Her Mother’s Grave_Absolutely gripping crime fiction with unputdownable mystery and suspense

by Lisa Regan

  Gretchen made a note on her pad. “Do you remember anything else that Belinda said about her?”

  “I’m really sorry, but I don’t.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Noah drove them to Sophia Bowen’s home, recapping what they knew as they moved through the streets of Denton. “Belinda starts working part-time after school at the courthouse sometime in early 1982. By the fall, she is pregnant, but the only person who notices is her roommate. She disappears for three months and returns no longer pregnant, but with a nice locket for her trouble. We have no idea where she went, who she stayed with, or what happened to her baby. As far as we know from the people we’ve talked to, she never told anyone what happened. She came home and resumed her normal life. A few months after that, she starts having an affair with a teacher, whose sons help to cover it up. Eventually she dumps the teacher, and three or four months after that, someone smashes her head in with a tire iron, or something similar, and buries her in the woods. Six months later, the boss’s mother starts using her identity here in Denton.”

  “Belinda kept a lot of secrets,” Gretchen said. “Any one of them could have gotten her killed.”

  “Or none of them,” Josie muttered.

  She felt Noah’s eyes on her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean my mother could be impulsive, crazy even. It’s possible that none of the things we’ve learned about the real Belinda Rose did anything to set her off. Maybe she just looked at my mother the wrong way that particular day, and she decided to smash her head in.”

  As the campus of Denton University passed by outside her window, Josie became aware of the heavy, awkward silence in the car. She turned to see Noah glancing at her out of the corner of his eye and then craned her neck toward the backseat where Gretchen was studying her. With a sigh, she said, “You guys said you needed to know more about her.”

  “According to Angie and Mrs. Ortiz, they were friends,” Noah said.

  Josie laughed drily. “My mother didn’t have friends. She was only interested in what people could do for her.”

  “Well obviously she had a relationship with Belinda long before she stole her identity,” Gretchen said. “So, what would Belinda have been able to do for her?”

  Josie didn’t have time to answer as Noah pulled up in front of a large gable-style house with a faux-stone patterned exterior, complete with curved windows bracketed by board and batten shutters and hemmed in by wrought-iron window boxes. They were empty, but Josie could imagine them filled with colorful flowers come springtime. The front door opened before they were even out of their car, and a woman stepped out onto the stone steps. She was short and rotund, dressed tastefully in a long red skirt and white blouse with a red scarf draped around her neck. Thin blond hair swept away from her face, pinned in a bun at the back of her head.

  “Mrs. Bowen?” Noah said, extending a hand for her to shake as they climbed the steps.

  Introductions were made, and Mrs. Bowen ushered them inside her home. It was large and tastefully decorated in muted pastel colors. Potted plants dominated the foyer and the large sitting room, which was bright and airy. Two light-gray, button-tufted Chesterfield sofas sandwiched a circular, glass-topped coffee table with a large vase at its center, fresh flowers reaching out from it.

  The three officers sat on one sofa, and Mrs. Bowen sat across from them, perched on the edge of the opposite sofa, her ankles crossed primly, hands clasped in her lap. “Can I offer you some coffee or tea?” she asked.

  “Thank you, but we’re fine,” Gretchen said, notebook and pen ready in her hands.

  Sophia’s gaze dropped to her lap momentarily. “I’m so sorry to hear what happened to Belinda. I would never have suspected. Everyone thought she ran off with a man.”

  “Where did you hear that from?” Josie asked.

  Sophia shrugged. “Oh, I’m not sure now. I think Mrs. Lane came around and told someone at the courthouse. We were all concerned. She stopped coming to work. Malcolm and I had brought home our first son by then, so I had stopped working, but I heard all the office news when Malcolm came home each night. So, what can I help you with all these years later?”

  Gretchen said, “We’re just trying to get a sense of what Belinda’s life was like in the weeks leading up to her death. The people she spent the most time with, that sort of thing. Alona Ortiz mentioned that you and Belinda were good friends.”

