She must have heard wrong, Sarah thought in a daze. Because the idea of someone stealing into her father’s room while he lay weak and helpless...putting a knife to his throat...
“Oh, God.” She pressed a hand to her mouth as a wave of nausea rolled over her.
“I know this is a shock,” he said kindly. “But I have to ask you some questions. Just routine. We can talk on the way to the hospital if you like.”
She nodded. “Would you mind giving me a minute?”
Rising, she hurried from the room before he could answer. Closing the bathroom door, she bent over the sink and splashed cold water on her face. Then she leaned against the counter and stared at her pale face in the mirror. Her father was dead. Murdered. His throat slashed.
Someone had robbed him of his final hours in the same gruesome manner that Rachel’s life had been snuffed. The act was not just senseless, it seemed truly evil to Sarah.
Unless...
She squeezed her eyes closed.
What if her recent suspicions about her father were true? What if he really had abused Rachel? Did that mean he got what he deserved?
That judgment wasn’t hers to make, Sarah thought weakly. Nor had it been the killer’s.
Esme... I have to call Esme.
No, that could wait. She didn’t want to break the news over the phone, and right now, she had to go to the hospital. There were arrangements to be made. Questions to be answered.
If he’d hurt Rachel all those years...
Don’t think about that now. Just get through the next few hours.
But if he had hurt Rachel...
Something glimmered in Sarah’s eyes that she hardly recognized, and she quickly turned away from her reflection. Drying her hands and face, she went back out to join Lukas. He helped her on with her coat, and they walked out to his car together. Sarah’s movements were zombielike, and she knew reality hadn’t set in yet. That would come later, when she was alone with too much time to think. Too much time to ponder the odds of her father and sister dying in the same horrendous fashion.
“Do you know of anyone who would want your father dead?” Lukas asked.
He was wearing the dark glasses again. Sarah couldn’t see his eyes when he glanced at her. She couldn’t tell at all what he was thinking.
Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her middle and shook her head.
“Do you know if he’d ever been threatened, maybe by someone he sent up?”
“No, but I didn’t come home much after my mother died. My father and I didn’t keep in touch.”
“So what brought you back now?” Lukas asked.
Sarah stared out the window. “I heard he was dying. I wanted to make peace before it was too late.”
“That’s not the only reason, is it?”
She turned with a frown.
“You said you wanted to make sense of your sister’s murder. You wanted to put all the pieces together.” Slowly he turned to face her. “Maybe you already have.”
Something in his voice sent a shiver up Sarah’s spine. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“When was the last time you saw your father?”
“Sunday afternoon. I’m not sure of the time.”
“Did any of the pieces fall together during the course of that visit?”
Sarah was starting to get seriously worried. “I still don’t know what you’re getting at,” she said, although she had a bad feeling that she did.
“Someone reported hearing loud voices coming from your father’s room. They said it sounded like an argument.”
“My father was easily upset. Especially when he talked about my mother and sister.”
Lukas was staring at her again. Sarah could feel the intensity of his eyes through the dark lenses. “I have one more question,” he said. “If I don’t ask it, you can bet that the county sheriff will.”
“What is it?”
“Are you the primary heir of James DeLaune’s estate?”
And just like that, reality came crashing in on Sarah. A cold, terrifying reality. “You can’t think I did this! What would be my motive? Even if my father left everything to me, and I very much doubt that he did, he only had a short while to live. Why would I need to kill him?”
“I don’t know, Sarah. Why would anyone kill a dying man?”
She thought about that question all the way to the hospital and all during the long hours that followed. As her father’s apparent heir, she would naturally be the logical suspect. But as she’d pointed out to Lukas, if she’d wanted the money, all she had to do was wait for her father to die. Why take the chance on losing everything?
Unless money wasn’t the motive at all.
And for Sarah, it wouldn’t be. The accusations her father had leveled at her about Rachel’s murder were far more damning. If anyone had overheard his allegations, they might well conclude that Sarah had a very powerful reason for bringing about her father’s premature demise.
And the possibility that someone had overheard those accusations scared Sarah to death.
She wanted more than anything to go back to New Orleans and forget that any of this had ever happened. She thought about what Curtis had said on Sunday, how one moment could change history, one decision could change the course of a person’s whole life.
And she thought about her father’s last words to her. He’d accused her of killing her sister, threatened to cut her off without a cent. And then someone had killed him.
First Rachel, and now her father. Could she be next? Sarah wondered.
She wished she could grieve, but all she felt at the moment was fear.
And she didn’t know which was more terrifying. That she could be a target...or that she wasn’t.
* * *
When Sarah finally got home that afternoon, Esme was waiting for her in the kitchen. She’d brought over a chicken casserole, but Sarah couldn’t eat a bite. She picked at the food while Esme talked about funeral arrangements.
“I don’t want to wait,” Sarah said. “I know that sounds cold, but I just want to get it over with as soon as possible.”
Esme stared with mute disapproval.
Sarah glanced up. “What?”
“You can’t put him in the ground so fast, people don’t have time to pay their proper respects. Mr. James was an important man in this county.”
“It’s my decision,” Sarah said. “And I don’t want to prolong it. That only makes things harder.”
Esme shook her head in exasperation. “Talking to you is like talking to a tree stump, child. You get it in your head something’s got to be a certain way, then that’s the way it’ll be. No sense arguing about it.”
“I’m glad you see things my way,” Sarah teased.
Esme folded her arms, letting Sarah know that she wasn’t about to cave on everything. “Who you want to preach the service?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think we should have a church service. You know how Dad felt about that. I think a graveside service would be better. Something simple.”
