214 Palmer Street(65)

Sarah hesitated. “I’m not sure—”

“Just for a few minutes. It’s important to my mother. She’s been through so much.” Stephanie put her hands together in a praying gesture.

“Of course.” Sarah opened the door wider. “Please tell her you’re both welcome to come in.”

As if she thought Sarah might change her mind, Stephanie turned quickly and jogged to the car, swinging the door open for her mother. Assisting her mother out of her seat, she reached in to grab a cane. The older woman walked slowly, her daughter helping her up the step to the front door where Sarah ushered them inside.

“So kind of you to let us barge in on you,” Mrs. Bickley said, leaning on her cane in the foyer. Her eyes widened as she looked Sarah over. “You’re pregnant!”

“Yes, I am.” Sarah’s hand curved over her belly. “Five months.” She hadn’t thought it was that apparent, but glancing down she saw that what had looked like a thickening waistline a few days before was now an obvious baby bump. When she’d first found out she was pregnant, what should have been joy was negated by having to plan a funeral for her husband and the ordeal of cooperating with a criminal investigation. She’d told her story to the police so many times she nearly had a breakdown.

There was no getting away from the pain. It manifested itself in so many ways. Heartbreaking grief at the loss of her husband. Fury at Gavin for murdering her husband, leaving her alone to raise the child she and Kirk had both so desperately wanted. Guilt at having played a role in Kirk’s death. And worst of all, anger at her husband for having had a role in Jeremy’s death in the first place. He’d had so many opportunities to come clean over the years and instead kept it quiet, to his own detriment, and now hers. There were times she felt as if his guilt had transferred to her.

The healing only began when Judy said, “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You were a victim too.” Both Judy and Bert were unbelievably kind to her. They could have blamed her, but instead they grieved alongside her. In that, she felt lucky.

She’d originally planned to move back east after the house was sold, but they’d begged her to stay. “You’re family,” Bert had said, wrapping her in a bear hug. “We already lost a son. We don’t want to lose you and the little one too.” All of their lives had been diminished. So she agreed to stay. The one thing she was firm on was moving to a smaller house. Her finances were in good shape, since her in-laws had found a new owner for the dealership and Kirk had a generous life insurance policy, so it wasn’t money driving the move, but a need for a fresh start for her and the baby.

“Five months!” Mrs. Bickley repeated. “How wonderful! Babies are such a blessing.”

Sarah led them into the living room, and then waited as they caught up, Mrs. Bickley taking halting steps down the hallway.

“I used to be much faster,” Mrs. Bickley said apologetically. “I had a stroke a few years ago. I’m recovered for the most part, but my legs never got the memo.”

“It’s not a race. You’re fine,” Sarah assured her, gesturing for them to take a seat. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, we’re not staying long, but thank you.” Stephanie sat down next to her mother. “We appreciate you agreeing to talk to us. I know it’s awkward.”

“Not a problem. I’m glad you stopped by,” Sarah said, clasping her hands around one knee. For some reason facing them made her nervous. Each of them had lost someone they dearly loved, but in Sarah’s case her husband had a role in the Bickleys’ misery. He’d known the truth and kept it from them. “I meant to write you a note telling you I’m so sorry for your loss.” She’d thought about it so many times, but wasn’t sure how it would be received.

Mrs. Bickley said, “I wanted to thank you in person for making such a large donation in Jeremy’s name to the Mental Health Society. That was very generous of you.”

“You’re welcome,” Sarah said, taken aback. “I thought it would be anonymous.” She remembered checking the box and thinking the Bickleys wouldn’t know. That it would be better that way.

“It was anonymous in that your name wasn’t on the website, but Mom and I got the list of names,” Stephanie explained.

“I see.”

“It was so kind of you to think of us in your time of sorrow.” Mrs. Bickley leaned forward, her hand on top of her cane. “It made me regret that we didn’t do anything for Kirk’s funeral. I’m sorry. I was only thinking of myself.”

Sarah waved her hand. “You don’t need to worry about that. If anything, I should be thanking you, Stephanie. Your photos went a long way in corroborating my story. It backed up the timeline, which was a big help.”

The gun, as it turned out, had not been registered to anyone. Luckily, the gunpowder residue on Gavin’s hand was definitive. His defense? He’d said the gun was Kirk’s and that when threatened, he’d wrestled it out of Kirk’s hands. He had to shoot him, he said, because he felt threatened. A lame defense, especially for someone in law enforcement, but Gavin was a convincing liar. He’d also said that they’d all arrived together and that Kirk had killed Clarice. Stephanie’s photos proved otherwise though, and also saved Sarah from being charged in assaulting Gavin with the crowbar. Her story, along with the pictures taken that night, made a solid case for self-defense.