Buried Sins (8 page)

“What exactly?” He sounded remarkably patient, and he pulled a small notebook and pen from his pocket, setting it on the place mat in front of him.

She took a breath, trying to remember anything Tony had mentioned. Trying not to look at those strong, capable hands that seemed to hold her future.

“He was named for his father, I know he said that. Anthony Patrick Gibson. He mentioned a married sister once. I helped him pick out a piece of jewelry for her birthday.”

Zach scribbled some unreadable notes in a minuscule hand. “Any idea where in Philadelphia? City or suburbs?”

She shook her head slowly. Incredible, that she knew so little about the man she’d married. “I suppose it would all have been in his PDA, but that was in the car with him. I had the impression they lived in the suburbs, maybe on the Main Line.”

Nothing definite, she realized now. Tony had managed to convey, just by how he looked and acted, that he’d come from money. Society, the kind of people who learned which fork to use before they learned their ABCs.

Zach raised his eyebrows. “Money?”

“I guess that’s what I thought.” That was what Tony had thought about her, wasn’t it? That Unger House, the grandfather who’d been a judge, the great-grandfather who’d served in the state senate, had automatically conveyed an aura of wealth and privilege.

“Look, we just didn’t talk about our families all that much. I suppose, if I’d thought about it, that it was odd I didn’t know more, but we were going to see them when we came east. I’d have found out all about them then.” She blinked, realization dawning. “But there was an address—there must have been, because the police said they’d notified his family. I don’t know how I could have forgotten that.”

She’d been numb—that was the only explanation. She’d gotten through those days in a fog of misery, not thinking much beyond the next step she had to take.

“Well, that gives us a place to start, anyway. I’ll make some calls and see what I can come up with.”

She looked at him, wondering what was really going on behind that spare, taciturn expression. “I…I don’t know. Maybe I should just let it drop. I mean, without anything else to go on, how much can I expect to learn?”

He put his hand over hers where it lay on the table, startling her. “Let me tell you what just happened. You’ve been stewing about that letter since the mail came this morning, working yourself up until you had to tell someone about it. And then you told me, and saying it out loud relieved some of the pressure. So now you’re thinking that it’s not so bad after all.”

“Are you setting up as a psychiatrist on the side?” She couldn’t help the edge to her voice, because he’d nailed it. That was exactly how she’d felt—that pressure to tell someone, that feeling that she couldn’t carry it another minute by herself. And then the release, as if by saying the words, she’d convinced herself it wasn’t so bad.

“Normal human nature,” he said. His fingers tightened around hers. “Don’t kid yourself, Caroline. There’s something going on here. Something—” he paused, as if wanting to be sure he had the right word “—something malicious about all this. I think we need to find out what’s behind it. We, not you.”

His gaze was steady on hers. Questioning: Will you let me help you? Will you trust me that much?

She bit her lip. She didn’t trust, not easily, and certainly not a cop. But she was running out of options, and Zach Burkhalter was the best choice she had.

Something winced inside her, but she managed to nod. “All right. Will you help me find out what’s going on?”

His grip eased fractionally. “Okay. Assuming I can get any answers by then, let’s go to Philadelphia tomorrow.”

For better or worse, they were committed.

Caroline’s hand clenched on the car’s armrest, but her nerves had nothing to do with the traffic Zach encountered as he took the off-ramp from the interstate toward the Philadelphia suburb where he’d determined the bank was located.

He shot a sideways glance at her. “Don’t you trust my driving?”

“It’s not that.” She released the armrest and slid her palms down the creases of her lightweight wool slacks. Well, not hers, exactly. The art of dressing to impress a banker was Andrea’s style, so she’d borrowed the tan pantsuit from her sister. Even brightened with her favorite turquoise necklace, it didn’t look like her.

“There shouldn’t be any difficulty accessing the safe-deposit box.” Zach glanced in the rearview mirror before swinging around a double-parked car. “You brought all the paperwork, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Not only had Zach found the bank, he’d determined what she’d need in order to prove her right to claim the contents of the box. “I’m not worried about that. I was just thinking about how fast you were able to get the information. And how much more of my life must be spread out there for anyone to see who has the skill and the authority.”

