Deadly Echoes (12 page)

“Thank you so much for having dinner with me,” I said to Wynter when I reached the table. “I really appreciate it.”

“Don't be silly,” she said with a smile. “I'm looking forward
to it. I haven't been out of the house much lately. Getting out was good for me.”

I took off my coat and put it on the back of the chair before I sat down. Wynter's welcoming smile helped to chase away the disquiet that had trailed me from Janet's to the restaurant. Wynter was a beautiful woman with light blond hair and striking green eyes. The same feeling came over me that I'd experienced in front of the mirror. Next to her, I felt almost invisible.

Randi saw me from across the room and hurried over. “I'm so glad to see you, Sarah,” she said. “We're all so sorry about your sister. How are you doing? And how's your niece?”

“We're getting along all right,” I said with a smile, “but of course we miss Hannah. Cicely is in school and doing well. Thank you for the flowers and the food you sent over. It was very kind.”

Randi put her hand on my shoulder. “Wish I could do more, honey. We're all praying for you.”

Randi was a very contemporary woman with her own mind, and she didn't usually keep her opinions to herself. But she had a kind heart, and she loved Sanctuary. No one was more fierce in her loyalty toward her hometown than Randi.

“Thank you. We can certainly use all the prayers we can get.”

She patted my shoulder. “So what can I get you two ladies to drink?”

At first I asked for just a glass of water but then quickly added coffee even though I knew it was a bad idea. I'd probably be up all night, but I was so cold, a cup of hot coffee sounded great. I could have ordered decaf, but I didn't care for the taste.

Wynter asked for water with lemon. Randi gave her a slight nod and walked away without saying anything.

“Is she still upset?” I asked when Randi was out of earshot.

Wynter nodded. “I'm afraid it will take a while for people in Sanctuary to forgive me for drawing attention to this town.”

“
You
didn't draw attention to us. What Rae . . . I mean Marian Belker and her husband did brought the press here. I'm just grateful the media didn't hang around any longer than they did. Right now, everyone's more interested in locating the other children Joe and Marian kidnapped. Seems like you and your brother have finally become yesterday's news.”

Marian Belker and her husband had kidnapped several children across Missouri and sold them to unsuspecting couples who thought they were adopting children legally. One of those children had been Wynter's brother, Ryan.

She sighed and shook her head. “I hope so. We made it clear we wouldn't give interviews. At first that made it worse. Reporters seemed determined to beat everyone else for the story, but after they found out we were serious, things finally started to die down.”

“There are a lot of people in Sanctuary who have secrets,” I said. “We're all aware of it, but I don't know anyone except your fiancé who is privy to most of them.”

Wynter shrugged. “And he isn't telling me. I guess that's what keeps us safe. A town full of people who are committed to keeping secrets . . . secret.”

I nodded my agreement. Sanctuary was special, and I was grateful for it. Especially with what Cicely and I had been through. We both needed a secure haven where we could recover from the trauma of my sister's death without being bothered. I didn't watch much TV, even though Janet had one. But sometimes I saw the news and was horrified by reporters sticking a microphone in someone's face after the tragic loss of a loved one. The same question was almost always asked. “How do you feel?” As if the answer wasn't obvious to everyone watching.
Although I was a peaceful person, I thought a good punch in the face would have been an appropriate response in most cases.

Randi came back with our drinks and took our dinner orders. For some reason, I was terribly hungry. After my confrontation with Cicely and the call to Doug Sykes, it was probably a yearning for comfort. Since I was too skinny for my five-foot-eight-inch height, an occasional indulgence wasn't a problem. I ordered a roast beef dinner with mashed potatoes and gravy, a side of green beans with bacon, and some of Randi's homemade rolls.

“Whoa,” Randi said with a smile, “you usually order a salad or a bowl of soup. Nice to see you order some real food. Wouldn't hurt you to put some meat on those bones.”

