Ben exited the station and climbed in his vehicle, intending to head across the square. One of his deputies had confirmed that the room in the photo of Sabrina matched a room in the hotel, but he wanted to have a look at it himself – as well as a chance to interview the assistant manager, and hopefully the housekeeping staff. If Cooper was involved with Sabrina, and they’d used one of the hotel rooms for assignations, surely one of the maids at least would have had an inkling of what the boss was up to. People very rarely covered their tracks quite as well as they thought.
Clouds gathered low over the mountains, the grey, angry balls of them looking like fists about to strike.
So they were in for another storm, were they?
His heart constricted. He couldn’t put the image of Sabrina, alone in the woods, at the mercy of the elements, out of his head.
If he were being honest with himself, however, he had to acknowledge that that was in part due to the fact that he liked a whole host of alternate images even less.
Please be alive, Sabrina. Please.
Ben paused at the yield sign, allowing traffic to move past him before he entered the square. He stopped yet again when a small gaggle of pedestrians darted into the crosswalk in front of the gold rush museum, holding their jackets together against the steadily increasing wind. One of them raised a hand in acknowledgement. With the other she held the hand of a little girl, whose blonde curls flew behind her as she skipped along, a pink tutu pulled on over her more practical jeans.
Ben smiled, fought the unexpected and unwelcome rush of tears to his eyes.
She reminded him of Sabrina. His youngest sister had always dressed in ways that drove their mother crazy, marching to the beat of not just her own drum, but her own percussion session. She was a free spirit, and though they didn’t always see eye to eye, Ben loved her fiercely.
Fighting the emotion which he couldn’t allow himself to indulge, he looked away, just in time to see Ainsley’s SUV – driven by Callum – pulling out of a parking space. A parking space near his mom’s store.
Granted, there was a pizza place nearby as well as a bakery and several places that sold clothing and knick-knacks.
But he had a bad feeling.
Sure enough, his cell phone rang right after the ballerina and her adult companions made it across the street.
“Hi, Mom,” he said, after confirming his suspicions with the readout.
“Benjamin,” she said, her tone shrill with indignation. “You won’t believe what just happened, even if I tell you.”
She proceeded to tell him, of course, as Ben completed the final turn around the square and spotted an open parking space near the hotel. He whipped into it, and listened – his mom was right – with a sense of disbelief.
So Ainsley suspected that Sabrina told their mom about the journals, and that his mother, guided by her desire to somehow protect her dead daughter, had busted into Cal’s shed and removed them before anyone else had a chance to see what they said.
It was absurd. And it also made a twisted sort of sense. Especially considering the lengths his mom seemed willing to go to in order to believe her own version of events.
“Mom,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to have to talk to you about this later, okay? I know you’re upset. And yes, it took nerve for her to suggest it. But I have someone waiting for me, and it’s important that I speak with them. I’ll call you back as soon as I have a chance, alright?”
Ben ended the call, his mother’s outrage still ringing in his ears. His first instinct was to take her side, to defend her against all hurts and slights. But he also realized that she had a tendency to skew things to suit her particular outlook. And he realized – a bit reluctantly – that Ainsley wasn’t totally out of line to raise the question. He could wish that she would have told him what she suspected and let him handle his mom, but he also acknowledged that he was biased. And as a defense attorney, she wouldn’t trust that.
Of course, she was probably just as biased in the opposite direction, so that sort of canceled out their relative objectivity.
Reluctantly curious, he placed a call to Deputy Watson.
“Hey Jessica. Could you do me a favor and check the call log on my sister’s phone, tell me if any of these numbers appear on either Thursday or Friday of last week.” He rattled off the numbers for his mom’s cell, home landline and the store. It wasn’t unusual for Bree and his mom to talk by phone, so he hadn’t paid as much attention to the time and duration of their more recent conversations as he possibly should have.
Especially, he could admit with some chagrin, when he’d been so focused on that call from Callum Elias.
“Ah, it looks like there’s an outgoing call to the home number on Thursday evening at seven-oh-four,” she said. “Lasted a minute and twelve seconds.”
Ben considered that. That call had taken place after her lengthier conversation with Cal, so theoretically, Bree could have called their mom to talk to her about it. The length of the call suggested that either she hadn’t been home and Bree had left a message, or that they’d spoken briefly.
If they’d talked about anything important, his mom hadn’t mentioned it to Ben.
It didn’t prove anything one way or the other, but Ben was certainly going to have to ask his mom exactly what had transpired.
Would she actually go so far as to have broken into Cal’s shed?
They’d found numerous prints in the shed, of course, although none of them attached to a record – except Cal, whose prints were on file thanks to both his military career and his previous arrest. But even if they found his mom’s prints there, she could probably argue that they’d been left at some point in the past.
But if she had taken the journals, would she lie about it, knowing that it impeded his investigation? And if she’d spoken with Sabrina – or even seen her, because Bree could have been calling to see if their mom was home before she stopped by – it seemed doubly strange to Ben that she hadn’t mentioned it. One of the most common reactions people had when a loved one went missing, or worse, was to focus on the last conversation with that person.
