Missing Pieces(50)

“Right now you’re in the pissed-off stage,” Margaret went on. “Once you get back home, you’ll have all the time in the world to talk it through.”

Clarice brought out their food. A tenderloin sandwich for Margaret and a hamburger and fries for Sarah. “Can I get you ladies anything else right now?”

Margaret held up her glass. “I’ll take another one of these.”

Sarah looked at her iced tea. “Why not? I’ll have what she’s having.” Clarice picked up their empty glasses and retreated back toward the bar.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Sarah wolfing down her hamburger. “I’m just so desperate to know what really happened,” she said, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “And not just the basics, you know. I know it sounds morbid, but every small detail I learn makes me want to know more. Especially since Jack said he thought he saw his father at the hospital the other day.”

“What do you mean, Jack saw his father?” Margaret asked, setting her sandwich back on her plate. A crumb was stuck to the corner of Margaret’s glossy lips and Sarah wiped at her own mouth.

“I know he didn’t really see him, but the look on Jack’s face...” Sarah shook her head at the memory. “Part of me is worried about Jack, and part of me is just sick and tired of all the smoke and mirrors.”

“Jack’s dad back in town?” Margaret pushed her plate away and poked her tongue into the corner of her mouth, catching the crumb. “Now that would be something else.” Clarice returned with their drinks and again they fell silent until she was well out of earshot.

“Do you think it’s possible?” Sarah asked, taking a deep drink of her Bloody Mary. For the first time she wondered if Jack actually did see his dad at the hospital. What if it wasn’t just a trick of light or an overactive imagination?

“No,” Margaret said quickly. “Why would he come back? That’d be crazy. He would be arrested. No, I’m sure Jack just saw someone who reminded him of his dad.”

“Do you believe the case is solved?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah, I think it was John Tierney. I know that Jack didn’t do it. No, he was a good, kind little boy. He would never purposely hurt someone.”

A pressure eased in Sarah’s chest. It was immensely comforting to her to know that Jack’s childhood babysitter knew in her heart that Jack couldn’t have done this. But still, there were so many unanswered questions. Why had John Tierney murdered his wife and whatever happened to him?

“I hope you’re right,” Sarah said, reaching for her purse slung over the back of her chair. “It’s just that so many strange things have happened in the past few days, I feel like anything is possible.”

Margaret leaned toward Sarah and asked conspiratorially, “So what did you find out from the tapes?”

Sarah’s meal felt like a rock in her stomach. “That most of the town thought that Jack was guilty. Nearly every single person had an example of Jack arguing with his parents. It wasn’t until no one could find his dad that they became suspicious of him.” Sarah pressed her fingers to her forehead. She shouldn’t have ordered the Bloody Mary; vodka always gave her a headache. “Have you heard the tapes?”

Margaret tipped her glass back and chewed on some ice. “I skimmed through the transcripts quickly before I gave you the envelope, but I didn’t actually listen to the tapes,” she admitted. “Tough reading, though.”

Sarah leaned forward, planting her elbows on the table. “Margaret, I know you’ve already gone out on a limb for me, but is there any way you can get me more of the case file?” She readied herself for Margaret’s refusal. She already had put her job in jeopardy for Sarah.

“I figured that when you sent me the text saying that you wanted another recipe from me that you really meant you wanted more information,” Margaret said, pulling her pocketbook from her purse. “This is my treat.”

“Oh, no,” Sarah protested, reaching for her own billfold.

Margaret placed her hand over Sarah’s. “You’ve had a tough day. Let me.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said quietly, touched by Margaret’s thoughtfulness.

“You might not thank me after you see what’s in the trunk of my car. Come on, let’s go.”

Sarah followed Margaret as she moved through the bar, past patrons who greeted her heartily and teased her good-naturedly. Margaret seemed not to hear but rushed past them without a word. They stepped from the dark restaurant and squinted into the early-evening sunshine. Sarah welcomed the subtle warmth after the chilly, poorly lit interior of the bar. Margaret scurried down the street and around the corner to a green VW Beetle that looked out of place among all the trucks and SUVs parked along the curb.

Margaret glanced around to see if anyone was looking their way, clicked the remote locks and the trunk sprang open. They both bent down to look inside. Margaret pulled away a jacket and revealed a large box. On the side, printed in black block letters was LYDIA TIERNEY 1985.

“You said you wanted all the details, well, this is as detailed as you get,” Margaret said proudly.

Sarah lifted the cardboard lid. Inside were dozens of file folders, each labeled and dated. “This is the entire case file?” Sarah looked at Margaret. “Really?”