She was alive, but still losing blood from her head wound.
He ran back to his truck for a blanket and first aid kit. He didn’t dare move her, but he could make sure she was warm, and stench the bleeding. When he brushed aside her hair to locate the wound he saw that she was pretty and a lot younger than the driver, maybe in her late twenties or early thirties.
What would a woman like this be doing with a burly, middle-aged truck driver? Could she be his daughter?
He called dispatch again, warned them what to expect, all the while keeping a gentle pressure on the wound. Eventually the bleeding stopped. He applied a rudimentary bandage then turned his attention to some miscellaneous items that had fallen to the passenger side of the cab and were wedged around the woman. He pulled out a black, leather wallet. Inside was ID for the driver: Chet Walker, aged 52, height five-feet, ten-inches, weight two-ten, hometown Klamath Falls. Emergency contact was listed as his wife.
Poor woman would soon be getting a phone call that would change her life.
Methodically Wade examined the rest of the debris in the truck. He found the driver’s cell phone, along with empty disposable coffee cups and crumpled wrappers from McDonalds; a square of pale blue flannel; a Mariner’s baseball cap, foil-wrapped caramels and a package of gum. But no purse or cell phone belonging to the female passenger.
Maybe she had something in the pocket of her jeans, but he wouldn’t be able to get at it until the paramedics arrived.
Wade placed a gentle hand on the injured woman’s arm. “Help is coming. You hang tight.” She gave no response to his voice. In his mind, Wade went over the accident scene, trying to figure out why Chet Walker had driven off the road. There were no dead animals, the usual cause of single vehicle accidents in the summer when the roads were good.
Maybe Chet had suffered a heart attack or stroke.
Noticing a trail of blood leading from the woman’s forehead to her left eye, Wade used the clean flannel cloth to wipe it away. He wished he could do more. She was awfully pale, terribly still.
“They’ll be here soon.”
She remained as still as ever. He took note of her tanned left hand, and the white line where a wedding band might have been. Her nails were painted turquoise.
Wade glanced up at the sky, and guessed it was an hour past noon. What a turn the day had taken. So much for his peaceful break from mayhem. Then again, he shouldn’t complain. At least he hadn’t been in the oncoming lane when this truck went off the road.
“Who are you lady?” He spoke again hoping his voice would reassure her, even though she wasn’t conscious. “Seems like you were in the wrong place at the wrong time today.”
In the distance, he finally heard the sound he’d been waiting for. But even the sirens didn’t wake her up.
* * *
Purchase your copy here.
Twisted Cedar Mysteries Continues with
exposed
(Twisted Cedar Mysteries book 3)
Coming February 25, 2015: exposed (Book 3)
* * *
When a young boy goes missing shortly after his father is arrested for murdering the boy’s mother, the residents of Twisted Cedars are in a panic. They would be even more fearful if they knew a serial murderer has secretly moved back to town. Local Sheriff Wade MacKay, and true crime writer Dougal Lachlan, finally realize that unless they pool their resources and work together, no one in town is going to be safe.
Pre-order exposed (Twisted Cedar Mysteries book 3) now.
Excerpt from exposed:
chapter one
Charlotte Hammond had been legal guardian of her dead sister’s children, nine-year-old twins Chester and Cory Quinpool, for less than two months when she lost one.
It happened in September, the first week of the new school term. The twins had started fourth grade, time was marching on, they’d be turning ten this November.
No doubt the past year would be one they’d happily put behind them. Only that summer they’d found out their mentally disturbed mother—Charlotte’s sister Daisy—hadn’t deserted them as originally thought but instead had been killed and illegally buried near an old family cottage.
Less than a month after that shocker, their father, Kyle Quinpool, had been arrested on charges of fraud and criminally negligent homicide. Rather than put his children through the stress of a trial—or so he’d claimed—he’d chosen to plead guilty and serve his sentence.
So...it had been a tough summer.
And now Chester had gone missing somewhere between school and the babysitter’s house. The disappearance—which was going to turn into a parent and legal guardian’s worst nightmare—began with only a mildly concerning phone call from Nola Thompson, the woman who was supposed to be minding the twins for the hour-and-a-half between school and the closing of the public library where Charlotte worked.
“All the kids have been home for fifteen minutes,” Nola said without preamble. “Still no sign of Chester.”
He’d ridden his bike today, so if anything, he should have made it to the Thompson house first. “Does Cory know where he is?”
“Nope. Anyway, if he made plans to go to one of his friend’s houses, I’m the one who needs to be told. I have enough on my hands without worrying about him.” Nola sounded more annoyed than worried.
“He didn’t say anything about his plans, either,” Charlotte admitted, getting up from her desk and moving down the Mystery aisle so Zoey, shelving books just a few feet from Charlotte’s desk, wouldn’t hear.
Zoey made a perfectly fine librarian assistant, but since Charlotte had taken custody of the twins, the married mother of three made a point of second-guessing every parenting decision Charlotte made. Given her experience, Zoey probably felt entitled. But Charlotte had seen Zoey with her children, and her hardline approach was not one Charlotte wanted to emulate.
