Missing Pieces(73)
Jack tenderly brushed her hair behind her ears. “Don’t worry about that right now. Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“I’m fine. Jack, I tried to get ahold of you for an hour and I find you sitting here drinking. We have to talk.” She glanced at Celia and stopped. Sarah knew how crazy she’d sound if she started talking about the case files, the photos and silver charms. “When did you get here? I mean, after the wake, did you come straight here?” Sarah asked. Could it have been Jack who had run her off the road? Had he discovered that she was digging into his past? He definitely had access to a truck.
“Yeah, we came right back to the house. Hal went right to bed and Dean’s somewhere around here,” Jack explained.
“I swung by the store and picked up a few things,” Celia said, holding up the bottle of vodka as Jack handed Sarah his glass of Grey Goose and cranberry juice.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “Here, drink this.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Celia asked. “What if she has a head injury?”
“I don’t have a head injury.” Sarah snatched the glass from Jack. She took one unsure sip and then drained the rest.
“Sarah, why don’t you go on upstairs and rest and I’ll clean up here,” Celia suggested.
“I’m fine,” Sarah said. “I don’t want to interrupt your party.” She stressed the word party with disdain and instantly regretted it. She didn’t want to give them the satisfaction.
“We were just going over the details of Julia’s estate,” Jack murmured. “Nothing that can’t wait until later.” Jack guided her, his hand on the small of her back, slowly and soundlessly up the steps.
Once in the bedroom she kicked off her high heels and Jack helped her out of her dress, a seam ripping as he lifted it over her head. Tenderly, he helped her put on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, pulled back the covers and led her to the bed.
From below, the sound of Celia’s laugh floated through the house and then quieted as if she was trying to stifle her giggles. Sarah didn’t think she was trying very hard. Jack shook his head good-naturedly. “She’s had one too many, I think.”
“Jack, I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
“Hold on.” Sarah watched as he left the bedroom and came back a few minutes later carrying a glass of water and a medicine bottle. “Here, take two of these.”
Sarah struggled to sit up. “What is it?”
“Hydrocodone. It was in Julia’s medicine cabinet. It will help with the pain.” Sarah looked down at the pills. She knew she shouldn’t take them. She had so much to think about, so many details to sift through, but the throbbing in her shoulder had intensified. Against her better judgment Sarah swallowed the pills.
“We really need to talk. There are some things I need to ask you about...”
“Don’t worry about it tonight, Sar. Get some rest.” He kissed her softly on the forehead. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” Sarah closed her eyes, willing sleep to wash over her. Jack sat next to her on the bed for several minutes, before quietly leaving the room.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow after the funeral, after the sheriff questioned her for the last time, she planned to leave Penny Gate. She should have never come here. It was poisonous. But now she didn’t know if she could leave just yet. She had so many more questions. First chance she had, she would go to Sheriff Gilmore, confess that she’d heard the audiotapes, had looked at the crime-scene photos, the charms. Every bit of it.
The pills were slowly working their magic and the pain in Sarah’s shoulder eased; her eyes grew heavy and the horrors of the day began to fade away. She lay awake for as long as she could, trying to make sense of it all, but drifted off to sleep, missing pieces of the strange puzzle hovering just beyond her reach.
18
THE FOLLOWING MORNING brought a fine, cool mist, but the forecast called for a sunny afternoon; hopefully the rain would pass by the time they made their way to the cemetery for the interment. Sarah awoke from a dreamless sleep, her shoulder aching and her head heavy from the hydrocodone and vodka.
It was a lovely church, small but ornate with jewel-colored stained-glass windows that depicted mournful saints who looked down on walnut-stained pews.
Sarah found herself standing in front of Celia and the two regarded each other cautiously. Celia wore a simple black sheath dress and heels, and her mass of curly hair was tamed into artful waves that framed her pale face. Celia was the first to speak. “I’m sorry about last night,” she said, looking down at her shoes. “Yesterday was just awful and I had a little bit too much to drink. I was rude.”
“I think we’re all feeling on edge,” Sarah said, though Celia’s affection toward Jack the night before still irked her. “Let’s just chalk it up to a bad day.”
“Thanks,” Celia said with relief.
Sarah pulled her phone from her purse to turn it off before she entered the nave and saw that she had a text from Gabe. Call me! it read. She knew she didn’t have time to have a conversation with him before the funeral began and reluctantly began to shut her phone down when another text from Gabe appeared. Emails are coming from Penny Gate!
Sarah’s heart skipped a beat. The emails were coming from Penny Gate? Impossible, she thought.