“No, it’s okay. And that’s not exactly what I meant anyway...” She trailed off again as their gazes connected. She felt a flicker of recognition, but she couldn’t place him.

He was around fifty, with ordinary features. Something about him—the way he’d stood over her father’s bed when she walked in, the way his dark eyes held hers now with an intense curiosity—niggled at Sarah’s own curiosity. Who the hell was he?

She glanced down at her father. “How’s he doing?”

“Holding his own. One of the nurses said he’d rallied for a little while this morning.”

“That’s good.”

The minister came around to her side of the bed. “You must be Sarah. I haven’t seen you in years, but I knew you the moment you walked in. You’re the spitting image of your mother.”

He took her hand warmly in his, and Sarah felt the sting of unexpected tears. No one had ever told her she looked like her mother.

“I’m Tim Mason.” He put his other hand over hers, holding on for a long time. “You probably don’t remember me.”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t,” Sarah said, slipping her hand from his. “I haven’t lived here in a long time.”

“Since you were thirteen, I believe. That’s when you went away to school.”

Sarah was taken aback. “That’s right. I’m surprised anyone remembers that.” She paused. “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but what are you doing here? My father has never been much of a churchgoer. In fact, he has some pretty strong views on religion.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of how James has always felt about my kind.”

“You sound as if you’ve known my father for a long time.”

“We go back.” There was an edge of what sounded like regret in his voice.

“Did he ask you to come by?”

“No. But at a time like this, even a man who’s lost his faith may feel the need to clear his conscience.”

Sarah stared at him, still puzzled by his presence and his demeanor. “I’m not so sure my father would agree with you.”

His expression turned troubled. “I’m more concerned about you at the moment. I hate that you’re all alone at a time like this. If you find yourself in need of someone to talk to, come by the church. We’re still on Oak Street. You don’t need an appointment to see me, just drop by anytime. I’m almost always in my office.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean that,” he said, his gaze holding hers. “I’m available anytime you need me.”

He pushed open the door to leave, then held it for a nurse who was just coming in. She saw Sarah at her father’s bedside and gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m Judy,” she said. “I don’t think we’ve met. Are you Mr. DeLaune’s granddaughter?”

“No, I’m his daughter,” Sarah said.

“Oh, I thought—” She glanced at the door, then back at Sarah. “Busy day,” she said with a sigh. “I’m here to give Mr. DeLaune his shot.”

“Should I wait outside?”

“No, you’re fine.”

She gave Sarah another glance as she finished up and left the room. Sarah looked down at her father. The needle prick had awakened him. His eyes were already glassy from the previous dose of morphine as he stared up her.

“It’s me, Dad. Sarah.”

For a moment, she wondered if he’d lost his comprehension. He seemed not to recognize her. His breathing was labored and his skin pale and paper-thin. He’d once been a robust man, but the arms lying on top of the sheet were stick-thin and threaded with veins.

“What day is it?” he finally said. A cough rattled in his chest.

“Sunday.”

“Sunday.” He thought about that for a moment. “Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

“I took a few days off so I could drive up here.”

“You didn’t get fired, did you?”

“No, Dad, I didn’t get fired.”

She didn’t bother to remind him that she was part owner in the studio. She’d answered these same questions the last time she came to see him.

“All that money to send you to art school and you end up in a goddamn tattoo parlor.” He spat out his condemnation like a nasty taste in his mouth.

“Your money didn’t send me to art school,” Sarah couldn’t help reminding him. “I used Mama’s money for my schooling.”

“And how do you think she had that money to leave you? Because I was there to put food on the table and keep a roof over her head. She didn’t need to spend a dime of her own money because she had mine to squander on one damn fool thing after another.”

“Dad.”

“Maybe if she’d had to work a day in her life, she would have had a little more appreciation for how good she had it. And maybe if she hadn’t had so much time on her hands, she wouldn’t have ended up doing what she did.” His fingers clutched at the covers. He seemed to be working himself up into a state.

“What did Mama ever do that was so bad?” Sarah said softly.

“Spent all of her time down at that church instead of home where she belonged. How much is a man supposed to put up with?”

Sarah said nothing.

“She expected me to just forget all about it. Put it behind us, she said. How was I supposed to do that, when I had a reminder of what she did looking me in the face every time I turned around?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sarah said. “What is it you think Mama did to you?”

He gazed at her stonily, his fingers still working the covers.

“Is that why you hate me? Because of something Mama did?”

“I don’t hate you,” he said on a raspy breath. “I just can’t stand the sight of you.”

Sarah glanced away, telling herself it didn’t matter what he thought. She didn’t need his love or approval. She didn’t need anything from him. But as hard as she’d worked to inoculate herself from his contempt, his words still cut her to the quick. “Why? What did I do?”

“I should have protected her. It’s a man’s duty to take care of his family. Especially his child.” Another cough racked his frail body and this time the strain seemed almost more than he could bear.