He glanced at her, his gaze shielded behind the amber sunglasses he wore. “You don’t care much for authority, do you?”

That tightened her nerves, but she managed a cool smile and what she hoped was an equally cool tone. “My sisters would tell you that I’ve always been the rebel.”

Whether he wanted to or not, Zach exuded authority. Even today, wearing khakis and a dress shirt instead of his uniform, there was no mistaking that. It was present in the calm gray eyes, the strong planes of his face, the whipcord strength of his long muscles. He was a man who would always take control, whatever the situation.

“You were the one to test all the rules, I guess.” He frowned at the GPS system on the dashboard, as if assessing its accuracy.

With their mother the rules had been whatever capricious notion had taken her fancy at the moment, but Caroline had no desire to get into that. “Pretty much. Andrea was the perfect one, of course, and Rachel was the peacemaker. The role of rebel was open, so I took it.”

His hand flexed on the gearshift. “I was the oldest in my family. Does that make me perfect?”

“It probably makes you think you are.”

“Touché.” His glance flickered to her. “Does that rebellion of yours extend to God?”

Her stomach clenched. How had she given so much away to this man that he could even guess that?

“Let’s just say I never want to get too close.” She hoped he’d let it go at that, but suspected he wouldn’t.

“I’ve felt that way at times, I guess when things were going fine and I thought I could handle everything on my own. Unfortunately in my line of work I get plenty of reminders that I can’t, and I have to come running back, looking for help.”

She stared out the window, not wanting him to see her face. “And do you get it?”

“Always. But not always in the shape I think it should come.”

What about not at all?
But she didn’t want to hear his answer to that, did she?

The GPS beeped, its metallic voice announcing a right turn at the next intersection. Zach jerked a nod toward the unit.

“Be nice if God was like that, always alerting you when you were about to make a wrong turn. I guess sometimes you just have to make the mistake first before you’re ready to admit it.”

“So God stands back and lets you sink.” She snapped the words out before she could censor them.

“Was that what you felt happened when you landed in trouble as a teenager?”

She winced as if he’d hit her. So he knew. Well, was that so surprising?

“I take it my so-called criminal record is out there for anyone to see.”

“Not anyone.” His voice softened, as if he knew he’d hurt her. “The records should have been sealed, given your age, but mistakes happen.”

“Don’t they, though.” And always, it seemed, in someone else’s favor. “Well, now that you know, I’m surprised you’re helping me. Or maybe you’re not. Maybe you’re just trying to prove I’ve done something wrong.”

He wouldn’t find anything else, no matter how much he searched her past. She’d been scrupulous since the day the gates of Lakecrest closed behind her. No matter how hard he looked, he wouldn’t find so much as a parking ticket—nothing to involve her with the police, ever.

Until now. Maybe Zach wasn’t dressed like a cop today, but that was who he was, bone deep.

“Look, I didn’t want to try and hide the fact that I’d checked into your past. That doesn’t mean I’ll let it influence my attitude toward you.”

Her chin lifted. “As far as I can tell, your opinion of me was set from the first moment you saw me. This was just confirmation, wasn’t it?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, occupied with turning into a parking lot. The bank parking lot, she realized, and her stomach churned.

Zach pulled into a parking space and switched off the ignition. Then he turned to her. He pulled off the glasses, and his eyes were intent on her face, so intent that it seemed her skin warmed.

“I’m probably not going to convince you of this, but I came into the situation thinking you’re innocent, not thinking you’re guilty. Of anything. The fact that you got into trouble as a teenager doesn’t have any bearing on anything.” He paused, and a muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Except, maybe, that it’s made you prejudiced against anyone who wears a uniform, including me.”

He didn’t give her time to come up with an answer. He just turned and slid out of the car.

“N
ow, Mrs. Gibson, if you’ve brought all the proper documentation, I’ll just need to have a look at it.”

