Tell No Lies (16 page)

It was more than a simple attraction. Ian realized that now. Despite everything going on, the taste of her lingered on his tongue. Every so often his memory zeroed in on the two of them lying in the sand, her legs wrapped around him. It had been all he could do to turn her away when he wanted more than anything to make love to her right there on the beach.

Despite the fact that he’d had sand chafing his ass for hours after the first time. She was one hell of a little seductress and it was a good thing she hadn’t come into his life while he wore the white collar. Or maybe it would have been exactly the thing to show him how unsuited he was to the life of a priest. But he knew that now. That was all that mattered.

He’d gotten a call from Jack Shaw. He was on his way into the Lockwood station to pick up the paperwork to retrieve his car—a good sign, he thought. Maybe, finally, they had decided to spend their energy looking for the real killer.

Inside the station, he asked after Shaw and was instructed to wait for the detective to come out and fetch him, which he did in his own sweet time, Ian noticed. When Shaw finally appeared, he looked haggard and far less presumptuous than he had during their last meeting.

“Have a moment?”

“Sure.” Ian stood, ready to follow. “As long as you aren’t still looking for ways to dress me in green. It’s not really my color.”

Smiling without mirth, Shaw waved him down the hall, reassuring him, “In fact, you won’t be wearing any jumpsuits at this point,” he said, leading him down the hall.

Ian followed. “Does that disappoint you?”

Shaw didn’t bother to look at him, but said, “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe in the death penalty.”

“Your employer does,” Ian suggested, referring to the state.

“Let’s get to the point,” Shaw said, leading him into a tiny, airless office that Ian assumed belong to him.

“Nice. You must be important,” Ian baited.

Shaw eyed him pointedly. “Cut the crap before I decide to take my time about dropping these charges.”

Ian sucked in a breath and sank down into one of the two chairs facing Shaw’s desk. “You’re dropping charges? No shit?” he asked. It wasn’t meant as a question. The fact nearly bowled him over. Shaw was watching him intently. “Wow,” Ian said, sobering, and scratched the back of his neck to hide the burn of tears in his eyes. He felt suddenly like a little girl, emotional as hell and ready to cry. He swallowed, crossing his hands, and peering down at his fingers, trying to regain control. He sat there like that for a good minute, and to his credit, Shaw allowed it, sharing the space with him but saying nothing.

“I didn’t think you were guilty to begin with,” Shaw offered finally, when it was clear Ian wasn’t going to break down like a baby and bawl.

Anything Ian might have said in response just didn’t seem appropriate. But he still couldn’t talk over the lump in his throat.

“I need you to square up with me,” Shaw said, settling behind his desk. “I need you to tell me everything you know, Patterson—
everything
.”

Ian nodded, regaining his composure.

“Help me catch this guy,” he pleaded. “Before an innocent kid is killed.”

Ian met his gaze straight-on. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

So much for working up the nerve to talk to Caroline—her sister wasn’t in her office. Apparently, she had met Jack for lunch and had yet to return to work.

This was the first time Augusta had returned to the
Tribune’s
offices since the day she’d come in to do her inventory for the fund-raiser—the same day she’d found Ian’s name and information among her sister’s notes—notes that all pointed to his guilt. It was strange to walk in and see someone new at the reception desk that Pamela Baker had once manned.

The gaudy chandelier was still hanging in the reception area, its massive bulk dangling from thick black iron chains. As beautiful as the ironwork appeared, the antebellum-era contraption gave her a sick feeling in her gut, because it reminded her of galley chains and irons clapped around the ankles of slaves. But it was simply a light fixture—a stupid, expensive one, but hardly worth getting upset over. When the time came, she’d have them haul it down and sell it to some wealthy banker with questionable political motives who might hang it above his private collection of fake Fabergé eggs.

She was still standing there, peering up at the monstrosity, when Brad Bessett came up and stood beside her.

“I heard the thing cost twenty-two thousand just to have it restored.”

Augusta peered at him over her shoulder and sighed. “I wouldn’t doubt it.” But that was all she said. The fact that their mother hadn’t blinked an eye over such an extravagance, while asking her for fifty dollars was an ordeal, wasn’t any of his business. It wasn’t Augusta’s style to share her family’s dirty laundry. Ignoring it—as she did her own—was more her style. Proof of that fact was sitting in a heap in her closet. It was crazy that she was an heir to this legacy, yet she couldn’t bring herself to wear clean clothes.

Realizing suddenly that as annoying as the guy was, he might be able to help her find out what she needed to know, she turned to face him. Maybe she wouldn’t have to deal with Caroline?

“Hey, it’s Brad, right?”

A smile spread across his face, and he nodded, his hands immediately going into his pockets.

“You’re exactly the person who can help me. How long have you been here?”

His brows drew together. “Working?”

