Missing Pieces (10 page)

8

SARAH AWOKE EARLY
the next morning disoriented, not sure where she was. She thought she heard something, a light knocking, but she wasn't sure from where it was coming. Beside her Jack slept. She rolled over in bed and reached for her phone, checking to see if either of the girls had called or left a text. They hadn't. She clicked on her mail icon and immediately an email from someone named Seller85 stood out from the rest with an odd subject line: “Two blind mice.” She touched the email to open it.

Dear Astrid,

Two blind mice.

Iron

Cold and Hard.

A whore in a yellow dress.

See how they run?

She recalled the similar email she had received yesterday.
Three blind mice
, she remembered it had read. It was odd, she thought, but she was used to getting bizarre emails from readers. She deleted the email, thinking that she'd certainly received worse.

The tapping resumed, a hollow metronome that would pause for a moment and then continue.

“Jack,” she whispered. He was sleeping so soundly, so peacefully, splayed on his stomach, his breath rising in slow, even intervals.

Now she eased from the bed, careful not to wake him, quickly dressed and closed the bedroom door behind her with a soft click. The door to Hal's bedroom was also shut. It was still dark out and the house had that quiet, settled feeling before the hum of the day began.

The knocking continued as she made her way down the steps. Someone was at the front door. She checked the clock on the living room wall. Barely 6:00 a.m. Who could be here at this time of day? She flipped on the porch light and peeked through the small glass pane in the door. It was Sheriff Gilmore and two other men dressed in deputy uniforms.

Sarah opened the door and saw the grave look on Gilmore's face. Sarah felt the breath squeeze from her lungs. “Is it Amy?” she asked. “Is she okay?” Two stone-faced deputies flanked Gilmore. Sarah recognized one as the deputy who had been at Amy's home the day before.

“Amy is being questioned in connection with the murder of her aunt. So no, I can't say that things are fine. I'm afraid we're here on not-so-pleasant business. I need to talk to Hal and Jack. May we come in?” Gilmore removed his hat.

Sarah glanced behind her to the still-darkened house. “Can't you come back a little later? Hal and Jack are still sleeping. They're exhausted.”

“I'm afraid not,” Gilmore said, and Sarah became increasingly alarmed. He held up a piece of paper. “We've got a warrant.”

“I think you better wait out on the porch. I'll go upstairs and get Hal and Jack.” Gilmore didn't argue, but Sarah also knew that the sheriff and his men weren't planning on going anywhere.

Sarah turned on the living room lamps before she headed upstairs. The light warmed the room and made Gilmore's unsettling visit seem more ominous. Suddenly, she knew exactly why Gilmore was here at this early hour and she hated him for it.

Her mind was racing. Foul play was suspected in the death of Julia, an object covered with what looked like blood had been found at Amy's and now Amy was being questioned. Had more evidence been discovered? Surely it was too soon for Julia's autopsy to be completed. Had Amy confessed to something? Sarah took the steps two at a time and stumbled, falling to one knee at the top of the landing. “Dammit,” she mumbled in embarrassment, and as she pushed herself to her feet, her eyes landed on the spot where the dark oak trim met the plastered wall.

She saw a small spatter of brown dots that looked like blood.

Sarah thought about what Amy had said about Julia being attacked before falling down the stairs. Or was it Jack who had said this? She couldn't remember. She bent down and ran her fingers along the hardwood floor, looking for any clue into what happened to Julia on these stairs. There was one deep gouge about three inches long and two inches wide, but it was an old house, an old floor. The gash could have been there for years. Her eyes traveled upward from the baseboard to the wall. Tiny, dark spots freckled the plaster. She moved even closer. It definitely could be blood, she thought.

She decided to wake Jack first. “Jack, Jack,” she said, and prodded him gently. His eyes fluttered open and landed sleepily on her. “Everything's okay,” she began, not wanting to alarm him. “The sheriff is downstairs. He wants to talk to you and Hal. He has a warrant.”

“Sheriff Gilmore?” Jack asked blearily. “Here? What time is it?”

“Six,” Sarah said, handing Jack his pants. “He has two deputies with him.”

