Sins That Haunt (31 page)

“I . . . I guess he didn't want to leave you with hospital bills?” She hated herself for fishing for answers but had to know.

“Oh no. We not have a lot of money. Pension not too good, but his company pay good medical plan. Now, enough sadness. I go get cake.”

This time Shannon allowed her to leave. She needed to process this new information. She debated calling Noah. But the decision had to be hers. For the last thirteen years she'd blamed herself for Mr. Polanski's death, and now to discover she wasn't responsible . . . So why wasn't she more relieved?

“I have lemon and cherry.” Mrs. P returned with a tray and a very big smile.

Who did the old woman think she was kidding? Shannon relieved her of her burden and set it down on the coffee table. “Sit.”

“You no like cherry? I have chocolate too.”

“Stop,” she said, taking Mrs. P's hands into her own. They were strong hands, ones that never ceased. These pillowy, soft hands had made countless cakes. They were the tools used to express love. If Mrs. P wasn't feeding someone, she wasn't happy. She couldn't solve everyone's problems, but a chocolate chip cookie and a slice of lemon cake made you feel loved. And wasn't love the balm to if not all at least some of your pain?

“I made you cry,” she said, biting back her own tears. Not for herself but the woman who'd given her so much love when she'd needed it the most. “I'm sorry.”

“It's all right. Cherry cake was Frederick's favorite. It
good
to remember.” She smiled. “Frederick loved you . . . like family.
Good
you know why he died. Big secret I carry.
Good
to tell someone.”

“I loved him too.” The wrinkled knuckles in her hands blurred; then, with one final squeeze, she let them go. Mrs. P had spoken the truth. “Do you know how you said my father was a bad man?” Shannon wiped the tears off her cheeks and began her story.

G
ood to tell someone
. Truer words had never been spoken, and while Shannon had done her best never to lie after she and Maggie had run away, she hadn't told the truth. And it
was
good to tell the truth. But there was one other person she needed to confess to, and as she stood over Mr. Polanski's grave, she said a silent prayer, hoping that he too would forgive her.

She pressed a kiss to her fingers and touched his gravestone. “I tried to take care of her, you know. I'll be visiting more, so I'll do my best to keep taking care of her. That woman has crazy spending habits, but I think you know that.”

Shannon's partners had been thrilled with the idea of opening up an office in Boston. But she wasn't packing up and moving in with Noah just yet. Running blindly to something was just as bad as running away. As it turned out, a transfer to another FBI office wasn't impossible. But for now they'd do the commute thing, to test the waters and enjoy discovering all their
new
pet peeves and annoying bad habits. Life was good, except for one thing.

“Hey, could you do me a favor?” she said to Mr. P, wiping the tears from her face. “Could you look around and see if my sister is with you? And if she is, can you give her a hug for me and tell her . . . tell her I'm sorry.”

Everyone had begun to think the worst and what totally sucked was, there were no pictures to put on the damn milk carton. If JJ had had any, he'd either destroyed them or hidden them somewhere they couldn't be found. All they had was the artist's rendition from the description the school had given them. Shannon had stared at it for hours, but Cecilia looked like an average, cute seven-year-old. Hundreds could have fit the picture. She had begun to see her little sister's face on every kid she came across.

“Well, I have to go.” She pressed another kiss to the headstone.

She and Noah were heading over to JJ's. If her father had gone through all the trouble of protecting Cecilia, surely he'd loved her. It didn't make any sense that he'd destroyed all her baby things. Somewhere in that house the police had missed something and she was going to find it. She turned away from Mr. P's grave and nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Mom?” This was the second time her mother had done this. Had the woman forgotten how to use a phone?

“Shannon . . . I had to. I couldn't let him do it again.”

“Who? Let him do what, Mom?”

“I lost you because of him.”

JJ. Yes, but she'd done squat to prevent it. Even knowing Shannon would have nothing to do with her as long as JJ was in the picture, she'd continued to keep him in her life. Why was she lamenting it now? “You could have pushed him away, told him to stay away. Why didn't you?”

“Because,” she said, touching Shannon's cheek with a warm palm, “I needed to see my baby. It was the only way. You grew up so fast. I lost all those years.”

Her mother was making no sense and there could be only one reason. “Did you take your meds today?”

“I don't remember,” she said with a far-off expression that clearly said she hadn't.

“Mom, where are your pills? Remember, you're supposed to keep them with you.”

