by Jo Crow
“Not even after all these years? You never even had a suspicion where they were—all this time?”
“No.” After I left, I’d done my best to forget what had happened and what I’d seen out back in the shed with Elkins. “My education plans were already set so it seemed the right thing to do at the time. I left town when I was eighteen years old, thinking they’d know where I was. I was angry, I suppose. I didn’t understand why they’d left me. Coming back was one of the hardest decisions of my life.”
A look crossed Samuel’s eyes, something between pity and suspicion. It glimmered there for a second, then fizzled out. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he turned and headed across the set. “Why don’t you go get set up for today? We’ll get someone from the crew to clean up your car.”
The kindness was surprising, and I found myself doubting Samuel’s intention. Over the last twenty-four hours, he’d proved himself to be more concerned with drama than the way I was treated. Had he been the one out there tagging my car in the middle of the night, just so he could get a reaction out of me?
My head spun.
“That’s nice of you, but—”
“No, I won’t hear it. Absolutely not. We need you on set to start recording. Now the crowds have gone, we need to get back on track and record the segment we were scheduled to wrap up yesterday.” Samuel didn’t so much as turn his head to look at me. “Heidi? Where are you? We need Clara done up.”
Another day of filming, another day of suffering through the demons of my past. But every second I spent before a camera lens was another second closer to being finished with the shoot for good.
And one step closer to getting James to Boston.
Still, a lingering thought crept into my mind, and as I moved from take to take, reciting my lines to Samuel’s specifications, I found I couldn’t shake it. The conversation with Samuel created a niggle—a drive to know more.
Who killed my parents, and why? For my own sanity, I’d never looked into the matter of their disappearance. The anger I’d left behind when I started my new life was supposed to stay buried but, like my parents’ exhumed remains, it was starting to bubble back to the surface. I’d thought every thought imaginable of what could have become of them, where they were—hoping always they’d get in touch with me one day. But with anger left behind, and grief dragging my spirits down, staying away from Hickory Hills, even long after they’d disappeared, was the only way I could cope. After ten years, confronted with the hardest decision of my life, I’d had no choice but to come back.
Ten years wasn’t long enough, not for me, and not for whoever had tortured and killed my mother and father. If only I’d stuck around until the police had figured out who was behind it, what was their motive, I wouldn’t be in this situation now. But I was eighteen. Leaving had seemed the only option.
If I knew, I realized, it would clear my name. If I knew, I could do my best to keep James safe.
I needed to find out who killed them, and I needed to find out quickly. There was no telling how many days I had before the man responsible grew tired of waiting and decided to strike again.
So once shooting was over for the day and I had a minute to myself, I locked myself in my car, and I called Jerry Appleton.
8
The first time I met Jerry Appleton, I was a rosy-cheeked five-year-old who was too shy to even meet his eye. To this day, I remember the way he’d stepped through the doors of the McNair house, all smiles and confidence, only to stoop low when he saw me and extend a tiny box done up in red ribbon.
“For the little lady of the house,” he’d announced, voice grandiose and rich with affection.
My mother oohed and ahhed over the display, and when I’d been too shy to accept the box, she had taken it for me. Pearlescent threads were woven through the red ribbon, and it had glimmered like a treasure in the light from the hallway chandelier.
I don’t remember what was inside the box, nor do I remember opening it, but twenty-three years later, I still remembered Jerry Appleton’s thin-lipped smile and the notes of his voice.
Two decades had changed his face, but it hadn’t changed the honey-sweet notes that decorated his every word.
“Hello, Clara.” Jerry stood from his high-back leather chair, hands planted flat on his desk. They were wrinkled from age and leathered from time but, in a way, they suited him better than youth. Jerry took to age like wine, and I found myself at ease as he circled his desk to greet me. The crisp lines of his suit elongated his torso and strengthened his shoulders, fleshing out his slender body. Jerry’s gray hair was combed back, a full mane my father envied. Jerry had been as much a friend as a friendly rival to my father. Whenever he’d come to visit, my father always puffed up and spoke just a little louder, like he could prove his worth through physical trappings alone.
