Buried Sins Page 14

  The idea startled her. First Karen, now Andrea pointing out something she hadn’t seen in herself.

  Andrea glanced over her shoulder. “Looks as if you have another customer.”

  Caro turned, and her breath caught. The woman who stood on the other side of the table wasn’t a customer. She was Tony’s wife.

  “Mrs. Gibson.” Caro said the words with a sense of fatality. Of course the woman would seek her out. What else could she do? She should have seen this coming.

  “I thought you were claiming that name.” The woman’s tone was combative, but Caroline saw past that to what lay beneath. Grief. Despite what he’d done to her, Mary Alice had loved Tony.

  “What do you want?”

  “To talk, that’s all. You can spare me a few minutes, can’t you?”

  Caro glanced around. They couldn’t talk here, not in the midst of the crowd. “Andrea, can you take over for a few minutes?”

  Andrea nodded, controlling the questions that no doubt seethed in her mind.

  Caro slid out of the booth, struggling to find composure. She had to do this. She didn’t want to.

  Please. She wasn’t sure whether it was a prayer or not, it had been so long. Please show me what to say to her.

  “Let’s go out back. Maybe we can find someplace quiet to talk.” She touched the woman’s arm. Mary Alice winced away from her, but she followed when Caro started down the aisle toward the rear of the fire hall.

  They got there too fast. She hadn’t come up with anything to say by the time she pushed through the metal door and went out to the gravel lot.

  The area around the door was piled with boxes left there by the exhibitors, and a couple of pickups were parked nearby, but there was no one around. It was as private a place as they were likely to find in the midst of the festival.

  She turned to the woman. “I guess this will have to do. I’m sure you don’t want to come back later.”

  “No. Let’s get this over with.” Mary Alice’s thin face tightened. She’d probably been a beauty once, with those soft curls and huge brown eyes, but years of tending a child and an ailing father-in-law had taken their toll.

  For an instant Caro felt an irrational fury at Tony. What right had he to betray this woman—to betray both of them? Hadn’t he had any sense of morality at all?

  “How did you find me?”

  The woman shrugged. “Your friend told Tony he was police chief here. I stopped at the station, asked for you. The guy on duty said you’d probably be here.”

  Simple, wasn’t it? “All right, what can I tell you?”

  “You told my father-in-law that you were Tony’s wife.” Mary Alice folded her arms across her chest, as if holding back pain. “What did you mean by that?”

  “I wasn’t trying to hurt you or him. I wanted to find out—”

  “Are you after what Tony left?” Mary Alice blurted out the question. “Because if you are, you’re going to be disappointed. He didn’t leave a thing, and if he had, it would belong to me and his child.”

  The thought of that child was a fresh source of the pain she’d thought she was finished with. “No. I don’t want anything. Just the truth.”

  “The truth is that Tony was my husband. Maybe not a very good one, but mine.” Her thin cheeks flushed. “You have no right to say anything else.”

  “I’m sorry. I thought I was married to Tony.” She tried to harden her heart. She had her own pain to deal with. “We got married in Las Vegas. But if you two were never divorced, then it was all a sham.”

  “I don’t believe you.” The woman’s face was taut with pain. “Tony wouldn’t do that. We were married in the church. He might do a lot of things, but not that.”

  Caro fumbled in her shoulder bag and pulled out the photo she still carried around. She should have gotten rid of it. Having it was like biting down on a sore lip, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to throw it away.

  “Here.” She held the image out to the woman. “Is that your Tony?”

  Mary Alice took the photo, hand trembling. Looked at it. Shoved it back toward Caro, turning away. Her shoulders shook with sobs.

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice was thick, too. She grabbed the picture, taking a brief glance at the smiling bride and groom, and shoved it back in her bag. “I didn’t want to hurt you. But I was victimized by Tony, too.”

  Mary Alice took a deep, rasping breath. She turned back to face her, clearly still fighting for control. “Sorry. I thought—”

  “I’d have thought that, too, in your place. But honestly, I don’t want anything that was Tony’s.”

