Kindred Spirits

by D J Monroe

  “Here it is,” he said pulling out both hers and Butch Kender’s file. Opening Kathy’s first, he began reading.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Nate saw that Creed was reading back through everything he’d written down so far. Then he turned the page and began making more notes. “I’m making a list of people we should try and track down. If nothing else, just to see if we can spot any inconsistencies in their stories,” Creed explained.

  “Nothing wrong with double checking,” Nate said absently. When he reached the end of Kathy’s interview, he closed the folder and sat there thinking for a moment.

  “Anything in there we didn’t already know?” Creed asked.

  Nate shook his head. “Not really. She pointed the finger at Butch as the most likely suspect in Tammy’s disappearance citing that Tammy was in the process of breaking up with him. But that’s about it.”

  “Did they ask why she was trying to break up with him?” Creed asked.

  “No,” Nate said, shaking his head.

  “Butch had an alibi, didn’t he,” Creed said.

  “Well,” Nate opened the folder with Butch’s name on it and scanned the text. “Said he was home alone all evening.”

  “Anyone corroborate that?”

  Nate read further. “His parents were at the banquet. I think they were big in the Chamber of Commerce. But, yes, his sister said he was there all evening.”

  “Didn’t we read somewhere that his car was seen on the street a few houses down from the Petersen’s house that night?” Creed asked, frowning. He looked back through his notes to make sure he was right. When he found it, he stopped and pointed. “Yes, it’s right here.”

  Nate frowned, struggling to piece it all together. “I wonder why that was never brought up in this interview?”

  Creed shook his head, looking as confused as Nate felt. Turning to a yet another fresh page on his legal pad, he seemed to come to a decision. “I’m going to make a list of all the suspects and their alibis. Maybe we’ll see some kind of pattern or discrepancy or something.:

  “You mean another discrepancy,” Nate said. “Good idea.”

  Nate returned the last folder to the box and pulled out several more. As he did, a sheet of paper that was stuck between two folders popped out as well and floated toward the floor between them.

  “I’ve got it,” Creed said, trying to grab the sheet of paper before it hit the floor.

  Nate reached for it at the same time.

  His fingers closed on Creed’s and he felt smooth skin of Creed’s cheek against his ear. Desire shot through him, pooling in the pit of his stomach almost making him dizzy. He and Creed both sat up at the same time, both men pulling away from each other. Nate was speechless. He’d never experienced anything like that with another human being.

  Creed looked as if he’d felt the same thing and it took him a moment to compose himself. “Sorry,” he said, offering the sheet of paper to Nate.

  “It’s okay,” Nate said, still stunned at what had just happened. No matter how hard he fought it, he wanted Creed Autry and eventually he was going to have to do something about it.

  Finally, Nate looked down at the sheet of paper in his hand. He turned it right side up and looked at it, struggling to focus while his emotions churned.

  Creed cleared his throat and returned to his notes.

  “Wait, here’s another interview with Butch,” Nate finally said.

  Creed looked at him, pen poised over the paper.

  “This one was a few days later.” Now that his attention was refocused, he began reading through the short report. “They confronted him with what they’d been told about his car being seen on that street,” Nate said.

  “What did he say?”

  Nate caught his lower lip in his front teeth, chewing gently. “He denied it at first. Said they must have been mistaken. But when the officer pressed him on it, he finally admitted that he was on the street that night.”

  “Why did he lie?”

  “Evidently, Mildred Skinner lives right down the street from the Petersen’s. Butch was there at her house,” Nate said, opening one of the folders he had just taken out of the box.

  “Studying?”

  “That’s what he says.”

  “You don’t believe it?” Creed asked.

  “Nope,” Nate held the folder open so Creed could see the rest of the contents.

  Twenty-Three: Crazy Kenny

  Creed peered at the short newspaper article prominently displayed in the center of the folder. It was an engagement announcement with a picture of a couple looking longingly into each other’s eyes. “Mildred and Butch.”

