Lemon Tart (14 page)

Sincerely,

Marla Boyd

Director of Human Resources, Garrison office

Riggs and Barker Realty

It wasn’t until the company identification at the bottom of the
e-mail that Sadie caught her breath.

Riggs and Barker Realty.

It was the national real estate brokerage Ron had worked at for
almost twenty years. He’d recently been promoted to senior sales manager of
Northern Colorado.

And Anne had worked in the Boston office?

The main office?

The office that hosted the quarterly training conferences?

Sadie swallowed, but the lump in her throat didn’t go away. It
was all laid out for her like a road map. Ron had met Anne in Boston. He’d
fathered her child, left her in Boston, then brought her here two years later,
and now he was getting her a job.

Sadie wanted to throw up. A million questions swirled in her
head, but the big question was what purpose did Sadie serve? Ron had a young,
beautiful mother of his child. Why date Sadie—a
fifty-six-year-old widow who, though remarkably
well-kept for her age, if she did say so herself, wasn’t exactly in
her prime?

Why move Anne just down the street? That part didn’t make sense
and she wasn’t sure she wanted it to. She thought back to what Anne had told
her about Trevor’s father, that he had another family. Was Sadie the other
family? Did somehow, for some depraved reason, he want both of them? She was
going to be sick.

She started the car and was shifting it into gear when a young
mother and her children walked in front of her car. There was a little girl who
looked to be four or five, and a little boy close to Trevor’s age.

Trevor.

He was out there somewhere, alone and scared, missing his
mother who he may or may not know was dead. Sadie refused to consider that he
could also have been killed. The police had enough to do with investigating
Anne’s murder; could they truly give Trevor the attention he needed? The
attention she could give him?

New resolve rushed through her and she mentally put Anne and
Ron and whatever may have existed between them on the back burner. She couldn’t
give up. She’d come this far, learned so much, and she would tell Detective
Cunningham everything as soon as she could. But facts were facts—Trevor
was Ron’s son, Anne was his mistress, and he’d been at Anne’s house last night.
That meant that Trevor must be with Ron. The whys and the how-comes
were irrelevant in contrast to the need to find Trevor. She drove past the turn
that would take her home.

She’d made her decision—it was time to talk to
Ron.

Chapter 13

It was 2:16 when Sadie pulled into the parking lot of
Ron’s condominium complex and she reminded herself she had to be home in time
for when the Bailey kids would get off the bus. With the constraint on her time
she knew she should really save this for later—but she
couldn’t. Trevor might be in Ron’s condo right now! She couldn’t put that
off.

Ron’s car was gone from his parking space, something that both
disappointed and relieved her. If he wasn’t here, then Trevor wasn’t either.
But the scared and shaking part of her was relieved that she wouldn’t have to
confront him. She had no idea what she would say when that moment arrived.
However, she had no intention of not making the most of her trip out here.

She parked far away from his condo. It seemed prudent to use
stealth in case he came home. The condominiums were of a San Francisco design,
tall and narrow with shuttered windows and bright facades. They were built in
sets of eight, stacked and scrunched together as if space was as big a concern
in Garrison as it was in the Bay area of California. There were ten blocks of
condos arranged to offer a narrow strip of grass in front and a small
fenced-in yard with covered parking in back. Ron’s block was almost
in the middle of the complex.

She approached the outer gate and jiggled the latch that led
from the parking area to the small backyard. The gate was unlocked and she
opened it slowly, stepped in, and carefully shut it while scanning the area to
see if any neighbors were watching—not that she’d have done
anything other than wave if any of them were. But she was in luck, the coast
was clear. She approached the back door and found that unlike the gate, it was
locked up tight. She reached into her pocket and removed her smiley-face
key ring, glad that she’d slipped Detective Madsen Carrie’s key instead of
Ron’s—though she hoped the detective still believed it was
Anne’s. The key to Ron’s house was right next to Anne’s on the ring. How
appropriate. The key turned smoothly in the lock and she opened the door,
hating how her heart hammered in her chest and wishing she were the type of
person who enjoyed the adrenaline rush of rebellious behavior.

Even as a little girl Sadie would get sick with anxiety when
she played hide-and-seek. One time she had actually started
crying when the child who was “it” kept walking around and around the shed
where she was hiding. The fear was too much for her—and she’d
been ten. She’d rarely bothered to play the game after that. This felt the
same. What if Ron came home? What if he found her? And what was she hoping to
find anyway?

Toys, she
told herself, diapers, cookies,
dirty toddler clothes—that’s what I’m looking for. I’m doing
this for Trevor. She looked around, slowly at first, her ears pricked to
every sound. A car drove by outside and she froze, then tiptoed to the back
door—relieved that Ron’s parking spot was still empty. She let
out a breath and locked the door for good measure.

The first thing that caught her attention in the kitchen was a
box of graham crackers on the counter. Trevor loved graham crackers. But so did
Ron. It wasn’t conclusive evidence by any stretch, but it was a start. She
searched each room on the main floor one by one—kitchen, living
room, master bedroom, bathroom, and laundry area—looking in
corners and closets, under beds and in drawers, anywhere he might have hidden
evidence.

