Buried Sins Read online

  “I’m a big girl now. I’ve been doing my own loading and unloading from craft shows for a long time—” She looked up, startled, at the sound of another vehicle pulling up behind hers.

  Rachel lifted a hand in greeting to Zach as he slid out of the car. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll let Zach do the heavy lifting, then.”

  “Glad to,” he said, approaching. “Believe me, my sister has me well trained in the whole craft-show routine.” He reached past her to begin sliding the folding screen out of the trunk.

  Rachel gave her a quick hug. “Come over and we’ll raid the refrigerator for supper whenever you’re hungry. Grams won’t want much after her tea party today.” She scurried off, leaving Caro alone with Zach.

  He hefted the screen. “You want to get the door?”

  “Actually I want to know why you’re here. Again.” She unlocked the door as she spoke. After all, there was no point in refusing a hand in with the heavy things.

  “There’s something I need to talk to you about.” He stepped inside and set the screen against the wall.

  She paused on the doorstep, stiffening. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to hear it.

  Zach leveled that steady gaze at her. “You look like you’re tensed up for bad news.”

  “I can’t imagine that you’re here to bring me good news.” She shoved the door shut behind her, aware of the alien scent almost before she registered it mentally. Her head lifted, face swiveling toward the kitchen.

  “Coffee smells good.” Zach’s tone was casual, but his eyes were watchful.

  “Yes.” She had to force the word out. “But I didn’t make any coffee this morning.”

  He frowned, and then crossed the dining area and rounded the breakfast bar into the kitchen. “Somebody did. The pot’s still on—the mug rinsed and left in the drainer. You sure you didn’t start it and then forget about it?”

  “I didn’t make any.” She walked to the counter. “I didn’t have time.”

  Her mind flickered to those moments when Zack had brought her coffee at the show. When she’d actually felt as if they were becoming friends. It had been an illusion, like so much else.

  “I don’t see how you can be sure,” he began.

  “Because I know what I did and what I didn’t do.” She snapped the words. “Because even if I had planned to make coffee, I wouldn’t have made that kind. Hazelnut. I don’t care for hazelnut. I don’t have any in the house.” Her voice was starting to veer out of control, and she caught herself, breathing hard.

  “Who does like hazelnut?” he asked quietly. As if he knew the answer already.

  “Tony.” It took an effort to swallow. “Tony liked hazelnut. It was all he drank.”

  He stood for a moment, watching, and then came to plant his hands on top of the counter. “Tony’s dead. So how could he be here, making coffee in your kitchen?”

  She sank onto the stool, her legs trembling. “He couldn’t. He couldn’t.”

  “You said the man who threatened you claimed he was alive.” His gaze was so intent on her face that she could feel its heat.

  “He was wrong. Or lying. Tony died in that accident. If he hadn’t, he’d have come back.”

  Or would he? He’d already taken everything she had. What else was there to bring him back?

  “There’s more to it than that.” Zach’s frown deepened. “That man, the one you drew the sketch of—”

  “You’ve identified him.” Her gaze flew to his face. “You know who he is.”

  “I had a call from the police in Santa Fe. They’re familiar with him. His name is Leonard Decker. Mean anything to you?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Leonard Decker. I don’t remember hearing the name. What was he to my husband?”

  “Good question.” Zach ran his hand absently along the edge of the granite counter. “According to the officer I talked to, Decker has a finger in a lot of pies, some of them probably illegal. They’ve never managed to convict him, but he’s been under suspicion several times—fencing stolen goods, gambling, that sort of thing.”

  “Gambling.” She repeated the word, her heart sinking, mind flashing back to Francine’s speculations about Tony.

  “You have any reason to think your husband was involved in anything like that?”

  She started to shake her head, but something about that steady gaze seemed to stop her. She didn’t trust Zach. But what was the point of denying something he already seemed to guess?