Ben sighed. He honestly didn’t know what to think. His mom loved him, of that he was sure, and she also loved Sabrina. But she was also a little unhinged where Carly’s memory was concerned. So he wouldn’t put it past her.
He also considered her insistence that Sabrina had simply… taken off without letting anyone know. Ben understood her desire to cling to that belief, given the fact that she’d already lived through the horror of losing a child, but he couldn’t help wonder if there were more involved.
Maybe their last conversation hadn’t been a pleasant one.
Shit. He rubbed his eyes before pulling the key from the ignition. He knew he needed sleep – knew how important it was that he was able to think clearly – but at the same time he felt like all those hours of unconsciousness were somehow letting Sabrina down.
Ben realized, more than he ever had, how much his decision to pursue a career in law enforcement was influenced by Carly’s murder. By the fact that he, the older brother, had failed to protect her. And more than that, he’d failed to bring her killer to justice.
Not that he was in a position to do either at the time, but when it came to that male sort of protective instinct, reason didn’t always play a part.
He’d allowed someone to harm one of the women in his family, and to get away with it. He’d be damned if it happened again.
Maybe that’s why he couldn’t fully accept the idea that Joe Cooper was responsible. Because that meant the other man was already beyond his reach.
Ben climbed from the car, nodded at a few passersby on the sidewalk before turning to look around at the square. It was a charming town, and a good one. Steeped in history, in the rush for gold that had brought people to these mountains, the foundation of Dahlonega was a combination of adventure and avarice that eventually settled down into a picturesque tourist destinati
on.
But somewhere in his quaint little town was a person who, for reasons still unknown, had messed with Ben’s family. Not just Carly, but Sabrina, and now Ainsley as well. When he found them – and he would find them – he was going to make them painfully aware of exactly how swift and unmerciful justice could be.
Squeezing his eyes shut, forcing the anger to seep from his body, Ben locked up his car, headed toward the hotel.
A sign hung on the door to The Mother Lode suggested that they would Be back in fifteen minutes, and as he passed by the door to The Tasting Room, the man behind the desk there looked up and waved.
Jones? Johnson? Ben couldn’t recall the man’s last name, only that it started with a J and was fairly common. Ben felt like he should remember it, since the man had lived here his whole life, but he was one of those people who tended to blend into the scenery. He’d been interviewed right along with the other employees in the building, but hadn’t been able to offer anything useful, other than shock and dismay.
Thus far – aside from Callum – no one had.
But someone had to have seen Sabrina and Joe Cooper together – if in fact they were involved. Someone, somewhere, knew more than they were saying.
Ben just needed to figure out how to get them to talk.
He climbed the stairs to the second floor, followed the hall toward the room he’d been told was the right one. Photographs and artwork lined the hall, and Ben noted the little tags on them that indicated they were available for purchase from The Mother Lode. Not a bad marketing strategy, he decided. The hotel got free artwork and the gallery sold more pieces.
When he reached the room he started to knock, realized the door was cracked open. He pushed it further and stepped inside.
The crying was muffled, but audible. It seemed to be coming from the bathroom off to the right.
“Hello?”
“Oh.” Someone – female from the sound of it – blew their nose. Then the bathroom door opened and a woman with deep red hair and red, swollen blue eyes emerged. “I’m sorry,” she said, stuffing a tissue in the pocket of her sweater. “You must be Sheriff Paulson. I’m Charity. The assistant manager.”
He studied her blotchy face. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m sure this is a difficult time for you and the rest of the staff.”
“I can’t believe Joe’s dead,” she said. “But then I guess you hear that a lot.”
“Denial is one of the first stages of grief,” he agreed.
She nodded. “Especially when… well, when you also can’t accept the way someone died.”
The autopsy results weren’t in yet, so suicide wasn’t the official manner of death, but he wasn’t surprised word had spread. It always did, no matter how they tried to contain it.
“Did Mr. Cooper show any signs of depression? Anxiety? Stress?”
“Joe?” She laughed. “Well, everyone shows signs of stress sometimes. I’d be more worried about someone who didn’t, because that’s just unnatural. But depression? Joe?” She shook her head. “Joe is…. was… probably one of the most laid-back and, oh, stable guys I’ve ever met.”
“No substance abuse problems?”
“No. Nothing like that. He would have an occasional drink with friends sometimes, but that’s all.”
They’d already confirmed that the man didn’t have any history of either substance abuse or psychological problems, but that didn’t mean something hadn’t arisen recently. The autopsy would give them final confirmation on whether or not he’d had any mind-altering substances in his system.
“Who were his friends?”
“I already gave the other officer a list.”
“Humor me,” he smiled.
She rattled off a few names, and Ben wrote them down. They matched the list she’d provided earlier, and that he’d obtained from his deputy. “No special friends?”
“You mean like a girlfriend? No.” She shook her head again. “Not that I know of, anyway.”
“Did he like women?”
