?” Sadie prodded.

  “I know I told you that the idea of her being alive all this time but unable to contact me was worse than believing she was dead. But that was before all this happened.” He waved his hand through the air. “That was before I imagined what it would be like to look into my daughter’s face again, to save her from whatever hell she’s had to deal with. I have to do whatever it takes to find out whatever I can. Does that make sense?”

  Sadie was a woman of faith, so what he said did make sense. She was once again overwhelmed by what this must be like for him.

  Movement at the front door caught her eye and she turned slightly to see Layla standing in the doorway. She wasn’t holding the cat anymore but she was looking at them. Eric followed Sadie’s gaze and they both simply stared at Layla for a few seconds. She didn’t move a muscle, and Sadie felt a chill rush through her.

  “She wants us to come inside and have lunch,” Eric finally said. He turned back to face Sadie with an invitation in his eyes.

  Sadie balanced on the precipice—did she stay now that Eric had given such a heartfelt explanation? She’d told Mathews she was leaving, and her fight-or-flight instinct was begging her to catch that plane back to Colorado and take the time she needed to sort out her thoughts and feelings about all of this. But . . .

  “You still haven’t explained to me why you think Megan’s alive,” Sadie said.

  “I have to meet someone in just over an hour, but after that I’ll tell you everything I know,” Eric said, his tone hopeful. “Then you can leave whenever you want to and I won’t stand in your way, I swear.”

  Sadie bit her bottom lip. Decisions, decisions!

  The slamming of the screen door caught her attention and she looked up to see Layla marching toward them. When she reached the car she knocked on the window and then put both hands on her hips. Her jaw was tight and her eyes narrowed. Sadie found herself shrinking back against the driver’s side door, but Eric let out a sigh and then slid toward the back passenger door to let himself out. His jaw was tight too.

  “Tia made chicken for sandwiches and pasta salad for lunch!” Layla yelled as Eric opened the door. “I have been waiting and waiting. It’s past lunchtime!”

  “I know,” Eric said in a sharp voice that surprised Sadie since he’d been so soft with her moments earlier. “I’m coming. Just let me talk to Sadie for one more minute.”

  “You already talked to her,” Layla said, practically screaming. “And it’s past lunchtime. Tia made us a chicken for sandwiches and pasta salad!”

  Sadie looked around to see if anyone was watching. The man on the couch across the street leaned forward on his knees as though watching his favorite TV show.

  “I know that,” Eric said, his words more clipped. “You’ve told me that like fifteen times, and I’m coming in right after I talk to Sadie.”

  “It’s after lunchtime!” Layla screamed. The hands on her hips were balled into fists. “Tia made us chicken for sandwiches and pasta salad!”

  Sadie couldn’t take it anymore. She pushed open her door, grabbing her purse as she stood up from the car. “Okay, okay,” she said, as she hurried around the car in hopes of diffusing some of the tension. She forced a smile and looked Layla in the eye. “Can I stay for lunch?” she asked in her sweetest voice.

  “Tia made us chicken for sandwiches and pasta salad.” Layla�
��s voice was still raised, but she wasn’t screaming.

  “And it smelled wonderful when I was here earlier. I’m starving and would love to have some if you have enough.”

  Layla nodded, her face relaxing more and more. “She made enough for everyone.”

  “Wonderful,” Sadie replied, still smiling although her concern for this woman’s mental state was through the roof. “Thank you.”

  Satisfied, Layla nodded again and headed for the front door. Sadie followed her, avoiding any contact with Eric. A few steps from the front door Eric touched Sadie’s arm and she turned to look at him. Her eyes were drawn to his shoes, still covered with a fair amount of mud. She wanted to know why.

  “You’re staying?” he whispered, his expression hopeful.

  “For lunch,” she said, not ready to make a decision but willing to entertain the possibilities. One choice made her a liar in the eyes of Sergeant Mathews, the other meant she really had wasted her time in coming here. Which one would be easier to live with?

