Dougal’s sense of fun vanished. “Don’t worry about me. I want Chester home and Ed back behind bars more than you do.”
“Good to hear. While you’re home you better pack your toothbrush and a change of clothes. We’ll want to keep the lines of communication between you and Ed open as much as possible. If he wants to chat all night—I want you to be here for him.”
“Yeah,” Dougal had to agree, even though it would mean breaking his promise to Charlotte.
“With staff working around the clock there’ll be lots of sandwiches and other snacks on hand. Feel free to help yourself.”
As Dougal followed Wade down the corridor, he paused to glance inside the room being used to manage the investigation. The long wall was covered with maps, lists, names and photos. Every inch of the large, rectangular table held computer equipment, files, and stacks of paper.
“Any progress?”
“We’re figuring out lots of places Chester isn’t, if you call that progress.” Wade rubbed his jaw, worried. “I know you figure Ed has the boy. But there’s still a chance the kid is hiding out somewhere.”
“Have you still got guys searching the woods around my place?”
“Yeah. The K-9 unit is out there with about thirty volunteers from Search and Rescue. Unless we find something—a bike tire print, a scrap of fabric, anything like that—we’ll be pulling out at the end of the day.”
“Okay.” Dougal put a hand on Wade’s shoulder. “You look as beat as I feel.”
“Not going to be much rest for any of us until we find him.”
Dougal nodded. He and his old friend had had their differences. But they were definitely on the same side now.
* * *
On the drive to the Librarian Cottage, Dougal couldn’t help thinking about the first message he’d received from his father, back in May of this year. At the time he’d had no idea “Librarian Momma” was his old man.
His father had been crafty. Since Dougal had refused to take his calls or open his emails, Ed had snared him by using the moniker of “Librarian Momma” and dangling a series of unsolved mysteries under his nose. As a true crime writer looking for a subject for a new book, Dougal hadn’t been able to resist.
If he’d just ignored the bait, Joelle Carruthers and her baby daughter might still be alive. Chester would be in his classroom right now, bored, probably, but at least safe.
On his drive out of town Dougal placed a call to Charlotte, filling her in on the latest developments and promising to drop by later that evening, warning her he wouldn’t be able to stay long.
“That’s okay. I appreciate what you’re doing. I know you don’t want to write your father’s story.”
“If it helps Chester, it’ll be worth it. How’s Cory doing?”
“I decided to send her to school. It’s the best thing for her. Hanging around here is soul-sucking.”
“Hopefully it won’t be for much longer.” But he was afraid Ed Lachlan wouldn’t let the boy go until the entire book was written. And even then—well, Dougal didn’t feel the odds were in their favor.
Unless...maybe the old man was taking advantage of the boy’s disappearance to coerce Dougal into writing the book. There was always that possibility. Dougal allowed himself to hope. Maybe, right this moment, a bloodhound was on Chester’s trail. Any minute now a volunteer might be radioing in the happy news: “We’ve found him!”
But as soon as he rounded the last corner to the cottage, Dougal’s faint hope died. Over a dozen vehicles were jammed around the property. The only people in view were two volunteers manning a make-shift table on the porch.
From their expressions it was instantly clear that no good news was forthcoming.
Dougal paused, imagining the cottage as it must have appeared to a twenty-two year old Edward Lachlan back in May of 1972. The structure, itself, hadn’t changed since then.
What had Ed’s intentions been, in that fatal moment before he met his birth mother?
Had he expected her to welcome him with open arms? And would things have ended differently if she had?
Shaking off his introspections, Dougal identified himself to the volunteers, who grim-faced confirmed the lack of progress in locating Chester or any clues to his whereabouts.
Inside, Dougal found Deputy Duane Carter writing reports at the kitchen table. With his thin, muscular runner’s body, Duane bordered on anorexic, in Dougal’s opinion. According to Charlotte, who devoured the local paper religiously each Wednesday, Duane had placed third in his age group in the Dog Days of August Marathon two weeks ago.
Three cheers for Duane.
“So. How’s it going?”
Duane glanced up at him. “No sign of Chester, or his bike, yet. But we’re going to keep looking until sun-fall.”
“I won’t get in your way. Just need a shower and to pack a few things.”
Fifteen minutes later Dougal was out the door. As he walked toward his vehicle he was remembering the last time Chester had been at the cottage, less than two weeks ago. Dougal had invited Charlotte and the twins for an end-of-the-summer barbeque, the night before the first day of school.
Cory had been a chatter-box, telling them all about her experiences at Wolf Creek Camp. Both the twins seemed to love the place, though Chester, as per usual, hadn’t talked about it much.
The only time Dougal had seen Chester’s face light up was when he asked Dougal about his experiences playing high school football with his dad. He clearly had his father on a pedestal and Dougal, though not normally one to sugar-coat the truth, had taken pains to make Kyle out to be the hero in every story.
The truth was, Kyle had been a talented quarterback, but he would have been even better if he hadn’t tried to make himself the star of every play.
