Buried (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 1)

by C. J. Carmichael

  He pulled her up from the bed, put his arms around her. “We will. When the kids are older. And at least we have our nights...”

  Slowly he worked the zipper down to the small of her back. He slid his hands under the fabric and cupped her ass, pulling her into him…kissing her until her concerns were forgotten.

  * * *

  Dougal took a few hours to digest the news Wade had provided, sitting at the kitchen table, making notes and integrating the facts with those he already knew. Charlotte’s perfume still lingered in the air of the cabin, but he did his best to ignore it.

  She’d obviously been upset that Wade had seen them together. Best let her work out for herself what that meant.

  After dinner, Dougal called Stella. “Is Amos home?”

  She hesitated. “He’s at the workshop.”

  “Is there a phone in there?”

  Again there was a pause. Dougal realized she wasn’t happy about this call. Was it because she didn’t want him to speak to her husband? But finally she responded by giving him Amos’s cell phone number.

  “Thanks, Stella.” He disconnected then redialed.

  “Hello?” Amos sounded wary.

  “Hey, Amos. It’s Dougal.”

  “I know. Your name came up on the display.”

  “I was wondering if I could buy you a beer at the Linger Longer tonight.”

  “That depends. If you want to shoot the breeze—sure. If you’re looking to hire me for a project, I’m booked up until November. But if it’s Shirley Hammond you want to ask about, I’m not interested.”

  Dougal had to laugh. “How’d you know I had some questions about Shirley?”

  Amos cleared his throat. “I’ve heard you’re hanging out at the library these days, working on a new book, asking lots of questions about the past. You ought to leave all that alone, boy.”

  Dougal was no longer amused. “You found her body, didn’t you, Amos? The day she committed suicide.”

  “I did and it’s nothing I ever want to talk about again. Pretty much the most awful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “I’m sure it was. But did you—"

  “Forget it, Dougal. I’m fond of you, and I’d gladly meet for a drink and maybe a game of pool sometime. But as far as I’m concerned, questions about Shirley Hammond are just plain off limits.”

  * * *

  For most of that night Dougal pondered his conversation with Amos. Why was the subject of Shirley Hammond off limits? He could understand that finding her body must have been upsetting. But after all these years the shock should have worn off.

  He wished he could talk the situation over with Charlotte. But she’d taken off pretty quickly after Wade arrived. He wasn’t sure calling her tonight was a good idea.

  The next morning, Dougal still wanted to talk to Charlotte. What was he—obsessed? He tried to focus on his writing, but it was difficult when he didn’t even know if this book would ever get finished. He was pretty much dependent on Librarianmomma to feed him more information about the other women who’d been killed. And he hadn’t had a message from her in a long while.

  He could always try contacting her. But for some reason he felt reluctant to do that.

  He wished he had Charlotte here to distract him. It was kind of puzzling how it seemed the more he saw her, the more he wanted her.

  It was almost like he was mooning over the librarian.

  He didn’t do mooning, for God’s sake. Wasn’t his style.

  Still, she was a puzzle, and puzzles were his style. According to Charlotte, she hadn’t said yes to Wade’s proposal because he was in love with Jamie.

  That didn’t rule out the possibility that she had loved Wade.

  But why should he care? She was sleeping with him. Wasn’t that enough?

  The obvious answer—that it wasn’t enough or why was he even thinking about this—made him testy.

  He got up for some coffee. The stuff left in the pot smelled rank. Suddenly he felt stifled. He needed to go for a drive.

  Shoving his laptop and notebook into the passenger seat of his car, he took off—in the opposite direction of Twisted Cedars this time. The next nearest town to the north was forty minutes away and when he arrived in Port Orford, he drove around for a bit until he’d found a café with wireless.

  Inside he ordered a large coffee and a bagel, placed his laptop on a corner table and turned it on. He didn’t normally check email when he was writing—too distracting. But today that was exactly what he needed. His thoughts were driving him crazy.

