forgotten (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 2)

by CJ Carmichael

  wednesday night Wade didn’t leave the office until after nine. On his way home he did a drive-by of the women’s emergency shelter. Though Birdie ought to be perfectly safe here in Twisted Cedars, he felt uneasy every time he thought about her.

  If only Chet Walker had survived that crash. For his sake, and his wife’s, obviously. But also so he could tell them what had caused him to veer off the road.

  And what Birdie was doing in his truck.

  So far all of Dunne’s investigative work supported the information Mrs. Walker had provided. Chet Walker had been an honest, hardworking guy, who downloaded about two audio books a week.

  None of his friends, many of them also independent truck drivers, had ever heard of him picking up a hitchhiker.

  Wade eased off the accelerator as he approached the two-story emergency shelter, not intending to stop this time, just make sure all was calm and peaceful. But as his headlights swept over the grounds, a woman emerged from behind the hedge that screened the smoking area.

  It was Birdie. Clearly startled, she began running for the front door. When she was almost there, she paused and looked back, shielding the glare from his headlights with a hand over her eyes.

  He switched the lights off, and lowered his window. “It’s me. Sheriff MacKay. Everything all right?”

  Her body almost sagged with relief. “Oh. Yes. Everything is fine.” She switched directions, headed toward him. “That’s a lie, actually. I spaced out on a client today.”

  She was wearing a dress and a strappy pair of sandals. She didn’t look like she belonged in Twisted Cedars. More like the streets of some big city like Seattle or Sacramento.

  “What do you mean, spaced out?”

  “My mind just went blank. Belle told me to take some time off. She said I was rushing things going back to work so soon. But I needed that job.”

  “Maybe you should check with your doctor, make sure you’re okay.”

  “That’s what Belle said. But I’m fine. I just—forgot myself for a minute, that’s all.” She was wringing her hands, looking past him to scan the vehicle, as if to check if anyone else was there. “Could you talk to Belle? Ask her to give me a second chance?”

  “I’m with Belle on this one. A few days to rest is a good idea. You’re safe here, with free shelter and food. You shouldn’t feel like you need to rush to leave.”

  Birdie had more serious problems than finding a job. Why wasn’t she this anxious about finding out who she was, and where she came from?

  “How are things going with your memory? Did anything come back to you today?”

  She shook her head.

  “Go inside. Get some sleep. Try not to worry.”

  Instead, she stepped closer, reached out her hand and placed it on his arm. “Would you take me for a drive? I feel so trapped here, but I’m afraid to go for a walk on my own.”

  Her lovely blue eyes were focused on him beseechingly. God help him, he wanted to say yes. All his instincts were telling him she needed taking care of. But he had to be very careful not to step over any lines.

  “Go inside,” he repeated. “That’s where you’ll be safest.”

  She sighed. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be working. And you should concentrate on getting better. But if you remember anything about how you came to be in that truck with Chet Walker—or what caused the accident—let me know immediately.

  * * *

  six days after the accident

  After a restless night, Jamie decided to walk to work to clear her head. She was still wrestling with the revelation that Liz’s father had known hers in prison. It seemed like everyone around her knew more about her father than she did.

  Jamie turned the corner and stopped. She’d modified her route to the office so she would pass by the Quinpool home. The pretty, two-story Victorian she’d briefly shared with Kyle and his children. From this vantage point—which was on the other side of the street and down about fifty yards—she eyed the attractive clapboard, painted white with black shutters. The classic American family home.

  But her wistfulness vanished when her gaze fell on the pretty porch furniture she’d bought shortly before the wedding. Kyle had been upset that she would dare make a change to the house without consulting him first. That had been one of the first signs she’d noticed that he wasn’t the man she’d imagined him to be.

  The yellow caution tape that had gone up after the discovery of Daisy’s body was gone now, and Kyle’s father’s car was parked in the driveway. As she watched, the front door opened, and Jim and Kyle stepped out to the porch.