But that was Kyle. The golden-haired, blue-eyed charmer was used to having life go his way. Dougal had always expected this character flaw would eventually land him in trouble. But he’d never guessed his old football buddy would go so far as to bury his wife’s body in order to escape retribution for what had, in all likelihood, been an accidental death.
On the day of the barbecue, Dougal had wondered if the twins would ask about the spot where he’d found their mother’s body. They hadn’t. But when they were ready, he would show them. Hopefully the Shasta daisies he’d planted there would still be blooming.
* * *
Charlotte had thought cleaning out her closet would help make the time pass more quickly, but she couldn’t focus on even this simple task for more than five minutes at a time. The twins’ bedroom across the hallway kept drawing her.
The crime scene techs had finished with the room, but she was loath to clean up the residue of fingerprint powder. She found she wanted to touch nothing, but just stand in the doorway and run through the memories she had of Chester.
The kids had been under her care for less than two months—and at least three weeks of that time they’d spent at summer camp. Yet, already they felt like hers. Their imprint on this room was unmistakable. She’d given them permission to put three posters each on the wall. Chester’s were all from the 49ers, of course. His father had taken him to a game once, and he still talked about the experience.
Where was he now? Was he okay? Would he ever get to go to another football game?
With each question, another layer of pain seemed to weigh down her heart. Charlotte pressed her knuckles into her teeth, welcoming the distraction of physical pain over mental.
It wasn’t even four o’clock. She didn’t know how much more of this she could take. She wished someone would phone, if not with good news, then with a tidbit of something positive. Surely a nine-year-old boy could not disappear without a trace.
And then, as if she had conjured it, the doorbell rang. And immediately hope and fear rose equally within her until she remembered the time. This would be Cory. Her best friend’s mother had offered to drive her home from school.
Charlotte raced down the stairs and flung open
the door, suddenly anxious to make sure that, Cory, at least, remained unharmed.
And of course she was. Her niece, with her small, heart-shaped face so like her mother’s, looked at her with questioning eyes.
“No news on your brother, I’m afraid.” Charlotte pulled the girl in for a hug, then glanced up at Bailey Landax. It was hard not to resent the other woman’s well-groomed state, when she herself looked like hell.
But then Bailey was a Realtor. Looking attractive and professional was important to her success. With the closing of Quinpool Realty, business must be booming. Even Jamie had purchased her new home from Bailey.
“How are you doing Charlotte?”
“Is Chester home yet?” asked her daughter Paige.
“No.” Charlotte shook her head grimly. “I’m afraid not.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Bailey put a hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. She probably meant the touch to convey sympathy, but for some reason this woman had always struck a false note with Charlotte.
Still, Charlotte knew Cory really enjoyed Paige’s company, so she was glad to hear Baily say, “I’ll be glad to drive Cory to and from school tomorrow, as well, if—well, if you would like me to.”
In other words, if Chester was still missing.
“Thank you,” Charlotte said, barely managing to get out the words without crying.
“Oh, absolutely.” Bailey hesitated, then took a step forward and lowered her voice. “I did hear Cory talking about something with Paige. I thought it might be important and so I suggested she tell you.”
“Is it to do with Chester?”
“Yes, it is. Go on, Cory, tell your aunt the same thing you told Paige.”
Worried lines appeared on Cory’s forehead as she glanced from Bailey to Charlotte.
Charlotte gave her niece’s hand a squeeze. “It’s okay honey. Take your time.”
Cory swallowed. “W-well, it was after school a few days ago. We were walking home when the football coach told Chester he wanted to talk to him.”
Charlotte was confused. The school the twins went to had a gym teacher, but not a football coach per se. “Were you still on the school grounds?”
“Not anymore. We were walking past the pink house, the one with the bird houses.”
Charlotte nodded. “I know exactly the place you’re talking about. So this football coach—was he someone you knew?”
“No.”
“Are you saying a strange man just walked up to your brother and started talking to him?”
“I-I guess. But he looked like a coach, he had a ball cap and a whistle on a rope around his neck. He wanted to know if Chester was planning to play football when he was older. He said Chester looked like someone who would be a natural.”
Charlotte put out a hand to the doorframe, feeling suddenly unsteady. She took a deep breath then nodded at Bailey. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. We need to let the sheriff know right away.”
“Of course. I think driving by the house was what made Cory remember. I hope it helps.”
Charlotte thought she said thank you, again, before closing the door, but she wasn’t sure. She was too focused on Cory, trying to read from her expression if she realized how important her story might be.
“Come and sit down,” she told her niece. “I’m really glad you remembered this detail. It could be important so I’m going to phone Sheriff MacKay, all right?”
“Okay,” Cory said softly.
Charlotte kept a reassuring hand on Cory’s back as she made the call. Her eyes fell on the butter she’d removed from the fridge earlier, planning to make cookies with her niece once she was home.
Was she deluding herself to hope that this clue might be the key? That before the cookies were ready, her nephew might be home?
chapter seven
After being admitted into the inner sanctum of the sheriff’s department, Dougal was heading toward his room at the far back of the building, when he almost collided with Wade. Wade had his hat in one hand, SUV keys in the other.
