Blackberry Crumble (7 page)

I’m just going to explain why I can’t help her,
Sadie told herself as she stared at the results on the computer—no May Sanderson in the Modesto area. She changed “May” to “M.” There was the chance that May was married, but she hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring.

A new listing came up, and Sadie felt her jaw drop. There were more than three hundred listings for M. Sanderson in Modesto, California.

“This is crazy,” Sadie said, pushing herself away from the desk. Three hundred listings! And that was in only one of dozens of area codes. “You’re being ridiculous,” she told herself as she stood and turned her back on the computer, irritated at both the time she’d wasted and the impossibility of the task.

Sadie glanced at the clock; it was after eight o’clock. She’d just wasted almost three hours on a futile task. Church didn’t start until ten, but she needed to get ready and at least work on the cream-cheese layer of the crab dip she was taking to the Women’s Group afternoon meeting. She pulled the cream cheese out of the fridge and left it to warm up on the counter while she showered for the third time in twenty-four hours, annoyed and not looking forward to going to church. She couldn’t stop reviewing the looks and whispers from the dinner on Friday, the humiliation of it all. She could only hope church would be better than that. It was
church,
after all. The thought of attending the women’s meeting was even less appealing, but it was imperative that she stick to her routine and act as though nothing were bothering her. Besides, she’d said she would attend, and they were counting on her being there. Now more than ever she needed to keep her word.

She was ready to go by 9:30, even though she’d been even more meticulous of her appearance today, worried that people would be paying her extra attention. She called Pete and they chatted for a few minutes. He seemed distracted, which reminded Sadie that she’d totally hijacked his Saturday. She felt bad and ended the call earlier than she’d planned to so that she wouldn’t ruin his entire weekend.

Once off the phone, she opened the cream cheese and began humming while she spread it on her nicest crystal platter in hopes of brightening her mood. While she worked, however, she could feel the computer screen calling to her, tempting her to try again. The information she needed was somewhere online, she was sure of it, and just knowing that made it seem silly not to keep looking. It was all about finding the right questions to ask.

When she finished spreading the cream cheese, she covered the platter with plastic wrap, put it in the fridge to finish later, and then turned to eye the computer—the screen yawning at her, sucking her in.

Well, I have ten minutes.
She smoothed her skirt beneath herself and sat back down at the computer. There was nothing else to do, right? She began scrolling through the listings and finally admitted to herself that if her intent was simply to apologize for being unable to help May, she wouldn’t be going to all this trouble. After everything that had happened this weekend, the thought of getting involved with another case should have been abhorrent. Instead, Sadie felt the same thrill run up her spine as when May had first mentioned her suspicions about her father’s death.

Easy Crab Dip

1 (8-ounce) package cream cheese, softened

1⁄4 cup cocktail sauce

1 (4.25-ounce) can lump crab meat

Lemon juice (to taste)

Crackers

Celery sticks

Place softened cream cheese in the middle of a medium-sized dinner plate or similarly sized platter. Using the back of a spoon, smooth cream cheese evenly across the surface of the plate. Spread a layer of cocktail sauce over the cream cheese.

Open canned crab meat, drain, and use a fork to fluff the meat. Spread crab meat evenly over the cocktail sauce.* (Drizzle lemon juice over crab for additional yumminess—but use sparingly!)

Use a firm cracker or celery stick to scoop up the layered dip.

*Breanna likes this dip with a drained can of tiny shrimp instead of the crab.

Chapter 7

By the time Sadie left for church, she was once again telling herself she was crazy. One person among millions? How could she believe that finding May Sanderson was even possible? If only she could remember that area code.

She pulled up to the gray stone church and parked her car. She sat for a minute, enjoying the car’s air conditioning before she had to step out into the heat.

She really, really didn’t want to be here today.

Eric’s words from the TV interview came back: “
passionate
woman.” Her cheeks burned all over again. How would people interpret that? What would she think of it, if it had been said about someone else? After another minute, she took a deep breath and headed inside while putting her best fake smile on her face. She made it through the parking lot and most of the hallway before her luck ran out.

“Sadie!”

She felt she had no choice but to stop and turn in the direction of the voice. She didn’t want people to believe she was immoral
and
rude. Her smile tightened as she recognized Bertie Mayer. There was a joke that circulated under the breath of many of her fellow parishioners that if anyone knew anything about anyone else, it was because a little Bertie told them about it. As far as Sadie knew, Bertie was unaware of such comments, and yet she seemed to take an unnatural amount of pride in being the holder of so much information. It was important that Sadie play this well. “Good morning, Bertie.”

Bertie turned her head to the side, looking at Sadie with one eye—like a chicken. Her dusty gray hair was in a bob that ended in a sharp curl beneath each ear. Her body was long and thin, and she always leaned forward slightly, as though not wanting to miss a word someone might say in her presence. “There was an article about you in Friday’s paper, did you know?”

“Yes, I knew,” Sadie said, hoping none of the tightness in her chest showed on her face.

“It said some really . . . surprising things.”

“Yes, it did,” Sadie returned in her super-polite voice. “Freedom of the press can be a double-edged sword.”

Bertie nodded slowly, contemplating each word of Sadie’s answer. “I felt just awful for you,” she said, putting her hand to her chest. “And I said, that poor Sadie—how unfair that she would have someone make up such things about her. I mean, a woman of such character, like yourself, must have taken that very hard.”

Oh Bertie!
Did she honestly think Sadie didn’t feel the barb behind her words? “It was quite a shock,” she said out loud.

