Missing Pieces(24)

While Sarah waited, she pulled out her phone. She was eager to get back to the article about Jack’s mother she had found earlier, but when the screen lit up she saw that she had new emails. She was sure there was nothing urgent, but she opened up the mail app just to make sure.

She clicked and the email popped open.

Dear Astrid,

Three blind mice.

A beautiful spring morning.

Laundry on the line.

Strawberries.

See how they run?

Sarah shook her head. Nonsense. She deleted the message and quickly scanned through her other emails. To think that so many people looked to her for advice when sometimes she felt as though she had no answers and in fact could use some advice of her own.

“I’ve got my own problems,” she murmured with a sigh.

A gray-haired man sitting on the stool next to her turned in her direction. “Penny for your thoughts,” he said.

“What?” Sarah asked, startled by the intrusion.

“You said you have your own problems. I’m no therapist, but I’m a darn good listener.”

A sharp quip formed on her tongue, but she swallowed her words. The man was well into his seventies with deep-set, wary eyes, closely cropped silver hair with a matching mustache tucked below a prominent nose, pocked and purple veined. He wore a dun-colored sheriff’s uniform and held a matching hat in his thin fingers.

“S-sorry,” Sarah stammered. “I didn’t realize I was talking out loud.”

“Been known to do it myself. Verne Gilmore,” the man said, and held out his hand.

“Sarah Quinlan,” Sarah replied. She set her phone on the counter and took his hand. It was warm and rough. The waitress set Sarah’s latte in front of her.

“Refill, Sheriff?” asked the waitress, a young woman with a nose ring and a sleek red ponytail. She tilted the coffeepot over his empty cup.

Gilmore looked down at Sarah’s latte. “You know, I think I’ll have what she’s having. Always wanted to try one.” The waitress raised one penciled-on eyebrow and walked away. “I know a lot of Quinlans, but I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you.” He looked at her expectantly.

For some reason, Sarah felt defensive. “I’m married to Jack Quinlan,” she said, stirring her latte with a cinnamon stick. “He used to live here.”

Gilmore nodded. “I saw Jack just a little while ago at the hospital. I’m sad to hear that his aunt Julia passed away. She was a nice woman.”

“Yes, she was,” Sarah agreed. “But Jack said that the doctor doesn’t think Julia died because of the fall. Why?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” the sheriff said neutrally. “In fact, I’ve been trying to get ahold of Amy. Any idea as to where she is?”

“No, but she was very upset when I saw her earlier. She probably just needs a little time to herself.”

The waitress set the latte in front of the sheriff and he took a cautious sip. “Not bad,” he said, white foam clinging to his mustache.

“That’ll be four fifty.” The waitress held out her hand.

“Really?” Gilmore asked. “For this? It’s all foam and air.” The waitress smiled mischievously at him, hand still outstretched. Gilmore sighed and reached into his pocket for his billfold and slapped a five-dollar bill into her hand.

He had to be around the same age as Hal and Julia, and Sarah wondered if he had been with the sheriff’s department when Jack’s mother died. “So you knew Jack when he was growing up?” she asked.

“Sure did. Knew the whole family. Must be hard for Jack to come back home. Lots of memories.”

“Jack doesn’t really like to talk about it,” Sarah admitted.

“Understandable.” Gilmore pulled a napkin from the dispenser and wiped it across his mouth.

“I wish he would. Talk about it, I mean.” Sarah fiddled uncomfortably with her cup. “We’ve been married for twenty years, but it’s like everything is before and after, you know? Before his parents died and after. He doesn’t talk much about the before and definitely not about what actually happened to his mother or father.” Gilmore was quiet and Sarah winced inwardly. She felt her face redden, embarrassed that she was revealing so much about her private life to a complete stranger.

The sheriff waited until the curious waitress moved away from them. “What is it you’d like to know?”

“I know Jack’s mom died in the house he grew up in and I know his father was a suspect. Beyond that, I don’t know anything.”

“Jack never told you what happened?” The sheriff narrowed his eyes, trying to unsuccessfully mask his surprise. Sarah didn’t answer. “Well, in the end it was all pretty straightforward. The husband did it. I’m not sure what more I can tell you about it.” Gilmore blew into his coffee before taking another sip.

“But why?” Sarah asked. “What was so bad that he had to kill her?”

Gilmore shrugged. “Sometimes the reason is cut-and-dried. An affair or greed. Sometimes the motive isn’t so easy to identify and this was one of those cases. We don’t know for sure why John Tierney killed his wife. It looks like he just snapped.”

The sheriff looked at his watch. “Well, duty calls. It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Quinlan. I’ll be calling on the family in the next day or so. If you talk to Amy, tell her to check in with me. I want to follow up on some questions about Julia’s fall.”