  “Yep, and it was taken a month after Tammy disappeared.”

  “So, he was seeing Mildred at the same time he was dating Tammy,” Creed guessed. “What if she found out, confronted him with it?”

  “She was trying to break up with him anyway because of her feelings for Kathy. I can’t imagine she would have made a scene,” Nate said. “This actually kind of lets Butch off the hook.”

  Creed thought a moment, a little frown line appearing between his eyes. In his mind, he had already pegged Butch to be the cause of Tammy’s disappearance but this changed everything.

  “Don’t try to put it together yet,” Nate said. “Let’s see what some of the other reports tell us.”

  “You’re right.”

  “We still have a lot of folders to go through. Let’s just get everything written down.”

  “Good idea,” Creed said, reaching for a folder with the name Charles Palmer scribbled across the tab.

  “It feels weird seeing my dad’s name on one of these folders,” Nate murmured, pulling out the one marked Everett Palmer.

  “I’ll bet.”

  Both men spent the next few minutes reading through those reports and then exchanged them, as if they’d done an investigation like this a hundred times.

  “So, your dad was working at the Dairy Rite until about nine and then hung out there afterwards with his friends.” Creed said, adding notes. “There are plenty of people who spoke up for him.”

  “And Charles has a friend, Bill Adams, who says they worked on cars all evening,” Nate said. “That gives both of them solid alibis.”

  Creed sighed deeply. “So that takes care of our main suspects.”

  Nate replaced the folders and pulled out several more. The top one had Dr. Petersen’s name on it. Creed picked out the next one, the interview of the doctor’s wife. Again, they read through the reports, then exchanged them and read through them separately again.

  “So, everyone in town saw the Petersen’s at the banquet that night. And the mayor gave the doctor an award of some kind,” Creed said.

  “And his wife says he was there with her all evening.”

  “That let’s Dr. Petersen off the hook.”

  “And his wife,” Nate said.

  With a sigh, Nate reached into the box only to find it empty. He replaced all the folders, pushed that box aside and reached for the second box. It only had a few folders in it. One simply marked ‘Notes’. The other had the name Kenneth Roberts printed in neat, block letters on the tab.

  “Crazy Kenny,” Creed said.

  “Look how thick this folder is,” Nate said, lifting it carefully out of the box.

  Creed laughed. “That Kenny is a talker.”

  Nate opened the folder and pulled out the first report. He began to read, glanced up at Creed and then read silently for a few more minutes.

  Creed waited patiently, content to watch Nate concentrate on reading. He thought briefly about what had happened earlier when they’d both reached for the piece of paper at the same time. Electric. That was the only way he could describe it. Yes, he was attracted to Nate in every sense of the word but that didn’t account for the surge of desire that had shaken him to his core when they touched.

  “Listen to this,” Nate said, pulling Creed out of his thoughts. “When the officer knocked on Roberts’ door
, Kenneth Roberts himself answered the door and affirmed that he was the resident. He appeared nervous, his gaze constantly shifting past the officer’s shoulder out onto the street. When the officer explained the reason for his visit, Kenneth asked if they could talk outside.”

  Creed sat very still letting the sound of Nate’s voice fill his head.

  “The officer agreed and they stepped out onto the porch. Mr. Roberts continued to act nervous, wringing his hands, shifting from foot to foot, never meeting the officer’s eyes. Mr. Roberts stated that he did not want to upset his mother. She was already upset enough at all of the commotion at the Petersen’s house. Mr. Roberts told the officer that he knew who had hurt Tammy and had taken her away.”

  Creed and Nate looked at each other.

  “So they had a witness?”

  “Evidently,” Creed said, eager for Nate to continue.

  Nate flipped the page and read, “Mr. Roberts said that it was dark but he thought he recognized the car of Bill Adams parked in front of the Petersen’s house. He states that he saw a man carrying a large bundle, placing it in the trunk of said vehicle and then speeding away.”

  That report ended and Nate reached for the second one in the large stack.