Jack immediately became alert and sat upright. “Let me handle this. Let Hal sleep. He doesn't need to deal with this today.”

“He told me to get Hal.”

“Dammit,” Jack muttered. “Why can't we grieve in peace? Can you wake him up?”

“Jack.” She grabbed his elbow. “There's blood on the stairs.”

“What?” he asked as he pulled on a pair of jeans.

“At the top of the steps and on the wall. I think there's blood.”

Jack stuffed his shirt into his pants. “Is it noticeable?”

“No, there's just a little bit, if that's what it even is.” Sarah hugged her arms close to her.

“Don't say anything to Gilmore,” he said shortly.

“But what if it has something to do with Julia's fall?” Sarah asked.

“It's probably nothing. Did he say anything about Amy?”

Sarah shook her head. “Just that she's okay.”

“Go ahead and wake Hal,” he said firmly. “And don't say anything about the blood on the steps.”

Sarah watched him leave the room. Didn't he want to know what had happened to his aunt? Was it more important to protect the person who might have hurt her, even if it was Amy?

She heard Jack greet the sheriff and walked quickly to Hal's room. He was sleeping soundly, one arm flung to the empty side of the bed as if he fell asleep reaching for his wife.

“Hal,” Sarah said as she roused him. “Sheriff Gilmore is here. I think he wants to search the house.”

“What? Why?” Hal sat up and turned on the lamp on his bedside table. He reached for his glasses and slid them onto his face, magnifying his red and swollen eyes.

“They must be investigating Julia's fall. He wants you to come downstairs.”

He swung his bare legs over the side of the bed. They were thin and lined with spidery purple veins. His large, round stomach hung heavily over the elastic band of his boxer shorts and his hands clutched the mattress on either side of him as if to help keep him upright. “Does it have something to do with what they found at Amy's house? Do they really think she could have hurt Julia?”

“I don't know,” Sarah finally said out loud. “Do you think Amy could have hurt her?” she dared to ask.

Hal stood, and the hardwood floor creaked beneath his bare feet. “Of course not,” he said emphatically, and Sarah wondered if he was trying to convince himself as much as Sarah.

While Hal dressed, Sarah went to the bathroom to quickly wash her face and brush her teeth. She turned on the tap, scrubbed her hands under the hot water and looked at herself in the vanity over the sink. She looked the way she felt, which was downright haggard. The trip and lack of sound sleep had left her skin dry and her lips cracked. Her hair, usually smooth and shiny, was dull and frizzed, and she futilely tried to pat it down with her fingers.

She glanced around in search of a hand towel and in the corner noticed a wicker basket lined with Spanish moss and filled with what Sarah could only describe as old farm tools. A small pulley, a rusty hand trowel, a worn leather tape measure and several other items that Sarah couldn't identify. One spot stood glaringly empty, as if one of the tools had been removed. Sarah flashed on the bloody object found in Amy's home. Wouldn't it have fit perfectly within the empty space? What if Amy, in a fit of rage, pulled the bale hook from the basket and attacked Julia at the top of the steps?

She tried to push the thoughts away.
Don't borrow trouble, she told herself. Her imagination was working overtime. The autopsy results on Julia were still pending and the supposed weapon found at Amy's home was probably not connected to her death at all.

Sarah called Dean to let him know what was happening. She hadn't seen him since she had witnessed the violent incident with Celia, but she knew Hal would appreciate having his son there.

By the time she came back downstairs, Gilmore and the deputies were standing in the living room with Jack and Hal. Hal was staring down at a piece of paper, and Jack looked fired up and ready to pounce. “I can't believe this is happening,” he said in bewilderment.

“I'm going to have to ask you all to leave while we execute the search,” Gilmore explained, ignoring Hal's statement. “It shouldn't take very long. We also need to ask each of you some questions. Why don't I meet you all down at the sheriff's department and we'll talk. I know you've got some hard days in front of you. That's why we thought it was best to come early and let you get on with your business.”

“I don't understand,” Hal said as he sank into a chair.

“We can't go into the specifics, but as you know, we have reason to suspect that Julia's death was not an accident. We need to conduct a thorough investigation. We'll be out of here as quickly as possible.”

