by J. C. Kenney
“Girl, you are a trip.” Diane dipped an onion ring in ketchup. “I hope you ran right past that thing and didn’t look back.”
“I did better than that. I turned around and sprinted back to where I came from. I checked my time when I got back to my starting point. Personal best.” Sloane raised her drink to us as we laughed.
“I hope you didn’t tell Luke. He’ll want you to carry pepper spray on all your runs from now on,” I said.
“Or run in a suit of armor,” Diane added, her black curls flowing back and forth like ocean waves as she laughed.
My brother Luke adored Sloane and would do anything to make her happy. And to support her trail running career. He’d gone as far as offering to quit his job as head of the Rushing Creek Parks Department so he could travel with her and work as her personal assistant.
She’d insisted he keep working. He liked his job and there was no way she was going to ask him to give up something he enjoyed. God, I loved Sloane Winchester. She was the most kindhearted person I knew. I was more than fortunate to have her in my life.
We’d just received a second round of drinks when Jeanette Wilkerson came in. I waved her over to join us.
“Is she not feeling well? She doesn’t look so hot.” Sloane furrowed her eyebrows. My bestie didn’t talk ill of anyone unless she was concerned about them.
“She does look tired,” Diane said as she scooched over to make room on her side of the booth.
“Hey, girlfriend.” I hugged Jeanette when she arrived.
“What a day. I need a drink.” She dropped into the open spot with a thump.
Diane and Sloane were right. Jeanette didn’t look good. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, as if she’d been crying. Her dark hair, which normally looked fantastic even under the worst circumstances, was gathered in a messy topknot that looked like it would fall apart under the pressure from the slightest puff of air.
Jeanette was an officer with the Rushing Creek Police Department. She’d seen some awful things during her time as a cop, but nothing had ever gotten to her.
Something had gotten to her today. Something frightful.
“Bad stuff today, I take it?” I slid my glass of white wine toward her.
“You have no idea.” She drained the glass in a single long gulp. Before she’d placed the glass back on the table, she asked our server for another one.
“There are rumors something was discovered in the state forest. Was your day related to that?” Diane asked.
“Man, I hate the rumor mill.” Jeanette let out a long sigh as she stared at the ceiling. “Especially when it’s true.”
The three of us sat in silence while we waited for our friend to say more. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Jeanette was a good cop who always tried to do the right thing, like refraining from commenting on a case.
When the server placed another glass of wine in front of her, she took a deep breath.
“Workers have been in an area of the forest preparing for a timber harvest. Earlier today, they found something and called nine-one-one. The call sounded serious, so I responded along with the County Sheriff’s Department.” She shuddered. “All I can say is they found a body.”
My blood went cold as I processed the words. And Jeanette’s behavior. So Maybelle had been right. It wasn’t the kind of news I’d hoped to receive.
The body hadn’t gotten there by accident.
There’d been another murder in Rushing Creek.
Chapter Two
As usual, I began my Sunday meeting my mom on the steps of St. James Catholic Church for Mass. My faith wasn’t particularly strong, but the time spent with her thinking about things much larger than myself helped me cope with the challenges in life.
This Sunday was far from usual.
Normally, Mom met me outside the front of the church, with arms wide open ready to take me into a hug. This day, she was huddled with a few of her friends, speaking in low tones and making furtive glances at other churchgoers. Everyone else was doing the same thing.
I didn’t need a mind reader to know what the topic of conversation was. Until the poor soul who’d been found in the state forest was identified, the rumor mill would fly at full speed.
“Hi, Mom. Ladies.” I hugged my dear mother and nodded to the women she’d been chatting with. “What’s the good word today?”
Mom scowled before she released me. There was no fooling Dr. Janice Cobb. She wouldn’t take the bait I’d just tossed to the group.
“Just talking about yesterday’s awful news.” She flicked a speck of dirt from her jacket lapel. I would never look as well put together as my mom. Not that one’s wardrobe seemed important at the moment.
