Deadly Echoes (11 page)

After yelling at me, Cicely grabbed her schoolbag from the kitchen counter and stormed out. I was left angry and wounded, but I knew in my heart she was right. Hannah was the golden child. Smart, beautiful, ambitious, and full of life. I'd lived in her shadow when we were children, and even now, her own daughter recognized her mother's value over mine.

“Stop it, Sarah,” I said to myself. I was so immersed in my own pain I didn't hear Janet come in the front door. When she came into the kitchen, I was caught by surprise.

“For goodness' sake, what's wrong?” she asked when she saw me wipe away tears.

“I . . . I'm a terrible substitute for my sister,” I said, my voice breaking.

Janet came over and sat down next to me. “Why would you say that?” she asked. “Did something happen?”

I quickly shared my emotional exchange with Cicely. When I finished, I was surprised to see her smile. She reached over and took my hand.

“I know you're hurt, Sarah, but Cicely doesn't know what
she's saying. She's been through a terrible experience, and she misses her mother. I'm amazed she didn't say something like this sooner. It's coming out of her grief. You're just in the line of fire. Trust me, she probably feels worse than you do right now. She's a smart girl, and she knows you care for her. She also knows that without you, she wouldn't have a home.” Janet squeezed my hand and then let it go. “You both need to calm down. When you talk to her again, don't let her know she upset you. Give her some slack and let her know you still love her. Even when she says something designed to hurt you.”

“I guess you're right. Maybe I was hoping for too much too soon.” I sighed. “It's not just Cicely. I finally called Detective Sykes.”

Janet's eyes widened. “And?”

“I don't know what to think. It was obvious he didn't want to talk to me.” I shook my head. “The man they arrested? The one they thought might have killed Hannah?”

Janet nodded.

“He hanged himself in his cell.”

Janet's hand flew to her mouth. “How terrible. But what does this mean? Do they still think he was involved in Hannah's death?”

“That's just it. I don't know. I don't believe he killed her, but now that he's dead, will it be easy to blame him and move on?”

“Oh, Sarah. I can't imagine the police would do something like that.”

“They did it in my parents' case, Janet. Once they decided they were killed by robbers, that was the end of it. They spent all their time looking for burglary suspects that never materialized.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I saw something on TV the other day about a similar case. The police rushed to judgment and charged the wrong person.”

I got a cup out of the cabinet and poured some coffee. “I know most law enforcement officials are thorough and work hard to find the truth. But it doesn't always happen that way. Kansas City police have their hands full. After talking to Doug Sykes, I have a real fear they'll hang Hannah's murder on the accused thief just so they can close the case.”

Janet was quiet for a moment as she stared into her coffee cup. “Have you considered . . .” She paused and shook her head.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

It wasn't like Janet to hold back her opinion. “Tell me what you're thinking,” I said.

She looked up at me. “I don't want to put something in your mind that isn't true.”

She had to be talking about the man who'd died in his cell. I'd been so busy thinking about Cicely, I hadn't considered a terrible possibility. “Oh, Janet. You're wondering if the man actually committed suicide or if he . . .” I couldn't finish the thought. It was too awful.

“It crossed my mind, yes,” she said slowly. “But who would want him dead? And why?” She shook her head. “Just forget I said anything. It doesn't make sense. I'm sure he was closely watched, Sarah. No one from the outside could have gotten to him.”

“I'm sure you're right.”

I silently finished my coffee. Now a frightening scenario played in my mind. Was his death something more than it seemed? Was there a chance someone wanted to keep him quiet?

Janet stood up. “Why don't you get out for a while, Sarah? Go visit a friend.”

I started to refuse her kind offer, but then I remembered that I needed to talk to Wynter Evans. “Maybe I'll do that,” I said.

Janet stood up. “Good. You need a break. It will do you a world of good.”

I realized she looked tired, and I felt guilty leaving her alone to deal with Cicely. “You must be exhausted. Are you sure?”

“It was a long day, but I'm fine. Besides, there's still some spaghetti in the fridge. I'll just heat it up and pop some garlic bread in the oven. Easy.” She smiled. “I haven't had to cook much with all the food people gave us. The freezer in the basement is still full. We'll be eating food brought by our neighbors for a long while.” She sighed. “It's a blessing.”

“Janet, are you ever sorry you took over the clinic?”

“No, I'm not sorry. But the property is still in limbo, which adds some strain to the situation.” She sighed. “I decided today that I've got to have some help. I need someone to check in patients and help me keep the office organized.”

“I think Cicely would love to help out after school,” I said, frowning. “But that doesn't take care of your situation during the day.”

“I think I'll pass the word around town,” Janet said. “See if there's someone who'd like to step in.”

“Wish I could help you, but I'm going back to school next week. Seems the girls in my class enjoy having Reuben as a substitute a little more than they should.”

Janet grinned. “I can understand that.” She pointed at me. “Now scoot. Go make that phone call.”

I went upstairs to my room and dialed Wynter's number. It seemed odd, since she was right next door, but I knew she might be writing, and I didn't want to disturb her. However, she answered the phone right away. She seemed glad to hear from me and asked how Cicely and I were doing.

“Things have been a little rocky. This afternoon was the
worst,” I said. “Janet tells me I need to get out of the house for a while. I wondered if you might like to have dinner with me. There's . . . there's something I'd like to talk to you about.”

“Sure,” she answered. “Is it serious?”

I lowered my voice, since Cicely's room was right across the hall. “To be honest, I don't know. There's something strange about my sister's murder. I know I told you she was killed during a robbery, but now I'm not sure that's true. There are some similarities between her death and the way my parents were killed almost twenty years ago.”

