by J. C. Kenney
The man was now retired and living somewhere in the desert Southwest doing security consulting. The current police chief was none other than Matt Roberson, the former chief’s son.
No wonder Connie didn’t want to go to the police. Despite my promises to family and friends, and myself, that I was finished with crime fighting, I couldn’t turn this woman down.
I looked Connie in the eye and shook her hand.
“I’ll find Valerie’s killer. And get the justice you and your family deserve.”
Chapter Three
I spent Sunday evening going through Valerie’s things in greater detail than when Connie was with me. My goal had been to reach an initial conclusion. Was the woman justified for not trusting the police? Or was she a lost soul who couldn’t get over the fact that her daughter ran away and turned that resentment against the authorities?
By the time I went to bed, I was convinced it was a combination of the two. Based on photos in the various reports I read, the Connie of today was a shadow of the woman she’d once been. The news didn’t paint Chief Louis in a favorable light, either. Regardless of who the recently discovered body turned out to be, the toll taken on Valerie’s family was indisputable.
• • •
On Monday morning, before I devoted a bunch of time to a search for answers to a twenty-year-old question, I knew I had work to do. The kind of work that paid the bills. As the sole proprietor of the Cobb Literary Agency, I had the luxury of working from home, setting my own hours, and going for a walk with my cat whenever I felt like it. On the other hand, I was accountable for paying the rent, keeping the lights on, and making sure my authors were taken care of.
It was a lot of responsibility, but I loved it. And with help from my assistant, Calypso Bosley, the future of CLA continued to be bright.
“What’s on the agenda for this week, Boss?” Calypso propped her combat-booted feet on the coffee table with a thunk. After a yawn, she took a long drink from a forty-ounce stainless steel mug. The aroma of straight black coffee hit me like a tsunami. If form held, she’d down three more of those monstrosities over the course of the day. How the young woman could consume so much caffeine and sleep was beyond me.
Every Monday morning, we met to discuss and prioritize tasks. Calypso worked with me twenty hours a week. She spent most of those hours working without my direct supervision, so getting together face-to-face on a regular basis was important to me.
“First week of the month. That means royalties. I need you to go through the accounts and make sure statements and payments can go out Thursday night.” While it was always gratifying to celebrate the days when my authors’ books were published, I got an even bigger charge from sending them royalty payments. It was the most concrete sign that people were buying their books.
“Easy peasy.” She brushed her obsidian hair from her eyes and took another long slurp from her mug. “What else?”
“We received two client manuscripts on Friday that are ready for editing. One’s a romance, the other’s a mystery. I got the okay from the authors for you to do an initial round of editing. I’d like them back by the end of the day Friday, so I can go through them next week. Doable?”
“Yes! Finally, a mystery.” She gave herself a high five. “Nothing beats some good old-fashioned murder and mayhem.”
I rolled my eyes. Calypso had a sharp mind and a keen attention to detail, two virtues that made her excellent at what she did. She also had the youthful desire to shock me with statements she thought I’d find outrageous. Since I had a mere dozen years on my nineteen-year-old assistant, her attempts typically failed.
She never stopped trying, though. That was one of the things that made working with her fun.
We got through the rest of the agenda in short order. The last item of business involved finalizing plans to celebrate and promote the releases of two of our clients’ books later in the week.
In general, I wasn’t a fan of meetings, but I’d come to enjoy these get-togethers with Calypso. We got important things done and always managed to share a laugh in the process. They got my weeks off on a positive footing.
“Anything else before I let you go?” In an hour, I had a call with an editor to discuss a manuscript I’d submitted, and I wanted to get a few other things done first.
“Just one. Are you going to help that lady who came to see you yesterday?” Calypso took a drink but never broke eye contact, as if she was issuing me a challenge.
“What lady?” I was more determined than ever to help Connie Briggs, but I wasn’t ready for that assistance to be common knowledge. Shoot, the remains hadn’t even been identified yet.
And if word got out that I was getting involved in a case that would include second-guessing the current police chief’s father, I could find myself in a lot of awkward situations. Especially since Matt Roberson was not only the top law enforcement officer in Rushing Creek but was also my ex-brother-in-law.
“God, Allie. Don’t even try to go there.” Calypso stomped to the kitchen to refill her mug. Her ankle-length black cardigan duster trailed behind her like the cape of a medieval inquisitor. “Renee told me about it when we had dinner last night. So, what are you going to do?”
Calypso was more than my assistant. She was Renee’s niece and had been living in the habitable third-floor apartment for almost six months. Nothing happened in this building without Renee being aware of it. When Renee knew something, it was often passed on to Calypso.
“I’m going to help her.” I took a bite of a multigrain bagel I’d been nibbling on throughout the meeting. “If the body they found turns out to be her daughter.”
“My, my, my. And I thought the Kickboxing Crusader had retired.”
I shut my eyes and counted to ten. Calypso knew I hated the crime-fighting nickname Sloane had given me. By using it, she’d skillfully driven home a salient point. I’d promised my family and friends I was done with pursuing murderers. I’d put myself in danger way too often. It was time to leave that kind of work to the professionals.
