by Dale Mayer
“We’re allowed to do audio. We keep the town up-to-date with all the news. You never know what tidbits will end up being important.”
“Doesn’t mean I give you my permission to use anything I say or do either,” Doreen said. “Do you give your permission?”
“Of course. I am always on TV and in the news.” She tossed her hair back, making Doreen laugh.
“And, if you had anything to do with Hannah’s attack, believe me, I’ll make sure your name is included in my statement to the media and to my lawyer.”
The reporter shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She tried to step back, but Robert was in the way. She turned and shoved him. “Robert, I said we are leaving.”
“Strategic retreat,” Doreen taunted. “That’s all right. I know who you are now.”
The woman shot her a look, but it held fear more than anything else.
Doreen had to wonder just what the hell was going on here. As soon as they were out of sight, she called Mugs back and headed inside again. She sat down to continue her research when her phone rang.
“I don’t want you going after Hannah Theroux,” Mack said without a preamble.
“What about the stupid reporter? Can I go after her?”
“Was she at your place again?” he asked in curiosity. “I already warned the press to stay away.”
“She was at the creek just a minute ago. Where we found the hand.”
“Interesting,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “I wonder who told her something was there.”
“You can bet it wasn’t me. But there was something about her. I accused her of being a Theroux. She turned very white.”
“Now that you mention it,” Mack said slowly, “I think she is part of the Theroux family. She married and changed her name, but I think she might be Hannah’s niece.”
“I don’t know how old Hannah was. I was thinking early forties, maybe mid-forties.”
“I think she’s forty-six or forty-sevenish now.”
“That would make sense. The reporter isn’t older than twenty-five, I don’t think. She got pretty upset when I suggested she do something about Hannah attacking me.” She heard Mack’s long-drawn-out sigh on the other end.
“Did you have to go there?”
“She insulted me. She was nothing but rude. I have taken just about enough abuse from that family,” she said curtly. “If you want to hear the audio of the conversation we had, you can come over and listen to it. I got it on record.” And she hung up. Inside she smiled. Then Goliath hopped up on the table and lay on her keyboard.
“No. Get off the keyboard. What is it about cats and keyboards?” She’d never had a problem before, but, all of a sudden, Goliath realized the keyboard held greater interest than him in her eyes. She picked him up and cuddled him. “Honest, I love you. But I need access to my keyboard.”
His huge guttural engine kicked in, and he rubbed against her. She looked down at the laptop to see he’d switch the pages. She didn’t even know how he managed to do that.
She leaned forward to read the page he’d brought her to. And wouldn’t you know it? Something to do with the Theroux family. Doreen shifted Goliath in her arms so she could study the page. Apparently the family had been here for several hundred years. Their original homesteaders had water rights to Mission Creek—blah, blah, blah, blah. Hannah Theroux was one of two daughters. She’d gone through a rough period when her best friend had disappeared.
Doreen continued to read, finding tiny bits of information threaded through the interviews, but nothing really concrete was there. Until she got to the last line. Hannah Theroux was the last person to see Betty Miles alive.
Doreen sat back. “Well. Now I really want to talk to her.”
She searched where Hannah currently lived and frowned. She didn’t appear to have an address Doreen could find in the Mission. She searched for other family members and came up with two more, including a sister.
She looked up the sister’s house number and street name, plus got a phone number. As soon as she dialed, a woman answered. “Yes, I was looking for Hannah, please.”
“Why?” came the curt tone on the other end.
Doreen’s eyebrows rose. “I wanted to speak to her.”
“Well, it’s not going to happen, so give it up.” And she hung up on Doreen.
Very interesting. She really should have gotten out of the vehicle and talked to Hannah at the grocery store. Although the woman most likely would have driven away. Doreen should have followed her while she had the chance. If Hannah was the last one to see Betty Miles, then it made sense that Hannah didn’t want it all dredged back up again. She probably went through hell back then.
Doreen frowned again. There had to be more to this. She kept digging. While the internet was mighty huge, it was slim on viable information.
Then she went back to the PDFs she’d sent from the library. She printed off all the articles, wasting several dollars’ worth of paper and ink, but, at the moment, it seemed that important. With a stack of paper in hand, she grabbed her coffee cup and headed into the living room to study the information. She brought a highlighter and her notepad and pen with her.
She found several mentions of Hannah. But, as Doreen came to recognize, the mention of Hannah added sensationalism to the article. Anything that brought involvement of the prominent founding family would be news.
The girls had gone out in the evening and had come back in high spirits and drunk. Doreen nodded. “In other words, normal teenage girls.” As Doreen continued to read, according to Hannah, this behavior on Betty’s part never stopped. She got wilder and wilder. Although Hannah got drunk just as often as Betty did. But—toward the end—they weren’t getting drunk together.
“So, at what point were you no longer best friends?” Doreen asked quietly to the empty room. “And why?”