  And like a special bonanza, there it was. Another message from Librarianmomma.

  You’ll want to check into Bernice Gilberg from Corvallis and Isabel Fraser from Medford next. That’s the complete list. I’ll leave it your hands now. You already know about Shirley so you should be able to figure out the rest. If you can’t, I’ll be waiting to hear from you.

  Dougal stared at the message, heart working so hard he could feel the force of the blood moving through his veins.

  He couldn’t deny the feeling. Excitement.

  Two more victims. Two more chances for him to figure out what was going on here. And that reference to Shirley. How did Librarianmomma know he’d been asking questions about her? Was she someone in Twisted Cedars? Maybe someone who had heard about his questions?

  God, he had so many questions. Most of all, about himself.

  Who got hyped about shit like this? He was such a screw up. Now he was glad he hadn’t given in to the urge to call Charlotte after she left on Sunday. He didn’t do relationships, because it wasn’t safe.

  As simple as that.

  He read the message again, feeling the unwanted thrill.

  Face it. He’d wanted to hear from Librarianmomma again.

  And now he had. He had no doubt what he would find when he went to the library tomorrow to conduct his research. Bernice Gilberg—dead. Isabel Fraser—dead. Both would have been strangled with a red silk scarf. Just like the scarves that Shirley Hammond had tied together in order to kill herself out of remorse for what she’d done.

  That was what he knew. But there was so much missing. What linked these four women, beyond the fact that they were librarians? Why had the murders been spaced one year apart? And the million dollar question—what was Shirley’s connection to the crimes?

  He thought about the picture of her wearing her red scarf. Somehow she’d been involved, right from the beginning. But it was hard to imagine a woman committing such vicious crimes. Strangulation required a certain amount of strength.

  Dougal reread at the message. I’ll be waiting to hear from you. He wondered if he should hit reply. Ask Librarianmomma all the questions that were driving him crazy.

  His fingers hovered over the keys.

  But he couldn’t do it.

  These messages could be coming from a witness. But they might be from the killer, too. And if that was the case, he did not want to engage with her unless absolutely necessary. Better to keep whatever distance he could.

  * * *

  As he drove back to his cottage, Dougal puzzled over the identity of Librarianmomma. Who was this person? Did the timing of these emails have something to do with the death of Charlotte’s parents, two years ago? They would have been Shirley’s closest relatives. Maybe the person who knew about the murders had wanted to protect them and had kept quiet until now.

  Of course, this was assuming that Librarianmomma was a witness. But if she was the murderer, why come forward now? Perhaps she’d received a bad medical diagnosis and wanted to come clean to clear her conscience before death?

  Weak. But so was every other explanation he came up with.

  Once home, Dougal went for a walk to think things through. The murders happened so long ago. Why choose to reveal it all now?

  And why spill the beans to him?

  But maybe that question wasn’t so difficult. He’d been selected because of his profession and because of his hometown. The information was printed in
the bio on the inside cover of all his books, as well as his website.

  Dougal trudged on for over an hour. In the short time he’d lived here, already he could see where his footsteps had beaten a path through the old forest. Having a path was good. Since there were few landmarks, it would be all too easy to get lost, especially on a cloudy day or if he got caught out after nightfall.

  He stopped for a moment, to take his bearings.

  Around him the woods were silent. Eerily so. He had the strange sensation of being watched, and though he knew it had to be his imagination, decided to head back to the cottage.

  Twenty minutes later, he passed Shirley’s old garden. Wouldn’t hurt him to get some exercise out here. Maybe he should pick up a spade next time he was in town and turn over these weeds.

  Just five minutes from home now. He paused for a moment, feeling it again, the presence of someone...or something...watching and waiting.

  God, this isolation was getting to him. Maybe he should break down and call Charlotte. No. Bad idea. He’d go to the bar.

  chapter twenty-two

  cory’s small hand felt warm and precious in Jamie’s grip. The little girl had been holding on tight ever since Jamie showed up in the classroom. She was thrilled Jamie had volunteered for the field trip to the Sheriff’s Office.