  Mary Alice wiped tears away with her fingers, managing a weak smile. “Good thing. As far as I know, he didn’t even leave enough to bury him. I guess you did that.”

  “Yes.” A fresh twinge of pain hit at the thought of the tears she’d shed at the graveside. Not only wasn’t she Tony’s widow, but she couldn’t even be sure Tony was dead.

  She pushed that thought away. Someone had sent that safe-deposit key, but that didn’t mean it was Tony. A thought hit her. If that money had been come by honestly, it would belong to Mary Alice and her child.

  “I’m not sure if this is going to help you, but when I came to Philadelphia, it was to check out a safe-deposit box that Tony had rented. It was filled with money.”

  Something that might have been hope dawned in the woman’s eyes. She hated to squelch that, but she couldn’t let her believe that her money troubles were over.

  “The police out in Santa Fe think Tony might have been involved in something illegal, so don’t get your hopes up.”

  “Hope?” Anger flared in Mary Alice’s voice. “What do you know about it? Hope doesn’t feed a kid or put shoes on her feet.”

  “I know how you must feel, but—”

  “You don’t know anything about what I feel. Don’t you dare feel sorry for me. At least Tony actually married me. What does that make you?”

  Before Caro could say a word, she’d whirled and raced away.

  Caro stood there for a few minutes, dealing with the emotions that boiled up and threatened to explode. She didn’t have the luxury of collapsing in tears or even kicking a few of the stacked boxes. She had to pin a smile on her face, go back inside and take over her stand. So that’s what she’d do.

  The crowds seemed to have thinned out as she moved through them to the stand. Maybe most people had gone outside to the food stands and the rides. Andrea sent her a questioning look.

  “Everything okay?”

  She summoned a smile. “Fine. Do you want to take a break? I can manage.”

  “Maybe a little later.” Andrea gestured toward the children’s table. “I still have a few customers.”

  Caro glanced at the four children grouped around the table. Three flaxen heads—common in this area with its German heritage. And one little girl with curly dark hair and an engaging smile. Ruthie, Zach’s daughter.

  He wouldn’t like the fact that Caro was anywhere near his little girl. He’d made that clear at the last show. But what could she do about it? She could hardly chase the child away.

  Even as she had the thought, the little girl lifted the necklace she was working on. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

  Since Ruthie was looking right at her, she could hardly avoid answering. “It sure is. Are pink and purple your favorite colors?”

  She nodded gravely. “My daddy says they’re princess colors. My princess doll has a dress that color.”

  “Your daddy will really like your necklace, I’m sure.”

  “Someday I want to make pretty necklaces like yours.” Ruthie leaned across the table and reached up to touch the aqua and silver cross Caro wore. “It’s be-yoo-tiful.”

  Karen, overhearing, grinned at her niece. “I’ll bet you could ask Daddy to get one just like that for your birthday. Maybe Ms. Caro would even make it, wouldn’t you?”

  “Well, yes, of course, if he wanted me to.” It wasn’t Karen’s fault that
she was in such a sticky situation. Karen didn’t know that her brother’s only interest in Caroline was that of a police officer.

  She turned away, relieved, at the sight of a potential customer, and went to the other end of the booth, switching places with Andrea, determined to stay as far away from Zach’s daughter as possible.

  Once she’d persuaded the woman that she shouldn’t pass up the earrings that went with the necklace she wanted, the other three children had wandered off to look at something else. To her surprise, Ruthie still bent over her necklace, totally absorbed in stringing beads on the cord.

  Her sketching pad, never far away, lay on the corner of the table. A pencil in her hand was usually a sure remedy for thinking about things she’d prefer to ignore.

  Her gaze was drawn back to the little girl, and the pencil started to move. She didn’t have quite the angle she wanted, so she edged closer quietly, not wanting to distract the child. She didn’t want to talk to Ruthie—she just wanted to capture the intent look an artist, no matter how young, had when absorbed by the work.

