Winter Frost (A Chris Matheson Cold Case Mystery Book 2)

by Lauren Carr

  Helen laughed. “But he is your son.”

  “Yes, and it’s because he’s my son that I know what he’s capable of. I’m sure you had a good reason for breaking his heart.” Doris shot her a wicked grin. “He probably deserved it.”

  Together, the two women shared a laugh.

  “No matter what you think about Blair,” Helen said, “she was the mother of your grandchildren. No matter how much she hurt Chris, he did love her. She got into some serious trouble and now she’s dead. Your granddaughters are going to want to know what happened. For their sake, because we love them, we need to do everything we can to find those answers.”

  In silence, they sipped their coffee. The only sound in the kitchen was the clicking of the anniversary clock on the mantle. As the minute hand swept to the top of the hour, the various clocks throughout the house sounded off with their individual chimes, followed by the single dong to mark one o’clock.

  Accustomed to the competing musical announcements, Doris continued to sip her coffee.

  Helen smiled at the racket. As the notes died away, she became aware of one lone song far off in the distance—an instrumental tune that she had to search her mind for the title. “That’s a newbie,” she said in a soft voice as if afraid to interrupt the song.

  “What, dear?”

  Helen held up her finger for her to listen. “Never heard that before.”

  After a long moment of listening, Doris nodded her head. “That’s Emma’s clock. It’s a music box, too. Plays Celine Dion’s ‘Fly’. Blair had sent it from Switzerland for Emma’s birthday.” She took in a shuddering breath. “It was her fifth birthday—ten days after we’d told that she’d been killed.”

  “And it arrived on Emma’s birthday?”

  “A friend of Blair’s delivered it at her party,” Doris said with a nod of her head. “Oh, Emma loves that clock. It’s got an angel at the top of it.” She lowered her voice. “Emma thinks the angel is her mother watching over her.” She glanced up the back staircase to the little girl’s room, where the clock was playing the closing notes of the song. “There must be a short in it. The chimes must be setting off the music box to start playing on the hour. It’s been going off all day.”

  “I can’t see Chris marrying a dummy,” Helen said. “If Blair came into some information that was a threat to national security, she’d hide it someplace safe. Someplace that those who know her would know to look for it.”

  “It’s not here,” Doris said. “Chris was living in Virginia when she died. He gave away or sold all of Blair’s stuff.”

  “She would have made certain that it would be with something that Chris would not have sold or given away,” Helen said. “Surely, he had to keep some things for the girls to remember their mother by.”

  “There’s the stuff they shipped back from Switzerland. That he didn’t even look through. He said it was too painful.” Doris set Thor on the floor. “That stuff is in the storage room in the cellar.”

  Helen stood up. “Let’s go look.”

  In a previous life, Chantilly, Virginia, had been home to gentlemen farmers and their families. It was close enough to feel the electricity of the Nation’s Capital but removed enough for those yearning a quieter country life.

  When Washington real estate burst at the seams, families scrambling for more affordable housing options migrated outside the Capital Beltway and beyond. Gated communities, along with the office parks, strip malls and convenience stores, sprouted up to replace the once lush farmland.

  While Francine and Murphy returned to Georgetown to meet Bruce and Jacqui at Tristan’s computer lab, Ripley and Chris went to interview the Dunleavys. Ivy and her lawyer husband lived in a luxurious French country mansion on acreage at the end of a wide cul-de-sac.

  After parking her cruiser in the Dunleavys’ driveway, Ripley got out to meet Chris who parked behind her. When she reached his driver’s side door, she found an argument erupting inside his truck.

  “Whoever drives decides on the music and I say we listen to classical!” Chris punched the icons on the radio.

  Stomping his front paws on the console between the two humans, Sterling barked his argument.

  “Sterling doesn’t like classical music,” Elliott said in the manner of a translator. “He wants to listen to Keith Urban.”

