The story told, Murphy collapsed weakly against Garrett and let the tears slide warmly down her cheeks. She cried long and hard, pausing once in a while to suck in a hiccuping gulp of air.
Garrett felt her pain as though it was his own. Damn, but he wished there was something he could say to erase the hurt and guilt she was feeling. But what? Tell her the whole thing hadn't been her fault? That there was no way she could have known what Billy's mother was capable of from one interview?
No, he couldn't say that. Deep down, Garrett was positive Murphy already knew all that. Whether she believed it or not was something else again. There was no rhyme or reason to guilt, and hindsight was cruelly astute. He had a feeling that anything he tried to say by way of comfort would instead only sound shallow and insincere.
He contented himself with stroking her soft, curly brown hair and holding her close. Concern helped take his mind off the pain raging like fire through his right thigh, if only for a little while. So wrapped up was he in Murphy, Garrett barely noticed when Moonshine stretched and kneaded his sock-clad ankle with pin-sharp claws. Right now, Garrett couldn't think about anything but the woman who was crying with quiet dignity in his arms.
Angling his head, he cradled his cheek against the top of her head. Her silky curls tickled his cheek and chin and neck, while the subtle aroma of Ivory Soap tickled his nostrils. Would he ever be able to breathe in that scent again without thinking about this woman?
His hold on her tightened, his body absorbing her violent shivers. It took forever for her sobs to slow, then subside.
They sat in silence for a while, both lost in their own thoughts while he gave her time to compose herself.
Eventually, Murphy fisted the last of the tears from her cheeks—she was surprised they hadn't frozen to her skin, it was so cold in here—and sat back. Her watery gaze lifted, and was instantly captured by penetrating, dark blue. “You know, there's still one more deathbed…er, make that deathcar confession you haven't made,” she said.
If there was an inch of Garrett's body that didn't hurt like hell, he didn't know where it was. Yet when Murphy smiled up at him like that, he couldn't help feeling a warm thrill trickle through him, couldn't help but smile back. “Really? And what's that?”
“We've already decided you're not a bankrobber or thief. Oh, stop!” She sniffled and at the same time swatted his shoulder when his grin broadened. “That explains the gun, but not the question of where the money and jewelry came from. Where did you get it, Garrett?”
“My grandmother.”
“Your grandmother?” One dark brow arched skeptically high. “Are you trying to telling me your grandmother gave you a duffel bag full of money and antique jewelry?”
“I didn't say that.”
Murphy groaned at what was quickly becoming a familiar evasion. “Yes, you did.”
“No, what I said was that I got the money and jewelry from my grandmother. What I didn't say was that she gave them to me.”
“You mean you took them?”
“I…” he hesitated. “Well, yeah, I guess you could say that.” Murphy opened her mouth, probably to yell at him, but Garrett rushed on before she had the chance. “My grandmother died in August.”
“Oh, no. Oh, I'm so sorr—” Murphy snapped her mouth shut, remembering what he'd said earlier. She smiled weakly. “Garrett?”
“Yeah?”
“That still doesn't explain where you got all the money and jewelry from.”
“She had a summer house about two miles north of your brother's.” He shrugged. “She left it to me in her will.”
“I see,” she replied, although she didn't really. She sensed there was a lot Garrett wasn't telling her, and that inspired her curiosity all the more. “But it still doesn't explain—”
“I'm getting to it,” he interrupted, and though the words were gruff, his tone was gentle. “Gramma Eleanor had a habit of stashing money away. My mother said it was because she'd lived through the depression and never trusted banks again. My sisters and I, on the other hand, always figured it was because Gramma was a bit…eccentric. Anyway, last month, when we cleaned out her house in North Hartford, we found over four thousand dollars stashed away. Not all in one place, mind you. There was…lets, see.” Garrett pursed his lips and thought for a second. “Ten one dollar bills were hidden in the toe of an old shoe. A twenty was wrapped with some fish in the freezer. A ten and five ones were stashed behind some jelly she'd canned and stored in the cellar at least five years ago. Money was everywhere. I still don't think we found all of it.”
“Did she do the same thing with her house up here?”
“Not as much. So far, I've only found about two thousand dollars, although I'm sure more will turn up eventually. As for the jewelry, that belonged to her too, and, no, it wasn't ‘stashed’ anywhere. I found it in a jewelry box on top of her dresser. I wanted to bring it back for my sisters. You know,” Garrett shrugged awkwardly, as though such sentimentality sur
prised even himself, “something for them to remember her by. Maybe pass down to their own children in time. When the front end of my jeep decided to become intimate with the trunk of a maple tree, the only thing I thought to bring with me was the duffel bag. Hell, my suitcases and clothes are still back there. But they can be replaced.”
Murphy sighed.
Garrett frowned down at her. “What's the matter?”
“I'm feeling very guilty about thinking you were a robber.”
“How were you supposed to know?”