Buried Sins (13 page)

“Thank you, Ms. Caro.” Velvet brown eyes sparkled, and a pair of dimples flashed in her cheeks. “I love your necklaces.”

“You’re welcome, Ruthie. I’m glad you came.” She would not let her confused feelings for Zach affect the way she treated the child. “I hope I’ll see you again.”

Zach wouldn’t like that, she supposed. Well, too bad.

He gave her a slight smile, raised one hand in a sketchy salute and walked off with his daughter.

A
ll Ruthie could talk about for the next several hours was her new friend, Ms. Caro. Zach eventually turned her over to his mother at home, still chattering, and headed back to the festival.

They’d be closing down now, and he’d take a quick look around the grounds to be sure everything was all right. And if he saw Caroline, well, that was inevitable, wasn’t it?

The bond that had started to form between his daughter and her Ms. Caro would be a nice thing to see, if only Caro were not involved in who-knew-what.

She could be perfectly innocent of any wrongdoing. But even so, he didn’t want his daughter around someone who seemed such a magnet for trouble.

Caroline knew that. He’d seen it in her eyes when she looked at him.

He didn’t like the thought that his attitude hurt her. She’d been hurt and betrayed enough. But that was all the more reason to be cautious of any relationship with her. Duty came first for him, and that duty could very well cause him to do something that would hurt her still more.

All very good reasons for staying away from her. So why was he headed straight for the spot where her booth had been?

His sister was already gone. One of his brothers must have stopped by to help her pack up.

Caroline seemed to be down to several boxes that looked ready to take out. He stopped behind her as she picked up one.

“Can I give you a hand with those?”

The box she balanced wobbled in her arms at the sound of his voice, and he grabbed it. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“That’s fine.” She tightened her grip on the box. “I didn’t hear you coming. Thanks, but I can manage these.”

“No point in making two trips when one will do,” he said. He picked up the rest of the boxes. “Lead the way.”

Her brow furrowed, as if she were about to argue, but then she shrugged. “My car’s out back.”

They made their way to the back door, sidestepping folks tearing down their booths. “The festival had a good turnout.” He addressed her straight back, since that was all that was visible to him. “The craft shows have become quite a draw for tourists. How did you make out with the things you brought on consignment for the Zooks?”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “How did you know about that?”

He shoved the door open, holding it with his shoulder until she maneuvered her box through. “I hear just about everything, it seems.”

“I guess that’s a valuable trait for a police officer. Everything sold pretty well—the dolls in particular. I think Emma and Nancy will be pleased.” She crossed the gravel lot to her car and opened the hatchback. “Everything should fit in here. If I keep on with the craft shows, at some point I’ll need to borrow a bigger vehicle.”

He wedged the last box in on top of the things she’d already loaded and closed the hatchback. “There you go. What happened to your sister? She didn’t hang around to help you tear down.”

“She had a Saturday-night date with her husband, so I chased her off home. I can manage the unloading myself.”

“No need. I’ll follow you home and help you unload.”

Her mouth tightened infinitesimally. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” He turned toward the side lot where he’d left his car. “I’ll be right along.” He walked off before she could launch into an argument.

The few minutes it took to drive from the fire hall to Caro’s barn were enough time to wonder what he was doing. Not, unfortunately, enough to come up with an answer.

Caroline was already unloading by the time he pulled in behind her car. He thought she was going to reiterate her insistence that she could handle this herself, but instead she gave him a thoughtful look.

“Maybe it’s just as well I have a chance to talk to you. I had a visitor today. Tony’s wife.”

Her expression didn’t tell him how she’d taken that. “I suppose that was inevitable. How did it go?”

She shrugged as she headed for the door. He picked up a stack of boxes and followed her.

“Not very happily, as you might imagine. She…well, I guess she needed to vent her anger at somebody.”

“What happened wasn’t your fault.” He held the door while she carried her load inside and then followed her. “If she’s going to be angry, Tony ought to be her target.”

“Unfortunately, he’s not around to hear what we think of him.” She crossed to the worktable and set her stack of boxes down, so he did the same.

“What did you tell her?”

