Missing Pieces (26 page)

“Sarah, here,” Celia said, and Sarah dragged her eyes from the cracked cement floor to where Celia was pointing to a dark corner of the basement.

Sarah stared at the foot-long wrench-like tool made of cast iron. Though she wanted to erase the images from Lydia's autopsy photos, they kept flashing through her mind. Compared to the crime-scene pictures, while gruesome and bloody, the autopsy photos were more clinical but just as horrific.

“Don't touch that,” Sarah ordered.

Celia pulled her hands back as if burned. “Why?”

“Because I think this could be the murder weapon.” Sarah's heart was thumping in her chest.

“What do we do?” Celia asked, now seeming more panicked. “Oh, my God, do you think it was Dean? Do you think Dean did all this?”

“I don't know.” Sarah patted her pocket for her phone to call the police. “Dammit, I dropped my phone upstairs.”

“I don't have mine, either,” Celia said.

Sarah turned on her heel and in three long strides was at the foot of the stairs when something caught her eye. Her eyes shifted to a large wooden trunk intricately painted with strawberries and vines and flowers. The hair on the back of Sarah's neck stood up. Sitting on the trunk was a box filled with hand sickles and corn knives. Something clicked in her mind. Exactly the same items that were in the photos on Seller85's auction site. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Seller85. Cellar 1985.

Behind her Celia spoke.

“What did you say?” Sarah asked. She slowly inched toward the stairs, lifted one foot onto the first step, laid one hand on the rickety railing.

“See how they run,” Celia whispered.

From the corner of her eye, Sarah saw a flash of movement, felt the searing pain of metal on bone and then nothing.

22

WITH EFFORT,
Sarah opened one eye and found herself on her back, staring up at the unfinished basement ceiling. Pain throbbed through her skull and a wave of nausea swept over her. Celia's beautiful face appeared in her field of vision, staring down at her, a bemused expression on her face.

“Why?” Sarah managed to say, blood pooling in her mouth.

“It took you long enough to put the pieces together, Sarah. I thought for sure you were going to go back home to Montana without figuring it out.”

Sarah struggled to sit up, her elbows digging into the rough concrete.

“Oh, no, stay put, Sarah,” Celia ordered. “I don't want to have to hit you again.”

Sarah willed herself to stay conscious, but the blessed escape of sleep kept pulling her one functional eye shut.
Think of Elizabeth, think of Emma
,
she told herself. “Why?” Sarah asked again.

Celia knelt down next to her, careful to avoid the blood that had trickled onto the floor.
“Why, why, why,”
she mocked. Sarah's eyes glanced toward the door. “Aw, waiting for your Jackie boy to come save you? You can scream if you like, but no one will hear you. Nobody heard Lydia, you know. She screamed and cried like a scared little baby.”

Tears slid down Sarah's cheeks. “Jack was always such a simple boy,” Celia said. “He won't know what to think when he gets here.”

“What about Dean? Where is he?” Sarah asked as her eyes searched the room for something, anything, to use as a weapon. The shelves of preserves in glass jars, a rake standing in a corner. Both too far away.

“Dean isn't an issue.” Celia's eyes gleamed dangerously. Had Celia killed him, too? Sarah wondered. And what about Hal?

“But I still don't understand,” Sarah said, watching Celia swing the metal tool almost casually at her side. “Why did you kill Lydia?”

“Lydia was a nuisance. Stupid bitch tried to keep us apart and when I realized that Jack was never going stand up to his parents I saw him for what he really was. A weak little boy. And that's when I truly saw John for the first time.” Celia's face grew thoughtful. “I loved him. But I knew he would never leave her. So Lydia had to go.” She shrugged as if it was only rational. “I grabbed the nearest thing I could find.” Celia held up the notching tool. “I hit her and she kept looking at me as if asking,
Why?
So I hit her again and again but she kept staring at me.” Celia smiled at the memory.

“So you put the cloth over her face,” Sarah finished for her.

Celia pulled her cell phone from her jeans pocket and examined the screen. “The sheriff released Jack. Not enough evidence to hold him. Yet,” she added. She typed quickly. “He'll be here any minute.”

Sarah could scarcely believe what she was hearing. Celia had been in love with Jack's father all along? “You were having an affair with Jack's dad?” Sarah asked.

A shadow of irritation swept across Celia's face. “I thought he would be happy that Lydia was gone. We could finally be together,” Celia said, shaking her head with regret. “But it didn't work out that way.” Celia set her face into a little pout that would have been charming on her in any other situation. “I told him what I'd done. What I'd done for
him
and he went crazy. He pushed me away. He was so angry. He wanted to go to her and I knew I had to stop him. He was going to tell.” Tears gleamed in her eyes. “It could have been so perfect.”

