Key Lime Pie (5 page)

It took a little digging, but within a couple minutes, Sadie found the box. It took another minute to wrestle it out of the corner of the narrow closet, and she was cursing every pack rat she’d ever met by the time she finally dragged the box into the room. She was sweating, and she rolled her shoulder, which had begun to rebel against the efforts. She’d still clean the trailer, but one day she was going to get her hands on Eric’s house as well. It needed some serious attention. If the thought created a deeper concern about their personal compatibility, she ignored it for now. There were only so many things a woman could worry about at one time.

The box demanded all of her attention, and anxiety settled in her stomach as she looked at it. It didn’t belong to her, and Eric had asked her simply to ship it. And yet, she’d be the one signing off that it didn’t contain anything hazardous. It would be irresponsible to ship something without any idea of what that something was, right? Plus, Eric had said FedEx might have to repack the items. On the one hand, that meant he knew other people might see what was in the box. On the other hand, that meant the contents were probably not hazardous. Sadie sighed, her curiosity burning. He hadn’t told her
not
to look.

That final thought was all the encouragement she needed. She squatted and, using her legs as instructed by every exercise DVD she’d ever watched, hefted the box, only to find it wasn’t that heavy. It was still big, however, and she carried it to the unmade bed and put it down on an area relatively free of rumpled bedding. It would be easier to look through the box while standing.

She began to wrestle the top half of the box off, then stopped and pushed the comforter and top sheet farther away, giving her a flat surface on which she could lay out the contents. She returned to the box, slid the top off, and prepared herself for what she would find inside.

A red sweater. Two three-ring binders—one for a class on Shakespearean literature and another labeled Math 1050. The dates on the pages of notes were from three years earlier and the name typed on a returned assignment in the front pocket of one of the binders read “Megan Burton.” A chill ran down Sadie’s back as she realized she held Eric’s missing daughter’s things, but it also compounded the questions in her mind. Eric needed these items? Why?

Sadie had planned to take only a peek at the contents, but that was forgotten as she continued unloading the box, carefully placing everything on the bed in search of what Eric might need so badly. There was a box of checks—half full of new checkbooks and two used booklets that held only the duplicates of checks already written. There were two pairs of flip-flops, a Zip-loc baggie full of hair stuff: bobby pins, a hair brush, elastics, and a couple stretchy headbands. She pulled out a square tea tin about six inches tall and four inches wide containing miscellaneous receipts, some refrigerator magnets, and a couple of photos; the meager contents didn’t fill it up by any means.

The Sunkist box also held a couple pairs of jeans, a black bra, two yoga DVDs, and a music box that looked as though it belonged to a six-year-old—ballerinas in pink tutus pirouetted around the sides. Sadie opened the music box and watched the ballerina inside spin around while a tinny version of “Swan Lake” filled the room. The contents of the music box seemed to be several single earrings, a silver necklace, and a few beaded bracelets.

That’s it?
Sadie wondered as she looked at the bare cardboard of the bottom of the box. No journals, planners, unopened mail? There wasn’t even an address book or old cell phone. It was just . . . dregs, leftover items that seemed to have no value, no purpose—especially three years after the owner of the items had disappeared.

Sadie’s eyes were drawn back to the tea tin and she removed the lid again, pulling out the three photos and fanning them in her hand. One was of a redheaded girl making a face: her cheeks were blown out, her lips pursed, and her eyes crossed to the extent that it was difficult to determine what she really looked like. Sadie considered that it could be Megan, but the next photo seemed a more likely possibility. In this one a dark-haired girl with bright blue eyes looked back at the camera while she leaned against the chest of a young man whose arms were draped protectively around the girl’s waist. They were on a dock or a boat or something, the ocean stretching behind them and wind blowing through their hair. Both of them were strangers to Sadie, of course, but the blue eyes of the girl looked very much like Eric’s.

The third picture was of a cat: a gray Persian. It looked up from a tiled floor with a red bow tied onto a lock of fur on its head. Sadie had never seen a cat with a bow in its hair before; she thought that was usually reserved for little yippy dogs.

Sadie looked at the other papers in the tin box and picked up a yellow credit card receipt from Texaco. At the bottom was a signature:
Megan Burton.
The M was fancy, almost like calligraphy, hinting at a personality behind what was otherwise just a name on a gas receipt. Sadie rubbed her thumb over the fancy lettering and wondered what had happened to this girl. She’d had a life, she was in college, and yet her ambition and goals led her nowhere. So much life now resigned to a box. Sadie wondered how many people had holes in their lives where Megan had once been.

For a few minutes, Sadie went through the contents a little slower, looking for anything that would jump out at her and say, “Aha, this is what Eric needed!” Nothing did. If what he needed was something to sell for quick cash, it didn’t exist in this box.

She began carefully repacking the items while pondering the possibilities. When she finished, placing the red sweater on top of everything else and pressing it down to ensure everything fit, she glanced at the clock radio next to Eric’s bed. It was 12:13. First, Eric had been cryptic and deliberately vague. Then the box hadn’t given her anything to help make sense of his behavior. Sadie hated not having the answers.

