Frank looked at his papers again. “I guess she won’t be much help with this, then, will she?”
“Afraid not. You’re going to have to do some digging. Follow Walker’s route the day of the accident. See if you can find out where he picked up his passenger.”
* * *
At lunch time, Wade left the office for his meeting with Duane Carter. Slipping on his sunglasses, he made his way along Driftwood Lane, squinting in the blazing sunlight and avoiding the swarms of tourists on the sidewalks.
Summer wasn’t his favorite time of the year, anymore. When he was a kid he’d loved the time off school. As a teenager, he’d appreciated the influx of bikinied girls on the beach.
But when you were in law enforcement, the tourists who came every July and August seemed to bring more trouble than they were worth. While the merchants of Twisted Cedars appreciated the extra vacation dollars, Wade and his staff had to deal with the noise disturbances, petty theft, and instances of drunk and disorderly conduct. Then there were the weekend warriors who got lost in the mountains, or stranded on their boats.
Since the Buttermilk Café was only a block from the Sheriff’s Office, Wade reached his destination quickly. The cream and yellow clapboard bungalow, on the south end of Driftwood Lane, catered to the trendy and tourist crowds.
Pictures of cows—cute artistic renditions—hung on the walls, and the menu featured items like pancakes and scones made from buttermilk. There was even buttermilk available on the beverage list. Wade had tried it once. Tasted like vomit.
But he tried to spread his business around town, and he knew Duane Carter liked this place. So here he was.
Duane was in his early thirties, too, but as far as interests went, Wade and his deputy couldn’t be more different. Wade liked hiking in the wilderness, fishing and beer. While Duane was a fitness freak. He and his wife Lisa were always training for a triathlon or marathon, or some such event. And Wade was always getting hit up to be a sponsor.
On the plus side for him, Duane’s mind was as fast and efficient as his body. He got work done well. And quickly.
Wade paused at the entrance long enough to see Duane was already seated at a table. He’d ordered them both lattes, Wade was secretly glad to see. He loved lattes, but on principle—because real men should drink their coffee black, or so his father had taught him—never ordered them himself.
“Hey Sheriff. Think I’ll have the kale and goat cheese omelet. You?”
“The turkey clubhouse.” He didn’t need to think. It was the only item on the menu he liked.
“So—” Wade got down to business as soon as their order was placed. “—where do we stand on the Hammond-Quinpool case?”
“I’ve got the new gal working on the Hammond bank records which were handed over by the sister. She’s comparing the dates to the travel invoices we subpoenaed from Quinpool Realty.”
“Good.” What had first given Kyle away was when his new wife realized that he was lying about his business trips and secretly traveling to Sacramento—which was where Daisy’s ATM withdrawals were always made.
If they were able to match the dates of the withdrawals with the dates Kyle had travelled to Sacramento, that would be a pretty convincing piece of circumstantial evidence.
“We also got the autopsy results on Daisy Hammond,” Duane continued. “Cause of death was the wound to her head.”
Wade nodded. The case would have gotten a lot more complicated had Daisy still been alive when she was buried.
“The Medical Examiner confirmed she had been moved after her death, which is consistent with our theory about her dying at the Quinpool home.”
“Okay. No surprises there.” But none of it looked good for Kyle. “Any results back from the lab on those hair fibers we found on the tarp?”
“That’s going to be another week. Same with the blood sample we took from the wall at the Quinpool house.”
“Any ideas on what we should do while we’re waiting for those results?”
“An eyewitness account would be nice. I’d like to interview Kyle’s parents.”
“Agreed. I’d start with the mother, Muriel. She and Jim separated last year. She moved to Portland after that, to live with her sister.”
“Okay. I’ll see if I can set up something for tomorrow.”
Duane was more than capable of handling the interview on his own. But he didn’t know the Quinpools the way Wade did. Screw all the work waiting for him at the office. This was more important. “I’ll come with you.”
Duane’s eyebrows went up. “Yeah?”
“If Muriel saw Kyle push Daisy—and is willing to testify as much—we’ll have a slam dunk case.”
“You think she’ll rat out her own son?”
“My guess is the guilt is getting to her. Why else would she leave her son and grandchildren and a marriage of several decades?”
Wade didn’t feel good about putting away his old high school friend. But Daisy deserved justice. And that was his job.
* * *
After lunch Wade tried calling Charlotte at the library, but was told she was on leave. He had better luck with her cell phone number.
“Hi Wade, what’s up?” She sounded breathless.
“You volunteer at the Heartland Women’s Shelter, right?” He could hear sounds of children in the background. And surf. She must be at the beach with Chester and Cory. Until this moment he’d forgotten she’d been approved to take custody of Kyle and Daisy’s children. That must be why she was taking time off work.
“Yes. I bring them books every two weeks, and I run their book club, too.”
“That’s what I thought. Thing is, Charlotte, that woman I told you about—the one who was in the truck accident on Friday—is going to be checking in at Heartland today.”
“So she’s okay? You said she was still unconscious when they sent her to the hospital.”
“She was in a coma for over a day. Good news is she came out of it. Bad news is she can’t remember anything. The staff at the hospital have been calling her Birdie, rather than Jane Doe.”
