Lemon Tart (23 page)

But
Marci’s heart would not be denied. How could she convince the man she loved,
the man she’d given her heart to, that being his mistress wasn’t enough for
her? She would stop at nothing to prove to him she was all he’d ever wanted.
Her daughter would know who her Daddy was—and they’d live
happily ever after . . . one way or another.

Sadie’s eyebrows went up and she read the pathetic excerpt
again. She turned the book over and looked at the cover. It was a picture of a
man, an older man judging by his gray hair even though he was built like a
teenage lifeguard. He gazed into the adoring eyes of a young woman holding a
child.

“Oh my goodness,” she breathed as several pieces fell into
place and the significance of this particular book became apparent. “Anne, what
did you do?”

Chapter 23

It was almost 1:00 am
when Sadie finished the book. She stared at the final page for nearly a
minute.

Sadie could hardly believe it, but it was there—in
black ink on mass-market paperback pages, riddled with dangling
participles, an obnoxious indulgence in adverbs, and sappy descriptions.

In the story, the character Marci had a two-year
affair with a man who’d been engaged to another woman. When she became pregnant
he refused to call off the wedding. So a few months after the baby was born and
the man was married, Marci moved to his hometown. Everything other than the
marriage fit—even down to Anne’s friendship with Sadie, who
seemed to be the substitute for the fiancée-turned-wife
character in the book. In the story, the wife—who was in her
forties—befriended the much younger mistress, who then learned
all the details of taking care of the man she loved.

But Anne had died before her story finished. In the novel, the
man eventually realized he couldn’t live without her, but only after she’d
proven herself capable and determined to have him in her life. He eventually
left his wife and came to the mistress, promising a lifetime of love and
devotion to her and her alone. Because of community property laws, when he
divorced his rich wife, he also got half her fortune. Sadie was sure that would
never hold up in real life, not when he was such a scoundrel, but that was
romance novels for you.

As far as story lines went it was weak, immoral, and in Sadie’s
mind, completely ridiculous. But obviously Anne had seen something of merit in
it. Enough that she’d lived it—even used it as a blueprint.
She’d tried to resurrect the copy of the book that had been ruined, and when
that didn’t work, she’d stolen another copy. Sadie felt sick to her stomach at
how orchestrated it all had been.

All this time she’d been some pawn in Anne’s game to get Ron?
Or had Ron gone along with it like the man in the book? Maybe it was even his
idea. And Sadie was stupid enough not to notice. She heard the front door shut
upstairs. Was it Jack? Footsteps crossed the floor above her head and then
stopped. She listened for a few more seconds but heard nothing but voices muted
by the floorboards above her.

Sadie hadn’t left the room since opening the book, and hadn’t
eaten since Breanna’s Alfredo in the early evening. Throwing back the covers,
she changed into her pajamas, robe, and slippers before heading upstairs in
search of something to eat—a glass of milk if nothing else. But
she also tried to think of what she could say to Jack. She had to know if he
had been in on Ron’s deception, if he’d been keeping it from her too. The
imagined heartbreak of his treachery was almost too much to bear. As she reached
the top of the basement stairs she realized what she really wanted was some
sympathy, some understanding. Jack was her brother, he’d always taken care of
her and she longed to have him pull her into his arms, smooth her hair, and say
“Ah, Sadie-Sadie, I’m so sorry.”

When she reached the kitchen she could hear Jack and Carrie’s
voices, only whispers, but they were arguing, which made her hesitant to
interrupt and somewhat irritated that her opportunity for comfort wasn’t going
to happen as she’d hoped. She considered returning downstairs but she was so
close to food—not to mention her insatiable curiosity as to
what they were arguing about. She wondered if they were rehashing Jack’s
decision to send Trina back to school that evening. Carrie had wanted her to
stay, but Sadie mentally sided with Jack on this one, even if he was possibly a
secret-keeping louse of a brother. She tiptoed into the kitchen,
scanning the countertops for something edible. It was dark except for the light
above the sink that cast just enough light for Sadie to see around the room.

She spied her pan of brownies, half gone, and her mouth began
to water. She moved as quietly as she could and put two brownies on a napkin
before tiptoeing to the fridge. She couldn’t have brownies without milk.

“I know,” she heard Jack say in a louder voice. She stopped and
leaned closer toward the door. What
did he know?

Carrie said something in reply but she whispered and Sadie
couldn’t make it out. She took another step closer to the kitchen doorway. When
Jack spoke again his voice was softer, but she made out the word “Sorry.”

It annoyed her that Jack would give into whatever it was Carrie
was haranguing him about. Couldn’t she see that the fact that he was here meant
they had a chance to make things better with their relationship? Sadie took
another step and the floorboards creaked under her foot. The voices stopped and
she hurried across the kitchen as the door to the master bedroom opened. The
family calendar was tacked on the wall next to the sink and she pretended to be
absorbed in the comings and goings of her sister-in-law. There
were work hours written on the last week, and for the next two weeks, bringing
to mind the fact that Carrie hadn’t gone to work even though the schedule still
seemed in place. She also noticed that Trina had had an appointment on Monday—but
didn’t she have school that day? Sadie’s back was facing the doorway when she
heard someone enter the kitchen.

“You’re up,” Jack said.

