The Last Sister

by Elliot, Kendra

  Ava handed him one of the coffees, and he nearly dropped it, the extreme heat radiating through the cup. “Careful. You need to toughen up your hands,” she quipped. “Maybe do something else besides tap on a keyboard.” She pulled a coffee sleeve out of her pocket and passed it to him with a grin.

  “Funny.”

  “I bet someone would be willing to take you logging or fishing. That would help.”

  He removed his lid, and steam gushed. “No thanks. I’m happy with my keyboard. Why is this so hot?”

  “Dunno.” She tilted her head to see what he was reading. “Lincoln Mills?” The frown he’d fully expected appeared on her face. “Why are you—”

  “Looking at a solved case when we have work to do,” he finished, unable to maintain her scrutinizing eye contact.

  “Exactly.”

  “You know why,” he hedged. “Our witness’s father was hanged. We agreed it was too big to be a coincidence.” He risked a glance at her, but her blue eyes still stared. Into his guilty soul.

  “Uh-huh. Yep. That’s why,” she said.

  “It’s a fascinating case,” he added, grasping at straws. And I’m curious about one of his daughters.

  “You can tell me about it later. We have work to do.” She set her overflowing laptop bag on a chair and hauled out her computer.

  Zander closed the thick three-ring binder and set it aside. “I called Dr. Rutledge this morning.”

  “You didn’t mind waking him up?” She focused on her computer.

  Zander understood he would pay for not calling her. “He told us yesterday that he starts early. I asked him to hold off on Nate Copeland’s autopsy.”

  Her head snapped up. “Why?”

  “I want to be there. I felt at least one of us should have observed the Fitch autopsies, but we were buried in the case. Copeland was law enforcement . . .”

  Ava immediately got it. “We’ll both go.”

  They shared a bond with the young deputy. All law enforcement did. As uncomfortable as it was to witness an autopsy, being present showed respect. It highlighted their commitment to finding the answers behind the man’s death.

  “But what about Billy Osburne?” Ava grimaced. “This morning I wanted to find out where he’s hiding.”

  “The sheriff will be on it,” said Zander. “He knows better than us which rocks to look under first. I think the autopsy is important. Rutledge has done the X-rays and photos on Copeland and sent his clothing to the lab. He’ll hold off on the rest until we get there. We can ask Dr. Rutledge more about the Fitches too,” Zander added. “I’ve been reviewing where we’re at. We don’t have any current leads on Billy Osburne. None of the employees at the auto parts store knew who he hung around with. Greer put a deputy on the Osburne house for a bit to see if he shows, and I’ve got watches on his credit cards and cell phone.”

  “There’s nothing back from forensics on the Copeland scene,” Ava added. “Forensics did check the Fitch cups and beverages for the presence of GHB. They didn’t find any. They’re checking the food next.”

  “Rutledge said it was probably in a liquid.”

  “Probably is the key word there.”

  “If it’s not found,” Zander said slowly, “that means someone walked away with the method of delivery.”

  “Possibly someone they knew—”

  “Someone they trusted to share a beverage with,” Zander finished. “Shit. I can see that scenario working with Copeland too.”

  “We don’t know if he had GHB in his system yet.”

  Zander’s gut told him the toxicology report would show he had.

  “Now.” Ava cleared her throat and turned her laptop so he could see the screen. “Yesterday I got a warrant for Emily Mills’s cell phone records.” She aimed her gaze at her computer.

  Coffee cooled in Zander’s mouth. She hadn’t told him of the request.

  “Why didn’t you just ask to see her phone?” he asked, knowing the suggestion was weak the moment he said it.

  She looked up, faint condescension shining in her eyes.

  “I know, I know. What did you find?” Coffee acid churned in Zander’s stomach. Had he put too much trust in their primary witness?

  “Twenty minutes are missing.”

  He couldn’t speak.

