forgotten (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 2)

by CJ Carmichael

  Not that Wade could be sure Chet’s intentions had been honorable. Joelle’s memories at this point were still pretty patchy. And he couldn’t be sure that what she did remember was accurate. Still, the scenario she’d described did fit with the facts and provide an explanation for the accident that at least made sense.

  Twenty minutes later Dr. Blake—whom Wade had met more than a few times in the course of his duties—escorted Joelle to the reception room.

  “Morning Sheriff. Joelle, here, is suffering emotional distress. She told me about the accident, the amnesia and the returning memories. Anyone would be upset going through something like this. The good news is that physically she appears fine. I’ve given her a prescription to control her anxiety. I suggest she take things easy for the rest of the day. Moderate exercise, like a walk on the beach, plus a few healthy meals, and she should be much better.”

  Once outside, seated in his SUV, Wade asked Joelle if she’d like him to drive her to Ashland. “Your husband is anxious to see you. Maybe once you’re home again, all your memories will come back.”

  “I’m not sure I want that,” Joelle said quietly.

  “At one time we thought your husband might have beaten you. Because of the bruises.” Wade glanced at the very faint mark on her upper arm that was almost gone now.

  “Yes.”

  “But I spoke to Richard yesterday and he said you got those bruises at a self-defense class. Do you remember that?”

  “No.”

  He let out a long breath. “We checked and you were registered for the class. You went to two sessions last week.” He’d hoped that one memory would trigger the others. But it didn’t seem to be working that way.

  Wade thought of the photos in his pocket. If he showed them to her he might provoke another anxiety attack. But that baby had to be found.

  He drove back to Frosty’s, picked up their pastries and drinks in to-go cups, then suggested they sit on the beach to eat.

  It was not yet nine and while people were stirring in town, the beach was still quiet. Just one family—a couple with two small children—had staked a spot on the beach. The father was putting up an umbrella, while the mother ran after the kids with a tube of sunscreen.

  Wade avoided them, found a log farther down the beach where they could enjoy the warmth of the sun on their backs and the cool breeze off the ocean on their faces. He waited until Joelle had finished her tea and her muffin, then he pulled out the photos.

  “I’m hoping these will help you remember. This is a picture of you and your husband. We found it at your cottage on Hyatt Lake. It was on the fridge.”

  She looked at him blankly, as if none of those words—husband, cottage, Hyatt Lake—meant anything to her.

  He pressed the photo on her. She touched it with her fingertips, then withdrew as if she’d been shocked.

  “I don’t want to see that.”

  “You don’t want to remember?”

  “I’m scared.”

  “We need to find your baby, Joelle.” He took out the second photo and a gust of wind almost pulled it out of his hand.

  He used his second hand to shield it from the elements and placed it practically under her nose. A quick glance was all she gave it.

  “I don’t remember.” She folded over at the waist, her face covered by her hands. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

  * * *

  “Hard to believe only one week ago I had time to go fishing.” Wade was at the Linger Longer having a beer and sharing a pizza with Dougal and Charlotte. They’d invited him to their table when he’d walked in ten minutes ago, after a long, hard day.

  But he supposed the day must have seemed longer, and harder for Joelle.

  After their talk on the beach, he’d called Dunne into the office to take her statement about the accident. And then Detective Waverman had driven in from Ashland, and spent over an hour interrogating her, as well.

  Hadn’t done any good though.

  She didn’t remember anything about her life in Ashland, or, more importantly, her baby.

  At least, that was what she told them. For the first time Wade had doubts. Doubts that were shared by Waverman who’d said, “She’s faking, trying to make us feel sorry for her. I’ll bet that poor kid is dead, probably buried on the property somewhere. Or at the bottom of the lake.”

  They’d both glanced at the photo of Josephine. Wade had tacked it up on the board in his office. Josephine looked plump, healthy and happy. Like a kid who’d been well taken care of.

  She had a round face with a dimple in her button of a chin. Four tiny baby teeth peeked out from her smile. She had Joelle’s blue eyes.