Augusta resisted the urge to ask him if that was what he was doing. “Yeah. How long have you worked for the paper?”

“Going on five years now,” he said, peering over at the receptionist, who got up suddenly.

Augusta waited for the girl to leave before asking. “Yeah . . . so, maybe you can tell me if Jennifer Williams ever applied for a job here?”

His face suddenly tightened. “Jennifer Williams? As in the missing girl?”

Augusta nodded. “Yeah,” she said, watching his body language. His hands came out of his pockets, and he crossed his arms. “I got a tip that maybe she did.”

He shook his head, but his lips thinned, as though the question perturbed him.

Either he didn’t know. Or he did. Either way, Augusta knew how to handle him. She was a gifted middle child, after all, and knew how to play both sides. “You realize, if somehow the
Tribune
missed that bit of information, Caroline will see red,” she suggested. “You’re the investigating reporter, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, clearly irritated now.

“Then you would probably know, right?”

He tipped his head back and cracked his knuckles. Augusta couldn’t tell if it was a nervous gesture or if he simply felt uncomfortable over having been caught with his pants down, so to speak. “I can look into it,” he offered.

“Alright. Well, if you find out, let me know, please. I’ll let you be the one to share that bit of info with Caroline. I know what a pill my sister can be. Let me give you my number,” she offered, and dove into her purse for a pen and piece of paper. She walked over to the receptionist’s desk and scribbled her name and number on an old business card, then handed it to him as the receptionist returned.

“Frank wants to see you in his office,” she said.

“Me?” Brad asked.

The girl nodded.

“Thanks,” Augusta offered, and winked at him. “Just give me a ring when you figure it all out.”

“I will,” he said, and left without another word.

“Do you want to wait in Caroline’s office?” the receptionist asked.

“Nah. I’ll catch up with her at home. Thanks,” she said, and turned away, indulging in a private smile. She had a feeling Brad would look into it at once. So now, with a second task accomplished, she set her sights on Sadie. Two down, one to go.

Maybe she would have better luck this time.

 

The mouth of the righteous brings forth wisdom, but the perverse tongue will be cut out.

Patience is a virtue.

Spotting Sadie’s silver BMW in the driveway, Augusta veered toward her cottage instead of continuing on to the main house. The black iron gates closed automatically behind her as she turned down the drive and came to a crunchy halt in front of Sadie’s house. Luckily, Josh’s car was nowhere in sight. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with him today. They had grown apart. They were nothing alike anymore. He cherished his shiny Italian shoes far too much.

Sadie’s home badly needed a coat of paint, and Augusta decided she would send the painters over when they were through with the main house—a gift from all three of them for everything Sadie had done since their mother’s death. It would be impossible to pay her back for everything she’d done for them throughout their lives. She was certain neither Caroline nor Savannah would protest the added cost to the project.

On the other hand . . . Sadie was very particular about the shade of blue she used on her porch, shutters and door, so maybe she should send them over here first, and then use the same color on their own porch?

In Hoodoo folk magic, water and sky were crossroads between heaven and earth, and therefore barriers between the living and the dead. Sadie strongly believed in the power of the dead. It was why she hated that old mirror in their house. She said it had seen far too many deaths.

Outside her own home, she had constructed a bottle tree made of dead red cedar. It was the real deal, with antique cobalt blue bottles of all types—old canning and medicine jars—nothing like the sculpted creations you might order from a Web site. Sadie’s Geechee roots were stronger than her accent. She used to say that when the wind blew past in the evenings, you could hear the moans of trapped spirits whistling on the breeze. Come morning the rising sun would burn them up, preventing them from coming in to steal the souls of the living.

Not that Augusta believed in old haint superstitions, but the sight of the bottle tree comforted her somehow.

On the porch, she recognized the cracked terra-cotta pot she’d painted for Sadie when she was nine. It was still intact after all these years—same crack, same place. How it had remained in one piece after all this time was a mystery. The only explanation Augusta had was that Sadie had cared for it lovingly. She and Josh had dropped it soon after painting it and they had reinforced the cracks with glue and then repainted it, but it could only have made it all these years if it had been cared for by a loving hand. She stood a long moment, lost in reverie, and Sadie answered the door before Augusta got the chance to knock, opening it wide.

“Hey!” Augusta said, feeling suddenly awkward, despite their history together.

Sadie lifted a brow and Augusta peered down at the purse in her hand. It could hardly have gone unnoticed that she hadn’t knocked on this door since she was seventeen. “You gonna stand there all day? Come on in, eah!” Turning her back to the door, Sadie wiped her hands on the dishcloth she was holding.

Augusta followed her inside and back toward the kitchen, where they had an unimpeded view of the spartina flats from the kitchen window. The house sat far enough back from the water that Sadie didn’t have to worry about high tide, but she was still close enough that she could see the end of their dock. Seagulls and terns dotted the skyline. One year, there had been an osprey nest right outside the window.

