Hidden Memories (34 page)

Sage turned on her computer and, while waiting for the system to boot up, searched through her briefcase for several file folders. She glanced through the folders and selected the project she wanted to work on for the evening. As she clicked the Mail icon on her computer screen, she wondered if something was burning.

Sage went into the kitchen and checked the stove. The burners were off, and the oven was off too. Nothing was burning, so she decided to get something to drink before returning to her bedroom. Opening the refrigerator door, she heard Ava upstairs walking down the hall.

“Something’s burning, Sage. You got something in the oven?” Ava questioned as she bounced down the stairs. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw flames raging in front of the living room window. “Oh my God! The house is on fire! The house is on fire!”

Sage slammed the refrigerator door closed and peeked around the corner. “Oh, no!” she screamed. “Let’s get out of here!”

They ran into the kitchen. Ava opened the door that led to the garage and pressed the button on the garage door opener. Sage grabbed the cordless phone and ran through the garage door.

Sage dialed 911. “My house is on fire. I need the fire department!” she screamed into the phone.

“Ma’am, they’re already on the way,” an annoyed voice said.

Sage took a few steps to the front yard. She saw the source of the fire. It wasn’t her house in flames, but a flag on a pole, burning on her front lawn.

“I don’t believe this,” Sage said, fear pulsing through her veins. She heard the piercing wail of sirens in the near distance.

Ava’s mouth hung open. “Neither do I.”

Several of their neighbors approached them. “Are you all right?” Ms. Odom, her next door neighbor, asked.

“We’re okay,” Sage answered.

“No, we’re scared,” Ava said.

Sage didn’t correct her sister, silently agreeing with Ava. The song “Strange Fruit” about black bodies hanging from Southern trees suddenly rang loudly in her ears, like a clash of cymbals. She shivered as if she were caught in the middle of a snowstorm.

A fire truck and two police cars pulled in front of Sage’s house. Two firefighters jumped off the truck, quickly removed the hose from the truck and sprayed water on the burning flag. The flames were out within minutes from the powerful force of water bursting from the hose.

A uniformed police officer approached the small crowd watching the firefighters spray down the fire. “Is the owner of the house here?”

“I am,” Sage said, stepping away from the crowd.

“Is anyone hurt or in need of medical assistance?” the officer asked in a strong Southern drawl.

“My sister and I were the only ones in the house,” Sage said. “We weren’t hurt.”

“We were just scared to death,” Ava said.

“I understand,” the police officer said. Removing a notebook from his shirt pocket, he asked, “What is your name?”

“I’m Sage Kennedy, and this is my sister, Ava Hicks.”

The stocky red-haired, freckle-faced officer wrote their names in his small notebook. “I’m Officer Douglas. I just need to get some information.”

Sage nodded. “Okay.”

“Ma’am, did you see anything?”

“Just the flag burning at my window. From inside my kitchen, I thought my house was on fire.”

“Did you see anybody suspicious lurking around?”

“I didn’t even think to look,” Sage said, noticing that her entire neighborhood seemed to be gathered in front of her house. She then saw a satellite dish perched on top of a white van driving toward them. “I see something I don’t want to see.”

The officer looked up and nodded. “I hate the media.” He turned to Ava. “What about you? Did you see anything?”

“No,” Ava said, shaking her head. “Nothing.”

“Three people called in the fire. I need to talk to them,” the officer said, peering into the crowd.

“I did,” Ms. Odom said, moving toward the officer.

“So did I,” Mrs. Peterson said.

The crowd in front of Sage’s house grew as reporters and camera crews arrived on the scene. As quickly as the flames were doused, the camera crews prepared their equipment and the reporters positioned microphones to capture the moment. The reporters fired questions at Sage and Ava.

“Were you or anyone else hurt?”

“Have you received threats?”

“Who did it?”

“What flag did they burn?”

“Did they leave a note or some type of message?”

Sage didn’t respond to individual questions, but made a brief statement. “I’m fine. I wasn’t hurt, nor was my sister. But I’m angry and shocked that someone would come to my home and do something like this. Things have changed around us, but what some people feel in their hearts has not. That frightens me.” She stopped before fully expressing her outrage. “That’s all I have to say at this time.”

The fire trucks and media vans were driving away when Ramion pulled into her driveway. He was relieved to see Sage standing near her front door, but when he saw the ashes and the singed remnants of the new flag, he felt the indignant, righteous anger he had felt when his brother was unfairly sentenced. He wanted to physically hurt whoever had violated Sage’s sense of security.

“Baby, are you all right?” he asked, putting his arms around her.

“I’m fine,” she said, stepping back from his embrace. “I wasn’t hurt, so please leave.”

Her curt response surprised him. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay.”

“I said I’m fine, Ramion. I’m not your responsibility. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m just fine.”

“You look upset,” he said, seeing through her façade of indifference.

“Of course I’m upset. I’m angry and tired, and right now I just want to be left alone.”

“Do they know who did this?”

“I don’t know,” Sage said, shaking her head. “I don’t think so. I heard them say they were going to canvas the neighborhood to see if anybody saw or heard anything.”

Ramion noticed a police officer talking to a woman who lived several doors down from Sage’s house. “Did you tell them about the threats you’ve been getting?”

“I didn’t bring it up, but the FBI knows about it.”

“They need to treat this more seriously. You do too.”

“I’m not laughing,” she said reproachfully, feeling the dull pain of a headache. She wanted to take a pain reliever to prevent the dull ache from turning into a throbbing migraine.

“I’m going to talk to the officers and…”

“No,” Sage said, stepping in front of him. “I don’t want you involved. This doesn’t concern you.”