  Not wanting to be seen, Jamie slipped behind the trunk of an old oak. With her head pressed hard against the rough bark, she heard Kyle’s voice travel over the clear morning air.

  “It won’t do any good, Dad.”

  “It’s the only way,” Jim replied, his voice firm.

  “You’ll only make things worse. Promise me, you won’t do it. I mean it Dad. You have to promise.”

  Jim’s response was muffled. Then Jamie heard a car door open, and close.

  A few seconds later, Jim drive by. Kyle wasn’t with him. She counted slowly to ten, then stepped out from behind her hiding spot. Kyle must have gone inside, all was quiet again.

  Jamie sprinted down the block, until she was well out of sight. The rest of the way to the office, she puzzled over what she had heard. The father and son could have been talking about anything. It may not have been relevant to her, or the investigation into Daisy’s death.

  But Jamie had a feeling it was.

  * * *

  During his drive home from Salem, Dougal’s head spun with a collage of images Ellen Lachlan had planted in his head. No matter how loud he turned the music, he couldn’t get the nightmare of his father’s childhood out of his mind. By noon he was back at the Librarian Cottage and he’d never been so glad to see his little A-frame in the woods. Sanctuary.

  First thing, even before going over his notes, he took a walk in the forest. Amid the ancient cedars, hemlocks and pines, he felt the world right itself. All that shit Ellen Lachlan had told him about might be real, but this forest was real, too. And for some damn reason, that fact comforted him.

  When he came upon the spot where he’d found Daisy’s body, he didn’t linger. After the crime scene guys had packed up, they’d left a gaping hole. But he’d already filled it, and weeds had started to grow in the fertile soil.

  It wouldn’t take long for nature to reclaim this place. Never again would it be a vegetable garden, though. Daisy’s death had left a permanent blight here, just as it had in the lives of her family and friends.

  After his walk, Dougal had a long drink of water, then called Charlotte at the library. “I hit the bull’s eye in Salem.”

  “You found your father’s adoptive parents?” She sounded cautious, as if she was afraid to hear the answer.

  “They died a while ago, but I tracked down an older sister. Ellen Lachlan.”

  “What was she like?”

  “Ordinary, really. And surprisingly open about the kind of life my father had. It wasn’t pleasant.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll tell you details when I see you. What are you and the kids up to tonight?”

  “Yesterday morning they admitted they’d been getting teased by other kids about their father. They wanted to go back to Wolf Creek Camp.”

  “Can’t blame them for that.”

  “Right. I called the camp director, and they had room, so I drove them up after work yesterday.”

  “It’s a good idea to keep them out of Twisted Cedars for the next few weeks. At least until we know if Kyle is going to be charged with anything.” And selfishly Dougal was glad he’d have his librarian to himself for a bit.

  “Would you like to take me out for dinner tonight?” Charlotte asked, clearly thinking along similar lines.

  “How about you bring Borden back here and spend the night?” Now that he was
home, he simply didn’t want to leave. “I can fill you in on my interview with Ellen.”

  “What do you think about including Jamie?” Charlotte asked. “She’ll want to hear what you found out about your father.”

  “Might as well.”

  Christ. His cozy evening with the librarian was turning into a big family thing. Not his scene, at all. Good thing he had a couple pizzas in his freezer.

  * * *

  “Still want to come with me to interview Jim Quinpool today?” Duane Carter asked.

  The deputy was standing in the doorway to Wade’s office, a to-go cup in his hands. Probably a latte. Wade felt an instant craving.

  “Yup.” Wade pushed away his paperwork, then got up from his desk. He was still feeling disappointed about Tuesday’s interview with Muriel. He’d been almost certain the burden of her guilt would make her crack. But she’d held firm to her contention she hadn’t witnessed Daisy’s death. And he was holding on to his contention she was lying.

  “Might want to save yourself the aggravation. Jim’s less likely to turn in his son than Muriel was,” Duane pointed out.

  “You’re probably right. But I’ve known Jim all my life. And I want to see his eyes when he tells me Kyle didn’t lay a hand on his ex-wife.” Wade fixed his hat on his head. “Where are we meeting him?”

