Can't Find My Way Home

by Carlene Thompson

  Cassie reached out and took Lexa’s arm. ‘We’ll be there. And I’m sure Sam would appreciate all you’ve done for him, Lexa. You’ve been like a daughter to him.’

  Lexa finally gave way to tears while Brynn’s gaze strayed to Edmund Ellis edging away from the gravesite, a bundle of daisies in his hand, and headed toward the north end of the cemetery. Certain she knew where he was going, she excused herself from Cassie and followed him. Sure enough, he went straight to what was obviously a relatively new grave, one with only a marker, not a granite headstone.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t bring any flowers for Joy,’ Brynn said as she neared Edmund.

  He took a daisy from the small bunch he carried and handed it to her. ‘Daisies were her favorite flower. She’d be as touched by you giving her one daisy as she would if you gave her dozens of roses. She never asked for much from life.’

  ‘If I’d known about her death in time, I would have attended her funeral.’

  Edmund looked surprised. ‘You would have? You’d have come back to Genessa Point for Joy? That would have meant a lot to her. Even when she was a child, she admired you, and the last year of her life she read your books. She said they were wonderful.’

  Brynn felt her face color. ‘I’m so glad she liked them.’

  ‘She said you were born to write.’

  Brynn smiled. ‘I don’t know about that, but I certainly wasn’t born to be a musician. She played so well and never missed one of Mom’s lessons. Kids were always canceling, but not Joy.’ Brynn frowned. ‘She had a lesson on the day my dad was killed, but Mom had to work at Love’s and canceled all her lessons. I remember thinking she was so young and, with her heart condition, I was especially glad she hadn’t been there to see what happened to my father.’ Brynn looked into Edmund’s eyes. ‘I wished she was my little sister.’

  Edmund quickly looked down at the other grave, that of his wife. ‘Joy wanted a sister. The baby my wife lost at seven months was a girl.’ His voice thickened. ‘Joy was only five when that happened and it changed everything for us, especially my wife …’

  ‘She and Mom were so close, but after she lost the baby, she seemed to drift away, shut herself into the house more often. We never heard from her after we moved.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that. The circumstances became … strained.’ Edmund seemed uncomfortable and looked down.

  ‘The circumstances meaning my father being labeled the Genessa Point Killer. Isn’t that what you mean? It seems to have been the case with all of our friends around here.’

  ‘I meant things changed at home,’ Edmund said softly. ‘My wife … Joy …’

  ‘Did your wife decide she wanted no contact with Marguerite Wilder anymore? At a time when Mom needed her most? And why did you send Joy away to boarding school? I know you sent her right after we left. Cassie told me. Were you afraid Mark would come back and kill her?’

  Edmund looked at her tragically. ‘Brynn … please.’

  ‘Please what?’

  ‘Please stop. I know you’re furious with me for not telling the police your father lost that knife, but I couldn’t … lie.’

  ‘Lie?’ Brynn hadn’t known how bitter, how enraged she was until now. All her antagonism bubbled to the surface as she stood here with the man who was supposed to be her father’s closest friend but whose defense of him had been weak and half-hearted, the man who stood over the lonely grave of the sickly, adoring daughter he’d sent away when she was only seven.

  ‘Everybody in Genessa Point deserted us except Cassie!’ Brynn nearly hissed, beginning to shake from the force of emotion.

  ‘Brynn, you have to understand the situation we were all caught in—’

  ‘The situation you were caught in? Well, maybe I didn’t understand your situation eighteen years ago,’ she said caustically, ‘but tell me about another situation going on now. At Cloud Nine, you said you were worried about Mark and me. You told me to leave Genessa Point before I went missing, too.’ She took a deep breath and went on relentlessly. ‘You saw Sam in his office and a few hours later he was murdered. Mark came to visit you and, within days, he disappeared. I think you know who killed Sam, Edmund. I think you know what’s happened to Mark.’

  Edmund took a step back and slowly shook his head, but she saw fear in his eyes.

  ‘If you know something, Edmund, you have to tell the police. If you don’t, Mark might be murdered too!’ Her voice broke and the day turned dark and cold for her as she choked out her greatest fear. ‘Or is my brother already dead?’

