by Krista Davis
I read through article after article. Abby had been babysitting while Kurt and Hannah were at work. She had put Peyton down for her nap and left the bedroom. When she returned to the room, Peyton was gone. Abby had searched the house and the backyard. When she couldn’t find Peyton, she called the police, Hannah, and Kurt, in that order.
Peyton had been wearing a pink-and-white-striped shirt and pink shorts with bows on the sides. And then I read the one sentence that told me which girl she was.
Chapter 33
Dear Sophie,
My sister says the word spice means hot. I think it means something that isn’t an herb. One of us is buying lunch depending on your answer. Hope it’s not me!
Smarter Sister in the Nutmeg State, Connecticut!
Dear Smarter Sister,
You are correct. Herbs are from the leaves of plants. Spices come from the other parts of plants, like berries, bark, and roots. The word does not imply anything about the heat a spice imparts. Enjoy your lunch!
Sophie
Peyton has a distinctive port-wine stain birthmark on the back of her neck in the shape of a heart.
Schuyler was Peyton. I had mistakenly thought the heart on her neck was a tattoo. I would have felt sorry for either of them, but somehow it seemed wrenchingly sad that Schuyler had lost Mia, the only mother she had known, and now was likely to lose the man who had been a father to her. It boggled my mind to imagine what she would go through. How could a person cope with the discovery that she wasn’t who she thought she was? Traumatic didn’t begin to cover that kind of experience.
The shock and suffering to Schuyler aside, it also meant Mia had stolen her. Another fact that would come as a blow to Schuyler.
There was no other possibility. If her father, Pierce, didn’t meet Schuyler and Mia until Schuyler was five, something Wolf could undoubtedly confirm rather easily, then it could only have been Mia who abducted her.
But Mia had been murdered.
I thought back to Tilly’s description of Friday at her house. She said the girls were around and were trying out messy buns. That must have been when Abby saw Peyton’s birthmark on Schuyler’s neck. If she babysat for Peyton regularly, she would have known exactly what it looked like. Abby would have been in shock when she realized that the baby stolen from her thirteen years ago was miraculously standing before her.
Mia must have been there and seen Abby’s reaction. She knew she had finally been caught.
And Abby had been sufficiently fearful to have written Peyton’s name in code on the recipes. Then she went to dinner with Mars. I understood better why she might have done that. She probably found some degree of safety in his company and might have needed time to process what she should do next.
But how had both Mia and Abby ended up dead? If Mia went to Abby’s house intending to murder or confront her, then Abby would be dead, unless she fought back and overcame Mia’s attack on her. One of them should still be alive. And how did Charlene fit into the equation?
I tried to focus on the recipes, but my mind always wandered back to Mia. Tilly had called her a helicopter mom. It all made so much sense. Mia wasn’t an overprotective mother. She was making sure that no one recognized her daughter as the missing girl from Milwaukee. All those years of homeschooling had a purpose, and it wasn’t education.
Had Mia managed to enter Abby’s home? Was she hiding there waiting for Abby’s return?
I walked through the sunroom to the den. “Did Abby have a key to unlock her door when she came home after your dinner together?”
He looked up at me and his forehead crinkled. “Um, no. She fumbled in her purse and finally used a key that she keeps under a rock in case she locks herself out.”
Mia could have used that key to gain entry to the house, or she could have stolen the key from Abby’s purse while Abby was working at Tilly’s. “Thanks.”
“What’s going on?”
I explained the birthmark on Peyton’s neck. “Mia kidnapped Peyton. I’m sure of it.”
“Then why is she dead?”
“There’s the rub. I don’t know.”
“Clearly there was a fourth person present,” said Mars. “One who killed two women and hid their bodies. He probably thought Charlene was dead and went into a panic when he couldn’t find her. That fourth person was the only one who walked away unscathed.”
“It had to be Fred. He knew where to find lime in the middle of the night.”
“Why did he kill Mia and Abby?” asked Mars.
I collapsed on the cushy armchair. “I don’t even know if he was acquainted with them. Although Abby and Charlene were friends. She probably mentioned Abby to him. Did you notice that Wesley didn’t mention anything about Briley last night?”
“I wondered about that. Either he feels secure about the fact that Briley is his daughter, or he doesn’t know about Peyton yet. It feels kind of strange to know something that will change the lives of people in Wisconsin whom we have never met. I wonder if the police have informed them that there’s a possibility Peyton has been located.”
Changing the subject I asked, “What if someone followed Mia?”
“Her husband and Tilly have alibis. That leaves Benton, Wesley—whom I believe we can eliminate—and Jericho.”
“And Fred,” I added.
“And Fred, who probably didn’t even know two of the three women.”
Frustrated, I went back to work on the cookbook. In the early afternoon, I made a quick white chili with chicken breasts and great northern beans, as well as Tilly’s recipe for iron skillet corn bread.
I poured half the chili into a bowl to take to Francie and Eunice for their dinner and added half the corn bread. It was early for dinner, but they could warm them whenever they felt like eating.
