“The encampment had remnants of a fire, some food items, no discernible prints, but certainly evidence that someone had camped in the area during the hours related to your sister’s death. Apparently that led to the conclusion that a drifter might have been responsible.”
“That’s what they said, but it never made sense, because Abby wouldn’t have gone to that house alone. It was big, isolated, and creepy.”
“Yet I understand that the local kids used it as a party venue.”
“That’s true, but no one ever went there alone.”
“Your sister wasn’t there alone,” the chief said.
Realizing what he meant, Lauren frowned. Her sister’s killer had been with her. “If Abby went to the house with someone, then she knew the person who killed her. I have a difficult time believing that anyone who knew Abby would have wanted her dead. She was a young, sweet girl. She had a lot of friends. There was no reason for anyone to kill her.”
“What about your boyfriend, Shane Murray? He was the main person of interest in the case. What can you tell me about his relationship with your sister?”
At her hesitation, Silveira’s gaze turned speculative. “Is there something you want to tell me about Mr. Murray?”
“No,” she said, making an impulsive decision to protect Shane, at least for now. She was probably being a fool, but old habits died hard.
“What about any other male friends your sister might have had?” Joe asked.
“Abby didn’t have a boyfriend that I knew about.” She didn’t like the direction of his questions.
“According to the autopsy report, your sister did not appear to be a virgin.”
Her jaw dropped. “Are you sure?”
He picked up a piece of paper and handed it to her. She skimmed through the scientific jargon, pausing over the words “no hymen present.” She glanced back at the chief. “She never told me that she had sex. She was only fifteen.” She glanced back down at the report, her stomach turning over as she realized just how thoroughly Abby’s body had been examined. She set the paper down with a shaky hand. “I didn’t need to read that.”
“I’m sorry. I should have prepared you.” He gave her a compassionate smile. “What can I do to help you, Ms. Jamison?”
“Refuse to help Mr. Devlin make this movie. Can you prevent him from seeing the files?”
“I can, but to be frank, there’s little in the case files that Mr. Devlin couldn’t find on his own. Your sister’s murder was a rare and tragic occurrence in this town. The newspaper covered the story every day for months. People talked about the case, and a lot of those people still live here.” He paused. “It’s also possible that a reenactment of the crime might provide new leads. Are you sure you want to shut down that possibility?”
She wasn’t sure about anything anymore. “I want justice, but I don’t want my sister’s murder splashed across a movie screen. If you don’t give Mr. Devlin the police file, maybe he’ll lose interest and go away,” she said hopefully. “It would take him twice as long to get the information, and surely there must be easier movies to make.”
The chief gave her a wry smile. “Believe me, I’d love for Mark Devlin to leave town, but I doubt that will happen. I’ll give him a summary of the information, but not all the interview notes. I will also continue to look into the case myself. In fact . . .” He dug through some papers on his desk. “Something did make me curious.”
“What’s that?”
“Your father made a cash deposit into your sister’s account the day of the murder—eight hundred dollars. I noticed that he did not make a similar deposit in either your account or your brother’s.” Joe looked back at her with a question in his eyes, a question she couldn’t answer.
“I—I didn’t know that.”
“Did Abby work for your dad?”
“No. She liked to fish with him, but neither one of us worked at the bait shop. And Abby was too busy with school, the volleyball team, her friends. Plus, she had another job.”
“That’s right—at a law office,” Joe said. “They always paid her by check. I asked your dad about the deposit, but he said he didn’t remember.”
No? Or had he been unwilling to admit he’d been padding Abby’s bank account? And why would he have done that?
“Your father did tell me that he was saving money to send Abby to college,” Joe continued, “and that if he had put money in her account, it was probably because of that. I guess your sister dreamed of becoming a marine biologist.”
“Yes, Abby wanted to study the ocean and save endangered marine life. She was smart. I think she would have made it.” Lauren paused. “Why did the police look at the bank accounts?”
“Standard procedure.”
“To rule out what?”
“Irregular deposits or withdrawals.”
“But at the time, this deposit didn’t bother anyone?” she asked.
“Well, it’s not unusual for a father to put money into his daughter’s account.”
“Then why did it make you curious?”
“The timing, the fact that it was cash, and a one-time deposit. I went through the statements from the previous year, and I couldn’t find any other deposits to match. It seemed odd.”
“Abby must have done something on the side for my dad, or like he said, he just wanted to put some money toward her college.” The idea of her father giving Abby money on the sly bothered her. She’d been closer to getting out of high school than Abby. Maybe she hadn’t had the big college goals that Abby had had, but she’d had her own dream of attending culinary school. She wasn’t going to save the world’s sea turtle population, but did that make her goals less worthy?
She saw Joe’s speculative gaze deepen. The last thing she needed was for the chief of police to think she was jealous of her sister. That would play right into Mark Devlin’s theories. “What difference does it make if my father gave my sister money?” she asked.
“Maybe none. As I said, I’m just reviewing the facts.”