  Southern BBQ Slow-Cooked Chicken

  1 (36-ounce) bottle ketchup

  6 tablespoons brown sugar

  2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce

  2 tablespoons soy sauce

  2 tablespoons cider vinegar

  2 teaspoons crushed red pepper flakes, or to taste

  1 teaspoon garlic powder, or 2 to 3 cloves fresh garlic, pressed

  6 boneless, skinless chicken breasts

  Combine all ingredients for the sauce in the slow cooker. Add the chicken and coat it well with the sauce. Cook on high for 3 to 4 hours, or low for 6 to 8 hours, until chicken is fully cooked. Use two forks to shred chicken and serve over cooked rice or on rolls for sandwiches.

  Serves 8.

  *Makes great leftovers.

  Chapter 18

  Layla immediately sat down at the kitchen table, waiting to be served. Sadie didn’t have to be asked to step in. It took a couple of minutes to shred the chicken—in a slow cooker just as Sadie had suspected—with two forks. If it hadn’t been cooking for several hours, the chicken wouldn’t be so tender. What time had Tia started it? There was a bag of hard rolls on the counter, but after going through every drawer, Sadie was unable to find a knife she could use to slice the rolls in half.

  “Aren’t there any knives?” Sadie asked, getting hungrier by the moment and therefore, annoyed.

  Eric pulled open a few drawers and looked around before shrugging. “I guess not.”

  “Why not?” Were they afraid Layla might hurt herself?

  “I don’t know,” Eric said with another shrug as he dished himself up some pasta salad. “I don’t live here.”

  She had to resort to ripping the rolls in half before putting them in a mixing bowl lined with paper towels; she couldn’t find a basket. Eric was halfway through his pasta salad by the time Sadie brought over the plates she’d made for Layla and herself. Had he not noticed he was the only one eating and Layla was waiting for her meal?

  Let it go, she told herself, and yet it was silly not to take note of how he acted in these situations. The key, she decided, was to observe these details without judgment. Could she push away her romantic feelings in order to see Eric objectively? She looked at him sitting across from Layla—the ex-wife he’d never talked about—and decided that she could. She had to, really. But, of course, observing Eric in new situations was secondary to the real issue at stake: Megan. By the time Sadie sat down at the table, she felt as though she had reset her expectations and objectives in regard to Eric.

  The chicken for the sandwiches was wonderful, and Sadie savored every bite, determining the only thing she’d change would be to add a bit more heat to the chicken since the bread muted the flavor well enough that it wouldn’t come across too strong. She was halfway through the sandwich before she took a bite of the pasta salad. She paused, and then took another bite, paying attention to the details that made up the unique flavors.

  Grilled chicken, penne pasta, mandarin oranges—which Sadie had never paired with pasta in her life—snap peas, and a sweetened mayonnaise-based dressing. The flavors were divine. Pasta and fruit. Who knew they could be so good together? Sadie was definitely going to ask for both of these recipes, assuming she ever met the mysterious Tia. Pretty soon she was going to have to dig her notebook out of her purse and start making a list of all her questions: Who was Tia? What was wrong with Layla? Who knew the box was here? Why did they burn it? What made Eric think Megan was alive? And at any time during the day did the humidity turn itself off? Not necessarily in that order.

  Eric finished first, and leaned back in his chair as he glanced at the clock on the microwave and then confirmed the time on his watch. “I’ve got to go,” he said to Sadie, pushing back from the table.

  “Go where?” Sadie asked. She knew he had a meeting, but that’s as far as he’d gotten in the explanation. She needed more information.

  Eric glanced quickly at Layla, who was eating quite daintily, one noodle or piece of chicken at a time. He looked back at Sadie and shook his head slightly, nodding toward the living room. Clearly, he didn’t want Layla to know where he was going.

  Sadie excused herself from the table and met Eric on the other side of the wall that separated the two rooms.