“She didn’t really want to hear anything from me. I did tell her about the money, though.” She swiveled to face him. “Of course, I don’t know if it’s still there. Did the police take it?”

“Not that I know of.” At her skeptical look, he held out his hands. “I’m not in the confidence of the Santa Fe police. I told them about it, as you asked me to. They haven’t kept me posted on their plans.”

He could guess, but they hadn’t told him. If it were his case, he’d probably leave the money where it was to see if anyone showed an interest in it.

“And if they did tell you, you couldn’t pass anything along to me in any event.”

“No, I guess I couldn’t. So where does that leave us?”

“Destined to talk about something else, I suppose. Your daughter is adorable.”

As a change of subject, it was a good one. “I think so, but I might be prejudiced.”

“The proud father.” Her smile seemed to relax. “I can understand that.”

“You had a nice activity for the kids today. Not many of the vendors bothered to do that.”

She moved into the kitchen and began putting coffee on, seeming to assume he’d stay. “Maybe they didn’t think of it. I’ve been at other shows where vendors have had kids’ activities. Or had displays of work in progress. That always seems to draw an audience.”

“You enjoyed participating in the show.” He didn’t really need to ask. She’d been completely wrapped up in what she was doing.

“I did, yes.” She leaned against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew. “I’d gotten away from the craft-show circuit when I was working at the gallery. Francine always seemed to have so much going on that there wasn’t time for anything else.”

“What kind of things?” He put his elbows on the breakfast bar countertop, curious about what her life had been like in Santa Fe.

“Charity events, for the most part. Francine’s late husband, Garner, was very active in the social scene in Santa Fe, and running charity auctions was something he’d started. She got involved and then carried it on after his death.” The coffeepot clicked, and she lifted a couple of mugs from the shelf. “I was busy so many Saturdays that I got out of the craft-show circuit. Besides—”

“What?” He liked that she was talking to him so easily, as if they were friends.

She shrugged. “Much as I love the Southwestern art, there’s just something about Pennsylvania folk art that speaks to me. It feels so familiar.”

“It’s part of your childhood, even if you got away from it for a while.” He wrapped his hand around the mug she shoved toward him. “Sometimes I think I should be trying harder to keep Ruthie’s Afghan culture alive for her, but I’m not sure how to do it. And her parents were Christian, so they were already isolated from their culture to some extent.”

“I didn’t realize.” She leaned on the counter opposite him, so that they were close but with a barrier between them. “How old was she when you brought her back here?”

“Four. She still has some memories, mostly of her parents. I hope she doesn’t remember the fighting.”

“Were her parents killed?” Her voice was very gentle.

He nodded. It wasn’t easy, even after all this time, to think about that. “They were both doctors, doing good work in an isolated area of Afghanistan, but there was a lot of prejudice against them because of their faith. When our team was sent there, we got to know them pretty well.”

“How did they—” She stopped. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t bring up something so painful.”

His fingers tightened on the mug. “It’s okay. The good Lord knows my memory of that is never very far away. What happened to them was my fault.”

“Zach—” Her voice was troubled.

He shook his head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound melodramatic, but that’s how I see it. I left my post because a car overturned in front of me and I ran to help. The terrorists were waiting for that—they got into the village and attacked the clinic. David and Miriam were both killed. Thank goodness Ruthie survived.”

Her hand closed over his. “I’m so sorry you lost your friends. But anyone would have done the same.”

“Maybe. But if I’d stayed at my post, they’d be alive today.”

“You don’t know that.”

He shook his head.

“Zach—” Her fingers moved comfortingly on his hand. “If something I did made you think about it, I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” He turned his hand, so that he clasped hers. “I guess it was seeing her so absorbed in making that necklace. Her mother loved to make things, too. She’d do these little crafts with Ruthie whenever she had the time. Seeing her like that reminded me of Miriam.”

“They’d be proud of the way you’re raising their daughter.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.” Her mouth curved in a smile. “Anyone can see how she adores you.”

“The feeling is mutual.” He smiled back at her, and somehow those smiles seemed to touch a deep well of understanding. Her green eyes darkened with awareness. But she didn’t look away.