  “Oh yes. We were quite close. We used to take smoking breaks together and talk about what had happened on Dynasty.”

  “Mrs. Ortiz mentioned that Belinda was very flirtatious with your husband,” Noah said. “Was that a problem between you two?”

  Sophia laughed, the sound like wind chimes tinkling, and waved a hand in the air. “Oh that. Yes, well, Belinda flirted with everyone. That’s just how she was. She liked attention, just like all of us young girls did. It is true that at first, I was concerned with how much attention Malcolm paid to her. I was a young bride and quite insecure. What I didn’t understand at the time was how difficult things were for girls like Belinda.”

  “Girls like Belinda?” Josie echoed.

  Sophia smiled. “Foster children. No family or support system. She had a foster mother of course, but no father figure in her life at all. My Malcolm was just trying to provide guidance to her, give a strong male figure to look up to. He used to say it was the Christian thing to do.”

  Josie wondered what else Malcolm had tried to provide for Belinda Rose, but she kept silent. Gretchen said, “So you became friends with Belinda.”

  Sophia nodded.

  “Did she confide in you?” Gretchen continued.

  “Well, sure.”

  Josie asked, “Did she talk to you about her baby?”

  Sophia’s measured smile froze on her face. “Her what?”

  “Her baby,” Noah said.

  Sophia’s eyelids fluttered as she struggled to keep a polite smile on her face. “Belinda didn’t have a baby.”

  Josie said, “Her autopsy showed she gave birth before she died.”

  “No,” Sophia said. “That can’t be. Belinda was never pregnant.”

  “It would have been in 1982,” Josie told her. “She would have given birth sometime in late 1982.”

  Sophia placed a manicured hand on her chest. “My God. I didn’t know. I knew she went missing that winter. She had been fighting a lot with her foster mom, I remember that much. But I certainly don’t remember her being pregnant.”

  “She came back to work at the courthouse afterward. Did you ever ask her where she had been?”

  “Yes, of course I did. We all did. She didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t push. You know, she probably just stayed with a friend, but Belinda loved to generate drama.”

  “Yes,” Josie said. “We’ve heard that.”

  “Speaking of friends,” Gretchen said. “Who else did Belinda hang around with?”

  “Oh, I don’t know who her friends were; well, besides the girl she roomed with at the care home. I’m sure she had friends at school, but I only ever saw her at the courthouse, so I really couldn’t say.”

  Josie said, “We understand she hung around with one of the girls from the cleaning service, as did you.”

  Sophia did her wind-chime laugh again. “Oh, Handsy’s helpers?”

  Noah said, “You mean Handy Helpers.”

  “No, we called them Handsy’s helpers because the owner was a little… um… handsy, if you know what I mean.”

  “You mean he sexually harassed his workers?” Gretchen asked pointedly.

  Her smile still in place, Sophia humphed. “I suppose that’s what it would be called today. He had a lot of young girls working for him, and word was that he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. That’s why the turnover was so big. For such little pay, who would want to deal with their boss groping them all the time?”

  Josie swallowed the biting replies that came to mind, as well as the lecture about why your pay shouldn’t matter—a
woman should never be groped or harassed, in her workplace or anywhere else. It seemed completely lost on Sophia that she had been a teenage secretary to the judge before they were married. Instead of pointing this out, Josie asked, “Were you friendly with any of the young women from the cleaning service?”

  “Oh, well, not really. Like I said, there was a big turnover so none of them were around for very long. Plus they really only came right toward the end of the day when the rest of us were getting ready to leave.”

  “Mrs. Ortiz said you and Belinda were quite close with one of the young ladies,” Noah said. “Thin, with long, dark hair and blue eyes. Does that ring a bell?”

  Josie added, “Her name perhaps began with an L? Linda, Lilly? Something like that? Laura, perhaps?”

  Sophia’s brow furrowed. Her gaze flitted up to the ceiling. “Hmmm,” she said. “That does sound familiar. I mean, I wouldn’t say I was ‘quite close’ with any of them, but there were probably one or two who were there longer than the rest that I talked with. I’m ashamed to say that I used to smoke, and those cleaning girls would sometimes join Belinda and me outside for a cigarette.”