“He’s getting to be a real handful,” Nola continued, and Charlotte knew it was true.
Earlier that summer she’d sent the kids back to summer camp so they could avoid the local gossip about their parents. But now that school was in session, she couldn’t protect them anymore. Cory reacted to the teasing and bullying by being super sweet and accommodating—as if she had to apologize and atone for every one of her parents’ sins.
Chester, on the other hand, retaliated with his fists.
Complicating the situation, Charlotte suspected Nola’s oldest child, Bruce, was the worst bully of all, so he and Chester were always at odds.
“I’ll go looking for him,” Charlotte said. “Meanwhile if he does show up please call me right away.”
“Fine. But this is the last straw. I’m not going to be able to provide after school care for Chester anymore. Cory, yes. She’s an angel. But that brother of hers...”
“Got it.” If she sounded short, Charlotte didn’t care. It was past time she made alternate arrangements for the twins. Nola Thompson had never been intended to be more than a stop gap solution.
Charlotte grabbed her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk, aware of Zoey hovering nearby.
“I have to leave early. Do you mind locking up?” Charlotte hated to ask the favor, as she knew Zoey would take this as yet another sign of her parental incompetency.
“Sure. Is it Chester, again? If you ask me, that boy is going to turn out just like his father unless you take a firm hand with him.”
Charlotte didn’t answer, just made her way outside.
She didn’t believe Zoey had the answer for how to deal with Chester. But neither did she. Single and twenty-eight-years-old, Charlotte was learning how to parent on the fly.
If the twins had been younger, she might have been more equipped. She had no trouble connecting with the three and four-year-olds who attended her preschool reading circle every week.
But she had less experience with older children. Her boyfriend, true-crime writer Dougal Lachlan, was even more hopeless.
Not that she’d seen much of him lately. S
ince the twins had moved in, he’d become increasingly reclusive. Given the issues he had with his own father, she guessed he wasn’t keen on stepping into any sort of parental role himself.
Or maybe he was just getting tired of her.
Outside Charlotte slipped on her sunglasses. September was often one of the nicest weather months for coastal Oregon and today was a perfect example. Sunny, hot, almost no wind. Since she lived only a few blocks from the library she never drove to work, which meant she had to walk home to get her car. She hurried along Ocean Way pathway, barely smiling as she crossed paths with the mother of one of her favorite teenaged patrons.
When she reached the gracious Victorian home where she’d grown up, her first instinct was to check the garage for Chester’s bike. It wasn’t there. She went through the mudroom into the house.
“Chester? Are you home?” She ran through the entire house, checking every room, including the bedroom that had once been Daisy’s and was now the twins. She suspected Chester had agreed to share the room with his sister, because he knew she was afraid to be alone.
What would Cory do if they didn’t find her brother? If he—?
No. She couldn’t let herself think that way.
Next Charlotte checked the yard, and then the beach that stretched out on either side of her property. No luck in either place.
The school was the next logical place to go.
Her car, which she kept in the garage on the side of her generous ocean front lot, was a ’97 BMW convertible that had belonged to her father. The BMW hardly fit her librarian image. A lot of people were surprised she’d kept the vehicle after her parents’ death several years ago. But every time she settled into the low-slung seat and started the engine, Charlotte felt a secret thrill.
She was not one for adventures. She hated travel, was deathly afraid of public speaking and generally chose the safest and most practical course in any situation. Driving this car was her one indulgence.
Not counting her affair with Dougal, who’d moved back to Twisted Cedars from New York City just that spring. A bestselling author now, he’d grown up on the poor side of town, drawn to trouble and rebellion from an early age. He’d grown into a brooding, somewhat enigmatic man, with dark Irish good looks—though he was from Scottish stock on his father’s side—and a talent for investigating old crimes and getting to the heart of the matter.
She still couldn’t quite believe that he was not only attracted to her, but that he actually seemed to like her. A lot.
Or at least he had. Before she’d become an instant guardian to two nine-year-olds.
Charlotte backed out of the driveway, shifted gears, then hit the gas a little too hard, throwing up bits of gravel and causing her body to lurch forward, then abruptly back. She gripped the steering wheel like it was a throw line and she was a drowning swimmer, and pushed her speed beyond the town limit.
In less than thirty seconds she was at the park. The manicured green space led to a public beach on the other side of the sand dunes. Closer to the main road, screened off from the danger of traffic and ocean by shrubbery and a chain-link fence, was a playground. The children clambering on the monkey bars and swings were all much younger than Chester, but Charlotte approached one of the mothers sitting on a nearby bench, scrolling on her mobile phone.
“Hi! I’m looking for my nephew. He’s nine-years-old, sandy-colored hair and wearing a dark green T-shirt and jeans. Have you seen anyone like that?”
The woman, who was cute and looked twenty, if that, gave her a blank stare. Then she shook her head. “Sorry. I haven’t.”
“Right. Thanks anyway.” Charlotte dashed to the dunes, and the beach beyond. Though going near the ocean without adult supervision was strictly forbidden, at this point she would have been relieved to spot him on the expansive sandy shoreline.
Quickly she scanned the scattering of people out enjoying the beautiful day. No children close to Chester’s age here either.
