Sanctuary Lost WITSEC Town Series Book 1 (14 page)

She waited for Aaron to take a sip, and then
nod that he liked it before she said, “I’ll go get my box.”

More like a crate, it was full of things she
grew behind her cabin. Corn, carrots and onions. Strawberries that
were taking over the flowerbed and would have to be cut back soon.
She got a lot of sun on her little hill, so she could plant three
times a year and have as many harvests.

She’d coupled the cilantro from Olympia with
tomatoes and made a batch of salsa. A jar was in the crate.

“It’s a little heavy.” She set it in front of
Aaron. “I think you can manage. And Pat can help.”

The boy smiled. Andra looked away.

“Check, no balance.”

“That’s right.” She glanced at Pat then.
“There’s a family in town that isn’t doing well. Their baby has
been sick and the mom and dad are having a hard time.”

“That happened to my mom and dad. Not the
sick part. They got divorced and now my mom is in Boston with
Stefan.”

Okay, so that was more than Andra wanted to
know about John’s love life. But it did answer a few lingering
questions about the new sheriff and his “single dad” status. Not
that she needed to know.

“The crate is for them, to help them
out.”

“So we take it to them and they don’t know
where it came from?”

Andra nodded.

“Cool, like secret agents!”

Was there anything that didn’t get this kid
excited? There was so much life in him; too bad it cut her all the
way through to the space where her heart was supposed to be. She
didn’t know if it was still there or not.

“So this is your house?”

She nodded. “This is home.”

“It’s like a cabin. That’s cool. My dad took
me camping once but it was freezing and it rained the whole time.
We just played Uno and ate the marshmallows that we were going to
use for s’mores.”

“Sounds like you had fun anyway.”

“Do you really speak Spanish?”

Andra said, “I certainly do,” in the language
she’d spoken from childhood all the way until she left the boarding
school in Barcelona and got lost in the world.

Pat smiled. “Will you teach me?”

She switched back to English. “If you
want.”

Aaron picked up the crate. “All Aaron and
Pat.” His eyes settled beyond her, over her shoulder.

It was his way, and she’d never minded people
who needed their world to be ordered and unchanging. She knew what
it was like to suddenly find she was somewhere the rules made no
sense. Even this life of peace that surpassed understanding
probably made the least sense of all the versions of herself that
she’d been. Metamorphosis. It was deep but she’d had plenty of time
alone to think about it.

Boot-steps stomped up the hill and the man
came into view as he trod across the grass to her cabin.

John.
Great.

“Dad!” Pat hugged the sheriff around the
hips. “We delivered the mail and Andra gave us lemonade.”

Andra pressed her lips together while Aaron
crossed the clearing to the sheriff.

“That’s awesome, Pat. But don’t you have an
appointment at school?”

“Ah, man.”

Aaron gripped the crate. “Checks, no
balances. Break okay. School. All in good time.”

It sounded like Aaron had it figured out.

John squeezed his son’s shoulder. “You boys
get going and keep an eye on the clock okay?” He watched them go
and then strode to Andra’s porch. The man was huge. At least a foot
taller than her, with his hair shaved short on the sides and not
much longer on top, revealing the square shape of his head. His
shoulders were broad and his shirt and pants still had horizontal
creases from being folded up in the packaging.

“I don’t suppose you’re here for
lemonade?”

All trace of the pleasantness he showed his
son was gone from his face. And why did that bother her? He thought
she was a murderer.

“I don’t put that much sugar in it but it’s
not poisoned.”

John folded his arms. “I’ll be speaking to
Pat about coming to your cabin without checking with me first but
that’s not why I’m here. I knew they had mail for you.”

Andra sat on her steps, pulled her knees up
and stared at the trees. “My door is open. Feel free to check but I
can tell you now none of the knives in my kitchen are missing.”

“You see, here’s the thing.” He cocked his
head to the side. “Now I’m wondering how you could possibly know
Betty Collins was killed with a knife?”