Caroline swallowed hard as she pulled papers from her shoulder bag and handed them to the bank officer. She couldn’t stop being aware of Zach, sitting in the chair next to her. Anyone looking at the scene might think them a married couple, applying for a home loan or something else equally routine.

But there was nothing ordinary about this situation. She glanced at the man behind the desk—Dawson, that was it. His name had gone into her brain and fallen back out again as quickly, a tribute to the nerves that seemed to be doing a tango at the moment.

Thin and balding, with a fussy, precise manner, he peered so intently at each document that it seemed the bank itself, with its arched ceilings and echoing tile floors, might tumble down around them if he didn’t get this right.

“Mrs. Gibson—”

Her fingers clenched. “Ms. Hampton, please. I kept my birth name.”

“Yes, of course.” He frowned as if that were, in itself, a suspicious action. “If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, I’ll just need to make copies of these.”

She nodded, leaning back in the chair with an assumption of ease. Mrs. Gibson. No one had ever called her that, other than a desk clerk at the hotel where they’d checked in for their three-day honeymoon. She’d never had a chance to get used to the name. Maybe that was just as well.

Zach seemed perfectly ready to wait as long as it took. He had a gift of stillness, and for an instant her fingers itched for a pad and pencil to capture that.

But if she did, what would it say about the man? The ease of his long body in the chair, the carefully neutral expression on his face—everything about Zach seemed designed to camouflage his emotions, assuming he had any.

Well, of course he did. She was being ridiculous. She’d seen him with his daughter, and there was certainly no lack of feeling there. The fact that he wore that shuttered look with her just confirmed that he saw her as part of his job, nothing else.

He knew about her past. She still had difficulty swallowing that. To do him justice, he hadn’t let that prejudice him against her, but she suspected it had to weigh in the balance he kept in his mind, with each new fact he learned about her being dropped on the scale.

He didn’t know everything. Her stomach twisted. He couldn’t. The ugliest thing about that time would never appear in any official report, even though it had left an indelible stain on her life.

She straightened her back, clasping her hands loosely in her lap and trying to behave as she imagined Andrea would in such a situation—cool, confident, perfectly at ease.

“He’s been gone a long time.” The words came out before she could tell herself that saying them made her sound anything but cool and confident. “Maybe he found something wrong.”

The faintest of frowns made a crease between Zach’s level eyebrows. “What could he find wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” She’d say she was just nervous, but that was probably pretty obvious to him. “I…I don’t like this.”

“Why?” He leaned forward, his gaze probing.

“I just feel that way. Does there have to be a reason?”

He considered that calmly. “There usually is.”

She clamped her mouth shut to keep from snapping at him. She counted to ten. “All right.” Maybe she should have made it twenty. “I guess it bothers me to feel that I’m being manipulated. That I’m doing exactly what someone wants me to.”

To her surprise, he nodded. “I understand. And you’re probably right, but what other choice did you have?”

“None.” Unfortunately, he was right, too. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I’d say the best thing would be to move cautiously. No matter what is in that box, you don’t have to act on it today.”

“Right.” She took a deep breath and tried a smile. “You’re right. Whatever it is, I don’t have to rush into dealing with it.”

Dawson came toward them, sliding papers into a file. “Here are your originals back, Mrs.—Ms. Hampton.” He handed them to her. “Naturally, I’d like to express our sympathy in your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“As you probably know, Pennsylvania law requires that a safe-deposit box be sealed upon the death of the owner until it can be inventoried by a representative of the Department of Revenue.”

“No, I didn’t know that.” If she had, she wouldn’t be here. What was the point of this exercise, if she couldn’t access the box?

“However, since you and your husband rented the box jointly, that’s not an issue. If you’ll just come along, I’ll get the box out for you.”

Jointly. She felt as if she’d stepped onstage in a play where she didn’t know the lines. She hadn’t rented the box—at least not knowingly. But the bank officer clearly thought she had.

And Zach—what did he think? Did he assume she’d been lying all along about this?