  “There was money missing from my account.” She pushed her hair back from her face, aware of the throbbing in her temples. “That was what we fought about, that last night. He’d cleaned out my savings and checking accounts.”

  “Did he say why he needed the money? Give any explanation?”

  “No.” His only defense had been in cruel, cutting remarks. “He seemed to think I’d cheated him in some way, letting him believe I had family money when he married me.” That accusation had left her numb and speechless. How did you defend against that?

  Zach was silent for a moment. Maybe he knew there was nothing safe to say in response to that.

  Finally he spoke. “Sounds as if Decker is nobody to fool around with, but I can’t see what he’d hope to gain by following you here. Unless he thinks you’re going to lead him to Tony.”

  “Tony is dead.” But not even she was convinced by her tone.

  “If he isn’t, would he contact you?”

  “I don’t know.” Everything she’d thought she knew about Tony had turned out to be a lie. How could she be sure of anything? “Francine—my friend at the gallery—thinks so, but she doesn’t know everything.”

  “You haven’t told anyone else about the money.”

  “No.”

  She thought he was going to ask why she’d told him, but he didn’t. He just shook his head.

  “Why not move into the house? Nobody would risk paying you any surreptitious visits there, to make coffee or anything else.”

  “That’s why.” She pressed her palms down on the counter. “Don’t you see? If Tony is alive, I have to know. If he’s trying to get in touch with me, I have to be where he can reach me.”

  “Why wouldn’t he just walk in, then? Why fool around leaving you hints that he’s been here?”

  “I don’t know. We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms. Maybe he’s afraid I’m being watched. I don’t understand any of it.” She squeezed the back of her neck, trying to press the tension out. It didn’t help. “But I can certainly understand why you didn’t want your daughter anywhere near me.”

  “Ruthie.” His gaze was startled, but she could read the truth there. To do him credit, he didn’t try to deny it. “She’s my child. I can’t expose her to—”

  “A criminal like me?”

  “I was going to say to someone who might be surrounded by trouble.”

  “You’re a wise parent.” If her own parent had been a little wiser, how different might her life have been? She wouldn’t have ended up spending those terrifying months in the juvenile detention facility. She wouldn’t have carried that around with her for years. Or would she have ended up the same even with good parents?

  “I try. Picking it up along the way, I guess. I’d like to help you, Caroline. I’m not sure what I can do.”

  “There’s nothing anyone can do.” Anyone except Tony. If he was alive, sooner or later he’d show himself. And then what? Did they try and put the pieces back together again, when there’d been nothing real to begin with?

  “Get in touch with me if anything happens that worries you.” He put his hand over hers where it lay on the granite, and his grip was warm and strong. Reassuring. “If there’s any way I can help you find the truth, I will.”

  Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them back. “Thank you. But I don’t think—”

  His grip tightened. “Promise me. If there’s a way I can help, you’ll tell me.”

  There wasn’t a way anyone could help, so the promise was a
small price to pay to be left alone.

  “All right. I promise.”

  What would anyone have to gain by making Caroline believe that her husband was still alive? Zach drove slowly down the bumpy lane to the main road, his mind still revolving around that odd incident with Caroline.

  And the coffee. Was that remotely believable? He came back to the same question. If someone had gone into the apartment while she was out today and deliberately made a pot of her husband’s favorite coffee—

  It was stretching his imagination to believe that much, but Caroline’s reactions had seemed genuine.

  So get back to the question. If someone had done that, what would his or her purpose have been? To taunt Caroline about her husband’s death? To accuse her, in some veiled way, of contributing to that death? Or to make her think that her husband was still alive?

  To think that. Or fear that. He didn’t believe for a moment that Caroline had told him everything about that relationship. Had there been reasons why she might have feared Tony Gibson? He hadn’t forgotten the bruises on her wrist, and his natural skepticism had made him question her explanation.

  Still, the Santa Fe police had identified Leonard Decker, and there was a certain logic that would fit Tony Gibson into the picture with him.