So much for that. What was it people said about never saying never?
“What was I supposed to do? The woman came to me asking for help. Not the police. To me.” I threw my hands in the air in frustration. “I was reading a book for fun recently. It was about a homicide cop in Maine. He said that he did what he did because it was important for someone to speak for the dead. If it turns out I can help speak for whoever that poor soul might be, I have to do it.
“Besides, those remains might be nothing more than animal bones or something like that. It might turn that some kids at the high school tried playing a prank and it went horribly wrong.”
Four rapid knocks on the door brought my speech to an end. My heart sank when Calypso welcomed the visitor into the apartment.
It was Connie.
“I just came from the morgue. They identified the remains. It’s Valerie.”
She looked as fragile as a newborn doe taking its first steps. In a flash I was at the woman’s side. While I guided her to the couch, I asked Calypso to get her something to drink.
“I’m so sorry.” I held Connie’s hand as tears pooled in her eyes. Twenty years of hoping against hope, of choosing to believe in a miracle, had come crashing down on the woman.
Calypso, eyes wide in consternation at Connie’s condition, placed a coffee cup on the table. At my signal, she dashed off to the bathroom for tissues.
After a while, the torrent slowed. Connie took a sip of her coffee, then blew her nose. A small mountain of tear-soaked tissues had grown at her feet.
“Thanks. I guess I always had a feeling, deep down, that Val was gone. Sometimes, mothers can sense those things. But I never gave up hope that one day she’d come back to me. Maybe even with a family.”
As if on cue, Ursi leapt onto the couch and settled herself in Connie’s lap. She started purring the moment Connie stroked an ear. Anyone who claimed cats were selfish hadn’t met my Ursi.
; I wanted to ask if the authorities were certain but stopped myself before uttering something so insensitive. Of course they were sure. They wouldn’t have made her go to the morgue if they weren’t.
“Calypso, there’s a notebook on the shelf to the right of my desk. Would you mind getting it?”
As she turned away, she cursed the murderer and muttered something under her breath. It sounded like, “So much for a high school prank.”
Indeed, my friend. What I’d give to have the police come barging through the door right now with apologies to Connie that they’d gotten it wrong.
I set the thought aside when Calypso handed me the notebook and a pen. Justice delayed was justice denied. It was time to get Connie, and Valerie, the justice that had been denied to them for so long.
“Tell me about this morning.”
Connie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. As she released it, she opened them. They were clear. The desperation from yesterday was gone. As was the despair from earlier. She had the look of a mother who wanted to take whoever had harmed her daughter for a trip behind the closest woodshed.
It was a sentiment I wholeheartedly agreed with.
“I was getting ready for work when the cops showed up. It was Matt Roberson and one of his flunkies.” The venom with which she mentioned the police chief’s name could have seared a hole through a block of Indiana limestone.
“They came in and told me the remains are Valerie. Someone had strangled her, stuffed her into some kind of bag, then buried her.”
“Jeez, that’s awful,” Calypso said in a hushed tone. She was a tough one who was rarely shocked. It was happening to her a lot this morning.
“How were they able to determine it’s her, dental records?” I needed to get as much information as possible out of Connie while she still had her steely-eyed look. Whatever emotional reserves she was running on would probably reach empty soon.
“No. They’re working on that. They found a plastic ID card holder with her. It had an appointment card with her name on it and some cash. The appointment card was from a family planning clinic.”
My brain started running scenarios in my head. If a clinic like that was involved, maybe she was pregnant. That could be an explanation for running away. But then, why were her remains discovered so close to home. Was she planning on running away and someone murdered her first?
So many questions. So few answers.
“Was she—”
“Pregnant? Uh-huh. During the autopsy, they found extra bones. The coroner thinks she was about seven months along when she . . .”
“I’m so, so sorry.” I put my arm around Connie. After stiffening for a moment, she melted into me.
Despite my best efforts, I had trouble coming to terms with her news. It had to be heartbreaking beyond belief to find out your long-lost daughter had been murdered. But then to find out you’d lost a grandchild, too? Utterly devastating.
We sat in silence as Calypso and I absorbed the enormity of the situation. Connie had been right all along. Whether Valerie had run away was irrelevant now. What mattered was that someone had taken the young woman’s life. And the life of her unborn child.
As we sat there, a time line was beginning to come together. The date she disappeared. The fact that she was seven months pregnant when she died. The name of a family planning clinic. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give me something to go on. I jotted down my thoughts while Connie finished her coffee.
“Is there anything else you can tell me?” I sensed she was almost spent.
“Yeah.” She went to the window and gazed out upon the Boulevard. “There was something else in the bag. A sock. There was a bandage in it. There was blood on the bandage. They said they were going to send it somewhere to test it for DNA, for all the good that’ll do.”
“You’d be amazed at the things the police can do with DNA testing,” Calypso said.
I frowned at her before she could say more. I didn’t want her, or anyone, raising Connie’s hopes. Even if it was done with the best of intentions.