Now she’d go to the school, and hope that at least one of the teachers was still around.
Charlotte’s pulse was a loud, steady tattoo in her ear drums as she got out of the car, cell phone in one hand, keys in the other. She found the main doors locked. Now what?
According to her watch, school had been out of session for fifty minutes now. She left the paved sidewalk and jogged across the freshly mown lawn that ran down the side of the one-story brick structure, hoping for an open window and someone nearby to hear her call out.
Within seconds she heard the faint sound of a woman speaking, her tone lecturing, though no words were distinguishable. Charlotte traced the sound to an open window, which she guessed—having spent a lot of time in the school the past two weeks—was the staff room.
“Hello!” She was tall, and had no trouble looking in the window. About eight women, and a couple men, were seated throughout a room furnished with two round tables, a sofa and several arm chairs. “I’m sorry to interrupt but my nephew Chester Quinpool didn’t come home from school today.”
As she spoke, she focused one by one on the teachers’ faces. Most were familiar to her. The school lacked funding for a proper library and so often made use of the public one which was, after all, only a ten minute walk away.
“Charlotte?” Olivia Young, the twins’ teacher, came to the window. “Weren’t Cory and Chester supposed to go to the Thompsons’ after school today?”
Olivia was in her early thirties, newly married, and if Charlotte wasn’t mistaken, newly pregnant, as well. They’d had several meetings already to discuss the twins and how to best help them transition into the new school year.
Charlotte liked certain things about Olivia. She had a calm, gentle manner about her, and seemed genuinely concerned about the twins and sensitive to the problems they might have as they adjusted to their new reality. But a few times she’d displayed flashes of salacious curiosity, obviously hoping Charlotte would fill in some of the gaps, provide the “inside story” on what had really happened to Daisy all those years ago.
Her curiosity was understandable, in a way. Daisy’s death, her secret burial, and Kyle’s cover-up was undeniably the most dramatic event that had taken place in Twisted Cedars for the past decade.
Actually, no. There had been another tragedy in Twisted Cedars this summer, one involving a young wife from Ashland and her baby daughter. But no one in town had known that family, whereas Daisy and Kyle were the sort of people everyone knew about.
“Yes,” Charlotte responded, in answer to Olivia’s question. “And Cory did go, but Chester did not. I was—" She let out a deep breath of disappointment. “Hoping maybe you’d kept him after class.”
Olivia’s green eyes widened. “Oh, in that case I would have called you. Immediately.”
Yes. She’d been afraid of that.
“Why don’t you come inside, Charlotte? I’ll go unlock the door.”
It was the principal speaking now, Gabrielle Hodges, an athletic, somewhat masculine looking woman in her late fifties. She’d been the fourth grade teacher back when Charlotte was a student.
“I have to keep looking for Chester.”
“We’ll do a full search here,” Gabrielle assured her, “Just to make sure he isn’t hiding anywhere.”
“Thank you.” Charlotte’s glanced back at Ashley. “Can you think of any incident that came up today, something involving Chester, that might help explain where he’s gone?”
Ashley’s brow furrowed as she rubbed the side of her face. “He seemed...troubled. But that’s not unusual.”
No, sadly, it was not.
“I don’t want to alarm you,” Gabrielle said. “He’s probably gone to a friend’s house or something. But I’m going to call 911.”
Adrenaline buzzed through Charlotte’s system and her stomach tightened like she’d been sucker punched. Alerting the authorities elevated the situation and possibilities that had seemed remote at first, possibilities like abduction or worse, could no longer be pushed to
the back of her mind.
For what felt like the hundredth time she glanced at her watch. Chester had now been missing for almost one hour.
“Yes. Call 911.”
“And I’ll get out my class list and phone all the parents,” Olivia offered.
“Thank you.” There was hardly anyone left in the staff room now, as teachers fanned out to search for the missing boy, and Gabrielle and Olivia went to make their calls.
Charlotte jogged back to the sidewalk, trying to decide what to do next.
Though it was a possibility that had to be crossed off the list, she didn’t think they’d find Chester hiding on school property. She supposed she could drive up and down the main streets of town in the hopes of spotting him or his bike.
Then inspiration struck. Maybe Chester had gone to see his grandfather, Jim Quinpool. For a few years—before they divorced and Muriel moved away—Kyle’s parents had lived with him and the twins. If Chester was upset, his grandfather was an obvious person to run to.
As she hurried back to her car, she called Jim. The phone rang and rang on the other end, but there was no answer. That didn’t mean Jim wasn’t home. He’d wanted custody of the twins after his son went to prison, and he’d been ticked off when the court appointed her, instead. Possibly he’d seen her name on call display and refused to answer out of spite.
So she’d just have to go flush him out. On the drive to Jim’s place—he now lived in an apartment above the realtor business he’d once run with Kyle—she tried Wade McKay, the Curry County Sheriff and a personal friend.
The 911 call would be routed through his office. But she wanted to speak to him personally.
Wade answered after the first ring.
“Charlotte. We just got the call from Gabrielle Hodges. Where are you?”
Buried (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 1) Page 23
