Missing Pieces(86)

“Thank you,” Sarah said with relief.

“You talk to your girls now and then get some sleep,” Gilmore said. “I’ll stop back in a few hours.” Sarah watched as Gilmore’s tall, lanky frame retreated.

“I should have gone to the sheriff the minute I got the first email,” Sarah said hoarsely.

Margaret patted her hand. “Sarah, if you hadn’t been so persistent, no one would have known what really happened to Lydia and John. No one would have known what happened to Julia.”

Sarah clutched at Margaret’s hand. “I can’t thank you enough, Margaret. If you hadn’t called the sheriff, everything would have turned out so differently. The girls would be planning our funerals right now.”

Margaret returned the squeeze. “I’m glad I could help. And by the way, I told the sheriff all about how I helped get you the case files.”

Sarah cringed. “I’m so sorry, Margaret,” she said apologetically.

“Don’t worry,” Margaret said. “I still have my job. The sheriff couldn’t fire the woman who helped solve three murders, now, could he?”

“Margaret,” Sarah said before releasing Margaret’s hands. “What about Amy? Is she out of jail?”

Margaret smiled. “She sure is. In fact, she’s sitting out in the waiting room right now.” She stood to leave. “I’ll go get an update on Jack, and you go ahead and call those girls of yours.”





EPILOGUE

YELLOW AND CRIMSON leaves swept around their ankles and crunched beneath their feet as they followed the large procession from the grave site. The cool late-September air bit at Sarah’s nose and she pulled her coat more tightly about her, the hazy afternoon sun already waning into evening. To her left, Elizabeth and Emma walked along beside her in respectful silence while Hal, Dean and Amy lagged a few steps behind. Next to her, Jack reached for her hand and squeezed her fingers tightly.

They were moving slowly, Jack because his arm was still encased in a cast and sling from the gunshot wound to his shoulder, and Sarah from the injury to her head. She had concealed her shorn head and zipper-like scar with a hat that Emma and Elizabeth assured her was stylish. They thought it would have been a modestly attended funeral, just what remained of Jack’s small family, but it appeared as if the entire population of Penny Gate had come out to lay John Tierney’s remains to rest next to his wife’s after thirty years of being apart. Sheriff Gilmore and his daughter came, as did Margaret Dooley and her mother.

In the church basement, the women of Penny Gate once again had a feast prepared. Unlike Julia’s funeral and dinner, this one had almost a celebratory feel. Amy had been released from jail and John Tierney’s name had been cleared and a thirty-year-old mystery had been solved.

Margaret Dooley was next to Sarah chatting companionably when Jack stood and went to the front of the room. Elizabeth and Emma looked at their mom questioningly, and Sarah shrugged her shoulders. Jack held up a hand and cleared his throat. Gradually, the chatter in the room ceased.

“Thank you for being here today,” Jack began, his voice soft, difficult to hear. “It means a lot to our family that you all are here to support us.” His voice gained strength as he went on. “We all know what brought us together today, though we most likely will never completely understand why these terrible things happened to my family. But they didn’t just happen to me, or to Hal or Dean, or Sarah. Or Amy. It happened to Penny Gate. To all of us. It changed the fabric of who we are, as a town, and a community and as people.

“There is so much that I’ve forgotten over the years about my life before my mother and father were taken away, but now, I’m slowly starting to remember, allowing myself to remember.”

Jack’s eyes found Sarah in the crowd. He was looking directly at her. Speaking directly to her. “My mother, Lydia Tierney, was a good mom. She was the kind of mom who made ice rinks in barns, made waffles for supper, and made Amy and me feel like we were the most important people in the world.”

Jack’s voice became thick with emotion, his eyes grew shiny, but still he held Sarah’s gaze. “My father was a farmer. He taught me to farm...” he began.

Once the last of the townspeople slowly left the funeral, Gilmore, dressed in a suit and tie rather than his sheriff’s uniform, approached. “Nice eulogy, Jack,” he commented. “Your mom and dad would be proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Jack said a bit warily, as if he couldn’t quite believe that the sheriff thought he was completely innocent in the deaths of his parents and aunt, even though all the evidence pointed to Celia alone. Celia’s death, while a relief, also left a wake of misery and so many unanswered questions. The sheriff’s department was still sifting through Celia’s computer and personal papers, trying to find any additional insights into her twisted mind.

“So you’re all settled in at Hal’s?” the sheriff asked Dean. After the bloodbath in the cellar, Dean and Amy had moved in with Hal.

“Amy was right,” Dean told them, “about our home being a house of horrors. I don’t want to ever set foot in there again. But I should have known,” Dean lamented. “She was my wife. How could I have not known?”

Jack embraced his cousin. “It’s not your fault. We were all fooled by Celia for a very long time.”