Buried Sins (15 page)

She held out against the question for a moment, and then she nodded. “He didn’t say Caroline. He said Caro.” Her fingers twisted again. “Tony called me that. He…I didn’t believe he could be alive. But who else would know?”

She sounded at the end of her rope, and for a moment he couldn’t think of her as a suspect, only as someone he cared about, someone who was hurting.

“I don’t think you can assume that.” He tried to keep his feelings from sounding in his voice. It wouldn’t do either of them any good to let her know he cared. “Your sisters call you Caro. I’ve heard them. Probably a lot of people around here have.”

“I suppose.” She didn’t sound convinced.

He could hardly blame her. The bottom line was that the attack on her wasn’t a random thing, so whether the attacker was Tony or someone else, this situation had taken a turn to the dangerous.

They were almost at the inn, and once her grandmother and sisters saw her, to say nothing of her friend, he wouldn’t have a chance to say anything in private.

“Look, I want you to promise me something.”

She looked at him. “What?”

“Promise me that you’ll stay at the inn tonight, okay?”

She nodded. Her eyes were wide and frightened in the intermittent illumination of the streetlamps. “That’s not a permanent solution. Why is this happening, Zach?” Her voice choked on a sob. “I have to know.”

He did reach out then, clasping her hand briefly in his. “I wish I could answer that. But I won’t stop looking until we know the truth. I promise.”

C
aroline turned away from the stove and nearly tripped over Barney. When she’d made it clear she was returning to the apartment the next night, Grams had insisted that if she wouldn’t listen to reason, she’d at least take the dog along for protection.

“You’ll take care of me, won’t you, sweetie?” She ruffled Barney’s silky fur, and he gave her a foolish grin and a soft woof.

She was afraid Grams didn’t understand her insistence on coming back to her own place. It wasn’t about asserting her independence, not anymore. She loved and trusted them.

Just as important, she’d taken her first step toward trusting God again last night. Funny. She’d wrestled with how that would happen, and then when it came, it had been as natural as breathing.

She walked into the living room, carrying her mug of coffee, and Barney padded at her heels. Much as she’d learned to love this place, it did seem lonely with darkness pressing against the windows. But she hadn’t really had a choice. Danger was coming closer, and she wasn’t going to let it get anywhere near her family. She’d face it here.

Barney put his head on her knee, as if he sensed that her thoughts were getting too grim. She petted his head. “Sorry. I guess I’m not very good company, am I? Maybe if I talk to you, I can keep from thinking about what happened last night.”

But she couldn’t. She kept hearing that voice whispering her name. She’d heard it last night, too, but at least she’d had the comfort of Rachel’s soft breathing in the other twin bed to help block it out.

Caro. No one in Santa Fe had called her that but Tony. Still, Zach was right. Plenty of people here had heard the nickname. Even Zach had used it once or twice. Wasn’t it more rational to assume that the dark figure was someone, anyone, other than Tony?

She was thinking too much again. She took a sip of the coffee and made a face. Why on earth had she made coffee? It would keep her up all night. Not that she expected to do much sleeping, in any event.

Barney’s ears pricked, and he raised his head, giving a soft woof. A knock at the door followed a moment later.

The dog didn’t act as if it were a stranger. She went to the window nearest the door and drew the curtain back. Her sisters stood on the doorstep.

She’d thought this was settled. She opened the door, trying to look perfectly calm and confident.

Before she could say a word, Andrea had elbowed her way in, arms laden, with Rachel right behind her.

“Since you won’t come to us, we’ve come to you,” Andrea announced. She tossed a couple of sleeping bags on the rug in front of the fireplace. “We’re going to have a pajama party.”

“Andrea, Rachel—” She choked up before she could say anything else.

“Don’t argue.” Rachel carried her bundles to the kitchen. “We have the makings of a first-class pajama party—brie, crackers, fruit, my special panini sandwiches, hot chocolate and marshmallows, the works.”

Andrea grinned. “Doesn’t sound remotely like any pajama party food I can remember.”

“Well, I trust our palates are a little more sophisticated now.” Rachel moved from stove to countertop to refrigerator as if she were perfectly at home. Maybe, for Rachel, any kitchen was home.

“I hope Tyler knows what a treasure he’s getting.” She crossed to the breakfast bar.

Andrea followed her. “She reminds him with every meal. I’m sure when Cal faces one of my meals, fresh from the deli, he thinks he’s married the wrong sister.”

“I had first shot at Cal, you’ll remember, and he never got past looking at me as a little sister.” Rachel turned the heat on under the hot chocolate pot and slapped a fry pan onto the front burner. “He took one look at Andrea and he was a goner.”

Andrea’s smile was tender and reminiscent. “He didn’t act that way. Spent most of his time yelling at me for one thing or another, as I recall.”

