Witness to Murder

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  “Makes sense.”

  “You agree?”

  Hallie snickered. “Did you think I was going to argue with you?”

  “Well…uh, yeah.”

  “Brody Jordan, I promise after we hang up, I will call the police and report the incident. Satisfied?”

  “Quite. And I think you’ll be pleased to know that Damon has agreed to meet with you sometime after we get him through a recorded interview with Vince, which should be early next week.”

  “That’s terrific…I think.” She pulled her bare feet up into the overstuffed chair. “I’m nervous about talking to him.”

  “Not half as nervous as he is to face you. Now, give up the info. You haven’t said yet whether your mystery caller’s hotel tip panned out.”

  Hallie gave him the lowdown on the conversation with Mrs. Drayton. “I’m starting to think that woman has a past she’d rather remain undisturbed.”

  “Like mother, like daughter, I think Alicia had things to hide, too. I’m going to dig around in her background, and then we can compare notes.”

  “Don’t we already have a pretty good idea what her life must have been like, growing up under James’s thumb? I’ll bet coming here to college made her feel as if she’d sprouted wings and flown to freedom.”

  “That’s the thing. Damon tells me Alicia was only going to be a sophomore this fall. We knew she was twenty-one years old, and we assumed she was going to be a senior. There’s considerable time unaccounted for between high school graduation and coming to the University of Minnesota.”

  Hallie sat forward. “Maybe she stayed home for a couple of years.”

  “According to Damon, Alicia let it drop that she escaped the happy family home for a year or so before being dragged back. Starting school at the U of M was a new release for her. Damon’s not sure what she was doing that year out of the nest, but I intend to find out.”

  “Go for it!”

  “There’s my cheerleader.” He chuckled.

  “Smart aleck.” She blew him a raspberry then laughed with him.

  Later that evening, Hallie snuggled down into her pillow in bed. The police had been interested but frustrated by her report about the anonymous caller. She could relate. Discouragement had dogged her heels all day, but right now her heart was lightened by an inkling of hope that she still might find answers. What was it about Brody that buoyed her spirit?

  “Thank you, Lord, for sending me an unexpected friend,” she whispered into the darkness. She might even entertain notions of something more if they kept getting along like this. Wouldn’t that blow the minds of everyone at the station? She drifted to sleep, smiling.

  A distant sound of drums invaded her dreams. The pounding drew closer…closer…a familiar rhythm. She’d heard those drums long ago in a faraway place. Her heart battered her ribs in time with the drumming.

  Fire bloomed. A bonfire, bright and sizzling, and around it whirled a dancer with brilliant colored robes in red and purple and white flapping around a scarecrow body. The man wore a plumed headdress that flowed nearly to his knees. Matted tendrils of hair, braided like ropes, covered his face.

  Hallie struggled against the pull of the drums, and the fire, and the dance, but her feet remained rooted. Nearer, nearer, the dancer whirled, until…suddenly, he leaped toward her.

  The hair flew back from his face, and she stared into Damon’s furious blue eyes, but the dancer’s face was not Damon’s. Pock-marked skin couldn’t mask the features of James Drayton. Yet the voice that spoke held the gravelly tones of the man on the telephone tonight.

  “The past holds the future.”

  She woke with a cry and lunged upright in bed.

  FOURTEEN

  Since her car was still in the shop, Jenna and Sam picked Hallie up on Saturday morning for a day at the lake. Sam was full of final wedding plans, and Jenna reported that she and Stan were still casually dating, emphasis on casual. Hallie returned to her apartment in the evening, sunbaked and pleasantly weary. Her wild dream and the question marks surrounding the bracelet and murder lurked in the back of her mind, but the time away had refreshed her.

  On Sunday, she caught a ride to church and sang in the choir. She invited her friends over for an afternoon of vegging out in front of a rented movie, then spent the evening doing research for her modeling story and on Cheryl Drayton. A public record search engine yielded a tidbit that would interest Brody as much as it did her.

