Something New (11 page)

Eighteen months later, child services had carried Abby out of this home when Lorene Jones gave Abby away.

Chapter Six

I wonder if she still smells like gardenias.

The thought popped into Abby’s head as she stood on the Joneses’ front porch waiting for someone to answer her knock. Abby recalled that Lorene Jones had smelled just like a bouquet of the sweet white flowers. Not like an overpowering fragrance that would bring on a headache, but actually like a real garden full of gardenias. Probably an essential oil rather than a perfume, Abby figured in hindsight.

Strange to remember that now.

Just as Abby lifted her hand to knock again, the door swung open, and a petite, silver-haired woman stood on the other side of the threshold. The woman took one look at Abby, her smile faltered, and she leaned to brace herself against the doorjamb.

Abby’s legs suddenly felt a little weak too as a myriad of emotions flooded through her. “Hello, Mrs. Jones.” She forced a smile to her frozen lips. “I don’t know if you remem—”

Lorene reached out and fingered Abby’s hair and cheek, bringing Abby to a halt.

“Oh my goodness.” A film of wetness made Lorene’s pale blue eyes blurry. “You look just like your mama.”

Mention of her mother from someone who had known her so well tightened Abby’s throat. “I think so too.”

“Please”—Lorene stepped back and beckoned with her arm—“come inside. It’s breezy again today.”

Abby dipped her head. “Thank you.” She stepped into the Joneses’ home, and the familiarity of so many elements all these years later sent a bubble of panic into Abby’s stomach.

Hallway walls adorned with framed family photos on both sides led Abby toward a living room, her feet moving her in the right direction as if she’d only made the walk yesterday. Frame after frame showed each stage of the Joneses’ four children’s lives, their annual school pictures mingled in with family vacations and holiday gatherings. After moving in with the Joneses, Abby could remember standing in the hallways in this house, as well as at the fireplace mantel, studying pictures of this happy family with longing and aching sadness for what she would never have. By the end of her time here, she had almost come to believe she could find a place for herself among these people.

Even Lorene today, in her gingham shirt with flowers embroidered on it, a denim skirt, and brown leather loafers, transported Abby back in time. With the exception of Lorene’s graying hair and a bit more thinness to her face, she looked as she did in many of these photos. Time almost standing still. It was comforting, in a way.

Abruptly, Abby came to a halt, a pang hitting her in the middle. “You took mine down.” Her class photo from the year she’d spent in this home had once been right in the spot where there was now a picture of a small dark-haired child she did not recognize.

From her peripheral vision, Abby could see Lorene’s chin wobble. “It hurt too much to look at it and know we couldn’t have you in our lives every day anymore,” she said softly.

Couldn’t have me in your life at all is more like it.

Abby hated the slip of bitterness. Even internally. She wasn’t here to hurl accusations or make Lorene suffer for her past choices. Abby’s life was good now, and she had no reason to complain. Losing her parents had been horrific, but lots of kids suffered a much worse time in the ensuing foster-care system than she had.

Turning, Abby faced Lorene head-on. No hiding. No subterfuge. “I wanted to talk to you about my parents. Mostly about my mother, since you are the one who knew her best.”

“All right.” Lorene cupped Abby’s elbow and led her to the kitchen. “I’ll do my best to help in any way I can.”

Once Lorene put Abby in a seat at a big butcher-block table, she busied herself with removing a pan from her stove and a white canister from a cabinet. “Do you still like hot chocolate?” she asked.

“I drink it in place of coffee,” Abby shared. “Thank you.”

Exactly as Abby remembered, Lorene pulled a gallon of milk out of the fridge as the base for her cocoa. The woman had spoiled Abby for the instant mix with water, and she made it this way in her own life today.

Watching Lorene, Abby asked, “Would you say my mother confided all her secrets to you?” She kept her voice conversational rather than combative.

“All?” The woman’s eyebrows went up. “I likely think not. Most people have a few things in their life they never tell a soul.”

Abby glanced around at all the country-looking plaques in this kitchen with various Bible verses painted on them. “Not even to God?”

