Missing Pieces(47)

“You did not,” Sarah scoffed.

“Well, I’m thinking about it. I have the memo already written. Seriously, though, I’m so sorry about Jack’s aunt. How’s he doing?” Gabe asked.

“He’s sad. Confused. He’s trying to wrap his head around the fact that Amy is being questioned in her death.” Sarah hesitated before asking Gabe her next question, but they’d known each other for years. “Gabe, if I tell you something, can you respond to me as a reporter, not as my friend?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“I just found out that Jack’s mom and dad didn’t die in a car accident like he told me.” Sarah went on to explain all that she had learned since she arrived in Penny Gate. When she was finished she was met by a long silence.

Finally he spoke. “As a reporter, I’m intrigued. First, you’ve got this great guy, Jack, a family man, married for twenty years, who has maintained that his parents died in a car accident. Now you find out that’s all been a lie. I’d want to find out what really happened and I wouldn’t go to my original source for the answers. He hasn’t been reliable. I’d dig deeper.”

Sarah took a deep breath. “That’s what I think, too.”

Gabe’s voice took on a softer tone. “But as your friend, I’d say, take care of yourself, Sarah. Watch yourself. And let me know if you get any more emails. If you’re spooked, then I am. Be careful.”

Sarah thanked him and said goodbye, staring out across the flat landscape. So different than the mountains and valleys of Montana. How she missed Larkspur. As soon as the funeral was over she was going to leave Penny Gate whether Jack was coming with her or not. She should never have come here. It was poisonous.

Her telephone screen lit up with a text from Margaret. Can you meet me at five o’clock at Delia’s on Main Street?

She checked the clock on the dashboard. Two fifteen. Where had the day gone? She hadn’t eaten anything since the night before and she felt shaky and sick to her stomach. She sent a message back to Margaret letting her know that she would meet her at five.

She reached over to the passenger seat and picked up the headphones again. She was ready to listen to the second audiotape.

Sarah slid the earphones over her head and pushed Play. She listened in rapt attention to all the interviews that Sheriff Gilmore, then a deputy, had conducted during Lydia’s murder investigation.

First she listened to Gilmore interview a woman by the name of Victoria Dupree, who identified herself as one of Jack’s teachers at the high school. No, Jack wasn’t at school the afternoon his mother died. Yes, he did seem to have a bit of a temper, was sullen. She had seen Jack arguing with his mother after parent-teacher conferences. He had knocked the car keys out of his mother’s hand and stomped away. No, she didn’t know what the argument was about, but probably about Jack’s grades. He wasn’t doing well in school as of late.

The next interviewee was a farmhand named Randy Loring, who worked for the Tierney family on and off. The first thing he did was establish that he had an ironclad alibi—he was at the hospital with his girlfriend, who was having a baby. He then went on to say that no, he had never seen John and Lydia Tierney argue, nothing more than a few sharp words, anyway. He did, however, see Jack argue with his parents on more than one occasion. Once even violently. Randy described one morning when he drove up to the Tierney farm and found Jack and his father shouting at each other. About what, Randy couldn’t say, but Jack had a shovel in his hand, and for a minute there, Randy was sure that Jack was going to hit his father with it. Once Jack saw Randy’s truck, he threw the shovel to the ground and stomped away. John Tierney had brushed off the incident, said that Jack was just a restless teenager who resented having to spend all his free time working on the farm when he could be out with that pretty girlfriend of his.

Sarah’s stomach dropped. Celia again. She couldn’t believe she was hearing her husband described in this way: short-tempered, violent, sullen. Yes, Jack could be withdrawn; she and the girls even would tease him about it. Dad’s going off into his own little world now, so if you need to ask him anything, better do it quick.

One thing was clear: no one, not one person that was interviewed who knew Lydia and John Tierney, could ever recall a fight, a disagreement or harsh words between them. But apparently one morning John beat Lydia to death and then disappeared.

Gilmore asked each and every person that he interviewed whether or not they thought John Tierney could have murdered his wife. They all said no except for one person. Dean Quinlan. Dean reported to Gilmore that yes, while Jack and his father argued, it was John who had the nasty temper, was the one who was hard on Jack, the one who got physical. If anyone killed my aunt Lydia, Dean said, it would have been my uncle John. I hate to say it, but unless it was a robber or something, he’s the one who did it.

Why would Dean, Jack’s cousin and best friend, be the only one able to envision John as the killer? Did Jack confide in his cousin, telling him about the terrible fights that he had with his father? Had Dean been a witness to the arguments? Or was Dean protecting his best friend by portraying John as overbearing and violent?

Even an eleven-year-old Amy told Gilmore that Jack and their parents fought over stuff. When pressed as to what was the stuff they argued over, Amy’s answers were short and hesitant. “School. Jack got off the bus but wouldn’t always go into school,” she said shyly. “Mom would get mad and Jack would yell.” Her voice was barely audible. At eleven, there was no sign of Amy’s tough facade or cutting remarks. Only one thing in Amy’s voice sounded familiar—the bone-aching sadness. Sarah wondered if the loneliness was there before the death of her mother and disappearance of her father or if it was always there, in the fabric of her bones and sinew.