  Monday found her at her desk bright and early confirming interviews with modeling event promoters, advertising executives and makeup artists. She only had two weeks to wrap up the modeling story because the special segment was scheduled to air in ten-minute bites on the morning show throughout the final week in June.

  The rest of the morning was consumed by an interview, and then picking up her car at the body shop. When she returned to the station shortly before noon, a note from Brody lay on her desk. Can we grab lunch together? Humming under her breath, Hallie punched in his internal extension number.

  “I’m starved,” she announced when he answered. “Can we do better than the food court? If we go over there, people are going to start gossiping about us being together so often.”

  “Wise woman. But as far as I’m concerned, they should get used to the sight.”

  Warmth spread like butter under sunlight inside Hallie. “Sweet-talker.” She laughed.

  “Let’s grab something at Cossetta’s then and make it a nice, long walk.”

  Frowning, she looked down at her feet. “We-e-ell, I did wear my low heels today, but that’s still quite a trek.”

  “It’ll give us time to talk privately, not to mention a little exercise.”

  “You’ve persuaded me.”

  They left the building through the reception area under Daria’s wide-eyed stare. “Hey there, you two,” she called as they went out the door. Hallie turned and waved at the receptionist, who answered with a grin and a nod.

  “Daria approves.” Hallie chuckled as they headed up the sidewalk under a blue sky feathered with pale clouds. “But there won’t be anybody at the station who doesn’t know that Hallie Berglund and Brody Jordan went to lunch together.”

  “I can handle that.” Brody strolled beside her, one hand in the pocket of his tan slacks. “But I wish I had more of a handle on Alicia Drayton. I’m a little annoyed by my inability to locate a birth certificate for her. Do you think James and Cheryl adopted her? Those records are sealed in a lot of states.”

  “Negative. Alicia looked too much like her mother. But I can probably tell you why you’re not finding the birth record.” She chortled and did a little skip.

  He stopped and stared down at her. “Go for it before you pop like a balloon.”

  “James and Cheryl were hitched in a Vegas chapel a little over nineteen years ago.”

  “But Alicia was twenty-one.”

  “Exactly. Alicia may have been born out of wedlock. I suggest you search for Alicia’s birth certificate under Cheryl’s maiden name of Gerris.”

  Brody whistled under his breath. “That does explain a few things.”

  “Like why no birth record for Alicia Drayton, and why Cheryl is touchy about her past. Maybe the man who gave her the bracelet was Alicia’s birth father, though how he got his hands on one of my mom’s bracelets I have no clue.”

  “It also means that James adopted Alicia at some point in order for her to bear his name. Though that record would probably not be public.”

  “Yes, but the juicy part is if we find a birth certificate for Alicia Gerris, the birth father’s name might be listed.” She rubbed her hands together.

  “And maybe not.”

  “Don’t be a killjoy. I’m thinking positive.”

  They batted around theories for the rest of the journey to the Italian eatery. As they stepped inside Cossetta’s, Hallie inhaled the delicious mix of spicy odors. She got into the queue for the salads and pastas, but Brody darted into line for a whopping slice of piz
za. They met with their selections upstairs at a tiny table in the crowded dining area. The noise level kept conversation at a minimum while they ate.

  Back outside with full stomachs, they retraced their steps toward the station at a slow pace. Brody’s head swiveled this way and that as they walked.

  “You act like you’ve never seen this neighborhood before. Or are you looking for something in particular?” Brody shrugged and continued his odd vigilance. Hallie smiled. “Ah, you’re watching for my stalker. Y’know, this whole time we’ve been walking together, I haven’t thought about him once. I must feel really safe with a big ox for a protector.”

  “I was actually hoping to draw the guy out if we made enough bait of ourselves.”

  “So that’s the ulterior motive for this long-distance walk, and you didn’t say anything. I’m not sure whether I should be mad at you or not.”

  “‘Not’ would be nice.”

  “I’ll cut you some slack this time, but next time you take me along fishing for bad guys, you need to let me know.”

