“I got what I came for.” He set down his pen and looked her directly in the eyes. “And then some.”
Cheap shot. Just went to show what a bugger he was. Charlotte blushed. God—it amazed him how easily she did that.
“About Satur—" she began.
“No explanations necessary. I figure you and Wade just need a little time to work things out. If you’re worried I might make trouble—don’t.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the next work station. “How reassuring.”
“Right. One more thing. I’m heading to Pendleton tomorrow. Just for a few days to follow up on Mari Beamish. I’ll drop my rent checks in your mail box before I leave. You forgot to take them with you last time you were over.”
She raised her chin a little. “You do that, Dougal.”
Suddenly it was difficult to breathe in here. Maybe too much library dust. He gathered his notes and gave her a final nod.
* * *
Leaving on a road trip was more difficult this time. Suitcase in the trunk, laptop case in the passenger seat, he went back to the cottage to lock up.
He didn’t want to go.
Like Goldilocks, he’d stumbled across a house in the woods that felt just right. He’d never had this feeling before...a sense of belonging. Suddenly he could understand the concept of putting down roots, of preferring to stay in rather than go out on the weekends.
But Mari Beamish was calling to him. For some reason her life had been taken—and he needed to know how.
And why.
And most of all...who.
* * *
Driving from Twisted Cedars to Pendleton was one of those, “you can’t get there from here” situations. The towns were on diagonally opposite corners of the state, and thanks to the mountains and dense forests, the route was indirect and the roads challenging. Dougal opted to cross over the Coastal Range at Reedsport, white knuckling the death-wish hairpin turns until he finally emerged on the Interstate and headed north. Nine hours, and over five-hundred miles later, he finally arrived.
He’d left the ocean far behind, along with the rainforests and mountains. Here the sky seemed bigger, the clouds tumultuous and low, the land undulating in gentle waves. He drove past ranches, wheat fields and blueberry farms until he came to what was billed as the largest city in Eastern Oregon, but still had a population less than twenty-thousand.
After a long day behind the wheel, he needed some rest. It was almost seven now. He’d planned to start at the library, except it wouldn’t be open until ten o’clock the next morning. He stopped for gas, first. It felt good to stretch out his legs and clear his head with the cool evening air. He grabbed food, next, from a hamburger joint, then went in search of a motel.
He didn’t sleep well. The room smelled funny and the pillows were too big and hard. The fact that he was still pissed at himself for having sex with Charlotte Hammond didn’t help. Picking up women in bars was one thing. They knew the game and what to expect.
Charlotte was something else...way too much sugar and spice and everything nice. Damn, but she’d surprised him, though. There’d been nothing shy or inexperienced about the way she made love. Not that he’d expected her to be a virgin or anything. But the way she dressed, those prim glasses of hers...
Dougal groaned as he rolled to his other side. If he wasn’t going to sleep, he might as well watch television. He found a re-run of Dexter.
Perfect. Fifteen minutes later he was lulled to sleep by the escapades of a serial killer.
* * *
The Pendleton Library was in a beautiful, modern building, with extremely helpful staff. At ten minutes after the opening hour on Tuesday morning, Dougal was already reading copies of an article in the East Oregonian that hadn’t made the first cut Charlotte had rounded up for him. Plus he had an amazingly good cup of coffee on the desk beside him.
Mari Beamish’s murder was front page news back in 1973. At first details were sketchy, but over the course of several weeks, a fairly complete description emerged.
She’d been killed shortly after library closing hours, strangled in a storage area of this very library—pre-renovations, Dougal assumed. The red scarf wasn’t mentioned in the initial reports of the killing, but it came out later that this was indeed what had been used to strangle her. The scarf did not belong to the victim—her husband claimed to have never seen it before.
No motive for the killing was ever found. She hadn’t been robbed—was still wearing her wedding rings and her wallet was intact. Nor had she been raped. She was, however, discovered to have been two months pregnant at the time of her death.
Dougal closed his eyes. This time fallout included a life that never came to be.
After thanking the librarian for her help, he left to find the address of Mari’s daughter he’d looked up on Monday at the Twisted Cedars Library. Sue Graham nee Beamish lived in a large two-story home on a generous, wooded lot backing the Wild Horse River. He’d called earlier to set up a meeting for one-thirty. As it was only twenty past now, he waited in his car, until her Subaru Outback pulled into the drive.
Sue looked about his age—athletic body, dark hair. She wore workout clothing and sneakers and her hair was in a ponytail. She pulled a gym bag, as well as her purse, out of the vehicle.
Leaving his car unlocked—in this neighborhood it did not feel like a risk—he approached her slowly. “Hey there.”
“Hi.” She pushed her sunglasses up on her head. “Dougal Lachlan?”
He nodded.
“I’ve read some of your books. My husband’s got them all.”
“Well, I’d be happy to sign them, if you think he’d like that.”
