“Did he really do it? Kill all those women?”
“God only knows if anything Ed Lachlan says is true. I’m only telling you this now to warn you. In case he approaches you. I know you, Jamie. Given the chance, you would want to meet him and give him the benefit of the doubt.”
She didn’t have the nerve to argue the point. Just a few months ago she’d asked Wade if he could help her track her father down. Wade had put her off pretty quickly.
“I hope you learned something from what happened with Kyle. There are some pretty bad people in this world. And, unfortunately, our father is one of them.” Dougal stood and waited until she’d done the same. Then he took her arm. “If he tries to get in touch, you call me, okay? Don’t wait even one minute. Just call.”
chapter ten
since she was eager to spend time with the twins, Jamie had left work early and Charlotte was able to make it to Heartland before five o’clock. Terri Morrison, a tall, energetic woman in her late forties, with short, brown hair, and expressive brown eyes, was happy to see her.
“Charlotte, I’m loving Unbroken, I’m so glad you suggested it for our Book Club. But I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”
“I brought some new books.” Charlotte set the carton on a chair. “Plus, I was wondering if you had someone new register today? The Sheriff was telling me about a woman who was injured in a truck accident on Friday.”
“Birdie. Yes, I picked her up from the hospital today. A real sad case. Poor woman doesn’t remember anything. Not her name, or where she lives, or...anything. It’s like something from a book.”
“Do you think I could meet her? The Sheriff thought it might be a good idea if someone showed her around town. It might help her get her bearings and maybe some of her memories, as well.”
“That’s an excellent idea. She’s been very listless since she arrived. Leave those books, I’ll take care of them later. We have Birdie in one of our east wing rooms.”
Birdie wasn’t in her room, though. She was in the communal kitchen, sitting at the table and watching several of the other women prepare dinner, while four children played around her. A little girl, about four, was coloring pictures at the table across from Birdie, while the other three, toddlers, kept busy with a bucket of toys on the floor.
“Hello everyone,” Terri said. “Birdie I’d like you to meet Charlotte Hammond, our local librarian. Charlotte runs a book club for us here and keeps a selection of books for us in our mobile library in the computer room.”
Charlotte was struck by an aura of deep sadness around Birdie. Despite bruising under her eyes, and her sickly pallor, she was strikingly beautiful, her features putting Charlotte in mind of the actress Amy Adams. Her thick, reddish-blonde hair was so thick you could hardly see the white bandages protecting her injury.
She looked on the verge of collapse, yet she stood and offered her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Charlotte.”
“I’m sorry about your accident. I hope you recover quickly.”
Birdie gave a small smile, then glanced out the window. “It’s sunny outside, but I feel like I’m walking around in a thick fog.”
“Are you in pain?”
“I just took my meds an hour ago, so I’m pretty good right now.”
Terri stepped forward then. “Birdie, if you’re up to it, Charlotte has offered to give you a bit of a tour of Twisted Cedars. It might help orient you.”
“That sounds nice,” Birdie said softly.
Since she didn’t look that strong, Charlotte decided the tour would have to be by car. “How about I drive you to the main street and we check that out?”
“I’d really like that.”
Terri accompanied them to the front street where Charlotte had parked her pride and joy—her father’s red ‘97 BMW.
“It’s been a hot July so far, hasn’t it?” Terri commented.
Charlotte agreed. “We’ve been using the air conditioning a lot at the library the past few weeks. Last year we only needed it a few days all summer.”
“Today didn’t seem all that warm to me,” Birdie said.
“Maybe you’re not used to the weather here on the coast,” Terri replied.
Birdie just shrugged, obviously incapable of confirming one way or the other.
Once alone in the car with Birdie, Charlotte talked about the benefits of belonging to the library. “When you’re feeling stronger, I’d love if you came to visit. I could issue you a special library card you could use until—until you remember your name.”
“That would be nice.”