“That’s what Roberson said. He also said it’s not a perfect science, so I shouldn’t get my hopes up too much.” She let out a world-weary sigh. “That’s probably his way of letting the cops off the hook. I didn’t trust his dad. I don’t trust him, either. That’s why you need to find Val’s killer, Allie.”
“I’ll do everything I can.” After chatting for a few minutes, I asked Connie if there was anything else I could do for her.
“Could someone give me a ride home? I need to call Annette. I want to make sure she hears about Val from me before anyone else.”
“No problem.” Calypso grabbed her purse off the kitchen table. “Ready when you are.”
After a promise that I’d be in touch in a couple of days, Connie thanked me and made her exit, with Calypso providing a steadying hand.
While I was alone, I took advantage of the quiet and scribbled down all the relevant items that came to mind. I still thought it was the longest of shots that I could track down Valerie’s murderer. But not even trying made it easier for the murderer to escape justice.
I was on my third page of notes when Calypso returned. She leaned against the door after closing it and shook her head.
“Good golly, Miss Molly. That poor woman.” She went to the kitchen and poured herself some coffee. “Do you really think you can find the garbage bag of a human who did it?”
“No way to know until I give it a shot.” It was the truth. I didn’t know. Experience had taught me not to let doubts derail effort, though. “I’ll give it my best.”
“In that case, the killer better sleep with one eye open.” Calypso lifted her mug toward me. “Since your best always gets the job done.”
Chapter Four
Connie’s visit had left my mind processing ideas faster than I could write them down. I wanted to dig right into the investigation. Murdering someone was, in and of itself, an unspeakably heinous act. But to murder an eighteen-year-old woman, who was pregnant, and then bury her body? That sank to the lowest depths of evil. And I’d come across people who could perform some really evil acts.
I had authors to care for first, though. My call with the editor helped me get back into the groove of agent work. After the call, I spent the rest of the day in my office, focused on the work of Cobb Literary Agency.
After dropping Connie off, the normally tough-as-iron Calypso had made it clear she didn’t want to be alone. She worked on the edits in the living room while Ursi napped on her lap. The only time we took a break was for a carry-out lunch from the Brown County Diner.
She finally took off at four o’clock so she could get to her other job as a server at the Pub. When I was among friends and family, I was a hugger. Calypso was not. Before she left, though, she came into my office and gave me a bear hug so tight I thought my lungs might collapse.
“I had no idea what you went through helping these people. I wanna help any way I can.” She gave my shoulder a soft punch, then almost sprinted out the door.
At first, I couldn’t understand why she was so upset. After all, my assistant loved to brag about how many people she could make uncomfortable when she went full-on Goth. She also claimed not to care what people who didn’t know her thought about her.
Her tough girl persona made her emotional reaction to Valerie’s murder all the more puzzling. After all, Valerie had been gone before Calypso was even born.
As I was shutting down my laptop for the day, a revelation hit me. Valerie had been eighteen when her life was taken. Calypso was nineteen. The thought of someone your own age being brutally murdered could shake the foundation of any teen who thought they were going to live forever.
Then I thought of the other young women in the area. They’d likely be confronted with the same harrowing thoughts once news broke that the remains had been identified as Valerie.
I broke out in goose bumps.
Rushing Creek was supposed to be a safe place to grow
up. No young person should have to face the trauma of a classmate’s murder. Which was all the more motivation I needed to make sure I found Valerie’s murderer.
“I’m coming for you, whoever you are.”
I grabbed my notebook and went to the computer. It was time for some research.
One of the few clues I had was the name of the family planning clinic on the business card. Connie hadn’t been able to remember all the details. They’d only given her a quick look at the card, claiming protocols about evidence. She was positive the place was called Positive Solutions and had an Indianapolis address, though.
With the power of the Internet at my fingertips, I figured I’d have contact information for the clinic in a matter of seconds. Privacy laws would prevent them from giving me much, if any, information about Valerie. I was undaunted, though. If nothing else, I’d be able to talk to someone there and explain the situation. I typed in the clinic’s name and hit Enter.
And got over a million hits.
“Okay, then. Let’s narrow the search.” I entered the name again, but this time added the terms “family planning” and “Indianapolis.”
And got ten thousand.
After thirty minutes of fruitless searching, I pushed away from my desk. No luck. A few sites I visited verified the clinic had been in operation around the time Valerie disappeared. The problem for me was that it wasn’t open any longer.
“It was a long shot, girl.” I picked Ursi up and stroked her along her spine. In seconds, she began purring. Following my first clue into a brick wall was a bummer. It was far from a dead end, though. I’d just begin anew and head down a different path. And do things the old-fashioned way, by talking to people.
My first stop was Mom’s house. Since I didn’t remember much about Valerie’s disappearance, it seemed like a good move to start with a friendly face who would.
She was in her backyard, drinking lemonade in the shade cast by an old red oak tree. After giving me a hug, Mom dashed into the house to get me a glass of lemonade. While she was gone, I stood in the middle of the yard and bathed in the August heat while the leaves whispered in the wind, telling tales of my backyard adventures as a child. I was lucky. Visits to the home I grew up in brought forth countless pleasant memories.