  “Deal.”

  A comfortable silence settled between them, punctuated by the sound of their footfalls. The rhythm brought to mind the drumbeats from Hallie’s dreams, only that pace had been wild and strange. What if she stopped keeping these dreams to herself? Brody had surprised her more than once with his understanding.

  They reached Sibley Street and stepped out with the green light. A Papa Morelli’s Pizza car shot past them illegally, narrowly missing their feet, and they jumped back.

  “Crazy driver!” Brody scowled at the vehicle.

  Hallie shrugged. “There are more than a few around this city.” She touched his arm, and he turned his head toward her. “Can we take a few minutes’ breather in the park before we go back to the grindstone? I’d like a bench over by the bridge and little waterfall.”

  “Any particular reason for that spot?”

  “It’s a peaceful place to discuss a disturbing dream I had.” Should she really tell him? He’d think she was nuts. And what if talking about her Friday night apparition invited the other, darker dreams? The ones with the children screaming. But the impulse to speak had ambushed her, she’d followed it, and now it was too late to put that cat back in its sack.

  “You look scared.”

  She glanced up at him as they crossed the street in a group of other people. “I am.”

  He made a movement with his arm, as if he would put it around her, then pulled back. She hugged herself as they entered the park. They took the diagonal walk until they reached a vacant bench near the gentle rush of the waterfall. When they settled in, he did put his arm across the bench behind her with his hand lightly resting against her shoulder. Amazing what comfort a small human touch could bring. She sent him a tight smile then stared down at her hands clasped together in her lap.

  “Any time you’re ready,” he said. “But no sooner.”

  A pent-up breath left Hallie’s lungs. This guy understood things in ways she’d thought only her dearest girlfriends could, and she hadn’t even told them about the dream. Haltingly at first, then with increasing flow, she described everything she heard and saw. The moments played out in her mind’s eye as vividly as if she was still in the nightmare.

  Brody shook his head when she finished, and the hand on her shoulder clamped tight and squeezed. “What do you think all that means?”

  Hallie lifted her gaze to his. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

  “Why should I? We all dream strange stuff at times. My nightmares usually come from eating too much spicy pizza.” He issued a brief chuckle, and Hallie smiled. “But never mind my indigestion. It sounds like your dream has significance for you—the robes, the drums, the dancing.”

  “Those things are related to the native Yoruba religion of orisha worship.”

  “Who’s orisha?”

  “The question would be correctly phrased, ‘Who are the orishas?’”

  “Ah, a religion of many deities.”

  “Oh, yes, hundreds! Maybe you’ll understand better if I tell you that in the States and the Caribbean, the religion brought in by Nigerian slaves has morphed into what we call voodoo. Really dark stuff. The particular orisha in my dream specializes in disease, a nasty fellow, and worshippers go out of their way to appease him. My parents protected me from most exposure to the pagan ways, but I picked things up here and there. Mostly from other school children. Nigeria is around forty percent Christian, actually, a number exceeded only by the Muslim population. But the small percentage who cling to the ancient idol-worship can be rabid about it. I know this firsthand.” She suppressed a shudder.

  Brody rubbed his chin. “So your subconscious has thrown together the evil you’ve experienced in this last week with an evil from your childhood.”

  “Exactly! And it’s like solving the mysteries of the present will require uncovering the truth about the past.”

  He took his arm from around Hallie’s shoulder and twined his hand with hers. “Whatever that involves, I’m with you.”

  She studied their fingers locked together. “At this time last week, I would’ve laughed in the face of anyone who told me I’d say this to Brody Jordan, but honestly, there’s no one—other than God—I’d rather have on my side right now.”

  Brody’s chest expanded, like he’d sucked in a gallon of air. His gaze trapped hers. Was he going to kiss her? What if someone from the station was watching? Did she care?

  His shoulders slowly relaxed, and he touched her lips with a fingertip. “We need to get back to the office, but hold that thought. I’m sure going to.” His gaze held a solemn promise that sent pleasant tingles through Hallie.

