Missing Pieces(57)
Sarah waited, shivering in the cool air, while Jack and Celia lingered on the front porch. Talking about her, Sarah was sure. What were they saying? Was Jack telling Celia that Sarah was acting crazy, tossing out all these conspiracy theories about how Jack was the one who murdered his mother? Were they laughing at her? Jack seemed genuinely hurt by her accusations. But was he rattled by her anger or just taken aback that she wasn’t going to let him get away with his lies anymore?
She watched as they finally went inside the house and followed their movements as lights behind the drawn shades were switched off for the night. First the floodlights, and then the kitchen and living room lights were extinguished. A few moments passed and then one of the rooms on the second floor darkened. A figure stepped into view from behind another upstairs window. Jack. She would know him anywhere. His tall, angular frame, the slope of his shoulders, the tilt of his head. Once the sight of her husband had brought happiness, a sense of relief. Now the image of him looming above her only brought a sense of trepidation. He remained there for what felt like ages, staring out across the farmyard. She felt his eyes latch on to hers and her heart thundered in her chest and she took three quick steps backward. Sarah knew he really couldn’t see her—she was obscured in shadow—but she felt as if he could see right through her, could feel her fear.
Finally, he stepped away from the window and the room went dark. Only one light remained. The weak, cold light emanating from the listing front porch. The crime-scene photos marched mercilessly through her mind. The blood-smeared cellar door, the concrete floor, Lydia’s broken fingers, her crushed skull, the cloth draped over her eyes, the pool of blood, Jack’s hands. There’s no way, Sarah shuddered. There’s no way I’m going back in there tonight.
15
SARAH AWOKE EARLY the next morning. She blinked rapidly, and when her eyes adjusted to the meager light she found herself on Celia’s living room couch, a hand-knit blanket covering her.
She had lasted about twenty minutes standing outside trying to decide where she was going to sleep the night before. She considered sleeping in her car and even in the barn, but the hushed sounds of the night, the ripple of air through the fields, the heavy wing beats and screech of a barn owl drove her inside the house.
She had settled on the couch, not anticipating being able to sleep but grateful when it came. Someone must have laid the blanket over her sleeping form. A kind gesture made ominous because she’d slept so soundly through it.
Stiffly, Sarah swung her legs to the floor and ran a hand through the tangled mess of her hair. She longed for a shower but didn’t want to wake anyone up with her movements. She wasn’t looking forward to seeing Jack or Celia this morning. Had she overreacted last night? The contents of the case file still swirled around in her head. In the light of day she felt a little silly for being so afraid of Jack. He had never raised a hand to her, never had given her a reason to be physically frightened of him.
Following the scent of coffee, Sarah made her way to the darkened kitchen. Someone had set the automatic coffeemaker and she helped herself to a cup. Sarah checked her watch. It was just before 6:00 a.m. and she knew that the rest of the house would be rising soon.
Sarah had had every intention of making reservations to fly back home to Montana in the next few days, but all the revelations that she uncovered the past few days brought new questions. Sarah’s eyes fell to her purse where the unheard audiotape waited. Maybe it would have some answers. Maybe it could provide a tidbit of information that in her mind would absolve Jack or at least help her understand him better. Or, she thought, it could give her even more reason to doubt him.
She needed somewhere private to listen to the tape. She glanced out the kitchen window and the large barn that the night before had seemed so nefarious now stood benign in the early-morning sunshine. Taking her coffee cup and purse, she stepped outside. The cold air bit at her nose and she longed to go upstairs to grab a sweatshirt but didn’t want to risk running into Jack just yet. Dew clung to the grass and her shoes quickly became damp as she walked toward the barn. She fumbled with the tarnished latch and pulled open the door. The interior of the barn was dim and cool, and Sarah rubbed her arms in hopes of warming up. An old barn jacket hung from a wall and Sarah lifted it from the rusty nail and pulled it on. The space was filled with a menagerie of old farm equipment and garden tools. On the walls hung sharp handsaws and corroded tools she couldn’t put a name to. A pile of tractor tires and stacks of terra-cotta planters sat in a corner.
Sarah looked around for a place to sit that would provide her privacy as well as give her notice if someone entered the barn. She had no idea how she was going to explain why she was listening to an audiotape using a Walkman circa 1984. She spied a rickety wooden ladder that led up to the hayloft and she decided that would be her best bet. Carefully she tested the first rung and when it held she slowly made her way upward.
Bits of straw dust plumed around her head and filled her nose, and she bit back a sneeze. The hayloft was empty except for a row of hay bales tied with twine lined up against one wall. The wide rafters above her reminded Sarah of the rib cage of some massive, ancient creature. Cup-shaped swallow nests made of grass, feathers and mud were tucked into crossbeams.
Sarah settled onto one of the bales, and after making sure she could see if anyone climbed up after her, she pulled out the audiotape and Walkman from her purse. She had no idea as to what she was going to hear. It could be another sheriff’s department interview with Jack or with some other townsperson. It could be blank. She propped the earphones on her head and pressed Play.