by Debra Webb
A wallet-size photograph.
She turned it over and stared at the image. The air in her lungs evacuated.
Long blond hair and bright blue eyes stared out from the photo. The teenage girl wore a short skirt and a tight-fitting T with UCLA on it. Around her neck was a silver chain. Rowan peered closely at the necklace, saw the amber...the silver sun and moon.
Alisha Addington.
Eight
Billy couldn’t shake the idea that Rowan had sounded odd when he spoke to her as he left city hall. The Whitt funeral was in a couple of hours. Maybe she was just busy. He probably shouldn’t have asked her to go with him to talk to Mrs. Phillips’s daughters. But they had started this together and he felt she needed to be there. She had a way of talking to folks that put them at ease.
He pulled into the parking lot at the funeral home and got out of his truck. Halfway up the steps the door opened and Charlotte Kinsley walked out.
“Morning, Chief.”
“Morning, Charlotte.”
She hitched her head toward the door. “Ro’s in the chapel making sure everything is just right.”
“Thanks.” Billy walked through the door, turned left and walked past the three visitation parlors.
DuPonts had built the house as a funeral home and residence. It had never been anything else. Rowan’s grandfather had added the chapel on the west side of the main floor. On the opposite side he’d added the large portico where the hearse waited during a funeral service. Behind the hearse the vehicles of the family members would line up for the procession to the cemetery.
Over the past 150 years, modern conveniences, like the elevator and the small first-floor walk-in cooler for the flowers, had been added. But more important than any of that, this funeral home was a family-owned-and-operated business. A family who cared about the people in the community. Rowan, like her daddy, was an important asset to Winchester. Billy wanted her to be happy with her life here. If she wasn’t happy, she might decide to leave again. He hoped that wouldn’t happen.
Addington, the son of a bitch, wasn’t making anything about her life easy right now. Billy’s conversation with Dressler after the briefing this morning had gone over the same damned ground they covered each time. Was there any possibility Rowan was communicating with Addington? Could she have any idea where he was hiding? Did Billy have any reason to believe Addington was in his jurisdiction?
Each time Billy set the guy straight. Rowan would never hide anything that might help find her father’s killer. And if the bastard showed up in Winchester, Billy intended to see that he didn’t get away.
He paused at the door to the chapel and watched as Rowan walked the aisles, scanning the rows of benches, ensuring all was as it should be. She wore one of her big-city business suits, this one an elegant navy. Her hair was up and arranged in some sort of sophisticated twist. She looked serene and beautiful. But he liked her best in those plain old T-shirts and jeans she wore when she was relaxing or doing her work downstairs. He wondered if she had any idea how much she looked like her mother. He remembered Norah DuPont. She’d watched him closely as if she had known even back then that he had a sweet spot for her younger daughter. Raven had liked reminding Rowan that she was the oldest. Rowan would always plant her hands on her hips and protest that her sister was only older by ten minutes. Norah had laughed and said that Rowan had made up for that ten minutes by crying the loudest. Billy had loved every minute of it, and Norah had noticed.
Something else Rowan and her mother had in common: Norah had read people with surprising accuracy. Even back then, Billy had a thing for details. He had watched Norah, too. What teenage boy wouldn’t have? She had been a pretty lady. He wouldn’t have expected her to do what she did. Seemed out of character. He never talked about it to Rowan. She didn’t need his adolescent analysis of her mother. Rowan was more than qualified to make her own evaluation, then and now. Edward had mentioned once that Norah had fooled him. Billy wished he had followed up on the comment.
Now it was too late.
Rowan turned around as if she’d sensed his presence. Her automatic smile had him grinning, too. “You ready?”
She nodded. “I’ll need to be back before one to greet the family.”
“I promise I’ll have you back before one. This shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
She adjusted her jacket. Checked for her cell in the pocket. “I’m ready, then.”
He followed her along the corridor, back to the lobby and out the door. Before she could, he reached for the passenger-side door of his truck and opened it. When she had settled in the seat, he closed the door and strode around to the driver’s side.
“Any news on the remains?” she asked as he started the engine.
“I just got the call before I headed over here. The dental records confirm the remains are Alisha Addington’s.”
“Wow.”
Her voice told him the news still shocked her even though she’d resigned herself to the reality that Addington had lied to her on yet another level. Billy gave her a moment to get right with that news before he said the rest.
“The medical examiner in Nashville completed her preliminary exam. She concluded cause of death as asphyxiation by strangulation.”
Rowan searched his eyes and face. “She must have found hyoid bone fractures. That’s about all that was left to suggest the conclusion of strangulation.”
Billy nodded. “That’s what the report she faxed me says.”
“It’s official then,” Rowan said, her voice resigned. “She was murdered.”
“Yeah.” All these old murders suddenly surfacing was creepy as hell. “I’m hoping we won’t be finding any more old bones for a while.”
Rowan laughed, a soft, weary sound. “Me, too.”
He braked for the red light at the intersection of Second and High. “You have something on your mind, Ro?” He decided it would be in his best interest not to mention that she looked tired.
