Marry Screw Kill(73)

“What do you mean ‘she was’? You’re talking about her like she’s gone.” Her voice cracks with emotion.

I nod my head in a silent answer as fear reflects in her eyes.

“What happened to Marie?” Margaret asks. Dread twists in my heart. How can I tell her my mother was murdered? I hate the word. I choke every time I try to say it. It’s final and senseless and brutal.

“She died in January. She was killed.” The words are like a knife to my heart. Unbearable pain crosses Margaret’s face.

“Killed?” Margaret asks with a desperate need for the truth. “How?”

“Shot,” I whisper. Then she died in my arms.

Her weeping turns into quiet moans. A haunting sound comes from deep inside her as she begins to mourn. Years of hoping and praying for my mother are dashed within a split second.

“I am so sorry,” I say, trying my best to console her, but she continues to cry.

A movement beside me catches my eye as Sin moves toward the house. He walks up to where the garden house connects with the house and turns off the water.

Margaret and I are kneeling in a puddle of cold water. My shoes are soaked along with her pants. Sin turns toward me and I mouth a thank you to him. He nods, his face reflecting the entire scene: somber.

Sin walks to Margaret’s side and stands next to her, his arms relaxed at his sides. Feeling his presence, Margaret turns her head upward to look at him.

“Hi,” Sin says in a soothing tone.

“Who are you?” Margaret asks, her tears subsiding to a few sniffles. I am sure it will come back in waves. Grief ebbs and flows like the sea.

“He’s the reason I found you. I wouldn’t be here without him.” I surround my words with how grateful I feel for all Sin has done for me. My debt to him will never be repaid, but he’s the kind of man who will only give more instead of wanting to collect from me.

“I’m Sinclair Elliott, ma’am. A friend of Harlow’s.” He stretches his hand out toward Margaret. “Let me help you off the wet ground.”

Margaret looks from me to him, her eyes asking for my reassurance. I smile at her. Sin is the rock we both need. She sighs and takes his hand. Sin helps her rise to her feet, steadying her by the elbow until she’s firmly standing. I rise up next to her. Pieces of dirt and grass cover her water-soaked pants and my shins, but neither of us seems to care.

“You ladies have some catching up to do. I’m going to drive around town. Grab a cup of coffee and call my grandmother.” Sin gives me a quick kiss on the cheeks, then stuffs his hands in his front pockets. “Harlow, call or text when you’re ready for me to come back. It was very nice to meet you, Margaret.”

“You, too,” Margaret says with a small nod. She appears to be in shock from this entire ordeal. Like I was the night my mother died.

“Thanks, Sin,” I say, and we both watch Sin walk away toward the car.

I have learned two things about Sin since meeting him: he has the most beautiful, selfless heart of anyone I’ve ever known, and he is a man I could fall in love with. Plus, he smells divine.

After Sin’s car is no longer in sight, Margaret takes me inside her house. When I walk over the threshold, I wonder how many times my mother did this very same thing. Like her pearl necklace, her childhood home connects me to her. We pass through a pristine family room with a cheery floral couch and two chairs sitting on each side. Pillows are scattered and soft throw blankets are draped on the couch.

“Let’s go to the kitchen and talk,” Margaret says, giving me a sad smile. “We have years to catch up on.” Her voice cracks at the end.

Sunny yellow walls invite me into her kitchen and make me want to stay in its warmth forever. This feeling is everything I’ve wished for in a grandmother and never dared to dream. With each step that I’ve taken, farther into her home, I feel the bond I’ve longed for wrapping around me like Sin’s strong arms. Comfort and peace fill me.

“Have a seat, dear,” Margaret says, pointing to one of the chairs at the square wood kitchen table.

I do as she asks and she joins me at the table. Instead of sitting across from me, she takes a chair to my side. I rest my hands on the tabletop and she covers one of my hands with hers. It’s the first touch from my grandmother and that silly lump is back in my throat. I blink my eyes, expecting to wake up from a dream, but Margaret looks at me with complete love radiating from her eyes. I’m not dreaming. She’s real. My heart is so full, it may burst.

“Would you like something to drink? I can brew a fresh pot of coffee.” Margaret releases my hand and scoots to the edge of her chair.

“I’d love some coffee. If it’s not too much trouble.” Margaret scoffs with a laugh.

“Dear, I’d fly to Columbia and buy the coffee beans for you if I could.” She stares at me without blinking. “You’re my only grandchild.” She pauses and glances down for a second. “My other daughter was unable to have children. You’re the answer to so many prayers.”

We both begin to tear up at the impact of her words and who I am to her. She needs to know who she is to me, too.

“Before today, my mother was the only family I had. Now …” I pause for a second, “I have you. Thanks for wanting me.”

“Always. Tell me about my Marie. Start at the beginning if you can. I need to understand how you came to find me and what happened to her. Why she was killed …” Her eyes close and a shiver shakes her shoulders.