Snow Creek: An absolutely gripping mystery thriller (Detective Megan Carpenter Book 1)

by Gregg Olsen

  Dr. A: What, Rylee? Saw what?

  Me: On the travertine tile that our mother went crazy over when we first moved in were three letters written in blood. Dad’s blood. R-U-N.

  Dr. A: Run?

  Me: Right. Our family’s code word. It told me everything Hayden and I needed to know. There was no calling paramedics; no 911 dispatcher to notify. There was no going through the house and pulling up family photos and squirreled-away scrapbooks. We didn’t have much of that anyway. Mom used to joke that if our house was on fire, we’d have no reason to linger. I told Hayden we had to go. I reached into my father’s jacket pocket and took his phone and wallet. I took his car keys from the table.

  Dr. A: You must have been terrified.

  Me: No. I mean yes. I want to say yes. I was in a strangely calm and frenzied state. Calm because in some peculiarly innate way I knew what I must do, and yet my heart was racing, and I was frantically trying to coordinate my uncooperative brother and get my backpack by the door where I had unceremoniously dumped it. I told Hayden we needed to go out the back door and through the woods, following the creek to the road. He asked me what would happen next and I didn’t really have an answer. I was moving and thinking as fast as I could. I took a clean T-shirt from the pile on the table —our mother might have been doing laundry before our father’s killer came into our house.

  Dr. A: Here’s a tissue.

  Me: I’m not going to cry.

  Dr. A: Right. Of course not. You know it’s okay if you do.

  Me: I’m fine, Doctor. I might be allergic to something here. I just remember my little brother looking at me with his dopey, scared eyes. I see those eyes in my mind now and then. Anyway, we bolted toward the ravine. We needed to get out of there fast.

  Dr. A: I don’t completely understand. Why not call 911? Why rush?

  Me: (long pause). Because I knew if we stayed, we’d probably end up with knives in our chests too.

  I sit in silence as the cassette hums to its conclusion. Things I’d fought so hard to set aside have returned and they play at my emotions. I want to cry, but no tears come. I look at my phone. It’s late now. No time for dinner.

  My eyes land once more on the box of tapes, all waiting for me. Each tape is like a knife meant to cut me open and expose whatever’s inside.

  One tape is enough for today. I doubt I could handle two.

  I take my wine, and as I head for my bedroom, I hope with everything in my heart that none of what I revisited will come for me in my dreams.

  Six

  The man answering the phone at La Paloma the next morning is exceedingly polite. His English is perfect too. The connection between my landline and his phone, however, is less than ideal. I ask him if he can help me get in contact with the Wheatons, who are there from the States to volunteer at the orphanage.

  “What group are they with?”

  “No group,” I say. “I believe they came alone. Maybe two or three weeks ago.”

  “Do you know what skills they were providing?”

  I don’t, but then I think of the beautiful cherry dining table.

  “Mr. Wheaton is a skilled carpenter. I don’t know about Mrs. Wheaton’s area of expertise or if she even had any.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Hold on.”

  The phone cracks and every now and then it seems like it might have disconnected. Lucky for me it didn’t.

  He comes back on. “Sorry. No record. I searched our volunteer log and I see no mention of their request for credentials. Maybe it was another facility?”

  “No,” I tell him. “This was the one the family mentioned.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

  I provide my contact information and tell him that if they should turn up then they need to call me.

  “The family is very concerned,” I say.

  Not that anyone but Ruth Turner is, though the children most certainly will be.

  Their parents are indeed missing.

  I log the information into the Missing Person’s report. I consider calling Ruth’s husband’s number, but I know she’s not home yet. I’ll let her know where we are tonight. I need to go back to the Wheaton place first and tell Joshua and Sarah.

  I inform Sheriff Gray about what I’ve learned.

  “Maybe they got in an accident?”

  “Right. I’ll check on that before I leave.”

  “Want me to ride out there with you?”

  I almost take him up on the offer. I enjoy his company, but after listening to Dr. Albright’s tape last night I have some processing to do. Alone time is completely warranted.

  “No. I’m fine. Just some kids. I’ll let them know what I found out and see if I can get anything more from them.”

  I return to my office and update the Missing Person’s report with a query to law enforcement all along the West Coast from Bellingham, Washington to San Diego, California. It was possible they had been in an accident somewhere between here and parts unknown.

  Just where were they headed?

  Why did they tell their kids that story?

  I fill up the Taurus and get a cup of passable coffee from the drive-thru before heading out to the Wheaton place. Jefferson County’s detective’s shield or not, Snow Creek is no place anyone wants to run out of gas for a myriad of reasons. One, no cell service, and two, no Good Samaritans to be had. It’s not that there aren’t good people. The people who live out there have done so to be left alone. Knocking on a door at night could find you greeted by the barrel end of a rifle.

  I touch my county-issue in my shoulder harness.

  She’s my best friend.

  It’s a long drive, but it feels shorter without wintergreen filling my lungs and Ruth Turner’s anachronistic tale of how life should be. I know she’s not completely passive. After all, she drove all the way from Idaho to check on her sister. Then again, she left without waiting for an answer.