  “Crazy Kenny,” Creed said, thoughts going back over the years to what he’d heard about the man. He shook his head. Nothing even remotely dangerous came to mind. “Kenny’s just one of those odd people.”

  “Well, here’s a development,” Nate said. “Apparently, the same girls that were wary of Mr. Petersen said Kenny tried to lure them into his house with candy.”

  “He’s always done that. He just wants people to like him, to be his friend,” Creed said, fiercely defending the other man. “We all knew about him as kids.”

  “Is that why he took pictures of them, too?” Nate asked, pushing the folder in Creed’s direction.

  Again, Creed found himself squinting at grainy, fading black and white police photos with curling edges. His breath caught in his throat. What he saw were dozens and dozens of pictures that looked like they were tacked to a wall. He picked one up and looked closer.

  “Pictures of Tammy,” Creed whispered.

  “Looks like some of Kathy, too,” Nate said gently.

  Creed picked up several more, not truly believing what he was seeing. “This can’t be right.”

  “Evidently, the police thought it was. Here’s his arrest warrant,” Nate said, holding up an official looking document for Creed to see.

  “So they did arrest someone in the case,” Creed said. “Why wasn’t it in the papers?”

  “I don’t know,” Nate said, turning the warrant face down and looking at the next report

  “So, Kenny had opportunity, maybe means. Although, if he hurt someone it had to be an accident.”

  “Motive?” Nate asked, looking up at Creed over the top of the sheet of paper. “Maybe he made advances toward Tammy. She rejected him and he lost his temper.”

  “Again, if that was what happened, it had to be an accident,” Creed said, sticking to his original assumption.

  “The DA shot it down?”

  “What?”

  “Mrs. Roberts, Kenneth’s mother, stated that he was with her that whole evening. Never left the house as he’s not allowed to go outside after dark,” Nate read aloud.

  “What did Kenny say about the pictures?” Creed asked.

  “Said he just liked to take pictures of pretty girls,” Nate said, after a few moments of searching.

  “And there was nothing of this in the paper,” Creed said, almost to himself. “Maybe the police suppressed the information. I’m sure they worked closely with the newspaper at that point.”

  “I think I read an article somewhere in there that they had a strong suspect but it never said anything about this who or what happened,” Nate told him.

  “Maybe we should try to talk to Kenny, too,” Creed said, making a note on his growing list of people to interview.

  “Wouldn’t hurt. Do you think he would even remember any of this?”

  “I’m pretty sure he would remember,” Creed shrugged. “What do you say we wrap this up and get something to eat. I’m starving.”

  “Good idea. I think we’ve found out just about everything we can here anyway. From now on it’ll be good, old fashioned investigative journalism.”

  Creed smiled, happy that Nate was getting more excited about the case. They carefully replaced everything in the box, made sure the lids were secured.

  “I guess we just leave these here,” Nate said, looking around the room.

  “Looks like it,” Creed said. Leaving the boxes there made him feel as if they’d left the job unfinished somehow but it appeared they had no choice.

  With that, they gathered up their belongings and left the room. Nate snapped off the light behind them and they climbed the stairs back to the main office. Officer Nelson wished them a good day, with a wave and a smile and Creed and Nate headed outside.

  “I didn’t realize how long we’d been in there,” Nate said, looking at his watch.

  Creed inhaled deeply, welcoming the clean, fresh air. He felt as if they’d been down in that basement for days instead of hours. He tapped the legal pad against his leg and looked around at the nearly empty street.

  “What do you say we just go back to the house and throw a couple of steaks on the grill,” Nate said, unlocking the car and sliding in behind the wheel. “I do believe I spotted a grill on the back patio.”

  “We have salad fixings so that sounds like a plan to me. I’m exhausted,” Creed told him as he sat down in the passenger seat.

  “Me, too,” Nate said and then grinned at Creed. “But we did get plenty of information today. That ought to make this a little bit easier.”

  “Agreed,” Creed said, smiling.