“Dougal.” Wade looked pressed, but he paused to talk. “Charlotte just called. Apparently Cory noticed Chester talking to the high school football coach on the way home from school one day—she thinks it was on Monday.”
Dougal knew Brad Scott. He’d been a senior when Dougal, Kyle and Wade were juniors. He’d played four years of college football, on the same scholarship that had later been offered to—and refused by—Kyle.
“Where did this happen?”
“Cory says Scott approached Chester during their walk home from school.”
“I suppose Brad could have been asking about Kyle.”
“Cory said they were talking about football. The coach was buttering up Chester, saying he thought he looked like a kid with potential.”
“You’re right. There’s something off about it.”
“I’m going to talk to Scott now. Field is getting a statement from Cory and Charlotte.” Wade’s eyes narrowed. “You going another round with the old man?”
Dougal held up his phone, which had chimed with new email messages about five times on his drive back to town. “I’ve been summoned.”
“Did he like the first chapter?”
“God help me, he did.”
“It’s a video chat?”
“Yes. A different chat room than the last time.”
“Can you tell where he’s contacting you from? Anything in the background that might be a clue?”
“Afraid not. He’s strung up something on the wall behind him. Looks like a white bedsheet.”
“Not much to go on there. Keep me posted if anything else comes up.”
“Will do.”
Dougal carried on down the hall, pausing to grab a slice of pizza from the big conference room. Only Marnie was in there at the moment, logging information into one of the computers. She paused briefly, but when she saw it was him, immediately lowered her gaze and resumed typing.
The telltale red stain on her cheeks gave her away, though.
She did have a crush on her boss. Dougal wondered if Wade had guessed. Knowing him, probably not. Wade was pretty astute when it came to running the sheriff’s department. But when it came to romance—especially his own—he didn’t have a clue.
His replacement laptop was waiting on the table, just as he’d left it. Dougal opened the machine and while he waited for it to warm up, devoured his pizza. He might as well build up his strength now, because for sure, once he started chatting with the old man again, his appetite would be gone.
As he ate, Dougal re-read the email he’d skimmed earlier on his phone. Librarian Momma sounded so excited, it was nauseating.
“Yeah! That’s perfect. You’re off to a good start. I’m ready to work on the next chapter as soon as you are.”
Christ. The sick pervert was totally getting off on this.
Dougal took a deep breath, then followed the link and signed into the new chat room. He couldn’t help but flinch when his father’s face almost immediately filled the computer screen.
“You got to admit, son. Makes a damn good story, doesn’t it?”
Dougal swallowed down his disgust at the word “son.” Though he didn’t remember much about his old man, he knew that if he asked him not to call him that, he’d do it more.
“Want to pick up where we left off?”
“That’s the idea.”
“What’s Chester doing while we work on this?” Dougal slipped the question in, but wasn’t surprised when all Ed Lachlan did was scowl and shake his head.
And then he started talking.
“For as long as I could remember, I’d dreamed about finding my mother, even though I knew she never wanted me. What a fool I was to think she’d be happy to see me now...”
* * *
May 15 1972, Librarian Cottage outside of Twisted Cedars, Oregon
“Why are you here?” Shirley kept hold of the rifle, even though she already knew the mom
ent to use it had passed...
“Why to introduce myself. Don’t you think it’s time we met? I’m Edward Lachlan, but I’ve always wondered...if you’d kept me, what would you have named me?”
He was playing games with her, like a cat, toying with a mouse. But she was older than him. Smarter, too. She had to convince him he couldn’t get to her. “I was a mere teenager when all that happened. There was never any question of me naming, or keeping you.”
“Really?”
Edward turned his back to her, and before she realized what he was doing, he’d pulled up his T-shirt to reveal skin so red and scarred it seemed reptilian.
For just a moment Shirley felt the urge to reach out and touch the raised, angry-looking welts. Instead she curled her fingers into her palms. “I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“Not even a sympathetic word from my own mother? Especially considering it was you who gave me—an innocent infant—to the monsters who did this?”
“Stop!” Shirley Hammond covered her ears. “I don’t want to hear any more about how they treated you. I was just a kid myself.”
“You don’t want to hear about the beatings?” He circled her, forcing her to twirl in place, in order to keep her eyes on him.
“But I came such a long way to tell you my story, Mother. Maybe, instead, I should tell you about the way they starved me, made me scrounge and steal for enough food to stay alive. Or perhaps you’d like to hear how they treated my younger sister like a princess—just to make sure I knew that it was me not them who was the problem.”
She closed her heart to his words. It was a skill she’d taught herself long ago. He was just a character in a novel. This was merely a story and she could choose to stop reading whenever she wished.
With a calm voice she pointed out, “None of that was my fault.”
“But you’re the one who gave me to them.”
Suddenly it was not a man with a mocking tone in front of her, but a sad little boy, asking why she’d abandoned him. The old pain slammed into her then, and she was shocked that after all these years it could still hurt so much.
She wouldn’t go back there. She couldn’t. Shirley pushed back against the darkness, imagined shoving it between the covers of a book and replacing it on the farthest, darkest corner of a bookshelf.
exposed (Twisted Cedar Mysteries Book 3) Page 6