  “Emily’s phone records show she got a call at 6:47 from the diner. That would be her cook calling to tell her he couldn’t reach Lindsay.” Ava pointed at the entry with her pen. “She told you she left immediately for the diner. When I talked with Madison yesterday, she told me she heard Emily’s phone ring and stated she left within minutes.”

  “She must have already been up and dressed,” Zander said numbly. “Seems reasonable.”

  “I think so. The records show a call to Lindsay’s house at 6:50 that lasted two seconds.”

  “She must have reached her voice mail and hung up.”

  “And either she called right before she left, or she called while driving. Either way, I drove from the Barton mansion to Lindsay’s home. It took me eight minutes in the middle of the day. At that time of morning I imagine the roads are even quieter.”

  “They’re always quiet here,” Zander said.

  “There’s another brief call to Lindsay’s phone at 7:02. Your interview notes said she knocked and then tried to call again. That’s when she heard the phone ringing inside and tried the door, finding it was open.”

  Zander remembered Emily’s description exactly.

  “According to 911, Emily’s call came in at 7:29.”

  “Jesus.” Ice flooded his veins. “What did she do for all that time? I can understand it might take a few minutes to find Lindsay and then Sean. But going twenty minutes before calling it in?” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it.”

  Ava’s lips were tight, her face grim. “That makes two of us. She didn’t make any other calls during the time.”

  “I need to interview her again.”

  “We need to interview her again.”

  Her emphasis made him pause. “Why do you say it like that?”

  She sighed and gave him a look that reminded him of his mother when she was disappointed in him. “You’re too nice.”

  “Nice? I’m not nice. We’re working a murder case.”

  “You’re nice around her.” Ava raised both brows and held his gaze.

  He got it. “You think I’m attracted to her.”

  “I know you are. She’s a very attractive woman, and I know exactly what you look like in that scenario.” Her lips twisted in a wry smile.

  Ava would recognize that.

  He rubbed his forehead, analyzing everything he’d said or done in Emily’s presence. “I don’t think I’ve treated her any different than, say . . . her sister or aunts.”

  “Just be more aware. Okay?” Ava’s tone said she was done with the subject. “When should we talk to Emily about this? She might have a reasonable explanation—maybe she spent time vomiting in the bushes . . . or . . . I don’t know.”

  “What could she have done indoors for twenty minutes?” Zander was stumped.

  “Or outside.”

  “The bodies didn’t appear moved. Copeland admitted he was the one who’d cut down Sean. We wouldn’t know if anything else had been changed.”

  “They took her fingerprints to check against any found inside,” Ava said. “Maybe they’ll turn up somewhere.”

  “I’ll email forensics and tell them we want the locations where her prints turn up ASAP,” Zander said, opening his laptop. The churning in his stomach had subsided, but now he felt numb and determined to get to the bottom of Emily’s movements.

  Is she involved somehow?

  As hard as he tried, he couldn’t see her participating in murder. But Emily might have done something to compromise the scene, purposefully or not.

  “You’re in android mode now,” Ava commented.

  He glanced up. “Android?”

  “All business.”

 
; “Make up your mind how you want me to act.” He refocused on his email. Ava’s scrutiny was making him surly.

  “We can discuss it on the way to the medical examiner’s office in Portland.”

  “I can’t wait,” he groused, risking a glance at her.

  She was grinning, her eyes warm with humor, and for the briefest second, he regretted what he’d lost because he’d kept his feelings to himself in the past.

  The regrets occurred less and less, but he’d be happier once they completely vanished. Frowning, he sent his email, knowing Ava was right that Emily had caught his notice. But this was no time for feelings. She was a witness, and he had a murderer or two to catch.

  19

  “Where’d Isaac vanish to?” Madison asked Leo as he flipped hash browns on the griddle.

  “Dunno. He was here a minute ago.”

  “What do you think about holding a memorial for Lindsay and Sean?” she asked.

  The gruff man frowned. “Isn’t that something their families will do?” The shredded potatoes sizzled as he pressed them with his spatula.