  “Maybe you should switch careers,” Dougal said. “Become a full time writer, like me. I’ve had plenty of free time this week.”

  “Hard enough keeping up with my own paperwork. Write an entire book? No thanks.” Wade took another slice of the loaded pizza.

  “So how’s the new book coming?” Dougal might be preaching the joys of the writing life, but at the moment he looked rather discontented.

  “Frankly, it’s not.”

  Charlotte put a commiserating hand on Dougal’s back. “He’s got a great idea for a new mystery series. Fictional this time.”

  “But—turns out I suck at fiction.”

  “It’s only been a week.” Charlotte picked an olive off her pizza and set it aside.

  “Plus I had a call from my agent today. I’d sent her an outline of the new project. She wasn’t sure my publisher or fans are ready for the new direction. Might have been a tactful way of telling me the new story sucks.”

  “Maybe you should go back to the story about the librarians.” Wade thought it was a reasonable suggestion, not worthy of the raised eyebrow of warning he got from Charlotte.

  “One librarian is enough for me right now.” Dougal fingered a strand of Charlotte’s hair, and the two of them exchanged one of the looks the bar was famous for—lingering.

  Charlotte was the first to break eye contact. Her cheeks were pink when she asked Wade how things were going with Joelle. “I take it they still haven’t found her baby?”

  “You’ve heard about that?” The news hadn’t taken long to percolate through town.

  “Of course I have. Joelle is all anyone has been talking about since the accident.” Charlotte paused for a sip of her beer. “I can’t understand why she’s still here. Why doesn’t she go home to Ashland and her husband?”

  “Joelle still doesn’t remember her husband, the child—or her life there at all. She doesn’t want to go and we can’t force her.”

  Charlotte eyed Dougal thoughtfully. “I wonder how she ended up here, of all places. Hometown of Dougal Lachlan, her favorite author.”

  Wade leaned in closer to block out the voices at the next table. “She tell you Dougal was her favorite author?”

  “She came in today, wanting to see him. Apparently someone at the salon told her he sometimes worked at the library. And earlier in the week, she came to the library to borrow one of his books.”

  “Murder in the Family—is that the one she wanted?” Wade could picture it on her nightstand at the shelter, and at the cottage too.

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “Let’s just say in the course of my investigation that book has come up a few times. It’s a case about a man who kills his wife, isn’t it?” He directed the question at Dougal, who didn’t seem all that flattered by the attention.

  “It is. The guy was so upstanding in the community he’d practically been given a halo. No one believed he was guilty but me and the wife’s mother, at first.”

  “That’s right.” Wade was remembering now. Dougal’s book had actually revamped public interest in the case, and turned up interesting evidence that had helped lead to the man’s conviction.

  “Maybe Joelle thought you could help her nail her husband this time,” Charlotte speculated.

  “But for what?” Dougal asked. “She isn’t dead.”


  “But maybe the baby is.” Charlotte shivered. “I’m sorry I said that. I’m afraid speculation is getting out of hand about this. And I’m becoming one of the worst gossips.”

  “I had no idea life was so eventful here in Twisted Cedars,” Dougal said.

  “It wasn’t until you moved back,” Wade pointed out.

  “Well, at least Joelle has taken some of the heat off the Quinpools,” Charlotte said. “I’m thinking of bringing Cory and Chester home again in a few days.” Charlotte glanced at Dougal, as if trying to gauge his reaction.

  Dougal looked unperturbed. “They’ve got to face their friends and neighbors sometime. Can’t keep hiding in camp waiting for people to forget. Cause that sure as hell won’t happen.”

  Charlotte turned to Wade. “Any chance you could tell us what’s going on with that case? Do you think Kyle is going to be arrested? I’d hate for them to be here for that.”

  Wade shook his head. “You know I can’t say. But if I was you, I’d let them stay in that camp for one more week.”