  And she doesn’t have a phone of her own.

  And a post office box is the preferred method of contact.

  It’s like she’s Amish without a horse and buggy.

  I find the Douglas fir covering over the driveway and I edge my Taurus onto the property. With a clear sky overhead, the scene is absolutely lovely, bucolic. No smears of rain on my windshield to cause me to lean forward to make out what’s in front of me. It’s truly beautiful.

  Joshua and Sarah greet me at my car.

  “Detective,” Joshua says. “You’re back so soon. Did you find out anything? Where’s Aunt Ruth?”

  “Back in Idaho now,” I say.

  They are wearing the same clothes as the day before, sans the beer T-shirt. This time Joshua is wearing a plain black T. Sarah’s hair is up in a messy bun held there by a large pink clasp.

  “We didn’t even get to spend any real time with her,” Sarah says.

  “Her husband needed her home,” I say.

  Joshua gives his sister a look.

  “Let’s go inside,” he says.

  We find places at the table. This time I decline the tea that’s offered.

  “I have some puzzling news.” I choose my words carefully. I feel immediately that puzzling was the wrong word. There was nothing really puzzling about it. It was what it was. “I’m afraid your folks never made it to La Paloma.”

  “That’s crazy,” Joshua says.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  I don’t tell them that Ida and Merritt hadn’t submitted the paperwork to support the orphanage. It could mean any number of things, not all nefarious.

  Sarah gets up from the table and runs to a room down the hall.

  “Go to her,” I tell Joshua. “She’s in shock.”

  He does as he’s told. I get up and wander around the living room. I focus my attention on the wall with the photo of the siblings. In line next to it is a nail puncture and the faint rectangular shape of where it appears another picture once hung. Ruth was bothered by the fact that the photo of her sister and brother-in-law was
no longer hanging in the living room. I’ll ask about that later. I’ll also ask about the problems Joshua had with his father.

  He and Sarah emerge from one of the bedrooms. Her eyes are framed in red, and he has his hand on her back.

  “Where are they?” she asks.

  “We’ve sent out a bulletin. Nothing has come in so far.”

  I direct my gaze first to Joshua, then to Sarah. “I’ll need you—both of you—to come to the sheriff’s office to make a statement that we can add to the Missing Person’s report.”

  “Like when?” he says.

  “Now would be best.”

  He nods and releases his hand from his sister’s back. “Will you be okay here?”

  I don’t give her the space to answer. “You both need to come.”

  Sarah nods and disappears to retrieve a sweater. Joshua follows her out the door.

  “Aren’t you going to lock up?” I ask.

  “Nah,” he says. “Nobody but you and Aunt Ruth have been out here in years. Door doesn’t even have a lock.”

  I bend to study the doorknob. He’s right. No deadbolt either. It passes through my mind just then that country living is not for me. I like locks. I like people around me. Even when I don’t speak to them. There’s safety in numbers.

  They follow my Taurus in a white Chevy Cavalier that had been parked in the barn. I can be a bit of a lead-foot, so I keep my eye on the rearview mirror. I don’t want to lose them. I shouldn’t have worried. Joshua drives like I do, and we get to the office in record time.

  I get a couple of Cokes from the vending machine, and we sit in the same interview room as Ruth and I had. I can still smell her. I add to what they already told me, this time digging deeper.

  “Did Mom or Dad have any tattoos or distinguishing birthmarks or scars?”

  Joshua answers. “Tattoos are not allowed. Dad had a scar through his right eyebrow. It only shows up in the summer when he gets a tan outside working. I’ve never seen my mom naked, so I wouldn’t know.”

  Sarah follows up. “Mom didn’t have any scars or anything. She was perfect.”

  After gathering more details that would help identify the missing couple, I move on to the biggest question mark in my investigative mind.

  “Let’s say they weren’t going to La Paloma,” I say. “Let’s say they were going somewhere else. Can you think of where it might be?”

  Joshua answers first, his eyes fixed on mine. “That’s what they told us. Why would they lie?”

  “Yeah,” Sarah added. “They would never lie. Our parents are all about the truth. It is the foundation of our faith. We don’t just believe in God’s existence and plan for us, Detective. We know it. Knowing is truth.”

  I tell them what I know.

  “La Paloma said they hadn’t registered to come. It’s a requirement.”

  Joshua pipes up. “They are wrong. They’d planned it for weeks. Mom wouldn’t mess up on something like that.”

  I catch the fear in his eyes.

  “We double- and triple-checked, Joshua.”

  He looks away from me, down at the table. “I don’t understand.”

  “None of this makes sense,” Sarah says, this time holding her brother’s hand. “It has to be a mistake.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” I tell them. The room feels warm, and I know that the two across from me are upset and confused. “I need to ask you about a few more things. Is that okay?”

  Joshua nods. So does his sister.

  “These might seem trivial to you, but they could also be important.”

  “Okay,” Joshua says.

  “Were your folks getting along?”

  Sarah answers. “Yes. I mean, they disagreed about things, but they never really fought. Did they, Josh?”

  “Maybe some little things now and then bugged them, but not much,” Joshua says.

  “What kind of little things?”

