by B. J Daniels
“I NEED YOUR HELP.”
Russell couldn’t believe his ears. He’d spent an afternoon in hell, worrying about Dulcie. Just the sound of her voice on the phone made his heart lift like helium.
“You know you have my help. What can I do? Did I mention I’m glad you called?”
He heard her chuckle on the other end of the line. “Meet me in town at my motel?”
“I’ll see you in fifteen minutes, ten if you need me there sooner.”
She laughed. “Fifteen will be fine.”
Russell wavered between being relieved that she’d finally asked for his help—and worried, since he knew what it would take for her to ask.
This was about Laura Beaumont’s killer, he was sure of that. The killer had stayed hidden for twenty-four years. Did Dulcie really think she could flush him out?
Of course she did. And she would, if humanly possible, and no matter the consequence. That, he knew, was what terrified him. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.
That thought made him laugh. He would lose her to Chicago even if he could keep her from getting herself killed here in Whitehorse. It was just a matter of time until Dulcie left. She was a city girl, after all. He could already feel the hole she would leave in his life.
It was crazy how she’d gotten under his skin. All these years, he’d barely dated. He met women, but none of them could hold his interest. Then again, none of them had been Dulcie Hughes.
What if the killer was still around? And worse, what if he’d had help concealing his crime? Maybe not help from the entire community as Dulcie suspected, but from someone close to him. Someone as determined as the killer to keep the secret.
As he pulled up in front of the motel fifteen minutes later, Dulcie came out and slid into the passenger side of his truck. “Thanks for coming.”
His heart did a little Texas two-step at just the sight of her. “How are you?”
“Fine.” The lie seemed to freeze on her lips. “There’s something I need to tell you. Angel Beaumont isn’t dead.”
He listened in shock as she told him about Jolene Stevens and handed him what she said was a copy of a short story the teacher believed the killer had been writing for her.
“You need to take this to my brother at the sheriff’s department,” he said when he finished reading it.
“No. And neither can you. I promised Jolene. Shane knows about Angel. He’s getting DNA tests run for us.”
“Do you realize how dangerous this is, not just for you, but for your sister?” He saw her expression and quickly backed off. “All right. But you need help.”
She smiled. “That’s why I called you. I know you haven’t been here long, but you know more people than I do. I have to find the killer before Monday morning. Will you help me?”
He’d move heaven and earth for this woman if possible. “Do you have something in mind?”
“We need to know who was in Laura Beaumont’s life.”
He noticed that she hadn’t said “her mother’s life.” “Okay.”
“The problem is no one will talk to me about it.”
He wasn’t sure anyone would talk to him either, but he couldn’t let her down. He started the pickup and headed toward downtown Whitehorse.
JOLENE SAT DOWN WITH the murder story, but she couldn’t concentrate and finally put it away and walked to the window to stare out at the landscape. The late afternoon sun hung at the edge of the horizon, gilding the dry grasses with its golden light.
The rolling prairie, with the Little Rockies dark and constant against the horizon, had brought her a sense of peace. How was that possible, given the horror of what she must have seen when she’d lived here?
And why hadn’t she started remembering? Was the truth buried so deep that even coming back here hadn’t triggered it?
She shook her head, reminding herself that she didn’t believe she was Angel Beaumont. Or did she?
Dulcie believed it and so did the killer, apparently. But why the story? Was he afraid she would remember someday and, upon hearing about the writing assignment, had decided to tell her his side of the story?
Was it possible that for twenty-four years the members of this community had lived with a murderer in their midst? Had they protected the killer the same way they’d protected her years ago? Who, she wondered, had saved her that day? Not just saved her, but found a couple willing to adopt her—illegally.
Her parents had explained to her that they couldn’t adopt through normal channels because of their advanced ages.
Like Dulcie’s parents, Jolene’s were also gone. She’d lost her father first four years ago, then her mother passed away while she was still in college. There would be no answers coming from them.