  Edmund closed his eyes. His face had turned pale as alabaster and his lips trembled. His legs began to shake, and his hands clutched at his chest. Instinctively, Brynn reached out. She managed to catch him just as his knees buckled. By the time she’d lowered him to the ground, Edmund was unconscious.

  ELEVEN

  In the privacy of his office with the door closed, Garrett Dane took a gulp of hot coffee, leaned back in his executive swivel desk chair and closed his eyes. Had Sam Fenney’s funeral been less than twenty-four hours ago? It seemed like a week had passed – a week of questions, worries, tears and doubts. Thank God Edmund Ellis hadn’t died at the foot of his daughter’s fresh grave. Brynn Wilder had sat on the ground holding his head as she’d screamed for help.

  And help had come fast. Within half an hour, Edmund had been loaded into an ambulance. In another hour, they’d learned he’d merely passed out from lack of food, dehydration and exhaustion – conditions that had been building for days, probably since Joy had died. Doctors told them Edmund would be in the hospital for at least another day – weak, confused and hooked to IV machines, but in no danger of dying. Brynn, who’d confided in Garrett all she’d said to Edmund at the gravesite, had sagged against him in relief, her own slender body badly in need of rest and food.

  She’d leaned against Garrett as they left the hospital and slumped in her seat as he’d driven her to Cassie’s house, where he’d let her best friend take over. Garrett hadn’t wanted to leave Brynn. He didn’t know why, he’d only known he’d wanted to stay with her, to make certain she was all right, to reassure her she hadn’t been to blame for Edmund’s collapse. Instead, he’d had to settle for a phone call from Cassie that came three hours later, telling him that Brynn had finally calmed, eaten a beef sandwich, drunk a tall glass of milk – complaining all the time that she hated milk – then, with the help of a tranquilizer, gone to sleep.

  This morning Garrett had called the hospital and gotten an update on Dr Ellis. The man had no immediate family and identifying himself as the county sheriff had gotten Garrett the information he needed. Dr Ellis was doing better, but his doctor wanted to keep him in until tomorrow, even though Ellis already wanted to go home. ‘He’s still weak. We’re hoping he’ll fall asleep and not release himself from hospital care,’ a senior nurse told him.

  Garrett had then called Cassie’s cell phone.

  ‘I’m in the car on my way to the store – I wanted to stay home today, but Brynn wouldn’t hear of it. She’s worse than my mother!’ Cassie had laughed. ‘I’ll call her and let her know about Doctor Ellis, though, unless you’d rather call her.’

  ‘No, no, that’s why I called you,’ Garrett said quickly. ‘I don’t want to wake her up if she’s still sleeping.’ The truth was that he didn’t want to talk to Brynn today, maybe because he’d felt so tender toward her yesterday as she’d poured out her guilt and shame for causing Ellis’s collapse. Maybe because he’d dreamed of her half the night. He wasn’t certain he liked the way his feelings were leaning. ‘Just tell her Doctor Ellis is doing fine and they’re going to keep him in until tomorrow. And reassure her that nothing she did caused this. He’s just dehydrated and—’

  ‘Hasn’t been eating or sleeping,’ Cassie interrupted. ‘I know and I think when Brynn’s more rested and calm today, she won’t feel quite so guilty. Doctor Ellis probably should have been in the hospital anyway, but he wouldn’t have gone.’

  Twenty mi
nutes later, Garrett started on a fresh cup of coffee, looked at all the papers spread in front of him on his desk, rubbed his forehead and groaned. Since he’d become sheriff three years ago, he’d dealt with several cases of domestic violence, five burglaries, one armed robbery, three car jackings, two rapes, a child molestation and even the murder of a man by his enraged, drug-addled wife whom they’d found crowing over his dead body that she’d finally gotten rid of the rotten, stupid, lazy drunk. Garrett had never been confronted by a true murder mystery, like something in a novel, and he was afraid that he wasn’t up to the job of solving it.

  But he’d try his damnedest, he told himself. He’d discover who killed Sam.

  He picked up a clear sheet protector. The paper inside was labeled, ‘Quote marked in Gideon Bible placed next to victim.’ The Bible had been stamped BAY MOTEL and was most likely the Bible missing from Mark’s room. Did this put Mark in the frame, or was the killer the same person who’d kidnapped Mark – someone who must have been in his motel room? Garrett noted that no fingerprints had been found on the paper or the sheet protector, and that an inside page bore an identification stamp: The Bay Motel, Genessa Point, MD. Then he read the marked verse, Hosea 4:2 O. T.:

  By swearing and lying,

  Killing and stealing and committing adultery,

  They break all restraint,

  With bloodshed after bloodshed.

