Lemon Tart by Josi S. Kilpack

died
eleven years ago. Now and then, one of the lots would go up for sale—which
is how Mr. Henry and the Baileys had come to join the neighborhood—but
the Tilly kids wanted a premium for the land and there were cheaper, more
modern subdivisions on the other side of town that were more attractive to
potential buyers. No one had knocked on Sadie’s door to ask about the remaining
empty lots directly across from her for more than a year. That suited Sadie
just fine; she loved the neighborhood just the way it was and although everyone
in the circle had their eccentricities, they all got along well enough.
    From the sidewalk, once she’d cleared the tree, Sadie looked
toward Anne’s house. There were a few vehicles in front of the house and she
wondered if the detectives had discovered anything new. The low hum of an
approaching car caught her attention and she looked left, hoping it was Ron. It
wasn’t. It was just Carrie coming home again.
    Some of the people huddled in front of Anne’s house looked up
when Carrie pulled into her driveway, including Detective Madsen, who
immediately headed toward her.
    Sadie stood where she was, not knowing what to do. She’d been
planning to talk to Detective Cunningham and explain what Ron had told her, but
now faced with that decision, she couldn’t make herself do it.
    Then she remembered the tart.
    Her eyebrows came together as the inconsistencies seemed to
jump out at her. Ron had said he’d been at Anne’s last night. But the tart had
been put in at . . . 9:00 this morning if the timer had been set for
forty minutes. So, if Anne was baking, then she had to have been alive after
Ron left, just like he said.
    Sadie felt her heart lifting like a balloon at the discovery.
But then it sunk again. There was still the issue of Ron being there at all.
Sadie hadn’t gone to bed until after eleven—there had been a Gray’s Anatomy marathon on
TLC—she’d have seen Ron in the circle if he’d come while she
was still up. Her TV was situated so that she could see it and the window at
the same time. Anne would have been up earlier than usual, which seemed strange
after a late night, not to mention that she seemed to have put the tart in at exactly 9:00. Not 9:07 or 9:13.
That was odd.
    “Mrs. Hoffmiller?”
    She jumped, her frazzled nerves too much on edge to show any
restraint. Detective Cunningham blinked at her and she wrapped her arms around
herself as if she were cold. However, it was nearly noon and the morning had
warmed considerably, the air scented with burning corn stalks and the last of
the summer weeds. She usually loved the smell of smoke in the air, the reminder
that the stride of life was moving forward in the most basic of ways, but today
it seemed suffocating.
    “Detective,” she said evenly as she felt her cheeks color. He
must think she was some kind of nut job to be standing on her front walk in her
sticky flip-flops doing nothing. And she’d forgotten to check her
hair on her way out the door—how embarrassing. She glanced
toward Carrie and watched her take a few bags of groceries out of her car. It
seemed like a betrayal to Anne’s memory that Carrie would do something so
mundane as grocery shopping on a day like this. And yet, hadn’t Sadie made
applesauce? She felt so guilty all of a sudden.
    Detective Madsen stood at Carrie’s elbow and the two women
shared a brief look before Carrie said something to Detective Madsen and then
headed inside, alone. Detective Madsen finished scribbling some notes, looked
over at Sadie and Detective Cunningham, and then walked back to Anne’s house.
She wasn’t sure, but Sadie thought she’d caught a scowl in their direction
before he turned.
    Detective Cunningham cleared his throat. “I’d like to confirm
whether or not you have requested legal representation or if I can still talk
with you?”
    Sadie shook her head, embarrassed at the man’s formality and
wanting to return to the casual exchanges they had shared