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t come by lookin’ for coffee, but I’ve got some made fresh if you want.”

“Sure,” Augusta said, and set her purse down on the counter.

“Half-caf okay?”

“Yeah, fine.”

For a moment, Sadie busied herself with preparing the coffee, and Augusta watched, feeling uncomfortable. This wasn’t her home and she was Sadie’s guest, so she couldn’t really insist on getting her own. Instead, she sat down on a stool at the kitchen counter, inspecting the newly renovated kitchen.

Dressed in shades of indigo and white, the cupboards looked old but new—not quite as cutesy as gingham, but just as down-home. The Sub-Zero fridge was hidden behind dark blue wooden doors and the rest of the appliances were all obscured from view, as though Sadie didn’t want to be reminded of housekeeping duties while in her own home. After working her fingers to the bone for nearly sixty years, Augusta was pretty sure she might develop a similar aversion to kitchen chores. Who could blame her?

She was simply making conversation when she said, “Looks like you’re putting your money to good use, Sadie. Good for you. I’m sure Mother would approve.”

Sadie set a mug of coffee down in front of Augusta—one that read CITADEL MOM—and put her hands on her hips. “I redid this kitchen ten years ago, child. If it looks new, it’s ’cause I just started using it and you ain’t been around. Now what are you doing here? Like I said, I know you didn’t come for coffee.”

Augusta raised both brows, feeling sheepish. “Is it that obvious?”

Sadie’s chin tipped downward. Her black eyes narrowed. “What do you think, eah?”

Augusta sighed and told her about Savannah’s sudden departure. “She’s upset because she knows she hurt your feelings.”

Sadie sat down on the stool beside her with her own mug of coffee, listening quietly. When Augusta was finished, she said, “I’m already over it, Augusta. Truth is, I don’t blame Savannah one bit. We’re all a little emotional these days.”

“How is Queenie holding up?” Augusta asked. “I know she loved Rose.”

“Heartsick over Cody. You know she helped raise that little boy.” She gave Augusta a meaningful look. “I hope they find him . . .”

The word hung in the air between them, unspoken. But they both felt it.

Augusta took a sip of her coffee. “Yeah, I know.”

Sadie reached out and touched her hand unexpectedly, her expression sincere. “It’s really good to see you, Augusta. I thought I’d never see the day you’d walk back through my door. I know you don’t like this place. And I’m so sorry for anything Joshua may have said to upset you the other day. You know, he just feels a little rejected by you, but it’s for the best he stays away right now.” That revelation seemed to make her uncomfortable and she withdrew her hand and peered inside her coffee cup, then shook her head, setting it down.

Augusta set her cup down, too. “I don’t think he ever forgave me for moving away,” she acknowledged.

Sadie nodded. “Maybe so, but that boy has plenty of other things to worry about.”

“Like what?”

“A job, for one. He quit—did you know that? He’s no longer with the DA’s office.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you know, originally he resigned because of the upcoming mayoral election on James Island, but I don’t think he’s put his name on the ballot and I don’t think he intends to. He’s been so preoccupied with that house on Tradd Street—holed up in it all day long!”

Augusta’s face screwed up. “Dad’s house?” But it was no longer her dad’s house; it was Josh’s now.

Sadie nodded and reached out to pat her hand again, as though working up her nerve to say something. “Yeah, but that brings me to another point . . . something I’ve been meaning to talk to you girls about. I suppose I’ve been avoiding talking altogether, not so much because I’ve been angry with Savannah, but because it’s time to clear the air and I don’t know where to begin.”

“Oh-oh,” Augusta said, and gave Sadie a lopsided grin. “You stole the silver?”

Sadie didn’t crack a smile. “Child . . . your mama never wanted me to tell you this, but Florence is gone now and I gotta do what’s right, eah? Didn’t you ever wonder why your mama willed the Tradd Street house to Joshua?”

Augusta thought about it a moment, and then shrugged, picking up the coffee cup again. “Not really. You’re family. I thought it was the least you two deserved. In fact, I was pissed that her will doles out your inheritance like a monthly salary. You deserve better than business as usual.”

“Never mind about all that!” Sadie burst out. She patted Augusta’s hand again, looking nervous. “You see . . . it ain’t so simple as that, so I might as well spit it out and get it over with. Robert and I had an affair,” she said quietly. “Joshua is his son.”

Augusta nearly dropped the coffee cup in her hand. “Daddy?”

Sadie nodded.

“Josh is my brother?”

Sadie nodded again, her black eyes looking melancholy. “So many lies!” she exclaimed, and started to weep. She placed her hands to her face while Augusta simply stared, feeling numb. “God forgive me, I wish I could undo it all!”