Ramion looked at her strangely, unable to believe that she could so easily cut him out of her life. “I care what happens to you, Sage. I love you, baby. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I can take care of myself, Ramion. I told you before; I don’t want to see you. Don’t call me, don’t…”

He placed his hand on her shoulder and said, “I did not sleep with Edwinna.”

She stared at him for a moment, the sincerity of his words penetrating her resistance, but she would not let down her defenses. “I know what I saw, and I don’t want to discuss it. You made your decision to work for Edwin. You’re certainly not going to have us both. Now leave me alone,” she said. The words that escaped from her lips were not spoken from her heart.

“What are you talking about?”

“I saw you talking to Edwin a couple of weeks ago. Then the tape with Edwinna.”

“I’m not going back to work for him. Sage, we need to talk—I mean really talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. Our relationship is over. The wedding is off. So please leave me alone.” She turned away and headed to her front door.

Ramion followed behind her. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe.”

“Ava’s here.”

“No, you need protection from…”

Officer Douglas interrupted them. “Excuse me, Ms. Kennedy.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve just spoken with the captain. He’s assigning an officer to stay with you and your sister for the night.”

Sage peered at Ramion, her head throbbing mercilessly. “So now you don’t have to worry about us.”

“What about tomorrow?” Ramion asked. “Until the perp is caught, she needs to be protected.”

“The captain is looking into twenty-four-hour protection. He’s got to make some scheduling changes.”

“Now will you leave?” Sage asked impatiently.

Ramion stared into Sage’s eyes. He saw the anger in her eyes, sensed the fear in her mind and felt the pain in her heart. He wanted to hold her, make love to her and erase all her fears and doubts.

“All right,” he said. “But not without telling you that I love you.” He leaned down and lightly pressed his lips against hers. He didn’t care that the officer heard him.

Ramion turned around and slowly walked to his car. Leaving was the last thing he wanted to do. Sage needed him, but a door of deception stood between them, thanks to Edwinna’s wicked machinations.

While driving away, he regretted that he hadn’t slapped Edwinna for creating the tormented, untrusting look swirling in Sage’s eyes. His mind replayed the earlier confrontation with Edwinna, his anger escalating while driving on the interstate. He pressed down on the gas, accelerating his speed to eighty miles per hour. He was tempted to return to Edwinna’s house. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his mind wishing the steering wheel were Edwinna’s neck. He slowed as he neared the exit that would lead to Edwinna’s house and steered into the exit lane.

But the consequences of his actions prevailed. He passed her exit, breathing a sigh of relief. Ramion knew if he had confronted Edwinna at that moment, she would have felt the full impact of his fury against her and whoever had burned the flag in Sage’s yard. He would have ended up behind bars.

* * * * *

A butler greeted Sage as she stepped into a foyer that was five times the size of her house. “Good evening, Miss Kennedy. I’ll tell Mr. Lincoln you are here.” The expressionless butler pointed to a settee with his white-gloved hand. Sage sat down, awed by the richness of her surroundings: marble floor, carved beams, gilded chandeliers of ecclesiastical design and antique furnishings. The grey-haired, elderly butler reminded Sage of the ushers in a church, with his white gloves, shuffling walk and humble demeanor.

Twenty minutes had passed when Sage flicked her wrist to check the time. She’d begun to wonder whether the mysterious invitation to Mr. Lincoln’s home was some sort of hoax.

“Mr. Lincoln will see you now,” the butler announced gravely.

Sage stood up and followed the butler through a pair of heavy carved wooden doors, like those of a cathedral, and through a series of rooms, each one larger and more elaborately furnished than the one before. Sage had a confused impression of rich Oriental carpets, marble fireplaces, gold-framed paintings, tapestries, fresh flowers and antique furniture.
This house should be a museum,
Sage thought.

The butler escorted Sage into the bedroom of Oliver Lincoln. The first thing she noticed about the room was the smell—the pervading odor of body fluids, medication and disinfectant hung in the air like a cloud.

The frail old man sat upright in bed, propped up by pillows. A nurse sat nearby, her expression gloomy and stern.

“Hello, Miss Kennedy,” Mr. Lincoln spoke in ragged breaths as if he had just completed the Peachtree Road Race. A warm toothless smile traced the edges of his mouth, and his eighty-year-old eyes sparkled. The once-handsome face had sunken in; the only indication of his youth was the fire in his eyes. Time had taken his color, darkening his skin from the tan brown of his youth to the mahogany brown of his declining years.

“Hello, sir,” Sage said softly, unnerved by the man’s slight body and sickly appearance, a stark contrast to his reputation as a powerful and influential man who wielded his wealth like a Greek god. From the time Sage arrived in Atlanta, she had heard the name Mr. Lincoln, always spoken reverently. He had founded a life insurance company in the 1940s, and his business prowess grew as he expanded into peanut farming and timberland. He was a reclusive man who had used his wealth and power to help elect Atlanta’s first black mayor. But as his health weakened, so had his behind-the-scenes stake in Atlanta’s business and political scene.

“I’m honored to meet you,” Sage said.

“I can’t hear you,” Mr. Lincoln said weakly, his thin arms beckoning her closer.

Sage edged nearer, but Oliver Lincoln continued to wave his bony hand until she stood right next to the bed. “It’s beautiful,” Sage said, remarking on the hand-carved, four-poster mahogany bed. She couldn’t resist the urge to touch the figures of African warriors, animals and masks engraved on the solid-wood headboard.

“I know you’re not talking about me,” Oliver said, his sarcastic laughter a strain on his voice. “I had it custom-made. Years ago. As you can see, I’m a collector of fine art.”

“I see,” Sage said, peering at the paintings hanging on the walls in expensive gold frames. She didn’t have to stand in front of the paintings to know that they were all original works.