The moment drew into an eternity. And then he leaned across the counter and kissed her.

Her lips were soft under his, and she made a small sound that might have expressed surprise. Then she leaned into the kiss, reaching up to touch his cheek with her fingers.

The counter was a barrier between them. Maybe that was just as well. It forced him, eventually, to pull back.

Caro’s eyes were soft, almost dazed. He touched her hair, and one of those wild curls tangled around his fingers, seeming to cling with a mind of its own.

He couldn’t do this. He drew back, shocked at himself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

She turned away. “No. I mean…we shouldn’t. It’s not a good idea.”

It wasn’t. But that didn’t keep him from wanting to kiss her again.

So probably he’d better go before he got himself into any more trouble.

Caroline folded the quilt carefully, wrapping a sheet around it. She’d come to the house for a family dinner and couldn’t resist showing off the repair work she was doing on the antique quilt. “I’ve actually found references to a quilt Elizabeth was making. I’d like to believe it was this one, although there’s no proof, of course.”

“It’s like a treasure hunt,” Andrea said. She folded napkins, setting the table with the same efficiency she used to prepare a spreadsheet. Rachel’s Tyler had come up from Baltimore for the weekend, and she was busy in the kitchen, having chased the others out to the breakfast room to set the table. “I wonder if there are any other primary sources. Journals, other letters, family histories—that sort of thing.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Caro carried a stack of Grams’s favorite Lenox plates to the table. It was far better to keep herself occupied with the mystery of the quilt rather than let her mind stray to Zach and that kiss.

He’d known immediately that it was a mistake. They both had. Why did she find it upsetting that he’d been so quick to admit that? She knew as well as he did that there couldn’t be anything between them.

“Caro?”

She blinked, jerking her mind back to the present to find Andrea looking at her questioningly.

“Sorry. My mind was wandering. What did you say?”

“I asked if you wanted me to do an Internet search to see if I could locate any other information.”

“That would be great. As it is, it’s like listening to only one side of the conversation. If only I had Elizabeth’s letters to her sister, instead of just her sister’s to her.”

“That would be pure gold if I could find that,” Andrea said. “And about as rare. But let me take a look and see what I find.”

“Are you talking about the quilt?” Grams carried a pitcher of daffodils to the table.

“If it is the same quilt, and that’s a big
if,
Elizabeth’s sister mentions getting the pattern for her from a Reverend Albright. You wouldn’t expect a minister to be passing on quilt patterns.”

“Maybe it was from his wife.” Grams tweaked the blossoms. “I think everything is ready in here. Do we dare interrupt Rachel to see if she’s ready?”

“Not I,” Caro said quickly. Rachel was the mildest of creatures, but she could turn violent if interrupted in the midst of culinary creation.

“Nor I,” Andrea said quickly.

Caro grinned. “Up to you, Grams.”

Grams gave a ladylike snort. “I’ll get her.”

But the kitchen door popped open, and Rachel burst through carrying a laden tray. “Where are the men? The food is ready now.”

“We’re here.” Cal’s voice sounded from the hallway. He never strayed far away from Andrea, she noticed. Tyler loomed behind him, and Rachel’s gaze caught his.

Something clutched Caro’s heart. Surely she wasn’t jealous, was she? Her sisters deserved to find happiness with good men who loved them.

It was just that she felt…bereft, she supposed. Not at the loss of Tony, but at the realization that what she’d imagined they’d meant to each other was an illusion.

There was no one for her, and she was left standing on the outside, watching her sisters’ happiness but unable to share it.

Rachel carried platters to the table, and for a few moments all was confusion as she and Andrea brought the rest of the food, filled water glasses and finally took their places around the long table.

Grams reached out, and they all linked hands around the table. She’d forgotten, in all those years away, that family custom. Rachel held her hand on one side and Andrea on the other. She could almost imagine she felt love flowing through the link as Grams asked the blessing on the meal and on the family.

They loosed hands at the Amen, and platters began to fly around the table—fried chicken, baked corn, fluffy mashed potatoes, the relishes that were characteristic of a Pennsylvania Dutch dinner.