A Deadly Discovery

by J. C. Kenney

  I had no interest in owning the massive two-story structure, though. It had been built to provide a home for a family, not a single woman and a cat. But with Mom in good health and with the means to keep up with the maintenance, it was one of my favorite places to visit.

  “What brings you by?” She gestured for me to join her at the table on the back patio.

  “Do I need a reason to visit my favorite mom?” After my father died, my siblings and I had kept a close eye on Mom. She was a smart, capable woman, but we were worried how she’d cope with being on her own. We needn’t have been concerned.

  “Of course not.” She gave me a wicked smile. “But you never know. Maybe one day I’ll have a man friend over and we won’t want to be disturbed.”

  “Thanks for that. Now I’m going to have nightmares for a week.” I made a dramatic show of pretend gagging. There was, in fact, a guy Mom had gone out with a few times. He treated her well and made her happy. The development delighted me. I still had to make a show of mock revulsion to get a laugh out of her, though.

  “I do have a reason for coming by. It’s about Valerie Briggs.”

  Mom took a drink. The glass trembled as she drank. After she put it down, she gave me a tight-lipped stare.

  “So, it’s true. You’re getting involved in this mess.” Her icy tone was frigid.

  News traveled at the speed of light in Rushing Creek, especially when it was horrific, like the news involving Valerie. No doubt, word had gotten around about Connie’s visits. Evidently, the result of those conversations had gotten around, too.

  “She asked for my help. What was I supposed to say? She doesn’t trust the cops and doesn’t feel she has anyone else she could turn to.”

  “I can see your point. I don’t have to like it, though. It seems like now is a good time to remind you of your promise not to get involved in things like this again.”

  Things like this was my dear mother’s way of saying things that could end up with me getting hurt, or worse. I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. The hospital bills that had come from my previous investigations were proof of that.

  At the end of the day, someone had asked for my help. Mom and Dad had raised me to always be ready to lend a helping hand. It was a lesson ingrained in me as deeply as washing my hands with soap and water.

  As I looked her in the eye, there was recognition she hadn’t forgotten the lesson either.

  “I assume you have a notebook in your bag?” When I showed it to her, she smiled for the briefest of moments. This showdown went to Allie.

  “What do you remember about Valerie’s disappearance?”

  “It was awful. I knew Connie and Phil Briggs in passing. Their kids were about the same age as Luke and Rachel. They were good people. I suppose things started going downhill for the family when the younger sister got hurt.”

  Other than telling me Annette had moved to Oregon, Connie hadn’t said much about her younger daughter. She’d only been mentioned in passing in the materials I’d reviewed. I jotted down a note to learn more about her.

  “It’s been so long, I’m fuzzy on the details. What I remember is that the younger sister was injured in some sort of off-road accident. She was in the hospital for months. The medical bills were devastating.”

  In the hospital for months? Devastating sounded like an understatement.

  “When was this?”

  “A few years before Valerie disappeared. There were stories Valerie was supposed to be keeping an eye on the sister—”

  “Annette.”

  “Right.” Mom snapped her fingers, as if my prompt helped her memories come into focus. “The Briggs weren’t my patients, so I don’t have firsthand knowledge, but I remember hearing that Phil blamed Valerie for the accident. It supposedly led to years of emotional abuse, which only ended when Valerie ran away.”

  “Or was murdered.”

  Mom shook her head. “If it’s true that she was seven months pregnant when she died, then the disappearance happened weeks, if not months, before her death. As far as I can remember, a pregnancy was never mentioned as a factor in her disappearance.”

  When it came to medical issues, I took Mom’s word as gospel. She’d been a family practice physician for decades and spent part of her free time reading medical journals to keep up with the latest in her profession. Janice Cobb, M.D., knew her stuff. It was with great pride that I got to tell people I was her daughter.

  “So, what happened after she disappeared?”

  “Not enough, obviously.” She peered at something in the corner of the yard, as if she was living that harrowing time once again. “Given the problems in the family, most people thought she ran away to escape the abuse. Phil was suspected of being involved in the disappearance but was never charged with anything.”

  “Why not? Father abuses daughter. Daughter goes missing. Seems like a no-brainer to me.”

  My response carried more snark than I’d intended. In response, she shrugged. What could she do? She was only the messenger, after all.

  “Sorry. It’s not your fault. The whole thing makes me sick to my stomach.”

  And angry.

  Mom squeezed my hand. She’d learned over the years that it was best to let me rail against the injustices in the world.

  “I agree, hon. As awful as it was, there was no evidence to connect Phil to any crime. He ended up paying a price in the end. Phil and Connie’s marriage fell apart. He eventually drank himself to death. He passed away about ten years ago.”

  Holy cats! First, the man’s younger daughter was seriously injured, which led to financial ruin, which led to the older daughter disappearing without a trace, which then led to his marriage disintegrating. Dire circumstances like that could lead anyone to a bottle for some respite.

  “Wow. Heartbreaking doesn’t begin to describe this story.” I wiped away a tear that had formed at the corner of my eye.

