Missing Pieces(79)

“You have to give him everything,” Margaret urged. “And don’t worry about me,” she added. “We’re in this together. You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to.”

Margaret’s eyes darted around the library. Only one other patron was nearby. “I started thinking about what you said earlier about the silver charm that Amy said belonged to Julia and the one in the picture next to Lydia’s body. This is the most horrible thing I think I’ve ever seen,” she whispered as she pushed a small envelope across the table. “It’s only a photocopy, but I figured it might help.”

Sarah carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the piece of paper. Even though it was a photocopy of a photograph, the detail was frighteningly explicit. Sarah stared down at the autopsy photo, not one from thirty years earlier, but from earlier that week. A close-up of the catastrophic wound to Julia’s skull. “Where did you get this?” Sarah asked.

“It was surprisingly easy,” Margaret admitted.

Sarah clicked through the documents on her thumb drive until she found Lydia’s autopsy photos. The two women’s head wounds were somewhat similar.

“But there’s no way Amy could have killed her mother—she was only eleven at the time. Besides, she’s still in jail and couldn’t have just sent me the text with the picture of Julia. The only person I can think of would be Jack.”

“But wait,” Margaret said, shaking her head back and forth. “You and Jack weren’t even in town when Julia was hurt. There’s no way he could have done it.”

Sarah sat back in her chair, dumbfounded. “Oh, my God, you’re right.” She allowed herself a small moment of relief. “But that just means we’re no closer to knowing who did. And what about Julia’s autopsy report that said her cause of death was poisoning? Remember?”

“But Jack couldn’t have been the one to hit her, so why would he poison her? Unless—” Margaret’s eyes widened “—Jack and Amy planned it together.”

“But why?” Sarah asked, running her fingers through her hair in frustration. “I just can’t wrap my head around all of this. Somehow Lydia’s and Julia’s deaths and these emails have to be connected.”

Sarah thought back to what the priest had said earlier at the funeral. That Julia was the consummate farmer’s wife.

A chill ran through Sarah. The consummate farmer’s wife. Those words seemed to fit Jack’s mother, as well. She was active in her church and her community. By most accounts she was an attentive mother and wife. What did the emails say? Three blind mice, two blind mice, one blind mouse. See how they run. How did the nursery rhyme go? She thought back to when the girls were little, the way they giggled over the silly lyrics. Wasn’t there mention of a farmer’s wife?

Lydia Tierney, farmer’s wife. Dead.

Julia Quinlan, farmer’s wife. Dead.

Both women had cloths covering their eyes—blind mice.

Sarah thought of Celia—beautiful, capable. The perfect farmer’s wife. A cold sweat erupted on her skin.

One blind mouse.

She needed to get to Celia. Sarah quickly ejected the thumb drive and handed it to Margaret. “Can you hold on to this for me?”

“Sure, where are you going?” Margaret asked in confusion.

“Back to Dean and Celia’s,” Sarah said, gathering up her things.

“Whoever is doing this is insane and for some reason he’s trying to pull you into it. Sarah, you have to go to the sheriff,” Margaret urged.

“I will, I promise. I’ll talk to him tonight. I just want to check on a few things.”

“Okay,” Margaret said anxiously. “But if you don’t call me in an hour I’m calling the sheriff.”

Sarah nodded and paused to give Margaret a quick hug. “I’ll be fine. I feel like we’re so close to figuring it all out.”

“But I don’t want you to die trying,” Margaret whispered in Sarah’s ear before releasing her. “Whoever is doing this has already killed two people, possibly three. I don’t want you to be next.”

“No way.” Sarah gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m the farthest thing away from a farmer’s wife. It’s Celia I’m worried about. Besides, I’ve got a pretty hard head and if they try I’ll take them down with me.”





21

ON THE DRIVE over to Dean and Celia’s house, Sarah debated as to what to do next. She had tried and tried to get ahold of Celia, but with no luck. It was after seven thirty and Sarah hadn’t heard from Jack and wondered if the sheriff was still interviewing him or maybe had even arrested him.

She checked her phone again for a message or a missed call from him. Nothing. Where are you? she texted him and waited for a response. When none came, she called. The phone rang several times before going to his voice mail and she hung up without leaving a message.

She pulled up in front of the house, hoping to see Celia’s car, but no other vehicles were in sight. The porch light gleamed brightly, but the rest of the house was dark.

Sarah pushed open the car door and stepped out into the cold night air. No movement or sound came from the shorn fields, but she felt as if she was being watched and hurried up the steps to the front door. She rapped on the door and waited, not expecting anyone to answer. Turning, she shivered and peered into the darkness. The silo stood sentinel straight, overlooking the farmyard. The door of the large barn was open, like a wide gaping mouth in the center of the property.