“Hello, Mr. Appleton.” I held out my hand, expecting Jerry to keep some semblance of formality between us, but he swept me into a hug and held me tightly. After a moment’s hesitation, I hugged him back. The hint of bergamot on his collar took me right back to my childhood. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Call me Jerry,” Jerry insisted. “This Mr. Appleton business isn’t right. Rich wouldn’t have wanted rigidity like that between us. I’ve known you almost your entire life.” He released me from his embrace and laid his hands on my arms instead, standing back a few spaces so he could look me over.
I braced myself for the answers he could give. If anyone knew what was going on with my parents in 2007, it was Jerry. As my father’s attorney and the legal force behind McNair Furniture, he wasn’t just tied to my father’s business—he was tied to his life. If there had been anything suspicious going on, Jerry would have known about it.
I hoped a decade hadn’t diminished his memory.
“Well, you’re sure not little Clara.” Jerry’s eyes gleamed with paternal pride. He let go of my arms and gestured toward the rich mahogany desk. “Come, take a seat. It’s a long time since you’ve been back home; we have a lot to catch up on. Come, come.”
Jerry led me to a wooden chair set up on the client side of his desk. I sat and got comfortable as he settled back into his chair and folded his arms in front of him. “So, tell me, what’s happened since the last time we met? It’s one of my biggest regrets we fell out of touch.”
I nodded. “Well, as you know, I went off to Europe for school; after that, I moved to California and graduated with a master’s degree in neuropsychology.”
“Neuropsychology!” Jerry whistled low under his breath and shook his head slowly. “You know, if you weren’t sitting here before me looking every bit the respectable young lady you are, I never would have believed it. Little Clara McNair… What prompted the change? The last thing I heard, you weren’t sure what you wanted to do with your life.”
“That’s still true.” I laughed, and Jerry laughed with me. The familiarity of the sound put me more at ease. “I guess I just… wanted to figure out things about myself: why I was behaving that way—you know how I was…” He nodded, and rolled his eyes. “Psychology seemed like a good place to start.”
“I see, I see. You had plenty of material to study.” He smiled, then leaned forward earnestly, capturing my gaze. “So, what did you find out?”
The question left me stunned, even though I’d invited it. I blinked, startled, trying to find the words, before Jerry laughed and waved me off.
“Your business is your business. You’re absolutely fine.” He settled back in his chair, eyes distant, but mouth smiling. “I can only imagine what your parents would have felt with your academic success. They would have been so proud.”
“Thank you.” It was a sore spot, but I liked to think the same. “But my education isn’t what I’m most proud of.”
“Then what is?”
“I have a son.” A smile curled my lips, impossible to hold back. James was the center of my universe, and he would be until the day I died. “His name is James, and he’ll be
going on three in August.”
“Congratulations.” The paternal glow in Jerry’s eyes grew softer yet. “I’d love to meet him some day.”
“Soon,” I promised. “James and I are staying on the estate for the next few weeks. You’ve probably heard all about the documentary being filmed around town about the disappearance. I agreed to take part, so we’re staying close by while the director gets the footage he needs.”
“The documentary…” Jerry pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a controlled breath through his nose. “Yes, of course, the documentary. I’d heard rumblings on the news about it, but I didn’t know it had actually got to the stage of filming.”
“Rumblings?”
Jerry dropped his hand and shook his head. “It’s not exactly local news, Clara. When the media got hold of the story of your parents’ mysterious disappearance ten years ago, they blew it up into a phenomenon. You know how these things grow—local businessman and his beautiful wife disappear, nothing found but blood and, oddly, their fingertips—psychics from all over the country came to try to track them down and piece together what happened. Hotshot detectives with more air in their heads than brains stopped by, then promptly left. Elkins was all over it for a while. You were in Europe by then, so you probably didn’t get the full impact, but it was… intense. Hickory Hills was swarming with outsiders, all of whom were making a bigger mess than they’d stumbled into.”