She didn’t move. John stood still and watched
for her to react. There was nothing about this woman that said,
“Murderer.” But then, some people were bad underneath that veneer
of sweetness and light and it was hard to tell what was below the
surface.

She held her gaze on the landscape. “Everyone
was talking about it at church.”

“You didn’t have a conversation with anyone
except me.”

“I overheard at least two different sets of
people talking about how they saw Betty Collins before her body was
removed. I drew my own conclusions.”

“The body is on the plane now. I sent it off
this morning.”

Andra stood and brushed off the seat of her
jeans. The sun had gone behind the clouds, casting her into dim
light that seemed to mute the world around them. She turned and
ducked inside. Was he supposed to leave? He looked out at the trees
surrounding her clearing. There was almost no noise up here. It was
weird.

John grabbed the forgotten envelope from the
porch step and followed her inside.

On the left two rustic armchairs faced a wood
stove. Beside that was a crammed bookcase, against the wall. A
stack of four books was on the floor beside one of the armchairs
and none of the titles were in English.

The kitchen was to the right along with a
small table and two chairs. In the center of the table sat a glass
jar of dirt in which a plant with one big green leaf and not much
else was growing. Beyond the living room was a single door he
figured led to a bedroom and bathroom. In the far corner there was
a fiddle on a stand beside a taller music stand with sheets of
paper—music notes.

Andra pulled a container from the fridge and
dumped the contents into a skillet on the stovetop. She pulled out
a jar a tub of sour cream and a package of tortillas.

John set the envelope on the dining table. It
was written to Andra Caleri with a USO address and the return
address was Cartagena, España but didn’t have a name. Andra strode
over, swiped the envelope off the table and took it to the stove.
She set it on the window ledge beside another tiny potted
plant.

Guess that answers that question.

They couldn’t talk about the case being as
she was technically the lead suspect. And beyond her statement
there wasn’t much that could be said between them during the course
of his investigation. Still, John wanted to know…her.

“So, what’s with the Spanish thing?”

The ghost of a smile curled her lips. “I like
it.”

“I guess. I mean it’s not just a method of
communication, even if it’s something you share with Olympia that
creates a distance between you and everyone else. When you converse
in Spanish you do it because you enjoy it as well as the privacy it
gives you. It means something to you.”

She shook her head, eyes on what looked like
chicken that she stirred in the skillet. “How could you possibly
know that?”

He glanced at the books. “Plus every book you
have is written in Spanish.”

“I dream in Spanish, too.” Her voice was low,
and he wasn’t sure she meant to say that out loud. From the looks
of it, her dreams probably weren’t good.

She pulled out two plates and made up three
burritos, which she brought to the table. Andra set the plate of
two on his side and pulled out her chair.

Evidently, he was staying for lunch.

“How do you know I haven’t eaten?”

“Have you?”

“No.” He sat.

Her lips twitched and they ate. John could
smell the dirt in the pot on the table and the burrito was a spicy
blend of tomato and peppers. “This is delicious.”

“I lived in Barcelona. I went to an all-girls
Catholic boarding school where the nuns ruled with wooden rulers
and the math problems made your eyes hurt.”

He smiled.

“I left before the end of my final year, so
technically I never graduated.” She lifted her chin as though
challenging him to think less of her.

“I’d guess your parents had something to say
about that.”

“I never really saw them but maybe three or
four times after I was twelve. They travelled a lot. The Med. I
think they had a place in New York.” She stared at her plate.
“After I left school I didn’t see much of a reason to visit them.
Not if they couldn’t be bothered to see me.”

“Do you know where they are now?”

She shrugged, neither confirming nor denying.
“What’s the point? It isn’t like they want to know me.”

He wanted to reach out but she was sitting
back in her chair. He could offer his hand, but then there would be
that awkward wait to see if she put hers in it.

“Where did you go after you left school?”

She lifted her gaze, her eyes dark with
something he couldn’t begin to decipher.

“I couldn’t imagine being alone at that
age.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Why’d you leave?”