“Just the usual.” She glanced at him, smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m not sleeping so well. I suppose I’m still acclimating to being back home.”
The light changed and he rolled forward. “You’ve been gone a long time. It’ll take time to adjust. Besides, sleeping in a funeral home is an acquired thing, you know.” He flashed her a grin, hoping to lighten the moment. “I can’t imagine it’s easy to lie down and sleep knowing there’s a body stored below.”
She laughed, the real McCoy this time. “I did consider last night that as tired as I was, I should sleep like the dead.”
“You certainly wouldn’t have been alone.”
They both laughed. It wasn’t really funny but they both needed to grab hold of the lighthearted moment.
“You are the only person in the world who could make a joke about the dead.”
He frowned, glanced at her. “I’m hoping that’s a compliment.” He parked in front of the Phillips home.
“Don’t worry. It is.” She reached for her seat belt.
He looked at her then, really looked. “Anytime you need me to stay with you, Ro, you know I will. I’ve slept across the hall from you before.”
The sadness that claimed her expression then made him regret the words.
“Thank you, Billy. I’ll keep that in mind.”
He mentally kicked himself about a dozen times as they walked to the front door. The one thing he did not want—ever—was for her to think he was hitting on her.
“It’s okay,” she said, looking up at him after he’d rung the bell. “I know you made the offer because you care.”
The frustration gripping his chest loosened. He nodded. “You’re my best friend, Ro. I want to help in whatever way you need.”
Before she could respond, the door opened and Patty looked from him to Rowan and back, then said, “Come on in.”
“Did your husband make it home from London?” Billy asked. He’d heard that Mr. Brinkley had, but asking might help break the tension and set the daughters at ease.
“He did,” Jenn said. “Thank you for asking.”
“You have news for us, Chief?” Patty asked, getting straight to the point.
“We’d like to have Mother’s funeral,” Jenn said with a glance at Rowan.
“The ME’s office called,” Billy said. “They should be releasing your mother’s body by the end of the week.”
The two women exchanged a look. “What else did the medical examiner say?” Patty wanted to know.
“She did confirm,” Billy went on, “blunt force trauma to the back of the head as cause of death.” Their eyes widened and clouded with tears. “She’s listing manner of death as homicide.”
“So she was murdered?” This from Jenn.
Billy nodded. “No question. This is why it’s so important that we learn of anyone who might have had a grudge against her. Anyone who may have wanted to hurt her for any reason.”
She moved her head from side to side. “There is no one. I’m telling you, Chief. Mother did not have enemies. No one would have wanted to hurt her. We’ve been over this already.”
“But someone did hurt her. And the only way we’re going to find that person is if we talk about the possibilities.”
“You didn’t find any fingerprints that don’t belong?” Jenn asked as she dabbed at her eyes.
This was a difficult part to explain. “We found dozens of fingerprints. We’ve ruled out both of yours and your mother’s. But there are dozens more, and unless they pop up in a database we’re not likely to know who they belong to.”
They stared at him, confused and frustrated and maybe a little angry. He was the chief of police. He was supposed to have protected their mother, and he sure as hell was supposed to be able to find out who killed her.
“But,” Rowan put in, “if a suspect is found, the prints could help confirm that he was in the house. It’s a long and arduous task, but it’s one that may help in the future even if not right now.”
Both women nodded despite the confusion cluttering their faces.
“I talked to her closest neighbors again,” Patty said. “No one saw anything out of the ordinary on Sunday. No one saw company at Mom’s house.”
“But many of them were gone to church for a couple of hours that morning,” Jenn reminded her sister. “Whoever did this could have come then.”
Billy’s investigation had found the same when the neighbors were interviewed. “You mentioned that you haven’t noticed anything missing?” Billy needed somewhere to start and right now he had nothing. Not one damned thing that would point him in a direction.
Patty shook her head. “Nothing. She had a stash of petty cash in a coffee can in the kitchen and even it’s still there.”
“Tell us what’s been going on in your mother’s life the past few months.” Rowan glanced at Billy before continuing, “I’m aware your father died around the same time as mine. I’m sure that was a very difficult time for your mother.”
“It was.” Jenn stared at her hands a moment before going on. “Dad had surgery on his shoulder a couple of months before he died. He just never seemed to get back on his feet after that. You know, he didn’t bounce back the way Dr. Knowles thought he would. The physical therapy really took everything out of him. And then the heart attack.” She looked away. “I guess it was all too much for him.”
“He was midsixties?” Rowan asked.
“He’d just turned sixty-five,” Patty answered. “He said he never thought he’d see the day he’d be happy to be sixty-five, but he was looking forward to having Medicare.”
“Had he been diagnosed with any heart issues?” Billy asked.
She nodded. “He’d had some blockages taken care of year before last, but there were more. He needed surgery again but he was waiting until he recovered from the shoulder surgery first. I guess he waited too long.”
