“I’m sure she found more interesting company.” Admittedly, Sarah had been hoping to meet the daughter. According to what she’d learned from Polly, Jerri Lynn Pope was the one who’d had a crush on Brady. Sarah would have liked very much to get a feel for the girl.
Was she off celebrating because the competition was dead? Perhaps if the girl showed up before this evening was over, Sarah would know what her thoughts were on the latest victim.
The best news of the day was that Sarah was back on track. And no one, not Lex or Conner, was going to get in her way again.
“I saw you on the news today, Sarah,” Pope announced as he set his glass on a table next to the first of two matching sofas. “I could hardly wait until you arrived tonight.”
Sarah wondered if he’d seen Blond Barbie’s or Blond Ken’s stab at interviewing her. “I hope you weren’t disappointed.”
“Not at all.” Pope indicated the elegant sofas stationed across a sleek marble table from each other. “I must admit, I find your background fascinating.”
Tension moved through Sarah as she settled on the sofa opposite the lady of the house. Had Pope been digging around in her past? Sarah braced for that possibility as he relaxed next to his glamorous wife. They made a perfect couple. Sophisticated. Handsome. Well educated. And, if Sarah’s crappy past intrigued either of them, they were clearly bored with the status quo.
Few people knew about her childhood. The courts and her aunt had seen to that by changing Sarah’s last name to Newton, her aunt’ssurname, after the trial. Sarah hadn’t been happy at first. Eventually she’d understood that the move had been a good one.
“Your history is quite fascinating as well.” Might as well give him as good as he gave. “Your father was a carpenter. I suppose his love of working with his hands influenced your passion for shipbuilding.” Five minutes on Google had given her a detailed history of Jerald Pope.
Pope reached for his wine, savored a swallow. “To be honest, as a young boy I hated woodworking.” He chuckled. “But that changed the first time I glided across the water in a sailboat. I was hooked.”
Sarah knew that kind of addiction. “Your work has garnered you international acclaim.”
“Indeed,” he agreed.
“You should come up in the spring,” Lynda suggested. “Jerald and I will take you sailing.” She swirled the wine in her glass. “There’s nothing on the planet like gliding across the water in one of Jerald’s vessels.”
“I’ll do that.” Sarah wouldn’t, but it wasn’t polite to say so. Particularly when one wanted to keep the conversation going in the right direction. She sipped her wine sparingly. The road back to the village was dark and twisty.
Despite having lived in New England his entire life, Pope didn’t give off the same vibes as the rest of the citizens in Youngstown. There was a worldliness about him that was lacking in others. The same was true of his wife.
“You and Lynda,” Sarah broached, “have made quite a name for yourselves with your generous donations.”
The two smiled at each other. “It’s only fair,” the wife offered, “that we help those less fortunate.”
“Absolutely,” Pope seconded.
Sarah inclined her head and made a show of searching her memory banks. “I think I read somewhere that you”—she looked directly at Pope—“helped the families of the two victims twenty years ago with funeral expenses.”
Pope nodded. “I did. The families were devastated. I heard about the troubling financial problems they were having prior to the tragedy. I couldn’t take away their pain, but I could lessen the stress in other areas.” He shrugged. “It was the right thing to do.”
“Unfortunately,” Lynda added, “at a time like that, there’s little anyone can do. I’m very proud of my husband for his thoughtfulness.”
Another of those shared smiles.
Was it possible for anyone to be this perfect?
“You grew up in Tennessee,” Pope said, shifting the conversation back to Sarah, “but you were born in Minneapolis.”
Surprise flared before Sarah could restrain the reaction. Only a handful of people knew about that part of her past. Evidently he’d done far more than five minutes on Google looking into her background. “Home was actually a small suburb of Minneapolis.”
“You lived above a meat market.” Pope inclined his head, studied her a moment. “I find your childhood as ironic as it is fascinating. You were a butcher’s daughter.”
Inside, where he wouldn’t see, Sarah cringed. She hated that term. But her feelings went deeper than that. She hated her father. Hated her past. “I suppose it is a bit ironic.” She blocked the idea that Kale Conner now knew all about her past. Along with the chief and the mayor and obviously Pope.
“I’m sure you run into all sorts of strange people in your work,” Lynda commented. She pinched her lips together and gave a little shake of her head. “You must feel a very strong conviction to deal with such horrific cases.”
What Lynda really wanted to ask was had Sarah’s mother’s decision to murder eight people influenced her decision to immerse herself in murder and mayhem. Her fingers tightened around her glass. Sarah wasn’t going to kid herself here. If Pope had uncovered her humble beginnings, he had the whole story. He was a rich, powerful man. Getting the real story on Sarah had likely been a piece of cake for him.
“I have some stories that would give you nightmares,” she admitted. They sure gave them to her. No, that wasn’t true. Her nightmares were all related to her own private story. “As far as motive or conviction”—she held the other woman’s gaze a moment—“the truth drives me.”