  Garrett frowned, wondering. Was the killer explaining why Sam had been murdered? Had Sam committed one of the sins? He’d probably sworn – most people did. Had he lied? Once again, it would be hard to find a person who’d never told a lie, no matter how they denied it. If someone told me they’d never told a lie, I’d know they were lying, Garrett thought.

  ‘“Killing and stealing and committing adultery,”’ Garrett read aloud. Killing? The first person who came to Garrett’s mind was GPK. An image of the tall, slim man, usually smiling, spending his years chained to a peculiar, emotionless recluse seemed outlandish. If Sam was going to kill anyone, it would be his wife. Had there been a third person in the woods who’d attacked Tessa Cavanaugh? Few people still living in Genessa Point believed that story and they wouldn’t have waited eighteen years to kill Sam. The only likely candidates were Brynn and Mark. No evidence pointed toward Brynn. And Mark? Maybe, but to Garrett, Mark was a cypher at this point.

  Stealing? Sam’s lifestyle had remained the same since Garrett was a child and no one had ever accused him of underhanded behavior when it came to business. Even his owning the Bay Motel and Cloud Nine weren’t a mystery – Sam had always lived frugally. He’d saved his money and invested it. As for adultery, few people would have blamed him for affairs considering the woman who’d been his wife for over thirty years. Once again, though, Garrett had never heard a whisper about an affair. Even Sam’s wife had only barely expressed resentment when talking about how Lexa, as so many other people did, liked Sam.

  Garrett shook his head. Why had the killer put the Bible next to Sam’s body? Why had he marked this verse? He’d have to be able to read the killer’s mind to find the answer because nothing came to his own.

  Already feeling slightly defeated, Garrett turned to the preliminary autopsy report he’d read carefully three times earlier. Some parts of it he could recite from memory and caught himself saying aloud, ‘“The patient was a sixty-five-year-old Anglo-American male with no significant past medical history … The patient was pronounced dead at 22:45 with fixed, dilated pupils, no heart sounds, no pulse and no spontaneous respirations.’ Garrett sighed. Sam hadn’t been pronounced dead until ten forty-five p.m. He, Brynn, and unfortunately Savannah had found Sam approximately forty minutes earlier.

  The esophagus and stomach were normal in appearance without evidence of ulcers or verices. Garrett knew that verices could be the result of cirrhosis, but Sam never drank. Everyone who’d ever invited him to a party knew he always passed up alcohol, choosing a soft drink instead. But the next sentence had drawn him up short the first time he’d read it. Sam’s stomach contained no pills and no other food stuff material.

  No food. Yet Lexa had supposedly left a message at Love’s saying that Sam couldn’t meet Brynn at the house until nine o’clock because he’d be taking a client out to dinner.

  His mind flashed back to when he’d questioned Lexa the day after Sam’s murder. She’d seemed stunned as she tore at a tissue in her hands when she wasn’t dabbing away tears. Her young face had looked bleached, her eyelids swollen, her blonde hair pulled back carelessly with a rubber band.

  ‘Brynn Wilder received a message from you saying that her former house had been sold, and Sam said if she wanted to see it, she should meet him there at nine o’clock last night,’ Garrett had said in a soft, non-accusatory voice.

  Lexa’s bloodshot, puffy eyes widened. ‘I didn’t call Brynn Wilder!’

  ‘No, you didn’t call Brynn. You didn’t know her cell phone number. You called Cassie Hutton’s dress shop and left a message for Brynn.’

  Lexa shook her head vehemently. ‘No, I didn’t!’

  ‘Cassie Hutton says you did.’

  ‘Ms Hutton says I called her? I didn’t! I swear, I didn’t!’

  ‘Cassie doesn’t say you called her. You called the number of her store. She was busy, so you talked to one of the salespeople in her shop.’

  ‘I’ve never called Love’s Dress Shoppe, period,’ Lexa said, her voice a tad less defensive. ‘Who says I called?’