“Had your mother suffered any lingering depression that you noticed?” Rowan asked. “Was she seeing anyone for counseling?”
“No,” Jenn said. “She prayed a lot and spent a lot of time reading her Bible, but she didn’t seem depressed. We talked on the phone two or three times a week.” She looked to her sister. “What do you think?”
“There was something wrong after the funeral.” Patty’s forehead lined as if she were trying to recall a particular memory. “She seemed upset or angry about something but she wouldn’t say what.”
“Was she upset by someone who attended the funeral?” Billy hadn’t been at Mr. Phillips’s funeral and he hadn’t heard about any trouble having occurred, but those things happened from time to time, especially in a small town where everyone knew everyone else.
“I don’t think so. She just said something about it being wrong, but she wouldn’t say what. She told me it was nothing; she would take care of it.”
Jenn sighed. “Mother worried too much about us. She always tried to take care of everything herself so she didn’t have to trouble us with whatever it was.”
“We told her,” Patty put in, “that we wanted to help with whatever she and Daddy needed, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“Most won’t,” Billy agreed. His own parents were the same way.
“Did the service go as she’d expected?” Rowan wanted to know.
“The service was beautiful,” Jenn assured her. “And the visitation. We couldn’t have been more pleased.”
Rowan nodded. “That’s good to hear. Perhaps someone said something that upset Mrs. Phillips. People can be oblivious to seemingly harmless statements made at a bad time.”
Rowan was on the same wavelength as Billy. He had reached the same conclusion.
Both women nodded again. This news had shaken them. Jenn’s daughter, Kelley, hadn’t said a word. Being the first grandchild, she had likely been particularly close to her grandmother.
“Please let me know if you discover anything at all you feel might be relevant to the investigation. Anything at all,” Billy urged. “You never know what might make a difference.”
“We sure will,” Patty promised.
“We’ll get out of your way, then.” Billy stood, and Rowan did the same. “I’ll keep you posted as the investigation moves along.”
The daughters walked them to the door. He sure as hell wished he’d had better news for them. Nothing about murder was ever pleasant, but to have not one piece of evidence as a starting point was particularly frustrating.
Billy had pulled away from the curb when Rowan spoke. “What do you know about the Night Owl?”
The question surprised him. Talk about coming out of left field. “It’s a club over in Decherd.” He glanced at her. “Why do you ask?” He supposed someone could have invited her to go out for a drink.
“I was looking in my parents’ closets and I found a cocktail napkin from the Night Owl with one of my father’s trousers.”
Now there was a surprise. “You think he went to the Owl for a drink with a friend?”
She looked at him, and he met her gaze for a moment before shifting his attention back to the street. Whatever the case, she was unsettled by the idea.
“I have no clue. He never mentioned it. I’ll ask Herman. He’s helping with Mr. Whitt’s funeral. It’s just surprising, that’s all.”
“Well, it’s not exactly a shady place. I think the owner tried to fashion it after a jazz bar he visited in Nashville. There’s music and a bar, a few tables, but no dance floor or anything like t
hat. Not exactly a classy place but trendy, I guess.”
She was silent for the rest of the drive. When he parked in front of the funeral home, he shut off the engine and looked at her until she was ready to say whatever she had to say. He knew her well enough to know she had something on her mind.
“I’ve been forgetting things,” she said quietly.
He considered the statement for a moment. “You’ve been overwhelmed.”
A trusted friend had murdered her father and that friend turned out to be not only a fraud but also a serial killer. Add to that the fact that the FBI saw her as a significant person of interest to the case and she had a right to be overwhelmed.
“This is true.”
There was not a lick of conviction in her statement. “But?”
“I walk into a room and things are moved or misplaced.” She shrugged. “Different from the way I remember leaving them.”
Unease nudged him. “Has this happened often?”
She nodded, her gaze still focused beyond the windshield at the parking lot or the trees or nothing at all. “There’s something every day.”
“Who has keys?”
“Herman, Charlotte, the cleaning team and Woody.” She turned to him then. “But no one except me has a key to the living quarters.”
Damn. “So this is happening in your private space?”
She nodded again. “Last night I hung my suit out before I got into the shower. When I came out of the bathroom it wasn’t there. It was back in the closet.”
His unease mounted. “Freud was in the room?”
“He was curled up on the rug in the bathroom. The door was closed but I can’t believe he wouldn’t bark if someone came into my room and moved something.” She exhaled a big breath. “That leaves only one explanation—me. I think I do something but I don’t or I do it and I don’t remember. Either way, it’s not a good thing.” She shrugged. “My mother committed suicide. As a psychiatrist, I’ve wondered if there were issues that went undiagnosed.” Her gaze sought his. “Issues I may have inherited.”
“Ro.” He put his hand on hers, gave it a squeeze. “You are not losing your mind and your mother was not suffering from any issues I ever noticed beyond the tragic loss of your sister. You’ve got a lot going on with just having buried your father and all this crap with Addington. Then there’s taking over the funeral home. Jesus, who wouldn’t be forgetting things?”
