Dead of Night

Page 45

And she thought about her father’s last words to her. He’d accused her of killing her sister, threatened to cut her off without a cent. And then someone had killed him.
First Rachel, and now her father. Could she be next? Sarah wondered.
She wished she could grieve, but all she felt at the moment was fear.
And she didn’t know which was more terrifying. That she could be a target...or that she wasn’t.
* * *
When Sarah finally got home that afternoon, Esme was waiting for her in the kitchen. She’d brought over a chicken casserole, but Sarah couldn’t eat a bite. She picked at the food while Esme talked about funeral arrangements.
“I don’t want to wait,” Sarah said. “I know that sounds cold, but I just want to get it over with as soon as possible.”
Esme stared with mute disapproval.
Sarah glanced up. “What?”
“You can’t put him in the ground so fast, people don’t have time to pay their proper respects. Mr. James was an important man in this county.”
“It’s my decision,” Sarah said. “And I don’t want to prolong it. That only makes things harder.”
Esme shook her head in exasperation. “Talking to you is like talking to a tree stump, child. You get it in your head something’s got to be a certain way, then that’s the way it’ll be. No sense arguing about it.”
“I’m glad you see things my way,” Sarah teased.
Esme folded her arms, letting Sarah know that she wasn’t about to cave on everything. “Who you want to preach the service?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think we should have a church service. You know how Dad felt about that. I think a graveside service would be better. Something simple.”
Esme clearly didn’t agree. She gave Sarah an offended look. “Is anyone going to be allowed to pray at this service?”
Sarah couldn’t help smiling. “Of course.”
“Even with a graveside service, somebody got to say a few words,” Esme insisted. “Else we’ll all be standing around gawking at the casket.”
“What about Tim Mason?”
The suggestion clearly took Esme aback. “What you know about Tim Mason?”
“Nothing, really. But he’s a preacher, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, he’s a preacher all right.”
“Then maybe I’ll ask him. I met him the other day and I kind of liked him.”
“You would,” Esme muttered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s not what I’d call traditional. His notions on moral behavior leave a lot to be desired, you ask me.”
Sarah shrugged. “Okay. Then we’ll ask someone else. We can get anybody you want. I don’t care.”
Esme placed the dishes in the sink with a loud clatter and turned, her eyes blazing. “Well, you should care. This is your daddy’s funeral we’re talking about, not some stranger’s. Mr. James was a hard man in a lot of ways, but he was always good to me.” Esme’s lip quivered and she dabbed at her eyes. “Gave me my little house free and clear, helped me send Curtis to school. It ain’t right. First Rachel, now Mr. James. Lord, God, what is this world coming to when something like this could happen twice to one family?”
Sarah got up and put her arms around Esme. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. We’ll do whatever you want for the service. Let’s just leave it for now. We can figure things out later. Come and sit down,” she said. “Let me get you some coffee.”
“You know I can’t drink coffee. Keeps me up at night.”
“How about a little whiskey?”
“Never touch it and neither should you. Eat your liver and your soul.”
“Don’t worry,” Sarah said. “I rarely drink the hard stuff.” Didn’t mix too well with her pills, but she didn’t tell Esme that.
“Esme, why don’t you like Tim Mason?”
“I never said I didn’t like him.”
Just everything but. “I saw that look on your face when I mentioned his name. What did he do?”
Esme looked annoyed. “Lord, child, I forget how you like to worry a body to death when you get something in your head like that. Why you interested in Tim Mason all of a sudden?”
“I told you, I met him the other day. He was in Dad’s hospital room when I got there on Sunday.”
Esme’s eyes deepened in agitation. “Tim Mason was in Mr. James’s room?”
“Yes. Why?”
She glanced away. “Mr. James never had much use for preachers.”
“I know that, but I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me,” Sarah said. “You seem to have such a strong opinion of him.”
“I already told you my reasons. I don’t cotton to his views on religion. And I don’t have much use for his sermons, neither.”
“Did Mama go to his church?”
“Now why you want to know that?”
“Because he said I looked like her. He even knew I went away to school. I can’t think of any other reason he’d know that, unless Mama talked about me.”
“All that was a long time ago. I’m an old woman. Half the time, I can’t even remember where I left my glasses.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your memory. It’s a lot better than mine,” Sarah said. “Can I ask you something else?”
“I ain’t figured out a way yet to stop you,” Esme grumbled.
“Dad didn’t like Mama going to church, did he? He said something the other day about her spending all her time there, instead of being home where she belonged.”
“Is that the question?”
“I’m leading up to it,” Sarah said. “He implied that Mama had done something he couldn’t forgive. Whatever it was, he said he couldn’t get past it with her mistake staring him in the face every day.”
“I told you the medicine made him talk crazy. You can’t pay no mind to what he said.”
“He seemed perfectly lucid when he told me he couldn’t stand the sight of me.”
Esme’s dark eyes glinted with sudden tears. “He told you that?”
“It’s nothing I didn’t already know. What I don’t know is why. Why did he feel that way about me? I have my own suspicions about it, but I want to hear it from you.”
Esme stared at her for the longest time. “You ask too much of me, Sarah June. Just let it go, child. I always say, no good can come from digging up the past. You need to let them ghosts be, so you can finally start living your life.”