  “Doesn’t matter anymore.” Chris threw open the door, almost hitting Ripley. “We’re here … Thank you, God.” With a roll of his eyes, he slid out of the truck. “I should have gotten a dumb dog, who wouldn’t have figured out how to work the radio.” He slammed the door shut. “Then, we wouldn’t have these fights.”

  Behind him, Chris heard the notes of a Keith Urban tune drifting through the open window from inside the truck. In the driver’s seat, Sterling seemed to smirk at him from behind his dark glasses.

  Elliott trotted around the front of the vehicle to join Chris and Ripley. “I let him have my phone to listen to his music while we’re inside.”

  Stunned, Ripley stared at him. “You gave your phone to a dog to listen to country music?”

  “He gets bored sitting in the truck with nothing to do.”

  Ripley dragged her gaze from Elliott to Chris, who seemed to understand the matter. Deciding it was best to get back to the reason for their visit, she said, “Considering that Ivy Dunleavy accused you of abusing Blair and hung up on you, I’m not sure you being here is a very good idea. It could make her combative.”

  “We can handle combative.” Elliott cracked his knuckles.

  “Haven’t you heard the phrase, ‘You can get more bees with honey than vinegar?’”

  “What the hell is he doing here?” Ivy’s full-throated demand sounded both outraged and cultured at the same time.

  “Here we go,” Ripley muttered.

  Her arms folded across her small chest, Ivy stood on the front stoop. A brunette, she was dressed in gray slacks and a winter white cardigan sweater with pearls. She looked every bit of her role of country club matron, a role that Chris remembered her yearning to play ever since he had met her. The administrative assistant had set her sights on marrying a wealthy lawyer and that was exactly what she did. Ivy spent her days chairing committees, working with a personal trainer, and testing laser cosmetic treatments.

  Her demeanor wavered when she caught sight of the German shepherd donning a hat and sunglasses in the front seat of Chris’s truck. “You still have that damn dog?”

  “Winston passed away.” Chris jerked a thumb in the direction of the German shepherd rocking to Keith Urban. “This is Sterling.”

  “Why’s he wearing a hat and sunglasses?”

  “Because he’s cool,” Chris said. “Do you have a problem with that, Ivy?”

  Failing to see the humor, Ivy scoffed.

  “I’ll let you take the lead with this one,” Chris murmured to Ripley.

  The investigator pasted a congenial expression on her face and strode up the sidewalk. Ivy glared at Chris until Ripley grabbed her attention by flashing her federal agent’s badge and introducing herself. “I spoke to you on the phone. We’re investigating the death of Blair Matheson.”

  “There’s your man right there.” Ivy gestured in Chris’s direction. “Leaning against that truck. Chris Matheson. Blair was scared to death of him. That’s why we hid her—from him.” Tears came to her eyes.

  “I’m afraid Chris Matheson has an airtight alibi for the time of her death,” Ripley said. “Multiple witnesses can testify to his whereabouts.”

  Ivy blinked.

  “We have a lot of questions, Ms. Dunleavey. Can we come in so we can sort this out? To find out what happened to Blair?”

  Grudgingly, Ivy opened the door to allow them inside. “Not the dog. The maid just cleaned.”

  Ripley, Chris, and Elliott stepped into a two-story foyer. The winding staircase followed a curve
d wall to the second floor.

  Stu Dunleavy was making his way down the stairs while giving instructions to a shapely brunette directly behind him. “Taking into consideration who his father is, we have to assume he’s trouble. Our client pays us to make sure these issues are taken care of before they become a problem. Call Burnett and tell him to get a couple of people on it—ASAP.”

  Upon noticing Ripley’s detective’s shield, he ended the conversation. “That’s all for now, Jenn. Let me know when Burnett gets the job done.” As she walked out the door, Stu extended his hand to the visitors. “Good to see you, Chris.”

  Dressed in a green sweater, Stu was average in appearance. Average height. Average weight. Chris swore the man could walk into a room naked and no one would notice. There was nothing striking about him except his wealth.

  Chris greeted him with a slight nod of his head. “Stu.”

