nervous about the questioning. We were both happy to learn that there was no reason I shouldn’t be able to sit in—and you, too, since it’s what you wanted. Apparently, at this point, the attor—Stephanie is insisting Celeste be treated strictly as a potential witness to a long-ago crime—”
“A witness—that’s a good way to look at this,” he said, sounding impressed with the attorney’s point of view.
It served to remind Mara that whether or not he was involved with Stephanie, he and the attorney were in a different league, one in which she couldn’t compete. He was never likely to be impressed by a small-town dry cleaner. And that was something she had to keep in mind whenever his cologne went to her head.
“I hear cars outside,” he said then, pointing his chin in the direction of the apartment’s entrance.
Mara returned to the window she’d used all day to watch for Jared. But, unlike the rest of the time, when there had been nothing for her to see, now one of Northbridge’s police SUVs was parked below, in front of an unmarked black sedan.
“Looks like the show’s about to begin,” Mara announced as she watched people—one of them her brother—getting out of the vehicles. “Cam is—”
“I know. He a local cop and will be in on this. I spoke to your brother today when I tried to do what I could to get this postponed,” Jared said.
“Well, you’re right, he’s here with the rest of them.”
Celeste must have heard the arrival, too, because she came out of the bedroom carrying the handset of a cordless telephone with her.
“Stephanie wants to speak to you, Jared,” the older woman announced in lieu of a greeting.
He accepted the phone and took it into the kitchen to talk.
Mara’s gaze trailed along; she was consumed with interest in that conversation. Was it all business or were they saying how much they missed each other? How much they couldn’t wait to be together again?
And why should it make the slightest difference to me? she asked herself.
The guy was here today and would be gone forever shortly after this. He was completely inconsequential to her life and so was everything about him. Especially anything he had to do personally or otherwise with Stephanie-the-lawyer.
“Here we go,” Celeste said in a hushed voice.
Mara forced her eyes from the man at the other end of the apartment and looked again through the window just as a number of men and women headed for the narrow wooden stairs that led up to the apartment.
Glancing back at Celeste, Mara said, “Are you okay?”
The older woman nodded and settled herself regally in her recliner, feet flat on the floor, head held high, hands resting primly in what there was of her lap.
Jared rejoined them, leaving the phone on the small table beside Celeste’s chair. “Stephanie has arranged for the public defender to call her as soon as things get started,” he explained just as the sound of voices and footsteps on the stairs made it clear the authorities were drawing nearer.
Mara moved toward the door, but with one hand on the knob, she suddenly couldn’t make herself turn it.
She’d been protecting Celeste from reporters and newshounds and gossip seekers all week, but never had the sense that she needed to protect the older woman been as strong as it was at that moment. She felt as though she as about to unleash something that could well be disastrous for someone who had been as important to her, as close to her, as her own mother.
Mara just froze, unable to do what she knew she had to do, even when there was a knock on the door.
“Mara?” Celeste said from behind her.
Still Mara couldn’t budge. She just kept thinking, This could be so awful….
Without her being aware of his approach, Jared was suddenly there beside her.
She could smell his crisp, bracing cologne. She could feel the heat of his body. The strength of his presence. And when he placed a big hand gently on her arm she absorbed it all like a sponge.
“It’ll be okay. There’s nothing you can do to keep this from happening,” he said quietly, for her ears alone. It was as if he knew exactly what she was going through right then.
Mara managed to look up into his eyes, pale but also warm and kind now.
“It’ll be okay,” he repeated.
Mara nodded, somehow believing him.
Then he took her hand from the doorknob as if he understood, too, that she couldn’t be the one to let in the people who might bring harm to Celeste.
“Go sit with her,” he advised. “I’ll do this.”
Mara swallowed hard. “Thanks,” she whispered.
Then, sorry to leave behind the touch of his hand or the strength of his nearness, she did as he’d said and went to sit on the ottoman beside Celeste’s chair.
And as Jared did what Mara hadn’t been able to bring herself to do—as he opened the door—it occurred to her that regardless of what was or wasn’t going on with the Stephanie-the-lawyer, regardless of what Jared Perry’s reputation was, she was glad he was there.
Chapter Three
With Celeste’s small apartment full of police and FBI, as well as Mara’s brother Cam, Mara stayed firmly planted on the ottoman to Celeste’s left. Jared stood behind Celeste’s recliner, and the public defender sat on Celeste’s right, his cell phone on Speaker and positioned so that Celeste’s attorney could participate in the proceedings long-distance.
“My lawyer says I should just tell you what happened from the beginning,” Celeste said when the video camera was in place to record her statement.
“Go ahead,” Cam encouraged.
Mara didn’t know if it had been a formal decision for her brother to take the lead with Celeste, but that was what he was doing. It made Mara feel slightly better because she trusted her brother—who she knew thought of Celeste the same way Mara did—to be kind to the older woman.
“I married Armand out of desperation,” Celeste began. “My parents had died when I was seventeen, I had no other family, I was working a low-paying retail job that barely afforded me a room at a boarding house, and I had no idea what the future had in store for me. But Armand…” Celeste shook her head as if a hint of awe about the Reverend Armand Perry still existed. “Armand knew exactly who he was, where he was going and what should be done to get there. Armand knew what should be done about everything. He always had all the answers. And I guess that certainty, that stability, was what I wanted at the time.”
“This was when? What year?” one of the strangers in the room asked.
“We were married in 1951. Before our first anniversary Carl was born and eleven months after that I had Jack, and there I was—in almost the blink of an eye—a minister’s wife with two babies, and I was barely twenty years