  “Quinpool Realty.”

  The business which Jim and Kyle owned and operated jointly had been closed since the start of the investigation, when the ID team had scoured the place for evidence. They’d found the travel records for Kyle’s trips to Sacramento, which had matched up perfectly to the dates of the withdrawals from Daisy and Charlotte’s joint checking account.

  Wade had seen the documentation just this morning. It was good, thorough work and it would make persuasive evidence in court.

  That didn’t mean they couldn’t use an eye witness account, or two. Just to cinch matters.

  The crime scene tape had been removed, but Quinpool Realty still had a closed sign displayed in the window. When Wade tried the door, however, it wasn’t locked. The reception area was uninhabited, quiet and almost dark thanks to the pulled blinds.

  Wade switched on the lights, then went to the computer at the reception desk. It felt cold to the touch. The printer, and fax machine next to it, were both powered off as well.

  “Jim? Are you here?”

  “In my office.” The voice came from behind a closed door to the left of the reception desk. Two other doors, also closed, were to the right. Presumably Kyle’s office, and perhaps a storage room or kitchen.

  Wade raised his eyebrows at Duane, silently questioning who should go first. Even though he outranked the deputy, this was still his deputy’s investigation.

  But Carter waved his hand, indicating Wade should precede him.

  Sitting behind his empty desk, tall, lanky Jim Quinpool looked like a lost soul. He glanced briefly at the law men, and waved despondently toward a couple of empty chairs. “Don’t know why I still come in here. Nothing to do. Haven’t had a call in over a week that wasn’t a client looking to get out of a contract. And Kyle is handling those.”

  Wade let the older man’s remarks settle for a few moments. He sure wasn’t going to apologize because the investigation had been bad for the Quinpools’ business.

  “I know this is hard, Jim. But we have some questions.”

  The dull light in Jim’s eyes suddenly turned sharp and focused. “It’s your damn questions that have caused all the problems.”

  “I’d say it was the illegal burial of a body that caused the problems,” Duane corrected, bluntly. “Not to mention how that body happened to get dead.”

  “What happened that night, Jim?” Wade used a more conciliatory tone, one he imagined a priest might use, inviting a confession.

  Jim tented his hands on the desk, then stared at his fingers. “She came to the house, looking to start a fight. That’s what happened.”

  “By ‘She’ do you mean ‘Daisy’?”

  “Of course, I mean Daisy! Isn’t that who you came here to talk about?”

  “I just want to be clear,” Wade continued. “So you, Muriel and Kyle were awake when Daisy stopped in?”

  “No! Damn it, you’re putting words in my mouth. Muriel was in bed, asleep, wearing her earplugs. My snoring’s been getting worse as I age. She can’t sleep unless she’s wearing earplugs.”

  “But you and your son were awake?”

  “We were watching TV, having a beer.”

  “And what about the twins?” Carter asked. He’d pulled out a notebook and was quickly scratching things down.

  “They were asleep, too, of course. It was almost eleven at night.”

  “Pretty late for Daisy to be visiting,” Wade said.

  “If she was a normal person that would be true. But Daisy was sick. She claimed she was getting better, but she wasn’t. She wanted shared custody of the twins, but she couldn’t take care of herself, let alone a couple babies.”

  “How old were the twins at that time?” Carter asked.

  “Almost two.”

  “What was Daisy wearing?” Wade asked.

  The question seemed to catch Jim off guard. “I-I don’t remember. Why does it matter, anyway?”

  Wade sighed. “Could you just answer the question, please?”

  “Even though I don’t remember?”

  Carter leaned in toward him. “Try.”

  “Fine. She was probably in jeans and a T-shirt. That’s what she usually wore.”

  “Could you make note of that, Carter?” In fact, Daisy had been wearing strappy heels and a dress when she was buried. The dress had been made of a synthetic material that hadn’t decomposed in the seven years she’d been underground.