“He adores you, and you know it.” Caro looked from Andrea to Rachel. “You’re lucky, you know. Both of you, to find such good men.”

Andrea gave her a quick hug. “Baby, it’s going to happen for you, too. Just because Tony turned out to be a jerk—”

Rachel made a soft murmur of dissent, but Andrea shrugged that off.

“Don’t give me that look, Rach. We all know the man was a con artist if not something worse, and Caroline deserves way better than that.” She glanced at Caro’s face. “Okay? Or would you like to slug me?”

That surprised a laugh out of her. “Tact isn’t your strong suit, is it? But you’re right. It’s just taken me a while to accept.”

Rachel turned a sandwich. “I can understand that. It’s one thing to accept something intellectually, but another to really get it in the heart.”

Caro could almost feel the tension drain out of her. “How did I get two such wise older sisters?”

“It took us a while.” Andrea’s expression grew serious. “We let you down. We know that now. We were both so eager to get away from Mom that we didn’t think about what it was going to be like for you, left alone with her.”

Tears welled in Caro’s eyes. It was far more than she’d ever expected to hear from Andrea, who was always so sure of herself. “It’s okay.” She forced the words past the lump in her throat. “Really.”

“Okay, enough serious stuff.” Rachel slid plates in front of them, then turned back to get the platter of brie, grapes and crackers. “Wrap yourself around that, and I guarantee you’ll feel better. Prosciutto, goat cheese, roasted red peppers, sautéed mushrooms—”

“And your secret sauce?” Andrea teased.

Caro took a bite, the flavors exploding in her mouth. “Wow, Rachel. This is prize-winning food. You’re right. This would bring a dying man back from the brink for one more bite.”

“Oops, almost forgot.” Andrea turned to scrabble through her bag. “I brought something that’s going to cheer you up almost as much as Rachel’s food.” She put a sheaf of fax papers onto the countertop. “My Internet research paid off faster than even I expected. I found a family historian in Boston who is writing a history of Elizabeth’s family. And—wait for it—he actually had some of Elizabeth’s letters written to her sister from Pennsylvania.”

Caro put down her sandwich. “You’re kidding! How on earth did you find him that fast?”

“Genealogy sites.” Andrea smiled, a little smugly. “You’d be amazed at what’s out there, and most of the serious researchers are eager to share. He faxed these when I promised to send him photos of the quilt and any additional information we find.”

“Hurry, look at them,” Rachel urged. “Andrea wouldn’t let me get even a peek. She said you had to be first.”

Caro bent over the faxed sheets, deciphering the faint, faded script. It had become easier since she’d been reading the letters from Elizabeth’s sister, and she was able to go through them fairly quickly, reading out pertinent bits to her sisters.

“Listen to this.” She frowned at the page. “She says, ‘I have completed the quilt according to the pastor’s instructions, and I eagerly await the first opportunity to put it out.’ That’s a little odd, isn’t it?”

“Maybe she just means to use it,” Rachel said, scooping up melted brie with a cracker.

“Could be.” But something was niggling at the back of Caro’s mind—something she’d read or heard, that had to do with quilts.

“Listen to this one.” Andrea had picked up another of the sheets. “This really is odd. She says, ‘Thank you, my dear sister, for your concern. I am upheld by your prayers. As you say, this venture can be dangerous, but when I think of the perils of those we help, our dangers are nothing. If only I could be sure who to trust. A Friend was taken into custody two nights ago, and all are praying for him and questioning who could have betrayed him.’”

“Wow,” Rachel said again. “I always pictured women of those days living a pretty quiet life. Sounds like Elizabeth had something more serious on her plate. I wonder what it was.”

“Well, my new genealogy friend promised me more letters in a few days, so maybe the answer will be there.” Andrea looked toward the stove. “Are you going to give us some of that hot chocolate, or just let it steam away over there?”

“Goodness, I forgot.” Rachel scrambled to get the hot chocolate served up, along with a shoofly pie that she said was Emma’s contribution to the party.

Between the food and the lively chatter her sisters put up, Caroline realized to her surprise that she actually wasn’t worrying any longer. She had a new life, and plenty of new things to occupy her mind. With so much support, she’d get through this dark time.

They cleaned up together, chattering in a way she couldn’t remember since they’d been children. Her sisters had grown into women to be proud of. Andrea, so smart and efficient, but with a new softness about her since she’d come back home and met Cal. And gentle Rachel—there was strength behind that gentleness that surprised her.

What did they think of how she’d turned out? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She’d certainly made more than her share of mistakes.

They finally settled in front of the fireplace with refills of hot chocolate. “I guess we should have asked your friend to join us,” Rachel said. “But she went out to dinner, and I didn’t like to interfere with her plans.”