“Oh, he would. Come on in. I’ve just dropped the kids back to school after lunch so we have lots of time.” She kicked aside a tiny pair of sneakers to make room for him in the foyer. The house was pleasant, furnished for comfort and cheerfulness. The floors were dark maple—“Don’t bother taking your shoes off,” Sue told him—and the hall led to a sunny kitchen at the back of the house. Sue cleared off a place at the island, offered him a choice of drinks as she worked.
“Iced tea sounds great.”
She brought out several copies of his books next, and once that was taken care of, sat on a stool two down from his.
“I was very surprised when you called asking questions about my mother. May I ask how you heard about her?”
“I came across the crime in the process of some research I’m doing.” The answer wasn’t totally honest, but he wasn’t about to admit to the anonymous emails.
“For a new book?”
“I think so. Yes.”
“So my mother wasn’t the only one? Other women were murdered?”
“It seems so. The red scarf...that’s an important clue.”
“I remember reading about that. My Dad never talked about what happened and I was only three at the time. But when I was ten I became intensely curious about my mother’s death. I went to the library, pretending I was researching for a school project on our town’s history. I found all the old articles about what happened to my mother and I devoured them.”
“Did knowing what happened help?”
“Maybe help isn’t the right word. The knowledge was simply necessary. Growing up without a mother, well, it wasn’t easy. And then, finding out I’d lost a sibling. My father never told me Mom was pregnant when she died.”
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded. “I remember feeling as if I had a hollow spot in my chest. To be honest, I still have that feeling at times. Like when my own children were born—especially the first, Megan.”
There was something very likeable about this woman. And she was so open. Dougal couldn’t imagine telling a stranger how he’d felt about growing up without a father. But then, he wasn’t a complete stranger to this woman. Again, it surprised him how having your name on the spine of a book made people think they could trust you.
He took a lo
ng swallow of tea, focused his thoughts. “Over the years, no one’s ever come up with an explanation for what happened to your mother?”
Her eyes were sad as she shook her head.
“And your father...did he remarry?”
“Yes. He met Glenda about a year after my mother passed away. She’s a nice lady and treated me very well, but later, when she and my father had two more children—another girl, then a boy—I sensed the difference in the way she cared for me, and the way she absolutely adored them.”
“The evil stepmother?”
“Not hardly. She’s a kind person and she’s turned out to be a lovely grandmother, too. It’s just—I feel so robbed. My mother was a librarian for God’s sake, living in a nice town like Pendleton. It’s always felt so random to me that she was stolen from us in such a violent way. Random and meaningless.”
“I don’t know if I can make some sense of it, Sue. But that’s what I’m trying to do.”
“Well, good. I wish I could give you more to go on.”
He finished the iced tea. “Thanks for taking the time to talk to me. Maybe I should speak to your dad while I’m in town.”
Her open face fell at the suggestion. “I suppose you could ask. But he doesn’t like remembering. What happened to Mom—that’s done and finished in his mind.”
chapter sixteen
“good news, honey.” Kyle was home. He came into the kitchen, set his briefcase on the counter, and went to the fridge for a beer. “Want one?”
“Sure.” Jamie had been home from work for an hour. Dinner was almost ready. She was surprised at how quickly she and Kyle had settled into traditional roles since their marriage. He’d been such a hands-on dad, she’d assumed they would do things like grocery shop and cook together.
But recently he’d had a lot of calls in the afternoon, which meant he worked at least an hour later than her every day. So she was the one to pick up the kids and start dinner.
“What’s the good news?”
“We got an offer for your trailer today.” He told her the price as he passed her the Bud he’d just opened. “What do you say? Pretty good, huh? To tell you the truth, it’s almost two thousand more than I expected.” He tapped his beer bottle against hers. “Congratulations, honey.”
“Thanks.” She wished she could feel as happy as he clearly did. Selling was the right thing. It didn’t make sense to cling to the past.
“Do I need to go to the office to sign the papers?”
“I brought the contract home with me. We’ll take care of it after the kids are in bed.” He put his arm around her. “Smells good in here. I’m not sure if it’s the food, or you.”
“I’m cooking spaghetti, if that helps you decide.” She kissed him back, placing her free hand on his strong shoulder.
Later, at the dinner table, Cory told them about a class field trip coming up to visit the local Fire Station and Sheriff’s Office.
“You can come along if you want.” Cory’s eyes were on Jamie, hopeful. “Some parents do.”
“Jamie isn’t our parent.” Chester looked annoyed.
“Yes, she is,” Kyle corrected his son. “She’s your step-mother. But she also has to work, so I don’t think she can volunteer for your field trip, Cory.”
Jamie had been planning to say the same thing. Seeing Cory’s disappointment, though, she found herself changing her mind. “I could take the afternoon off. We’re not that busy right now.”
“Really?”
Cory glowed and Kyle mouthed “thank you,” at her and she felt even better about her decision, knowing she’d pleased him, too.
Later, after the kids had cleared the table, and she and Kyle were finishing the clean-up, he raised the subject again.
“I’m really glad you decided to volunteer for the field trip. That’s the sort of thing their friends’ mothers do all the time.”
“Sometimes fathers must volunteer, too?”
He didn’t answer, just changed the subject.