* * *
After Esme went home, Sarah poured herself a glass of wine and carried it with her as she drifted through the silent house. The ghosts Esme had warned her about were everywhere tonight.
Her father, her mother, her sister...all gone from this world. Sarah was the only one left. The black sheep of the family. She supposed there might be some irony in that, but at the moment, she wasn’t in the mood to appreciate the odd paradoxes of her life.
She was exhausted and frightened, and contemplating what the next few days held felt a little like hovering on a tightwire strung across a fire pit. The funeral, an official investigation, yet more questions by the police.
She thought about calling Sean to let him know what had happened. If anyone could walk her through what she could expect from the police, it would be him. He’d called and left several messages on her voice mail, but she hadn’t called him back. She hadn’t even listened to what he had to say. And now it seemed unfair to drag him into this mess, when she’d told him countless times to stay out of her life.
Restless and edgy, she wandered over to the window to stare out at the street. Twilight had fallen. The pecan trees in the front lawn were black against a deep purple sky, and it had started to mist. Sarah could see the drizzle coming down in the glow of the streetlight in front of the house. The weather was gloomy and cold; the gathering darkness was already wearing on her nerves.
She stood there sipping her wine, her mind so cluttered that a movement in the shadows across the street didn’t register at first. It was just a stray dog or the wind. She barely even noticed.
And then she saw him.
Derrick Fears had been standing among the trees where she couldn’t see him. Now he stepped into the glow of the streetlight as if to make sure she noticed him.
He wore a hood pulled up over his head, and his shoulders were hunched against the cold. Sarah could see very little of his face, but she knew he was staring at the house.
A light was on in the room behind her. He would be able to see her at the window.
Quickly, she stepped back, shielding herself with the drapes. She imagined him out there, laughing. Taunting her the same way he had at the farmhouse.
When she looked back, he was gone.
Chapter 25
Heavy clouds covered the sky and lightning shimmered on the horizon as Sean pulled to the curb in front of Sarah’s house and got out. He cast a wary eye around the neighborhood.
He and Danny had spent hours on a door-to-door canvass, but all they’d managed to turn up was an elderly witness who thought she might have glimpsed a strange car parked down the street from Sarah’s house a few nights ago. But she couldn’t say with any certainty that it had been there on Saturday night, when Cat and Ginette were also in the neighborhood. The only reason she’d noticed it in the first place was because the body style reminded her of the car her late husband had owned, but she couldn’t swear to the color. It might have been dark green. Or brown. Or black.
The only concrete clue Sean had been able to uncover so far was the bloodstained sliver of glass in Sarah’s bedroom. And that was hardly evidence, unless the blood type matched either of the missing women. A big, big leap, he admitted. Otherwise, it meant nothing. The tiny piece of glass he’d found in Sarah’s bedroom could have been from something she broke months ago, or even years. Hell, it could be from something he’d dropped.
There was absolutely no proof of any kind that a crime had been committed in Sarah’s house. No reason to believe she was connected in any way to Cat’s disappearance.
But the fact that the two women had now been missing three days had Sean seriously worried, as did the possibility of a strange car in the neighborhood. A strange car that may or may not have been dark green. That may or may not have been the same car spotted near Holly Jessup’s Shreveport home before she went missing. Before her body had later been discovered in New Orleans, just blocks from where Sean stood now.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept. Besides canvassing Sarah’s neighborhood, he’d spent countless hours on the phone and in his car trying to retrace Cat’s steps from the time she and Ginette had left the house. But no one had seen or heard from either of the women since Saturday night. It was as if they’d disappeared off the face of the earth.
But Sean knew from experience that nothing vanished without a trace. Something always got left behind. A spot of blood on a car door. A shard of glass on a bedroom floor.
As much as he didn’t want to believe it, he couldn’t shake the notion that something had happened in Sarah’s house. He’d known her for over two years. She’d gotten under his skin in a way no woman ever had before or since. She was dark and secretive, and yeah, there were things about her past, about her sister’s murder that troubled him. A part of him that still wondered what had really happened in that farmhouse.
But this was different. This was not fourteen years ago, when she was a kid. This was here and now.
The mere fact that he felt compelled to search her home in the first place was crossing a line that should forever change the way Sean looked at her. But he wasn’t so sure that it would. He wasn’t so sure that anything he found would ever change the way he felt about Sarah.
He reached back into the car for his bag, then closed and locked his car. The night was warm and he had on a lightweight jacket that covered his holster.
At least he didn’t have to worry about being discovered, he thought as he headed up the street. He’d left several messages on Sarah’s voicemail, and when she hadn’t returned his calls, he’d tried her father’s house in Adamant. A woman, the housekeeper he presumed, had told him that Sarah was out and wasn’t expected back until late. So she was there and she was safe. And for now, he had her house to himself. Plenty of time to do what he needed to do.
A dog barked as he left the sidewalk and strode up the porch steps. Glancing over his shoulder, he inserted the key into the lock and stepped quickly inside.
Pausing just inside the door, he aimed his flashlight beam around the room. The house was silent and still, and as he made his way down the hallway, he felt that same tug of uneasiness he’d experience the day before.