  * * *

  Wade was leaving the Linger Longer when a call came in from Terri Morrison at Heartland.

  “Sheriff. Glad I caught you.”

  “How can I help?” He could tell by her rapid fire speech something was wrong.

  “We’ve just sent Joelle Caruthers by ambulance to Brookings. She’s been acting erratically since she came back from the Sheriff’s Office. And then she just sort of crumbled onto the floor and started crying. Wouldn’t let anyone touch her.”

  Wade cursed. He’d sensed she was at the breaking point that morning. Dealing with Dunne and then Detective Waverman must have pushed her over the edge.

  “Thanks for letting me know, Terri.” He disconnected the call, then got into his SUV. For a while he pondered where he should go. It was eight o’clock. Home wasn’t out of the question.

  But he drove right by the turnoff that would take him there, and ended up on the highway heading south to Brookings. What the hell. He wouldn’t sleep anyway.

  chapter twenty-eight

  at the Brookings Hospital, Wade had to wait for two hours to talk to Dr. Schrock. He wasn’t allowed to visit Joelle, which was just as well.

  He had to protect whatever objectivity he still possessed. So many people—including his colleagues—suspected her of faking her memory loss. They thought she knew what had happened to her baby—that possibly she was the one who had harmed him.

  Initially Wade had been sure it was the husband.

  There was the wedding ring—possibly flung on the floor during an argument. The fact that Richard hadn’t made time to call his family at all during the week they were at the cottage.

  But learning about Joelle’s self-defense class had shifted his perspective. He’d checked in with the instructor and learned that the last two sessions had been pretty physical—which could account for Joelle’s bruising.

  The question was---whom had she felt she needed to defend herself from? Her husband...or someone else?

  Wade was grabbing a coffee from the vending machine when Dr. Schrock strode into the waiting room. Her long blond hair was secured in a ponytail, and behind her dark-framed glasses, her eyes looked tired.

  “Joelle is sleeping now. It may be some time before she’s strong enough to talk to you or anyone else.”

  He could hear the admonishment behind the words. Dr. Schrock blamed them for getting Joelle into this state. “You’re aware we’re trying to find her baby?”

  Dr. Schrock’s eyes widened. “When the paramedics brought her in, we were told she’d been identified as Joelle Caruthers from Ashland, but that her memory still hadn’t returned. No one mentioned a baby.”

  “Her name is Josephine and she’s ten-months old. Joelle and Josephine spent last week at their family cottage on Lake Hyatt. When her husband arrived this past Friday morning, he found them both missing.”

  “Dear god.” Dr. Schrock pushed back on the bridge of her glasses. “This changes everything.”

  Wade agreed. “Joelle called me early this morning to tell me she remembered what had caused the accident. She’d asked the driver to pull over and when he wouldn’t, she’d grabbed the wheel, not intending any harm, but just to force him to listen to her.”

  The neurologist looked thoughtful. “What else did she remember?”

  “Not much. She couldn’t tell me how she’d ended up in the truck with him. And she still had no memory of her life before that moment. Is this sort of partial memory returning normal?”

  “Generally the memory returns in bits and pieces, yes. But in every case I’ve seen, generally the accident that caused the impairment is the last to return. In many cases the victim never remembers it at all.”

  “Could she be faking her amnesia?”

  “She wasn’t very lucid when she came in tonight. But based on my examination last week, I’d say she presented with behavior and symptoms very typical of amnesia brought on by a trauma.”

  Wade took a sip of the coffee. It was awful. He took another sip anyway. How could he make sense of the fact that Joelle had remembered the accident that had caused her amnesia—and yet couldn’t recall anything else?

  “Unless we were right, early, when we speculated the trauma that caused Joelle’s memory loss wasn’t the truck accident. But something that happened earlier that day.”

  * * *

  day 9 after the accident

  Wade managed to catch four hours of sleep Saturday night, but he was awakened early the next morning by a call from Detective Waverman.

  “Mackay here.” He put on the speakerphone so he could pull on his sweatpants.