Although some people thought telling me I was skinny should make me feel good, it didn't. Just like most heavy women didn't want to be called fat, most thin women didn't want to be labeled as skinny. Either term was just another way to say you weren't “normal
.
” Of course, I just smiled and didn't say anything. I knew Randi didn't mean to be rude.

Wynter asked for a bowl of chili and some corn bread. Randi scribbled the order on her pad.

“It might be a while,” she said. “My new cook is a little slow, and we're really busy tonight. Is that a problem?”

“Not for me,” I said. “I'm not in any hurry.”

“Me either,” Wynter said with a smile. “We're both planning to enjoy a girls' night out.”

Randi chuckled. “Only in Sanctuary would dinner in my restaurant be called a girls' night out.” She winked at me. “You stay as long as you want. And if you manage to eat that big dinner you ordered, dessert is on me. Max may not be the fastest cook in town, but he makes a bread pudding that will make you beg for more.”

“That sounds wonderful,” I said with a sigh. “I'm out of the house, and there's the possibility of dessert. Life can't get any better than that!”

Randi and Wynter both laughed.

After Randi walked away, Wynter smiled at me. “So how are things between you and Cicely?”

I told her about the argument we'd just had. “Janet says Cicely just needs to blow up at someone because she's angry. I'm sure that's true, but I'm suffering too. It's hard to deal with my own feelings and take the brunt of her anger as well.” I sighed. “I know how selfish that sounds.”

“Believe me, if anyone understands, it's me. After my brother was kidnapped, I was furious with everyone. Even myself. I kept thinking that if I'd been home, he wouldn't have been taken.” She shook her head. “I turned that into a reason to feel guilty. I shouldn't have been at a friend's house. I should have been with Ryan. As if sisters are supposed to spend their lives shadowing their siblings because something
might
happen. That's ridiculous. I imagine Cicely wonders if she could have done something to save her mother.”

I blinked away the tears that filled my eyes. “Maybe she does. I've been doing the same thing. Trying to figure out if there was something I could have done to protect Hannah.”

“And then Cicely tells you she wishes you had died instead of her mother.” Wynter gazed into my eyes. “She didn't mean that, you know. Not really.”

I shrugged and then quickly dabbed at my tears with my napkin. “I don't know. I think she did, actually. I mean, I know she doesn't want me dead. But if she could have chosen—”

“Stop that,” Wynter said sharply. “That kind of thinking is ridiculous. We can't pick and choose those things. And if your
sister could speak, I'm sure she'd tell you how thankful she is that you're here for Cicely.” She sighed. “I used to think my father would have been happier if I'd been kidnapped instead of Ryan. That thinking was so destructive. It almost ruined me.” She took a drink of water and stared at it after she put it back on the table. “Comparing ourselves to other people only brings unhappiness, Sarah. We almost always come up lacking. I think God hates it when we do that. He made each one of us special and unique. When we judge ourselves against someone else, isn't it saying that God didn't do a good job in creating us? Isn't it degrading His handiwork?”

I took a quick gulp of my coffee, not checking to see how hot it was. The steaming liquid scalded my throat, but Wynter's words already burned in my mind. First Paul and now Wynter. Was God trying to tell me something? I'd spent my life comparing myself to others, and I always came up short. My sister, my mother, and the other foster children I'd spent time with. In fact, I'd just compared myself to Wynter. I was so used to judging myself by the strengths and talents I saw in everyone else that it had become automatic. It had never occurred to me that my self-judgment was criticizing God. Is that what I'd been doing?

I nodded at her but didn't respond to her question, since I didn't have the answer. Not knowing what else to do, I quickly changed the subject and asked Wynter about her writing.

“It's coming along,” she said. “To be honest, I spend most of my time planning the wedding and the honeymoon. I'm afraid writing will have to wait until we get back.” Her perfectly shaped eyebrows knit together, and her expression grew rather solemn. “Now tell me about your sister's murder. What is it that bothers you?”

