Sins That Haunt (13 page)

So much for awkward morning-afters.

I
t wasn't difficult for Shannon to fake being upset. She didn't want to be there, and even though she'd arrived late, Molly and Luther had waited for her, much to the chagrin of the minister. What the hell had they been thinking? A minister? Every poor soul in a grave had turned over. Grateful that the man had never met JJ, she smiled congenially and thanked him when it was over. The poor guy wouldn't know what a sin he'd committed by saying the kind words he'd said over her father's ashes.

Molly and Luther, whose bright idea this had been, couldn't wait to get out of there and she was never more thankful to be rid of them. Before going, they'd handed her a scrap of paper while they babbled about cousins in the business. She'd shoved it in the pocket of the black trench coat Josh had lent her as she tried to decipher what it was they were going on about. Luther would start a sentence and Molly would finish it, so it was difficult to follow. But as she understood it, the paper had the name of JJ's lawyer. Ignorantly thinking JJ had willed them the house, the pair had made plans to sell it. Surprise, surprise: Not only was it not theirs to sell but it sounded like a second woman had been as naïve as her mother and married the pathetic excuse for a human being. One Cecelia Lewis. But what shocked her more was learning her parents had divorced. Frankly, she wouldn't be surprised if either her mom didn't know or JJ had committed bigamy.

Now alone, surrounded by the markers of those who truly deserved to be remembered, she glanced up at the dreary sky. It had rained early this morning and would do so again. First waking up to her colossal, albeit best-sex-of-her-life mistake with Noah, then enduring this ridiculous ceremony, of course the weather would be crappy. So if anyone were so inclined as to listen in on her thoughts, she'd promise a week of no cursing if the rain held off for a little longer. There was one thing she wanted to do before heading back . . . to Mr. P.

The cemetery wasn't far from the quarry, within walking distance. On those nights when a six-pack hadn't been enough to keep kids amused, the townspeople of Tweedsmuir would find themselves cleaning up beer cans around whatever grave the bored teenagers had chosen to pay homage to by holding their own Irish wake. In her recollection, no one had ever been disrespectful, although the adults disagreed. She and Maggie never participated, more out of fearing the wrath of Maggie's father than anything else. The man barely said two words to Shannon, but there was no mistaking his animosity. She'd chosen not to incur his wrath and kept her best friend off that meganaughty list. So, unlike most everyone in Tweedsmuir, Shannon had only ever been here once before, on one of the worst days of her life: Mr. P's funeral.

Having forgotten exactly where it was, she talked to the groundskeeper and followed his directions along the path through the small cemetery when she spotted the headstone, and it started to pour. Did the universe hate her that much? She'd just opened her umbrella when she heard her name. It would seem the universe did indeed hate her that much.

Suddenly chilled, Shannon stuck her free hand in the coat's pocket as she turned, squinting to see through the haze of rain. A woman stood some twenty feet away. She too held an umbrella. “Mom?” Holy shit.

“Hi.” Her mother took one cautious step forward and then another.

For her part, Shannon refrained from stepping back. It wasn't that she didn't love her, but there was no denying the resentment she felt toward the woman. As a kid she hadn't understood mental illness, only that her mother chose JJ over her. Why on some level could she not see what the man was doing to her daughter? She'd been medicated, not stupid. And because of her, Shannon had done things that had scarred her for life.

Before she knew it, her mother stood in front of her. Was she expecting a happy reunion? She hadn't planned on dealing with this yet, although at some point it was inevitable. Should she hug her or what? Her mother made the decision for her, stepping forward and wrapping her free arm around Shannon. Hesitantly, she hugged her back.

Then Shannon remembered where they were. She put on a straight face, tamping down old resentments. The woman hadn't come to see her but JJ. Even in the bastard's death things weren't different. She told herself it didn't matter. This woman simply didn't know any better.

She released her mother. “How did you know his funeral was today?”

“I didn't. I . . . uh . . . I followed you,” she said with a sheepish smile that reminded Shannon of herself.

She knew she looked nothing like her father, and it would stand to reason she inherited her blond hair and blue eyes from her mother, but this was the first time she saw the resemblance. And honestly, it was uncanny and disturbing.

“Me? How did you—?”

“The police,” her mother cut in. “They had questions about JJ. They let me know you were here. Not here in the cemetery. Here in Tweedsmuir.”

Noah hadn't told her anyone had questioned her mother. “What did they ask you?”