Moving automatically, she followed the man, aware of Zach, close on her heels. Down one long hall, footsteps echoing on the tile, and then a flight of stairs. Dawson led them into a small room lined with storage compartments, its only furniture a table in the center of the room. Obviously the bank didn’t encourage its patrons to hang around here.

Murmuring the number under his breath, Dawson retrieved the box, placing it on the table. Once it was unlocked, he stepped back with a suggestion of duty fulfilled.

“There you are. I’ll wait until you’re finished.”

She was barely aware of the man moving to the doorway, turning his back as if to give them some semblance of privacy. All her attention was focused on the box. On the feeling it aroused.

Dread. There was no other word for it. Whatever Tony had put in that safe-deposit box, she didn’t want to know. And however he’d gotten her name on the box, she didn’t want to know that, either.

“Would you like me to wait outside?” Zach said.

She shook her head slowly. “No. Stay. Whatever it is, I think I’d like a witness.” Besides, if she didn’t let him stay, that would simply make him more suspicious.

“If that’s what you want.”

He was probably pleased. He saw this as one more step toward solving a puzzle, nothing more.

She couldn’t be that detached. Tony’s secrets hadn’t died with him, and she was about to see one of them. Somehow she didn’t think it could be anything good.

She reached out, her hands a little unsteady, and lifted the lid from the box. It clattered when she dropped it back onto the table. She heard a swift intake of breath from Zach.

She didn’t seem to be breathing at all. She took an involuntary step back, not wanting to admit what she was seeing.

Money. The safe-deposit box was stuffed to the brim with cash.

Zach leaned against the back of the park bench, trying to look anything but as tense as he felt. Caroline was upset enough already. The last thing she needed was for him to add to that.

She sat on the other end of the concrete-and-redwood bench, staring out over the wide, placid river, as if intent on the rowing sculls that zipped along its surface like water bugs. But her hands clasped each other so tightly that the knuckles were white, and even the warmth of the spring sunshine didn’t keep the occasional shiver from going through her.

“Have a little more of your coffee,” he urged.

She lifted the foam cup to her lips and drank without looking at it. When they’d finally gotten out of the bank he’d wanted to find a restaurant where they could sit and talk, but she’d just kept shaking her head.

Well, he could understand why she didn’t want to feel hemmed in. He’d finally gone through a fast-food drive-through and ordered her a large coffee with sugar. Something hot and sweet seemed the right remedy for shock.

Was the shock genuine? The analytical part of his cop’s brain weighed her reactions. She’d certainly acted surprised when Dawson had pulled out the rental lease with her name on it. To suppose that she’d already known about the box was to imagine she’d been taking him for a ride all along, and he didn’t think he was that gullible.

And she couldn’t have mimicked that shock when she’d flipped the box lid back and seen the money. Whatever she’d expected to find in that safe-deposit box, it wasn’t that.

“You feel like talking about it now?” He edged a little closer, even though there was no one within earshot.

The ground sloped gently from where they sat down to the river, and the few people who were in the park at this hour were on the paved path that led along the water—a couple of joggers, a couple of women pushing strollers.

Caroline lifted her hand, palm up. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t understand any of it.”

“You didn’t have any idea Tony had rented that safe-deposit box in your names?”

She shook her head, the movement setting her dangling silver earrings dancing. “No. I didn’t even know he’d been in Philadelphia. Why wouldn’t he tell me that? I wouldn’t have found it suspicious if he’d said he had to go there on business.”

Some people lied even when it would be easier to tell the truth, but it seemed pointless to say so. “The rental form had what looked like your signature on it.”

She rubbed her forehead. “I guess it’s faintly possible that he slipped the form in with some other papers to sign, and I didn’t notice what it was.”

She didn’t sound convinced. Well, he wasn’t, either. Caroline might be something of a free spirit, maybe a tad irresponsible, but he doubted she’d sign something without even looking at it.

“And the money? You didn’t know he had that much salted away?”

