Missing Pieces(21)

“She was murdered,” Celia said uncomfortably.

“Bludgeoned to death?” Sarah asked, thinking of the newspaper headline.

Celia nodded. “Jack was the one who discovered her body,” she said. “It was horrible.”

“Who did it?” Sarah asked, her heart pounding.

“At the beginning, no one knew. At first everyone thought it might have been a stranger, someone looking for a house to rob and accidently came upon Lydia.” The cat squirmed, Celia released her and she landed soundlessly on the barn floor. “Jack’s dad disappeared before anyone could even question him. No sign of him anywhere. There was a statewide manhunt—his picture was all over the news. But he never surfaced.” Celia shook her head at the memory. “It was bad enough that Jack came home and found his mom bludgeoned to death, but then to learn that it was his father who did it...” Celia shuddered.

No wonder Amy called this place a house of horrors. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She didn’t know if she should cry for Jack or be angry with him for keeping this from her. A million more questions flittered through her mind.

“Sarah.” Celia’s voice floated in front of her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she murmured.

“I know this is a shock to you.” Celia watched her carefully.

“They never caught him?” Sarah asked numbly. “Jack’s dad?”

“No.” Celia shook her head. “It’s like he disappeared off the face of the earth. You know, there was a time when Jack couldn’t say enough nice things about his dad. At school, it was always my dad said this or my dad did this. The house was built board by board by his great-grandfather. When we were kids I told him how I wanted to move away from here, go to college, see the world. He said he never wanted to leave—everything he could ever want was right here.

“That all changed after the murder. Jack spent the next three years trying to figure out how to get out of Penny Gate.” She smiled wistfully. “Kind of funny, isn’t it?”

“What?” Sarah couldn’t find anything humorous in what she had learned about Jack in the past twenty-four hours.

“Growing up, all Jack wanted to do was stay in Penny Gate, live in this house, farm this land. I thought we were going to get married, have a house filled with kids. Instead, he left, met you and now he only comes back for weddings and funerals.”

Get married? Sarah thought. Jack had never even mentioned they had dated, let alone were serious enough for marriage. An ember of doubt ignited in Sarah’s chest.

“I guess everything works out the way it’s supposed to. Not the death of his mom, of course,” she quickly clarified. “But there was a time I would have given anything to be Mrs. Jack Tierney. Now I can’t imagine having a different life and I’m sure Jack feels the same way. After all he’s been through, though, I’m shocked he ended up getting married and having a family. He must really trust you.”

Sarah murmured her agreement but knew it wasn’t true. Jack clearly hadn’t trusted her at all.

“Where?” Sarah asked. “Where did it happen?” Did she die on the floor in front of the stone fireplace? Did Jack find her lifeless body on the kitchen floor or upstairs in her bedroom? She imagined Lydia’s corpse in the barn, surrounded by the shrill squeal of goats. She suddenly had the urge to run from the dim barn.

“Sarah, I...” Celia said with uncertainty.

“Where?” Sarah pushed. “Please tell me.”

“In the basement,” Celia said.

Sarah was consumed with a morbid desire for Celia to show her the basement. Maybe if she saw the place where Jack’s life was irrevocably changed, some of this—any of it—would make sense. But before she could press any further, they were interrupted by a shout from outside the barn.

“It’s Dean,” Celia said. “We’re in here,” she called back.

Sarah’s mind was still reeling. She took a moment to collect herself, then followed Celia outside to where Dean, Jack and Hal were waiting, grim faced.

“What’s going on?” Celia asked.

“The sheriff stopped by the hospital. We thought he came to offer sympathies.” Dean folded his arms across his chest. “Instead, he was there to talk to the doctors and nurses about Mom.”

Celia shoved her hands into her pockets. While the sun shone brightly, the wind had picked up, whipping her black curls around her face. “What did they say?” Celia asked.

“Let’s go inside and talk,” Dean invited, and together they moved toward the house. Sarah kept stealing glances at Jack. He had lied to her for the past twenty years about his mother’s death. Why?

Celia led Sarah up the porch steps. “Be careful,” she warned. “It’s liable to collapse on us.” Sarah warily tested the first step with her foot. It creaked precariously but held, and she kept going.

Celia pushed open the door, and despite the weathered exterior and crumbling front porch, the living room was warm and inviting with rich oak floors, and an oversize sofa and love seat situated in front of a large stone fireplace. This was where Jack grew up. He ran across these floors, looked out these windows, and climbed up and down these steps to his childhood bedroom. “I’ll make coffee,” Celia said, leading them to the kitchen.