“So you killed him and pushed him into the cistern,” Sarah filled in. All these years everyone thought that Jack's dad had murdered his wife and run away. It was all a lie.

“And Julia? You're the one who hit her? Pushed her down the stairs? I still don't understand.” Sarah's head screamed with pain. A slow river of blood slid down the side of her face.

“I made a mistake. It broke and all the charms rolled across the floor. I thought I got all the pieces but I missed one.

“Julia found the bracelet last week when she was helping me pack up some things for Goodwill. I had it hidden in a drawer beneath some old clothes. She kept asking me questions and wouldn't stop.” Celia's voice rose to a high mimicking cadence.
“Those charms look just like the one that was found with Lydia when she died.”

“So you beat Julia over the head and pushed her down the stairs so she couldn't tell anyone. But why leave another charm at her side?”

“Shhh.” Celia put a finger to her lips. “I think he's coming.” Celia cocked her head toward the stairs. Heavy footfalls echoed above them.

“Celia?” Sarah was at once relieved and terrified to hear the muffled sound of Jack's familiar voice. She choked back a sob. He wasn't guilty of any of this. He kept secrets, yes, but after twenty years of marriage, how could she have thought that he was capable of such horrific acts?

“Get up,” Celia gritted into her ear.

“I can't,” Sarah cried. “My head.” She touched her temple and when she pulled her hand away blood dripped through her fingers.

“Get up,” Celia said again, grabbing Sarah's sore arm, her clawlike fingers gripping into the soft flesh above her elbow. Sarah gasped in pain but managed to shift first to her knees and, with Celia's prodding, to her feet. Another wave of nausea swept over her and her stomach clenched violently.

“Celia?” Jack called again.

“Down here!” Celia responded, her voice suddenly frantic and pained.

I'm bigger than she is
, Sarah told herself.
I'm stronger.
But her limbs felt heavy. She wobbled dizzily and leaned against the freezer to keep from falling over. Jack's steps came closer. Sarah looked upward. He was in the kitchen now.

Sarah wanted to call out to Jack. “Run,” she tried to shout, but it came out too softly. He couldn't hear her.

“Shut up,” Celia snapped, striking her in the face with the palm of her hand. “Down here,” Celia cried loudly. “Jack, I need your help!”

Sarah could hear Jack's pace quicken as he descended, the wooden stairs creaking with each footstep. Celia left her side for a brief moment but returned carrying a long, slim object. Black spots appeared before Sarah's eyes and her fingertips tingled. A shotgun. She moaned in terror. By pure determination, she remained upright. She wasn't going to lose consciousness and give Celia the easy way out. If Celia was going to kill her, Sarah was going to force Celia to look her in the eye.

“Is everything okay?” he asked as he cleared the final step and turned the corner. “Where's Sarah?”

“She's here,” Celia said, and pulled the trigger.

23

THE ACRID SMELL
of gunpowder filled Sarah's nose and her ears rang with the power of the blast. A hazy smoke filled the room and it was a few seconds before Sarah realized she was staring at her husband's crumpled form resting against the opposite wall. A red stain bloomed against his white shirt and his face was a mask of pain and disbelief.

“Sarah?” he mouthed silently.

Sarah fell to her knees. The concrete bit into her skin, but she barely felt the pain. Sarah cried, “Oh, my God, Jack! Jack!” Jack fell forward, his head striking the floor with a sickening thud.

Celia continued talking as if nothing happened. “After I took care of his parents, I thought that Jack and I would go back to the way things were.”

“You're crazy,” Sarah murmured, struggling to stand.

“You ruined everything,” Celia said, her voice filled with rage and disdain. “You started digging into things. I saw how you and Margaret were off whispering whenever you got the chance. I saw you snooping around Jack's old room, looking in drawers. You were
this
close to finding the bracelet. I got to wondering why you were so careful to lock your car all the time, even out here in the country. No one does that, unless they are trying to hide something. So I took a little peek in your trunk and saw the evidence box.” Celia's eyes burned with anger. “You couldn't just let things go.”

“But there was nothing in the box that pointed to you,” Sarah tried to explain. “You don't have to do this.”

“You're a little whore and if it weren't for you, Jack would be with me. He loves me, you know.” Celia scowled as if the words were bitter on her tongue. “We belong together.”

“You're delusional,” Sarah said. She was weak with blood loss and exhaustion.

“Shhh,” Celia hushed with her finger pressed to her lips. She looked at Jack, who appeared to be unconscious, blood seeping out from beneath him in a black puddle. “He's sleeping, you'll wake him up.”