Someone in this community knew though and as her gaze took in the vehicles parked outside the community center, Jolene told herself that this time someone in the Whitehorse Sewing Circle was going to tell her.
WHEN RUSSELL ARRIVED in town, he’d made the acquaintance of Bridger and Laci Duvall. The two owned the Northern Lights restaurant and had recently had a baby boy.
Laci had been born and raised here so it was her Russell hoped to talk to when he pulled up in front of the restaurant.
He knew one of the Duvalls would be there cooking something for the supper crowd that evening and lucked out when he found Laci sliding a batch of her flourless chocolate cake into the oven.
“Russell,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I see you survived the wedding.”
“Barely,” he admitted. Three of his brothers had recently wed in a triple ceremony that wouldn’t soon be forgotten in Whitehorse. Laci and her husband had catered it.
“Only two Corbett bachelors left,” she said with an exaggerated sigh.
“Don’t start,” he warned playfully, then introduced her to Dulcie and told her what they needed.
“I know how people here are about their secrets, especially in Old Town Whitehorse.” Laci thought for a moment then smiled broadly. “I know just the person. Her name is Nina Mae Cross and you can find her at the rest home. I should warn you. She’s a little irascible.”
JOLENE PUSHED OPEN THE door to the Whitehorse Community Center and stepped inside. It felt cooler in here in the large, dim, shadowy room. At the back, all of the quilters turned to see who had come in—just as they had last time.
Only this time, no one looked pleased to see her.
She walked to the back where they were gathered over the same small quilt they’d been working on the other day. She hadn’t paid much attention then, but she did remember the small squares of bright colors. Today the women seemed to be embroidering tiny flowers along the edge of the baby quilt.
“Did you change your mind about learning to quilt?” Pearl Cavanaugh asked, looking hopeful.
“No,” Jolene said. “I changed my mind about letting you get away without telling me about Laura Beaumont. I want to know what really happened to her daughter.”
The room was instantly, deathly quiet.
Pearl put down her needle and thread. There was a trembling in her hands as she reached for her cane. “I don’t believe you’ve ever seen our kitchen,” she said, pushing herself up.
Jolene stepped back to let her lead the way and followed, afraid at how unsteady Pearl seemed on her feet.
They passed through a doorway. “Close the door behind you,” Pearl said over her shoulder.
Jolene did as she was told, noticing that the other women were staring after them, but none had moved.
Suddenly Pearl turned to face her and Jolene saw that she was furious.
“What has possessed you to come in here and demand—”
“I have every right if I’m Angel Beaumont.”
The rest of Pearl’s words died on her lips.
“I am, aren’t I?” The words came out a whisper.
Pearl leaned into her cane, swaying slightly. She took a step toward one of the chairs next to a small table and dropped into
it.
As Jolene stared at the woman, she thought of the baby quilt the women were making—and the tiny embroidered flowers along the edge and had to sit down in one of the chairs herself.
“I have a quilt like that one out there you’re making,” she said, her voice breaking. The Whitehorse Sewing Circle had made her a quilt when she was a baby? Or when she’d been secreted away and adopted by parents in Seattle?
“You didn’t know when I got the teaching job that I was Angel?”
Pearl shook her head. “The name was Thompson.”
Why hadn’t Jolene thought of it? Her adopted father had died when she was six. Her mother, Marie Thompson, had remarried and changed her name. Larry Stevens had adopted her.
Pearl met her gaze and Jolene saw the compassion in those pale blue eyes. She felt tears burn her own eyes.
“You can’t stay here. It isn’t safe.”
“It never was safe, since I believe my mother’s killer is the one who got me back here.” She brushed away her tears, angry that so many people had lied to her. She didn’t need a DNA test. She’d seen the truth in Pearl’s face. “Have you been protecting my mother’s killer?”
“Of course not,” Pearl snapped.
Jolene got to her feet. “You must have had your suspicions twenty-four years ago about who murdered her. Or maybe I told you.”