I’d known Samuel was a big name in Hollywood, but I hadn’t really understood the scope of what I was doing until then.
“In my opinion, what’s done is done.” Jerry shook his head again and looked down at his hands. He’d folded them on his desk. “Digging up the past is only going to lead to more problems; that’s what I told that director when he asked for my input. Some things are meant to stay buried.”
I parted my lips but, for a second, I couldn’t find the words. Did Jerry know what he was saying, or was it a slip of the tongue? There was a twitch to his left eye that made me nervous.
“But in any case,” he went on, “you need to come over for dinner. Francine will make a roast.” Jerry reached for a leather-bound agenda on his desk, flipping it open. Small handwriting in black ink filled the pages, the cursive writing smooth and masculine. “Thursday, Friday, or Saturday nights work for me this week. I’m seeing Emma Hendricks on Monday. Next week, I have Wednesday… hm. I think it’s too early to tell. I can get back to you about next week on Friday.”
“Emma Hendricks?” It was a name I hadn’t heard for ages. “Is she still with us?”
“She’s alive and kicking. I think she’ll outlive us all.” Jerry chuckled. He closed the book. “So, you’ll come to dinner?”
“I appreciate the hospitality but, if I’m being honest, the reason I’m here isn’t social…” The wooden chair creaked as I adjusted my position, shifting my thighs to try to disperse some of the awkwardness.
Jerry’s face fell, his hospitality replaced by professionalism. “Of course. What can I help you with? Is it a trustee issue? As you know, it’s all tied up.”
“I need to know if you’re aware of any person or organization who might have wished my father ill.”
“Ah.” Jerry slid his hand over the agenda as though to consider the leather. “I really do think it’s in the past, Clara. This is for the documentary, I’m assuming.”
“No. This is for me.”
He looked up, surprise parting his lips and knitting his brow. For a moment there was silence, then he shook his head. “You know, if you go looking, you might find something you’re not prepared for. Bones aren’t the only thing buried in Hickory Hills.”
“I’m aware. I’m ready.” Did that mean he knew something he wasn’t letting on, or was he warning me off? The ambiguous nature of his statement left me rattled, and I pushed for clarification. “What is it you know? Do you have any idea why someone would want to torture my father and my mother? Or know why they would want to fake their kidnapping, if that’s what happened?”
“No. And if I did, I would have informed the police at the time.” Jerry drew a deep breath and released it slowly through his nostrils. “Elkins was of the opinion the crime scene in the shed was staged; I recall, at the time, he thought it was too amateurish—not a hit or anything slick. The fingertips—” He shuddered. A pained expression crossed his face that pushed his lips together and deepened the lines of his brow. Was he hiding something? The tells were there, but the sincerity in his voice threw me off.
“If there’s even a suspicion, an inkling, anything—”
“Tell you what.” Jerry wheeled back from his desk and gestured toward a windowless door to the side of his office. “I’ve got all of my records locked away in there, including all of your father’s old documents. As legal heir to the estate, as named in his will, you have rights to his information. I was meaning to clear up my files, anyway. If you come back in a few days, I’ll have everything sorted and ready for you, and you can pour over the details yourself. Maybe you can glean something from the madness.”
The more he spoke, the more I was sure something wasn’t right. An itch started beneath the skin on the nape of my neck, and it wriggled its way down my back. I resisted the urge to stretch my shoulders. There was something here—something I needed to find out. I didn’t know what was sealing Jerry’s lips so tightly, but as he didn’t feel at liberty to disclose what it was, I assumed the worst.