  Regular townspeople didn’t dress up that often in Twisted Cedars. It seemed to Wade that Jim would have remembered if he’d seen Daisy in a dress and heels.

  “Tell us as much as you can remember about what was said,” Wade continued.

  “Daisy started off saying she was the mother and she deserved to spend more time with her kids. Kyle asked what her doctor thought about that, and then she started swearing and getting all hysterical. Kyle offered to make her some tea, and we all went back to the kitchen. Kyle told her to be quiet so she wouldn’t wake up the kids, but she just kept ranting about how unfair he was being.” Jim shook his head. “As if it was Kyle’s choice to have married a crazy woman.”

  “You and Kyle were both aware Daisy had been diagnosed with post-partum depression?” Carter asked.

  “That’s what that high-priced doctor the Hammond’s hired in Seattle said. I didn’t buy it. Daisy Hammond was a princess who couldn’t handle the normal demands of being a mother.” He fixed his gaze on Wade. “You remember what she was like. Her parents doted on her, they absolutely spoiled her. All she cared about was looking good and going to parties. I warned Kyle not to marry her.”

  “So you think the marriage was a mistake?” Duane asked.

  “From the beginning,” Jim concurred.

  “Back to that night,” Wade said. “You’d gone to the kitchen to make tea. What then?”

  “Well, I put the kettle on. Kyle wanted Daisy to sit down and be quiet, but she just talked louder and louder. She was pacing around that kitchen like a caged polar bear. I could see in her eyes, her head wasn’t right. I said, be quiet or leave. And that’s when she pounced on me.”

  Jim had to stop for a moment. He cleared his throat, and then he added, “I was just defending myself, but I guess I pushed her.”

  Neither Wade nor Carter spoke for several seconds. Then quietly, carefully, Wade said, “Are you saying you were the one who pushed Daisy against that wall, Jim?”

  With trembling hands, Jim covered his face.

  At just that moment Wade heard a door open and slam closed, following by hurried footsteps. A moment later, Kyle Quinpool was at the office door. His gaze went from his father, to Wade, then back again.

  “Wha
t have you done, Dad?”

  chapter twenty-two

  dougal had invited his sister to dinner by text, and she’d said yes, but Charlotte was the first to arrive in her vintage BMW coupe. The vehicle was so not what you’d expect a librarian to drive. She looked great behind the wheel.

  And even better when she got out. She’d ditched the dull garb she usually wore at the library—why she was so determined to mold to the stereotype of a dull librarian, he couldn’t fathom—and was in a pair of sexy faded jeans and a pink T-shirt. He met her in the yard and scooped her into his arms.

  “I wish I could take you straight to bed. But Jamie will be here shortly.”

  “I know. She called me and between us we organized the menu.”

  “I had it covered.”

  “Frozen pizza doesn’t cut it Dougal.”

  He had to smile. “It does for me.”

  “Again—I know.” She grabbed a couple bags of groceries from the car. “Can you get Borden? She’s in her carrier in the back.”

  “Great. I’ve missed the fur-ball.” He knew his cat was happier in town, at Charlotte’s place, but she had to get used to living out here in the forest with him.

  He held her tight to his chest until they were inside, then he set her on the arm of the sofa. “Welcome home, Borden. Remember this place?”

  She arched her back, so it seemed she did. When she gave him a beseeching look, he couldn’t resist. So he settled on the sofa and let her claim his lap.

  Meanwhile, Charlotte was in the kitchen pulling out salmon fillets, tiny potatoes and bok choy from her paper grocery bags.

  “You still have wine?” she asked hopefully.

  “More than a case.” Last month when he’d been researching the homicide of Mari Louise Beamish from Pendleton, he’d visited Bishop Creek Winery in the Willamette Valley and come home with some excellent bottles of pinot noir.

  “We’re good then. Jamie’s bringing a loaf of bread and dessert.”

  “Speaking of Jamie...” Dougal could hear another car pulling into the yard and he went out to be the welcoming committee.

  Jamie held out a glass bowl of fruit salad and a baguette to him. “Make yourself useful.”