“I have to go out-of-town tomorrow, a quick one-night trip.”
“Coos Bay again?” She tried not to sound disappointed, but between his ramped up work schedule and her extra chores with the bigger house and children, it seemed like they spent even less time together now that they were married.
“Yup. But I’ll be back for the weekend, if you need help moving out of the trailer.”
His cell phone rang then, and he excused himself, taking the call in the room he used for his office. Jamie glanced around the kitchen, at the dirty dishes and counters. There were still lunches for tomorrow to be made, kids baths to organize and a load of laundry to fold.
So, this was what happily ever after looked like from the other side.
* * *
Charlotte logged in to her on-line banking and there it was—another withdrawal, made just that day. She stared at the entry on her computer screen. This was her only tenuous link to her sister. If only the numbers had the power to tell her all she longed to know.
The account was a joint one, set up by their father shortly after Daisy was married. “A woman should always have her own money,” their father had insisted. “This is here for you girls, if you ever need it.” For as long as he lived, their father had deposited five hundred dollars every month into that account and Charlotte had continued to do the same after his death, using income from the estate.
And almost every month, Daisy withdrew the money using various ATMs in Sacramento and the surrounding area.
In this day and age, it seemed incredible to Charlotte that no one could find her sister. But the investigator she’d hired after her parents’ deaths had explained that if a person doesn’t drive a car, use credit cards, or pay taxes, they can be very difficult to find.
The more likely explanation, however, was that Daisy had bought falsified ID and created a new persona for herself. Maybe that had been the only way she could go on after the failure of her marriage and the terrible mental collapse she’d had after the birth of the twins.
The phone rang and Charlotte picked up without checking the number, assuming it was Wade. They needed to talk. And facing what had happened wouldn’t get easier by putting it off.
But it wasn’t Wade.
“Charlotte—so good to hear your voice. Have you given further thought to speaking at our conference?”
Drat. Libby Gardener had her cornered now.
“I’m still not sure...”
“I hate to push, Charlotte, but I really think you should do this. You’re an intelligent woman, with so much to offer. In fact, now that your parents are gone, you might consider leaving Twisted Cedars all together. I have a position at our main library here in Portland that would be perfect for you.”
Whoa. Charlotte sank back in her chair. “I appreciate the offer, but I enjoy my life here. A small town library may seem boring, but it isn’t always.” What could she say to impress the older woman? “Lately I’ve been helping a local New York Times bestselling author do research for his next book."
“You must be talking about Dougal Lachlan.”
“Yes, I—How did you guess?”
“Twisted Cedars doesn’t have that many famous authors.” Libby gave a short laugh. “What’s he working on now?”
Charlotte wasn’t sure how much she was free to say. But Libby would have been working in the Oregon Library system when the crimes occurred and it was possible she had heard rumors.
“Do you remember hearing anything about a serial killer who stalked librarians back in the seventies?”
There was a long pause. Then—“Are you serious?”
“So far we know of two librarians who were killed. One in ’72, the other in ’73...”
Libby listened as Charlotte explained more about the crimes, then she inserted gently. “I can see this man has you fascinated with his theory.”
Before Charlotte could reply, the older woman continued.
“Honestly, I think you’re wasting your time helpin
g Lachlan with this book of his. Please think about my job offer. I’ll email the particulars of the position, and I promise you a salary increase will be part of the package. In the meantime, I’ll just pencil your name into our conference program. Think about a title for your presentation, dear. Something snappy that will attract the attention of the younger crowd.”
Charlotte hung up the phone feeling both manipulated and slightly embarrassed. Her attempt to impress Libby had clearly failed.
The truth was, she did, occasionally find her job a little under-stimulating. But she simply couldn’t imagine moving to Portland. Just the idea of speaking at the spring conference made her sick to her stomach.
Why was Libby so determined to “expand her borders?” Was this something her mother had asked her to do? Even if she had, Libby’s perseverance seemed excessive. Maybe she should have told her she was getting married. That would have shut her up.
And now she was thinking about Wade, again.
Maybe he was waiting for her to call? She took a deep breath, then dialed his cell.
“Charlotte.”
“Hi Wade.”
There was a long silence. She should have thought ahead. Prepared the right thing to say. “I was wondering if we could talk?”
“Sure. This Friday?”
She sighed with relief at his friendly, open tone. “Great. How about I cook dinner at my place?”
What they needed to discuss could not be talked about over the pool table at the Linger Longer.
chapter seventeen
paperwork. Wade sighed. The dirge of the profession. This week had been especially bad, thanks to a boatload of careless tourists who’d wanted to go fishing on the Rogue on Wednesday, but had ended up swimming, instead. Thanks to excellent efforts by his search and rescue team there had been no fatalities but there easily could’ve been.
“Hey, boss. Got a few minutes to talk to a guy named Dougal Lachlan?” His administrative assistant, Marnie Phillips, was at the door. She’d freshened her makeup since he last saw her at the front desk. Probably chomping on the bit to get started on her Friday night.
Buried (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 1) Page 11
