His mouth twitched. “I know her mom real good. Lori’s a good friend of my lady. Natalie disappeared six weeks ago. Just poof, gone. She called me and said she was going out of the country for three weeks for her new job. I told her to be careful and let me know when she got back. She’s traveled alone before, loves the Far East. Spent a year in Japan in her twenties teaching English and traveled some after that, so she knows her way around. She told me she was going to South Korea to work, and then for a little vacation.”
“And?”
“I didn’t think nothing of it. She’s a grown-up, can take care of herself. But three weeks later when I didn’t hear from her, I went to her place and banged on the door. No answer. Her car was in the parking lot out back. I texted her, called her, nothing. So I called her friends—the ones I know, anyway—and nothing. They hadn’t heard from her and she hadn’t posted online. She wasn’t much into that online stuff anyway, and I’m not on there neither. Too much crap, you ask me. But I did find out she’d told them the same thing, that she was going to Korea, but she told them other stuff she didn’t tell me. She said that with this new job she got to travel for free and all she had to do was appear at promotional events, that kind of thing. Sort of like modeling, she said.”
The posters about Natalie were up all over town, including in the Emporium, but it hadn’t said anything about her disappearing in Korea, or on her way to Korea. There had to be more. “What do the police say? Have you tried your congressman, or the state department?”
“Hold on a sec,” he said, putting up one big hand and rolling his shoulders, anxiety etched on his long face. He scruffed the bristle along his jaw. “I went to the cops. At first they didn’t do anything. She’s a grown woman, they said, all that crap. So I broke into her place and looked around. When I proved to the cops that she told everyone she was going on a trip, but she never left home and didn’t even take her purse or passport or credit or ID, nothing, they finally took it serious.”
That was bad; no woman would go on a trip—or anywhere—without her purse. Jaymie felt a thread of anxiety start in the pit of her stomach for Clutch and his missing daughter. “So how was Shelby helping you?”
“Lori told me Shelby worked for the fellow that was Natalie’s new boss.”
Jaymie sat back. “Do you mean Delaney Meadows?”
He nodded. “That’s him.”
“Did Shelby and Natalie know each other, then?”
“Yeah, like I said, Lori is my old lady’s friend, but the kids didn’t know each other before. I guess they met when Natalie came in for the interview for the modeling job, and they talked when she came back for other appointments. Natalie even went out with Shelby’s brother a couple of times.”
“Have you tried talking to Meadows?”
“Sure have. I called and even showed up at the office, but all he says is that Natalie never left America, wasn’t on the flight she was supposed to be taking, and that he doesn’t know anything else. Second time I showed up he called the cops. I don’t want no hassle with the police, not when I need them to help me find Natalie. So I can’t contact him. He’s got an order of protection out against me. Says I threatened him.”
“Did you?”
He shifted and squinted. “I may have,” he said evasively. “I was severely irked. But the jerk won’t tell me where Natalie was going or why, or what she was doing working for him. I talked to Shelby. She told me there’s something weird going on, and she’d try to help me out.”
“Have you talked to the police since Shelby was killed?”
He sighed, shook his head and looked off toward the front door, his face bathed in the blinking light from the Coors Light sign. “What if I got that poor girl killed?”
“You mean, what if Shelby was murdered because she was looking into what happened to Natalie?”
He nodded, his expression grim.
“Clutch, even if that is what happened—and I’m not saying I even think that’s likely—you didn’t coerce her into looking into it. It’s probably not even connected, but you should talk to the police about it.”
“I’ll do that, and I’ll call Lori, too, see if I can do anything for her.”
“I’m going to be talking to her boss, and I’ll try to find out more about Natalie’s disappearance.”