Sarah knew that if she didn't get to a phone, Jack would bleed to death and she would be next. She needed to keep Celia talking. “You framed Amy. You put the bloody bale hook in the box.”

“Well, aren't you the little Sherlock Holmes?” Celia said in mock approval. “I had no idea that Amy found the charm I put next to Julia. That was just my little inside joke.”

Sarah felt nauseous. “But if you shoot both Jack and me, the police will know that someone else did it.”

Celia laughed. “Do you think I'm that stupid?” she mused. “I won't be the one they think shot Jack. He lured you down here and attacked you. You grabbed the gun from the corner and shot him trying to protect yourself,” Celia said with a smirk. “But sadly, you will die from your head injuries.” Celia gave an exaggerated sigh. “Coincidentally caused by the same weapon used to kill Lydia.” With her free hand she pointed to the notching tool. “And poor, poor Celia will be found unconscious at the bottom of the stairs, a witness to it all.”

“But how are you going to explain Julia's head injury. Jack wasn't even in town when she was hurt. And it was the poison that killed her, not the blow to the head.”

“You're pretty smart for someone so dumb.” Celia tapped Sarah's temple, causing her to cry out in pain. “There's still Amy. Amy hit Julia and Jack poisoned her. The two siblings were in it together. I've already hid the poison and the burner phone in Jack's suitcase. Gilmore will find them and all the loose ends will be tidied up.”

“You're insane,” Sarah whispered. “No one will believe you.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jack's fingers move. He was still alive. He managed to lift his head slightly and made eye contact with Sarah.

“I've fooled everyone for the past thirty years, haven't I? Why would this time be any different?” Celia rested the shotgun on her shoulder and turned toward where Jack lay. Suddenly, Jack's hand shot out and he grabbed Celia's ankle, causing her to stumble to her knees, and the shotgun clattered to the ground.

Without thinking, Sarah lunged for the barrel, her fingers wrapping around the cool metal. At the same time Celia reached for the stock of the shotgun and for a moment they were locked in an absurd game of tug-of-war with Sarah acutely aware that Celia's fingers were just inches from the trigger.

Sarah loosened her grip on the shotgun and the momentum forced the butt to strike Celia squarely in the mouth. Celia cried out in rage as blood spurted from her lips and she yanked back on the rifle, pulling it from Sarah's bloody hands. Breathing heavily, Celia planted her feet and once again hefted the shotgun to her shoulder, taking aim.

Helplessly, Sarah tried to meet Jack's eyes, but he had moved from her line of vision. She had so much she wanted to say to him—that she loved him, loved their life together, that she was sorry she had ever thought the very worst of him—and now she would never get the chance. She screwed her eyes shut, not wanting Celia's face to be the last image she would see in life. The blast of the shotgun rattled her teeth and all the air was thrust from her chest.

Unable to move, Sarah stared up at the ceiling, the naked lightbulb swaying lazily above her in hypnotic circles. The world around her became void of sound; a strange, not unpleasant warmth slid down her neck and darkness closed in around her.

24

SARAH WOKE TO
the sound of a familiar voice. She tried to move her right arm but found she couldn't. She lifted her left hand and found IV tubing trailing up to a bag holding clear liquid. She gingerly touched her temple and felt a thick layer of gauze. She was in a hospital. She was alive.

“Jack,” she managed to croak.

A figure stepped into her line of vision and Margaret Dooley's plump, pleasant face leaned over her.

“She's awake,” Margaret reported to someone that Sarah couldn't see. Margaret's voice sounded hollow and far away. She turned back to Sarah and murmured something that Sarah couldn't understand.

“I can't hear you,” Sarah said. Her lips were chapped. Her mouth was dry.

“From the shotgun blasts,” Sheriff Gilmore said loudly, stepping into view. “It's just temporary. It should improve in time.”

“Jack?” Sarah asked again.

“In surgery,” Margaret said. “He's going to be okay,” she added quickly.

Sarah closed her eyes and breathed out a sigh of relief. He was going to be okay. Jack had been innocent all along. It was Celia who had brought so much pain and loss to the family, and Jack was just another one of her victims.

“I'll go get you some water,” Margaret said, and left the room.

Gilmore pulled up a chair next to the left side of Sarah's bed where she could see him with her uninjured eye. “That's going to take some time to figure out.”

“Is she dead?”

“Yes.”

“I tried to get the gun away from her, but it must have gone off.” Gilmore looked down at her with his cool, unreadable gaze. Sarah knew she should have felt relief or even regret for nearly taking the life of another human being. But she didn't. She felt nothing.