  “It at least gives us some direction, so we know who to talk to.”

  Nate’s easy smile warmed Creed’s heart-and a couple of other areas of his body as well. He watched Nate steer the car out onto the street and he licked his lips thinking of the kiss they’d shared. He wanted to taste it again, wanted to make sure the emotions it stirred up were the same. Mostly, he wanted to talk about it with Nate just to see if he felt the same thing.

  Struggling, Creed worked up his courage. What is the worst that could happen? Nate couldn’t deny it happened. He could brush it off like it meant nothing. An accidental kiss? Could that even happen. Creed didn’t think so.

  In the end, he kept quiet all the way back to the Palmer house.

  “I’ve got this,” Nate said, grabbing two thick steaks and a beer out of the refrigerator.

  Creed reached in behind him, grabbed a beer for himself and began pulling out vegetables. “And I’ve got this.”

  They touched bottles with a little clink and Nate disappeared out the back door.

  The moment Nate was outside, Creed felt the energy filling up the kitchen, almost as if chiding him for being such a coward.

  “I know. I know,” Creed muttered, talking to the spirit that he now assumed was Tammy. “I should say something. I should at least bring it up. Tell him how I feel.”

  He cut into a big green pepper, chopping it into pieces with gusto. A red pepper followed and then the cucumber.

  “What if it meant nothing to him?” Creed asked. Glancing out the back door he watched Nate, turning the steaks expertly. He leaned casually against a nearby post and then took a long drink out of the beer bottle. Creed’s whole body was on fire even at the sight of Nate doing something so ordinary, so mundane.

  “What if it meant everything?” Something, someone whispered in Creed’s ear.

  He shook his head. Either Tammy was trying to tell him something or he was going crazy.

  Twenty-Four: Dr. Petersen

  They ate on the old picnic table out back, watching the sun sink low on the horizon. Dinner was quiet. Nate appeared to be lost in his own thoughts and Creed was just plain hungry. Afterwards, they worked togeth
er cleaning up and Creed was impressed at how well they worked together.

  Currently, they’d retired to the front porch with a fresh bottle of beer. Nate was slouched in one of the rocking chairs, long legs stretched out in front of him, eyes closed. Creed, on the other hand was too excited about getting the interviews set up to relax. The least he could do was track down phone numbers so Nate could start making calls the next day.

  And the spirit was insistent this evening, urging him to take some kind of action. He peered into the growing darkness trying to see an orb or something to indicate its presence. Once or twice he thought he saw a light flickering across the grass in the yard but he couldn’t be sure.

  “How do you feel about talking to Dr. Petersen tonight?” Creed asked, glancing up from the laptop balanced on his knees.

  “You found him that quickly?” Nate asked, opening one eye.

  “Yep. The man had a stellar career after leaving Lost Creek,” Creed told him.

  “You don’t think it’s too late?” Nate asked.

  “They’re in California. It’s only-“ Creed checked his watch. “Five o’clock there.”

  “I guess if you can get in touch with him that would be a start,” Nate said, remaining in his relaxed position.

  “Let me see what I can do,” Creed said and reached for his cell.

  Creed listened for the phone to ring on the other end of the line, tapped the screen to put it on speaker and handed his cell to Nate.

  Nate sat up, cleared his throat and took the phone just about the time a man’s voice came on the line.

  “Dr. Petersen,” he said in a rich, baritone voice.

  “Hello, Dr. Petersen. My name is Nate Palmer. I’m calling from Lost Creek, South Carolina,” Nate said.

  Dr. Petersen was quiet for a moment and Creed held his breath afraid the doctor wouldn’t even give them the chance to ask him anything. Finally, he said, “May I ask why you’re calling?”

  “You are the Dr. Eli Petersen who lived here in Lost Creek for a while, correct?” Nate asked.

  “I am. Started my career there.”

  “I’m a journalist and I’ve stumbled across an old mystery. I’d like to write a book about it,” Nate began.