Mars was sniffing the air when he emerged from the den. “I’m getting hungry.”
I latched Daisy’s halter on her. “I’m taking some over to Francie. I won’t be long.”
“Isn’t that what you said yesterday when you found Abby’s body and were gone for hours?”
I didn’t think I had said that, but I understood his point. I threw him a look and left through the backyard.
When I arrived at Francie’s house, she had company. Benton opened the door.
“Thank you. Looks like you’re having a party over here.”
It was a strange assembly of people. Francie and Eunice, of course. Sam the fisherman. Benton the spy. Briley and Schuyler. They all went silent and gazed at me.
I was pleased to see Schuyler looking bright-eyed. Maybe it was good for her to get out and be with people instead of sitting at home and thinking about Mia.
On the table in front of them were two laptop computers and one desktop computer.
I tried to joke about it. “Briley and Schuyler, don’t tell me you’re doing schoolwork on a Sunday afternoon.”
Eunice said quickly, “It’s due soon. We’re going to make sure that they both get As in that class.”
If Benton hadn’t been there, I might have bought her explanation. But I couldn’t think of a single reason that Benton would be involved in their study of Old Town many years ago.
“Everything was so different when I was a young bride,” said Francie with a smile.
I could feel the tension. They were all waiting for me to leave. Had Schuyler suspected all along that she wasn’t Mia’s child? Could she remember a previous life or had she been too young? Were they researching missing children?
“Well,” I said uneasily, “enjoy your dinner.”
Daisy and I left immediately, but when I was outside, I could hear the chatter and giggles. I turned around and saw Sam Bambam wiping his face like my visit had been a close call.
They were definitely up to something.
It was too early to eat dinner. I strolled toward Eunice’s house and spied Wolf’s car there. Instead of walking along the street, Daisy and I cut through the alley. It really wasn’t very far to Natasha’s backyar
d from the alley.
There was no yellow crime scene tape on the gate, so I opened it and looked inside.
Wolf spotted us right away. He was standing in the middle of the patio. “You can’t come in yet.”
“No problem. I’ll be glad when they renovate back here and it looks fresh and different. The memory is a little gruesome. I do have a question for you, though.”
“What’s that?”
“Did the autopsies show how Mia and Abby died?”
“They were both strangled.”
“Then the same person probably killed both of them?”
“I don’t know that one could draw that conclusion. Plus, in both cases a ligature was used. But not the same ligature.”
“Did you find the material that the killer used?”
“No. Whoever cleaned up the crime scene did a fairly thorough job.”
“But you know this because the pattern on the necks don’t match?” I guessed.
“Exactly.”
“Was either one of them beaten like Charlene?” I asked, hoping he would keep giving me answers.
“Mia took a punch to the face.”
“Are you as confused about this as I am?” I asked.
Wolf smiled. “I hope not.”
That was reassuring. Maybe he was onto something.
I thanked him and closed the gate. Daisy tugged me toward the end of the alley, where a squirrel raced up a tree.
We weren’t far from Fred’s house. I wasn’t sure why I kept coming back to him. But as we walked, I realized that he fit Eunice’s description of a spy. He was somewhat plain, as was his home. He was quiet and didn’t draw attention to himself. I knew nothing of his travel habits, but I thought it was sort of funny that such an ordinary fellow fit the description of a spy.
As I approached his house, Georgia Beckworth, a local florist, waved at me. I had used her services many times for events. I stopped for a moment to chat with her.
“I can’t believe what’s going on in Old Town,” she whispered. “Two women dead? I trust Wolf, but I hope you’re looking into this case, too. It’s just horrible. Mia was a customer of ours. I’m just horrified by what happened to her. Why would anyone do such a thing?”
“Wolf’s working hard to figure that out.”
“And poor Charlene! Fred is just sick about her condition. I hope she pulls through.”
“I saw the beautiful roses he sent her. I imagine they came from your store?”
“They did. He was darling. So precise.” She held up her forefinger. “They must be pink and there must be thirteen. I told him an even dozen was traditional, but he said, no, no, no. That’s for funerals. It must be an uneven number, so she’ll get well. Isn’t that adorable?”
“I’ve never heard that.”
“It’s a Russian custom. We send flowers for a few Russians who live around here. They always insist on an uneven number of flowers unless it’s for a funeral.”
“Russian? Is Fred Russian? I don’t recall that he has an accent.”
“His English is perfect. I think maybe his parents came from Russia. We’re all superstitious, aren’t we? We say we’re not, but we won’t walk under a ladder.” Georgia giggled.
“Do you know Fred well?”
“We don’t socialize with him if that’s what you mean. He’s a good neighbor, though. Very quiet and polite.”
I smiled. “That’s not what Alma Rittenhauer thinks.”
“Isn’t she a hoot? It drives her crazy that he’s not more chatty. But some people aren’t. I think he’s just an introvert.”
I took a chance. “Did you happen to notice if he was home on Friday night a week ago?”
