The Package

by Sharon Dunn

  Doris nodded. “After the baby was born, and it seemed that Joan wasn’t going to come back, poor Marie was beside herself. I went into her room one night before I got off shift. Marie was crying. She said she couldn’t see herself raising the baby alone.”

  “So she gave the baby up for adoption?” said Annie.

  Doris nodded again.

  “Were Joan and Marie fighting? Is that why Joan went away and didn’t come back?” Alice asked.

  Doris shook her head. “I never got that impression. They seemed close, really supportive of each other.”

  Annie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Did you meet Joan’s ex-husband? Was he the reason Joan disappeared?”

  “I don’t know. Far as I know, he never came to the hospital,” Doris said.

  “You keep calling her Marie,” Alice said. “We thought her name was Therese Marie.”

  Doris met Annie’s gaze. “No. They had planned on naming the baby Therese Marie.”

  Annie took in a shallow breath. The stock certificates were intended for the baby.

  “What happened to the baby?”

  Doris shook her head. “I put Marie in touch with some adoption agencies in Portland. She left town. After that, I don’t know.”

  “Thank you for coming to the hospital on your day off,” Alice said.

  “Anything we can do to help,” Sarah said.

  Doris added. “And now Joan came back after all these years and … what a tragedy.”

  Annie shook her head. “It shocked us all.”

  Annie and Alice excused themselves and headed toward the lobby. “Do you suppose Joan’s ex-husband is still around?” Alice asked.

  “It seems he was the reason they came back here. He might have some answers.” Annie pushed open the hospital doors.

  “I can tell you right now, there are no Whitlocks in this area,” said Alice.

  “You said earlier that Joan might have gone back to her maiden name.”

  The two women walked across the parking lot. “In which case, we will never find him. He could have moved away or died by now. And we don’t even know his name.”

  They were partway to the car when Annie’s cell phone rang. “Hello.”

  “Annie, it’s Ian.” He took a deep breath. “I’m calling on behalf of the chief. Did you have any contact with Joan Whitlock before she died?”

  “Yes, she came to my house looking for the stock certificates.” Annie’s neck muscles pinched tight. “I thought about calling the police, but I didn’t know if it was warranted. She was just asking for something that belonged to her in the first place.”

  “Can you come down to the police station right away?” She’d never heard his voice sound so stressed.

  19

  Heading toward the police station, Annie was grateful that Alice was driving. Right now, she wasn’t sure if she would be able to remember the directions. She was having trouble stringing two thoughts together. Why was Ian calling her to the police station? Obviously, she was probably the first person he had thought of when he saw that the dead woman was Joan Whitlock.

  Annie spoke her thoughts out loud. “You don’t think the police think I had something to do with Joan’s death, do you?”

  “Of course not.” Fear strained Alice’s voice as she offered Annie a forced smile.

  Annie pressed her back against the seat when the town hall came into view.

  Alice came to a stop and turned off the car. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  Annie squared her shoulders to try to shake off the tension in her neck and back. “If they will let you.”

  “I’m sure they are not going to grill you under bright lights or anything.” Alice sounded like she was trying to convince herself as well as Annie.

  The two women got out of the car and entered the police station.

  Ian came forward and grabbed Annie’s hands. “Thank you for coming so quickly. The chief has some questions he would like to ask you.”

  Chief Edwards, seated behind his desk, offered Annie a nod before rising to his feet. The broad-shouldered man was an intimidating figure. “Thanks for coming, Mrs. Dawson. Why don’t you take a seat?”

  Annie couldn’t quite read the chief’s expression. His features held a hardness that could be concern or suspicion. “Can my friend stay?” Her voice sound weak.

  The chief narrowed his eyes but said, “Sure.”

  Ian squeezed Annie’s shoulder. “Relax. We don’t think you have done anything wrong.”

  Annie let out her breath. He must have seen the level of worry on her face. “I just thought maybe because I was the one who had contact with Joan …”

  “No,” Ian managed a smile though it faded quickly.

  Alice stepped forward. “So there was no foul play?”

  “We didn’t say that.” Chief Edwards slammed a file down on his desk.

  Annie’s throat constricted. “You mean … there was?”

  The chief’s glance bounced from Ian and then to Annie and Alice. He didn’t have to say anything. Someone had killed Joan Whitlock. Annie reached over and grabbed Alice’s hand, so grateful that her friend was with her.

  “So why did you call me?”

  The chief opened a drawer and pulled out a photograph. He pushed it across the desk toward Annie. “Is this the woman you met?”

  Annie picked up the photograph and studied it. The picture was of a woman standing behind a white picket fence. The hair was a different color and not pulled back from her face, but it was the same woman she had met. “Yes, that is the woman who came to my door. Where did you get this photograph?”

  “A friend of the dead woman sent it over to us,” said the chief.

  “A friend?” Still gripping the photograph, she turned slightly to face Ian. “I don’t understand. What is going on? Why do you need me to identify her? The newspaper said it was Joan Whitlock.” She set the photo back on the desk.

  “That is what we initially thought. Everything in her possession identified her as Joan Whitlock. And then we got a call from the friend, a Marian Steffes over in Petersgrove.”