  “They found Blair,” Ivy said in a tear-filled voice.

  “Where did you find her?” Stu asked.

  “In Audubon Lake,” Ripley said.

  Ivy turned to Chris. “How close to your house?”

  “About sixty miles. Give or take a few miles.” He smirked at her. “My house is in West Virginia.”

  Ivy’s eyes grew wide. Her mouth dropped open.

  “I moved a year and a half ago. Guess you didn’t know that, huh?”

  “So whoever dumped her body there to frame Chris must not have known that he’d moved,” Elliott said. “Any idea who that might be, Ms. Dunleavy?”

  “Don’t answer that, Ivy.” Stu took his wife by the arm. “We’ll talk in the sun room.”

  The Dunleavys led them to an enclosed patio that looked out across a swimming pool and garden. The room was so white that Chris was afraid to touch anything for fear of leaving a smudge. The only color was provided by fresh flowers delivered daily. Chris suspected they kept the room white by forbidding their young daughter from entering it.

  Stu sat next to his wife on the sofa and ordered everyone to sit before asking, “How was Blair killed?”

  “We’ll know more after the autopsy. Right now, we’re investigating the death as a homicide.” Ripley took a seat on a small sofa across from them. “When did you last see her?”

  “Yesterday afternoon,” Ivy said. “I dropped her off at the Reston-Wiehl Metro. Blair had been living as a recluse since coming back from Europe.” She shot a glance at Chris. “For good reason, from what she’d told me.”

  “What did Blair tell you about Chris?” Ripley asked. “Why she was so afraid of him that she felt compelled to fake her death?”

  “In a nutshell,” Ivy said, “he beat her.”

  “Seriously?” Chris jumped to his feet. Before he could move, Elliott blocked his path.

  “Ripley’s taking the lead.” Elliott gestured for him to retake his seat. “You agreed. Remember?”

  With a grumble, Chris sat.

  “Did she tell you this before she’d left for Switzerland?” Ripley asked.

  Ivy shook her head. “She was protecting him for the sake of the children. But then, after being away for so long, she had time to think and didn’t want to go back to that situation.”

  “Did Blair allege that Chris hurt the children?” Elliott asked.

  Stu shook his head. “Never. She said he was nice to the girls.”

  “Didn’t that strike you as odd, Stu?” Chris asked. “You both saw me with my family. Wouldn’t you think you’d see some sort of clue that I had it in me to be a monster if that were true.”

  “Many men have Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde type tendencies,” Stu said. “Crime case files are filled with examples of that. The serial killer who gave candy to kids. The church pastor whose wife kills him after he pushed his S&M games too far. We had no idea what you were like behind closed doors.”

  “There are symptoms of spousal abuse,” Chris said. “Secluding the abused spouse, so no one finds out. Did I ever stop Blair from coming and going as she pleased? Did you ever see Blair wearing long sleeves and pants in warm weather to hide bruises?”

  “She told us that being in law enforcement, you could beat her so that the bruises wouldn’t show,” Stu said.

  “Give me a break,” Chris said. “Even if I beat her so the bruises wouldn’t show, she’d certainly have some marks.”

  “She told us that he was insanely jealous,” Ivy told Ripley. “That’s why she didn’t want him to know she was alive. She had gone to Nice to meet another man—an Australian. She was there at the terrorist attack. By the time things were sorted out, she knew that Chris had to know that she had taken up with another man and was afraid of what he’d do.” She lowered her voice. “Blair said he had told her that he could murder her and get rid of her body so that no one would ever know she was dead.”

  “If I was insanely jealous, I wouldn’t have allowed her to go halfway around the globe without me.” Chris could see by the expression on Stu’s face that he realized that he had been played. He had bought Blair’s lies hook, line, and sinker.

  “When did you find out Blair faked her death?” Ripley asked.

  “She showed up on our doorstep a few days after her funeral,” Ivy said.

  “Did Blair tell you how she got an Australian diplomatic passport with the name of Charlotte Nesbitt?” Ripley asked.

