Corpse in a Crate

by Winnie Reed

  I nodded to the message on the wall, which I trained the flashlight beam on so he could see it better.

  In huge, blood-red letters, the word MURDERER had been left behind.

  When I found my voice, I whispered, “But Nate didn’t kill Matthew. He had nothing to do with the murder, if it even was a murder.”

  Joe heaved a sigh, running his hands through his hair. “Yeah, but it’s not like he was never involved in a death, is it?”

  I wanted to believe it was the excitement of the moment that had my brain racing while moving slowly at the same time. I didn’t pick up what he was talking about for a second. When I did, my jaw dropped. “Oh, no. You think…”

  “I do.” His arms hung at his sides, his shoulders sinking. “I think it makes a lot of sense in a sad way. And that once I run the plates, I’ll come up with the name of the man whose daughter died in that accident.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Ferguson house was a modest one, but well-maintained and very pretty from where we sat across from it, parked along the side of the road. It was early—not for me, since I’d trained from an early age to wake up and get to the café in time to bake that morning’s goodies—and the odds of the couple who lived there having already left for work were slim.

  Sure enough, there were two cars in the driveway. One of them was a black truck with plates matching those Joe had taken note of the night before.

  “He needs to know we know he did it,” Joe reminded me when I hesitated rather than climbing from the car. “He can’t keep vandalizing the property and get away with it. He’s fortunate we’re the ones who caught him in the act. If he takes many more chances, there’s no telling the trouble he could get into.”

  “He’s hurting.”

  “I know. People hurt all the time. That doesn’t give them the right to do what he’s done.” Joe groaned before blowing out a long breath through pursed lips. “This doesn’t give me any pleasure, believe me. I hate it as much as you do.”

  “I guess we’d better get it over with, then.” I would rather have been anywhere else in the whole world than in front of the house of the couple who’d lost their daughter in a terrible accident thirteen years prior, but there I was.

  We walked across the road, then up the paved driveway to the house with its tan stucco and white shutters. The walkway and stairs were brick, lined on both sides by neatly trimmed hedges. This was a comfortable family whose lives were probably happy and content before that awful night.

  Joe looked grim as he rapped on the front door with a closed fist.

  I braced myself for what might be coming. I didn’t need to come with him, did I? But I had because I thought somebody should be there to soften the blow. Joe wasn’t a bad guy, but he was still a cop and might be seen as uncaring when he was only trying to be professional.

  A middle-aged woman answered the door, looking from one of us to the other. She wore scrubs, her strawberry blonde hair pulled into a bun. “Can I help you?” she asked, suspicious. Of course, she would be. It was seven-thirty in the morning, and we were strangers.

  “Good morning, ma’am. We’re sorry to disturb you. My name is Joe Sullivan, and I’m a detective. This is my associate, Emma Harmon.” He flashed his badge as proof. “We’re here to speak to your husband. It’s not official business, but something has come to our attention, and we wanted to speak to Frank before the local police do.”

  How would I have reacted if a detective showed up at my front door in plain clothes, spouting nonsense that added up to my husband doing something that might involve the police?

  Mrs. Ferguson surprised me by nodding slowly, her delicately arched brows drawing together. “I told him he needed to let it go,” she sighed. “Come on in.”

  So she knew something. My heart went out to her even more than it already had. Her life hadn’t been an easy one.

  She held the door open for us and we stepped inside. It was just as pretty in there as it was outside, neat and tidy and tastefully decorated.

  And chock full of framed photos of a girl whose strawberry blond hair matched her mother’s.

  We declined the offer of coffee and chose not to take a seat in the living room. It wouldn’t have felt right, getting comfortable in there. It wasn’t like this was a social call.

  Heavy footfalls approached, descending the stairs, and a tall, slim man found us waiting in his foyer. He was in the act of buttoning a nice dress shirt as he came down. he sight of us stopped him.