“Poor woman.”
“Yeah. And it gets more complicated. Birdie had bruises that pre-date the accident. And a tan line on her ring finger suggests she recently removed a ring.”
“So you think she’s been going through marital difficulties, and her husband may have harmed her?”
“It’s a theory. And if we’re right, it’s possible our truck driver intervened. Or, at the very least, offered her a ride to get out of a tricky situation. Until her memory returns, and possibly even after that, the safest place for Birdie is at the shelter.”
“Definitely. But what would you like me to do?”
“I was wondering if you could check on her next time you’re there. I’m going to give Terri a call, too. If Birdie’s memory begins to return, I’d like to know. We still have no idea why that truck crashed.”
His call to Terri Morrison, who ran Heartland, wouldn’t be as pleasant as this one. Terri had a perpetual grudge against law enforcement for not doing enough to protect women against the men who abused them.
In some respects Wade sympathized with Terri’s stance. But he had to work within the constraints of the law and his budget, something Terri never seemed to understand.
“It’s about time I changed out the books at the shelter,” Charlotte said. “I could go tonight, provided Jamie will babysit.”
“That would be great.” A beep signaled another incoming call. “I should go. Thanks again, Charlotte.”
Wade took a deep breath to clear his mind and focus on whatever this new call was going to bring. “Sheriff MacKay here.”
“It’s Tom.”
Dr. Tom Olsen was the deputy state medical examiner. Wade had asked him to call personally when he’d finished Chet Walker’s autopsy.
“I’ve just finished my examination,” Tom continued. “I’m afraid my findings aren’t going to make your job any easier. As far as I could see t
here was no medical reason for Chet Walker to lose control of his truck. No indication of his having had a seizure or suffered a stroke or heart attack.”
“Is that right.” Only then did Wade realize how much he’d been hoping for a different sort of report. The death was tragic, no matter what the cause, but if Chet Walker had driven off the road because of a serious heart attack, it might have been easier on his wife to know that.
Plus, Wade wouldn’t have had to worry about what had caused the accident.
It wasn’t unheard of to have an inconclusive report on a traffic fatality. But Birdie’s presence in the truck, her amnesia and her pre-accident bruising, complicated matters entirely.
There were just so many possible scenarios. The driver could have abducted Birdie and she caused the accident when she tried to escape. Or Birdie may have been running from someone when the truck driver picked her up and offered to help. Of course the simplest explanation was that Birdie had simply been hitching a ride because she had no money.
It all boiled down to this: he couldn’t be sure Birdie would be safe when she got out of the hospital if he didn’t know why she’d been riding in that truck with Walker and what had caused that accident.
chapter nine
jamie reviewed the printout with satisfaction. Everything balanced, each number was reasonable, the whole statement made perfect sense. There were no problems at the accounting firm that couldn’t be solved with the patient application of logic—and she loved that.
It was so good to be back at Howard & Mason, in her old office, dealing with familiar clients. She was grateful the partners—Colin Howard and Ben Mason—held no resentment for the way she’d abruptly resigned two weeks ago. It was as if they understood she’d been manipulated by Kyle, without her needing to tell them so.
Her mother had marveled that her sentimental, romantic daughter had wanted to study business in college. But there were two sides to Jamie, and one them was organized, methodical and rational. That was probably why she hadn’t minded growing up living in a trailer, while Dougal had hated it, chafing under the close quarters, too ashamed to ever invite over his friends.
But as long as you pared your possessions to the essential and kept everything where it belonged, living in a trailer was very doable. Jamie had also thrived with the close proximity to her mother, whom she’d adored. Katie wasn’t the type to criticize her kids or subject them to lots of rules. Katie had given them only love and approval.
“The world is tough enough. Home should be a happy place.”
That had been Katie’s philosophy.
And she’d been right. The world was tough. Especially when you were poor. That was a fact. From an early age Jamie had resolved that she would get an education and find a steady, secure job. Of course, she’d also dreamed that she’d meet a handsome, charming man and have her happily ever after, too.
At least one of her dreams had worked out.
Her cell phone pinged, signaling a text message. It was from Charlotte Hammond.
ANY CHANCE YOU COULD BABYSIT CHESTER AND CORY TONIGHT SO I CAN VOLUNTEER AT HEARTLAND?
Jamie answered quickly. YES.
She missed the kids almost as much as she missed Kyle, or, more accurately, the man she’d thought Kyle was. Because clearly she hadn’t known the real man when she’d said her wedding vows just six weeks ago.
The firm’s receptionist, Bonny Barnes, appeared at her open office door. “Jamie, your brother’s here. Want me to show him in?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Bonny was a straight-forward woman, who dressed sensibly and kept her hair trimmed short. She was married to the local postmaster and the two of them doted on their golden retriever, Molly.
When she’d heard about Jamie’s predicament, she'd shaken her head.
“You should think about a puppy. There are so many needing a home at the shelter right now.”
Everyone had their own idea on what would make her happy these days. Jamie supposed she was about to hear Dougal’s.
“Hey sis.”
She couldn’t help but be impressed with the sight her brother made, standing by her open door, scowling.
