Lemon Tart (15 page)

“I just left another message at the house. Please call me
back—we really need to talk.” He hung up the phone with another
quiet beep and Sadie heard him sigh. He walked to the side of the bed; she
watched him step out of his shoes before he sat on the bed. She willed him to
remember something he needed to do on the other side of town. Instead, he lay
down. The mattress and bedsprings sank a couple of inches, pinning Sadie’s
shoulders between the bed and the floor. She closed her eyes and bit her
lip.

He’s going to take
a nap? she screamed in her mind. With
all this going on he can sleep? Her opinion of him, though dismal at the
moment, sank even lower. Then again, he’d been back and forth to Denver and at Anne’s house last
night—no wonder he was tired.

After what she assumed was five minutes, her shoulder was
throbbing, her knees ached, and the box corner in her back had surely drawn
blood. The sound of Ron’s soft breathing was the only noise in the house. If he
snored, and she weren’t pinned beneath his weight, maybe she could sneak out,
but he didn’t snore and she was pinned. The situation was
hopeless. What was she going to do?

That’s when she remembered her phone. She’d put it in her
hoodie pocket after shutting it off at Susan Gimes’s office. But could she
reach it, all crunched up in a ball the way she was? And if she could reach it,
then what? She couldn’t call him, he’d wonder why her voice was in stereo.

Text message.

Bless you, Breanna,
for insisting I learn how to text message, she thought as she tried
slowly and carefully to adjust her position enough so she could retrieve her
phone. It took at least an hour, she was sure of it, well, more like another
ten minutes of slow, painful contortions—first to free her
arms, then to find the pocket, and eventually the phone. She was nearly in
tears, due to the physical pain of certain movements she had no right to be
performing at her age, and the sheer frustration that everything was so
difficult. All the while she had to be sure she didn’t move so much that the
bed moved with her.

Finally, she managed to hold the phone in her hands. She took a
breath and stared at the black-and-silver phone that seemed the
size of a fun-size candy bar. I’ve
got to think this through, she thought, forcing herself to be slow and
calculated. What does the phone do
when I turn it on? She searched her memory banks and groaned inwardly.
Her phone sang a little welcome jingle when she turned it on. She couldn’t very
well risk that. Ron rolled over in bed, freeing her shoulders a bit, and she
scowled up at the mattress springs. You
couldn’t have done that five minutes ago? she thought. Finding the phone
would have been much easier with her newly restored, though still limited,
range of motion.

She refocused her attention on the phone. Can I muffle the music? she
wondered. After several seconds, and no one answering her question, she decided
it was her only option. She pulled up as much of the thick sweatshirt fabric of
her hoodie as she could, causing the box to shift from poking
into her back through the sweatshirt to poking directly
into her skin—nice. She tried to ignore it, sent a little
prayer heavenward, flipped the phone open, and pushed the button before
quickly wrapping the phone as best she could in the folds of her hoodie.

As soon as she heard the first muffled note, she knew it was
too loud. She pushed her legs away and down from her chest and rolled over on
top of the phone. Her hair got caught in the bedsprings and she winced, lifting
her head to relieve the pulling. The sound from the phone disappeared except
for the faintest of melodies, one she was sure Ron couldn’t hear through the
mattress. But she’d moved too fast. She felt the bed shift, heard Ron’s
breathing stop for a moment, and was sure she’d been caught.

She clenched her eyes shut like a child who thinks you can’t
see her if she can’t see you and prayed until his breathing returned to normal.
Opening her eyes, she realized he’d readjusted to a position that was even
better for her. But having her face so close to the neglected carpet proved too
much for her thus far stalwart sinuses and she sneezed silently—causing
her sinuses to ache. Good thing she’d mastered all-but-silent
sneezes when she waitressed in college. Her feet were poking out from under the
bed, but she was at the eleventh hour now.

The music stopped and she slowly pulled her arms out from under
her, sliding them up until they held her phone just a few inches in front of
her face. She couldn’t see anything that close up—she hadn’t
thought to bring her glasses—not to mention it was pretty dark
under the bed. She tried to extend her arms, but, thanks to the boxes in front
of her, that necessitated wriggling backwards. And in order to move backwards,
she had to untangle her hair from the springs—only half of the
clump was sacrificed. Her legs were now almost completely exposed—thank
goodness Ron was asleep—but at least she was in position and
the bluish light of the cell phone illuminated the darkness.

After toggling into “Settings,” she cringed at the quiet beep
the phone made and paused to see if Ron reacted to it. It wasn’t anything like
the welcome jingle, but to her it sounded like a gong. Ron didn’t move and she
wondered how long her luck could hold out. She turned the sound off on her
phone and felt much relieved when the screen flashed “Silent Mode.” It took a
minute for her to toggle into the text message menu, where she painstakingly
typed in a message. Breanna and Shawn used all kinds of abbreviations, but
Sadie was always worried she’d do them wrong and say something completely
different than what she intended, so she always spelled things out.

Meet at Baxter’s now

She asked herself if this was the best idea. Baxter’s was their
favorite restaurant, but she had no desire to meet him there. Unfortunately,
she couldn’t think of anything else that would get him to leave. She took one
last breath, said one last prayer, and hit send.

It wasn’t until his phone started ringing that she remembered
her feet were still sticking out. She rolled back to her side and pulled her
knees up again, her heart racing as the panic returned. Please let this work, she chanted in her mind.

By the second ring, Ron’s breathing had stopped. In the next
instant he was off the bed and across the room. She couldn’t hear what he was
doing but after a minute her phone began to vibrate. Ron didn’t know how to
text message, and curled up like she was, she couldn’t bring the phone to her
face anyway, though she pulled it close to muffle the hum of the vibrations.
She breathed slow and deep, willing Ron to leave. Her left hip was going numb.
Moments after her phone stopped vibrating she heard Ron cuss under his breath.
Then his footsteps retreated, the back door opened again, and when it shut,
Sadie was alone in the uncomfortable silence.