“You mean you thought she’d put a damper on the party,” Andrea said, smiling.

“It’s just as well,” Caro interceded. “I don’t think Francine is the pajama-party type.” And Francine certainly didn’t have to tell Caroline where she was going for the evening, although she was a little surprised that she hadn’t.

“It was nice of her to come here to support you,” Rachel said.

“It was. She’s bravely doing without her gourmet coffee for the sake of being here for me.”

“I did manage to fix some hazelnut this morning that she said wasn’t half-bad.” Rachel’s grin said that she wasn’t offended.

Andrea stretched. “Look at the time. I’d better get some sleep. I’m supposed to meet with a new client in the morning.”

Caro was about to say that they could go and sleep in their own beds when the noise came. Rachel froze, half into her sleeping bag, and stared at the back wall—the one the connected to the barn. “Did you hear that?”

“How could you help but hear it?” Andrea demanded. “Somebody knocked something over. Sounds like your vandals are back, Caro.” She was already dialing her cell phone. “Cal, there’s someone in the barn. Yes, all right. We will, just hurry.”

She snapped the phone shut. “Cal says to stay inside and keep the door locked. He’s on his way, and he’s calling Zach.”

When Caro would have moved, Rachel grabbed her. “It’s all right. They’ll be right here. Cal was staying in the house tonight. It’ll only take a couple of minutes.”

“I don’t have a couple of minutes.” Caroline pulled free and headed for the door, seized by a compulsion she didn’t really understand. “I can’t wait. Don’t you see? The quilt is in there. Vandals—” Words failed her, but the pictures filled her mind—some ignorant kids slashing at the quilt, stretched on its frame, throwing paint at it—

She reached the door and grabbed the flashlight that hung next to it. Barney, excited, jumped at her heels, barking. “I’ll be all right. I’ll take Barney—”

“We’ll all go.” Andrea coolly pulled a poker from the fireplace rack. “It’s our history, too.”

“Right.” Rachel rushed to the kitchen and returned brandishing the fry pan. “Let me at them.”

Caro’s fear was swept away by the desire to laugh. “All right. Let’s go.”

She opened the door. Barney ran ahead of them, barking wildly. How they must look, running after the dog in the dark. The fear she’d felt the night before in the woods was a distant memory. She could take on anything with her sisters behind her.

They rounded the corner of the barn. Barney gave a fierce bark, followed by snarling and snapping, and a man’s frightened cry. She swung the torch’s beam wildly, trying to focus on the melee.

The dark figure—was it the man from last night?—tore free of the dog and started to run.

But there was no place to run. The police car surged down the lane, siren wailing, just as Cal, breathing hard, burst out of the path from the house.

The man froze, caught in the converging beams of the headlights and the torch. Zach got out of the police car and came toward him.

“Out kind of late, aren’t you, Mayor?”

The man turned, full into Caro’s light. Keith Morris stood there, and in his arms was the antique quilt.

Zach led Keith to a straight-backed chair in the barn apartment and planted him in it, none too gently. In his opinion, Keith should be sitting in the police station right now, but he’d given in, partly because of Keith’s frantic appeals to be allowed to explain, but mostly because Caroline said she wanted to hear him. After what she’d been through, she deserved to hear.

At the moment Caroline and Rachel had spread the quilt on the table and were going over it, stitch by stitch, to be sure it hadn’t come to any harm. Andrea had given up her poker, a little reluctantly, and now sat in the corner on the sofa, her husband’s arm around her.

“Okay, Keith.” He frowned down at Churchville’s mayor. “Let’s have an explanation. Breaking and entering, theft—those are plenty serious charges.”

“No, no, you can’t arrest me.” Sweat broke out on Keith’s forehead, and his gaze swiveled from side to side and settled on Caroline. “You have to believe me. I just wanted a look at the quilt, that’s all. I wanted to know what you had before I made an offer. But then I heard the dog barking, and I ran without thinking.”

“You expect us to buy that? You could have come to Caroline anytime and asked to see the quilt if you were interested in buying.”

“He already saw it,” Caroline said. “He offered to buy it.”

“I…I hardly got more than a glimpse then.” Keith looked at him and quickly away. “I mean, I thought the price would go up if I showed too much interest—she’d already turned me down once.”

“If all you wanted was to look at it, why did you take it out of the frame?” Andrea leaned forward, apparently unable to stay out of it any longer. “You were trying to steal it.”

Keith shied away from the words. “I couldn’t help it. I mean, it was my mother.” He looked up at Zach again. “You know what she’s like. She’s so proud of being the final authority on things historical in the area, proud of her ancestors being First Proprietors, going back to William Penn and all that. She couldn’t take the idea that someone might have something of more historical significance than she does.” He sat up straighter, apparently gaining confidence from this line of argument, which just might be closer to the truth.