Sadie turned to look at him, raising her eyebrows as if
surprised he was there. She busied herself by getting a third brownie even
though she couldn’t possibly eat that many. She still hadn’t gotten any milk.
“I’m sorry, I’m just starved. I’m going back down.” She met his eyes again and
opened her mouth to ask about Ron, but the words abruptly congealed in her
throat.

Jack wasn’t dressed for bed. He still wore his work clothes and
she suddenly felt dizzy. The house was dark, but the light above the sink
glinted off his wedding band—just inches below the blue cuff of
his dress shirt.

The brownies fell to the floor and she just stood there while
Jack moved forward to pick them up. They’d landed facedown, but he put them
back on the napkin and stood. “Ten-second rule,” he said, with the
hint of a smile on his otherwise sad face.

Sadie stared at him. It
was Jack! He had been at Anne’s house. She couldn’t breathe and didn’t
know what to say. He handed her the brownies and she took them and pulled them
to her chest, crushing them in her napkin.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

In her mind she was talking herself out of it. It couldn’t be.
Why would Jack go to Anne’s house? Why would he have a key? She looked into his
eyes. “Jack?” she asked. Other thoughts and details tried to push their way
into her mind, but she refused them, overcome by her unexpected
realization.

“What?” he countered.

“I—” She paused and looked back at his hand. “I didn’t
know you still wore your wedding ring.”

He looked down at his hand but he said nothing. After a few
more seconds of silence, he headed for the front door.

“Where are you going?” she asked, taking two steps toward
him.

“Sadie,” he said quietly, now too far away for her to see his
expression as he turned to face her. “Ron’s a good man and I know he truly
cares about you. I know no one understands this, but I never stopped loving
Carrie.”

Chapter 24

Sadie didn’t know how long she stood there before she
heard footsteps in the hall. Carrie stood in the doorway of the kitchen and
Sadie looked at her. “What’s going on?” Sadie asked.

“Nothing to concern yourself with,” Carrie said in a voice far
too calm for what Sadie had just heard. “Go back to bed, Sadie. Things will be
better in the morning.” She turned and went back to her room.

Sadie stayed rooted to her place in the middle of the kitchen,
brownies in hand. Did Carrie know?
But she couldn’t mentally go down that path for long before bigger thoughts
yanked her mind back to her brother. She couldn’t ignore it any longer. Could Jack be Trevor’s father?

Sadie refused to accept it. She had misunderstood. She was
putting together clues in the wrong order. Jack was helping Ron. That had to be
it. That’s all he was doing,
all he had done. But what did that have to do with never having stopped loving
Carrie?

Almost trancelike she went back downstairs, put the brownies on
the dresser, turned off the lights, and climbed into bed. She stared at the
darkened ceiling with the covers pulled up to her chin. She was awake when dawn
inched its way into her room, that is, if she ever slept—she
wasn’t sure. She hadn’t had such a horrible night’s sleep since the first few
weeks after Neil’s death. Why couldn’t Neil be here now? Even after nineteen
years she missed him most when she had big decisions to make. How she had loved
to ask his opinion over biscuits and gravy, just talk about life, and have
someone to line her thoughts up with.

Since Ron had entered her life it hadn’t hurt so bad to be
alone, but right now she ached for the man she’d loved so much, the father of
her children, the person she had trusted most in the whole world. She dressed
slowly in the clothes she had packed the night before, listening for any sounds
of movement upstairs. It was silent. She padded up the stairs, anxious to get
back home. Maybe things would make more sense over there.

Carrie was still asleep or gone—either way
Sadie was relieved not to have to talk to her. She was sick over the thoughts
still coursing through her mind. The living room windows revealed that, just as
she’d expected, the mildness of yesterday had given way to a flurry of snow and
wind. She scowled, remembering she hadn’t brought a coat. She’d packed everything else. She wrote a quick
note, thanking Carrie for letting her stay and put it on the kitchen
counter.

At the front door she took a deep breath, pulled her bag close
to her chest and hurried out into the blizzard-like conditions. She
didn’t look at the other houses in the circle, she didn’t see if there were any
cars at Anne’s. She didn’t want to know. All this meddling had left her sick to
her stomach.

It felt good to be home, but the pit in her stomach was still
there. She brushed the snow from her hair, knowing it was frizzed out and
horrid-looking now that she’d slept on it. She vowed to style it
later and then went about making herself some hot cocoa, still processing
everything she’d heard last night.

Jack’s words, “I never stopped loving Carrie,” rang through her
ears and she shuddered. There was no way Jack could be the one! And yet, Jack
had been the intruder at Anne’s house last night. He must have come from the
back field. She’d seen his truck leave when she was hiding in the vacant lot.
He must have gone to the far end of the fields and walked up from the back,
waiting for the police to go by just like she had. And then he’d driven back to
the house a few minutes later. Could he have done the same thing the night
before? Could he have killed Anne?

“Slow down,” she told herself. Then she grabbed a pad of paper
and started making a list of everything she learned yesterday—and
what was left to be followed up on. When she finished she had a whole list of
things she could look into. Only now, she wasn’t looking for proof it was Ron,
she was looking for proof it wasn’t
Jack. And Trevor. Her stomach clenched like a fist. Where on earth was Trevor?
It had been twenty-four hours.