“Oh, when did I last see him? Did I have any idea who killed him? Things like that.”

For someone who'd been questioned about the murder of a man she'd never willingly broken free of, she seemed rather calm. However, the doctors had explained how mood-altering drugs would keep her mother at such an even keel that she could at times appear unemotional. Then again . . .

“You don't seem upset about his death.”

“Let's just say I see things more clearly now. They changed my medication,” she said by way of explanation.

“I don't understand. You get new meds and what . . . reality?” She did her best not to sound skeptical or resentful, but damn, it was hard.

“I know I haven't been the best mother to you. I didn't . . . I couldn't see . . . I . . . I let that man get between us. I should've seen. You tried to tell me,” she said, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear.

“It's okay,” she offered, reaching out and touching her mother's arm. She hadn't gotten a report about new medication. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn't, but the last thing she wanted was for her mother to break down in this cold, wet cemetery. “Why don't we talk about this later? How did you get here? Did you take a cab?”

“No,” her mother beamed. “I have my driver's license.”

She must have appeared skeptical because before she knew it, an open wallet had been shoved under her nose.

“See.”

Oh dear God, someone had given this woman permission to get behind the wheel of a car. “That's impressive.” And scary as shit.

“I know, right. But I'm better now. I have new meds,” she repeated. “I even have a job. A good one. I was waiting . . . Well, I wanted to make sure I had my life together before I contacted you. I have so much to tell you, and I know I have a lot to make up for, but Shannon, I was wondering, do you think? I mean, would it be all right if we tried, you know, to be a family?”

Wasn't it what Shannon had always wanted, a normal family? So why now did her mother's request seem . . . off? Probably because she'd never expected it to happen, not while JJ was alive. But the one thing she always wanted, JJ gave her by dying. “Sure,” she answered, but more to get her mother out of the rain and keep her calm than having actually considered starting over. “But why don't we have this conversation when our underwear is dry?”

She put her arm around her mother and began walking them toward the parking lot. Glancing over her shoulder at the grave she'd come to see, Shannon said a silent
I'm sorry
and promised she'd return. Mr. Polanski deserved a proper good-bye.

* * *

Shannon glanced at her phone. Two o'clock. She'd given her mother her business card with her cell phone number and told her to call. Of course she'd consider starting over, but with everything that had happened in the last few days, last night included, Shannon's brain was in overload. The proof was in the pudding, as the old saying went, because she'd completely forgotten to ask her mother about the divorce.

She'd made sure the woman could actually drive, watched with relief as she expertly maneuvered around the potholes. Thankfully, the rain had stopped. A large semi had whizzed past, and when her mother knew enough to wait before merging, Shannon got into her own car. If Emma Lewis had gotten to the cemetery in one piece, this new woman she claimed to be could make the long drive back to Boston just as safely.

She returned to her room and found Noah in the shower. She couldn't decide if she was pissed or foolishly happy. Earlier this morning she'd been in the middle of contemplating a nasty email when he'd returned with the food. Never having done one-night stands, she didn't appreciate waking up alone after the best sex of her life, unexpected as it had been.

She stared at the bathroom door, debating sneaking in and stealing all the towels. But as much as her mouth watered at the idea of watching him come out naked and dripping wet, she couldn't avoid her responsibility to a woman who had been more of a mother to her than her own. What she could avoid doing was making what had happened between her and Noah any more than what it actually was. To say it was just sex would taint what they'd once had. So she'd think of it as the farewell they'd never gotten. Then they could go on with their separate lives. Even if hers wasn't in Vegas, Noah's purchase of Maggie's old house was proof that he was still a hometown boy. And she would never be a hometown girl. Hell, she wasn't a hometown girl when she lived here.

The shower shut off, and two minutes later Noah came out of the bathroom. While not naked, the towel clinging precariously off his hips was the next best thing. “Hey, you're back.” The kiss, while unexpected, would have set a forest on fire. “Hi.” His grin was so sexy that what had been left of the forest turned to ash. “You know, your flight doesn't leave for another three and a half hours.”

“And as intriguing as that sounds,” and it was beyond intriguing, “I have a date I need to keep.”

“Oh?”

“Jealous?” How ridiculous was it to be pleased?

“Sorry. It's none of my business.”

“No, it isn't. But it's nice you care. And I'm glad we had this time to properly say good-bye.”

“Are you still mad at me?” he asked, sounding confused.

“No.”

“Then why are you talking good-byes?”