  “Mr. Ferguson,” Joe murmured. “You outran me last night. You keep in pretty good shape.”

  “I’m training for a marathon,” Frank Ferguson replied without an ounce of sarcasm. “What can I do for you?”

  “You can stay away from the Patterson property,” Joe sighed. “I’m not here in any official capacity, sir. I’m only trying to warn you away from getting into trouble you won’t easily find your way out of.”

  He reached the bottom of the stairs, standing in front of us. He was a tall man, imposing, and he clearly didn’t like us being there. I probably would’ve felt the same way if our positions were reversed.

  “I don’t see that it’s any of your business.” His eyes moved here, there, anywhere other than Joe or me. The eyes of a guilty man.

  “Mr. Ferguson, I can’t imagine the opinion you must have of Nate Patterson—”

  “Oh, I think you can,” Frank muttered with a snicker. “Imagine it, anyway. I doubt you could truly relate.”

  “You’re wrong, sir.”

  I looked at Joe, surprised, and found him staring straight at Frank with a hard, strained expression. “I know some of how you feel. I know what it’s like when somebody takes away what’s yours and gets away with it. You lost your daughter. I lost somebody who was very important to me. And like you, the person responsible got away with it—a hit and run. They were never found.”

  I couldn’t breathe. Tears threatened to overwhelm me. So that was it. That was what he didn’t want to talk about. I’ve been single for a long time. Was it a wife? A girlfriend? Or maybe a family member whose loss had left him unable to do much of anything but lose himself in his work?

  Frank’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he choked out. “But I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

  “I imagine it struck you pretty hard, hearing Nate’s name on the news,” Joe mused. “And knowing that whatever trouble took place at the farm had passed, and that he got away with something else. I can imagine how you might have misconstrued the situation. But what happened there had nothing to do with him. Truly,” he added when Frank sneered.

  “It’s true,” I whispered. “The person whose body they found died a long, long time ago. Before Nate was even born.”

  “Vandalizing the house only leaves you at risk of getting caught,” Joe said. “And that would be a true shame. You don’t deserve it. You’ve suffered enough, and so has your wife.”

  Frank was still for the most part. Except for the slight tremor that ran through him. “He gets to go on. He gets to build a business and thrive. What about my girl? What does she get? She only ever wanted to be part of that group. She looked up to those kids. We would never be as rich as them, but she was smart. She had potential. She could’ve made something of herself. But we’ll never know, because he killed her and he got away with it.”

  Joe nodded, his eyes never leaving Frank. “I understand. I do, I swear it. I wonder about the person who hit my wife while she was only out for a run. Where are they? What are they doing? Do they think about her? And as much as I don’t want to, as much as it kills me inside, I have to remind myself of something every single day. You know what that is?”

  Frank shook his head.

  “No amount of vengeance will bring her back. Even if I found them, whoever they are, and did to them what they did to her, it wouldn’t bring her back. All I do by obsessing over them is dig a hole in myself that can’t ever be filled, and she wouldn’t
want that. I doubt your daughter would want it, either.”

  They stood that way for a minute, regarding each other, and I felt like maybe I should’ve stayed in the car. I couldn’t have guessed how this meeting would go, not knowing anything about Joe until this moment. I’d thought he’d get all tough-cop on the guy, tell him to watch his back.

  Joe broke the silence, and his voice was soft. “Please, sir. I won’t report you. I won’t tell anybody we were there last night when you were in the house. But you have to promise me you’ll let up and stay away from there. Don’t leave yourself open to trouble. Please.”

  “Frank.” Mrs. Ferguson joined us, taking her husband’s arm. “Listen to him. It won’t bring her back, and she’d be so unhappy if she knew you could get into trouble. If you won’t listen to me, listen to him.”

  I waited, afraid to move or speak or even blink, as he very clearly fought with himself. It hurt, watching this perfect stranger struggling, knowing what he’d lost and what it must’ve meant to hear Nate’s name on the news. To know his life was moving along beautifully, successfully, while another life had ended.