In light of those unanswered questions, her concern for Eric increased. What was going on in Florida that made the miscellaneous items in this box so important to him? Was he in trouble? If so, how much? Was there something in the box that would help identify the body? But if so, why hadn’t Eric told her?

She drummed her fingers on top of the sweater, letting her thoughts flow and connect in her mind. The only conclusion she could come to was that she was not at peace with things the way they were right now, and she wasn’t ready to stop looking for that peace. Not yet.

Eric had said she needed to get the box to Federal Express by 2:00. Sadie could do a lot with the time between then and now.

Sadie pulled into the parking lot of the copy store that also served as the local Federal Express shipping office. She put the car in park and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as she looked at the blue-and-purple sign. It was 1:36. She only had twenty-four minutes to make up her mind. She picked up her phone from the passenger seat and toggled her way to her text messages where she had stored the address Eric had sent her. After leaving Eric’s house, but before driving to the store, she’d gone home and done a reverse look-up on the computer. The address belonged to a house in Homestead, Florida, which was a suburb of Miami. A little more digging led her to the owner on title: Lawrence McCallister. Sadie had no idea who he was.

She paused only a minute before calling Eric’s cell phone—his last chance to explain things. He didn’t answer. Shoot. Sadie was left with her quandary. However, several seconds after hanging up, while she was still staring at the store and considering her options, she received a text message.

Can’t talk right now. Did u ship the box?

She texted back.

I’m at FedEx. I’m worried. What’s going on?

He didn’t answer right away. She waited until the clock turned to 1:40, then texted him again, aware that he probably wouldn’t respond and she would be forced to make a decision with only the information she already had.

You’re not going to tell me, are you?

This time he responded.

Not yet. I’ve got 2 go. Thanks for your help.

Sadie took a deep breath. It fairly killed her to be left out of the loop, and therefore she felt she had only one option. She turned in her seat and stared at the carry-on bag she’d quickly packed half an hour earlier. She hadn’t been able to layer her clothing between tissue paper or put things in individual Zip-loc bags, but she had four days’ worth of clothing. She was ready to go—but was going to Florida reasonable?

No,
she answered herself. There was nothing reasonable about it.

She attempted to calm herself by listing again her reasons for doing this. First, Eric needed the box. Second, Eric was involved in something he was unwilling to tell her about—major red flag. Third, he’d invited her to come with him and said there was no one else for him to ask. She’d refused him then, and still stood by the merit of that decision. But now they weren’t leaving together so any impropriety seemed displaced by her genuine concern about his welfare. And the fact that she’d been invited meant she would be welcomed if she showed up. Fourth, Eric was her friend; and perhaps one day he’d be more than that. She paused. Was he
already
more than that?

She sat in silence in her car. There were so many reasons for her
not
to do this. She went through each one in her mind. But when she looked at the mental list of why she
should
go, one thing stood out to her above everything else. She truly believed, in her heart of hearts, that Eric needed her.

A moment later she threw the car into reverse and dialed the number she’d stored in her cell phone before leaving the house. She was almost out of Garrison before she reached an actual person on the line. “Yes,” she said to the man who asked if he could help her. “I need to get to Miami from Denver International as soon as possible. When’s your next flight?”

When she hung up a few minutes later, she had just spent $413.68 on a nonrefundable plane ticket. She was committed to the trip. Which reminded her of the next phone call she needed to make. This one was speed-dial number eight.

Gayle picked up on the second ring. “Sadie,” her friend said into the phone. “How was the movie last night with that hunk-a-hunk-of-burnin’ love? If you ask me, Robert Redford and Pete Cunningham are a lethal combination.”

Was it only last night that Sadie was supposed to watch
Out of Africa
with Pete? So much had happened since then.

“Oh, Gayle,” Sadie said, overwhelmed with how much she had to say. “I have got the story of the year for you,” she said, knowing that would irrevocably trigger Gayle’s curiosity to the point that she’d jump at the chance to be a part of it. Most people would think Gayle an unlikely confidant, but Sadie trusted her completely. They were best friends and had weathered many of life’s storms together. Sadie knew about the unfortunate experience Gayle had encountered when she had tried her hand at Internet dating, and Gayle knew about the time Sadie had . . . well, she knew about things no one else knew. Sadie was safe with Gayle, and there was no one else she’d trust to protect her reputation. “But you have to promise me you’ll keep it a secret. I’d be ruined if anyone found out.”

“Oh?” Gayle said, intrigue oozing from the single syllable.

“And I need to ask a favor. Several favors, actually.”

Okay,” Gayle said after Sadie had laid out every detail of what had happened last night with both Eric and Pete and had gone on to explain her plan. “So the story I’m to tell everyone is that you went back east to visit your former college roommate, Kara.”

“Tara,” Sadie corrected. “She lives in Jacksonville. I’ll do my darnedest to get up there and even take a picture with us together so I can prove my story. It’s been years since I’ve seen her anyway, so it’s kind of like I’m killing two birds with one stone. Right?”

“Right,” Gayle said. “I mean, it doesn’t explain why you left so quickly or anything, but it’ll work.”