Birdie spoke so quietly Charlotte had to strain to hear her. She sat very still and watchful as Charlotte drove toward the heart of the town, pointing out the high school and the local rec center on the way.
As they neared the center of town, traffic grew heavier and parking spaces harder to find. Fortunately just as they were approaching the center of Driftwood Lane, a big SUV pulled out, leaving a nice large parking space for Charlotte’s coupe. Once she’d maneuvered into the slot, she turned to her passenger. “Are you up to a short walk?”
“I think so.” Out on the street, however, Birdie paused, confused amid the steady stream of tourists and locals on the hunt for a place to have dinner. “What’s the name of this town again?”
“Twisted Cedars.” Charlotte pointed to the small green space where the two famous cedar trees grew, entwined as if they were one. “Locals sometimes say I’ll meet you at the cedars. This is where they mean. This street is called Driftwood Lane, and you’ll find most everything here, from a grocery store to the post office.”
Though, what would Birdie do with a post office? Who would she mail a letter to?
“Pretty town. Small, though.”
“Yes, but we’re the county seat.” Charlotte hesitated. “The fact that you say that makes me think you must be from a larger center—a city, perhaps.”
“Yes,” she said automatically, then stopped abruptly. “I answered without thinking. But it’s probably true, right? If it came out so naturally?”
“You’d think so.” Maybe she should keep doing this, firing out random questions when Birdie’s conscious mind was preoccupied on something else.
They had only started walking along the sidewalk when Birdie paused and frowned. “Do you hear that? A sort of roaring sound?”
Charlotte focused for a few moments. “Do you mean the ocean?”
“Yes, of course.” Birdie clasped her hands to her head and smiled ruefully. “I thought it was coming from here.”
Charlotte smiled, too. “We can be pretty sure you don’t live on the coast now.”
“Unfortunately, a city, somewhere inland, doesn’t exactly narrow down the search much, does it?”
Charlotte touched Birdie’s arm sympathetically. How bizarre it must be to have your memories—your essential self—stripped away in one tragic moment.
“See that path?” Charlotte pointed out a paving stone walkway on the west side of the street. “That’s called Ocean Way and for good reason. It will lead you right to the beach.”
But Birdie showed no inclination to explore in that direction. She seemed more interested in checking out the shops. They strolled a little further, until Birdie paused again, this time in front of Skin Deep, a hair salon and spa that Charlotte patronized.
“I’ve been getting my hair cut here since I was a little girl.” With the sun at their backs, Charlotte could see her and Birdie’s reflections more clearly than the row of chairs contained within.
“I think I used to work in a hair salon,” Birdie said abruptly. Then she went inside.
* * *
“Do you want a haircut?” Charlotte asked. The surgical team had done a decent job of camouflaging Birdie’s injury. But maybe she was self-conscious about the bald spot.
“Ever since I woke up in the hospital, I’ve felt so weird and useless. Plus, I have nothing. No possessions, no phone, no purse. I need a way to start earning money and I need to
keep busy. So I’m going to ask for a job.”
Business was at a lull in the store, so Charlotte asked the owner Belle Taylor, if she had a few minutes. Belle was in her sixties, thin, fine-boned and well-groomed. Belle had a big heart as well as a big personality. As soon as Charlotte introduced Birdie and explained the situation, the salon owner gave Birdie a gentle hug.
“You sweet, little thing, you’re sure been through a terrible time. If you really have experience, I’d love to hire you part-time. We’re overrun in the summer. Plus all my girls want to be taking holidays. But do you have your license.”
Birdie held out her palms helplessly. “I don’t know. I must, though. This place feels so familiar.”
Birdie went to one of the empty chairs, and looked in the mirror. “I’ve been here before. Some place similar to here, I mean.”
On impulse, Charlotte sat in the chair.
Gently Birdie released Charlotte’s ponytail, then ran her fingers through the blonde strands. “Your hair is thick and healthy. But it could stand a trim. I’d like to add some layers, too.”