  “Petersgrove? I don’t know where that is.”

  Alice seated herself in the chair beside Annie. “It’s a little town. Really just a bump in the road—a few houses, a bar, and a post office. I did a party there a while ago.”

  “Marian said her friend didn’t come home last night. She faxed us over that picture.”

  Annie wiggled in her seat as she absorbed what was being said. “And her friend’s name isn’t Joan Whitlock.”

  “Marian said her friend’s name was Janet Murray,” Ian said.

  “Wait a second.” Alice glanced nervously at Annie. “We think Joan might have changed her name. She was trying to hide her identity.”

  Ian paced a few feet and then picked up an envelope off the desk. “I went over to Linda Hunter’s, because she said she thought she had a photo of the Joan who stayed at the Maplehurst.” He pulled out the photograph and handed it to Annie. “This is what she gave me.”

  Annie grabbed the photo of “Janet” and looked at the two photos side by side. She gasped. The woman in the Maplehurst dining room was toward the front of the camera and in tight focus. Her dark hair was twisted up into an elegant bun. Gold jewelry set off the brightness in her eyes. Even though the picture of Janet was of her whole body and she was farther away from the camera, they were clearly two different women.

  Numbness invaded Annie’s limbs as she placed the photos back on the chief’s desk.

  The chief gathered up the photos. “Mrs. Dawson, I’ll need to take a statement from you. Did the woman who came to your house give you any indication that someone might be after her?”

  Annie shook her head. “She didn’t say anything directly. It was just that … I had a feeling. Really, I was suspicious of her. But I didn’t think she was in any danger.” She looked Chief Edwards in the eye. “Maybe I should have come to you sooner.”

  Ia
n placed a supportive hand on Annie’s shoulder. “You can’t blame yourself. The chief wouldn’t have been able to do much with a feeling.”

  The chief clicked on his computer. “We’ll get through this interview as quickly as possible. Just try to remember exactly what she said to you.”

  The chief prompted her. Annie answered his questions as best she could. Ian and Alice both offered encouragement as she fought to bring out any detail that might help Chief Edwards. As she thought about her conversation with Janet, she realized that the woman had given no indication that she was in danger. Annie’s concerns had been over the woman’s identity, that maybe she wasn’t who she said she was. Her instincts had been right. Twenty minutes later, the chief thanked her and said they were done.

  “Come on, ladies. Let me walk you outside,” Ian offered.

  The three of them stood in the parking lot. The confusion and the heartache overwhelmed Annie.

  Ian sighed. “Here it is a beautiful sunny day, and we have to deal with such a suspicious tragedy.”

  “It’s not stuff we want to think about, is it?” Annie sighed.

  All the color had drained from Alice’s face. Annie offered her a sideways hug. “Do you feel all right to drive?” Not that she felt any better.

  Alice nodded. “I’ll be OK. It’s all so … shocking.”

  The two women said goodbye to Ian and got into the Mustang.

  Alice started the engine and shifted into reverse. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a nice, long, head-clearing drive.”

  Annie leaned against the back of the seat. “That sounds like a great idea.”

  After putting the top down, Alice drove along the coastal road. Annie let the wind rustle her hair and enjoyed the feeling of the ocean breeze on her skin. Slowly her spirits lifted, and she could think straight again.

  Alice brought the car to a stop in a gravel turnout to a remote part of the beach, and they got out. Huge boulders jutted out on the landscape between the shoreline and the turnout. To the west was an old-growth pine forest. Shadow and darkness blended with the bushy evergreens.

  “I think there is a walking trail here somewhere if you want to go down to the shore.” Alice pointed. “There.” She trekked ahead on the narrow path.

  Annie followed behind her friend, choosing her steps carefully on the rocky path. “I just realized something.”

  “What’s that?” Alice spoke over her shoulder.

  “The lady at Ocean Side Partners couldn’t tell me who the stock was registered to. But I suspect Joan bought it. The real Joan could have just gone in and cashed her stock out—without the certificates—but something kept her from doing so. Janet posing as Joan didn’t try to cash the stock in with her false I.D. For some reason, she wanted the actual stock certificates.”

  As the two women made their way closer to the shoreline, gulls dipped into the foamy waves. The breeze intensified.

  “The only thing special about the stock certificates is that they were made out to Therese Marie, who we now know was the baby that Marie had here in Stony Point and gave up for adoption.”

  “How do we make all the pieces fit, Alice?” Annie stared out at the powerful waves cresting and smoothing as they reached the shore.

  The rocky landscape died away, and they walked on a narrow band of sand.

  “Maybe the real Joan is alive and well, and has been pulling the strings all along. She sends some guy in to try and find the certificates, and when that doesn’t work, she sends in a Joan impersonator.”

  “What do we know about this Janet person?” Annie stopped walking. “What made her want to pretend to be Joan?”

  Alice turned to face her, placing her hands on her hips. “We know where she lives. It’s not that far a drive to Petersgrove.”

  “We should go there and ask around?”

  The wind caught Alice’s auburn hair and whipped it around. “You still feel responsible for what happened to her, don’t you?”