Dougal would have made a terrific screen actor. He was terrifically handsome, especially when he was brooding, which was often. And there was a darkness, and a knowingness in his eyes that could be chillingly captivating. If he had gone in for acting, though, he would be the villain, not the hero.
“This is a surprise.”
“I’ve come to take you to lunch.”
“It’s almost two o’clock. I’ve already eaten.”
“Coffee then.”
Dougal looked rough—more so than usual. He hadn’t shaved for several days and his eyes looked sunken and darkly rimmed.
“You are so lucky the disheveled look is in vogue these days.”
“Like I care either way.” He brushed his fingers through hair every bit as thick, curly, and dark as her own. “Are you coming, or not?”
She sighed and set aside her working papers. “I suppose I can spare fifteen minutes.”
They walked out to Driftwood Lane, crossed the highway and ended up at the Visitor Information Center. As usual the parking lot was filled with vehicles sporting license plates from all over the country and Canada as well.
Dougal led the way beyond the parking lot along the sandy path that led to the beach.
“Last time you met me here you tried to talk me out of marrying Kyle.”
Dougal said nothing, just sat on the same large chunk of weathered cedar as last time and looked out to the ocean.
“Obviously, I should have listened to you.”
There were no “I told you so’s” coming from her brother, at least.
“You think he did it? Killed Daisy and then buried her body?”
Dougal turned to look at her. “Who else?”
She sighed, then picked up a stick to draw lines in the sand. She didn’t really have any doubt Kyle was behind his ex-wife’s death. Not since she’d discovered he’d been traveling to Sacramento once a month since Daisy’s so-called disappearance, using her old bank card to withdraw money from the joint account Daisy had shared with her sister.
“Do you think they’ll arrest him?”
“I imagine they’re fast-tracking the lab work and their interviews. Who can say if they’ll get enough evidence for a conviction, though.” He shrugged. “I didn’t come to talk about Kyle, actually. Something happened when I was in New York you should know about.”
“You weren’t gone long. You must have packed quickly.” She was glad her brother was leaving the big city and moving home to Twisted Cedars. She only wished he’d done it before their mother died.
“I was motivated to get out of there fast. I had this old man living a few doors down from me—called himself Monty Monroe. He seemed pretty chatty whenever I saw him in the halls or out on the street, but I didn’t think much about it. A lot of old people like to talk when they get the chance.”
True. But Jamie didn’t think her brother was the type lonely old people would tend to gravitate toward. But there was more to this, obviously.
“Before I left for Oregon the first time, he offered to cat-sit for me. But on this last trip I found out the guy had an ulterior motive. He wasn’t being neighborly. He was stalking me.”
She looked at him, alarmed. “Was he a crazy fan or something?”
“I wish.” Dougal looked her squarely in the eyes. “He was our father.”
Her heart thudded. Was it true? “But his name. You said it was Monty Monroe.”
“I’m pretty sure he assumed the new identity after he broke parole and moved to New York.”
“Did you recognize him?” She hadn’t been born when her father left, and Dougal had been little, but their mother had photographs. Not many, but a few.
“No. He’d grown a beard and he was old, Jamie, really old. Plus, his body was shriveled with disease. He claimed to be arthritic and I don�
��t think he was faking it. He could hardly walk.”
“So how did you figure out he was our father?”
“When I went back to the city to pick up Borden, he’d moved out. Borden was okay, he’d left her with lots of food and water, but he also left behind a note that made it clear who he really was.”
“Where is he now?” Her heart raced at the possibility that she might actually be able to see him, the father who had been entirely absent for all of her life. Was he really as bad as everyone said? But there had to be at least a kernel of goodness. After all, their mother had married him.
Just as she had married Kyle.
For as much as Jamie had come to despise Kyle since she’d found out the truth about Daisy, she wouldn’t classify him as evil. He’d been a good father to Cory and Chester. He had been loving to her. He wasn’t all bad.
So maybe her father wasn’t either. Maybe there were extenuating circumstances behind the death of his second wife that none of them knew about.
“I suspect he’s set himself up in another city by now, with yet another new identity.”
“Why would he go to so much trouble?”
“I wish I knew. He seems desperate for me to write a book that features him as some sort of serial killer of librarians. Maybe he’s just old and looking to establish a connection with me. Or maybe he craves the notoriety.”
Dougal’s shoulders slumped. He looked so damn tired. But it wasn’t just a physical weariness, Jamie suspected. This fatigue seemed to go beyond muscles and bones, setting in to his very psyche.
“He’s been playing me along for the last few months, Jamie. Sending me e-mails about some murders that occurred a long time ago.”
“The librarians?” He’d been investigating the deaths since he came back to Twisted Cedars, with the idea of writing his next true crime novel about the case.
“Yeah. I think it was his way of trying to connect to me, since I would never reply to any of his letters.”
It made no sense to feel hurt that the father everyone kept telling her was a monster who had hurt her mother and murdered his second wife had never reached out to her. But feelings weren’t always logical, and that was exactly how Jamie did feel. Despite the fact that her father, from all reports, didn’t even know of her existence.
forgotten (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 2) Page 6