  She didn’t know how much time passed before she realized someone was watching her—had probably been watching her for some time. She looked up to find Zach leaning against his sister’s booth, his gaze fixed relentlessly on her face.

  Her heart seemed to skip a beat and then proceed to thud too loudly. Foolish, but she couldn’t seem to ignore the effect the man had on her.

  “Your daughter decided to make a necklace.” He could hardly blame her. The activity was open to any child who wanted to do it.

  Ruthie looked up at her words. “Daddy, Daddy!” She launched herself into his arms.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” He caught her, his face lighting with a love that made Caro’s breath hitch. “What are you doing?”

  “Making a necklace, see?” She scurried to hold it up for his inspection. “It’s all finished. Isn’t it pretty?”

  “It’s beautiful.” The pink-and-purple creation dangled from his strong hand. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Ms. Caro showed me how.” Ruthie turned to her, and her gaze touched the sketch pad. Her eyes widened. “Is that me?”

  Caro nodded. And what exactly would Zach think of that?

  He took the pad, his fingers brushing hers, and turned it so that he could see. It seemed to Caro that his face gentled. “Look, Ruthie. It is you.”

  While Ruthie exclaimed over the image and called her aunt Karen over to see, Zach’s gaze met hers. For once there was nothing guarded in it.

  “You’ve really captured her. That expression of total concentration—I’ve seen that so often, always when she’s making something.”

  “You have an artist on your hands,” she said lightly. She tore the sketch carefully from the pad and handed it to him. “For you.”

  “Thank you.” His voice was low, and she couldn’t seem to look away from his gaze.

  After a long moment, Zach turned away. He took Ruthie’s hand. “Say thank you to Ms. Caro, honey. We’ll find Grammy and show her what you made.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Caro.” Velvet brown eyes sparkled, and a pair of dimples flashed in her cheeks. “I love your necklaces.”

  “You’re welcome, Ruthie. I’m glad you came.” She would not let her confused feelings for Zach affect the way she treated the child. “I hope I’ll see you again.”

  Zach wouldn’t like that, she supposed. Well, too bad.

  He gave her a slight smile, raised one hand in a sketchy salute and walked off with his daughter.

  TWELVE

  All Ruthie could talk about for the next several hours was her new friend, Ms. Caro. Zach eventually turned her over to his mother at home, still chattering, and headed back to the festival.

  They’d be closing down now, and he’d take a quick look around the grounds to be sure everything was all right. And if he saw Caroline, well, that was inevitable, wasn’t it?

  The bond that had started to form between his daughter and her Ms. Caro would be a nice thing to see, if only Caro were not involved in who-knew-what.

  She could be perfectly innocent of any wrongdoing. But even so, he didn’t want his daughter around someone who seemed such a magnet for trouble.

  Caroline knew that. He’d seen it in her eyes when she looked at him.

  He didn’t like the thought that his attitude hurt her. She’d been hurt and betrayed enough. But that was all the more reason to be cautious of any relationship with her. Duty came first for him, and that duty could very well cause him to do something that would hurt her still more.

  All very good reasons for staying away from her. So why was he headed straight for the spot where her booth had been?

  His sister was already gone. One of his brothers must have stopped by to help her pack up.

  Caroline seemed to be down to several boxes that looked ready to take out. He stopped behind her as she picked up one.

  “Can I give you a hand with those?”

  The box she balanced wobbled in her arms at the sound of his voice, and he grabbed it. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “That’s fine.” She tightened her grip on the box. “I didn’t hear you coming. Thanks, but I can manage these.”

  “No point in making two trips when one will do,” he said. He picked up the rest of the boxes. “Lead the way.”

  Her brow furrowed, as if she were about to argue, but then she shrugged. “My car’s out back.”