  “I’m afraid it gets worse. Some years after Valerie disappeared, a maintenance worker at the high school was charged with statutory rape after it was discovered he was having a relationship with a student.”

  I shot to my feet as a dose of adrenaline emptied into my veins. “I remember that. I was a freshman. That dude was creepy. What was his name, Ron something or other?”

  “Spade.”

  “Yes! Ronald Spade.” I scribbled the name in my notebook and underlined it three times. “I remember he went to prison. Any idea what happened to him after that?”

  “He did his time and had to register as a sex offender. He lives with his mother. After he was arrested, Connie became convinced that he murdered Valerie, but, once again, there was no evidence to tie him to the disappearance.”

  “Maybe now there is.” The convicted pedophile went straight to the top of my suspect list. Then again, I currently only had two suspects, one of whom was deceased. Still, it was a start.

  Mom was quiet while I went through my notes. I’d gotten some solid information but wanted to make sure I hadn’t overlooked anything.

  “Connie told me Annette’s living in Oregon. She moved there after high school. Would I be correct in assuming she never came back?”

  “As far as I know, that’s right. Who could blame her? I can’t imagine spending all those years watching your family fall apart. I just hope the poor girl has gotten professional help. The emotional scars must be unimaginably deep.”

  Those close to me were aware of the emotional baggage I carried from being bullied as a kid. Over time, I’d come to grips with my issues. None of them could hold a candle to the demons that must haunt Annette Briggs every day.

  Maybe I could help her, indirectly. If I could figure out, once and for all, what happened to Valerie, perhaps some of the pain the Briggs family carried would be eased.

  My resolve to find Valerie’s murderer doubled. It occurred to me that, in doing so, I wouldn’t be helping one member of the family. I’d be helping two. That was an offer I couldn’t ref
use.

  I wanted to get back to the apartment to organize my notes but forced myself to keep my emotions in check. One step at a time, Allie.

  “This has been majorly helpful, Mom. I appreciate it. Is there anything else you can remember?”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m afraid not. Talk to Luke and Rachel. Valerie was in the class ahead of Luke. They should be able to point you toward people who knew her. A lot of people who were here then are still around. Somebody might know something.”

  “Indeed, they might.”

  And I intended to find out what, exactly, they knew.

  Chapter Five

  In the publishing world, books are released almost every day of the week. For a variety of reasons, a majority of books hit bookshelves, both electronic and physical, on Tuesday.

  I celebrated the publication of each of my authors’ books on the day of release. This consisted of posting a congratulatory message on the Cobb Literary Agency’s private social media page and posting the cover of a book, with sales links of course, on social media sites. Sometimes, if the release was from an established and big-selling author, I’d make a periodic check of the author’s sales ranking numbers at various sites to see if we’d gotten close to any bestseller rankings.

  On this particular Tuesday, books from two authors were coming out. That meant double the notification work. And double the fun.

  One of the books was from a debut author. We were keeping expectations low but hopes high for a promising start to his career. The other was the fourth book in a series from one of my longest-tenured clients. It had gotten a lot of positive buzz from reviewers who read it prior to publication. I didn’t want to jinx the author by revealing my hopes to her, but there was a good chance this book would end up on a national newspaper’s bestseller list.

  The morning flew by. After the emotional challenges of the previous day, it was a relief to spend a few hours with Calypso focusing exclusively on agency work. At lunch time, we closed our laptops and went to Marinara’s, the local pizza place, to celebrate the day’s achievements.

  When the previous owner of Marinara’s died suddenly, Rachel stepped in to keep the place running. In doing so, she saved the jobs of a dozen area residents and kept a popular eatery afloat in the process. Shortly thereafter, she bought the place. I contributed enough capital to give me a twenty percent stake in the business. The purchase agreement made me a silent partner. All day-to-day business decisions were left in Rachel’s capable hands.

  I was still an owner, regardless of my status.

  As a stakeholder, I took it upon myself to give the place a once-over whenever I visited. That included anything from chatting with the staff to inspecting the restrooms. I then passed on my observations to Rachel.

  The first time I reported into her, with a suggestion to build the deck, she grumbled about me being an insufferable buttinsky. When I showed her how the additional seating capacity would recoup the construction costs by the end of the year, she raised an eyebrow. Two days later, she applied for a permit to build it.

  Helping my sister with her business, even in small ways like the reports, made me feel good. I wanted her to have all the success in the world. If I could lend her a hand from time to time, I was happy to do it.

  “I can’t wait until we have one of these lunches on a book I helped with.” Calypso took a bite from a breadstick. “Don’t get me wrong, I feel like a part of the team.”

  “Especially on payday, I hope.” I winked.

  “Yeah, that too. But to be able to look at a book, or even better, hold one, and say I worked on it. That’ll be wicked awesome.”

  “That day will be here before you know it.” In fact, it would arrive in about a year. A publisher has recently purchased a manuscript Calypso had done the initial edits on. A release date hadn’t been determined yet, but it was going to happen.