Charlotte looked triumphantly at Belle. “Sounds like she knows what she’s doing.”
“I’m sure she does. Unfortunately I can’t hire her in a professional capacity without seeing her credentials.” Belle looked truly sorry about this.
“Could I do something else?” Birdie asked, meekly. “Sweep the floors? Wash hair?”
“I suppose we could try a few hours a day, on a casual basis. I wish I could offer more.”
They agreed to give the arrangement a try the next day, and set a time when Birdie should come back to the salon.
While they talked, Belle had been eyeing Birdie’s hair. “The color of your hair is gorgeous. Mind if I take a closer look?”
“Go ahead.”
Belle gingerly fingered a portion of Birdie’s hair, then checked her scalp. “You’re a natural redhead, with blonde highlights. Whoever did the highlights was a real pro.”
Birdie gave her a weak smile. “I wish I could tell you who it was.”
Later, as she drove Birdie back to the shelter, Charlotte reflected on the progress they’d made. Birdie was a natural redhead, had probably lived inland, in a city and she’d worked in a beauty salon. It was a good start.
Just before leaving her at the front entrance, Charlotte felt compelled to ask, “Why’d the nurses call you Birdie?”
“It was the older one on duty when I first came in. She said I reminded her of a little bird that had fallen from its nest.”
Charlotte had seen them, of course, dazed little things, lying helpless on the ground. The nurse was right. Birdie had that same air about her. She was so still and calm, when by all rights she should be freaking out.
Maybe that stage was yet to come for Birdie. She was probably still in shock. Charlotte had experienced it herself, the emotional buffer that went up after a tragedy. It was like being submerged in the ocean—senses muted and disoriented, everything around you appearing hazy and far away.
* * *
At Charlotte’s home, Jamie had made pasta and a salad for dinner. Charlotte arrived at the perfect time to share the meal, but the conversation went on around her, almost as if she wasn’t there. If the kids were trying to prove they were closer to their step-mother than to her, then they succeeded.
Charlotte knew it was immature of her to care. The welfare of the children was what mattered, and the fact that they were laughing and chattering—well, Cory was. Chester, as usual, was rather quiet—was all that mattered.
After the meal was over, Jamie helped the kids load the dishwasher, then wipe down the countertops. “I have to go soon, but first we need to talk about our plan.”
“What plan?” Chester sounded immediately suspicious.
Charlotte and Jamie exchanged glances. Earlier Charlotte had asked Jamie for her advice on how to deal with the new reality of having custody of two children. How was she to continue working or have any semblance of a social life?
Together they’d worked out a schedule.
“I know you wish life could go back to the way it was before summer camp,” Jamie began. “But it can’t. Not for a while, anyway.”
“How long?” Chester wanted to know.
“We can’t say. All we can do, your Aunt Charlotte and I, is try to make sure things are as okay for you guys as possible. Most importantly, you have to be safe.”
“We were safest with Dad,” Chester insisted.
“There are laws in this country that are meant to protect children, for those cases where their parents really did commit a dangerous crime.”
“But our dad didn’t!”
“Yes, but until he has a chance to prove that, this is what we’re going to do.”
Jamie somehow managed to keep her tone cheerful and authoritative and Charlotte admired her immensely for this.
“Your aunt has to go back to work at the library, so you guys are going to spend your days with Nola Thompson again.”
They both groaned and Charlotte felt terribly guilty. Jamie had forewarned her the twins weren’t fond of their former babysitting arrangement. But it had sufficed in the years after Kyle’s mother moved to Portland, and it would have to suffice again.
At least until Charlotte thought of something more suitable.
“You’ll spend most of your evenings and weekends here with your Aunt Charlotte. But I’m going to keep coming over often—at least two or three times a week. How does that sound?”