“You weren’t…talking. You didn’t talk for months afterward. I don’t know who was responsible and I’m certainly not going to speculate.”
“But you do know who found me that night on the road.”
Pearl’s gaze widened. “You remember being found on the road. If you’re starting to remember—”
“Just tell me who found me.”
NINA MAE CROSS WAS A tiny gray-haired woman with twinkling blue eyes and dimples. Russell had been warned that Nina Mae was tough as nails and quite outspoken.
But he hadn’t been ready for this little waif of a woman.
“Nina Mae Cross?”
“Who wants to know?” the wiry little woman asked, one hand on her hip as she stood in the middle of her room.
“My name’s Russell Corbett.”
“Never heard of you.” She started to turn away.
“But you have heard of Laura Beaumont.”
She stopped and turned back toward him, eyes narrowing. “Everyone’s heard of that one,” she said.
“Mind if we sit down? This is my friend Dulcie Hughes.”
“Never heard of her either,” Nina Mae said but waved them into the two available chairs. She lowered herself to the edge of the bed and looked from one to the other with an intent gaze. “Friends, huh?” She chuckled.
“Can you tell us about Laura Beaumont?” Dulcie asked.
“What’s to tell? She’s dead.”
“We’re trying to find out who killed her,” Russell said. “You have any ideas?”
“Lots of ideas. Could have been a jealous wife. Could have been a jealous lover.”
“Like John Atkinson?” Dulcie asked, lowering her voice.
Nina Mae smiled sagely. “So you already know about John. He’ll be doing whatever Midge says till his dying day.” She shook her head as if she couldn’t imagine anything worse.
“What about Ben Carpenter, John’s ranch manager? Was he one of the men?”
“John thought so. He fired Ben, sent him packing. Couldn’t have been a worse time with Ronda pregnant and then when she lost the baby…” Nina Mae wagged her head sympathetically. “Ben had wanted that baby so bad. It changed him for the worse, Ronda losing that baby. Ronda had her son from her first marriage, Tinker, but Ben and the boy never got along.”
“I heard Laura’s little girl played with a friend at the creek. Was it Tinker?” Dulcie asked, her heart in her throat.
Nina Mae nodded.
Tinker, the friend. The boy who’d tried to protect her. And the cowboy Dulcie had seen her with at the restaurant. Did he know Jolene was Angel? Is that why he’d asked her out?
“Tinker took that little girl’s death hard. Before that he’d been such a good boy, but after, he was in trouble all the time. Before that, he idolized Ben. After…” She shook her head. “There was a time I thought the two of them would kill each other.”
Tinker and his stepfather? “That must have been hard on Tinker’s mother, Ronda,” Dulcie said.
“Ronda loved Ben and stuck by him although I wouldn’t have,” Nina Mae said.
“We’ve heard that Laura might have fallen in love and was breaking it off with the others,” Dulcie said.
Nina Mae’s sharp eyes shone. “Funny you should say that. I heard talk that it was John, but I always figured it had to be Ben. Then again it was that hot, dry spring so that rainmaker…”
“That’s quite enough,” snapped an elderly woman from the doorway.
Dulcie turned at the shuffling sound to see a handsome woman leaning on her cane and understood at once why her voice had sounded odd. She’d had a stroke at some point. One side of her face hung lower than the other.
“You’ve said quite enough, dear,” the woman said to Nina Mae more kindly. “Perhaps you’d like to go down to the nurses’ station for some juice.”
“Juice?” Nina Mae bristled. “I’d rather have a beer.” But she rose and left anyway.
“She won’t remember what she was going for by the time she reaches the nurses’ station. I’m Pearl Cavanaugh.” She said it as if the name should mean something to them.
Clearly someone at the nursing home had alerted Pearl about Nina Mae’s company. She must have raced right in to make sure Nina Mae didn’t spill the beans.