  I was looking forward to sharing that hallmark in Calypso’s career with her. Sometimes, it was easy to dwell on the tough times. I’d learned how important it was to remember, and enjoy, the good ones.

  When the workday was ended and Ursi had taken me for a walk, I pedaled to the library. With its collection of local newspapers, it was an ideal place to conduct background research on the case. In addition, it was always good to see Brent. We’d only chatted via text since Saturday, so face-to-face time was overdue.

  “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your luminous presence this fine August evening?” Brent gave me a little bow from behind the checkout counter.

  “You know, just a girl, in a small town, looking for answers she may never find.” I slid a collection of books I’d borrowed into the return slot.

  He furrowed his eyebrows. “It that from a song? Because if not, it should be.”

  “I don’t know. I’d like to think if I’m going to quote things, they’d be from books instead of songs.” I shrugged. “Given what I do, if you know what I mean.”

  “Indeed.” He took a quick look around. There were no patrons within earshot. “The answers you’re looking for. They’re related to the Briggs girl, aren’t they? You’re investigating her murder.”

  There was no accusation in his tone, but the sadness in his eyes pierced my heart. Brent was a good man. He had a gentle laugh, quick wit, and a soft spot for animals. I was lucky to have him in my life. By taking on this case, I’d gone back on the most important promise I’d made to him.

  “Things are different this time. Valerie’s mom asked for my help. I couldn’t say no and still look at myself in the mirror.”

  Brent opened his mouth as a short woman with lime green hair and cat-eye glasses placed a stack of books on the counter.

  “Duty calls.” He turned his attention to the patron. “How are you today, Mrs. Campbell?”

  I wasn’t sure whether we’d been interrupted or if I’d been dismissed. Either way, the conversation was over. As I made my way to the research area, it was time for something else to be over, too.

  It was time to end the Allie Cobb Apology Tour.

  First, Mom. Then, Brent. I was a grown woman responsible for my own decisions. Someone needed my help. I shouldn’t have to apologize for saying yes to a person in need. I wouldn’t do it either. Not anymore.

  As I began my search, I vowed not to get caught up in others’ feelings. If they wanted to get their noses out of joint because I changed my mind about something, so be it. I wasn’t in control of them. What I was doing wasn’t about them, either. Or me.

  It was about Valerie.

  Researching her disappearance was intriguing. I became so absorbed in the information, before I knew it, the overhead lights flashed on and off twice. That was the signal the library would be closing in fifteen minutes.

  Brent pulled up a chair as I was writing down the names of a group of Valerie’s friends.

  He leaned forward and planted his elbows on his knees. With the tips of his long, bony fingers pressed together, his hands formed a rough diamond shape. He did this when he was troubled.

  “I, uh, gotta get back up front to get ready to close, but I was thinking.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he appeared to struggle for the right words. “I don’t know if you remember, but the other day, I mentioned the genealogy class the library put on.”

  “I do. My mom thought the class was really good.” It was true. She’d lavished praise on Brent about it for a week.

  “Thanks. Well, I was thinking about your decision to help the Briggs woman.”

  The hair on the back of my neck rose to attention. This was not the time or place for an argument. “I’ve made my decision—”

  “I know.” He put up his hands, as if in surrender. “And I also know of a way the class might help you.”

  I held my tongue long enough for my brain to process Brent’s words. His desire for me to avoid police work came from a genuine concern for my personal safety. It wasn’t that he didn’t think I couldn’t take care of myself. He simply didn’t want me to
end up in the hospital again.

  Or someplace even worse.

  Despite his concerns, and my betrayal of the promise I’d made to him, he was sitting next to me with an offer to help. I took the olive branch with a smile.

  I flipped to a blank page in my notebook. “Fire away.”

  “The first half of the class was teaching people about genealogy and how to use the library’s software, which doesn’t really help you. The second part of the class talked about public sites like Ancestry and included an option for people to do a cheek-swab DNA test. Then, I showed them how, if they wanted, they could upload the test results to a public database. That way, they could use the uploaded DNA info to search for long-lost relatives.”

  Mom had told me much the same thing about the program. The nightmare scenarios my imagination produced were too many to count. The thought of putting one’s personal information into a public database made me want to curl up in a ball while hidden under a blanket behind a locked door.

  She didn’t share my over-the-top privacy concerns and went ahead with the testing. As a medical professional, she had intimate knowledge of privacy laws. She’d done her research and was satisfied the process was safe and secure.

  Still leery of the whole thing, I hadn’t asked her what she’d learned. Depending on what I was about to hear, I might have to change my position. After all, finding out I was related to Bill Gates was one thing. Having familial ties to Charles Manson was a whole different kettle of fish.

  “I get that once someone’s DNA is in one of these databases, they can use it to connect with someone who might be a distant relative. How does that help here?”

  “The police found some things among the remains that might have belonged to the murderer, right? If they can test whatever they found for DNA, they might be able to cross-reference that with information already in a database that can be searched by the general public.”