Bertie clicked her tongue and lowered her chin, looking at Sadie over the top of her glasses. “I’m surprised the paper would print such
obvious
lies.”

Sadie noticed Brother Leverage standing a few feet to the left. He was looking out the window, but Sadie couldn’t help wondering if he was standing close enough so that he could overhear what they were saying.

“I was surprised as well,” Sadie said, looking longingly toward the chapel doors. She needed to make her escape. She was not up to sparring with the likes of Bertie Mayer after all.

“Especially when they talked about that locksmith,” Bertie continued. “My cousin Faye lives by him, you know. She remembered seeing you there once or twice—rather late in the evening. Of course, I
assured
her you were the picture of virtue and that she must be mistaken.”

Sister Maureen Morne walked by and gave Sadie a look Sadie couldn’t quite decipher. Was it sympathy for having been caught in Bertie’s net? Or was it something else? Would she pull Bertie aside after their congregational meeting to ask her what Sadie had said? Suddenly it felt as though everyone was talking about her or thinking about her—just like Friday night’s dinner. She should have stayed home, but it also made her angry that she wasn’t safe at the one place she should be.

“Thank you, Bertie,” she said, noting the stiffness in her voice but not expecting that Bertie would. “I appreciate your thinking so well of me. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She turned, pretending not to see Bertie’s bony hand reaching for her arm as she headed for the chapel doors. Bertie’s fingers barely brushed her elbow, but Sadie didn’t stop.

She usually sat in a front pew next to Sister Ruth and Sister Leanne—other women who came to church by themselves—but today she sat on the back row for fear that her friends would expect a rehashing of all that had happened. She pretended to study the church newsletter in order to avoid making eye contact as people filled in the empty spaces. Bertie patted her head—her head!—when she walked by, and Sadie fought the urge to slap her hand away. She’d always found Bertie to be a nuisance—even if she was the most amazing seamstress in town—but had never been on the wrong end of information with her before. As much as she didn’t like the comparison, Sadie couldn’t help but think of the times she had imparted information about people. She wasn’t hurtful about it and always categorized it as a “healthy interest in other people’s lives,” but had she made someone feel the way she felt now? She sincerely hoped not.

Pastor Donald stood at the pulpit as the prelude music ended, allowing Sadie to breathe normally again. No one would try to converse with her during the sermon.
How long am I going to feel like I’m beneath Garrison’s microscope?
she wondered as she turned to the opening hymn.

Sunday School was better; she taught the nine-year-olds, and as long as she gave them treats—miniature candy bars this week—they were putty in her hands. After all the meetings, she hurried to her car, not wanting to be caught by anyone else. It was perhaps the first time she’d ever not stayed to help put up chairs or visit with her friends. The heat outside was intense, and the seat of her car burned the backs of her legs when she slid inside, causing her to gasp. She couldn’t wait until this heat spell was over. As she drove through the parking lot, she read the marquee on the front lawn: “For by grace are ye saved through faith—Ephesians 2:8.”

Something rushed through Sadie, and she stopped to read the marquee again. Grace, of course, always impressed her—the concept of someone else making up for all that she lacked was one she loved—but the numbers were what held her attention. Two and eight. Something was familiar about that sequence. She closed her eyes and pictured the two numbers, then tried to imagine the numbers May Sanderson had written on that ill-fated newspaper. Had it been the same sequence?

She was sure that it had.

But what came after the eight?
she asked herself, really digging into the recesses of her gray matter. What was the third number?

Someone honked behind her, reminding her that she’d stopped in the middle of the parking lot. She lifted her foot from the brake while going through the possible number combinations in her head.

281.

282.

283.

It clicked.

“Two eighty-three,” Sadie said under her breath and felt herself sincerely smile for the first time in several hours. She repeated the number in her head.
Two eighty-three. Two eighty-three. Two eighty-three.
That was it! That was May’s area code. She pressed too hard on the gas, squealing the tires as she left the parking lot, but she didn’t even glance behind her to see how many people had looked up, wondering who was hot-rodding it out of church.

She had to get back to her computer. She had to find May Sanderson, and she had the area code. She needed the success of discovery more than ever.

Grace—that was the pastor’s message on the marquee this week. Interesting.

Chapter 8

Sadie was so excited to get to her computer that she didn’t bother pulling all the way into her driveway. As she stepped out of her car and headed toward her front porch, she noticed a little red sports car parked across the street. The driver’s door on the car opened, and Sadie’s steps slowed as a tall woman with blonde hair spiked at the crown of her head unfolded herself from the front seat. She smiled at Sadie, her red lipstick too bright for her plain features.

Jane Seeley.

The hair was a different color, but it was still Jane: tall and thin, but almost masculine-looking in the angles of her face and shoulders. She was dressed in black, skinny jeans that hugged her already slim legs and a charcoal-gray T-shirt featuring some band Sadie had never heard of. She wore Converse sneakers, and a few inches’ worth of rubber bracelets trailed up her arm. The dark ensemble drew the eye to Jane’s long, bright green fingernails. It was an odd color combination, but nothing less than Sadie would have expected. Jane was weird. And she was the reason Sadie was uncomfortable at church, the reason she hadn’t gotten her tires rotated yesterday, the reason May Sanderson offered the possibility of redemption.

“Sadie,” Jane said in her low voice as she crossed the cul-de-sac and adjusted her sunglasses. Her long nails reflected the sunlight. “I was hoping I’d catch you.”

The bad name Shawn had used yesterday for this woman came to Sadie’s mind, and she nearly said it out loud but pressed her lips together instead. Afraid that opening her mouth would release the offending word, Sadie turned away and headed toward her front steps again.