Fury charged through her. Had Alicia Appleton attended the same church? That would be easy enough to verify. Why thehell hadn’t someone checked into that and, more specifically, the reverend?
Because no one in this God-fearing village would ever suspect their divine communications link of such a thing.
Sarah abruptly slowed as she passed Bay View Cemetery. Dusk had chased the sun away. Another ten, fifteen minutes and it would be completely dark.
She couldn’t shake the idea of what that reverend might be guilty of. Sure, she could be jumping to conclusions but ...
Sarah’s foot stalled on the brake. She squinted to peer through the gloom. Couldn’t be sure of what she was seeing so she pulled to the curb and got out of the car.
Like a curious kid, she bellied up to the big old iron fence and stared through the pickets.
Her seeking gaze found its mark. The witch’s headstone.
Sarah’s heart bumped hard against her sternum.
Two crows sat on the aged headstone.
Two dozen roses: one for the Gerards, one for the Appletons.
Two crows . . .
One for Valerie Gerard ... one for Alicia Appleton.
18
48 Seaside Drive, 7:30 p.m.
Kale still wasn’t sure how he’d managed to do it, but he’d gotten Sarah Newton to agree to dinner with his folks.
He had to admit, the lady cleaned up damned good.
Black was still her color, but the dress was an interesting departure from the usual slacks and tee. When he’d noticed she’d stuck with the Converse sneakers, even wearing the dress, he’d almost laughed. She hadn’t missed his stifled mirth. She’d informed him that along with her snow boots, gloves, and sunglasses, she’d failed to pack a pair of heels. The dress, she claimed, went everywhere with her ... just in case.
Didn’t matter. She looked good in the dress that contoured to her shape like shrink-wrapped plastic. The curves he’d recognized even beneath that bulky parka were every bit as tempting as he’d anticipated.
She might be as stubborn as any man he’d ever met, but from those shapely calves to the curve of her cheek, she was all woman.
When she threw her head back and laughed at something his mother said, he smiled. The silky, thick mass of loose blond curls usually previewed by the wisps peeking from her ski cap made a man want to run his fingers through them. His fingers twitched as if the thought had gone straight from his brain to those tips. Other thoughts, far less polite thoughts, were barging straight to his—A hard knock on the shoulder snapped him from his obsessing.
“Help me set the table, Kale,” his little sister demanded. She pushed her glasses up her nose. “You think just because you brought company that you don’t have to work?”
Kale straightened away from the counter. “Okay, okay. Don’t be a pain in the—”
Ellen, his mother, cut him a look that closed his mouth. Newton belted out another of those throaty laughs.
He liked her laughter. The tough New York girl vanished and this soft, sexy woman emerged.
What had sent that side of Sarah Newton into hiding? That sweet, earthy female was right there hidden beneath all that streetwise urban attitude.
A stack of plates poked him in the abdomen.
He grunted, grabbed the plates before Polly dropped them on his feet. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Kale had to work at keeping his eyes off his guest as he rounded the table, leaving a plate in front of all but one of the chairs. Polly followed his path, leaving silverware and linen napkins. Their brother wouldn’t be home for spring break for a couple more weeks.
“The chief has no idea where to start with this investigation, does he?”