The condo was very clean, more so than most single men’s homes
she was sure. Ron always said his mother didn’t tolerate much of a mess, and it
had stuck. She began thinking about how things would change when they got
married—she’d have to do better at picking up around the house
so he didn’t end up cleaning up after her—then she stopped
herself. Everything was different now and she knew there would be no wedding.
The thought brought tears to her eyes and she tried not to think about it.

She’d finished the first floor and found nothing except the
knowledge that Ron wore briefs. She’d have guessed him to be a boxer man. She
made her way upstairs, proud of herself for feeling more relaxed. This isn’t like
hide-and-seek at all, she told herself. No one knew she
was here and she’d leave nothing behind to indicate she ever had been. It was
an expedition, not a stakeout. Nothing to it.

The second level consisted of a loft-type den, a
guest room for when his kids and grandkids came to visit, and another bathroom.
She was sure the guest room would be her best bet, and she took a breath to
prepare herself as she opened the door. And yet, preparation aside, she was
shocked at what she saw.

Strewn across the bed and floor were the contents of the toy
box Ron kept for his grandkids. Even though she’d prepared herself to find
exactly this, she was shocked to be proven right so quickly and she just stared
as the acceptance seeped into her heart. Ron’s grandkids hadn’t visited for
weeks which meant Trevor had
been here. Why did being right feel so horrible?

But then, where was Trevor now? Where was Ron? Had Trevor been
in the car when Ron had stopped by her house this morning? For nearly a minute
she thought about these questions but had no idea what the answers could be.
She remembered seeing some receipts on Ron’s dresser—maybe
there would be another clue there. And there was also the basement—a
workshop of sorts. She’d nearly forgotten about that.

After hurrying down the stairs, she was in the doorway of the
master bedroom when she heard a key in the lock.

Chapter 14

No! She
screamed in her head as her heart rate doubled. Her eyes darted around in
search of escape and she realized she was trapped. It had turned into
hide-and-seek after all. She hurried toward the
walk-in closet, the only obvious place to hide, but there were no
doors on it, just an archway that led into a space almost as big as the room
itself. It was the kind of closet meant for a woman with a shopping addiction.
Ron had it less than half full—nothing to hide behind. She
heard the back door open, the rubber weather strip scraping against the tiled
floor, and thought she might pass out.

Her eyes scanned the room again, her heart pounding. She
focused on the antique wrought-iron bed set against the middle of the
opposite wall. There was no other option. Flattening herself on the floor, she
army-crawled underneath the bed using muscles she didn’t know existed anymore.
Were it not for her yoga class she’d surely have broken something. As it was,
they had never done this in class.

Only when her head struck a box did she realize she should have
checked to see if there was anything under the bed. Then again, she hadn’t had
much time. She reached forward and carefully pushed the box toward the head of
the bed, causing a pile-up of other boxes. She paused and then pushed
more slowly, trying to keep quiet and making sure none of the boxes popped out
of either side of the bed—the whole time she pictured Ron in
the doorway watching her. The boxes moved a few feet, but then stopped—sufficiently
crammed against the wall.

It would have to do. She curled around herself and pulled the
rest of her body under the bed. The bed was old, something Ron had inherited
from his mother, and didn’t have the traditional box springs to support the
mattress. Instead it had a metal lattice—bedsprings—like
fencing stretched across the metal frame. The bed wasn’t high off the ground
either. She could barely lie on her side and did the best she could in order to
get her feet in. She pulled her knees up as high as she could and clenched her
teeth when a box corner poked into her back. How long would she have to stay
here? Her knees were already aching.

The sound of footsteps in the kitchen took her mind off the
stabbing pain in her back. She tried to hold her breath, though after ten
seconds or so she realized that was a bad idea and let the air she’d been
holding out as quietly as possible—her lungs lobbying heavily
for a fresh breath. Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears and she was sure Ron could
hear it. If it was Ron. She didn’t think anyone else had a key to his place,
but a lot of things she had believed to be true yesterday had been proven false
today. She didn’t dare not be suspicious of everything.

She heard footsteps coming from the kitchen and into the
bedroom. Whoever it was fumbled with something on the dresser. If a person
could die from fear, Sadie knew she’d have no need for the pesky breathing
anymore. She’d never been so scared in her life.

“Sadie,” she heard Ron’s voice say.

She held her breath again and began to panic. He knew she was
here! How?

“I really wish you would have answered the phone. We need to
talk,” he continued, and she realized he was talking to her voice mail. “I’m
late, I know that, but I had to do some things. I stopped by your house a
little bit ago but I’m hoping you’re home by now. If you are, please call me as
soon as you get this message.”

She started breathing again, as slow and quiet as possible,
terrified she would sneeze or do something else that would alert him to her
presence. She heard him sigh.

“Sadie, I’m so sorry, but let me explain this and please don’t
tell the police—not yet. I had a hard time finding the
information I needed in an hour, but it’s not what you think. I’ll try your
cell phone again. When you get this message, call me, please.”

She heard a nearly silent beep—him ending the
call—then he dialed another number. Several seconds passed
before he spoke.