“As in sexually? Absolutely. He would talk about them the way most guys do, but he never acted inappropriately toward any of the female staff here.”
“What about other women in the building? The wait staff at the restaurant?”
Her brows scrunched together in a frown. “I don’t remember. Nothing specific, anyway. You might have better luck talking to some of his male friends, though.”
Ben nodded. At least her story was consistent with what she’d already told his deputies.
“Did he ever talk about firearms? Mention owning one?”
“No,” Charity said. “He really liked the outdoors, camping and such, but I don’t think he was into hunting.”
“Did he do much camping locally?”
“Ah, I know he hiked local parts of the Appalachian Trail, went out sometimes with one of the guys who works downstairs. Wes. I mentioned him.” Her brows drew together. “Why?”
Because if Cooper had taken Sabrina into the woods for whatever reason, he likely would have stuck to areas he was familiar with. Particularly if he needed to hide… evidence.
“Just trying to tie up a few loose ends,” he explained to Charity.
She nodded. “I wish I could be more help, but like I told the other deputy, this is just so difficult to believe.”
“I totally understand. Being the assistant manager here, I imagine you’re familiar with most of the folks who work in the building.”
“Sure. Aside from the hotel, it’s just the restaurant, the gallery and The Tasting Room. We all bump into each other on the stairs from time to time.”
“So you know Sabrina Paulson?”
She squinted. “Lots of blonde hair, right? I… oh. Oh. I’m so sorry. Paulson. I just realized. I heard that she was missing, but then the news about Joe made me forget all about it. She’s your sister.”
“She is. Did you ever bump into her on the stairs?”
“Oh, well, sure. And in the restaurant a number of times. We chatted, but in that casual way of acquaintances that you recognize by sight more than name, you know? I’m sorry,” she said again. “Someone said she got lost in the woods? You must be worried sick.”
Ben made a murmur of agreement. “Are you aware of my sister ever having rented a room here?”
Her reddened nose wrinkled. “Not that I can recall. I can look at our records, of course, but I’ll have to talk to the owner.” She looked deeply chagrined. “He might request a warrant. He’s kind of a hardass. Don’t tell him I said that. The only reason I was able to confirm that this is the room that was in that photograph I saw is because I recognized the artwork on the wall –it’s one of my favorites from the gallery – and I didn’t think it put the hotel in a compromising position to show you an empty room. It… oh.”
Her pale cheeks colored. They’d blacked out Sabrina’s identity in the photo, but it was still fairly obvious that there was a naked woman lying on the bed. And obviously the assistant manager had put together exactly who that naked woman might be.
“I’m trusting your discretion not to compromise an ongoing investigation,” Ben pointed out.
“Of course. I mean of course not. I won’t say a thing. You…” she drew a deep breath. “You don’t think that her disappearance has anything to do with Joe do you?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because you’re asking about both of them.”
Rather than answer her question, Ben asked one of his own. “Did you ever know Joe to borrow one of the unoccupied rooms for his personal use?”
“You mean did he use the rooms to have sex. I don’t know.” She sighed. “I don’t like to think so, but I can’t say for sure what he did when I wasn’t here. And I certainly never saw him with your sister.”
Ben mulled that over. “I’m afraid we’ll need to have a look at your guest registry for the month of August of this year. I’ll get the warrant process started, but if you could have everything ready and waiting it would
be much appreciated. In the meantime, I’d like to have a talk with whatever members of your housekeeping staff happen to be around.”
She nodded. “The laundry is just down the hall.”
Ben waited for her to lock up, and then followed her down the hallway. As they rounded a corner, one of the pieces of artwork on the wall caught his eye.
He stopped walking.
The photograph was the silhouette of a nude woman, arms outstretched, taken in such a way that it looked like her hands were cupping the moon.
Ben had heard people talk about a rushing sound filling their ears, but he’d never experienced it himself.
Until now.
With the freight train of shock bearing down on him, it was a moment before he realized that Charity was speaking.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it? He does some beautiful photos.”
It was lovely, yes.
And it was also a photograph of his sister.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“GREAT,” Ainsley said when the sky opened up just as they turned onto Cal’s road. Leaves rained down right along with the downpour, landing on the windshield like confetti from a piñata before being pushed aside by the wipers.
Cal slowed down. “I think one accident is enough for this lifetime.”
“At least no one is trying to run us off the road this time.”
“There is that.”
He turned at the mailbox that Ainsley still thought of as her grandmother’s, rolled down the winding gravel drive that already showed signs of turning to mud in several places.
“If this weather keeps up, I’m going to have to push paving the driveway higher on the agenda.”
Their conversation the entire way home had been along those lines – mundane. Normal. Aside from his mention of the accident, Cal hadn’t discussed her conversation with her aunt, or any more theories about the breakin, or mentioned Sabrina. It was nice to have a respite, which Ainsley suspected was his intention.
When she considered the events of the past several days, she realized she’d had precious little normalcy since that aborted call from Sabrina.
The Southern Comfort Prequel Trilogy Box Set Page 50
