Missing Pieces(26)
“Jack?” Sarah asked. Jack was the last person in the world she could imagine as a murder suspect. She thought about how loving he was with the girls, how gentle he was with his physical therapy patients. It made absolutely no sense. “Why would Jack be a suspect?”
Seeing the stricken look on Sarah’s face, Margaret backpedaled. “No, no. He was the one who found her. The person who finds the victim is always a suspect.” All of Margaret’s earlier relish in sharing the details of Penny Gate’s most famous murder had disappeared. “I really didn’t mean to upset you. Of course I don’t think Jack murdered his mother. That’s ridiculous. Now I wish I hadn’t said anything.”
“No, no,” Sarah said, trying to muster an encouraging smile. “I really appreciate that you would even talk to me. I want to know what happened. I need to know,” she added with force.
Margaret glanced down at her watch wistfully. “I do have to get to work. I wish we could talk more, though. I have so many great stories about Jack and Amy growing up.”
“I’d love to hear more about Jack and Amy as kids, and I’m sure Jack would get a kick out of seeing his babysitter again,” Sarah said, though she wasn’t quite sure if this was true. It seemed that Jack had done everything in his power to avoid reminders of his past.
“I’m so sorry to hear about Julia.” Margaret jotted a phone number on a napkin and slid it to Sarah. “Call me or just stop by the sheriff’s department.” Sarah watched as Margaret paused to greet the other café patrons on the way out the door, her buoyant laughter echoing through the room.
Sarah lingered over her coffee, not wanting to return to Dean and Celia’s home. She couldn’t face Jack, who now seemed like a complete stranger to her. And she didn’t want to take part in idle chitchat with Dean and Celia after seeing their violent encounter.
Sarah’s phone vibrated and reluctantly she answered.
“Sarah,” Jack said. His once-familiar voice now seemed different, laced with worry. “We still haven’t been able to get ahold of Amy and I’m starting to get worried. How close are you to coming back to Dean’s farm?”
“Actually, I’m in Penny Gate. I stopped at a coffee shop and ran into the sheriff. He said he needed to talk to Amy, too.”
It was nearing supper time, and the café was quickly filling and growing loud with chatter.
“Do you think you could do a favor for me since you’re in town?” Jack asked.
“Sure,” Sarah said, expecting Jack to ask her to stop at the florist or the funeral home to help with arrangements for Julia’s funeral.
“Can you swing by Amy’s house and see if she’s there? We’ve been calling and calling, and she’s not picking up. I’m getting a little worried about her.”
“Do you think something’s wrong?” Sarah stood and wove around small round tables, acutely aware of the curious glances people were giving her. She was a stranger in a small town.
“I’m not sure,” Jack admitted. “It’s probably nothing. Amy’s probably upset and not answering her phone. I’d feel better if someone would check on her. I can drive into town, but it would take me twenty minutes. Would you mind?”
“Okay,” she said grudgingly. She wasn’t sure how Amy would react when she found the sister-in-law she barely knew pounding on her front door. “What’s her address?” Sarah asked, stepping outside and digging into her purse for a pen and scrap of paper.
“She lives on Oleander. It’s just two blocks off Main.” Sarah heard the murmur of a female voice in the background. “Celia says it’s on the corner. The only blue house on the street.” Of course Celia was right there, Sarah thought to herself.
“Okay,” Sarah said, shoving the pen and paper back into her purse. “I’ll call you after I get there.” She hung up the phone, wondering if Celia had told Jack about Dean grabbing her wrist, about slapping him. She imagined Celia crying on Jack’s shoulder, an intimate moment where she would look up at him with her big doe eyes and all the memories of their past together would come rushing back. Sarah cringed and wiped the vision from her mind.
She considered walking the two blocks to Amy’s house. It was a nice evening. Cool but pleasant. But for some reason she felt an almost inexplicable urgency, a need to move quickly. She climbed into the rental car and found Oleander Street in less than a minute.
Sarah parked in front of the shabby robin’s-egg-blue house dwarfed by an ancient buckeye tree. Spiny hulls and glossy brown nuts covered the patchy lawn. Sarah paused to pick up one of the buckeyes and rolled the smooth golf-ball-size seed between her fingers, recalling from her childhood that they were meant to be good luck. She would need it, she thought to herself.
She followed the cracked, uneven pavement up three steps to the front door and knocked. She waited a moment and tried again. Still no response. She turned away from the door and surveyed the street. It was dead quiet.
Sarah walked around the property. She looked for a car, but there was no garage, and although there were several vehicles parked along the curb, any one of them could have belonged to Amy.
“I saw her come home earlier,” came a voice from out of nowhere, startling Sarah. She turned to find a wizened old woman dressed in a floral housecoat and tennis shoes.