“That's interesting,” Wynter said slowly. “I'm not sure what I can do to help you, but let's meet over at The Oil Lamp in about thirty minutes. Will that work for you?”

“Yes, that's perfect. I'll see you there.”

When we hung up, I could almost swear I heard an odd click, like someone had been listening on an extension. There were only three phones in the house. The main line in the kitchen, an extension in the living room, and the phone in my bedroom. Cicely was in her room, so it couldn't be her. Maybe Janet had picked up the phone downstairs not realizing I was on it. I grabbed the phone again and called Paul. Unfortunately, I got his voice mail. I told him I'd found Hannah's phone, but I didn't say anything about the man who died in prison. That was something I wanted to tell Paul in person.

I quickly changed clothes and brushed my hair. As I checked my image in the mirror, I wondered if I'd look better with a little makeup. I rarely wore it, but I appeared washed out and tired. Although no one would object if I used a little mascara or blush, spending years living with Mrs. Johnson had discouraged me from straying too far from her simple Mennonite ways. And now, living in Sanctuary and teaching several students from
conservative homes, it just seemed easier to stay makeup free. Many days I wore my hair in a bun or a long braid, but some days I wore it long. It was fine and straight, without much body. Hannah's strawberry blond hair had benefited from our mother's naturally curly hair, while mine mirrored our father's. It seemed that Hannah had gotten all our parents' best qualities, while I'd gotten their worst. As I stared at myself, I suddenly realized Paul was right. When I looked in the mirror, all I saw was Hannah. What she was. What I wasn't.

After putting on my coat, I said good-bye to Janet and went outside. The wind was icy, and dark clouds raced across the sky. It had already snowed once this winter, and I could tell we were in for another round. I loved the snow, but I only walked a short way to work. Janet had to drive out of town to the clinic, and I worried about her on slick roads.

The restaurant was just four blocks away, so I decided to walk. Cicely had mentioned more than once that she thought it was “weird” that we walked so much in Sanctuary. It seemed that Hannah had driven them almost everywhere. Even down the block from their apartment to get hamburgers. Janet had told me I could use her car whenever I wanted, but in Sanctuary, a car was rarely necessary, so there hadn't been much of a need. For a brief moment, I'd thought about taking Hannah's car so I wouldn't be forced to use Janet's sedan for those occasional longer trips, but I'd quickly dismissed the idea. I was afraid it would be too hard for Cicely to ride in her mother's car. Too many memories. I was happy that Mr. Hanson had found a buyer and was helping me get the title changed.

For some reason, Hannah's letter drifted into my mind. Asking me not to look for the truth. To let the past go. But how could I be true to her memory if I didn't try to get the police to
search for justice? My sister's request was unfair. How could she ask me to turn a blind eye to her murder? As I thought about it, I started to feel a little angry with Hannah. Not just for dying, but for asking me to leave her murder unsolved.

A gust of wind swept past me, and I could swear I heard it whisper Hannah's words from the letter.
Remember me.
I almost turned around to see if her ghost stood behind me, begging me not to forget her. But it was absurd. I didn't believe in ghosts. Not real ones anyway. I was certainly dealing with my own brand of ghosts though. Echoes from the past that wouldn't stay silent. Now another ghost joined the cacophony of voices. A man I would never know. Had he lost his life because of my sister? Because of my family?

Another strong blast of wind pushed me, as if trying to hurry me down the sidewalk. The streetlights in Sanctuary were on, but they only shone in the downtown area. Janet lived on the edge of town, so I had to walk in the dark for two blocks before reaching the safety of the lights. Although the few houses along the way had their porch lights on, it was still disturbingly dark.

Suddenly, I heard a noise behind me. The sound of something falling. I turned around and peered into the darkness, but I couldn't see anything. A feeling of panic seized me. There was only silence, but I swung back to see the lights from town ahead. I had an urge to run toward them, but a soft mewing behind me caused me to look back once more. A big golden cat sat in the middle of the street, watching me. Percy was owned by Martha Kirsch, who ran Sanctuary's library. He was always getting into trash cans when he was let outside to do his business. He was simply making the rounds before he and Martha left for home.

“You're a rotten cat,” I scolded him. “You almost scared me to death.”

He didn't seem the least bit remorseful, so I resumed walking toward town. Even though the source of the noise that frightened me had been discovered, I was still happy to reach the security of the yellow-tinged streetlamps. The Oil Lamp finally came into view, and relief flowed through me. The freezing wind only added to my desire to seek shelter.

I opened the door and stepped inside the restaurant. The warm air made me shiver with pleasure, as did the knowledge that I was finally safe. Hannah's letter made me feel as if someone were watching me all the time, though I knew that wasn't possible. Sanctuary was a small town, and there were no strangers here. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling. Maybe it was my own guilt causing me to imagine I was being stalked. Did I think Hannah was following me around, trying to warn me to leave the past alone?
Get control of yourself, Sarah. You're
beginning to sound crazy.

Gazing around the room, I spotted Wynter sitting against the wall on the other side of the room. The Oil Lamp wasn't a fancy restaurant, but Randi Lindquist had given it a quaint, homey feeling. It reminded me of a fifties diner. Mismatched vinyl tablecloths, red and yellow ketchup and mustard bottles on the tables, black-and-white checked laminate flooring, and pictures on the walls. Some of the pictures were decorative, but most of them were early photographs of Sanctuary. At the front of the restaurant was a counter where customers could sit on round stools if they wished. Some of our residents liked to talk to Randi or chat with the cook who stood at the grill. It always smelled good in The Oil Lamp. Even if I wasn't hungry, all I had to do was walk through the door and my mouth began to water.