  “Partly yes, I keep thinking if I had gone to the police, things might have turned out differently.”

  Alice gathered her hair into her hands and held it tight. “What would you have told them? There was nothing illegal to report. Someone had come back for something that belonged to her.”

  Annie pressed her lips together. She played with the locket she had around her neck as a sadness rose up in her. “I know I can’t bring Janet back, but I could at least figure out why she died.”

  “You have to stop beating yourself up.” Alice’s voice was filled with compassion.

  “It would make me feel better to go over to Petersgrove, just to find out what kind of a person Janet was. If the real Joan put her up to this, we can always ask around if anyone saw the two of them together. I’m sure Linda would make another copy of the photograph of Joan.”

  “All right then. That’s what we’ll do,” said Alice.

  As they made their way back up the hill, Annie’s cell phone rang.

  “Annie, Wally here. I was hoping to get over to your place to put the finishing touches on that library. I recut some of the scrollwork. We just need to secure it into place, and you can put those books back on the shelf. We can be over there in ten minutes.”

  “I’ll be home to let you in, but then I’ve got some running around to do.” Annie was out of breath from climbing back up the hill.

  “That’s fine. I can lock up when I leave,” Wally said.

  Alice agreed to drop Annie off. They could get the photo from Linda on the way out of town.

  Only minutes after Annie stepped into Grey Gables, Wally and Douglas pulled up in Wally’s car. Annie let them in and then ran a comb through her hair and refreshed her makeup before walking over to Alice’s.

  After stopping by the inn to get the photo of Joan from Linda Hunter, they headed inland to Petersgrove. In less than an hour they saw the welcome sign, followed by several houses spread far apart. “You were right when you said it wasn’t much more than a bump in the road,” Annie said.

  “There are some surrounding farms that support the town.” Alice slowed as she entered the village limits.

  The main street had no stoplights and consisted of a post office, a drugstore that looked as if it also carried groceries, and a bar that advertised steak dinners for ten dollars.

  Alice glanced from side to side. “So, inspector, where do we start?”

  Annie peered out the window at the quaint cottages. “I suspect that this Janet was standing in her front yard when that picture was taken. There aren’t that many houses around here.”

  “Gotcha,” Alice said. “We drive through the neighborhood until we see the house.”

  Annie closed her eyes, trying to re-create the photo in her mind. “It was brick with a white fence.”

  The streets behind the business district were not more than three blocks long. Alice drove down one street and up another.

  “There, on the corner,” Annie pointed.

  Alice brought the car to a stop in front of a brick house. “Now what?” Alice glanced over at her friend before opening the door.

  “She must have neighbors. All we have to do is stand outside her house looking interested.”

  Alice shrugged. “It’s your call, Miss Marple.”

  The two women got out of the car and walked up to the little house. The beds by the fence had all been prepared for planting. Tulips bloomed around the stairs that led up to the house. Shingles were missing from the roof of the house, and the trim needed a fresh coat of paint.

  The curtains on the house next door moved; a moment later the front door opened. Annie elbowed Alice. “What did I tell you?”

  An older woman dressed in a loose-fitting housecoat emerged and walked over to where the two of them stood. She shaded her eyes from the sun. “Are you looking for Janet?”

  Annie stepped back from the fence. “Well, no, we heard the news ...”

  The woman placed her palm on her chest. “Such a tragedy. I am the one w
ho phoned the police over at Stony Point and faxed them the photograph.”

  “What made you think it was Janet and not Joan Whitlock, like the paper said?”

  “The car in the newspaper article looked like Janet’s. Weather permitting, Janet was out every morning working in her yard. She didn’t come out this morning.” The woman turned back toward her house. “I like to have my coffee on the porch. She always waved at me, and we had a few words.”

  The woman seemed more than willing to volunteer information without finding out if they were police or reporters. “What kind of person was Janet?”

  “She bought the house and moved here about a year ago. From Augusta, I think. She was on some kind of disability, something to do with her heart.”

  Disability pay couldn’t have provided Janet with much income. Maybe that was why the house was so run down. “Did she know a lot of people?”

  The woman thought for a moment. “She never said anything about a husband, dead or alive. My George passed away just two years ago. Janet was a few years younger than me.”

  “Did she have visitors? Other people who might know something about her?”

  “She said something about a son and daughter. I don’t think they ever visited.” The woman wrinkled up her face. “She kind of kept to herself, really. Nice enough lady, though. At the height of summer, her garden and flower beds were something to see.” The woman leaned a little closer. “I can’t garden anymore. Bursitis.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Alice’s voice filled with sympathy toward the woman.

  “Do you know why Janet would pretend to be somebody else?” Annie asked.

  The woman rubbed a mole on her cheek. “That is bizarre, isn’t it? I really can’t tell you.”

  Annie pulled out the photograph of the real Joan. “Did you ever see her with this woman?”

  The older woman studied the photograph and shook her head. “No, can’t say as I ever have. Believe me, in a town this size, everyone would notice a stranger.” Her eyes grew wide as though she remembered something. “I’ve got some muffins in the oven I need to get back to. You ladies have a nice day.” She toddled up the sidewalk and into her house.