  Gretchen asked, “Do you remember a specific woman whose name began with an L?”

  “I don’t doubt that there was a young woman, a Linda or a Lilly—that sounds a bit familiar—but I don’t specifically remember one. I’m so sorry.”

  Another dead end. How was it possible that Josie’s mother had been so forgettable to so many people that none of them even remembered her name? Had it been by design? Or was someone lying? Were multiple people lying? If so, why? Josie couldn’t see any reason for Mrs. Ortiz to lie. Damon Todd also had no reason to lie, especially after divulging his father’s scandalous secret. He, his brother, and their father all had alibis for the night that Belinda disappeared. Angie Dobson had been more forthcoming than anyone they’d talked with. She had given them their first real clue as to Josie’s mother’s real identity—or at least the identity she’d been using before she stole Belinda’s. Josie couldn’t think of any reason for Sophia Bowen to lie, but she was certain she wasn’t being entirely truthful.

  “When did you stop working at the courthouse?” Josie asked her.

  “Oh, it would have been the summer of 1983 when we brought our eldest son home. Then a couple of years later, our other son was born, and I never looked back. They’re grown now, of course. Andrew is a lawyer, you know, right here in Denton.”

  It was then that Josie realized why the name Bowen was so familiar to her. Andrew Bowen had been to the police station many times to defend his clients. Josie had never spoken directly with him, but she had passed by him many times over the years. “Does your son practice criminal law?” Josie asked.

  Sophia’s smile widened. “Yes, that’s right. He does a little family law and other civil matters, but his primary area of practice is criminal defense. My other son is a doctor. He lives in San Francisco.”

  There were a few more minutes of conversation between Sophia and Gretchen that Josie didn’t bother to pay attention to. She was on her feet, wandering around the room, aware that Sophia’s eyes kept darting toward her, although she couldn’t imagine why she was making Sophia nervous. They thanked her for her time, asked her to call them if she remembered anything else, and started toward the front door.

  It was then that Josie noticed the framed photographs hanging on the wall toward the back of the foyer. There were several of two handsome young men, probably only a few years older than Josie, one brown-haired and the other blond—high school graduations, college graduations, candid shots of them playing various sports, and even a photo of one of them on top of a mountain peak. Josie recognized Andrew Bowen. It was an impressive display of the accomplishments of Sophia Bowen’s seemingly perfect offspring, but that wasn’t what made Josie’s throat seize up. Her finger pointed to the large portrait that presided over all the other photos—Sophia Bowen as a much younger woman seated in a rigid pose next to her husband, Judge Malcolm Bowen.

  Noah stepped up beside her. “What is it, Boss?”

  Josie’s mouth opened, but no words would come.

  “Boss?” Noah repeated.

  She squeezed out, “Him.”

  Sophia walked over to them. “That was my Malcolm,” she said lovingly. “Of course, that was taken ages ago.”

  Gretchen sidled up to Josie on her other side, looking from Josie to the portrait and back. “You knew Judge Bowen?” she asked.

  “What’s that?” Sophia asked, an edge of uncertainty creeping into her tone.

  Finally, Josie’s voice came to her. “I didn’t know him, but he knew my mother.”

  “Oh, did he? Who was your mother?” Sophia asked.

  “Boss,” Noah said, a note of concern in his voice.

  Josie ignored Sophia and turned to Noah. “There was a custody hearing. No, not a hearing, a private mediation. Just me, my mother, my grandmother, their attorneys, and Judge Bowen. I was nine or ten. My grandmother wanted custody. She lost. Mostly because I lied about all the things my mother did to me. I was too afraid to tell the truth.”

  Now Josie wondered if telling the truth would have made a difference. Her grandmother had sued her mother under the name Belinda Rose, and Judge Bowen had known the real Belinda Rose who had worked at the courthouse in 1982. Josie was now willing to bet that he was the father of Belinda’s baby. He would have known in 1997 when Josie’s mother appeared before him that she wasn’t Belinda Rose. He might have even remembered her from her days on the Handy Helpers’ staff. Or had he simply believed there was more than one woman by that name in the county?