His face cracked, his expression like the tragedy mask, his mouth twisted into a grimace as he tried to keep his emotions in check. “I know the truth, Jaymie. I know she’s dead. There’s no way on earth she wouldn’t have contacted me if she’s still alive. But I can’t let it go, can’t rest, don’t sleep. She’s my baby girl and I need to know what happened.” He squinted and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you find out anything, I’ll be beholden to you for the rest of my days. I won’t rest until I know the truth and bring her home, wherever she is.”
His lady friend seemed to feel his emotion and approached, putting one hand on his shoulder, a question in her eyes. He looked up at her, covered her hand with his own and introduced them. “This is my backwarmer,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Gabby, this is Jaymie Leighton. Gabby’s my old lady, but not Natalie’s mom. She’s been gone for years.” He told her what Jaymie was going to do. Gabby nodded, offered a fleeting smile then went back to work.
Jaymie stood. “I just know I’m going to have more questions for you, but my mind is reeling and I can’t think of anything.” She felt the weight of his loss strongly, and knew she had just added another investigation on top of Shelby’s murder. His pain was raw. If she could help, she must. “Can I call you?”
“Sure can,” he said. He took out a card and scrawled a number on the back. “I’d appreciate it.”
“I haven’t ruled out that Cody Wainwright did kill Shelby Fretter,” she said, but explained her doubts. “I’m not a trained investigator, though; I just snoop around and follow my gut. I may not find out a single thing about Natalie.”
“I know. Don’t sweat it.”
It was nine by the time she got home. Hoppy dashed out the back door, Denver ambled, and Jaymie sat down at the kitchen table after putting the kettle on. She desperately needed a cup of tea. The light was blinking on the phone, so she grabbed it and hit the message button.
“Hi,” a young woman said. “My name is Lynnsey Bloombury, Mabel is my mom? I guess you want to know something about Shelby?” Everything she said had a question mark at the end of it. “So I have to go to the Queensville Inn tomorrow morning, right? Would you meet me there for a coffee? About ten?” There was a pause. “Okay, that’s it.”
Jaymie took her cup of tea up to her tiny office, just a cubbyhole on the second floor, and sat at her desk, checking her email. One long one came in from Becca with details of everything from her upcoming wedding: the bridesmaid dresses Jaymie, Valetta and Dee would wear; the cottage shop renovation; their grandmother’s health and their parents’ planned schedule. Hoppy barked in the backyard, so Jaymie scooted downstairs, let him in, followed by Denver, who shivered and huddled into his basket by the stove. The night had descended into a bitter cold.
Jaymie trotted back upstairs. Valetta sent an email—unusual, since she preferred the phone—but this one contained only photos she had taken of the two of them working at the Emporium in their gaudy Christmas sweaters on Christmas-sweater day, an annual tradition for them on December first.
Then there was one from Nan. Jaymie had learned a lot about Nan over the last five months. She was the kind of woman whose brain never truly stopped functioning, even when asleep, and she was capable of holding multiple conversations at once even while she was typing something. She was so type A, her husband, a mild-mannered newsman with a soft voice and strong constitution, had been known to go away on “fishing weekends,” though he never did more in the boat than drift lazily on the river and read Dick Francis and Harlan Coben novels while smoking cigars.
Her email was
very much in her frenetic voice: fast, full-on, faintly angry, impatient. She attached several pieces from the newspaper about the Fretter/Wozny family. Jaymie saved them to her desktop and a flash drive to read later. It seemed that the newspaper had covered a lot of the family’s legal woes, from a drug bust and break-in arrest of Travis Fretter—was that where he had met and started dating Mikayla Jones, the girl from the jail, Jaymie wondered?—a DUI traffic stop for Lori Wozny, to a charge against Shelby for threatening, most recently, a reporter for the Howler. They seemed to have a bitter enmity, the Fretter/Wozny family and the newspaper. It was no wonder Nan had been warning her son about going out with Shelby, even if it was none of her business who her adult son dated.
Nan also rattled off a lot of random information she had gleaned.
From an inside informant at the police station, not Mikayla this time: Lori’s and Travis’s accounts of where they were and when the evening of Shelby’s death apparently differed dramatically.