Lorene nodded as she stirred the heating milk. “God will know whether you tell him or not, but yes, I believe every person has at least one thing they don’t want to confess to their priest or even confide to God during private prayer.” She pulled her attention away from Abby and put it on breaking up pieces of chocolate for their drinks. Her voice lowered when she went on. “We all have done something that shames us; we refuse to talk about it and don’t even want to think about it when we’re alone. I don’t think any of us, Christian or otherwise, are exempt.”

“Fair enough.” The woman couldn’t mean the choice she’d made to give up Abby, as everyone in their church community had known about it. Impossible to keep secret a child there one day and gone the next. “What about my mom? Did she unburden any secrets on you?”

“A few.” Lorene glanced Abby’s way before going about gathering mugs and a few other items from around the kitchen. “None that I think would be appropriate for her daughter to hear, particularly when Elaine isn’t here to explain them.”

Abby had anticipated resistance. “Were there any that could have made an enemy out of someone?” She didn’t have to wait more than a second for Lorene to whip her head Abby’s way, her eyes wide. “Anything that had to do with slighting someone or secrets at another person’s expense?” Abby pressed. “Something that someone might have killed over?”

“What? My dear, what are you asking?” Lorene moved the saucepan to a different burner and joined Abby at the table. “What are you even trying to say?” Her pitch rose in the breathless manner of one who couldn’t bear to speak the words coming out of her mouth. “Your mother had nothing to do with what happened to them. The police know who killed your parents. It’s terrible that the man was not convicted, but he is most definitely guilty. We have to content ourselves with believing he will receive justice at the hands of his Maker when the time comes.”

“I’d prefer justice of the human kind, and I’d like the right person to get the life sentence when it happens.” Abby snapped those words out. “I’ve done some research regarding my parents’ murders lately, and I’m starting to recall pieces from that day I don’t ever remember dreaming about before.” She kept her focus locked on Lorene, searching for subconscious responses to Abby’s revelations. “Things that make me very confused and bits that make me believe Rusty Cormack did not kill Mom and Dad.”

Lorene’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“The man said my name.” Abby dropped her first bomb. “The goddamn bastard who killed my mother and father spoke my name when he was looking for me afterward. He only did it once, and then he said ‘little girl’ or things to that effect, but one time, when he was looking for me, he called me Abby.”

“What?” For a handful of seconds, the blood fled from Lorene’s face. “This person knew about you? Wanted to kill you too?”

“I believe so.” Abby had never been able to speak of her time in the attic and then later in that bedroom with her dead parents. “I don’t think he wanted to take me out for ice cream, which was what he said while trying to get me out of hiding.”

Pale did not even begin to describe Lorene’s visage. “Oh my dear Lord in heaven. I cannot believe it.”

“It was obviously someone who knew my family.” Abby laid her hands flat on the table and kept her gaze on Lorene. “Who knew
me
.”

“No.” Lorene shook her head with vehement conviction. Abby watched her struggle to reach another path to the truth. “You were probably at the church on one of the occasions Mr. Cormack came looking for a meal and counseling. Yes. Yes. That must be it.” Her frantic searching in the thin air around her for an explanation came to a stop. “Your mother spoke of you so often, Abby. Many of us remember Elaine offering this young man kindness on multiple occasions. In speaking to him, I’m certain her wonderful daughter came up. That is how Mr. Cormack knew your name. It has to be.”

Abby felt her mouth tighten and her fingers curl into fists. “She called him baby. Before this person killed my mother, she called him baby. It was familiar, like how Daddy would call me his little orange blossom. There was…knowledge of the other person in the tone of her voice.”

Lorene pressed her fingers to her lips, and their fragile paleness trembled. “Oh, my dear. You’re certain?”

“Unless my mind has been conjuring up fantasies these last two weeks every time I close my eyes,” Abby said a little impatiently, “then yes, I’m certain.”

“What do the police say?”

“I haven’t gone to them. I don’t know what any of it means. What can they do, anyway?” Abby wished Lorene would give her a helpful possibility she hadn’t considered herself. “Are the police going to question members of the church and Daddy’s work again? The cops interviewed so many people eighteen years ago, and they apparently didn’t see any other avenue worth pursuing than Rusty Cormack. Let’s say they talk to all those people again. What is one of them likely to remember all these years later that they didn’t think to say eighteen years ago?”