She thought for a moment, considering the new information. Joe Silveira wouldn’t have brought up the money if he didn’t think it meant something.
“I know your parents are divorced now, but I wondered what kind of relationship they had before your sister was killed?” Joe asked, breaching the silence.
“It was good, I think. I never heard them fight. They seemed to get along. It did bother my mother that my dad spent so much time at sea or in the shop. He was often late for dinner and she felt he didn’t always put us first, but I don’t remember any big problems. After Abby died, they fell apart. They were so angry, and they took it out on each other. My dad refused to leave here. My mom couldn’t stand to stay in a place that had stolen her child from her, so she took me and my younger brother away. Abby’s death destroyed our family.”
“It must have been a difficult time.”
“You can’t even imagine.”
“Was Abby close to your father? Do you think she knew more about his activities than perhaps any of the rest of you did?”
She recalled the conversation from the previous night when her father had thought she was Abby and had referred to one of their little secrets. “Activities, as in what?” she asked the chief.
“Something he might have been doing that he didn’t want your mother to know about?”
Lauren suddenly realized what he was getting at. “You mean, like an affair?”
“I don’t mean anything. I’m just trying to get a feel for the family dynamics.”
“What do our family dynamics have to do with Abby’s murder?”
“Probably nothing.”
The probably part bothered her. “It sounds like you have doubts about my father.”
“I have doubts about everyone. That’s the only way I know how to investigate.”
“Would those doubts also involve me?”
“Do you have something to hide?” Joe asked.
“No.”
�
�Then we’re good.”
She got to her feet. “Thanks for your time, Chief. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“No problem. Do you know how long you’ll be staying in Angel’s Bay?”
That seemed to be the question of the day. She just wished she had an answer. “I don’t. I thought this would be a quick trip home to assess my father’s illness, but it’s turning out to be a lot more complicated.”
Charlotte had never imagined that she’d one day have to pack up her childhood home and move on. As she looked at her bedroom, she felt a little sad. The twin beds where she and Doreen had slept throughout their childhoods had been stripped. The dresser, closets, and bookshelves had been emptied. Even the carpet had been pulled up to reveal a hardwood floor she’d never known existed. There was only one thing left to do.
She moved toward the closet. Along the door trim were ink marks that represented every year of her life from the age of five up to fourteen. By fourteen she’d begun to rebel, to throw off the yoke of responsibility, of being the perfect minister’s daughter. Her parents, especially her mother, had set the bar high, and Charlotte had always fallen short. She might be a doctor now and respected by her patients, but in her mother’s eyes, she was still the not-so-great screw-up of a daughter. She doubted that would ever change.
Charlotte dipped her brush into the paint and applied it to the trim. It took several swipes to cover the marks, and each swipe made her feel a bit more melancholy. It was ridiculous to care about a house that she’d spent most of her childhood wanting to get out of. But she did care, and the emotion surprised her.
Her parents had lived in this house for thirty-four years. She’d been born here, and every big event of her childhood had been celebrated within these walls. But life was changing. Her father had died almost a year ago, and soon her childhood home would belong to someone else. It was ironic that that someone was her high school boyfriend, but Andrew was the new minister, and the house belonged to the church.
Andrew Schilling had generously given her mother three months to find a new home. After a thorough search, her mother had decided to buy a house on Ravenswood Lane, a few blocks away. Charlotte had agreed to move there with her for the foreseeable future. They didn’t make the best of roommates, but since she’d talked her mother into taking in a pregnant teenager, she could hardly leave her mother and Annie to fend for themselves. So the three of them would live together. She hoped they wouldn’t kill each other.
“Hey Charlotte,” Annie said as she walked into the room. “Your mom said to tell you that she’ll meet you at the new house.”
Annie was a pretty eighteen-year-old who was seven months pregnant. Three months earlier, she’d left home, desperate to get away from her father, a disabled veteran with psychological problems. Carl Dupont had abused Annie, and in confusion and despair, she had thrown herself into the bay. Fortunately, she’d been rescued and had immediately regretted her momentary insanity. Charlotte had met Annie in the emergency room, and upon learning of Annie’s situation, she’d convinced her mother to allow Annie to live with them until she had the baby and could find a way to support herself.
“Is there anything else I can do?” Annie asked. “Otherwise, I’ll walk over to the new house and help your mom start unpacking.”
“No, you’ve been a great help.” What had surprised Charlotte most about Annie coming to live with them was how well her mother and Annie got along. Monica Adams had taken Annie under her wing like a mother hen, and had never offered the slightest criticism or judgment about how Annie had foolishly gotten herself pregnant. Apparently other people’s daughters could make mistakes.
“I really appreciate your letting me stay with you in the new house,” Annie said.
“It’s no problem. We’re happy to have you.”
“Your brother sent another email today. His note was so sweet, it made your mom cry. He said that he dreams about her barbecue chicken and potato salad, and that he never thought he would miss her so much.”
How like Jamie to remember to compliment their mother. She really should take a page out of her brother’s book once in a while.