“Because I fly out at six and I still have to get myself to the airport. I don't have a lot of time. I'm going to pack, then visit Mrs. P before I leave.”

“Let me come with you.”

“You want to come to Mrs. P's?” Would it make it easier for her if he were there?

“Sure. I know how hard it will be to go back to that house.”

“Thanks,” she said. “That will be nice.”

“You know, you could consider staying longer.”

Was he serious? Was he nuts? “To what end? This was—”

“Please don't say fun; anything but fun.”

“I was going to say great.”

“Great is as bad as fun,” he argued.

“How about closure? This seems to be a day for it.”

“Closure?”

She went on to explain about seeing her mother and how odd it all felt.

“Doesn't sound like closure,” he said. “More like new beginnings.”

And why did
that
sound like he wasn't only talking about her mother? What the hell was he expecting? That they would get back together? How and why would he think that? “Most men would appreciate a good time and a quick good-bye.”

Noah glanced back at the messed-up bed. “How many times have you done this?”

“What is it you want from me? You want to know if I sleep around? If I have one-night stands? I don't. In fact, I haven't had a real relationship in two years, and even then I'd hardly call it real.”

“Two years?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“I was busy building my practice and making sure Maggie stayed out of trouble. She's a full-time job. So that,” she pointed to the bed, “
was
great. It was nice to be held in someone's arms and made to feel special. I don't want to take back what happened. Do you?”

“No,” he said indignantly. “Of course not.”

She was going to regret asking, but if she'd been honest with him . . . “You sleep around?”

“Honestly, I haven't had sex since my divorce, last year.”

Certain her legs wouldn't hold her up, she sat on the bed, debating what she could break over his head that Josh and Eldon wouldn't be too upset over losing. Married? And only now he decided to tell her? It wasn't that she'd expected he'd been so devastated about her leaving that he couldn't find someone else. It was that he'd made it seem like their young love had been the most important thing to him. Surely a wife one-upped her on the heartache scale. What kind of game was he playing? And should she give a shit? She was leaving, and any thoughts she may or may not have entertained about their rekindled romance sizzled, popped, and went out.

“Well, then,” she said, “I guess you were due.”

S
hannon hesitated on Mrs. P's front porch steps. She could do this. She had to do this. To her right was the old swing where she'd spent countless after-school hours, eating cake and whatever else this sweet woman had baked for her. Her stomach knotted remembering all the times she'd taken it for granted.

Noah had gotten a last-minute call from his office. Which, if she was honest, she'd been grateful for. Better to face being in this house alone than dealing with tumultuous emotions involving one Noah Monroe.

The front door opened and Mrs. Polanski came out, arms extended and ready to embrace her. “Shannon, I not sure you coming. Come, come. I have cake.”

“Lemon?” It was Shannon's favorite and always seemed to make her feel normal.

“Of course,” she said pulling her inside, which was good because Shannon wasn't so sure she could take that first step.

The home had been through some major changes and it was a little disconcerting. The old flowered sofa was gone and in its place a scarlet red sectional filled the now open-concept living room. On the plus side, Mr. P.'s old recliner no longer sat in the corner by the fireplace. But on the mantel were not one but two framed pictures of him. One she recognized. It had been taken the day of his daughter's wedding. He wore a dark blue suit and a smile that could warm even the coldest of hearts. He'd been buried in the suit.

“Sit, sit. I get cake.”

Shannon took a seat, positioning her back to the picture. It was a coward's move.

Mrs. P returned to the living room, a cake in one hand, plates in the other.

“I put coffee on stove. You drink coffee?”

Shannon smiled. “Yes, thank you.”

She sat beside her and, after setting the plates on a new-looking square coffee table, put a warm hand on Shannon's knee. “I expected to see Noah with you,” she said with a devilish grin.

“It's not what you think. We aren't together.”

“No. You just come back after how many years to visit?”

“No, really, it's not like that. I'm going back to Vegas tonight and Noah is staying here.” How it was meant to be.

“Vegas, bah. What kind of town to raise children?”

“I'm not planning on raising children.”

“Noah will make a good father,” she said, cutting the cake and setting a slice on a plate.

Yes, she was sure he would, but not to her children. She wasn't having any kids and certainly not with Noah. Shannon changed the subject. “I missed your cake.”

“Visit more and I make all the time. I have fancy oven. Con-vet-chun. Top of the line. See?” She pointed to her new kitchen.

The wall separating the rooms had been taken down and Shannon had a clear view of the new kitchen. “You bought a new oven? Very cool.” Mrs. P deserved nice things.