She jotted down more notes, realizing she needed the case files from Mack. Or at least to have him double-check some of this information. Seemed like there was a three-month period where Hannah and Betty weren’t hanging out as much.
If anybody knew what Betty was up to, it would be Hannah. But it was unlikely Hannah would discuss her friend’s disappearance.
Particularly not with Doreen …
Chapter 23
When the doorbell rang two hours later, Doreen didn’t give any thought as to who it might be. She got up and opened the door to find Mack, his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at her.
She raised her eyebrows. “Is this an official visit? It’s unlike you to wait for an invitation to come in,” she said in a dry tone.
He brushed past her and went into the kitchen, his gaze going to the coffeepot. He smiled and poured himself a cup.
“Well, that’s more like the Mack I’m used to,” she said.
He didn’t say anything until he finished pouring his cup of coffee, then turned and leaned against the counter, where he studied her. “What are you doing recording conversations?” he asked in a very quiet tone.
Her jaw dropped. “You don’t care about somebody hitting me, but you care that I recorded a conversation?” She turned to her small table and sat down, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well, you sure have your priorities straight, don’t you?”
“I said I would talk to her.”
Doreen nodded. “And did you?”
“I can’t find her,” he admitted. “She’s not answering her door, and neither is the family where she is staying.”
“And, of course, you contacted the reporter to find out?”
“No, not yet.” He motioned at her phone. “Play the recording.”
She swiped the screen, found the audio and video, and then hit Play. He listened quietly as the reporter’s voice filled the phone. She watched his face as he frowned and tilted his head to the side, as if making sense of it. When the voices finally died away, she said, “See?”
He shrugged. “It’s not like she admitted to killing anybo
dy,” he said in a half-joking tone.
Only Doreen wasn’t ready to be appeased. “No, she might not have. But I am not taking this kind of torment from her family. I didn’t do anything, and neither did I deserve to get smacked.”
He nodded. “You’re right. But I would like you to leave the family alone right now.”
“And why is that?”
He didn’t say anything.
She stared at his face for a long moment, figuring out why he would ask her to do that. And then she got it. She bolted upright. “You found something that ties into the case, didn’t you?”
He glared at her.
She gave him a flat smile. “See? I am not quite so stupid as you would like me to be.”
“You’re not stupid at all,” he said in disgust. “You really need to toss your ex-husband’s words out the window. You know that, right? You’re still hanging on to his attitude toward you.”
“I tossed him out of my life already. Isn’t that enough?”
Mack shook his head. “No, because he still governs you so much. For example, your thinking, your mind-set, and your lack of self-esteem.”
She frowned at him. But his wording was a little too close for comfort. She turned the conversation around again. “Did Hannah have anything to do with Betty’s murder?”
He shook his head. “You know I can’t talk about an ongoing investigation.”
“But can you tell me if Hannah lied about not knowing anything more about Betty’s activities the last three months of her life? They were best friends, spending every night at each other’s houses, and then suddenly Hannah doesn’t know anything about what happened to Betty for three months?” Doreen scoffed. “That’s not very likely.”
“Friends fall out all the time,” he snapped. “Betty got into trouble a lot.”
“They both got into trouble a lot.”
He nodded. “Okay, so they both got into trouble. That doesn’t mean Hannah had anything to do with Betty’s disappearance.”
“I don’t think she did. But I think she knows a hell of a lot more than she is saying. I think the family is protecting her. Or they’re also protecting the person who Hannah is protecting.” Even Doreen got confused at her wording. She raised both hands in frustration. “You know what I mean.”
He looked at her. “No one in their right mind would have a clue what you just said.”
She glared at him. “The only reason Hannah didn’t tell the truth back then was because she was either protecting somebody or she was afraid of the person who was involved.” She waited a minute, but Mack didn’t say anything. “Right?”
“That makes sense, yes. But we can’t go off on any other assumptions. We need to focus on facts.”
“So the first thing you do is talk to Hannah. And, while you’re talking to her, you can tell her to lay off attacking me. And I want a damn apology.” She walked around the kitchen, not quite sure why it mattered so much to her. But the assault had been unexpected and unpleasant, to say the least. She had tried so hard to be good, no matter where she was, and to find somebody hated her that much was distressing. Especially someone who didn’t even know her.
“Look. I know she upset you. But I’m sure you can understand how you really upset her. The fact that you were dredging all this back up again …”
She spun on her heels. “Did you really just say that, Detective Mack Moreau of the RCMP Serious Crimes Division, about a cold case file on a murder? I didn’t dredge up anything. I stumbled across things. And I would think Betty’s family would like to know the truth. Hell, for that matter, I would think Hannah would like the truth about what happened to her best friend.
“So Hannah should go outside and smack the creek. Because it’s finally giving up its bounty. The secrets never stay buried forever. Eventually Mother Earth gives up the truth. We sometimes wait a long time, and, in this case, that’s thirty years,” she snapped. “But that doesn’t mean I am responsible because I happen to be the one who found the ivory box. You should know that.”
