214 Palmer Street(13)

That part had a ring of truth to it. He’d never known a time when Clarice hadn’t landed on her feet. In her early twenties, she’d romanced an older man, a widower with no children, and when he died a year later, she’d inherited his entire estate. She’d certainly played that one right. If he was certain of anything, it was that Clarice took care of Clarice.

She gestured to her empty glass. “Looks like I need to top this one up. Are you sure you won’t join me in a drink?”

Grudgingly he said, “Maybe just one.”





EIGHT





NOW





The garage, a standard two-car, wasn’t especially spacious, which was typical for a house built during the 1950s. Josh’s Audi was parked on one side of it, leaving Sarah to think they’d driven Cady’s Jeep to the airport. The space was sparse and clean. The side wall was well organized, with one long shelf holding a red metal toolbox and a plastic sprinkler. Hooks below it supported gardening equipment: hedge trimmers, shovels, a hoe, and two rakes, one for cultivating, the other for gathering leaves. An electric lawn mower, the kind that used a rechargeable battery, stood in one corner, but it was the pickaxe alongside it that was the real find.

Sarah gave the pickaxe the once-over before lifting it up. It was heavy, which was good. With the backyard dirt already loosened by the landscapers and a pickaxe with this kind of heft, she should be able to do some serious digging.

Yes, the pickaxe would do just fine.

If she’d been thinking clearly, she’d have brought one along, just in case the Caldwells didn’t own one. She’d given so much thought to everything else, but oddly enough, overlooked that one important detail. Well, no matter. She had what she needed.

Sarah went back inside, where she found herself at loose ends. She walked through the house, mulling over everything that had happened since her injury six months before. Sarah’s body had recovered completely since then; the back of her head had healed nicely and the headaches had stopped. Her emotional state, though, that was another story. She’d lost her confidence and there were times when she thought she’d lost her mind. She’d taken so much time off work that they’d hired a temporary replacement. When it came time for her to return, Kirk had talked her out of it. He was a persuasive man, born to make friends and win people over. When they’d met, she’d thought he was a nice counterpart to her own shy personality. All of his arguments regarding an extended stay at home made sense, and at that point, she was starting to doubt her own mental capacity. It would be awful to not be able to keep up at her job, to let her boss and co-workers down. Why not take a year or two and wait until she was really ready? It was hard to say no to that.

So she gave her notice, which made her replacement, a young woman with school-aged kids, very happy. Everyone in the office said they understood. Even her best office buddy, Clarice, had taken the news well, saying, “I’ll miss you, Sarah, but I’m happy you can stay home to recover. Kirk told us how hard it’s been for both of you.” Her boss had said she was welcome back anytime, that if they had an opening, it was automatically hers.

Without her job, she felt relieved but adrift. Not counting brief conversations with neighbors and various store clerks, the only outside contact she’d had was with her physical therapist. Kirk was there for her, though, every step of the way.

It had taken months, but eventually she’d found herself again. An epiphany had dawned on her one day when she realized how dependent on Kirk she’d become, something he seemed to relish. In time, his assumption of her neediness had made her less trusting and suspicious of him. She found herself assessing everything Kirk said and did, until she was so turned around she didn’t know what was real anymore. Once she’d come up with the idea to dig into his past, she made a plan, and having a plan gave her a sense of purpose. It was definitely a crazy idea, but Phil, while not entirely on board, agreed to help. Sometimes all you needed was one person to have your back.

She watched TV for about an hour before losing interest, then scanned the bookshelves looking at the novels that belonged to Cady. She knew Cady belonged to a book club, a group made up of the ladies in the neighborhood. They called themselves The Book Sisters, and joked that they spent less time discussing the book than visiting with each other. It’s more of a wine club, one of the women commented on a photo of the group. Another had added, But that’s fine with me!

It was only midday. The sun would be out for hours now, giving her time to see if The Book Sisters’ last selection, a novel called The Snow Child, lived up to the hype. It was the only book that all the neighborhood women had enjoyed, which was no small thing.

Still, Sarah was through with taking other people’s word for things. She’d decide for herself.

Settling down on the couch with the book, she took a look around the room. Cady’s house was so Cady. Everything—the photos, the furniture, the brightly covered wall hangings—was exactly as Sarah would have expected. So unlike her own home, which was perfect, but not necessarily to her taste. Kirk had wanted their home furnishings to be classic, and since she didn’t have strong feelings either way, she’d gone along with his preferences. Guests always exclaimed over their decor, which confirmed his good taste. Now that she was in the Caldwell house she could see the difference.

A person could be very comfortable here.