The Lost (Echoes from the Past Book 9)

by Irina Shapiro

  “No. Why?”

  “Your face is flushed, and your eyes look unusually bright,” Mrs. Johnson replied, and Jocelyn realized she was being teased.

  “I’ll be glad to see the back of Captain Denning, I don’t mind telling you,” Jocelyn said, bristling at the implication that he had the power to make her blush. “There’s just something about him that sets my teeth on edge.”

  Mrs. Johnson smiled knowingly. “It’s the ones who set your teeth on edge that get under your skin,” she pointed out. “It’s hard to be immune to someone as beautiful as he is,” she said a bit too dreamily for a woman of her years.

  “Wild animals can be beautiful, but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous,” Jocelyn replied archly.

  “Is that what you think, that he’s dangerous?” Mrs. Johnson asked. “Has he acted inappropriately toward you? If he’s done anything untoward, you must report him to Major Radcliffe.”

  “He makes me uneasy, that’s all,” Jocelyn replied.

  She was spared from having to continue the conversation by the arrival of Private Sykes, who visited the kitchen more often than was strictly necessary. Mrs. Johnson seemed to have taken him under her wing and was always sneaking him slices of cake and cups of tea. She gave him an apple and a corn muffin and sent him on his way.

  “You spoil him, Mrs. Johnson,” Jocelyn said, glad to have someone else to discuss for a change.

  “My heart goes out to him,” Mrs. Johnson said as she covered the muffins and stowed them in the bread box, where the mice wouldn’t get to them. “He’s as much a soldier as I am a fine lady. It’s a good thing they have him delivering messages and accompanying the major when he goes out. That’s all that boy’s fit for. A bit soft in the head,” she said, tapping the side of her own head. “He’s as innocent as a child.”

  “I suppose,” Jocelyn replied as she made a fresh pot of tea and took a seat at the kitchen table. It was time for her own breakfast. She buttered a piece of bread and reached for the egg she’d boiled earlier. She hadn’t given Private Sykes much thought, but now that Mrs. Johnson had mentioned it, she supposed there was something off about the private. It was as if his maturation had stopped as soon as he reached his teens. He was kind and pliable, but not overly perceptive when it came to the nuances of human interaction. She wouldn’t go as far as to call him soft in the head—that was cruel—but there was an innocence in him that made one want to be kind to him.

  “Take him a cup of water after you’re finished, will you?” Mrs. Johnson said. “It’s so hot outside.”

  “Yes, it is. I can’t wait for autumn. I do hate summers in New York,” Jocelyn said as she sprinkled salt on her egg.

  She loved the autumn months, with their shortening days and cooling nights and the bright, bold colors that made such a lovely contrast to the deep blue sky. And this year, she didn’t fear the coming of winter. Major Radcliffe was generous with firewood, allowing everyone a fire in their room when the temperature dropped. She wouldn’t freeze, nor would she starve. She was doing her bit for the war effort, but she wasn’t suffering in the process, not like the poor soldiers who’d be freezing in their tents come winter and subsisting on meager rations. She was truly blessed.

  Chapter 51

  March 2018

  London

  “You’re a hard woman to get ahold of,” Seth said when Quinn finally called him back. “I left you three messages.”

  “Sorry, Dad. I was really busy,” Quinn said, cringing at the falseness of the statement. She hadn’t been busy, at least not in the real sense of the word. She’d escaped from worrying about the potential outcome of the inquiry by losing herself in Jocelyn’s memories, preferring to journey to Revolutionary War America rather than dwell on what DI Marshall might be doing to tighten the case against Brett.

  “How are the children?” Seth asked. “I sent Mia a little something for her birthday.”

  “Little is not how I would describe it,” Quinn said, recalling the size of the box she’d received. Seth’s gifts were always elaborate and ridiculously expensive.

  Seth chuckled. “Do you think she’ll like the dollhouse?”

  “I’m sure she’ll love it,” Quinn said. She was on autopilot, wishing she could bring the conversation to a close, but Seth seemed eager to chat.

  “Will you be having a party for her?”

  “Just a little one. She’s too young to appreciate anything grander than cake, balloons, and a pile of presents to open.”

  “Wish I could be there,” Seth said wistfully. “I feel like I’m missing out. Hey, Kathy and I were thinking of paying you guys a visit sometime in May. Kathy has a week of vacation coming up. Would that be convenient?”

  “Can I get back to you on that?” Quinn asked, hating the need for duplicity.

  “Sure. If that doesn’t work, we’ll go on a cruise or something.”

  “You don’t sound too excited by the prospect,” Quinn observed, clutching at something banal they could discuss.

  “I’m not. I don’t do well in that type of setting. Too crowded. Too confined. But Kathy loves cruising.”