  ‘One of the salespeople, as I said. I’d rather not get into names right now.’

  ‘I think I have a right to know who’s accusing me.’

  ‘Yes, you do, and we’ll get to that later. Right now I want to ask about Brynn’s former house on Oriole Lane. I know it’s for sale. How long ago did the owner move out?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Seven or eight months.’

  ‘Was there a potential buyer?’

  ‘I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but Ray O’Hara went through the house at least three times and took pictures. Mr Fenney didn’t like it, but he couldn’t refuse to show the house.’

  ‘So Sam thought O’Hara might buy the house?’

  ‘No. He said O’Hara was just being a ghoul wanting to see Jonah Wilder’s home. He really didn’t like Ray O’Hara. Neither did I.’ She blushed. ‘He, well, what they used to call “made a pass at me.” More than one. He was very crude. Mr Fenney overheard him once and told him to never come back.’ Lexa took a deep breath. ‘But a very nice couple with two children looked at the house twice within the past month. Sam was certain the husband was going to make an offer within the next few days.’

  ‘Was Sam going out to dinner with that man last night?’

  ‘Not that I know of. In fact, at around two Sam said he felt sort of queasy and he had a headache. He left the office around four-thirty popping Tums in his mouth and saying he’d better skip dinner or just have toast.’

  ‘I’m sorry to keep harping on this, Lexa, but I have to be sure. The potential buyer hadn’t already made an offer on Brynn’s old house?’

  Lexa shook her head.

  ‘Was he expected at the office the next day to sign a contract?’

  ‘No. Sheriff, I told you that he hadn’t even made an offer. Unless his offer had been accepted, there wouldn’t be a contract to be signed. There was no offer and I didn’t call Love’s Dress Shoppe. I swear.’

  Phone records were being checked as he talked to Lexa. Now, four days later, he knew one of Cassie’s salespeople had taken a call at around four-fifty asking her to deliver the message to Cassie, who would know Brynn’s cell phone number and pass along Sam’s supposed offer to show Brynn the house. ‘The woman – Lexa, you said – didn’t leave a number where Sam could be reached,’ the saleswoman had told him. ‘We were busy and it didn’t hit me for about ten minutes that I hadn’t gotten Mr Fenney’s cell number. By that time, the real estate office was closed. I simply told Miss Hutton what Lexa had said.’

  ‘Miss Hutton we
nt straight home and told Brynn,’ Garrett told the woman. She’d told Brynn and Ray. ‘Have you ever spoken to Lexa before?’ Garrett had asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Was there anything distinctive about her voice?’

  ‘She just sounded young, professional, a bit rushed,’ the woman answered, then looked upset. ‘I wish I hadn’t been so distracted I didn’t get Mr Fenney’s cell phone number. Maybe that would somehow have prevented his …’ She’d gulped. ‘Murder.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have,’ Garrett had said confidently, although he was fairly certain it would have screwed with the killer’s plans. ‘Don’t worry. You didn’t do anything wrong.’

  And now the investigation had revealed that Love’s received a call at four-fifty but it was untraceable, just like the call to Brynn at Cassie’s house. If Lexa hadn’t been the woman who made the call, they’d probably never know who had. They knew only one thing: Brynn had been lured to that house on Oriole Lane.

  Garrett sighed as his headache intensified. Even his vision felt blurry. He leaned back in his chair, knowing he couldn’t read the pages of the autopsy report again. He didn’t need to read them again. He knew a massive blow to the back of Sam’s head had driven bones into his brain. Probably that blow had come as a surprise and knocked him unconscious. At least, Garrett hoped so. Unconscious, Sam would not have felt a knife slicing the left side of his neck, severing the internal jugular vein and the superficial cervical artery. Crime scene specialists agreed that Sam had been lying on his back while his neck had been slashed. There was no blood splatter – all the blood lay in a pool beside Sam and under his neck. Finally, the knife had been driven into his heart. The only blood found on the knife was B positive and there was some fish blood.

  There were stab wounds to the face, arms and hands, with the longest and deepest being one across the abdominal region. The fatal wound had been the slashing of the left external jugular vein, the internal jugular vein and the superficial cervical artery. A moment later, he found the apparent murder weapon listed: a Havalon Baracuta Edge Folding knife with a five-inch blade.