  “I don’t know, but if they do, I doubt it will be here in Bartonville. They’ll probably hold something in their hometowns. I feel like we need something too.”

  “It makes sense. Memorials are for the living, not the dead,” Leo stated with a knowing glance.

  He read her perfectly, understanding that she needed closure. Many of the people in town could use the same. They were silent, walking grievers, seeking a place to ease their pain.

  Isaac appeared and headed toward the supply room with a box of huge tomato-sauce cans. As he passed, Madison touched his arm, and he flinched away, nearly dropping the box.

  “Sorry, Isaac.”

  Fear flashed in his wide eyes as he stopped and turned toward her.

  He looks scared of me. Why?

  “I wanted your opinion on a memorial service for the Fitches,” she said, forcing a small smile to put him at ease. His brief terror had rattled her.

  Isaac looked from her to Leo. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.” He continued around the corner to their storage area. Isaac had always been skittish, but he’d been so much better over the last six months. It hurt her to see him looking like a kicked puppy again.

  Leo shrugged as she sent him a questioning look. “People process things in different ways. I’m sure it’s about Lindsay. Don’t take it personally.”

  She didn’t.

  Leo had asked Emily to give Isaac a job a year ago, claiming he was a nephew from out of state who needed a fresh start, and Emily had immediately hired him. Several weeks later Leo had confessed he’d found Isaac hiding in a shed on his property and had lied about the nephew story. The bruises, burns, and scars on the boy’s back had kept Leo from sending him home. Leo had done some investigating a few hours south in Isaac’s hometown of Lincoln City. He’d shared with the sisters that he’d learned Isaac’s father was a drunk, and that two of his old girlfriends had brought charges against him for assault. He’d been in and out of jail most of his life.

  Isaac had simply left home instead of going to the police.

  Emily had promised that Isaac had a job for as long as he wanted.

  Three months into Isaac’s employment, Madison had found him reading an article on Leo’s tablet in the break room. When she’d asked what was so interesting, he’d replied, “Nothing,” and then closed the browser and left. Madison had sat in his chair, opened the browser, and clicked on the first page in the history. Her skin had tingled as she read about an assault in Lincoln City. A forty-year-old resident had been attacked with a baseball bat outside a bar. He’d suffered severe head trauma and two crushed ankles. Madison had not recognized the name, but the police were searching for the attacker they’d briefly caught on camera. A grainy image accompanied the story.

  The man in the picture wore Leo’s coat. He also wore a hat, so his bald head was covered, but Madison had known the coat. Two years ago, she’d sewn on new buttons after she noticed he’d lost more than half of them. Since then he’d worn it nearly every day. There was nothing identifiable about the coat to anyone else; hundreds of men on the coast wore similar tan canvas coats.

  I could be wrong.

  She’d closed the story, erased the history, and sat thinking for a long moment. The victim’s last name wasn’t Smith like Isaac’s.

  Smith. Could there be a more common name?

  Spinning around in her chair, she’d checked the employee coat hooks. Leo had worn a denim jacket with fleece lining that morning.

  She never saw the canvas coat again, but she followed the story. The victim would never walk without a heavy limp, and no leads were ever found on his attacker.

  Madison had asked no questions and exercised more patience and sympathy around the teenager.

  But this morning, Isaac’s flighty behavior was another oddity that tipped her day off-balance. Dory’s weird rambling had been the first, and the slogan from the pocket watch consistently beat a fierce tempo in her brain as she worked, making her mess up orders and nearly spill coffee. Twice. Usually her shift ran like a well-oiled machine. Today her mental gears were grinding and sticking.

  The watch and Dory’s words sucked up her concentration.

  Why would Dad have a watch with that slogan? Maybe he didn’t know what the words meant . . . it had been his grandfather’s, after all.

  But Dory said, “Even with the kind of man he was.”

  Was there something we didn’t know?

  The thoughts warred in her brain. She had memories of her loving father. But if she thought hard, there were also glimpses of anger. Glimpses she’d pushed away, not wanting to remember.