Sadie continued to sob, uncontrollably, and Augusta couldn’t move, unable to comfort her. Inside, she could feel her façade cracking, the fissures widening by the second. It was all she could do to keep from flipping out. How she maintained her calm, she didn’t know. “I don’t know what to say.”

It was more than simply not knowing what to say.

This was the woman who had raised her, loved her. Based on this new revelation, everything Augusta knew was a lie. Her life sped by all at once, all of it foreign now, with actions and reactions that made no sense. Everything she’d believed she understood about her life, she no longer did.

Josh was her brother.

She’d kissed him once.

Out behind the boathouse.

What if she hadn’t said no?

After another moment, Sadie composed herself. “You don’t have to say anything, Augusta.” Her eyes were red-rimmed now, and Augusta realized they were already swollen, as though she had been crying about this for days. “I’m glad I’m telling you first. That’s why we never wanted you . . . and Josh . . . well, you know.” She dabbed at her eyes and picked up the dish towel, blowing her nose into it.

Something volatile was stirring deep down. Something Augusta was afraid she might not be able to control. But her tone betrayed nothing. “Does Josh know? Did Dad know?”

Sadie blew her nose again. “Yes and yes. I’m pretty sure that’s why Josh isn’t in so much of a hurry to run for mayor anymore. I think he’s furious with me and he’s mad at Robert, and has no desire to follow in his shoes. At least that’s how I think he sees it.”

“Wow,” Augusta said again. Her skin prickled all over. “He hasn’t said a word. How long has he known?”

“I told him the day he ran you off. But it’s something I’ve been struggling with now for a long time. After that fight with Savannah . . . I did a lot of thinking, and I just can’t keep any more secrets. It’s too hard.” She set the dishcloth down.

Probably still numb, Augusta sat and listened to Sadie’s entire confession, somehow holding everything inside. Apparently, her father had been a bigger whoredog than any of them had realized. But even Sadie’s part in the affair wasn’t what was most shocking. They had long ago decided Josh’s father must have been a mistake, someone Sadie didn’t care to talk about, but that Robert Samuel Aldridge II was that man, and that he had actually known about his son, and that her own mother had known about the affair—and Josh—and covered it up, was shocking. What was more, that Sadie would continue to work for Flo—and that Flo would allow it—seemed somehow to raise their family’s dysfunction to biblical proportions.

Augusta guarded her expression, uncertain how to process any of it. The amount of information she was downloading made her head spin and her stomach ache. Her hands shook. She brought a trembling hand to her forehead, her thoughts racing, suddenly unstoppable.

Evidently, Sadie had loved Robert, had believed him when he said he loved her, too. But in retrospect, Augusta doubted her dad had even loved himself. He certainly hadn’t loved his children. Or her mother, for that matter!

As she sat there, staring into the now empty coffee cup, she felt, for the first time in her life, a sense of sorrow for her mother.

How truly awful it must have been to walk in her shoes, to have everyone expect you to be bigger than life . . . when in fact, you were feeling small and vulnerable, and everyone in your closest circle was betraying you. Then your son died. And your daughters hated you . . .

“Oh God,” she said, unable to hold it back any longer.

She experienced the greatest desire she’d ever felt to hug her mom in that instant, but Flo was gone. She was buried in a grave in a teak coffin beneath an old oak, in a place where none of her children would ever venture, including her beloved son.

Augusta sat there, focusing on the coffee cup, feeling wired, but not from caffeine.

She had thought to ask Sadie about the photograph of Sam, but she couldn’t bear the thought of fishing it out of her purse now. At the moment, it didn’t seem important. Neither did 99 percent of the fights she’d had with her sisters lately. All of it was pointless. All that really mattered was family, and you couldn’t really know how much they mattered until they were pulled out from under you like a rug. Her ears were ringing and she realized she was holding her breath, about to pass out.

“I wanted to tell you first,” Sadie offered, her expression mirroring the ache that was growing in Augusta’s breast. “It seemed important.”

Augusta suddenly longed for her mother. It was a keen, aching feeling that took her completely by surprise. She blinked away tears, clutching the empty coffee cup in her hand. Not since before her mother’s death had she shed a single tear. Now they threatened to flow without stop.

Sadie stood up and clutched her shoulder, gripping it hard, as though to keep Augusta grounded in reality. “Oh Augusta!” she said and threw herself into Augusta’s arms, and though the child in her wanted to push her away and run, she held on to Sadie for dear life, sliding her arms around her back and burying her face in her bosom.

The two of them remained that way for what seemed an eternity.

Augusta could hardly find her voice to speak.

“Can you ever forgive me?” Sadie asked.

Augusta nodded but held her tighter when she tried to withdraw, unable to look her in the eyes yet.