“Yes . . . I . . . I think they're in my car.”

She tipped her head up, as if listening for someone or, God forbid, listening
to
someone. Shannon wasn't qualified for this, and if her mom flipped, she had no idea what to do. “I'm going to go to your car. Want to come with me?” Maybe she could get her to sit while Shannon called an ambulance.

They walked for a little, arm in arm; then her mother stopped. “I like it here. The people are nice.”

Her mother's car was parked on the side lane, not ten feet away. Damn, now what? “People?”

“Yes, the ones who died. Can't you see them?”

Should she play along? Better to keep her calm, right? “Sure, but why don't you keep talking to them and I'll go get your pills?”

“Don't go,” she said, now panicked as she snatched Shannon's arm and dug her fingernails into her skin. “Don't go,” she repeated. “They'll get mad if you do.”

Aw, hell, if Shannon hated one thing, it was the crazy paranoia. “Then come with me. See,” she pointed to the car, “it's just over there.”

The passenger side of the vehicle was facing her, and it was then Shannon noticed something odd, a hole the size of a quarter near the wheel barrel. She didn't know much about the year, but it was a Buick. She went to take a step closer, but her mother's grip tightened.

“No, you can't leave,” she said, her anxiety escalating.

The sharp tone took Shannon by surprise. “Mom, let me go. There's something I need to see.”

“No, they'll get mad if you leave again.”

Okay, if this were a horror movie and this wasn't her mom, Shannon would be freaking out right about now. But her mother wouldn't hurt her. Would she? She knew of cases when schizophrenics had committed murder while off their medication. She glanced back at the hole in her mom's car, wanting desperately to believe it wasn't what she thought it was. Her mom hadn't shot JJ. But it was starting to make sense. The height of the hole, the bullet never recovered, her gun being fired. A gun she'd left in her trailer when she'd run away with Maggie. JJ never had her Glock. Her mother did.

She needed to diffuse this, and fast. “Why? Why will they get mad?”

“Because they're already mad at me,” she said, her tone a high-pitched shrill. “They're not nice anymore.”

Shannon flinched as her mother's nails now drew blood. She wished she hadn't left her jacket in the car.

“They want to punish me,” she whimpered.

“No, you must be mistaken. Why would they want a thing like that?” What the hell was she supposed to do?

“Because,” she drew close, her warm breath fanning Shannon's face as she whispered, “because I put JJ here. They didn't like that. JJ was an evil man. I put an evil man with them.”

Shannon bit back the pain her mother's nails inflicted. “You put JJ here?”

Her mother nodded. “I had to. He was taking my baby.”

“You shot JJ?”

“I had to,” she said again. “He was taking my baby.” She was growing more and more agitated.

“It's okay. Like you said, he was an evil man.” The plea would be insanity. There was no other way. She'd just have to make certain her mother went to a good facility. “I'll take care of everything.”

“You always did. I was a bad mother.”

“No,” she choked out on a gasp as her mother's hold tightened. “Mom, let go of my arm.”

She looked down at her hand and, in horror, released her, then stared at the blood now pooled under her fingernails. “I'm a bad mother. They're right to be mad. They
should
punish me. I tried to help him. I made his leg better, but then he wouldn't let me have my baby.”

“No one will punish you.” Shannon gripped her wrist to ward off the pain from the gashes her mother had left. “I won't let anyone hurt you.”

“Shannon?” Her mother jerked her head over her shoulder and back again with a crazed shine to her eyes that wasn't a good sign. “Shannon? Do you know where Shannon is? He has my baby. No,” she said, as if arguing with someone, then slapped her hands over her ears.

“Mom, I'm here, Mom.” She took a step forward, but her mother wouldn't see her. This was so not happening.

“Stay away,” she shouted, but Shannon knew that the terrified woman wasn't talking to her.

“He wouldn't let me see my baby. He laughed at me. I had to make him stop laughing.”

If she tackled her now, how long would she have to sit on her until help came? And would she be successful? She was younger and in better shape, but someone in the middle of an episode could possess amazing strength. Who wouldn't when they feared for their lives? This wasn't simple, although anything schizophrenia-related wasn't simple. The voices weren't just telling her she was no good or worthless. They were calling for punishment. And her mother might hurt herself.

