Buried Sins by Marta Perry

Caroline’s name and address printed in computer-generated letters. No return address. The postmark read Philadelphia.
    She shifted her weight from one foot to the other impatiently. “Open it.”
    She obviously already had, no doubt further obscuring any fingerprints that might have survived the handling of the postal service, unlikely as that was. He teased out the enclosure—a folded fragment of copy paper with something hard inside it.
    He flipped it open. The briefest of notes in block printing. A small key held fast to the paper with a strip of cellophane tape.
    “It’s a safe-deposit key,” she said impatiently. “I’m sure of it.”
    He studied the key more closely. “I think you’re right. It may be possible to find out what bank it’s from, especially if it’s in Philadelphia.”
    “It will be.” She stared at the note as if it were a snake. “Tony had family there. Anyway, he said he did. I never met them. Never even talked to them. Tony was going to tell them about our marriage when we came east. That’s what he said, anyway.”
    He nodded slowly, frowning at the words on the page. “Is this your husband’s handwriting?”
    She took a breath, the sound ragged, as if she had to yank the air in. “I think so.”
    Black letters. Three short words. She couldn’t be positive from that small a sample, but she probably had a fairly good idea who wrote those words.
    “For my wife.”
     
     
    What had possessed her to tell Zach, of all people? He stood there on the sidewalk looking at her, gray eyes intent and watchful, as if weighing every word and gesture. Judging her.
    Still, what choice did she have? Who else would she tell?
    A brisk breeze ruffled the faces of the pansies, making them shiver, and she shivered with them. The truth was that she couldn’t keep this to herself any longer. She didn’t know what to do or how to find out what it meant.
    She certainly couldn’t take this to Grams. And while Andrea’s cool common sense might have been welcome, she’d have to tell her everything for the story to make any sense.
    At least Zach already knew. She might not be happy about that, but it was a fact.
    He nodded, murmuring a greeting to someone passing by. The woman sent a bright, curious gaze Caro’s way, and she turned, pulling the collar of her jacket up, as if that might shield her from prying eyes.
    Zach folded the envelope and pushed it into his jacket pocket. He took her arm.
    “Let’s go to the café and have some coffee. You look as if you could stand to warm up. And it won’t be crowded this time in the afternoon.”
    He steered her down the street, turning in to the Distelfink Café. The door closed behind them, and they were enveloped in the mingled aromas of coffee, chicken soup and something baking that smelled like cinnamon.
    “See? Empty.” Zach led her past several round tables to a booth against the far wall. The tables were covered with brightly painted stencils of the Distelfink, the stylized, mythical bird that appeared on so much Pennsylvania Dutch folk art.
    She slid into the booth. The wooden tabletop bore place mats in the same pattern, and the salt and pepper shakers were in the shape of the fanciful birds.
    Zach folded himself into the booth and nodded toward the elderly woman who’d emerged from the kitchen. She was as plump and round and rosy as one of the stenciled figures herself. “Two coffees, Annie.”
    “Sure thing, Zach. How about some peach cobbler to go with it?”
    “Sounds good.”
    She disappeared, and Caroline shook her head. “I don’t want any cobbler. I just want to talk about this—”
    “If we take Annie up on the peach cobbler, she won’t be popping out of the kitchen every two seconds to offer us something else.” He turned a laminated menu toward her. “Unless there’s something else you want.”
    She shook her head. The menu, like everything else, was decorated with stenciled figures—birds, stars, Amish buggies. She flipped