“I do know that. But I am trying to take care of all these threads without setting off all the alarms. If Hannah did have something to do with this, I didn’t want her to go to ground,” he said in exasperation.
“But you already said you couldn’t find her. So she’s already gone to ground. And that’s not my fault either.”
Mack paused, gave her a cautious look. “We need her accessible. And nobody is telling me where she is.”
“I know somebody who could help us.”
He held up a hand. “Whoa, there’s no us here.”
She snorted. “Of course there is. This is the only way you’ll get this solved.”
He stared at her suspiciously. “Who are you going to contact?”
She shook her head. “Oh, no you don’t. I am not saying anything. You won’t share with me, so I am not sharing with you.” And then she realized she might have overstepped the mark ever-so-slightly with Detective Moreau.
His gaze narrowed, and he took a step toward her.
She was determined not to be bowed by his bulk and size and temper. “If I learn anything, I’ll tell you. And that’s more than you do for me,” she said in a disgruntled tone.
He glared at her. “Remember that part about the open police investigation?”
“Remember that part about this being a cold case that nobody has been able to solve?”
“And why do you care so much?” he asked, stepping back slightly, tilting his head to examine her face.
“Because I hate to think of Betty, lying in pieces all these years, mostly forgotten by everyone.” She shrugged. “You should feel personally affronted yourself. Somebody buried a lower leg and foot in your mother’s garden, for heaven’s sake.”
He turned sideways and stared out the window. “Believe me. I am.”
“I know Millicent had a gardener, caretaker, or handyman at the time …”
“Not so much at that time. But over the years, yes.”
“And, of course, you checked with the other neighbors?”
He glanced at her.
She gave him a cheerful, encouraging smile. “To know if the same gardener buried more body parts in other people’s gardens.”
“I am doing a cross-check right now. But I don’t know how many other people he might have worked with.”
“That’s another question we need to get to the bottom of.”
“He’s dead.”
She stared at him. “Well, darn,” she said in outrage. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. “Yes. What I am not sure of is that this murder of Betty was a one-person job.”
She thought about that. “It certainly could be a one-person job to cut up and bury a body part. Doesn’t mean it was though. Although no one would want to cart the bigger pieces too far alone.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“So you need to find the landscaper’s family and friends.”
“I am on it,” he said in that tone that said, Back off.
She tapped her foot impatiently. “Okay, you track that down. I’ll see if I can find any history on the landscaper.” She waited a moment. “In order to do that, I need his name.”
He just gave her a beautiful smile. “Not sure I can help you there.”
She groaned. “You know I will find it. You could allow me to be useful and to get to the bottom of this that much faster by just telling me his name. And, of course, so I don’t have to ask your mother.”
Instantly his amusement fell away. “You will not ask my mother.”
She glared at him. And then remembered the journal photos. “Fine. I won’t. But then you have to help me. If you don’t, you can’t expect me to share my information with you.”
He slammed down his coffee cup. “Active investigation.” He stormed out the front door. “Follow my orders or else …”
As soon as he was gone, she smiled. “It wasn’t active, but it is now, and this time we’re going to
close it.” And she sat down, transferred the photos from her phone to her laptop, and proceeded to go through Millicent’s journal pages.
About the fortieth page in, she saw the landscaper’s name. “Brian Lansdown.”
She grinned and searched for Brian. The internet was a little sketchy on his data. That was all right; she had the next best thing. She picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Nan, you up for a visit?”
“Absolutely,” Nan said. “I’ll put on the teakettle.” Nan hesitated but then added, “I do have dinner here. Someone brought me a tuna casserole. Would you like to share that with me?”
Doreen grinned. “Would I ever.”
Nan laughed. “Good. I’ll see you in a few minutes then.” She hung up the phone.
Doreen took a few moments to write down questions she needed to ask Nan. Brian Lansdown was at the top of the list.
Chapter 24
When she walked out of the house ten minutes later, Doreen took the back route to Nan’s again. Not only did Doreen want to make sure the reporter wasn’t hanging around the creek any longer but Doreen couldn’t stop looking in the water to see if something new was to be found.
The animals walked with her, the route now memorized by all of them. It was such a joy to know that Nan was here for Doreen in more ways than she’d expected. She’d reconnected with her grandmother at a stage in Doreen’s life where she’d lost her stability and foundation. And Nan had become so much more.
At the creek, Doreen stopped and studied the water flowing in the small circular eddy where they’d found the arm. She had checked the silt screen once, but it had nothing of value. The current had picked up and was flowing steadily down past the spot she’d found the box. It really saddened her to think other pieces had not been found. That poor girl. Then Doreen stopped to think about the foot they’d found and what that meant. The worst part was there were more body parts to find, even if just from Betty’s body.
“Come on, Mugs. Come on, Goliath.” She turned toward Thaddeus, stopped behind her. He didn’t want to be carried today—he wanted to walk. He really liked this path. Then so did Mugs.