  On the other hand, and he had the feeling he was now on his third or fourth hand, Caroline could have engineered the entire story herself. He didn’t pretend to be a psychologist, but he’d seen enough human behavior in his years as a cop to know it was seldom entirely rational, especially when driven by strong emotion. If Caroline felt guilty in regard to her husband’s death, she might find a way to punish herself through these hints that he was still alive.

  He knew a bit about survivor’s guilt himself—enough to accept that such a thing could happen, at least. He couldn’t forget—would never forget—that Ruthie might not be an orphan if he hadn’t failed to do his duty. He ripped his thoughts away from that. This was about Caroline, not him.

  There was the least-palatable explanation—that Caroline had set up the situation deliberately, for reasons that had nothing to do with her feelings for Tony. Think about it. What would have happened if Zach hadn’t come along just when he did?

  Rachel would have helped her carry the craft show things into the apartment, and Rachel would have been the one to hear the odd story about the coffee. She wouldn’t have his skepticism. She’d rush to her little sister’s defense.

  He couldn’t dismiss the niggling fear that this could all be part of some elaborate scheme to get money out of Katherine Unger. She’d do anything if she believed her granddaughter needed her help.

  Caroline could be telling the exact truth as she understood it, in which case she deserved sympathy and help, not suspicion. But he was a cop, and he couldn’t stop thinking like one. In any event, the only way to help anyone, innocent or guilty, was to find the plain, unvarnished truth.

  He pulled up to the curb at the police station, glancing at his watch. It was past time he went home for supper, but he had something to do first.

  He unlocked the door and went inside. It was just as well that everyone was gone. He didn’t want anyone listening to the conversation he was about to have, always assuming he could reach the detective in Santa Fe he’d talked with earlier.

  A few minutes later he was leaning back in his chair, listening to Detective Charles Rojas of the Santa Fe PD, who had still been in his office thanks to the time difference.

  Rojas seemed to have decided to be a bit more forthcoming. “The thing is, and this is strictly in confidence, Gibson had been under investigation in the weeks before his death.”

  “Investigation of what?”

  Silence on the line.

  “Look, someone has been dropping hints to his widow that Tony Gibson is still alive. If through some bizarre chance that’s true, it’s in both our interests to work together on this.” He waited.

  A rustling of papers sounded through the phone. “You’ve got a point there.” There was a thud, as if Rojas had propped his feet up on his desk. “Okay, here’s the story. Gibson was thought to have been involved in a fairly sophisticated series of scams.”

  “Thought to be? If he tried to con someone, they ought to be able to identify him.”

  “You don’t know these people.” Rojas’s voice betrayed his frustration. “Upper-crust society, whatever you want to call them. They don’t relish letting the world know they’ve been made fools of. Seemed like most of them would rather write off the con and forget about it. No one would identify Gibson directly. Maybe, eventually, we’d have pinned it to him, but he drove his car off a cliff first.”

  “You’re sure about the identification of the body?” That was the crux of the matter, as far as he was concerned.

  Silence again for a moment. “The car burned badly. Very badly. So far we haven’t received complete confirmation as to the driver’s identity. But Tony Gibson was seen driving the car about fifteen minutes before it went over the cliff. I think it’s a pretty safe assumption that he was the one in the bottom of that ravine.”

  “If he’s dead, who would want his widow to think he was still alive? And why?”

  “Good question. And a good reason for you to keep an eye on the Hampton woman. Thing is, she had access to the kind of people Gibson liked to con, through that gallery job of hers. There’s no reason to believe she was involved, but there it is. She could have been.”

  A few more exchanges, and he was off the phone, but he sat staring at it. Rojas had talked because he wanted to keep a line on Caroline Hampton, however tenuous.

  If Tony Gibson had been involved in the kind of scam Rojas suspected, he had been a dangerous man to know. Caroline might be an innocent victim.