  “I don’t know. Mom wanted to spend more time with Dad.”

  I wonder how that would be possible since they never went anywhere.

  “What did he say?”

  “That they would go on a trip to Mexico. The orphanage. It was going to be like a second honeymoon,” he says.

  “They never really had a first one,” Sarah adds. “There wasn’t a lot of what most people would consider fun in either of their families. That’s why they moved to Washington. Trying to make a better life. A happier one.”

  I press her. “Was it happy?”

  This time Joshua answers. “I think so. I mean mostly. Maybe not as much after I graduated from high school.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I wanted to be like other kids. I didn’t want to wait until I was twenty-one to get married and start a life.”

  “What did your father and mother think of that?”

  He pauses for a very long time. “Mom was okay with it. Dad, not so much. They argued. Gave me extra chores. Dad said more work would keep my mind from thinking about anything else.”

  “Did he punish you, outside of extra chores?”

  Sarah squeezes her brother’s hand. “Yes. He was punished. But he deserved it; right, Joshua.”

  “Right,” he says, finally looking up from the table. “He whipped my ass pretty good. Sarah’s right, though, I deserved it. I don’t have any issues with my dad or mom. She didn’t like it, but it wasn’t her role to stop it. So, yeah, he beat me. It just made me a better man. I don’t even think about it anymore.”

  These two don’t even know they’ve been abused. Just like I didn’t know the way my folks lived their lives was narcissistic and utterly out of line. Kids accept so much. They want to please. They want approval.

  Joshua, Sarah and I are alike in that way.

  I switch subjects. “It troubled your aunt that the portrait of your parents was missing from its place in the front room. She couldn’t understand why that was.”

  They exchange looks.

  “That’s my fault, Detective Carpenter,” Sarah says. “It fell when I was dusting the frame. The glass shattered, and I haven’t found another piece big enough to replace it.” She turns to Joshua. “Now that we’re here in town, maybe we could buy some glass.”

  “Good idea,” he says.

  Then I give them potentially more bad news.

  “Joshua,” I say, “you’re a legal adult so this doesn’t apply to you.” I direct my gaze to Sarah. “You’re only seventeen,” I start, “that means you’re a minor and, though you are seventeen, the state might require a temporary guardian until your folks get home.”

  She pushes back from the table.

  “I’m staying with Joshua. I’m not a kid.”

  “I agree you’re mature for your age. The court will take that into account.”

  Sarah reaches to her brother’s arm and pulls him up. Her face is red. “You can’t do this. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

  I can’t back down. I try to calm her. “It’s not about that, Sarah. It’s the law.”

  “Our parents are gone. We are alone. And you want to do this?”

  “As I said, it’s the law.”

  “It’s a cruel law. I thought you were going to help us. Not hurt us even more!”

  It’s like I’d invited a firing squad. I wish I’d never brought it up. I wish that I’d let Juvenile handle it.

  Joshua speaks up. “We’re going through enough shit right now.”

  “I know, I’m sorry.”

  Sarah glares at me. I don’t deflect.

  “When will all of this happen?”

  “It may not happen,” I remind them. “As I said, the judge will decide what’s best.”

  “Right,” Joshua says looking at his now inconsolable sister. “Someone else will decide what’s best. That’s just perfect.”

  On my way to my car, I feel the size of a gnat. I’d spoken the truth, of course. At the same time, I’ve frightened them. I did that once before with my brother when I ran and left him in foste
r care. I’d miscalculated the impact of what I thought was best.

  And every day since, I’ve paid the price.

  Seven

  It had been two days since the pickup truck crashed downward from the logging road into the woods. While Regina Torrance had done all she could to obscure it from discovery, she knew that in time someone would come. She also did her best to keep Amy from worrying.

  “I’m going to get the body and get rid of it.”

  “Just leave it.”

  “No. If they find it then we’ll be ground zero for a murder investigation. Can you imagine how that would play out? The police would harp on us; the media would come calling for a quote. The world would find us.”

  Amy finally agreed. Begrudgingly, but consented, nevertheless.

  Regina completed her morning routine, and left Amy with eggs and bacon served on her mother’s dishes, Franciscan Ivy pattern. She remembered how one of their moving helpers had dropped the box with the dishes, breaking a big platter and sending Amy to bed in tears. Regina fixed the platter, making the spiderweb cracks barely noticeable.

  She could fix the problem of the dead body too. Indeed, it might even be an easier endeavor than the platter. It still showed some cracks through the green of the ivy pattern.

  The woods were not nearly as muggy that morning. The forest floor had dried like a kitchen sponge left on a counter for a couple of days. It smelled of living things. Regina was grateful about that. Mud would be an unnecessary complication, literally mucking up what she’d set out to do. As she snaked her way down the trail, Regina shifted her armload of supplies: a hacksaw, a bolt cutter, plastic garbage bags, an old tarp and painter’s respirator.

  Approaching the vicinity of the truck, she reminded herself to breathe through her mouth when she went about her business.

  Her effort at concealment had been effective. She squinted her eye to make sure she was headed right to it. A deer had passed through the area leaving tiny chiseled hoofprints in the now-drying mud.