  Not so Chester. He had barely nodded at her when she walked in the door. Now he seemed to be pretending that she and Cory were total strangers.

  Their teacher, Mrs. Wood, was a tall, unflappable woman, who never needed to raise her voice in order for the children to listen to her. She’d been warm and welcoming to Jamie and it was clear she had a soft spot for the motherless twins.

  Five other parents had volunteered to accompany the twenty children in this class to first the Fire Station and now the Sheriff’s Office, where they were being given a tour and lectured at intervals on the importance of being a law-abiding citizen. Or else.

  “And here is our temporary lock-up.” Deputy Michaels opened the door on a small, cement-floored room with a privy in one corner and a cot in the other.

  “Ewww.”

  “Yuck.”

  “Gross.”

  Questions followed, a lot of them from Chester who seemed to be a natural leader in the class. She noticed several of the boys looked to him first, before reacting to comments from the deputy or Mrs. Wood.

  When the day was finally over, and the children had been car-pooled back to the school, Jamie felt exhausted and in awe of Mrs. Woods who spent every working day dealing with twenty, nine-year-old children. In the school parking lot, roll call was taken, students accounted for, and then dismissed. Jamie turned to Cory and Chester.

  “Anyone interested in going out for ice cream?” She wanted to end the day on a festive note, and definitely felt she had earned a double chocolate scoop herself.

  Chester looked tempted, but he’d been invited to play at a friend’s house, and when she gave her permission, opted to do that instead.

  Cory squeezed her hand even tighter. “Can we still go—just the two of us?”

  “Sure. Maybe we’ll do some shopping, too.”

  “Chester hates shopping.”

  “A lot of guys do.”

  They ordered cones from the Sweets Shop on Driftwood Lane, window-shopping as they strolled toward home.

  “Look at this.” Jamie stopped at a display of wicker patio furniture in the hardware store window. “Wouldn’t this be wonderful on our front porch?”

  “But we already have chairs on our porch.”

  Yes. Ugly green plastic ones. “These are prettier, don’t you think?”

  “Would Daddy like them?”

  “I’m sure he would. Let’s go inside and see if they’re comfortable.” They finished their cones and Jamie used a tissue to clean Cory’s mouth and hands. Then they went inside to see if the cushions were as comfortable as they looked.

  “Soft, huh?” Jamie smiled at Cory who was on the chair next to hers.

  Cory nodded.

  Jamie needed no more encouragement. “Let’s get them.”

  “But Daddy—"

  “Let’s surprise him. It’ll be fun.”

  Jamie lowered the roof on her Miata and with the store manager’s help, crammed the chairs into the back seat, the cushions in the trunk. Jamie drove home, anxious to set up the new furniture. When she arrived, Stella emerged from the house, followed by Liz who was wearing denim overalls and carrying two buckets of cleaning supplies. She’d forgotten it was cleaning day, today. It was a new luxury in her life—one she wasn’t sure she could get used to.

  “Buy something new?” Liz checked out the chairs overflowing from the back seat. “Sweet.”

  “Yeah, for the porch.” Jamie held out a hand for one of Liz’s buckets. “Let me help you with that.”

  “I’m fine,” Liz insisted.

  Jamie watched as she stowed the cleaning supplies into her rusting Jeep. “This is so strange. I’ve never paid anyone to clean my home for me before.”

  “Well, enjoy it,” Stella said, without rancor, as far as Jamie could tell.

  She wasn’t sure she could. “I’m used to doing my own vacuuming and dusting.”

  “Don’t you dare do us out of this job, Jamie.” Liz wiped her hands on the front of the overalls. “I need the money for my mortgage payments.”

  When she’d signed the final papers for the sale, Jamie had been surprised to see Liz Brook’s name. Apparently Kyle hadn’t even realized she was one of the women who cleaned his home two times a month. In a way Jamie was glad the trailer had been purchased by someone she knew. Hopefully Liz would take good care of it.