Nearly two hundred thousand dollars. Caroline had refused to so much as touch the contents of the box, but finally she’d agreed to let him count it.

Afterward, he’d put the cash back into the box, and Caroline had returned it to the bank’s care. What else was there to do? If it hadn’t been for Caroline’s name on that lease, the bank officer would have sealed the box himself, not letting them do anything but look for a will until someone was present from the Department of Revenue.

Caroline transferred her gaze from the sculls to him. “It’s not my money.”

She’d been saying that, in one variation or another, since they’d left the bank.

“If it belonged to your husband, then it belongs to you, unless he made a will leaving it elsewhere.”

“As far as I know, Tony didn’t make a will. But then, there’s a lot that I don’t know, obviously.” Her voice held an edge.

“Barring a will, it would go to you as next of kin.”

“I don’t want it.” The suppressed emotion in her voice startled him. “Even if it did belong to Tony, I can’t imagine that he came by it honestly.”

“You said he took money out of your account. You could probably legitimately claim that, even if—”

He stopped, because she was shaking her head. “I don’t want it, I tell you. I just want to forget I ever saw it.”

Her voice had the ring of truth. She had to be hard up for money, if Gibson really had cleaned her out, but she seemed adamant about that.

“I can understand, I guess,” he said slowly, “but I don’t think you’re going to be able to do that. Seems to me you ought to notify the Santa Fe police.”

Fear flared in those green eyes. “No! I mean, I don’t want to have anything to do with it.”

Anything to do with the police—that was what she meant. He hated to push her. What he wanted to do was put his arm around her shoulder, pull her close and tell her everything was going to be all right.

But he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be professional, for one thing. And he couldn’t promise things were going to be fine. His instincts told him a law had been violated somewhere in all of this, even if he couldn’t put his finger on it yet.

“Where do you think the money came from?” Maybe if he could get her thinking, the fear would leave her eyes and they could talk about notifying the police in a rational manner.

“I don’t know.” She rubbed the sleeves of her suit jacket. “Based on when he rented the safe-deposit box, it was several months ago. I just can’t imagine, but obviously I didn’t have a clue about his finances.”

“What about gambling winnings?”

She winced a little, but she kept her back ramrod straight, reminding him of her grandmother. “I guess that’s one possibility.”

She clearly didn’t want to admit that, but it seemed the obvious answer to a lot of the problems she’d been having. A compulsive gambler, losing money he couldn’t repay, might resort to stealing from his wife or even driving his car off the side of a mountain.

The trouble with that scenario was that it didn’t fit the facts. Tony, with a safe-deposit box stuffed with cash, didn’t look like any loser he’d ever seen.

He studied Caroline’s face. Those normally clear green eyes were clouded, the shadows under them looking like bruises on the fair skin. There were lines of strain around her generous mouth, and he had the sense that she was hanging on to her composure by a thread.

Sooner or later, information about the money would have to be passed on to the Santa Fe police. Since Tony’s death wasn’t being investigated, he didn’t feel an urgency to do it today.

He could give Caroline another day, maybe. But if she hadn’t decided by then to talk to the New Mexico cops, he’d have to do it.

“Do you want to head home now?” He planted his hand on the top slat of the bench, ready to get up.

She looked up, startled. “We’re going to try and find Tony’s family, aren’t we? You said that you had a possible address.”

“I do. But I thought maybe you’d had enough for one day.”

She managed a smile. “Think how offended my grandmother would be at the idea that an Unger wouldn’t do her duty, no matter what.”

“You don’t have to prove anything, Caroline.” But maybe, in her mind, she did.

She rose, slinging the strap of her leather bag on her shoulder. “I’d rather get it over with. If Tony has family here in Philadelphia, I think it’s time I met them.”

“Are you sure this is the right address?” Caroline stared through the windshield. The row house, its brick faded and stained, sat behind its wire mesh fence with an air of cringing away from the street. Small wonder. This wasn’t the worst neighborhood in Philadelphia, but it had an air of having come down in the world considerably in recent years.