  Or she might be involved.

  He knew more now than he had fifteen minutes ago, but he couldn’t say that it made him any happier.

  Caroline had never intended to go to church that Sunday. However, she hadn’t been prepared to combat Grams’s calm assumption that of course she’d go to the worship service at the small church across the road from the inn.

  If she’d thought about it, she might have come up with some reason, or rather some excuse, that wouldn’t hurt Grams’s feelings. As it was, she’d nodded, smiled and tried to close her eyes and ears to the service.

  She had a deal with God. He left her alone, and she left Him alone. She didn’t want to change that, but she also didn’t want to try to explain it to Grams.

  The churchyard gate creaked shut as they exited, and she took a breath of relief. It was over, with no harm done. Next Sunday she’d be ready with an excuse.

  Grams linked arms with her as they started across the street, Rachel behind them, chatting with Andrea and Cal. “What did you think of the service, Caro?”

  Caroline glanced back at the stone church that had stood within its encircling stone wall for the past two hundred and fifty years. The green lawn was splashed with color from spring dresses—in Churchville, people obviously still believed that worship called for their best. In their own way, they were as traditional as the Amish, meeting in someone’s house or barn today.

  Realizing Grams was looking at her for an answer, she managed a smile. “Nice.” That didn’t seem to quite cover it. “I noticed Zach Burkhalter with his little girl.” She was sorry the moment the words were out. She didn’t want to sound as if she were asking about him.

  “Not just Zach,” Rachel commented as they reached the sidewalk in front of the inn. “I think the Burkhalters have expanded to two pews, haven’t they? That was his mother, sitting on the far side of Ruthie.”

  “I met her at the craft show. And Karen was very helpful.” Did that sound stilted? Probably. She hadn’t been able to forget the way Zach had snatched his little girl away from her, as if her troubles were contagious.

  “They’re all helping him raise that child,” Grams said. “It’s a lovely thing to see.”

  “He’s not married?” />
  Grams shook her head. “Oh, no. Ruthie is the daughter of some friends he made when he was stationed in the Middle East with the military. The parents were killed very tragically, and Zach adopted her.”

  She blinked. “I didn’t realize.” She’d been making assumptions that were amazingly far from the truth.

  “She’s a dear little thing.” Grams smiled. “And so appropriately named. Ruth, finding a home in an alien place.”

  She nodded, the story from long-ago Sunday school days coming back to her. Apparently this little Ruth had found the place where she belonged, thanks to Zach.

  She’d figured him for a straight arrow, but he obviously wasn’t the cold fish she’d assumed. She’d seen that when she’d seen him with his little girl.

  “I have a casserole in the oven.” Rachel headed back toward the kitchen the moment they got inside. “We’ll be ready for brunch in a few minutes.”

  “I’ll help you.” Caroline followed her to the kitchen, catching the look of surprise that was quickly hidden by Rachel’s smile.

  Fair enough. She hadn’t been much help to anyone since she’d come back, obsessed as she was with her own problems. It was time she changed that.

  “What can I do?” She washed her hands quickly and turned back to Rachel, who was pulling a casserole from the oven, her cheeks rosy.

  “There’s a fruit salad in the fridge that goes on the table. I’ll just stick the rolls in to heat up for a minute.”

  She nodded, lifting the glass bowl from the fridge and removing the plastic wrap that covered the assortment of melon, blueberries, pears and bananas. “Lovely.”

  Rachel shrugged. “Everything’s left over from the guest breakfast. Makes Sunday easier—otherwise I’d never make it to church.”

  That would suit her. Maybe she could offer to stay behind and make dinner next week, but somehow she didn’t think Grams would agree to that.

  “Your schedule is pretty tight. I didn’t realize what went into running a B & B.”

  “It’s worth it.” Rachel’s expression softened. “I feel as if I came home when I came back here. Mom certainly never gave us anything that was remotely like a home.”