“I redo entire kitchen. Top of line,” she said, puffing out her chest. “Only the best for my baking. Money from sweepstake. I win. Big,” she said, using her hands to show Shannon just how big.

“Yes, I know. Maggie told me. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, but it a surprise. I do not remember buying ticket. Very strange.”

Shannon smiled. “Karma, Mrs. P. Good things happen to good people.” And she was good people, the best people.

“And bad things to bad,” the woman said. “Like your father. It is ill to speak of the dead, but that man . . .”

Her father wasn't the only
bad people
. “So, what else is new?”

“Come,” she said. “I show you.”

Mr. P had been busy. New bathrooms, new flooring and, except for her queen bed, new furniture. She said she'd shared that bed with her husband and no way would she give it up. She admitted Frederick wouldn't approve of her spending, but she'd won the sweepstakes, a sign from God that she should buy nice things. She couldn't argue. When Shannon finally left she promised they'd stay in touch and gave her one final embrace, praying she'd have the courage to keep that promise.

Outside Noah sat on the back of his car, waiting.

She'd chosen to walk and left her rental at the boardinghouse. “What are you doing here?”

He jumped down and popped the trunk; inside was her luggage. “I figured we'd end this the way it started.”

“With me wishing you dead?” she said, eyeing the luggage. “What's with you and breaking into my room?” She'd seen him leave the B and B.

“This time I was just being helpful, and I didn't break in.”

“Josh let you in?”

“Yeah.” He closed the trunk.

“What about the car you rented for me?”

“Leave it to me.”

She nodded, contemplating the long drive to Boston with Noah at the wheel. His failure to mention his marriage upset her more than she was willing to admit. The Noah she'd known wouldn't have kept something that significant to himself. How else had he changed? But she was going home. Did it matter?

“There's news about JJ's shooting. If you're interested?”

When she hadn't argued with him, he'd come around and opened the door for her. She stared at the car seat, debating what to do.

“Shannon?”

“Why didn't you tell me you were married?” Turns out she did want to know.

“I'll tell you all about it on the way to the airport. You don't want to miss your flight, do you?” he asked a touch too hopefully.

In answer, she got in the car and buckled her seat belt. Then waited for him to join her before asking, “So what's the news? Got any more clues as to who shot him?”

“Did I tell you they recovered tire tracks at the scene?”

“I was a suspect. You didn't tell me anything except that they found my gun,” she replied dryly.

“You're not a suspect anymore.”

“I was
never
really a suspect. Can you at least be honest about that?” she said, giving him a pointed stare.

“Was that a dig about my marriage?”

Maybe, but she'd be damned if she'd admit it. “So they recovered tire tracks. And?”

He wisely accepted her answer. “There are a few scenarios we're working through. He bled out at the scene, which means the shot that killed him happened there. It's possible he was taken by force or knew his assailant.”

“Or he could've been walking alone and someone stopped and shot him.”

Noah shook his head. “Doesn't make sense. His car was at the bar where you and he met. Where was he going wounded?”

Chilled, Shannon turned up the heat. “What do you mean, wounded?”

“I told you: He was shot twice. The coroner determined roughly forty-five minutes apart. So it's more likely he was brought there. The road where his body was recovered is fairly dark and secluded.”

“You think someone shot him, then took him there, shot him again, and left him for dead? That's a lot trouble. They recovered tire tracks and . . . ?”

“We have the make of the car. It's a ‘95 Buick.”

“Well, that definitely rules out Santos. Can you see him driving around in a car that old?”

“No, not his style.”

“So still no suspects? What about his new wife?”

“What new wife?”

She explained what the Keyeses had said and tried to remember the name of the lawyer written on the paper they'd handed her, the paper she'd forgotten to take out of the trench coat Josh had lent her. She called the boys, but no one picked up.

“Let's try again later. We don't have any men stationed in town or I'd send one over. Molly and Luther packed up and left this morning.”

“They're running?”

“We were expecting it. It's one of the reasons we needed you in there so fast.”

“They were skipping town the moment they heard JJ was shot. So did you know they wanted to sell the house?”

“Some cousin on Luther's mother's side is a real estate agent,” he said by way of answer.

“They're
all
cousins in Luther's family. But you didn't know about the lawyer or the will?”

“No,” he said, sounding concerned.

He should be. If they'd missed that, what else had they missed?

“I'll put someone on it. See if they can find out who she is.”