  He tugged her to her feet, and they walked back toward the station side by side, hands almost touching but not quite.

  Brody hung up the phone after talking with the Dean of Admissions at the University of Minnesota. He dropped his pen onto the blotter. Twenty-four hours had passed since Hallie had bolstered his hope with her mellowing toward Damon, but the possible lead on Alicia’s birth certificate had fizzled. He had found no record of an Alicia Gerris being born to Cheryl Gerris. And now nothing from the university either.

  A knock sounded on his door. “Come!” Brody barked.

  Hallie stuck her head through. “Am I in danger of having something thrown at me, or dare I step inside?”

  He waved her in. “Sorry about that. I just checked with the U of M, and Alicia didn’t transfer any credits from another university when she enrolled here. What was she doing that year away from home?”

  Hallie settled into his guest chair, hugging a short stack of dog-eared and yellowed papers. “My guess is she took up with a man. In her situation, she’d grasp at anything to get out of that house, and chances are she’d pick a loser. Young people from abusive homes have no clue how to find a healthy relationship.”

  “You’re probably right. Looks like we’ll have to go to the memorial service and ask some questions around Alicia’s hometown. Interested?”

  “You found out when the service is?” She leaned toward him, face expectant.

  “The Johnson Funeral Home in Thief River Falls was only too happy to tell me that, although Alicia’s body was cremated, there will be a memorial service in their chapel at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

  “When do we le—oh, can you get away after you took two days off last week?” She let loose of the papers in her arms, and they flopped onto her lap. The sheets looked like old newsletters.

  “I twisted Wayne’s arm a bit until he saw this as an opportunity to gain leads that could mean new scoops for WDJN. He can’t spare a cameraman, though, so it’ll be just you and me. Besides, he’s in a very good mood today.”

  Hallie gathered up her fliers and crossed her legs. “I don’t doubt it with Vince scheduled to interview Damon for the evening news. Are you worried?”

  “Petrified, but praying.”

  “Oddly enough, I’m praying for things to go well, t
oo. For your sake.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that. Have you got something you wanted to show me?” He pointed toward the papers in her arms.

  She hopped up and laid the short stack on his desk. Excitement radiated from her. “My uncle sent a packet of old newsletters my parents issued from Africa. They were waiting for me yesterday when I got off work. I spent the whole evening poring over these. It’s like the pictures from the place I lived, the people I knew, and the words written by my dad have unlocked the floodgates of happy memories of Nigeria. I wanted to share a couple of things with you.”

  “I’m honored.” Was he ever! Of all the people she could include in her personal journey of rediscovery, she’d made him one of them. Who would have believed it?

  She opened a ripply-edged copy of the Living Hope Home Newsletter. “Look here.” She pointed to a photograph on the bottom left page.

  About a dozen children gazed at him from a backdrop of trees and landscape not found in America. Most of the kids were grinning, but the littlest—about toddler age—had his thumb in his mouth. Brody pointed toward the head of a girl toward the middle of the group. “That’s you.”

  Hallie laughed. “How did you guess? Just kidding. It’s obvious. My Caucasian blood betrays me. Now wait.” She laid a regular photograph beside the newsletter picture. Three children mugged for the camera in front of a very American Dairy Queen.

  He pointed to the middle one. “That’s you.”

  “Right again, you clever man. The other two are my cousins I grew up with, Uncle Reese and Auntie Michelle’s boy and girl. It felt so strange last night to look at that photo of me among the orphanage kids and be the lightest-skinned, when I’ve gotten used to being the darkest one in the family pictures. But that’s not all. Here.” She produced another newsletter.

  In the top right photo a man and woman stood hand-in-hand in front of a small airplane. Their closed-mouthed smiles were understated but warm. Brody recognized the regal carriage of the woman’s head and the strong slash of the man’s eyebrows. The characteristics were reflected in the elegant lady who shared these personal treasures with him.