  With a quick glance, Stu ordered Ivy to be quiet while he answered, “We have no idea. We felt the less we knew about Blair’s activities overseas, the better. After all, she worked for the state department. Everything she did was classified. We had no need to know anything else so we didn’t ask.”

  “Did she ever contact the state department or any of her old friends from there?” Ripley asked.

  “Oh, no. She knew they’d tell Chris.” Ivy’s expression was filled with anger.

  Stu shot her a chastising glance.

  Ripley continued her interview. “Had Blair been in contact with any of her old friends during the three years that she’d been living with you?”

  “None. She was scared to death, I tell you.”

  “What had she been doing for the last three years?” Chris asked.

  “Taking care of our daughter. Hannah adored her.” Ivy grabbed a tissue from a box on the end table and wiped her nose. “I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to her.”

  “Our friends did not know Blair from before,” Stu said. “When she came back to the States, she had cut her hair and dyed it. We introduced her to everyone as Charlotte, Hannah’s nanny. Basically, that was what she did while living with us. We even paid her under the table so that she’d have some money.”

  “Did she go out?” Elliott asked. “Go to the gym? Socialize?”

  “No, she’d been very careful. She was terrified of running into him.” Ivy pointed at Chris.

  “Stop it, Ivy,” Stu said. “Can’t you see that Blair lied to us? She was afraid of someone else. Now if you really want to help find out who killed your best friend, tell them what happened yesterday.”

  Ivy’s mouth hung open while she gazed at her husband. For a long time, she was speechless. Finally, she licked her lips and said, “Out of the blue, Blair decided she needed a day out.”

  “Which was unusual,” Stu said, “because Blair never went anywhere. I even asked Ivy, ‘Why would Blair suddenly need a day out? She hasn’t needed one for years. Why now?’”

  “I told Stu, ‘I guess after three years of not leaving the house, she started feeling a bit antsy.’ She’d asked me for a ride to the metro. She didn’t even have a driver’s license because she was afraid it would be tracked back to Chris ... or I guess whoever it was she was hiding from. I drove her to the metro.” Ivy dabbed her eyes. “That was the last time I saw her.”

  “What time was that?” Ripley asked.

  “About three-thirty.”

  “S
o, Blair was basically hiding out,” Ripley said. “Living here. In seclusion. And then suddenly out of the blue, after three years, she asked you to drive her to the metro and she goes into the city, which is filled to the gills with people.”

  “She didn’t expect to run into him.” When Stu attempted to silence her, Ivy asked, “Why would she fake her death and tell us that she was hiding from Chris if it wasn’t because she was afraid of him?”

  “I suspect it was to protect her family,” Ripley said. “As long as they believed she was dead, then so would everyone else. If you thought she was hiding from Chris because he was abusive, then she could be certain that you’d keep her secret.”

  “She was terrified of someone else for another reason,” Chris said forcibly. “That someone else caught up with her when she went into the city. They killed her.”

  “Who would want to kill Blair?” Ivy said. “She was a nobody really.” When she saw Chris start, she rattled on. “I mean she didn’t have any power. She wasn’t aggressive. I know of at least two times when we were both working for the state department that Blair lost out on a promotion because she played by the rules.” She shook her head. “I told her that some people are winners, and some are losers. The winners do what they have to do to get to the top and stay there. Don’t be afraid to step on a few toes, even if those toes belong to someone you care about.”

  “Did Blair ever talk to you about Switzerland and what happened to her there?” Ripley asked.

  “Never,” Ivy said. “Everything she did overseas was classified.”

  His eyes were wide when Stu shook his head in response to the question.

  “Ivy, you said the last time you saw Blair was when you dropped her off at the metro,” Chris said. “You had to have spoken to her because when I called you, you accused me of hurting her because we saw each other in DC. The only way you would’ve known that was if you had spoken to her.”

  “She called me on my cell phone on her way back home,” Ivy said.

  “What time was that?” Ripley asked.