  “Sorry to call so early. But I wanted to give you the latest update. We finally managed to track down the neighbors who live closest to the Caruthers on the lake.” Waverman sounded tense. Exhausted.

  Undoubtedly his team would be working around the clock as long as there was a chance the baby could be alive. “Did they see anything?”

  “The husband said he heard a boat motor fire up around midnight, a week ago last Friday. This was pretty unusual, so he got out of bed and looked out the window. He claimed he saw Richard and Joelle drive off in their runabout. He’s pretty sure Joelle had the baby in her arms, but all he had to see by was moonlight, so he can’t be sure.”

  “How far from his window to the Caruthers’s dock?”

  “About two hundred yards.”

  “So he can’t be sure the people were Richard, Joelle and the baby.”

  “But he’s sure about the boat.”

  “Did he hear them return?”

  “No. He claims he went back to bed and didn’t wake up again until morning. By then the boat was back where it belonged. He said everything was quiet when he and his wife left to go to Medford for a week. Their daughter just had a baby.”

  Wade went to the kitchen and set the phone on the counter while he put on a pot of coffee. “So midnight on the Friday in question, two people, one possibly holding a baby, took the Caruthers’s boat out on the lake. Have you had a chance to question Richard?”

  “He’s sticking to his story that he was home in Ashland by nine o’clock. He says he kept the key to the boat in a drawer at the cottage. And it’s still there. We’ve sent it in to check for fingerprints.”

  “So if he’s telling the truth—who was the man in the boat?”

  “We’ve been interviewing neighbors, and tracing Joelle’s phone calls. So far nothing. If she was having an affair, she never called the guy. There are no registered offenders in the vicinity. No leads on who this guy could be, other than the obvious.”

  Richard Caruthers.

  “By the way, Joelle suffered a breakdown at the women’s shelter last night. She’s been admitted into Brookings Medical Center.”

  Waverman cursed. “We need her getting better, not worse.”

  * * *

  Wade showered, got dressed, then took a cup of coffee out to the deck. His mom had been qu
ite the gardener. Every year since she’d left, the yard looked a little sadder. He kept the hedge pruned, lawns moved, and perennial beds weeded, but he lacked the finer skills of staking and dividing. Which meant the delphiniums were bowed like supplicants and the daisies were taking over almost everything else.

  Maybe he should be like Dougal. Buy a place in the woods and not bother with all this.

  But Wade liked living in town. He enjoyed his neighbors and being able to walk to the Linger Longer from his home if he wished. And normally he found it relaxing to putter around the yard. This summer, though, he hadn’t had much time.

  Summer was always a challenging time for law enforcement, thanks to the influx of tourists and outdoor recreationalists. But this summer had been extra brutal.

  Ever since Dougal arrived.

  Dougal was the one who’d found Daisy Hammond-Quinpool’s remains.

  And Dougal had gotten everyone worked up about the librarian murders that occurred in the seventies and a possible connection to Charlotte’s aunt Shirley.

  The truck accident and Joelle’s amnesia and missing child was the one serious case that didn’t seem to have any connection to Dougal.

  And yet, his book was on Joelle’s nightstand—both at the cottage and in the women’s shelter. And according to Charlotte, Joelle seemed fixated on a need to see Dougal again.

  Wade rested his head against the chair and closed his eyes. As he relaxed, he recalled simpler times. The high school years. Back then he and Dougal had been on the same football team, along with Kyle Quinpool who played quarterback. Wade had been the middle line-backer. Dougal the safety. They’d played well together, in fact it had seemed at times like they could read each other’s minds.

  Off the field, their relationship had been more complicated.

  Wade had always thought Kyle lay at the root of the problem. Confident and entitled, Kyle had been into wild parties, reckless driving and casual hookups behind Daisy’s back. Wade had tried to restrain him, but Dougal had seemed to feed on Kyle’s insanity—at least he had when he was a teenager.

  They’d had many a fight over trouble that Kyle started.