  Jamie turned to Cory. “Let’s see how the new chairs look on the porch.”

  Liz helped them unload the chairs and cushions and set the furniture on the porch, moving aside the old plastic chairs to make room for the new ones.

  “That looks real nice,” Stella commented. “I always thought those plastic chairs were a travesty on such a gorgeous porch.”

  “They’d be nice on the cement block by my new trailer, though.” Liz grinned. “Hint, hint. And you thought I was just being nice, helping you like this.”

  “Take them—they’re yours.” While Liz was putting the chairs in the back of her car, Jamie took Stella aside and told her about the letter from her father she’d found.

  “What do you think I should do?”

  Stella shook her head. “Honey, Amos and I have never forgiven ourselves for being the ones who introduced your mother to that man. I know you’re a softie, like your Mom. But please don’t try to find him. Trust me when I say that would be a very bad idea.”

  * * *

  When Kyle arrived home an hour later, Jamie and the kids were in the front yard playing football. As soon as he stepped out of the car, Chester tossed him the ball.

  “Think fast, Dad.”

  He caught it easily, tucked it under his arm and frowned. “What’s that on the porch?”

  He’d noticed the new furniture. “It’s a surprise,” Jamie said brightly. “Cory and I went shopping today after the school field trip—which was quite a success by the way. I don’t think any of those grade four kids is going to risk a night spent in that lock-up.”

  But Kyle wasn’t looking at her. He strode up the stairs, examining the chairs, then glancing back at her.

  “What was the matter with the old stuff? Not good enough for you?”

  “What?” She felt as if he’d slapped her. Why would he say something like that—especially in front of the children? “I used my own money if that’s what’s worrying you. I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

  “What would have been nice would have been to be consulted. I want you to feel at home here, Jamie. But these are the sorts of decisions we should make together, don’t you think?”

  She sucked in a breath, hurt by his displeasure. Her voice wobbled slightly as she said, “We can always take it back for a full refund if you don’t like i
t.”

  “That’s good. You should do that.” He checked his watch. “Almost dinner time, isn’t it? Let’s go inside.”

  * * *

  Kyle went straight to his office once they were inside. Jamie bit back an urge to yell something nasty after him. She didn’t appreciate the way he just assumed she would cook while he retreated to his office. Especially after that ridiculous scene about her purchase.

  She decided she might as well throw together a stir fry while she cooled down. It wasn’t until the meal was ready and she’d set the table, that Kyle emerged, heading, as usual, to the fridge for a beer.

  “God, I’m hungry,” he said, not seeming to notice she was quieter than usual.

  After they’d eaten, Kyle supervised the twins with their homework, then their baths, leaving her to clean the kitchen and prepare lunches for the next day.

  Working alone in the kitchen Jamie told herself these were the sorts of growing pains all newlyweds went through.

  But it didn’t wash.

  She hadn’t changed a thing in this house, hadn’t so much as rearranged the contents of one of the kitchen cabinets. Sure she’d added her clothes to the empty bureau drawers upstairs and to half of the closet, but other than that—and the two boxes of belongings she’d stored in the basement—she’d demanded precious little accommodation from Kyle or his children.

  Did he have to get so riled up about the patio chairs?

  She said good-night to the kids while they were brushing their teeth. Kyle paced the hallway, ear to his Blackberry—checking his messages, she supposed—while he waited for them to finish so he could tuck them in.

  She slunk to the bathroom off the master bedroom, where she locked the door and then filled the tub for a long soak. Being able to have a bath in a full length tub was one major advantage to living in a house instead of a trailer.

  As she settled into the hot water, she wondered if Dougal might have had a point about Kyle. Marriage was about compromising—but shouldn’t it come from both sides?

  * * *

  An hour later, Jamie was in bed reading when Kyle came to apologize. She’d been trying to concentrate on her book, but it was difficult.