  They made their way to the back door, sidestepping folks tearing down their booths. “The festival had a good turnout.” He addressed her straight back, since that was all that was visible to him. “The craft shows have become quite a draw for tourists. How did you make out with the things you brought on consignment for the Zooks?”

  She looked at him over her shoulder. “How did you know about that?”

  He shoved the door open, holding it with his shoulder until she maneuvered her box through. “I hear just about everything, it seems.”

  “I guess that’s a valuable trait for a police officer. Everything sold pretty well—the dolls in particular. I think Emma and Nancy will be pleased.” She crossed the gravel lot to her car and opened the hatchback. “Everything should fit in here. If I keep on with the craft shows, at some point I’ll need to borrow a bigger vehicle.”

  He wedged the last box in on top of the things she’d already loaded and closed the hatchback. “There you go. What happened to your sister? She didn’t hang around to help you tear down.”

  “She had a Saturday-night date with her husband, so I chased her off home. I can manage the unloading myself.”

  “No need. I’ll follow you home and help you unload.”

  Her mouth tightened infinitesimally. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to.” He turned toward the side lot where he’d left his car. “I’ll be right along.” He walked off before she could launch into an argument.

  The few minutes it took to drive from the fire hall to Caro’s barn were enough time to wonder what he was doing. Not, unfortunately, enough to come up with an answer.

  Caroline was already unloading by the time he pulled in behind her car. He thought she was going to reiterate her insistence that she could handle this herself, but instead she gave him a thoughtful look.

  “Maybe it’s just as well I have a chance to talk to you. I had a visitor today. Tony’s wife.”

  Her expression didn’t tell him how she’d taken that. “I suppose that was inevitable. How did it go?”

  She shrugged as she headed for the door. He picked up a stack of boxes and followed her.

  “Not very happily, as you might imagine. She…well, I guess she needed to vent her anger at somebody.”

  “What happened wasn’t your fault.” He held the door while she carried her load inside and then followed her. “If she’s going to be angry, Tony ought to be her target.”

  “Unfortunately, he’s not around to hear what we think of him.” She crossed to the worktabl
e and set her stack of boxes down, so he did the same.

  “What did you tell her?”

  “She didn’t really want to hear anything from me. I did tell her about the money, though.” She swiveled to face him. “Of course, I don’t know if it’s still there. Did the police take it?”

  “Not that I know of.” At her skeptical look, he held out his hands. “I’m not in the confidence of the Santa Fe police. I told them about it, as you asked me to. They haven’t kept me posted on their plans.”

  He could guess, but they hadn’t told him. If it were his case, he’d probably leave the money where it was to see if anyone showed an interest in it.

  “And if they did tell you, you couldn’t pass anything along to me in any event.”

  “No, I guess I couldn’t. So where does that leave us?”

  “Destined to talk about something else, I suppose. Your daughter is adorable.”

  As a change of subject, it was a good one. “I think so, but I might be prejudiced.”

  “The proud father.” Her smile seemed to relax. “I can understand that.”

  “You had a nice activity for the kids today. Not many of the vendors bothered to do that.”

  She moved into the kitchen and began putting coffee on, seeming to assume he’d stay. “Maybe they didn’t think of it. I’ve been at other shows where vendors have had kids’ activities. Or had displays of work in progress. That always seems to draw an audience.”

  “You enjoyed participating in the show.” He didn’t really need to ask. She’d been completely wrapped up in what she was doing.

  “I did, yes.” She leaned against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew. “I’d gotten away from the craft-show circuit when I was working at the gallery. Francine always seemed to have so much going on that there wasn’t time for anything else.”

  “What kind of things?” He put his elbows on the breakfast bar countertop, curious about what her life had been like in Santa Fe.

  “Charity events, for the most part. Francine’s late husband, Garner, was very active in the social scene in Santa Fe, and running charity auctions was something he’d started. She got involved and then carried it on after his death.” The coffeepot clicked, and she lifted a couple of mugs from the shelf. “I was busy so many Saturdays that I got out of the craft-show circuit. Besides—”