“You didn't shoot Celia,” Gilmore said. He rubbed his chin and for the first time Sarah noticed the gray stubble on his chin, the deep grooves of exhaustion that lined his eyes. “Jack was able to get the shotgun away from her and hit her with it. She was knocked to the floor and struck her head on the concrete. She died during surgery.”

Margaret stepped back into the room with a plastic cup filled with ice water in her hand. She came to Sarah's bedside, pressed the control on the bed to slowly raise Sarah's head and held the cup while Sarah took a small sip from the straw. The cold water felt good on her throat. Margaret set the cup down and pulled up a chair next to Gilmore. “After we met at the library, you never called me like you said you were going to. I tried to get ahold of you and you didn't answer. Finally, I called the sheriff, told him that you were planning on going to Celia and Dean's.”

“You owe Margaret here your life,” Gilmore said seriously. “It took some convincing, but Margaret is persistent. She told me how you thought the three blind mice from the emails were the farmers' wives. John and Lydia, Hal and Julia, Dean and Celia.”

Sarah nodded, pain coursed through her head and she gave a small cry.

“Do you want me to call a nurse?” Margaret asked in alarm.

“No, no, I'm fine,” Sarah insisted. She knew the pain medication would cause her to become sleepy and she wanted to know what had really happened.

“Well,” Margaret went on, “after you left the library I realized that Celia wasn't the final farmer's wife. You were.”

“Me?” Sarah gave a small laugh. “I'm not a farmer's wife.”

“That's where you're wrong,” Gilmore said, taking up the story. “Technically, the farm belongs to Jack and Amy. Dean and Celia just rented the house and the land from Julia.”

“But Celia wasn't ever a suspect,” Sarah recalled. “She was only, what? Fifteen or sixteen years old?”

“A very disturbed fifteen-year-old,” Gilmore said.

Sarah thought a moment. “Celia put the watch on my windshield to make everyone think that John was back.”

“Or to make everyone think that Jack put it there, or Amy. She didn't care as long as it didn't point back to her. Remember, Jack was our number-one suspect for a time and Amy, well, Amy's had a troubled past.”

“All along she was the one sending me the emails.” Sarah gave a small laugh. “Some investigative reporter I am.”

“Don't feel too badly. Celia was living right here in town for decades and I didn't know what she was capable of, either.”

“She lured me down to the cellar to make it look like Jack attacked me and I shot him in self-defense.”

“That way both you and Jack are dead, out of the way.” Gilmore stood. “By the way, when you get a chance, you should call that newspaper man from Montana. He's pretty worried about you. He's called here about ten times in the past twenty-four hours.”

Sarah remembered one of her last conversations with Gabe. “He told me something about Lydia's murder not being a spur-of-the-minute killing—that it was planned. How did he know that?”

Gilmore crossed his arms in front of his chest. “There were traces of rat poison in Lydia's system. Not enough to kill her. At the time we thought John had first tried to poison her and then ended up bludgeoning her to death when that didn't work. Obviously we were wrong. She was slowly being poisoned just like Julia—three blind mice,” Gilmore said grimly.

Sarah thought of Elizabeth and Emma and tried to sit up. “What about the girls? Did anyone call Elizabeth and Emma? Do they know that we're going to be okay?”

“I hope you don't mind,” Margaret said almost shyly. “I called them and told them what happened. I told them you both are going to be just fine.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said with relief.

“You talk to your girls now and then get some sleep,” Gilmore said. “I'll stop back in a few hours.” Sarah watched as Gilmore's tall, lanky frame retreated.

“I should have gone to the sheriff the minute I got the first email,” Sarah said hoarsely.

Margaret patted her hand. “Sarah, if you hadn't been so persistent, no one would have known what really happened to Lydia and John. No one would have known what happened to Julia.”

Sarah clutched at Margaret's hand. “I can't thank you enough, Margaret. If you hadn't called the sheriff, everything would have turned out so differently. The girls would be planning our funerals right now.”

Margaret returned the squeeze. “I'm glad I could help. And by the way, I told the sheriff all about how I helped get you the case files.”

Sarah cringed. “I'm so sorry, Margaret,” she said apologetically.

“Don't worry,” Margaret said. “I still have my job. The sheriff couldn't fire the woman who helped solve three murders, now, could he?”

“Margaret,” Sarah said before releasing Margaret's hands. “What about Amy? Is she out of jail?”

Margaret smiled. “She sure is. In fact, she's sitting out in the waiting room right now.” She stood to leave. “I'll go get an update on Jack, and you go ahead and call those girls of yours.”