I took a sip of water in an attempt to gather my thoughts.
Then I proceeded to tell Wynter why I was concerned about Hannah's death. The letter, the fire, and of course the flowers and their connection to my mother and father. As I told her about my conversation with Detective Sykes, she frowned, but she didn't ask any questions. When I finished, she leaned back in her chair and stared at me. Before she could say anything, Randi showed up with our food. After serving us, she scurried away to another table where someone had just spilled a drink.

“So you believe the person who killed your parents also killed your sister?” Wynter spoke softly so she wouldn't be overheard, but still, it made my stomach turn over to hear her say it out loud.

“I didn't at first, but you have to admit that it's odd. Some reporter from
The Star
gave Hannah a file a couple of months ago. It contained information that really upset her. If I could find it, it might help me convince the authorities to take my concerns seriously. I thought Detective Sykes was willing to look a little closer, but now it seems he's dismissed any possibility the murders are linked. I truly don't understand why. The same flowers at both scenes. I'm about as sure as I can be that my parents didn't have orchids in the house before Hannah and I went to bed the night they died, and Hannah certainly didn't have them in her apartment. We both hate orchids. Especially white ones.”

“Sarah, the police won't look at your sister's death differently because of similar flowers at the crime scene. I know it's significant to you, but it won't mean anything to them. They need real evidence. Remember, they're treating this as a homicide. Whether the killer was a thief or whether he broke in just because he was targeting your sister—it's still murder. I know this might not be what you want to hear, but I think you need to let this play out.” She shook her head. “Are you absolutely
certain the guy who hanged himself wasn't guilty? He was obviously distraught about something.”

“Nothing is impossible, I guess. But why would some random guy leave orchids behind, Wynter? It doesn't make sense. Not unless he was working for someone else.” The idea that the man who died might have been sent by another person hadn't occurred to me until that moment. Was it possible?

Wynter reached over and put her hand on mine. “Sarah, you're going to drive yourself crazy with all this conjecture. Is Hannah's death connected to your folks? Are the police really investigating? Did someone hire the guy who hanged himself? Did he really commit suicide? You have no evidence for any of this.”

I chewed and swallowed a bite of roast beef. It was delicious, but I couldn't really taste much. My concern was more toward my conversation than my meal. “I understand what you're saying, but what if the police decide to pin Hannah's death on the man who died? They could miss finding the real killer.”

Wynter studied me for a moment. “I'm not saying you're wrong. I don't suppose you know what they found at the crime scene? I mean, anything solid that could point to the killer or killers?”

“No. Detective Sykes told me there was no DNA evidence they could use. No fingerprints except Hannah and Cicely's. He said whoever broke in must have been wearing gloves.”

Wynter frowned. “Didn't your sister have any friends? Visitors who could have left behind fingerprints or DNA?”

I shook my head. “Hannah didn't seem to have people over. In fact, it appears she kept pretty much to herself.”

“Do you know why?” Wynter asked.

“No, not really,” I said slowly. “I'm the same way though. Sometimes I think people who have been through something traumatic tend to be loners. It's not that we don't like people,
it's just . . . a way of coping. Not allowing things into our life that we can't control. I know that sounds a little crazy.”

Wynter shook her head. “It's not crazy. I was the same way. Not letting people in. I was the kind of person who would rather spend the evening alone at home with my cat.”

“Trust me, I understand.”

“Hannah was stabbed to death, wasn't she?” Wynter asked.

I nodded.

“I'm not a trained investigator, but it seems to me that there should have been more evidence at the crime scene. Of course it's a moot point now since the house burned down. That certainly seems convenient.”

“One other odd thing,” I said. “I found a shriveled white orchid in Hannah's bedroom, lying on the floor. If the flowers were in the living room, what was that bloom doing in the bedroom? Oh, and the drawer to the small table next to her bed was open, and I found bullets in a locked box in her closet. I think she heard a noise, grabbed her gun, and went out into the living room. That's when she was attacked.”

“Where's the gun now?”