“Why, Sophie Winston. I don’t spy on my neighbors like Alma does.” She pursed her lips. “But I did hear Charlene leave. I gather from the neighborhood scuttlebutt that she was through with Fred.” Georgia wrinkled her nose. “He’s a nice-enough fellow but a little boring. I can’t say I blame her. He hardly ever leaves his house!”
“You heard her leave? Was she yelling?”
“You’re just like Wolf. He asked the same thing. I wouldn’t have called it yelling so much as Fred calling her name from the front door. I looked out to see her run by. And he followed at a slower pace a few minutes later. But he’s not the one who beat her.”
Chapter 34
Dear Natasha,
I love cilantro. I’m so glad you use it in your recipes. Unfortunately, my husband and his family act as if I’m insane for using cilantro. They claim it’s a genetic thing. Oh, sure. Everyone has a genetic thing these days. Are they making this up?
Fed-Up Wife in Bat Cave, North Carolina
Dear Fed-Up Wife,
Normally, I would agree with you. But their claim is true. To some people, cilantro tastes like soap, and it appears to be a hereditary condition. Sorry! Offer the cilantro on the side.
Natasha
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“Sophie, he’s besotted with her! I know jealousy is a powerful emotion, but I would bet my ears that he never harmed a hair on Charlene’s head.”
“Do you think he knew Mia?”
“Honey, I don’t know. But I don’t see how he can know many people since he almost never leaves his house.”
It was interesting getting two differing views on Fred from his neighbors. But it was even more interesting that Fred had left his house minutes after Charlene broke up with him. At least, that was what everyone suspected she had done.
I thanked Georgia and walked along the sidewalk, right by the entrance to Fred’s house. It was as quiet and boring as Fred himself, until I spotted a cop I knew sitting in a car. He gave me a funny look when I walked by. And he was dressed in plain clothes, not a uniform. I thought better of rapping on the window and asking what was up. I just kept walking.
Our path home took us by Bernie’s house. A few members of the press still hung out. I guessed Sundays weren’t hot news days. We crossed the street and entered our house through the kitchen door.
“Mars?” I called as I took off Daisy’s halter. I joined him in the den. “Want to hear something weird?”
“Always.”
I told him about the odd conglomeration of people at Francie’s house.
He shrugged it off. “Maybe they all like one another.”
“Benton had to identify Abby’s body last night or this morning. I would like to think if you had to identify my body that you would be too broken up about my death to be partying.”
“I might open a bottle of champagne. Would that be okay?”
“Actually, I think that would be lovely. Sort of a celebratory send-off.”
I washed my hands at the kitchen sink. A car outside honked its horn, and I saw a white cat run across the street, narrowly avoiding death.
I ran out through the front door. The poor cat seemed traumatized. I feared that if I went to the cat, it would run back into traffic. I moved toward it at a glacial pace. When I was about six feet away, I sat down.
It watched me with intelligent blue eyes. I would have sworn it was the same cat I met at Fred’s house. I had hoped she might inch toward me and come close enough for me to catch her, but she did the opposite. She ran directly at me.
I scooped her up and held her tightly as I walked back to the house. When the foyer door was safely closed, I released her. This wasn’t a stray who had been out in the world fending for herself. Her long fur was immaculate. It might even have been brushed. She was well fed, too. This was someone’s cat who managed to sneak away.
She sniffed around, eventually following me into the kitchen, where I offered her some of Mochie’s food. She ate very daintily.
Mochie was most curious. I thought he might hiss at her, but he was a true gentleman, interested yet polite to his new friend.
She wasn’t wearing a collar.
I picked up the phone and called Wolf. “Do you have a phone number for Fred? I think his cat is here.”
&n
bsp; There was a long moment of silence. “Did you just walk by his house?”
“Yes.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Walking Daisy.”
I could hear him making a tsking sound. “Sophie, stay away from there. We’re trying to get a search warrant, but there’s some kind of hang-up.”
“So I was right! He killed Mia and Abby!”
“I don’t know that.”
My mind was racing. “What if he’s the one who released Abby’s cat? Wolf, I hate to tell you this, but I think Fred has fled! He just did the same thing with his own cat. You can’t be on the run with a cat carrier.”
“He’s the one who flung the collar that landed in the holly tree?” Wolf speculated. “Could be.”
It wasn’t the best choice to simply let a cat run free, but he had bothered to consider the fate of the cats and had let them go, which indicated some consideration for their welfare.
“Is it just me or is it weird that a person who would bother to release a cat would batter his girlfriend and murder two women?”
“I’m not aware of any studies correlating affection for cats with a propensity not to commit murder,” said Wolf drily.
“Very funny. Good luck getting your warrant.”
We said goodbye and hung up. But two seconds later, it dawned on me that if Fred were really fleeing town, he might stop at the hospital to see Charlene one last time.
I called Wolf back, but his phone rolled over to voice mail. I left a message.
“Mars! I’m going to the hospital. I think Fred might be there.”
“What?”
“I don’t have time to explain. I’ll see you later.”
Mars grabbed the car keys off the hook in the kitchen. “I’ll drive. You can explain on the way.”