She glanced back at the car. Could she make it there and back without her mother going further off the deep end? She didn't have a choice. She needed those pills. Her own car was too far away to risk going for her phone. She took a cautious step backward, closely watching her mother's reaction. She was oddly thankful, for the woman was too busy fighting the demons in her head to notice Shannon inching toward the car. As long as she kept her movements slow, careful not to catch her attention, she might make it. She was never more grateful when her hand wrapped around the door handle.

On the passenger seat she could see her mother's purse and there, just inside the open flap, the bottle. With a grateful sigh, she climbed over the driver's side and grabbed the pills. Opting for less noise, she left the car door open and turned.

“Mom?” Shannon was alone. “Mom?” she shouted. Nothing. Where the hell did she go? The rumble of a large engine coming to life echoed through the cemetery. Someone had started the backhoe used to dig the plots. Were they not alone? She ran to where she'd last seen it and caught the tail end disappearing down the hill. There was still no sign of her mother. “Mom, it's me, Shannon.”

A nauseating foreboding wrapped around her chest and squeezed. “Oh, no.” She tucked the bottle into her pocket and raced after the backhoe. She'd been behind those things in traffic; surely she could outrun it. They weren't designed for speed. She caught the tail end as it disappeared out of the cemetery gates. Behind her she heard the groundskeeper's shouts. Where was she going? And worse, what was she thinking?

She made her legs go faster, told herself to breathe because, as it turned out, a backhoe only went slow to piss off the person driving behind it. It veered sharply left. Every muscle except her legs clenched as she watched her mother overcorrect and take out a stop sign. Then she turned right. She was headed for the quarry. A pebble slipped into her ballet flats, but Shannon kept going. What if her mother drove into the swimming hole? She'd sink straight to the bottom.

Why the hell had she not taken Maggie up on her offer and learned how to jog? Someone honked. Was she too far into the road? She didn't care. Blood pounded in her ears, her heart not made for this. Her throat began to ache and she forced herself to take a deep breath. Another honk, then someone shouted her name. Noah. Relief washed over her as she stopped. She tore open the passenger door and dove inside. Gasping, she couldn't talk. She pounded the dashboard and pointed to the quarry. She threw herself back on the seat as Noah understood and floored the accelerator. They made it in time to see the back tires disappear into the cold water.

Shannon scrambled for the door handle, flinging herself out and shouting, “Mom” as she kicked off her shoes and ran.

Noah grabbed her arm. “No, let me.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off.

“I've had training. You call an ambulance.”

She wasn't going to argue and took the phone he thrust into her hands. He stripped off his jacket, kicked off his own shoes, and dove in. Hands shaking, she dialed 911.

* * *

Yesterday the police had met them at the hospital, and while Noah wanted to stay with Shannon as they questioned her, she'd insisted he get out of his wet clothes. It had taken him too long to resuscitate her mother. Trapped in the heavy machinery, she'd sunk right to the bottom. The old quarry was at least fifty feet deep and cold . . . very cold. In the summer months nobody cared; in late fall it would make your muscles seize. She'd been terrified for both of them.

Now she sat in her mother's hospital room, waiting to see if she'd wake up. The doctors suspected she'd suffered permanent brain damage from lack of oxygen. If she had, there was little Shannon could do for her.

“Hey.” Noah put his hand on her shoulder, disturbing the thoughts she'd been having.

“I was wondering. Do you think she was off her meds when she killed him?”

“I wouldn't count on it, but it didn't make her stable. You should know, they found the bullet from Shelley's gun in your mom's car. She used a blanket to cover it up, but the backseat was covered in JJ's blood.”

“In all her craziness she said she'd been trying to help him.” Was that what she'd meant?

“Shelley admitted to shooting him just outside that bar. The rain would've washed away blood evidence, but they recovered the casing. Your mom must have found him. Maybe she took the bullet out? Then they argued. He got out of the car, or she forced him out, but when
she
shot him, that bullet ended up in her tire. I'm surprised she didn't get a flat.”

Shannon stood. “Let's go outside. If it's true and coma patients can hear stuff, I don't want to upset her.”

There was something about Noah's expression, as if he was hesitant to tell her something and yet eager all at the same time. He held her hand as they stepped out into the hallway.

“The only print on the gun was yours, which means she was wearing gloves. That would make it premeditated.”

“She planned to kill him?” Why? She'd tolerated him for all those years.

“Maybe. There's more. We talked to your mom's doctors. She'd been doing remarkably well, even had a job, but they hadn't seen her in weeks. We also talked to the staff where she was staying. They hadn't seen her in almost a month. She told them she was going on holiday.”