Not that she cared, but something kept poking at her, and over the years she'd learned to listen to those pokes. “Can you let me know when you do?”

“You want to meet her?”

“Not necessarily.” Maybe it was nothing.

“So how was your visit with Mrs. Polanski?”

“Not too bad. I didn't realize how much I missed her.”

“Did you miss me?” he asked, catching her off guard.

“Nah, your cake sucked.” Compared to Mrs. P's, everyone's did.

“Did you like her new kitchen?”

“I liked the old one.” It was homey, something unattainable in a trailer. Mrs. P could always be found in the kitchen, often with Mr. P sitting at the table reading the paper or pretending it was his first piece of cake when more than likely it was his third.

“It was a stroke of luck, don't you think? Her winning the sweepstakes?”

Shannon shifted uncomfortably. “No kidding.”

“Yeah, it's one of those money-for-life things. I've never heard of it, but each month she gets money dropped into her account. It came in the nick of time too.”

“Yes, I heard. She'd gone through the little bit of savings they had left.”

“Right. She was on the brink of losing the house . . . oh . . . must be five years now. Then she goes and wins this sweepstakes that she doesn't remember buying a ticket for. Right when she needed the money.”

Sometimes the universe just needed a small shove in the right direction. “Funny, that.”

Noah shouldn't push his luck. He'd already fucked up by not telling Shannon about his marriage. He could say it hadn't crossed his mind, but he'd be lying. Truth was, he'd been hesitant to admit to such a screw-up. The divorce was mostly his fault. He'd spent more time in the office than with Cynthia. So it made sense that her social life hadn't included him. By the time he'd decided to give his marriage a fair try, she'd moved on with someone else. A piece of paper didn't mean he'd been willing to commit. And he never fully had. To his job maybe, but not his wife.

“You should know that sweepstakes ticket saved that old woman her home.”

“So I hear. Karma.”

“You want me to believe karma is responsible?”

“Good things happen to good people. You wanna know what my karma was? A lunatic punched me out, tied me to a chair, and put a gun to my head. And if not for Maggie, he'd have used it. And I have a sneaking suspicion the universe isn't done with me. Now I'm happy Mrs. P has a good life, even if it's without her Frederick. It will allow me to sleep easier at night, but neither you nor anyone else can cleanse my soul of my sins. There's only one person who can do that. And I'm not sure He listens to me,” she said, “so quit fishing for answers that aren't there. How about you tell me about your wife?”

“Ex-wife,” he corrected. “And there isn't much to tell. I got married because there was something missing in my life, and I thought Cynthia could fill it.” He'd been stupid. Puppies filled voids. Marriage was supposed to be forever. “I was wrong. It wasn't her fault. It was mine. The marriage lasted three years before she got tired of being ignored and filed for divorce. By the time I realized what I was doing to her, it was too late. She'd found someone else.”

“What exactly were you missing in your life?”

The question was a good one. If only he had an answer. “I don't know. My career had taken off. Most of the guys around me were getting married. Cynthia and I
were
good together.”

“And then what? You got married and ignored her?”

“Pretty much. It's getting hot in here. Do you mind if I turn the heat down?”

Shannon reached forward and tapped the fan button. “Sounds to me like you wanted it to fail.”

“Damon said the same thing.” It had stung to think his friend thought that he had purposely screwed up his marriage. But in hindsight Damon might have been right.

“Smart guy. Hey, can I have his number?”

He turned his head to look at her. “Why?”

She shrugged. “He's cute. I mean, come on, why else would I want his number?”

Why else indeed?

“Do you have a problem giving it to me?”

“No, no, of course not. But I should warn you, federal agents don't make good boyfriends.”

“Maybe, but I hear they make great lovers. Hey,” she said, grabbing the wheel and correcting the car after he'd veered too far right. “Better keep your eyes on the road. Think I can trust you not to kill us? I'd like to take a nap. Didn't get much sleep last night.” She yawned and, tugging her wool cardigan closer, reclined her seat and closed her eyes, putting an end to any questions he might have.

Was she interested in Damon or just trying to make him jealous? And if she was trying to get a rise out of him, did that mean anything? And, more importantly, did she want it to mean anything?

* * *

Noah got out of the car and popped the trunk to get her luggage. He had some time to think in the silence. And while there was the slight possibility he was wrong, he was going to bet she wasn't interested in Damon. Because even if she were, she'd never rub his nose in it. At least he hoped not.