  “Dammit!” her father roared from the driver’s seat. Madison and Emily went silent in the back seat and craned their necks to see what had made their father yell and pound on the steering wheel.

  “Damned bitch.” He threw open his door and strode to a car that had just pulled into a parking place.

  “I think Dad was waiting for that spot,” said Emily.

  “Why doesn’t he just find another?” asked Madison. She could see empty spots a few rows over.

  She gasped as she saw him kick the rear tire of the other car. Putting both hands on the glass, she pressed her face close to see. The other driver was frantically rolling up her window, her wide eyes terrified in her black face.

  Madison’s stomach clenched.

  Who can I ask about Dory’s comments about Mom and Dad? And about Tara?

  She didn’t want to go to her other great-aunts. Past conversations had proved the aunts stuck to a script when it came to discussing her parents. Dory had gone off script, and Madison was certain her other aunts wouldn’t approve. She had to think of someone else who’d been around during her parents’ early years. And would be willing to talk.

  Remembering she’d entered the kitchen to grab extra butter for a customer, she scooped a generous ball into a tiny dish and darted back to the floor. The customer said nothing as Madison set it near her pancakes.

  You’re welcome.

  She sighed and checked the restaurant front for new customers. A single male waited, his back to her. She grabbed a menu for him, feeling tension crawl up her spine. He turned as she approached.

  Brett Steele.

  She tossed the menu onto the hostess stand and met his gaze. “Why are you here?”

  “To eat of course.”

  “Emily’s not here yet.”

  “I didn’t come to see her.” He looked pointedly at the menu she’d cast aside. “Can I get a table?”

  She reluctantly picked it up and led him to the closest booth.

  “You look good today, Madison,” he said as he slid in. “I’m liking the lipstick.”

  An urge to wipe it off consumed her, and she hid a tremor.

  “Coffee?” she asked instead.

  “Yep. And a short stack with a side of bacon.” He smiled.

  Out of the corner of her eye,
she saw Emily walk through the kitchen door, clearly headed to her office. Brett’s sudden attention shift indicated he’d also spotted her. Madison rolled her eyes at his flash of longing.

  Get over her.

  His comment about her lipstick curdled in her brain. The man had issues when it came to the Mills sisters. All three of them.

  “I’ll get your coffee in a minute.” Madison dashed away in pursuit of Emily, catching her as she unlocked her office. “Can you watch the floor? It’s quieted down from breakfast, and I have an appointment.”

  “Seriously, Madison? Why would you schedule it during your work hours?”

  “I just made it this morning. I’ve got a tooth that throbbed half the night. They said they could get me in now.”

  “Oh.” Emily’s gaze sharpened. “Yeah, I’ll cover it.” She wrinkled her nose. “Did I see Brett out there?”

  “Yes. He wants the usual, but I didn’t put in his order yet. And keep an eye on table eight. They’re needy.” Madison pulled her apron strap over her head, wadded the fabric up in a ball, and squeezed past Emily into the office to grab her purse. “Gotta go.” She darted out and down the hall.

  “I hope your tooth feels better,” Emily called after her.

  Madison had already forgotten the lie. “Thanks.”

  She’d thought of someone who would answer her questions.

  Madison rapped on the window, spotting Anita at a desk inside her beauty parlor. The front door was locked because the shop didn’t open for another twenty minutes. Anita waved at her and headed toward the door.

  Anita was Madison’s choice for answers for several reasons.

  First, she’d lived in Bartonville all her life and knew every person in Madison’s family, including her parents. Anita had been a few years older than Madison’s mother, Brenda.

  Second, the Anita Haircut shop was a gold mine of gossip—or cesspool, depending on one’s personal preferences.

  Third, Madison knew that Anita and her aunts had quarreled off and on over the years. Anita wasn’t afraid to stand up to her aunts. They were still friends, but that didn’t mean Anita toed their line like some people in town. She spoke freely.