Buried Sins. Marta Perry
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against black, like a Chinese pen-and-ink drawing.
Her fingers longed for a drawing pencil. Or a charcoal, that would be better. She leaned forward, trying to fix the image in her mind.
Something, some sound or brush of movement alerted her. She stumbled back a step. Something man-sized moved beyond the window. For an instant, she saw a hand, fingers widespread, dark and blurry as if it were enclosed in a glove, press against the pane.
Then it was gone, and she was alone, heart pounding in deep, sickening thuds.
She ran back across the room, fingers fumbling in her handbag for her cell phone. Call—
Who would she call? Grams or Rachel? She could hardly ask them to come save her from whatever lurked outside.
The police? Her finger hovered over the numbers. If she dialed 911, would Zachary Burkhalter answer the phone?
The man was already suspicious of her. That wouldn’t keep him from doing his job, she supposed. It wasn’t his fault that she feared the police nearly as much as she feared the something that had pressed against the window.
She took a breath. Think. The apartment was locked, and already the first light of dawn stained the sky. She had the cell phone in her hand. He…it…couldn’t possibly get in, at least not without making so much noise that she’d have time to call for help.
The panic was fading, the image with it. It had been so fast—was she even sure that’s what she’d seen? And if she wasn’t sure, how did she explain that to a skeptical cop?
Clutching the phone in one hand, she snapped off the light. Safer in the dark. If someone were outside, now he couldn’t look in and see her. She crept quickly toward the stairs, listening for any sound.
Upstairs, she pulled the quilt from the bed and huddled in the chair at the window, peering out like a sentinel. She stayed there until sunrise flooded the countryside with light, until she could see black-clad figures moving around the barn of the Zook farm in the distance.
THREE
In the light of day, sitting in the sunny breakfast room at the inn across from her sister, Caroline decided that her fears had been ridiculous. Already the images that had frightened her were blurring in her mind.
The figure—maybe a branch moving, casting shadows. What she’d thought was a gloved hand could well have been a leaf, blown to stick against the windowpane for a moment and then flutter to the ground. There were plenty of last year’s maple leaves left in the hedgerow to be the culprit. Her overactive, middle-of-the-night imagination had done the rest.
“Thanks.” She lifted the coffee mug her sister had just refilled. “I need an extra tank of coffee this morning, I think.”
“Did you sleep straight through?” Rachel looked up from her cheese omelet, face concerned. “You looked as if you could barely stay on your feet. Grams wanted to wake you for supper, but I thought you’d be better for the sleep.”
“You were right.” If not for what happened when she woke up, but that wasn’t Rachel’s doing. Besides, she’d just decided it was imagination, hadn’t she?
She’d looked in the flower bed when she went outside this morning. Crocuses were blooming, and tulips had poked inquisitive heads above the ground. The forsythia branches, so eerie in the night, were ready to burst into bloom. There had been no footprints in the mulch, nothing to indicate that anyone had stood there, looking in.
She’d clipped some sprigs of the forsythia, brought them inside and put them in a glass on the breakfast bar as a defiant gesture toward the terrors of the night.
She put a forkful of omelet in her mouth, savoring the flavor. “Wonderful. Your guests must demand seconds all the time. Did Grams eat already?” She glanced toward the chair at the head of the table.
“Emma thought she looked tired and insisted she have her breakfast in bed. When Emma makes up her mind, not even Grams can hold out.”
She put down her fork. “Was she that upset because of me?” Because of all the things Caro hadn’t told her?
“Don’t be silly.” Rachel looked genuinely surprised. “She’s delighted to have you here. So am I. And Andrea. No, it’s just Emma’s idea of what’s right. You’ll see. When people are here, Grams is the perfect hostess, and no one could keep her in bed then.”
“It’s going well, is it?” Rachel and Grams had started the inn in the historic Unger mansion at the beginning of last summer on something of a shoestring, but they seemed to be happy with how things were going.
“Very well.” Rachel’s eyes sparkled. “I know people thought this was a foolish decision, but I’ve never been happier. Being a chef in someone else’s restaurant can’t hold a candle to living here, working with Grams and being my own boss.”
“And then there’s Tyler to make you even happier.” Her sister was lucky. She’d found both the work that was perfect for her and the man of her dreams. “How is it working out, with him in Baltimore during the week?”
“Not bad.” Rachel’s gentle face glowed when she spoke of her architect fiancé. “Right now he’s in Chicago, but usually he works from here a couple of days a week, while his partner handles things at the office.”
“I’m glad for you.” Caro reached out to clasp her sister’s hand. Rachel deserved her happily-ever-after. She just couldn’t help feeling a little lonely in the face of all that happiness.
Rachel squeezed her hand. “I shouldn’t be babbling about how lucky I am when you’ve had such a terrible loss.”
“It’s all right.” What else could she say? Rachel didn’t know that the real loss was the discovery that Tony had lied to her, cheated her and then abandoned her in the most final way possible.
That was what happened when you trusted someone. She’d learned that lesson a long time ago. Too bad she’d had to have a refresher course.
She could tell Rachel all of it. Rachel would try to understand. She’d be loving and sympathetic, because that was her nature. But underneath, she’d be thinking that poor Caro had blown it again.
It was far better to avoid that as long as possible. She didn’t need to lean on her sister. It was safer to rely on no one but herself.
She took a last sip of the cooling coffee and rose. “I’m going to drive down to the grocery store to pick up a few things. Do you need anything?”
Rachel seemed to make a mental inventory. “Actually, you could pick up a bottle of vanilla and a tin of cinnamon for me. Otherwise, I think I’m set. Just put everything on the inn account. Your stuff, too.”
“You don’t need—”
“Don’t argue.” Rachel was unusually firm. “If you were staying in the house, you wouldn’t think twice about that.”
She nodded reluctantly. There was independence, and then there was the fact that her bills were coming due with no money in her bank account, thanks to Tony. What did you do with it all, Tony?
She felt a flicker of panic. How could she have been so wrong about him?
Main Street was quiet enough on a Tuesday morning in March that he could patrol it in his sleep. Zach automatically eyeballed the businesses that were closed during the week, making sure everything looked all right. They’d open on the weekends, when the tourists arrived.
The tourist flow would be small awhile yet, and his township police force was correspondingly small. Come summer, they’d add a few part-timers, usually earnest young college students who were majoring in criminal justice.
He enjoyed this quiet time. He liked to be able to spend his evenings at home, playing board games or working puzzles with Ruth, listening to the soft voices of his parents in the kitchen as they did the dishes.
Families