“You have contacts with the police,” one of the women, Wanda something or other, said. “You must know who it is. Want to give us the scoop?”
I shrugged. I didn’t have the scoop and didn’t want to have it. I’d done my part bringing murderers in Rushing Creek to justice. And with each case I’d solved, a little part of my soul had shriveled up and died. At least, that’s the way I explained it to my counselor.
“Sorry, ladies. My crime-fighting days are a thing of the past. I don’t know any more than you do.” I took Mom by the arm and escorted her into the church before they could respond.
Despite my best efforts to focus on the service, I couldn’t shake the disturbing images of the past twenty-four hours. The police cruiser barreling down the road. Maybelle’s troublemaking smile. Jeanette’s disheveled appearance. The whispers shared among small groups at the church.
By the time Father Edwards brought Mass to a close by telling us all to go in peace, I was ready to scream. The couple in the pew in front of me hadn’t stopped talking about “the discovery” the entire time.
The callous desire for scandal that permeated the gathering was too much. It was a House of God and folks couldn’t set aside the troubles from the world for sixty minutes. It was too much. I gave Mom a hug, told her my stomach was upset, and made for the exit like record-setting sprinter Usain Bolt.
I didn’t slow down until I reached the entrance to my building. The brass door pull was cool to the touch when I grasped it, a welcome respite from the heat of the day. It calmed my frazzled nerves enough so I could climb the stairs to my apartment without hyperventilating.
My knees got weak the moment I stepped into the apartment. I slid to the floor, using the door for support.
Ursi said hello by bumping her head against my ankle, then climbed onto my lap. She stared at me with her big golden eyes, then blinked slowly and started to purr.
Her kitty kiss brought tears to my eyes. I scooped her up in my arms and held her close to my heart. “I love you too, girl. It’s just a panic attack. Give me a minute to change clothes and we’ll go for a walk.”
My counselor had suggested I try new methods to help combat my recent anxiety issues. Despite my initial misgivings, herbal tea had worked. Maybe it was the pleasant aroma. Maybe it was the placebo effect. All I knew was that when I was feeling a lot of stress, the tea calmed me.
For that, I was thankful. Especially today.
I brewed some chamomile in a travel mug and left it to steep while I switched into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt that said I’m a Crazy Cat Lady and Proud of It.
“Okay, girl. Let’s get in some steps.” Ursi met me at the front door and held still as I put on her harness. Evidently, she wanted to get out as much as I did. We were truly birds of a feather.
We made a detour on our way out of the building to say hi to Renee Gomez. She was the owner of Renee’s Gently Used Books, which was located directly below my apartment. She was also my landlord.
“What’s up, Allie?” Renee waved to me from behind a cart of paperbacks she was putting out while a few customers browsed the New Releases section. Even though the name of the store included the word Used, she sold new books as well.
Ursi trotted over to Renee, bumped her head against the woman’s black pants, and pl
opped down in front of her. She liked Renee, but adored treats. Renee always had one ready for her, which my cat had learned. And was always eager to take advantage of.
“Trying to get away from yesterday’s news. Thought I’d stop by to see if the roof work still starts tomorrow.”
My building was almost a hundred years old. That meant the three-story brick-and-mortar structure was gorgeous and had character for days. That meant it also needed a lot of TLC. After years of saving up to pay for a new roof, Renee had recently told me and the building’s other tenants that work was scheduled to begin on Monday.
She grinned as she dropped Ursi’s snack to the hardwood floor. “It does, and I cannot wait. Once it’s done, I can finally think about renting the apartment above you.”
“I get to approve the tenant, right?” We’d often joked that my crime-fighting efforts provided Renee’s building an extra layer of security. To that end, I’d been angling to make sure the person who lived above me was someone I liked.
“Sure, as long as you’re willing to collect the rent, respond to complaints from neighbors, and handle maintenance calls.”