Jack pointed a finger at Gilmore, a crimson flush creeping up his neck. “You've had it in for my family since my mom died.”

“Just doing my job, Jack,” Gilmore said mildly. “Just like I did thirty years ago.”

“What parts of the property are you going to search?” Sarah asked, hoping to diffuse the tension between Jack and the sheriff. “Just the house?”

“The house and the three outbuildings,” Gilmore answered. “Like I said, the quicker my people can get to work, the quicker you can go about your business.” Hal rose from his chair and together they moved outside.

The sun hadn't yet risen and the farmyard was quiet. In the distance a deep rumble rolled down toward them, and Dean and Celia's pickup came into view. They came to a stop behind the two sheriff's vehicles parked in the grass just off to the side of the dirt lane. They were followed by a white van emblazoned with the words
Sawyer County Crime Scene Unit
across the side. Dean and Celia stepped from the truck and came rushing toward them.

“What the hell is going on?” Dean asked, his words clearly focused at the sheriff. “Can't you have some fucking decency and leave my family alone? We're grieving, for God's sake!”

“Settle down, Dean,” Sheriff Gilmore said calmly. “I know this is upsetting, but we're trying to get to the truth behind your mother's death. I know you all want to be able to lay Julia to rest knowing that the person who did this is held responsible.”

“Everyone knows who did this just as well as I do,” Dean spluttered. “Amy and Mom had an argument. Amy found her at the bottom of the stairs. Amy's in jail. Why come here upsetting my dad more than you already have? You've got Amy.”

“My goal isn't to upset anyone,” Gilmore said, his voice still amicable, but there was a new shrewdness in his eyes. “Now what's this about an argument?”

Dean pressed his lips together, hesitating before speaking. “Amy and Julia had an argument right before the accident. My mom called last week and said that Amy was very upset.”

“Did she say what Amy was riled up about?” Gilmore asked.

Dean sucked in his breath. “What doesn't Amy get riled up about?”

“Dean,” Celia chided gently.

“Well.” Dean adjusted the seed hat on his head. “We all know Amy. She gets a bee up her ass about every other day. She gets mad, she yells, throws a few things, runs off for a couple of days and then comes back like nothing happened.”

“Amy's had a hard life,” Jack said in defense of Amy, and Celia stroked his arm sympathetically. Sarah bristled at the display of intimacy.

“Come on, Jack,” Dean said plaintively. “Everyone's had hard times. We all care about Amy, but she can be a little out there sometimes.”

“What was the argument about?” Gilmore asked, getting the conversation back on track.

“You know my mom never said a bad word against anyone, but she said that Amy came over, started yelling at her about not getting what was due to her. Amy accused them of cheating Jack and her out of what was rightfully theirs.”

“Cheated us? Out of what?” Jack asked in confusion. He turned to Hal. “You've got to know I've never thought that. You always treated us like your own kids. I know what you and Julia sacrificed for me and Amy.”

“Why don't we all drive over to my office and we'll talk things through,” the sheriff suggested. “My deputies can handle the search here.”

“Can't this wait?” Celia began, but Hal held up a hand.

“No, let's do this. You're right,” he said. “There's no good time for this, so let's get it over with. We'll meet you at your office.”

Gilmore gave a nearby deputy a set of instructions, ordered him to call if he ran into any snags and dismissed him before climbing into his vehicle.

Sarah, Jack and Hal loaded into the rental car, and Dean and Celia followed behind them. They sat in silence as they drove, the air in the car thick with the weight of their sadness. In merely a few days, their entire world had been turned upside down. This should have been a time of reflection and fond remembrance, and instead Jack's family was at the center of a murder investigation.

They drove through Penny Gate, past Saint Finnian's, the church where Julia's funeral was to be held, and past the cemetery. The town seemed to still be mostly asleep. A boy with a canvas delivery bag hanging over his shoulder was sleepily tossing rolled newspapers toward doorsteps, and an elderly couple walked their dog. For now they were oblivious to the murder investigation. Sarah sympathized with them—in just a few hours their quaint, small town would be shaken with the gossip that one of their own had been possibly brutally murdered.