  Frank nodded only once, and even that looked like it caused him pain. He didn’t want to give in, that was obvious. Maybe it felt like he was being unfaithful to his daughter’s memory. Or maybe he just wanted the satisfaction of making Nate’s life uncomfortable in any way he could.

  I didn’t know that I could blame him for that.

  Joe seemed satisfied with Frank’s nod, taking my elbow in a firm but gentle grip and guiding me to the front door. I felt like I should say something, offer condolences, anything. But what was there to say? What wouldn’t come off empty and lame?

  We made it to the car before the wave hit, thank goodness. Joe busied himself with unlocking the car and opening the door for me, but I couldn’t make myself move. I leaned against the door rather than sliding in and covered my face with my hands.

  “Oh. Emma.” He drew me into his arms, where I cried for him and his wife and the Fergusons and their daughter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blurt that out. I had to get through to him. I wouldn’t have brought you inside if I knew how that was going to go down.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered through my tears. “I’m crying like an idiot.”

  “Not like an idiot. Like a person with a good heart.” I thought I might’ve felt his mouth brush against the top of my head, but I was overcome and not thinking clearly. “Come on. Lola’s probably already missing you, and I need to get outta here. I have things to go before going to work tomorrow.”

  I felt my heart sinking as I slid into the car. Why? It could’ve been the thought of him going home alone, to his lonely house. But I didn’t know whether he was lonely. He could’ve had roommates, dogs, whatever.

  Though something told me he didn’t.

  We passed the drive to town in silence, and he pulled up at the hotel with little flourish. “I guess this is it,” he said with a grin. “You get yourself in trouble and you won’t have me coming to save you this time. So think twice before you decide to go on any walks or adventures or whatever you have in mind. Anything you think you might regret, just don’t do it. Okay?”

  “I can’t make any promises.” I got out of the car before I did something I thought I might regret. Though for once, it didn’t involve mouthing off or threatening bodily harm.

  If I wasn’t careful, I might’ve kissed him.

  “I don’t expect promises from you, Miss Harmon. I’m not naïve.”

  “I know you aren’t, Detective Sullivan.” I leaned in the open window. “I’ll be as good a girl as I can.”

  He chuckled as he slid a pair of sunglasses over those unnerving eyes of his. “That’s what worries me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “I’m sorry, sweetie,” I cooed, stroking Lola’s fluffy head. “I’ve got an errand to run. I wish I could take you with me, but I don’t think they allow dogs inside the library.”

  She looked up at me, utterly unaware of what I tried to explain. Her little tail wagged from side to side, which was a total power move on her part because she knew how that undid me.

  “Don’t do that,” I groaned. “I can’t take it. It tears my heart out.”

  What did she do? She did it again, then added a head tilt. Ice cold, this one, playing with my emotions.

  “Ooh. A low blow. You don’t fight fair.” I kissed her head. “We already went for walks today, and I took you to the boardwalk and everybody loved you. I tried to make it a good day for you and I know I’m feeling guilty and that you probably don’t care either way and why am I still talking?”

  I shooed her into her crate, where she turned in a few circles before settling down with her favorite stuffed toy. “I’ll leave the TV on so you don’t feel like you’re alone,” I promised.

  Good thing I was alone, or I’d never live down how silly this dog made me.

  The library sat a few miles outside town and according to their website didn’t close for another two hours. I thought that might give me enough time to dig up any articles about the Patterson family before leaving for home the next morning.

  “Make sure that whatever you find, you share it with me,” Raina had made me promise over the phone earlier, when I’d filled her in on what she’d missed. “I’m mad that you went back without me.”

  “I didn’t know you’d actually be mad.” I’d winced. “I’m sorry. I was impatient.”

  “No big surprise,” she’d sighed. “Just don’t go getting yourself into trouble. You had a close call with Kevin already.”

