Missing Pieces(63)
Sarah disconnected and began the drive back to Celia’s, trying to reconcile the fact that Amy had somehow poisoned Julia while they were at the hospital. Still, it didn’t quite make sense. No one, it seemed, except Dean, could provide a reason that Amy would kill her aunt. An argument over Amy’s drinking and lost job just didn’t seem like it would lead to such violence, but people were killed over much less all the time. Stranger yet was the idea that Amy would go to such lengths to poison Julia. Was Amy afraid that Julia would wake up and identify her as the one who attacked her?
By the time she arrived back at Celia’s, the men had returned from making final preparations for the funeral, had changed into their suits and ties, and were just getting ready to leave for the wake. Sarah went upstairs to change and when she came back downstairs, Celia was rushing around, putting together a variety of salads for the funeral dinner.
“Do you want to ride with us?” Jack asked Sarah hopefully. He looked almost boyish or maybe just a little bit lost in his ill-fitting suit and wearing the bewildered expression of someone who had been blindsided by tragedy or had been caught in one too many lies.
Dean looked at his watch impatiently while Hal struggled to button his suit coat across his wide belly with his thick fingers.
“I was hoping Sarah could help me with a few things around here,” Celia interjected. “I’ve got to finish putting together this potato salad for tomorrow and get this cake out of the oven.”
“I can stay and help.” Sarah reached for the apron that Celia held out for her.
“Okay,” Jack answered. Did he look disappointed? Sarah wasn’t sure. Maybe he was just nervous that Sarah and Celia would be alone for a length of time. Plenty of opportunity for Sarah to quiz Celia about his past. Maybe Jack didn’t want Celia to spill any more of his secrets.
“We’ll be there by two forty-five, I promise,” Celia said, giving each man a tight hug in turn before they headed out the door.
“Can you mix together the potato salad?” Celia asked, pulling a jar of mayonnaise from the refrigerator and setting it on the counter.
“I thought the Women’s Rosary Guild was in charge of the food?” Sarah asked as she opened the lid and stirred the dressing into a bowl of boiled potatoes.
“They are,” Celia said, reaching into a cupboard for powdered sugar. “But I like to cook and it helps me keep my mind off things.” Tears filled her large eyes. “Except that cooking reminds me of Julia. She loved to help out this way. Julia was always the first one to volunteer to make a salad or bake a cake for a funeral dinner. I remember when Lydia died—I swear, Julia made five pies. Can you believe that? Her sister-in-law is just murdered, her brother accused, and she makes all those pies.” Celia went to the oven and turned on the light to peek inside.
“You know,” Sarah said as she added mustard to the bowl, “this is the first time someone has actually spoken out loud about what happened to Jack’s mom and dad. Why is that?”
Celia twisted a hand towel embroidered with fall leaves between her fingers. “I guess it’s just too hard. You know Hal’s generation—stoic and no-nonsense. Bad things happen and you need to just put your head down and forge onward.”
Sarah thought about this and had to agree it was true. Her own parents had a similar philosophy of life.
“Is it hard living here?” Sarah asked, changing the subject. “With all that happened, doesn’t it ever scare you?”
Celia slid the bowl onto the base of the electric mixer and turned it on. “You mean is the house cursed?” she asked over the whir of the beaters.
“Of course not,” Sarah said, and felt her cheeks redden. “It just must be very strange living in the home where a murder occurred, especially since you know the family.”
“Not really. When Dean and I decided to move in, we vowed to make new memories here. Happier ones.” She straightened and glanced at the basement door.
Sarah followed her gaze. She couldn’t imagine living in a home where a murder took place. “Do you use the basement? I mean, that’s where it happened, right?”
“Actually, we don’t go down there much,” Celia explained. “Nothing but dust, cobwebs and a few boxes of junk. We’re just grateful that Julia let us rent it from her.”
“Rent it? Why?”
“Yes, the house has been in the Tierney family forever. When Lydia died and John disappeared, it went to Julia. We’ve rented the house for the past eighteen years and farmed the land. It’s worked out perfectly for us.”
Celia walked over to Sarah’s side. “Looks good,” she said, eyeing the potato salad. She pulled a roll of plastic wrap from a drawer and covered the bowl. “God, I remember that day. It was horrible. My mom came home from work sobbing. When she finally told me what happened I came right here. They wouldn’t let me come in. They wouldn’t tell me anything. It was an hour before someone told me Jack and Amy were okay, but they wouldn’t let me see them.”
“When did you finally get to talk to him?” Sarah moved to the sink to wash her hands.
“Not until the next afternoon. He looked terrible.” Celia shook her head at the memory. “And he was never the same again.”
“What do you mean?” Sarah asked, wiping her hands on a dish towel that Celia had handed to her.