Both the twins were too polite to complain out loud. But Charlotte could tell by the way they avoided eye contact with her that they’d been hoping for more time with Jamie.
chapter eleven
it had been a long day and Wade was looking forward to a beer and a burger at the Linger Longer, but Duane Carter caught up to him just as he was about to lock his office door. Wade waved the deputy inside, and closed the door behind them.
“Sheriff, we’ve had a new development.” Duane spoke quickly, his eyes sharp, his muscles tense. Momentarily he perched on the edge of a chair, then sprang out of it, and began to pace from the window, back to Wade’s desk.
“I wasn’t having any luck obtaining Muriel Quinpool’s address in Portland, so I called her son and Kyle admitted his mother wasn’t living in Portland as everyone thought—but in Sacramento.” Carter paused, letting the significance of this sink in.
“The withdrawals from Daisy Hammond’s bank account were made from ATMs in Sacramento.”
“Yes. We have video footage from several of the more recent withdrawals—all were made by a woman with a large hat, sunglasses and gloves. And that had us puzzled, at first. We thought maybe Kyle was paying someone to make the withdrawals for him.”
“But he was using his mother.” Wade obligingly drew the obvious conclusion.
“Exactly. It’s pretty darn clever, when you think of it. The gloves were a smart touch. Nothing shows the age of a woman better than her hands.”
“I wonder who made the withdrawals for him before Muriel left Twisted Cedars?”
“I wondered the same thing. So I went to those reports Charlotte Hammond received from the investigator she hired to find Daisy after their parents died. The P. I. checked the video footage from the ATMs, too. According to his report, a different woman made the withdrawal every time.”
“So how did he explain that?”
“He guessed that Daisy was asking friends to make the withdrawals for her, so she wouldn’t get caught on camera.”
“I bet if Kyle offered a woman on the street a hundred bucks to make the withdrawals for him, not many would have refused.”
“Exactly. And most of the withdrawals were made in less affluent, more blue-collar and sometimes even rough areas of the city. Quinpool wouldn’t have to ask too many before someone said yes.”
Wade nodded. “I agree. But with two years having gone by, I doubt we’d be able to locate any of those women.”
“It would be a need
le in the haystack job,” Carter agreed. “Good thing we have Muriel.”
Wade leaned back in his chair, rubbed his chin. “I’ll bet Kyle coerced her into making those withdrawals. Hopefully this will help our case when we go to talk to her. The guilt must be crippling for her.”
“She doesn’t have to know we can’t ID her from the video footage. If she thinks we have her nailed for fraud, she might be more inclined to talk about how Daisy died.”
“Maybe. Hopefully. Sure would be nice to tie this up with a pretty bow like a confession.”
Duane sported a brief grin, then sobered up fast.
From experience, they both knew it wasn’t wise to assume you had an investigation in the bag before you actually did. And even when you figured you had all your evidence stacked so neatly a judge or jury would have to commit—a clever lawyer might come up with some way to make that evidence inadmissible.
They had to proceed with caution. And entirely by the book.
“Do you have our travel arrangements made?”
“Yup. I booked an early morning flight from Crescent City. Want me to pick you up around six?”
“I’ll drive.” Wade got up from his desk, planning to actually make it to the Linger Longer this time. “Care to join me for a beer and burger?”
Duane looked appalled. “Megan’s buying some trout and fixings for a salad. Thanks anyway.”
Wade frowned. Duane’s mention of trout reminded him. He still hadn’t emptied out that damn ice chest.
* * *
As Wade exited his office, he noticed Dunne chatting up Marnie, who was in the process of clearing off her desk for the night. Now that he thought about it, he realized he’d seen Dunne hanging around Marnie’s work space a lot lately. He sure hoped his deputy realized he was far too old, and out-of-his league, for Marnie.
“Seems like everyone is working late tonight,” Wade commented. “I’m off to the pub, myself. Suggest you both call it a day, as well.”
The silly smile on Dunne’s face vanished and he stood taller. “Yes, Sheriff.”
forgotten (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 2) Page 7