  “Believe me,” I’d assured her, “I don’t intend on crossing paths with him again.” And I’d meant it with all my heart, because he wasn’t worth getting into a fight with.

  Judging from the lack of activity in the library, it wasn’t the hot place to be on a Friday night. No big surprises there, with the weather being beautiful and the library sitting just miles from the beach.

  It was cool in the big, old-fashioned building. Peaceful, almost sacred, and the smell of old books was comforting. Nothing besides the scent of fresh baked goods coming from the oven took me back to home and childhood as quickly as the scent of books, which Darcy and I had horded like misers from the time we were old enough to read.

  No wonder she opened a bookstore.

  I picked a computer out of a long line of unused terminals and explored the archives for a minute to figure out the lay of the land before searching for Matthew Patterson. What would I find? I had no idea. I didn’t even know for sure why I was looking.

  It was my spidey sense, and it tingled like crazy. There had to be something more to his death than met the eye.

  The system came back with dozens of results, so many that I wished I’d come in a little earlier. This amount of research could take hours to sift through. How much would Lola hate me if I sneaked in here first thing in the morning, before checking out of the hotel?

  She wouldn’t. But I would project my guilt onto her, anyway.

  I scrolled down to the oldest article and clicked. That one, plus the next five or six, only featured passing references to Matthew as being a member of the Patterson family. He attended this dance or this boating event as a teenager. There was a photo of him taken while he stood on a dock; a young, fresh-faced man who clearly spent a lot of time outdoors in the sun. He had the body of an athlete and a head of thick, wavy hair.

  I thought I saw a lot of Kevin in him, if Kevin were younger. The eyes were the same, except young Matthew’s were bright and wide and full of spirit. He was a kid with the world at his feet and the entire future ahead of him.

  I moved on before my imagination had time to spin fantastic stories of his inner life and what dreams and hopes he might’ve had. I didn’t have any time to waste.

  Instead of wondering what Matthew’s favorite breakfast might’ve been, I went on to the next article, then the next. He was coming up in the world, and he’d met his bride-to-be. She was Mis
s Winifred Worth of the Baltimore Worths and was a very pretty girl. She’d had her debut in 1954 and became engaged a year later, quitting Vassar in favor of settling into married life.

  Aside from Kevin’s birth notice and Winnie’s obituary—she was so young—the rest of what I found relating to Matthew in the years after that had to do with business. And his brother, George.

  Nobody had told me the two of them were thick as thieves when it came to business. Partners in one thing after another. Steel mills, land development, oil and cotton and all sorts of things.

  What happened to split them apart? When I looked at this and compared it to what Tim had told me about their infamous feud, it didn’t add up. Something must have fractured their relationship.

  I dropped Matthew for the time being and switched to George. What was his story? He’d never married or had children. Was he ever engaged? Did he date? He didn’t have to—some people never did. But if he’d ever been involved with anybody, it would’ve been news.

  And it was.

  And I didn’t know why I was so surprised to find it—or, her.

  She wasn’t mentioned by name in any of the captions, but I recognized the wide smile, the dimples, the beauty mark over her lip. Winnie. There she was, on George’s arm at a regatta where Matthew raced. And again, at standing behind him in the stands of the Kentucky Derby, where a Patterson horse was competing.

  Were they ever involved?

  There was one more picture from an article in which all three of them were named. It was the Patterson-Worth wedding announcement. There they were, the bride and groom, their arms linked. They beamed at each other just beside a table on which a lavish wedding cake sat. Her satin gown was breathtaking, just like she was.

  Her husband thought so, going by the look on his face.

  Her brother-in-law, on the other hand…

  George’s face was stone. He stood at Matthew’s left, just like Winnie’s maid of honor stood at her right. The girl smiled sweetly. George did not. He glowered at the camera, his posture stiff. His left hand was visible, and it was clenched in a fist.