She waited at least two or three minutes before she slowly
pulled herself out from under the bed. Her whole body ached. She peeked through
the kitchen window to be sure his car was gone and for the first time in thirty
minutes, she could breathe normally. Without wasting another minute she ran out
the door, not bothering to lock it since Ron hadn’t taken the time to do so. By
the time she reached her car she felt like crying with relief. She took a deep
breath, willing her blood pressure to lower, reminding herself that she hadn’t
been caught. Then she had to ask herself if she was going to meet Ron at
Baxter’s. If she didn’t, he’d keep looking for her and who knew when he’d catch
up. At least Baxter’s was a public place.

She blamed her parents for the good upbringing that made it
feel so wrong to stand him up. Even if he was a depraved murderer.

Chapter 15

Ron’s black Jetta was parked in the front of the
restaurant. He wasn’t in it. Sadie pulled into a parking space a few slots down
from his car, took a deep breath, and finger-combed her hair before
stepping out of the car, embarrassed to be so underdressed. She wasn’t even
wearing lipstick. Baxter’s wasn’t a hoodie-and-jeans kind of
establishment. Still, the hostess smiled politely when Sadie came in.

“I know I’m underdressed, it was last minute, I’m sorry,” Sadie
said, knowing it was too much information but wanting to be sure the girl knew
Sadie wasn’t an informal person and that she knew what the expectations were.
The girl gave her an odd look and said it was okay.

“I’m meeting someone,” Sadie continued nervously. “A man.”

“Oh, yes,” the plump blonde said. “Mr. Bradley. He’s over here,
follow me.”

Ron met her eye when she rounded the corner booth and he stood,
his face a mask of relief and anxiety. When she reached the table he stepped
forward as if to hug her but she slid into the booth before he could touch her
and she kept her hands clasped and rigid in her lap. He paused, then slid back
into his seat. The tension between them was unlike anything Sadie had felt
before. She looked at the high-gloss tabletop and wished she’d ignored her
manners and let him sweat it out.

“I know about you and Anne,” Sadie finally said, glancing up
quickly.

“Anne and me?” Ron asked, his tone was careful, cautious.

“I know about the bank account, about the Boston office—everything.”

Ron’s eyes went wide. “How do you know that?” he said, then he
shook his head and spoke again before she could. “It doesn’t matter.” He took a
breath. “It was a mistake for me to do it, I know that now, but I was only
trying to help—to ensure that Trevor was taken care of and that
lives weren’t disrupted more than they already had been.”

“Really,” Sadie said, shocked that he’d admitted it all so
easily. “Forgive me if that isn’t a big comfort to me, Ron.” Their waitress
approached, smiling as if there weren’t a missing child and a dead mother in
town.

“What can I get for you two?” she asked sweetly.

Sadie glanced at the unopened menu in front of her. Baxter’s
had an amazing honey-glazed salmon with spinach orzo pasta—a
recipe she had not successfully reproduced at home—and her
stomach growled at the idea of food, but Sadie didn’t think she was up to
eating. Especially with Ron as her lunch companion. “I’m not staying,” she
said, suddenly anxious to get out of there.

Ron offered the waitress a pained smile. “Can you come back in
a minute?” He reached over and grabbed Sadie’s hand as she tried to stand,
preventing her from leaving. The waitress looked a bit concerned but she
finally nodded and hurried away.

Sadie stared at Ron’s hand holding hers. Twenty-four
hours ago it would have sent a thrill through her entire body to be touched by
him. Now it left her cold and seemed to mock her own foolishness for trusting
her heart to this man. She looked up and met his eyes.

“I can’t imagine how I gave any indication that I would be okay
with this, Ron,” she said with as much calmness as she could muster despite the
panic inside her. “We obviously don’t know each other nearly as well as I
thought we did.”

“It was a mistake,” he repeated.

“A mistake?” Sadie said, shaking her head. He made it sound
like he’d lied about his weight to the DMV. “A woman is dead, Ron. Her life is
over, and her son’s life has been unalterably changed.” She paused, wanting to
leave but realizing she had an opportunity to make herself clear and possibly
even put an end to her concern for Trevor. “If you’ll tell me where he is, I’ll
go with you when you turn yourself in.”

“Turn myself in?” Ron said. “Cosigning a bank account isn’t
against the law, Sadie. And why would I know where Trevor is?”

Sadie pulled her hand away. “You were there last night, Ron,
you told me that. Trevor hasn’t been seen since.”

Ron stared at her and blinked, then he sat back, a look of
incredulity on his face. He was very good at this whole pretending innocence
thing—it made her crazy. “You think I killed her,” he said.
“You really believe that?”

“Is it so far-fetched? You father her child, set up
accounts for both of them, and then move her out to Garrison. You knew she was
trying to establish legal paternity and you lost it and killed her. What I
can’t figure out is why you bothered keeping me around. What was my role
supposed to be in this? Was I the trainer? Bringing Anne up to par.” The words
burned her tongue on the way out, searing the flavor of his deception into her
brain.

“Your role,” he repeated, though he managed to continue to
appear stunned. He was silent for several seconds. Then he leaned forward with
his elbows on the table, and when he spoke his words were crisp and louder than
she thought they ought to be. How could he be angry with her for discovering
the truth? “I am not the father of Anne’s baby, Sadie. I set up the account, I
talked to her now and then, but that’s all I did. She moved out here, after promising to leave him
alone. I’ve been the middleman, I admit that, but only because—”