Esme clearly didn’t agree. She gave Sarah an offended look. “Is anyone going to be allowed to pray at this service?”
Sarah couldn’t help smiling. “Of course.”
“Even with a graveside service, somebody got to say a few words,” Esme insisted. “Else we’ll all be standing around gawking at the casket.”
“What about Tim Mason?”
The suggestion clearly took Esme aback. “What you know about Tim Mason?”
“Nothing, really. But he’s a preacher, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, he’s a preacher all right.”
“Then maybe I’ll ask him. I met him the other day and I kind of liked him.”
“You would,” Esme muttered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s not what I’d call traditional. His notions on moral behavior leave a lot to be desired, you ask me.”
Sarah shrugged. “Okay. Then we’ll ask someone else. We can get anybody you want. I don’t care.”
Esme placed the dishes in the sink with a loud clatter and turned, her eyes blazing. “Well, you should care. This is your daddy’s funeral we’re talking about, not some stranger’s. Mr. James was a hard man in a lot of ways, but he was always good to me.” Esme’s lip quivered and she dabbed at her eyes. “Gave me my little house free and clear, helped me send Curtis to school. It ain’t right. First Rachel, now Mr. James. Lord, God, what is this world coming to when something like this could happen twice to one family?”
Sarah got up and put her arms around Esme. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. We’ll do whatever you want for the service. Let’s just leave it for now. We can figure things out later. Come and sit down,” she said. “Let me get you some coffee.”
“You know I can’t drink coffee. Keeps me up at night.”
“How about a little whiskey?”
“Never touch it and neither should you. Eat your liver and your soul.”
“Don’t worry,” Sarah said. “I rarely drink the hard stuff.” Didn’t mix too well with her pills, but she didn’t tell Esme that.
“Esme, why don’t you like Tim Mason?”
“I never said I didn’t like him.”
Just everything but. “I saw that look on your face when I mentioned his name. What did he do?”
Esme looked annoyed. “Lord, child, I forget how you like to worry a body to death when you get something in your head like that. Why you interested in Tim Mason all of a sudden?”
“I told you, I met him the other day. He was in Dad’s hospital room when I got there on Sunday.”
Esme’s eyes deepened in agitation. “Tim Mason was in Mr. James’s room?”
“Yes. Why?”
She glanced away. “Mr. James never had much use for preachers.”
“I know that, but I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me,” Sarah said. “You seem to have such a strong opinion of him.”
“I already told you my reasons. I don’t cotton to his views on religion. And I don’t have much use for his sermons, neither.”
“Did Mama go to his church?”
“Now why you want to know that?”
“Because he said I looked like her. He even knew I went away to school. I can’t think of any other reason he’d know that, unless Mama talked about me.”
“All that was a long time ago. I’m an old woman. Half the time, I can’t even remember where I left my glasses.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your memory. It’s a lot better than mine,” Sarah said. “Can I ask you something else?”
“I ain’t figured out a way yet to stop you,” Esme grumbled.
“Dad didn’t like Mama going to church, did he? He said something the other day about her spending all her time there, instead of being home where she belonged.”
“Is that the question?”
“I’m leading up to it,” Sarah said. “He implied that Mama had done something he couldn’t forgive. Whatever it was, he said he couldn’t get past it with her mistake staring him in the face every day.”
“I told you the medicine made him talk crazy. You can’t pay no mind to what he said.”
“He seemed perfectly lucid when he told me he couldn’t stand the sight of me.”
Esme’s dark eyes glinted with sudden tears. “He told you that?”
“It’s nothing I didn’t already know. What I don’t know is why. Why did he feel that way about me? I have my own suspicions about it, but I want to hear it from you.”
Esme stared at her for the longest time. “You ask too much of me, Sarah June. Just let it go, child. I always say, no good can come from digging up the past. You need to let them ghosts be, so you can finally start living your life.”
* * *
After Esme went home, Sarah poured herself a glass of wine and carried it with her as she drifted through the silent house. The ghosts Esme had warned her about were everywhere tonight.
Her father, her mother, her sister...all gone from this world. Sarah was the only one left. The black sheep of the family. She supposed there might be some irony in that, but at the moment, she wasn’t in the mood to appreciate the odd paradoxes of her life.
She was exhausted and frightened, and contemplating what the next few days held felt a little like hovering on a tightwire strung across a fire pit. The funeral, an official investigation, yet more questions by the police.
She thought about calling Sean to let him know what had happened. If anyone could walk her through what she could expect from the police, it would be him. He’d called and left several messages on her voice mail, but she hadn’t called him back. She hadn’t even listened to what he had to say. And now it seemed unfair to drag him into this mess, when she’d told him countless times to stay out of her life.
Restless and edgy, she wandered over to the window to stare out at the street. Twilight had fallen. The pecan trees in the front lawn were black against a deep purple sky, and it had started to mist. Sarah could see the drizzle coming down in the glow of the streetlight in front of the house. The weather was gloomy and cold; the gathering darkness was already wearing on her nerves.
She stood there sipping her wine, her mind so cluttered that a movement in the shadows across the street didn’t register at first. It was just a stray dog or the wind. She barely even noticed.
And then she saw him.
Derrick Fears had been standing among the trees where she couldn’t see him. Now he stepped into the glow of the streetlight as if to make sure she noticed him.
He wore a hood pulled up over his head, and his shoulders were hunched against the cold. Sarah could see very little of his face, but she knew he was staring at the house.