“How long is it going to take?” I folded my hands on my lap, trying not to seem too eager or anxious, but doubt had begun to cloud my mind. Something was making Jerry nervous. Out in the streets of Hickory Hills, I’d felt unwelcome; so far, no one had harmed me. Shouting and trashing my car were their limit.
But this?
This shook me.
To know Jerry Appleton—a respected attorney, in not just Hickory Hills, but in North Carolina—was fearful to speak plainly in his private office set off warning bells. I appreciated his willingness to work with me but, at the same time, I knew I needed to stay on my toes. I wasn’t sure if the files Jerry had in storage would illuminate what that threat was, but I was determined to find out.
Jerry shrugged a single shoulder. “A few days. If you leave your number, I’ll give you a call when it’s done. But you should probably leave your number, anyway, so I can get back in touch with you about dinner plans. There’s no way I’m letting a McNair visit town without being properly entertained.”
Despite the urgency of the situation, Jerry’s attention made me smile. For a moment, my fears were forgotten. A town like this couldn’t be rotten when I still had people like Jerry and Amanda on my side.
“Are you ready to host a fussy two-year-old?” I asked, arching a brow playfully. “James is a good boy, most of the time, but we’ve never been to a dinner party before. He might be more than you bargained for.”
“After dealing with your father?” Jerry scoffed. “That man could throw fits that rivaled a toddler’s. I think I’m prepared.”
I grinned, and Jerry grinned back. The tension dispersed, and the itch working its way down my spine stopped wriggling.
We exchanged numbers. His secretary had fielded my call when I reached out to his law office but, with his personal number, I’d be able to get in touch at any time. The lifeline was appreciated.
“I imagine you’ve got to get back to your little boy now.” Jerry stretched his arms over his head, the fine fabric of his suit jacket bunching at the shoulders. “I’ll be in touch later today to remind you about making plans. I’m serious, you know.”
“So am I.” I nodded. “We’ll be there. You’ve been nothing but kind to my family since you started working for us. It would be my honor to have dinner with you.”
Jerry smiled. “Rich and Glenda would be proud of the woman you’ve become.”
The flattery reddened my cheeks. I dropped my gaze, bashful. “Thank you.”
Jerry stood, readjusting his suit jacket before he stepped around the d
esk. We hugged again, and I breathed in bergamot.
“If you keep looking, you’ll find what you’re looking for,” Jerry whispered when we were close. “But it might change everything you know. Is that what you want?”
“How will I know where to look?” I buried my nose against his shoulder and closed my eyes, ignoring the warning bells going off in my head. “I’ve been away for so long.”
Jerry released me. He cleared his throat and shook his head, then stepped back to lean against his desk, keeping his eyes on his fingernails. “You’re a smart girl, Clara. You’ll get to the answers you’re looking for.”
I hoped he was right.
9
McNair Furniture was not a small business, but it wasn’t a global powerhouse, either. There were enough people beneath my father’s employ that I could never hope to remember all their names, but there were some I could never forget. Jerry Appleton was one such figure. Emma Hendricks was another.
Mrs. Hendricks had been my father’s elderly secretary. Kind and wise, whenever I’d stopped by the office to see my father, she’d been the face to greet me with a knowing smile and a twinkle in her eye. As a child, I’d been enchanted by her. The calm, collected presence she exerted was the stuff of magic, and it had drawn me in. As a testy adolescent and a moody teen, I’d rolled my eyes at the sweet old lady act. Now, I hoped kindly Mrs. Hendricks hadn’t grown testy with age.
A little bit of social media stalking and some quick Google searches later, and I had an address. Nervous, I drove at a crawl down the street Mrs. Hendricks was reported to live on. Small bungalows lined the way. Shingles hung loosely from roofs. Paint peeled in long, curled strips. Eroded concrete steps. Oxidized metal railings, gritty orange-red streaking the surfaces beneath it.
In one of those bungalows, gold-plated letters hanging crookedly by the door, I found Mrs. Hendricks’s residence.
