I didn’t want to argue with him, but I couldn’t help but think that if she hadn’t wanted to, then she should have left and taken us with her. Or told us to run. Or done anything at all except let it happen. Which brought me back to the question of why she’d reached out now.
Rachael, maybe?
“Did she tell you we had a sister?”
“What?” He was genuinely shocked. “No!”
I explained, watching his eyes, wide and as blue as mine, as they filled with tears.
“She died?”
“She got Arcana,” I replied. “Last year.”
“Jesus,” Noah breathed. “Is that why Momma wanted to talk to me?” he asked. “Because she died?”
“I don’t know,” I replied honestly. “Maybe. She didn’t tell Humbolt—her lawyer, now my lawyer—what made her want to make a separate will.”
“She made a separate will?”
I nodded. “She left you some jewelry. A brooch. Grandma’s pearls. The good tablecloth.”
“Did she leave you anything?” he asked.
“Grandpa’s toolbox and the bedspread.”
“Lu might like the pearls,” he said softly.
“They might,” I agreed. I squeezed his hands. “We’re going to figure this out, Noah,” I promised. “And get you out of here.”
I’d beenable to spend just over three hours with Noah, and it went a long way to making me feel less guilty about the fact that he was still in jail. He was scared and lonely and uncomfortable, but he wasn’t being tormented or beaten, and that was a huge relief. Lulu had also been allowed to see him, as well as the high-priced lawyer, who at least appeared to be earning her fees. Noah had insisted that she would be getting in touch with both me and Humbolt, and he seemed convinced—although I wasn’t—that I was somehow going to solve this case and get him out.
I was going to try, and that would mean having to go back out to the house. To do a better job of going through everything, looking for evidence that the Augusta County Sheriff’s Department missed because they were convinced they had their man. Or because they were being pressured into having him, regardless of the truth.
I’d decided to stop and pick up dinner—Elliot had been in charge of feeding us for the entire rest of this trip so far, and I felt like getting him something he would never get himself from somewhere I couldn’t eat would at least help to show how grateful I was that he was here with me. I had leftover dinner from the night before and about two-thirds of my fajitas from lunch, so I didn’t need anything more.
I did some quick googling to look for a really good place and found a restaurant with a pimento cheese burger, called a Ballard Burger, another called an Oklahoma Onion Burger, and added an order of bacon cheese fries for Elliot. I got someregular fries for myself, then gave in and also ordered a chicken sandwich. I’d eat the leftovers eventually. Or Elliot would.
I placed the order through my phone, then drove downtown and parked a few blocks away from the restaurant. I got out, hissing as my knee protested. I sighed, then closed the car door and headed to pick up dinner.
I was not expecting someone to recognize me. Not at six-three with a full beard, given that I’d been five-ten, skinny, without even a wisp of facial hair when I’d last spent any time this close to home.
The woman in front of me as I stopped to let her walk past—because I didn’t recognize her, not at first—gasped, her eyes going wide. She was fair-skinned, although her face and forearms were tanned from exposure to the sun. She wore a simple cotton dress, blue with tiny flowers, modeled after the same modest style Momma had always worn and had started making for Noah in the last few years we’d been at home.
“Mr. Mays—” She broke off, her pale eyes getting even wider. “SethMays?”
She’d clearly thought at first that I was my father. It wasn’t a welcome reminder that I shared genetics with the man who’d killed my mother. I searched back through my memories, tried aging the faces that flickered through my mind.
“Mrs. Tabbard?” Iris Tabbard was around my mother’s age. She’d had a daughter, Leah, who had been a year or two older than Noah and I. Momma had always tried to convince both of us to spend time with Leah. Leah also had three other sisters—Martha, Ruth, and Anne—one older, the other two younger. We’d all gone to the same schoolhouse together, played together, and sometimes did community chores together.
Iris Tabbard beamed. Even with the smile on her face, she looked a good decade older than I knew she was. Clearly, the last sixteen years in the Community had not been kind to her.
“You’ve come home,” she said, holding out her hands.
“Because of Momma,” I replied, not taking her hands. “I’m not staying.” The words were clipped.
The smile faded, and she swallowed, then nodded, folding her hands in front of her. “Yes, of course. Of course that’s why you’re here. I am sorry.”
“Thank you.”