Both agreed that Shelby had said she was meeting someone to talk about something, but that it wouldn’t take long. Travis, when asked, said he got the impression her meeting was personal, while Lori claimed Shelby said it was business. Travis told the police that he last saw Shelby at about nine, but there was no mention in the official report that he saw her arguing with Cody, and indeed, Jaymie knew that they had Gus’s statement that Cody Wainwright was at the Christmas tree farm until about nine thirty or so when he gave the tale about a family emergency and left. Travis stuck with his mom, he said, and they looked for Shelby after a little while.
Lori had expected her daughter to meet her and Travis at their car at about ten; it was parked at the feed store down near the docks. The village had been advertising free parking for those who wanted to take in the Dickens Days festivities. Lori, though, said that she and Travis got separated. She thought he had gone off to find his sister, and didn’t see him for about half an hour, until he reunited with his mother at the car. He told her he hadn’t been able to find Shelby. Both of their stories agreed from then; she gave him a ride home and came back to find Shelby, since she was her daughter’s ride.
Jaymie sat back; that was an interesting variation. Lori admitted she and Travis had gotten separated, and were not together the whole time, but Travis’s statement didn’t mention that. Why, unless he was responsible for her death? She skipped back to the list of violations the police had investigated the family for; yes, there was the one she had noticed. Travis Fretter had apparently threatened his sister, Shelby, in a public place, a party at a friend’s home. The police were called by the homeowner, who was alarmed when Travis Fretter left the party, then came back with a two-by-four and threatened to kill his sister.
Jaymie shivered. Had he managed to carry out that threat? Was he the type to use his fists if he couldn’t find a two-by-four?
She jotted some notes. She would have liked to know what Travis and Shelby were arguing about when she caught sight of them that evening. Would Lori know? Would she tell Jaymie? Probably not. Reflecting on the discrepancies between the mother’s and son’s stories, she wondered if anyone else that evening saw Travis alone and noticed where he was heading. She jotted down a note to ask Valetta, who had a bit of a bird’s-eye view from her position on the porch of the Emporium. And if Valetta had seen nothing, maybe she could suggest others who may have.
She took her empty tea mug downstairs, turned down the thermostat and locked up, then headed back upstairs and changed into pajamas. She returned to the computer, though, and began to scan local social networking sites established on Google and Facebook. She quickly found names of many of the major players in the murder: Travis and Shelby Fretter; Delaney Meadows; Lori Wozny; Glenn Brennan; and even Clutch’s daughter, Natalie Roth.
There was a lot of discussion about the tragedy. Many openly mourned Shelby, calling her an angel, a sweetheart, the best friend in the world. But the young woman had her detractors, too. Some said they were sick of people trying to make her out to be an angel when she was well known to steal boyfriends, trash talk friends and go behind people’s backs. Jaymie felt faintly sick, like she was watching violence done to the girl who was unable to defend herself.
And then there were a few who hinted darkly at what dangers she was facing. She had told one friend she had information that would bust the town wide open, if he was to be believed. Jaymie jotted down his name and noted his place of business. Austin Calhoun worked for a call center in the same building as the headhunter company Shelby worked for. Since Jaymie was going to the inn in the morning to meet Lynnsey Bloombury, she’d head directly after to Delaney Meadows’ business, which was just down the street, and she’d look up Austin Calhoun at Queensville Direct Call Center.
As she looked farther back in time on social networks, she found some troubling passages, bits and pieces Shelby posted that almost seemed like threats. She openly complained about young guys who thought it was okay to hit a woman, and used initials, CW, as an example. Cody Wainwright. Another in particular made her blood run cold. A “gentleman” who had gone out with her, Shelby said, told her that she was mouthy and disrespectful. She should shut up and behave like a lady if she wanted to be treated like one. He apparently told her he was tired of mouthy brats expecting men to pay for everything and then getting huffy when he wanted a little sugar. She ought to behave herself, he said, or someone was going to spank some respect into her.