Sarah reached down and put her hand over his. “It’s okay, Dad. Maybe you shouldn’t talk. Just get some rest.”

“Rest?”

“You need to keep up your strength.”

“What for? I don’t want to linger any longer than I have to. I’d rather get it over with. I’ve been dying inside for fourteen damn years.”

“I know you have.”

He seemed not to hear her. He was lost in his own misery. “It was my duty to protect her and I didn’t. My little girl murdered and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

“What happened to Rachel wasn’t your fault.”

“Not my fault?” His voice took on a strange tone. “Then whose fault was it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do know.” Sarah’s hand was still on his, but he turned it. Suddenly he was gripping her wrist. “You know because you did it. It was you.”

The hate and fury in his voice was like a knife blade through Sarah’s heart. She was so stunned by the attack, she couldn’t utter a word. Couldn’t muster a denial. For a moment, she could barely even breathe. “No!”

His fingers tightened around her wrist. “I knew it the moment they brought you home. The moment I saw all that blood on you. And you acting so strange, refusing to talk. I knew you hated her. You were so goddamned jealous and spiteful, something was bound to happen sooner or later. I told your mother, but she wouldn’t listen. Even I never dreamed you’d go as far as you did. Your own sister. Your own flesh and blood. No one could have known. Who would ever think something like that could happen?”

Sarah was trembling all over, her heart a pounding piston in her chest. “I didn’t hurt Rachel. How could you think that of me?”

“Your own mother thought it of you,” he said with malicious triumph. “Why do you think she washed off all that blood? Had Esme burn your clothes? She knew it was evidence, that’s why. She wouldn’t let you get psychiatric help because she was too afraid of what they’d find out. One daughter dead, the other a murderer. She couldn’t live with that.”

Sarah tried to back away from the bed, but as weak as his grip was, she couldn’t seem to break free.

“Don’t you dare leave here until I’m finished with you. I’ve kept this inside me all these years, and it’s eaten me alive, just like this damn cancer. I never did anything about it, because I made a promise to your mother. I told her I’d keep quiet, if she’d send you off somewhere so I didn’t have to look at you. Didn’t have to live with you under my roof. But Anna’s gone and now here you are back. Wanting my forgiveness. Sniffing after my money. Well, you’re not going to get either. Do you hear me? I don’t forgive you and I’m not leaving you a cent.”

Sarah wrenched her hand from of his grip and ran out of the room, his enraged accusations following her out the door.

All she could think was that she had to get out of the hospital, away from his voice, away from that smell. Away from the terrible dread building inside her. She had to have air before she threw up. She could already taste vomit in her throat.

In her blind rush, she collided with another body just outside the door. Muttering an apology, she tried to move away, but strong hands gripped her arms, steadying her.

“Sarah?”

She looked up in confusion.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t—” She blinked. “Curtis?” She couldn’t seem to make her brain work. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here, remember?” His gaze lifted to the door behind her. “What happened in there?”

“Nothing.”

“It sounded like something to me. I could hear the old man carrying on all the way out here.”

“It was just an argument,” she said. “You know how he is. I need a little fresh air, that’s all.”

“Okay. But I hope you’re not planning on driving in this condition. Look how your hands are shaking. I’m off for the next few hours. I can take you home.”

“No, I have my car here.”

“Then I’ll drive your car and have someone pick me up.”

“That’s way too much trouble,” Sarah said. And really, she just wanted to be alone at the moment.

But Curtis was insistent. “It’s no trouble. And anyway, you know what Gran would do to me if I let you get behind a wheel like this.” His green eyes smiled down at her. “Just wait for me, okay?”

He was gone for only a few minutes, and then they rode the elevator down to the lobby and left the building.

Sarah was still trembling when she climbed into the passenger seat of her car. Curtis got behind the wheel.

“I still say this is too much trouble.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “How are you going to get back to the hospital?”

“A friend is coming by to pick me up. Don’t worry about it. He owes me.” He gave her a concerned glance as he pulled out of the parking lot. “Now do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I told you it was nothing. He’s dying, and yet I still seem to bring out the worst in him.”

“And you still think it’s your fault,” he said quietly. “Which is exactly what he’s always wanted.”

Sarah glanced at him. “You don’t like him much, do you?”

“He’s been good to my grandmother,” Curtis said. “I guess even the devil should get his due.”

“What did he do to you?”

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

It obviously did matter, but Sarah could tell he didn’t want to talk about it. She let the matter drop as she dug in her purse for her pill bottle.

“What are you taking?” Curtis asked.

“Xanax.”

“Anxiety attacks?”

“Anxiety attacks, insomnia, night terrors. Take your pick.”

“How long have you been on it?” He sounded worried.

“I don’t know. A few months. It’s legit. My doctor gave me the prescription, and I’m seeing a shrink. I’ve got all my bases covered.”

“You do know it’s addictive, right? I hope your doctor covered all the bases when he prescribed it.”