Renee’s expression was as unreadable as a professional poker player’s. She may have been joking. Or, maybe not.
“You’re right. Your building, your decision.”
“I’m sure the mere mention of your name will scare off any unsavory candidates.” She glanced toward the cash register, where a young woman with a toddler held a stack of kids’ books. “Gotta ring up a sale. Enjoy your walk.”
I had no destination in mind, so I let Ursi take the lead. We wandered through the neighborhood for about fifteen minutes, enjoying the smell of freshly mowed grass, the periodic shade of mature oak and maple trees, and the beauty of brightly colored flowers. Then she plopped down next to an ornamental rock to rest. That was my cue to give her a drink from the sports bottle I always carried with us.
She lapped at the water that dribbled out the bottle’s open valve while I sipped my tea and soaked up the sun. When she was sufficiently rested, she stretched, got back up on all fours, and gave me a look that said it was time to go. Fifteen minutes later, we were back in front of my building.
It was a pleasant routine, one we both enjoyed. The exercise was good for Ursi’s physical health and my mental health. With my mind now at peace, I scratched my kitty between the shoulder blades.
“Good walk, girl. If it’s not too hot, we’ll do this tomorrow.”
Ursi let out a little meow as I opened the door and motioned for her to enter.
I came to a dead stop when my gaze fell upon an unfamiliar woman sitting on the steps. A battered box held together by graying duct tape sat next to her.
“Allie Cobb?”
The woman struggled to her feet. She was thin, too thin in my estimation. Her salt-and-pepper hair was parted in the middle. It fell limply to her shoulders, like all the life had been sucked from it ages ago. She wore a blouse with a floral print that hadn’t been in fashion in a decade and her jeans looked like they’d fall to pieces if she washed them one more time. Her eyes were haunted, as if she’d seen more awfulness than even Jeanette.
A wisp of a memory, a mere echo from long ago, flashed through my mind as the woman smiled and held out her hand.
“My name is Connie Briggs. My daughter, Valerie, disappeared twenty years ago. She was a senior in high school. They never found her.”
Vague recollections of the case returned to me. As an eleven-year-old at the time, I was more interested in the latest Nancy Drew novel than local news. Even middle school Allie hadn’t been completely oblivious to the news surrounding Valerie Briggs’s disappearance, though.
“I’m deeply sorry, Mrs. Briggs. I can’t imagine how tough that’s been on you.” Between yesterday’s discovery and the box on the stairstep, I sensed where this conversation was headed.
Someplace I didn’t want it to go.
“Thank you. The police said she ran away, but I always knew better. My Valerie was murdered. It’s her body they found in the forest yesterday, I just know it.” She pulled a tissue from a tattered canvas tote bag and wiped her eyes.
“I truly am sorry. Perhaps you should contact the police—”
“Police.” She practically spat out the word. Disgust dripped from each syllable. “Won’t do no good. That’s why I came to see you. I know you can help me.”
“What, exactly, do you think I can help you with?” The words were out before I could reel them back in. It was an involuntary response, like pulling a finger away from a hot flame. It also meant I was going to help this poor, broken woman. Regardless of what she was about to tell me.
Sometimes, I simply couldn’t help myself.
She wrapped my hand in hers and looked me in the eye. Her palms were cold, and rough from years of manual labor. The unanswered questions, the sleepless nights, the lonely desperation haunted Connie Briggs. And had haunted her for two decades.
“I want you to find my daughter’s killer.” She gave my hand a tight squeeze. I was the life preserver she needed to keep from going under once and for all. “Help me get justice for my Valerie. I know you can do it. Please.”
How could I say no to this desperate and broken woman?
I couldn’t.
“Why don’t you come inside so we can talk?” I put an arm around Connie and guided her into my apartment. Ursi, bless her, stayed close to my unexpected visitor to offer some kitty moral support while I got her settled.
To buy some time while I came to terms with what I was getting myself into, I brewed Connie a cup of herbal tea. It worked for me. Maybe it would work for her, too.
