Buried Sins (12 page)

She couldn’t help smiling back. Some simple, uncomplicated flirting was a welcome change from dealing with the betrayal hidden behind Tony’s smooth facade.

Or with Zach’s intensity. A pair of frowning gray eyes appeared in her mind, and she tried, without success, to dismiss them.

“That is such a clever idea.” Karen Burkhalter leaned across from her booth at the Spring Festival to take a closer look at the children’s activity Caro had set up.

“Since it’s a community event, I thought it’d be good. I’ve done it at this kind of show before, and most kids like to string beads.” She’d made a trip to the nearest craft store for supplies for the simple craft, and it had been a pleasant distraction from everything else that was going on in her life.

“You’re really getting into the swing of things here.” Karen’s pert, freckled face lit with a smile. “I’m glad. That means you want to stay.”

Karen’s insight startled her. Was her attitude that obvious? “I guess I am enjoying it here.” But for how long?

“They’re opening the doors,” Karen said. “Get ready to be swamped.”

She didn’t really expect that, but over the next hour it looked as if Karen’s prediction would come true. People flooded through the aisles between the booths, locals and visitors alike. She should have realized that it would be difficult to supervise the children’s activity and deal with adult customers at the same time.

She was trying to untangle the mess one overeager ten-year-old had made of her necklace when someone slid around the table and into the booth with her. She looked up to see Andrea.

“You can use an extra pair of hands.” Andrea shoved a strand of blond hair behind her ear and took the string of beads from her. “I’ll do this. You take care of the customers.”

“I…thank you. I didn’t expect this.”

Andrea, who managed to look crisp and businesslike even in jeans and a button-down shirt, deftly untangled the beads. “Rachel would have come, but she was too busy at the inn. Hey, it’ll be fun.”

It would? She enjoyed it, but it hadn’t occurred to her that Andrea might. There was a lot she didn’t know about her sisters, it seemed. She turned to a woman who wanted to argue her down on the price of the Amish dolls.

“Well, I don’t know if my grandkids would like them. Don’t you have any with faces?” She picked at the fine hand stitching on the doll’s dress, and Caro had to restrain herself from snatching it away from her.

“It’s handmade by an Amish woman,” she said firmly. “Amish dolls don’t have faces because the Amish don’t believe in making images of people. If you want a cheap machine-made doll with features, I’m sure you can find that somewhere else.”

She held her breath. She didn’t usually turn away customers, but she wouldn’t insult Nancy by selling her handmade dolls for less than they were worth.

“I guess you have a point at that.” The woman looked over the display. “I’ll take four of them.”

She managed to keep a straight face until the woman had paid and walked away, and then she turned to Andrea, a laugh escaping. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

“You sounded like my husband. Cal feels the same about his handmade furniture. If you want cheap machine-made, go elsewhere.” Andrea, having a moment’s respite from the demands of the children, leaned against the table. “You know, you really have a feeling for Pennsylvania folk art. Maybe that’s what you’re meant to be doing.”

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.”