Unbreak My Heart (21 page)

"Judging by the resemblance, I don't think there's anyone you could be but Megan's sister. And I'd like to help you, but I've got to wonder if this is a test?"

"Test?"

"To see if I forgot that I'm not supposed to talk about Megan," he said. "People are asking questions about me in Macon after all this time, and I don't like it."

"I hired a private detective," she said. "He's there. Someone wrote my mother a letter. I guess they didn't know she was dead. They said they had questions about Megan's accident and information they were willing to share."

"What kind of information?"

"I don't know. I traced the letter back to a man in Georgia who claimed to know nothing at all about it."

"What man? What was his name?"

Allie took a breath and said, "I don't think I'm going to tell you. Not if you don't have anything you can tell me. But... you don't have to worry about the man in Macon asking questions. He's working for me, and we don't have people beaten up for refusing to talk to us."

"I'm sure I'll sleep better at night knowing that."

"I'm her sister," Allie said, ready to beg. "I just want to know what happened to her, that she was okay those last few months. Anything..."

"She was scared," he said.

"Of what?"

"You tell me. You were here."

"I don't know," she cried. "I don't."

His gaze narrowed on her. He hesitated, then said, "If you're asking questions about her, you should watch your back, even if it has been fifteen years. She was terrified of someone back here. She thought he followed her all the way to Macon. She thought she saw him the day before she died."

"You think someone murdered my sister? Someone from here?"

"Watch your back," he said, and left her standing there, dizzy and hot all over and more scared than she'd ever been in her life.

Chapter 10

In a daze she caught another cab. Shivering, she sat there trying to imagine why anyone in the world would want to kill her sister. What kind of secrets could exist to push someone into making death threats against a man merely asking questions about Megan? It sounded like something out of a bad TV movie. She simply couldn't fathom it.

She also didn't want to consider that Stephen warned her of nearly the same thing Mitch Wilson had. She'd slapped Stephen's face for it, and had believed Mitch Wilson, a man she'd never even seen before. The scar had been convincing, along with the absolutely stunned look on his face when he first saw her. Maybe the way his hand had trembled when he'd touched her face, as if he couldn't quite believe she was real. Maybe the certainty with which she believed that at one time Mitch Wilson had been in love with her sister, that he might still be today. Had he come here seeking revenge on someone for her death? And he was leery even now, fifteen years later, simply talking about Megan and her so-called accident.

Who could have done it? Who could have hurt her sister? Who could have wanted her dead? All too soon, the cab pulled to a stop in front of the house. Allie didn't want to get out. She was starting to dread walking across the threshold. What in the world happened inside that house? Steeling herself, she paid the driver and sent him away with her thanks. She was relieved to see Casey on the porch, her kitten in his arms.

"Hi," he said cautiously. "You okay?"

"I will be." Allie gave him a smile she felt must have wavered badly. "And I'm so glad you're here."

She looked at the boy and the kitten, so grateful not to be alone now and wondering why she hadn't started taking in strays years ago. It was certainly one way to keep from being alone. She could gather people around her, rather than simply mourning the loss of her family. She could build something here, something lasting. Maybe she could help herself as much as she could help Casey and other kids like him.

One step at a time, she told herself. It might not seem like it, but she was making progress. She would let this thing with Megan play out. Sooner or later the answers would come. She would make her plans for the shelter, move on, build a life. Maybe, she'd finally be happy.

For the moment she'd deal with what was at hand. She fed Casey and the kitten, put him to work in the attic so she could call Greg without Casey hearing her end of the conversation. She passed along the cryptic warning from Mitch Wilson. Greg promised to dig a little deeper and again warned Allie to be careful.

Waiting for her on the desk in the hallway was the preliminary report from the home inspector who'd come the day before. Glancing at it, she decided the news was grim indeed. Outdated plumbing and electrical systems, inadequate heating and air-conditioning, a roof that needed to be replaced, not counting cosmetic work needed throughout. The rough estimate was staggering.

She would deal with it, she vowed. There had to be a way. If it simply took more money, she'd find a way to raise it. Which reminded her—somewhere in the middle of her argument with Stephen, he mentioned population figures. The library would have statistics on population and personal income, as well as information on past fund-raising events and how successful they had been, even who had raised the money and for what causes. She needed to know who those people were, needed to try to win them over to her side, so she could make this work.

Allie called the librarian, who remembered her, and told her what she needed. The population and income statistics were there and easily located. The librarian also offered enough information on three past fund-raisers—one for the town library itself and two for the hospital—that Allie could pull newspaper articles on those herself next time she was in town.

She hung up the phone feeling marginally better. No matter how upsetting the morning had been, she'd managed to take one more small step forward. That was all she had to do. Just find the next step and keep going.

She was mulling over her next move when a car pulled into her driveway. Her heart kicked into high gear, remembering that she was in an isolated spot with nothing but an overgrown boy and a baseball bat for protection, and now she was seriously afraid to be here.

But the would-be intruder turned out to be a floral delivery boy. He had an extravagant, but delicately beautiful arrangement of cut flowers in pretty blues, pinks, and purples. She took the heavy crystal vase in one hand, tipped him, and locked the door behind him.

The scent of fresh flowers filled the entire foyer. Allie set them down on a small table in the family room and looked at the card. It said simply:

I'm sorry.