She didn’t speak for a minute. “You really
haven’t read my file?”

John held her gaze. “I want to give everyone
the benefit of the doubt. I’d planned to read all the files, but if
I do that then I’m getting to know everyone through the lens of who
they were and the things they’ve done. So maybe that wouldn’t be
fair.”

“Everyone?”

“Eventually I’ll probably look some people
up, just to save time.” He smiled. “It might be worth the benefit
of the doubt in most cases. But I’ve been a little preoccupied,
what with the dead body and all.”

She froze.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. But I did
mean to do some research. Now I’ll probably end up reading Betty
Collins’ file first.”

Her brow flickered, like she questioned whose
he would have read first had it not been for Betty Collins’ death.
The answer was hers, but she didn’t need to know that. “Anything
you want to tell me about her?”

She said nothing.

“Your relationship with her?”

Silence.

“Why someone would accuse you of Betty’s
murder?”

**

Andra pushed her plate away, her burrito half
eaten. She’d shared more with John than anyone else since the U.S.
attorney wanted to know what she knew—at least from her adult life.
Why hadn’t he checked her file?

At first she’d been sure he came to arrest
her, waiting until the boys were gone so he didn’t put her in
handcuffs in front of his son. If he’d read her file he probably
wouldn’t even have made that consideration. She would already be in
jail at the sheriff’s office.

He was waiting for her to answer.

Andra should probably tell him. Instead, she
settled for answering no more than the question he had asked. “No,
I have no idea why Harriet would say that.”

No one knew, because if they did they
wouldn’t leave her on her mountain, despite the stories of her
running off visitors—which was ridiculous. It was only the one time
and she’d been mostly nice to the skinny guy who bussed tables at
the diner. She hadn’t even threatened him.

“She mentioned an incident at the medical
center. What happened there?”

“That was two years ago.” Andra sighed. “She
kept me waiting to see the doctor for two hours. I was mad.”

“That’s understandable, when you’re sick and
probably not feeling well.”

“I’d broken my arm falling from one of the
ridges up the hill.
Nurse
Harriet squeezed it, said she
couldn’t feel anything and sent me to sit down.”

Andra took the plates to the sink. Why did
she tell him that? Now he was going to think she was just telling
him all this…her parents, her arm…just to make him feel sorry for
her. He probably thought she let him stay so she could persuade him
she was actually the victim in all this. Betty Collins might be
dead, but some people would try to save their own skin. If they
were guilty or if they figured—given their pasts—a jury of their
peers would not be kind.

He moved from the edge of her vision until he
was at the sink beside her. “I don’t know what to say.”

She didn’t either. She wasn’t any good at
this. Her past proved that at least. Andra’s life had been about
dodging the law, while John brought justice. “La compasión triunfa
en el juicio.”

“What does that mean?”

She smiled to the sink. “Mercy triumphs over
judgment.”

“Since when?” He shifted and she turned to
him. “That makes no sense. Judgment is the truth. It’s the
punishment appropriate to the crime. Mercy is only for the
innocent. It can’t beat out judgment, that wouldn’t be right.”

His face was incredulous.

It made her lips twitch. “The law man has
spoken.”

They were doomed.

“It just makes no sense, is all.”

“I get that.” She smiled and took a step
back. “But sometimes mercy is a whole lot more powerful than
judgment. Think about WITSEC. Judgment would be right. But
sometimes granting mercy gains more than judgment ever could.”

“That’s a bargain.”

“The best kind. Both sides win; both the one
who grants mercy and the recipient.”

John shook his head. “I get that. Mentally, I
understand what you’re talking about.”

“Perhaps you have to receive it in order to
fully understand the implications. It’s not something I take
lightly.”

“You seem to have made peace with it.”

“It’s been a long time.” She squeezed her
fingers together in front of her. “Sometimes I think it’s more that
mercy has made peace with me. If I beat myself up about it, what
good would that do? Accepting it releases me to move on.”