“It’s Alish’s wedding date.”
“Is it?” He handed one of the clippings to her.
It told about Reid Graham being hanged for killing a man in a barroom brawl. It also told that his uncle, James Lachlan, was out of the country when it happened. There was nothing in it that they didn’t know.
“Look at the date,” Randal said.
It was the date Alish had tattooed on her arm—the day of the execution. “I guess they married on the day it happened.”
Randal handed her another clipping. It was short, telling that the condemned man, Reid Graham, had been allowed to marry his sweetheart, Alish Sullivan, three days before he was to be executed. Even Death Cannot Keep the Lovers Apart, the headline declared.
“She had the execution date of another man tattooed on her arm?” Randal asked. “Not the date of her marriage but the day of the hanging? Isn’t that just a bit odd?”
“Especially since she hated Aran Lachlan,” Sara murmured.
They were silent for a moment, each of them trying to piece it all together.
“I guess we better watch this movie.” Jack sounded like he’d rather walk across nails.
Sara waved her hand. “Tell Lenny to make a pitcher of margaritas and some nachos and the women will love watching it. You can go repair something.”
Jack’s face brightened and he looked at Randal. “Movie or yard work?”
“I get to run the weed whacker,” Randal said.
“If there’s anything left that Reid hasn’t cut down,” Sara said. “He’s as good at yard work as he is at lying.”
When Randal raised his eyebrows, Jack said, “Give that tape to my little brother and we’ll go outside and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
Randal looked at his sister. “I’d rather know what you do.” But Sara had her lips tightly closed. It was obvious that she wasn’t going to tell him what she was keeping to herself. “You’re on,” he said to Jack and they left.
When Sara was alone in the Palm Room, she looked at the Brazilian painting.How does it all fit together?she wondered.What was James Lachlan up to? It was as though he was trying to tell them something from the grave.He encumbered the house for forty years. He saved DNA samples. Why was that date tattooed on Alish’s arm? Greer. Rachel. Barbara. Harry Adair. The actor, Taylor Caswell. How did everything come together?
Sara heard voices in the hall. The women were coming to watch the second movie. Quickly, she grabbed the envelope of newspaper clippings and left the room. She’d go upstairs and read them. Poor James Lachlan—he’d returned from a business trip and found that his wife’s sister’s son had been hanged. And soon after, James’s son had disappeared.
But Alish knew where Aran had gone, Sara thought.
She reached the blissful silence of the playroom, shut the door, and leaned against it. In her pocket was Alish’s brooch. She took it out and held it tightly. “Tell me,” she whispered. “Tell me what happened.”
She went to the window seat and stretched out on it. To her utter delight, she felt sleepy. To an insomniac like Sara, this was unusual. She rubbed her thumbs on the brooch. “I want to know,” she said. “All of it. The truth.”
She closed her eyes and was asleep instantly—and a dream began. As before, Sara was watching it.
Two big, burly men were dragging a young man between them. One of the men was older, the other one younger—nearly as young as the man they were pulling along the barren, concrete-walled hallway.
“Coward.” The younger man sneered at the man he was clutching.
“I’ve known him all his life and he’s always been a coward,” the older man said. “He’s sneaky and conniving, and he bullies little kids. He always thought he was better than us.”
The man between them fell onto one knee and the two jerked him upright. They didn’t speak to him.
“At least he did right by that girl.”
“Humph!” the older man grunted. “He should have. She’s carryin’.”
“What?”
“She’s expecting,” the older man said. “A baby. I’ve got five of ’em so I know what a woman looks like then.”