  Josie tried hard to think back to that day, examining her memories for any small clue that the judge and her mother had been in league together. If Josie was right, and it was Judge Bowen who had impregnated Belinda Rose, it was possible that her mother had known about the affair and used it to blackmail the judge. There were a number of judges in the county. Why had her case fallen on his docket, and for a private mediation rather than a hearing?

  Again Sophia asked, “Who was your mother?”

  But now the judge was dead. His records and the docket would only reflect that a woman named Belinda Rose was awarded custody of her own daughter. Josie wondered if he had been the judge to sign off on the custody order when her mother finally left once and for all. The only person who knew that her mother wasn’t who she said she was had passed away, leaving Josie with nothing but a ghost and more questions than answers.

  “I don’t know,” Josie answered. “I have no idea who she was.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  “She’s lying,” Josie said.

  Back at the station house, she, Noah, and Gretchen had gotten takeout and planted themselves in the conference room, their notes and materials from the Belinda Rose case spread out over the table.

  “Boss,” Noah said, “she stopped working at the courthouse long before your grandmother tried to get custody of you. I doubt she even knew about any of it.”

  “Unless Malcolm came home and told her,” Gretchen said. “It seems like he liked to come home and share the office gossip with her. You don’t think it would have occurred to him to come home and say, ‘Hey, remember that girl who used to work at the courthouse who disappeared? Well, she showed up today at the courthouse only she wasn’t the same girl.’”

  “Or,” Noah said, “there’s more than one Belinda Rose in the state. We don’t even know that Malcolm Bowen knew Josie’s mother from when she worked for the cleaning service. Do men like that really notice the help?”

  “He noticed Belinda Rose,” Josie pointed out. “My money’s on him as the baby’s father.”

  Gretchen nodded her agreement. “I was thinking that too.”

  Noah made a noise of frustration. “That still doesn’t mean he knew your mother in the early 1980s, or remembered her.”

  “My mother had something on him,” Josie said with certainty. “I know she did. How ballsy was it to
go to the courthouse you used to clean using the identity of a girl you used to work with there?”

  “We’re talking fifteen years later, Boss,” Noah said.

  Josie was going to argue her point, but her cell phone vibrated, dancing noisily across the glass-topped table. Seeing Misty’s name flash across the screen, Josie snatched it up and answered, listened for a moment, then said, “I’ll do it. Give me a half hour, okay?”

  She hung up and, as she stood, she noticed Noah and Gretchen staring at her. “Misty needs me,” she explained. “Both her and the baby are sick. Mrs. Quinn took them to the doctor, but she has to work. Misty needs me to pick up a prescription for the baby.”

  They continued to stare, and Josie realized that it was out of character for her to walk away from work in the middle of an active case, even though as chief, she didn’t need to be there. She was supposed to be getting better at delegating. “I’ll be back in an hour,” she said. “In the meantime, draw up some warrants. I want a search for any female foster children in the care of the state between 1962 and 1982 whose first name is Linda, Lilly, or Laura.”

  Noah groaned. “Boss, with all due respect, that’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  Gretchen was already taking notes. Josie raised a brow at Noah. “Do you have any better ideas?”

  “Is there anyone else your mother knew who might be able to shed some light on who she was or what happened to her?” Noah asked.

  “No,” Josie said. “Everyone who knew her would have known her as Belinda Rose. That doesn’t help me. Most of the people she knew were heavily involved in drugs in one way or another. I don’t know their names. I only know them by the nicknames I gave them when I was a child. Most of them are probably dead now.”

  Gretchen asked, “Did she have any boyfriends? After your father passed?”

  Again, Dexter McMann rose up in her mind. “There was a man,” she admitted. “A boyfriend. But I don’t think he will give us much to work with. He would only have known her as Belinda Rose, same as me. I don’t know what happened to him.”