  “I didn’t get the chance to explain,” Eric said softly, taking a step closer toward Sadie. Despite herself, Sadie felt his nearness trigger a wave of warm response that she tried to push away. Whether his soft tone was because he didn’t want Layla to overhear or because he was feeling rather tender too, Sadie wasn’t sure. “And I don’t have time to explain it now, but can you stay until I get back?”

  “How long will you be?”

  “I don’t know,” he said simply.

  “Maybe I should go with you,” Sadie said. She was hesitant to put herself in the middle of this, but equally eager to know what he knew—what had spurred him to do so many things that seemed questionable.

  “I have to go alone.”

  “Really?” Sadie questioned, folding her arms over her chest. “Or do you just not want to tell me?”

  Eric let out a frustrated breath and stepped away, which, thankfully, allowed her body to relax. “I can’t tell you right now.” He glanced toward the kitchen again and then at his watch.

  Sadie couldn’t let it go. “Why do you want me to stay in Florida if I’m not doing anything?” But she didn’t really want to do anything so she wondered why she was arguing that point in the first place. She knew why, though—because she still didn’t know what was going on and it was making her crazy.

  Eric paused thoughtfully for a few seconds. “You can ride with me, but I have to go to the meeting alone.”

  “Why can’t I go to the meeting too?” Sadie asked, trying to feel around the edges of this meeting. Was he assuming she wasn’t supposed to be there, or had he been given a direct order to come alone? The distinction made a big difference.

  When he spoke his voice wasn’t soft anymore. In fact it was downright annoyed. “Because he asked me to come alone and I’m not going to take any chances.” He paused for a breath and softened his tone. “But you can drive with me so I can explain things.”

  The eager expectation in his eyes undid her. Again. He wanted her to go with him, even though she wouldn’t be at the meeting and suddenly, against her better judgment, she wanted to go. It would only delay her flight home for a little while. “Okay,” she said.

  Eric instantly broke into a grin. “Great,” he said. “Let me get my keys and then we can go.”

  Sadie nodded and went to the doorway of the kitchen. Layla was still eating and was seemingly oblivious to their entire conversation despite the fact that they were only ten feet away from her.

  “Is she okay to be home alone?” Sadie whispered a minute later when Eric found her in the kitchen. She’d cleared her dishes—Eric had left his on the table—and rinsed them before putting them in the dishwasher.

  Eric nodded. “As long as we don�
�t let her watch Renovation Nation, we’re fine.” He knocked on the countertops. “She likes to learn about how things are made, so Larry thought she’d like those home improvement shows. He came over one day to find the kitchen countertops in five pieces in the front yard. Apparently she’d caught an episode about a new technique for removing the old Formica-based tops. So simple that one person could do it themselves.”

  Sadie turned back to look at Layla, the question of what was wrong with the woman on the tip of her tongue. But she didn’t want to discuss it in front of Layla so she bit back her question and focused on rinsing her plate, realizing she had another reason to go with Eric, so she could find out what was going on with his ex-wife. Still, it seemed . . . irresponsible to leave her home alone.

  “Layla,” Eric said, leaning his elbows on the counter. “Larry said he recorded a few more episodes of How It’s Made. Would you like me to turn one on?”

  “Yes,” Layla said, still eating.

  Eric nodded and headed into the living room. Sadie hurried to catch up.

  “Someone broke in and burned the box,” Sadie reminded him when they were out of earshot. “Are you certain she’s safe?”

  Eric looked at the clock. “Tia gets home in a little while. She’ll check in on her. Besides, the police will drive by every couple of hours. She’ll be fine.”

  “And who’s Tia?” Sadie asked.

  “A neighbor,” Eric said. “She helps keep an eye on things.”

  Five minutes later, with Layla engrossed in how jet packs were built, Sadie closed the front door and headed toward the carport, overwhelmed with the heat—again. “You’re sure it’s safe for her to learn about making jet packs?” Sadie asked, looking over her shoulder and feeling bad that they hadn’t even said good-bye to Layla. Eric seemed so sure of things, but even that bothered Sadie a little bit. It was too easy to interpret his casualness as simply not caring.