“I don’t know, but this is new information, dear. You have to tell them.” With a glance toward the stove, Lorene rose and moved to it, chatting as she checked on her saucepan. “One of those people questioned must have been lying, if it truly was someone Elaine knew. Oh my.” Her hands still shook as she poured hot chocolate into two mugs. “I cannot imagine someone in our church would do such a horrific thing. I cannot believe it.”

“Would it have to be someone from the church?” Abby wondered. This was at the heart of her decision to face Lorene Jones again. “All my memories are of activities connected to the church in some way, but maybe that’s just because Mom didn’t take me to the other places she frequented. Did she have a life away from her home and church?” The thought choked her, but Abby didn’t let the sickness drown out her voice. “Something away from my dad?”

Lorene paused at the sink, empty saucepan in her hand. She leaned her hip against the counter, and her mouth pulled downward in thought. “Not much that I can recall. She liked your nearest neighbors quite a lot, the ones who owned the orange orchard. I think the wife’s name was Martha, but her family does not go to our church, so I didn’t know her well.”

A smile took Abby over, and the tension left her limbs. “I remember Martha and her family,” she murmured. “I was actually at their house the morning of the murders. They were a raucous bunch and always going in ten directions at once, but fun to be around.” Abby made a mental note to visit with Martha Bruno soon. “Do you remember anyone or anything else?”

“Elaine belonged to a book club,” Lorene shared as she slid a mug in front of Abby. “Some of the material was controversial and risqué. It was not for me, so I only attended with her once, but she went for a few years I believe. The club wasn’t affiliated with the church, but I think some of its other members were from our congregation.”

“Is it still a club today?”

“I don’t know.” With her hands curled around her cup, Lorene blew steam from the liquid’s surface. “I’d be happy to ask around for you, if you’d like.”

“That would be helpful. Thank you.”

“The only other outside activity that comes to my mind is some extra charity work Elaine did at a local secondhand clothing store. It’s called Good as New.”

“Oh.” Abby perked up, and a silly giddiness shot through her. “I know that place. My mom worked there?”

Lorene nodded. “Your entire life before she passed. Before you were in school, she would drop you off at my house, and I’d take care of you while she put in her hours.”

“Right.” Abby often donated clothing to Good as New. It would be so bizarre to walk in there next time and know her mother used to occupy the same space.

I’ll add it to the growing list of new things I’m uncovering about Elaine Gaines through my dreams.

The bond, the whisper of connection to her mother, dissipated with the return of one word from her mom that had haunted Abby since having the dream.

Abby put her mug down, the chocolate she’d already swallowed suddenly souring in her stomach. “What about the
baby
I heard my mom say that afternoon? Could it have been someone she grew close to through the church or one of these other outlets?” Here was the big one. The one no kid should ever know about a parent. Yet Abby didn’t have a choice if she wanted to get to the truth. “Do you know if my mother was having an affair?”

“Of course not.” Lorene averted her eyes from Abby—just enough to raise the hairs on Abby’s arms. “I don’t know.”

Abby’s jaw clicked as she clamped her teeth together hard enough to jar. “What aren’t you saying?”

“It’s not right to tell a daughter these things about her mother.” Lorene’s voice was hushed, and she appeared near to tears.

“We’re talking about something that might lead to her killer,” Abby said with a hissing tone, losing patience. “I think that’s more important than preserving the mother-daughter bond.”

Lorene looked like someone had shot her and had left her to bleed out onto her kitchen floor. She covered her mouth and spoke through the gaps in her fingers. “Your mother once told me she suspected your father was having an affair.” Regret filled the pale blue gaze peeking out from above Lorene’s hand. “But I think Elaine was the one having the affair and was trying to talk to me about it without confessing to her sin.”

Oh God.

Abby covered her mouth too. It didn’t matter that she’d been thinking this very thing since hearing that word
baby
in her nightmare. The blow still punched her right in the gut and made her feel like she was going to throw up.