The man who threatened her was Glenn Brennan.
Sixteen
SHE TRIED TO be mindful that this was as reported by Shelby, but still . . . it was a telling remark, like words from beyond the grave. How far was “spank” from “beat”? She looked back and found more references from a few days before she died about someone harassing her online, but Shelby didn’t actually say that it was Glenn Brennan who was cyberstalking her, so it was unclear. It was entirely possible that Shelby had reported Glenn Brennan for his behavior online toward her to his company, and that was why he had been fired. That would undoubtedly make him angry.
He was a suspect, in Jaymie’s eyes, and she’d make sure Chief Ledbetter knew about him, too.
She should have gone on to investigate the dating site, but she was tired and uneasy about it all. Jaymie crawled into bed, her mind reeling with all the pain and fear and violence of what she was investigating. She picked up the phone and dialed the number she now knew by heart, and Jakob answered. The gruff but mellow gravel in his voice soothed her better than the sweetest music.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Reading a report on the specific rates of growth of the various conifers in Michigan and how to maximize it. Oh, and joining an online discussion about common pests in the Christmas tree industry.”
She laughed. “Fascinating!”
He asked about her day, and she told him some of it. As they talked, she began to feel better. “It’s such a sad thing to be focusing on this time of year,” she said. “But I feel bad for even saying that.”
“I get what you mean. It’s this sense that even at what is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year something just isn’t right. It’s because you feel for people, Jaymie. Some folks could forget it, but it stays with you. That’s probably what makes you good at looking into things.”
“I guess. I wish I was a little more like those who can just forget about people and move on.”
“Don’t say that. You’re who you are and I love that you care about people.”
It warmed her and she snuggled under the covers, petting Hoppy’s head where it rested on her knee. “I have a bunch of stuff to do tomorrow, but if I come out to the tree farm, will you be there?”
“I’ll be there for part of the morning, then I have to go to Algonac, bounce back to Marine City, take some stuff to the store and unload, then be to Jocie’s school in time for their annual concert. Her and her tumbling troop are doin
g a routine.” There was a pause. “Would you like to come?”
Her heart thudded. She was about to say yes, but realized his whole family might be there, and she was just not ready to meet his parents and or brothers yet. Anyway, she was going to be so busy she might not even be able to fit it in. The last thing she wanted was for his family’s first impression of her to be a hurried and late one.
“I think I’m going to be running around so much tomorrow I wouldn’t be able to guarantee I’d be there.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “And, Jakob . . . I assume your parents will be there, right?”
“Sure.”
“I do want to meet them, but not when I’m rushing in and out. I want to make a good impression.”
“You couldn’t make a bad impression if you tried,” he said gently. “But I understand.”
“Thank you. Sleep well, Jakob.”
“Sweet dreams, Jaymie.”
• • •
SHE SLEPT BETTER than expected and awoke with a clear vision of some avenues she wanted to explore. Shelby had a troubled relationship with several people, but she had friends, too, and Jaymie had some names of her supporters from the social media she had explored the night before. She was also going to pick up where Shelby had left off, and find out what had happened to Natalie Roth. Clutch’s pain and loss was so potent it affected her still. It seemed impossible that the incidents were not connected, and yet, they were so very different.
The first thing she did was report what she had learned to Chief Ledbetter. Maybe it was wrong to tell him about Glenn Brennan’s words as reported by Shelby, but Jaymie was not going to hold anything back from the police, not when it was this important.
Then she said, “Chief, I have some information that leads me to believe that Lori Wozny’s and Travis Fretter’s stories about what they did that evening are substantially different. I know you already know that, but it made me wonder . . . Why would Shelby’s brother lie about where he was that night, during a period that Lori says he was apart from her? I wondered if you were investigating him as a potential suspect in her death.”
White Colander Crime Page 17
