Missing Pieces(68)

Margaret’s eyes widened. “A body? Who is it?”

“They don’t know or aren’t saying.”

Sarah followed Margaret to Saint Finnian’s. When they arrived, Margaret pulled out a key to the church and together they unloaded the desserts that the Women’s Rosary Guild had made for Julia’s funeral dinner.

Back in the parking lot, Sarah opened the trunk of her car and the two of them stared down at the box.

“So did you get all your questions answered?” Margaret asked.

Sarah shook her head. “Somehow I’ve ended up with more questions than answers. I don’t know what it is. But there’s something that just doesn’t seem right.”

“Do you want me to take a look? Maybe I’ll notice something you missed.”

“Sure,” Sarah said, shining her cell phone light over the box.

Margaret removed the lid, and thumbed through the contents until she came across the stack of photos. Slowly, she began flicking through the pictures, examining each carefully. “I’m just not sure what I should be looking for.”

“Wait,” Sarah said. “What’s that?” Together they looked at the photograph of Lydia on her back, one arm outstretched, a bloody cloth covering her eyes, her mouth contorted into a frozen scream.

Revulsion skittered across Margaret’s face but she continued to inspect the photo. “What is it? What do you see?”

“What does that look like to you?” Sarah pointed to a shiny glint of silver on the floor next to Lydia.

“Maybe a coin or a piece of jewelry.” She looked up at Sarah. “Is that what you’re thinking?”

“Yes. It’s a little hard to see, but it looks like a bracelet charm to me.”

Sarah turned the photo and took note of the number written on the back. “I’m not sure yet. But the other day at the hospital, Amy was carrying around a silver charm similar to this.”

Margaret shrugged. “Maybe it belonged to her mother, a kind of memento.”

“No.” Sarah shook her head. “Amy said she found it on the floor next to Julia when she discovered her at the bottom of the stairs. She thought it belonged to her.”

“That is a little odd,” Margaret conceded, “but a lot of people wear bracelets with charms on them.”

“It’s more than odd,” Sarah insisted. “Two women from the same family, both bludgeoned, both dead, and now both with a silver charm found near them. Look.” She tapped the photo. “Lydia isn’t wearing a bracelet or jewelry of any kind. Where’s the broken bracelet?”

“Maybe John took it after he killed her,” Margaret offered.

“But that doesn’t explain the charm that Amy found. Margaret, it can’t be a coincidence. It just can’t.”

“But John killed Lydia and all the evidence for Julia’s death points to Amy. Amy was only eleven when her mother was murdered, so what, you think that John killed Lydia and then came back and killed Julia? That’s impossible.”

“Is it?” Sarah asked, thinking of Jack’s purported sighting of his father at the hospital. Maybe he really did see him there. “I’ve got to talk to Amy. I need to ask her about the charm she found.”

“That’s impossible,” Margaret said. “At least at this time of night. It will have to wait until tomorrow during visiting hours.”

“I don’t want to wait that long. I’m going to Amy’s,” she said suddenly. “Do you want to come with me?”

“To Amy’s house? Why?” Margaret asked.

Sarah hefted the box from her trunk and transferred it to the trunk of Margaret’s car. “I want to see if I can find that charm in her house. Compare it to the one in the crime-scene photo.”

“How are you going to get in?” Margaret’s brows knit together in dismay. “You’re not going to break in, are you?”

“Not if I don’t have to, but I could use a lookout.” She looked at Margaret hopefully.

“That isn’t a good idea. Just wait until morning. Nothing bad is going to happen between now and then,” Margaret said firmly as she made her way to the front of the car, then stopped abruptly. Something had caught her attention, and she rose on her toes to get a better look. “What’s that?” she asked.

“What?” Sarah peered into the darkness, but saw nothing.

“That.” Margaret pointed to an object tucked beneath the windshield wiper on Sarah’s car.

Sarah leaned forward and squinted. “I don’t know. Hold on a sec.” She moved to the front of the car and lifted the wiper, retrieving the item from beneath. “It’s a watch,” she said, handing it to Margaret. “At least, part of one.”

Margaret shone her cell phone light on the object. It was the face of a watch attached to half of a grimy stainless-steel band. It was a Seiko with a silver face and black hands with the day of the week and the date where the Roman numeral III should have been. “God, my dad used to have a watch like this.”

Sarah leaned toward her. “My dad did, too. I bet every father from the ’70s had a similar one. Why would someone put an old, broken watch on my car?”

Margaret shrugged and handed the watch back to Sarah. “Maybe someone found it on the ground by your car and thought it belonged to you. You didn’t notice it on the drive from the funeral home?”