“You’re one of those Corbett men,” Pearl said, nodding to herself. “I heard you were all handsome, but clearly that was an understatement. What are you doing bothering Nina Mae? Didn’t anyone tell you she has Alzheimer’s? You can’t believe anything she says.”
“Can’t we?” Dulcie asked, wondering how long Pearl had stood outside the room listening.
Pearl turned to scrutinize her. “You must be the woman who bought the old Beaumont place.”
Dulcie had heard about Pearl and Titus Cavanaugh from Jolene. They were like royalty in Old Town Whitehorse, running everything from the school to the Whitehorse Sewing Circle. If anyone knew the truth about Laura Beaumont’s murder, it was this woman.
“Actually, I inherited the Beaumont place.” Dulcie couldn’t miss the surprise in the woman’s eyes and then the realization of who she was. “I’m Dulcie Hughes, but then I suspect you know that and a whole lot more.”
Chapter Twelve
Midge Atkinson opened the door and looked surprised to see that Jolene wasn’t alone.
“I brought your wicker basket back,” Jolene said when Midge made no move to invite her and Dulcie inside. “I brought a friend, too.”
“I see that.” Midge was a large-framed, thick woman, shapeless in a purple sweatsuit, her face set in a permanent scowl. “Well, come in then.” She reached for the basket, stepping back with obvious irritation.
Dulcie and Jolene followed her into the kitchen. After her run-in with Pearl Cavanaugh the day before, Dulcie didn’t expect Midge Atkinson to be any more forthcoming that Pearl had been.
“I like your borders,” Dulcie said. “Did you paint them?”
“Yes,” Midge said as she put the wicker basket on the top shelf and turned toward them. “But you aren’t here to return my basket or compliment my artwork. What do you want?”
Clearly word had spread about the Beaumont girls. “We’re here to ask you about Laura Beaumont,” Dulcie said.
Midge swung her gaze to Jolene. “I warned you about digging into things that don’t concern you. If you care about your teaching job—”
“Actually, it does concern us and I think you know it,” Dulcie cut in. “We know you painted Angel Beaumont’s room and that you were friends with Laura Beaumont.”
“I want you both to leave. Now.” Midge started to take a step toward the
phone as if to call for help, when Jolene finally spoke.
“You were the one who saved Angel that night.”
All the air seemed to be sucked from the room. Midge swung around, almost lost her balance and had to grab the countertop to keep from falling.
Dulcie also turned in shock to look at Jolene. Why hadn’t Jolene told her this?
Midge looked as if she might have a heart attack right in front of their eyes. She stumbled to the table and sat down heavily in one of the chairs. “Who told you that I—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jolene said, sounding calm as she took a seat and Dulcie did the same.
Midge was staring at Jolene. So Midge really hadn’t suspected that Jolene was Angel?
“Were you also responsible for me coming back here?” Jolene asked.
“A committee of parents were involved in the hiring,” Midge said. “I don’t know who suggested you. I didn’t know…”
“Why were you on that road that night?” Dulcie asked.
“I went there looking for John,” Midge said in a tiny voice. “His pickup wasn’t there.”
“You must have seen the killer.”
Midge shook her head. “All I saw was Angel. I started to go toward the house, but I couldn’t leave the girl. I could see that something horrible had happened. She had blood all over her.” Her voice broke. “I got out of there. I took the girl and went home. John was there. He’d been there the whole time cleaning so we could move into the house.”
“He hadn’t just gotten back from Laura’s?” Dulcie asked.
“He hadn’t been near Laura’s. I checked his truck. The engine was ice-cold. He told me she’d broken it off with him, said she’d fallen in love.”
“With Ben Carpenter?” Dulcie asked.
Midge pursed her lips. “That’s what I heard.”
“You were the one who put the note on my car, weren’t you?” Jolene said.
Midge looked embarrassed. “I was trying to protect you.”
“Or protect yourself?” Dulcie said.
Jolene rose to leave. “Thank you,” she said to Midge and started toward the door.