While I was in the kitchen, I kept an eye on her. Ursi had settled next to her on the couch. The woman smiled as she stroked my kitty’s spine. If Ursi was comfortable with the attention from this poor soul, that was good enough for me.
The least I could do was hear her out.
I brought her the tea and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Normally, I saved the cookies for when Tristan and Theresa, my twin niece and nephew, visited. Given the circumstances, making an exception to my rule felt like the right thing to do.
We chatted for a few minutes while Connie sipped her drink and plowed her way through three cookies. When she asked me for a second cup of tea, I couldn’t help wondering when someone last showed her a kindness.
A few minutes later, I set another cup on the coffee table in front of Connie. I’d also made one for myself this time. I was going to need the chamomile’s calming powers.
“Why don’t we start at the beginning.” I took a drink and breathed in the tea’s soothing aroma. “Tell me about Valerie’s disappearance.”
“It was twenty years ago last Christmas Eve when she went missing. Phil and I had been at work. Annette, that’s Val’s younger sister, was spending the day with a friend. I got home from work around three. I thought Val would be there because we were going to make Christmas cookies. It was a tradition we had.”
Connie squeezed her eyes shut. Even twenty years later, the woman’s anguish was as intense as the day her daughter disappeared.
“Well, those were the days before cell phones, so I couldn’t call her number. Instead, since I was tired from work, I told myself she was out with her girlfriends. When she was still gone by the time Phil and Annette got home, I called around. Nobody knew where she was. That’s when we called the police.”
With the care of someone opening a trunk containing buried treasure, she removed the lid from the box. “Everything about her disappearance is in there. Everything you need to know.”
“May I?” I waited until Connie nodded before looking at the contents. The items needed to be treated with respect.
It was an unremarkable collection. A black spiral-bound notebook, curled in at the edges, was on top. A quick scan revealed it to contain someone’s notes, documenting the case as it happened.
Connie confirmed it was hers.
There was a photo album
containing yellowed press clippings and news articles about the disappearance. Most were from the Brown County Beacon, the local weekly newspaper. Others were reports from newspapers in nearby Columbus, Bloomington, and even from Indianapolis.
A nine-by-twelve envelope contained documents about attempts to get the case on national news. The effort had been futile.
Valerie’s high school yearbook was at the bottom of the box, still in its plastic wrapping. Small wonder, since it didn’t come out until months after the girl disappeared.
There were other things that gave me some insight into who Valerie Briggs was—a small stuffed rabbit, a silver key chain from Rolling Hills State Park, a hairbrush.
Then I hit the jackpot. Valerie’s diary. I didn’t dare read it. Not in front of her mother. Odds were Connie had probably read every word in the little cloth-bound book countless times. Still, a diary was a personal, intimate record of one’s most honest thoughts. I hadn’t established that kind of relationship with Valerie to open it yet.
When I was finished looking through the materials, I closed the box, but kept it by my side.
“Why don’t you want to go to the police? I’m sure Chief Roberson would be more than willing to hear you out.”
“No way.” Connie crossed her arms. “I trusted the older Roberson when Val disappeared, and he let me down. That horrible man never believed me when I said something bad had happened to her. Just because my family wasn’t part of the in crowd, he ignored us and wrote the whole thing off as a runaway. My family deserved better then. Val deserves better now.”
I steadied myself on the arm of the couch. Connie’s vehemence caught me off guard. I understood the parent of a missing child being frustrated with the police, but a white-hot anger still burned inside Connie.
As I took a drink of my tea, a few thoughts coalesced. Connie’s distrust for the police made perfect sense.
Twenty years ago, the Rushing Creek police chief had been Louis Roberson. In the view of some, Chief Louis had been a staunch defender of law and order and Rushing Creek’s tourism business. In the view of others, he was a hypocrite who looked after the rich and well-connected and ignored those of more modest means.