Stephen

Allie sighed, the hand that held the card still trembling. She didn't want to like him anymore. She didn't want her sense of fairness arguing on his behalf.

He'd told her he was almost always right, and it seemed he was. He'd scared her a bit this morning, his intensity, his determination. He'd scared her by making her wonder what in the world he knew that he didn't think he could tell her, and that still made her so angry. Who was he to keep things from her? Things about her own family?

Why would he do that? If he truly didn't have anything to do with Megan's disappearance... If he truly cared about her sister, but only as a friend... Could he want the answers as badly as Allie did? He said he did, and her gut instinct was to believe him on that point.

Still, he was keeping things from her. Why? The only reason she could think of was that he was protecting someone else. If not himself, then who? She'd seen evidence of that protective streak inside of him. She'd felt it directed at her and found it practically irresistible. To have such a strong, determined, capable man watching out for her, fighting for her, protecting her. She'd needed someone like that her whole life. She'd never known how much until she met him.

And it seemed Stephen was right once again—annoyingly right—when he said there truly was danger here. She didn't understand why he would be so dead-set against her plans for the shelter, but the hard truth was she couldn't refute any of his impossibly logical objections. Every one she'd checked out so far had proven true.

Allie swore softly and picked up a small, framed photo of her sister she'd placed on the table in the front hall. She might never understand Stephen Whittaker. She was tired and more confused than ever.

But she wanted so much to make the shelter work. She hadn't been able to help her sister years ago, but Allie was here now, a grown woman with a big old house and a big dream.

"Help me, Megan," she said. "Show me the way."

Her sister didn't magically appear. No more memories flooded her mind.

"Allie?" She jumped at the sound so close behind her, even though it was just Casey.

"Sorry," he said, looking at the photograph. "Is that your sister?"

Allie nodded.

"I know you said she ran away...." He hesitated. "But some people..."

Allie groaned. "What did people tell you?"

"That real bad things must have happened to her here for her to take off like that and never come back."

"What bad things?" Obviously, she and her family were the highlights of the gossipmongers once again. Maybe all she had to do was send Casey to town to gather information for her. Maybe they would tell him more than they'd ever tell Allie to her face.

"I don't know." Casey shrugged and looked down at his big wide feet. "A couple of guys over at the pizza place told me your father must have... you know... gotten rid of her."

"Really?"

"Yeah. They said he strangled her and buried her body in the basement, and that's why the house's haunted."

It was so sad and so outrageous, she just stared at him for a moment. Then she started to laugh. The sound tumbled out of her with a momentum all its own, an odd, uncontrollable, woman-losing-it laugh, and she couldn't stop. People were saying her father killed her sister and hid her body in the basement?

"Sorry." Casey sat down beside her and awkwardly touched her arm. "I didn't mean to upset you."

She clamped a hand over her mouth and worked hard to slow her breathing, to get herself under control. When she could, she told him, "My father didn't murder my sister. She died in a car accident in Georgia."

Casey looked as if he didn't believe her.

"Look." She grabbed the newspaper articles from the desk. "Photocopies of stories about my sister and the accident."

Casey glanced at them, still looking skeptical.

"You still don't believe me?" Allie asked.

"No, it's just..."

"The gossip's much more entertaining?"

Casey sighed, looking old beyond his years and still confused. "Are you sure it was her? In that accident?"

"I didn't want to believe it could be her, Casey. None of us did."

"But you're sure? I mean... how could you be sure?"

"I'm sure someone identified her body before we brought her back here and buried her," she said. "Casey, I really want to help you. I'm sorry for whatever I said that upset you yesterday. But I'm really worried about you. Please let me help."

He looked wary once again. "I didn't want to come back here."

"I'm glad you did."

"I didn't know where else to go," he admitted. All of a sudden, his breathing was hard, shoulders heaving, and he looked heartbroken. "I get so sick of all the games, but I didn't know where else I could go, and I just wish somebody could be straight with me. Just once."

"I have been, Casey. What makes you think I haven't?"

He gave her a sullen stare, spoiled somewhat by the tears gathering in his eyes.

"Do you know something about what happened here?" she asked. "Did you hear something around town you haven't told me?"

"No," he cried.

He looked absolutely heartbroken. Then he turned around and kicked his foot against the wall, hard enough to make Allie wince. Why would he think she was lying to him? And what could she have said to hurt him like this?

"Casey, whatever it is, just tell me. We'll figure it out. I promise. I want to help you."

"My mother always said that to me.
Trust me, Casey. I'm doing what's best for you. I don't want to hurt you.
I've heard it all my life, and it's a load of shit, Allie. Pure shit, and I don't want to hear it anymore. Especially not from you."

"I wouldn't do that to you," she tried to explain. Never. After all, she'd been raised by a mother who'd done exactly the same thing. But Casey wasn't listening. He turned around and stormed out the door. She went after him. "Casey, please don't go like this."

He kept right on walking, cutting through the backyard, crossing the creek and disappearing.

"Oh, Casey," she whispered, wishing she'd insisted on knowing more about him. If he didn't come back, she didn't have any way to find him.

She wondered where he would sleep tonight, wondered what he'd eat and whether he would be warm enough, even as she prayed he'd come back.

* * *

Allie stood there for a long time worrying about Casey. Then she came inside and stared at the photograph of her sister, then the flowers from Stephen. She was tired and restless and feeling antsy, like something was about to happen, something she wouldn't like.