“He sounds really nice,” Annie said quietly. “I didn’t think he would be.”
Annie had been terrified to sleep in Jamie’s room when she’d first moved in and realized he was a soldier. Annie’s father still lived up in the mountains, roaming the woods with a shotgun, fighting the war in his own head. But since Annie and Charlotte’s mother had started reading Jamie’s letters together, Annie had begun to see that not all soldiers were crazy.
“Jamie also wrote me a little note welcoming me to the family. Not that I’m in your family or anything,” Annie added. “You know I don’t think that.” She gave Charlotte a worried look.
“You are part of our family, Annie. My mother has practically adopted you.”
“Well, just till the baby comes, right?”
“Don’t worry, no one will be kicking you out anytime soon. My mom loves having you around. And she’ll adore having a baby in the house.”
“But I need to go to work and make some money after the baby comes.”
“You have time, Annie—really. My mother doesn’t need rent money, and she loves to cook for you. You make her feel needed, and that’s a tremendous gift.”
“I need her more than she needs me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” After her husband’s death, her mother had needed someone to take care of, and Charlotte was too busy defending her independence to be that person. “Oh, and don’t forget there’s a baby shower tomorrow for my friend Kara. I’d love for you to come.”
“I can’t go, Charlotte. I’m sorry.”
“Are you sure? It will be fun. You can’t hide forever.”
“All those ladies will be looking at me and gossiping.”
“The easiest way to stop the gossip is to name the father of your baby.”
Annie frowned. “You know I won’t do that.”
Charlotte did know, since she and her mother had been trying to convince Annie that the father bore some financial responsibility, but Annie had refused to give a name. She’d worked for a cleaning service in town prior to her pregnancy, and rumors were flying that one of the clients might be the father of her baby.
“I’ll see you at the house.” Annie moved toward the door, clearly eager to avoid further discussion.
Charlotte put another coat of paint on the trim, then took her paintbrush into the kitchen and ran some water through it. She was just drying it out when she heard the front door open.
“Anyone here?” Andrew called.
“In the kitchen,” she yelled back.
He walked in and set a bag of food on the counter, giving her a smile. “I hope you’re hungry. I got Chinese food for two.”
“I can’t stay. I need to help my mother.” While Andrew seemed interested in pursuing a relationship with her, she wasn’t sure she wanted that. They’d had a brief romance in high school, but that was years ago, and the fact that Andrew was a minister now didn’t play well in her mind. She certainly couldn’t see herself as the minister’s girlfriend, or the minister’s wife.
“You can stay for a few minutes, Charlie,” Andrew said firmly.
“Well, maybe a few.” She leaned against the counter as Andrew pulled out cartons of food. He was dressed in casual tan slacks and a button-down blue shirt tucked in at the waist. His blond hair was cut short and with a little gel flowed back in perfect waves. He always had a freshly shaved look and a scent of cologne about him, and she had to admit that his smile still had the ability to make her heart beat a little faster.
“You left the plates behind,” Andrew said in surprise as he opened the cupboard. “I thought we were going to have to eat out of the cartons.”
“Those are new plates. My mother bought them for you, along with some glasses and silverware for four. She didn’t want you to walk in and have nothing to eat on.”
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sp; “That was very generous. I’ll reimburse her.”
“You can try,” she said with a smile.
He smiled back. “Okay, I’ll just say thank you.”
“Good call.”
“So how do you feel about all this, now that moving day is here?”
“Weird. Strangely sad.” She gave a little laugh. “I hated this house for most of my teenage years. It was prison, and my mother was the warden.”
“But there were some good times, too.”
“Yes, there’s a lot of history in these walls. The new house will never be home. Christmas won’t be the same without the tree in the corner of the living room by the fireplace. It’s ridiculous. I’m a grown-up—I shouldn’t care.”
“You don’t have to give up this place entirely. You can always visit me. Help me buy furniture, decorate.”
“I’m not good at any of those things. That’s my mother’s area. I’m sure she’d be happy to help you.”
He heaved a dramatic sigh. “When are you going to give me a break, Charlie?”
“A break from what?”
“From me asking you out, and you saying no.”
“We can’t recreate the past, Andrew.”
“I don’t want to do that. I’m talking about the future.” He moved toward her and put his hands on her waist. “I like who you are now. I like who I am. We could be good together.”
Maybe they could be. But if she ever got seriously involved with Andrew, she’d have to get seriously honest with him, and there were some things in her past she didn’t want to bring up. “It wouldn’t work. You have a reputation to maintain. I know what it takes to be the minister in this town and to be the woman at his side. That woman could never be me.”
“You don’t have to be your mother. There are all kinds of minister’s wives, but I’m not talking about marriage,” he added quickly. “Just dinner—you and me—where we go to a restaurant and sit down and maybe have some wine.”
“Let’s start with this dinner and see how we do.” She stepped away from him and started dishing out the rice.
Andrew pulled out a chair and sat down. “Is there someone else?”
On Shadow Beach Page 9