  “I’ve never been on a cruise,” Quinn said.

  “You’d hate it,” Seth replied, chuckling. “There are lots of fossils, but they’re mostly of the human variety.” Quinn forced a laugh that came out more like a sob.

  “Are you okay, kid? You sound kind of weird,” Seth said. “Everything all right between you and Gabe?”

  “Yes, we’re good,” Quinn rushed to reassure him. “I’ve just been a bit under the weather.”

  “What you need is a big bowl of extra spicy gumbo. I’ll make you a pot next time I’m in town.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I’d love that. Sorry, but I have to go. Work is calling.”

  “It was good to hear your voice. Kiss the babies for me.” He made a kissing sound and rang off.

  Quinn exhaled loudly. She hated keeping the truth from him. He didn’t deserve this, but how could she tell him what she’d done? She was about to torpedo Seth’s life, using DI Marshall as the warhead. Suddenly, she felt an urgent need for air and exercise. Jocelyn would have to wait. She needed to get out of the house for an hour and go for a brisk walk.

  Quinn was just lacing up her trainers when her mobile rang again. This time it was Phoebe.

  “Hello,” Phoebe said cheerily. “How are you, dear?”

  “I’m all right,” Quinn lied.

  “Good. I just wanted to confirm our plans. I’ll be arriving at St. Pancras around two on Sunday. I’ve already booked a hotel,” Phoebe announced, sounding pleased with the arrangement. Staying in a London hotel was a treat not to be missed. Phoebe always ordered breakfast to be brought up to her room and enjoyed it in bed, like an Edwardian damsel straight from one of the romance novels she liked to read. She said it made her feel posh.

  “We can’t wait to see you,” Quinn said distractedly.

  “Will you be having a lot of people over for Mia’s birthday?” Phoebe asked. She was clearly eager for a chat, so Quinn returned to the lounge and sat down, realizing this would take a while.

  “Just the closest family and friends. Mia is looking forward to seeing Olivia and Vanessa. They’re so cute when they’re together.”

  “I bet they are. Does Alex feel left out among all these girls?” Phoebe asked.

  Quinn had a feeling Alex was Phoebe’s favorite, possibly because he reminded her of Gabe when he was little. He certainly looked like him, and perhaps behaved a little like him as well. Gabe had been a quiet, sensitive child who’d preferred to play on his own. Phoebe always went out of her way to get Alex something special, something that would make him feel less like a middle child and more like the favorite grandchild.

  “Not yet. He enjoys playing with them,” Quinn rushed to reassure Phoebe.

  “What is it, Quinn?” Phoebe asked, her radar as attuned to Quinn’s state of mind as ever. “You sound a bit off.”

  “Do I?” She supposed she sh
ould be grateful that the people in her life knew her well enough to tell when she wasn’t her usual self, but just then, she wished she could fob them off. However, it wasn’t as easy to lie to Phoebe as it had been to Seth.

  “Are you all right?” Phoebe persisted.

  “If I’m to be honest, not really,” Quinn confessed.

  “What is it? You know you can always talk to me. Sometimes it’s easier than talking to your own mum, or mums, I should say,” Phoebe quipped.

  Quinn sighed. “Phoebe, I have reason to believe Brett was driving the car that killed Jo,” Quinn said in a rush.

  “What? Why?”

  “Some new evidence has come to light. The case has been reopened by the police.”

  “So, they believe he left the scene of an accident?” Phoebe asked.

  “It’s worse than that, Phoebe. They believe he struck her intentionally,” Quinn said, the words sticking in her throat.

  “But why would he do that?”

  “Perhaps he thought he was doing me a favor, given what had happened that day,” Quinn croaked, now fervently wishing she hadn’t said anything.

  “Good God!” Phoebe exclaimed. “That must be devastating for you.”

  “It is,” Quinn said. “I just can’t wrap my mind around it. And when I think what this will do to Kathy and Seth…”

  “Quinn, Kathy and Seth are not your responsibility. Every parent has untapped reserves of strength to see them through the darkest of times.”

  “I doubt you’ve ever had to tap into those reserves,” Quinn joked. “Gabe is the perfect son.”

  “And I thank God for that every day. I’m lucky to have raised a man I can be proud of, but not every parent is so blessed.”

  “I don’t believe it has anything to do with luck. You and Graham are directly responsible for the man Gabe grew up to be.”

  “I’d like to think so, but there are many kind, decent people whose kids don’t turn out well, through no fault of their own. They haven’t stooped to murder, mind you, but they can hardly be called successful, or independent even. Take Cecily’s son, for example. The man is forty-two and he’s sleeping on his mother’s sofa. Got a gambling addiction,” Phoebe said, lowering her voice as if Cecily could hear her from next door. “Lost everything, including his wife and son. They don’t want to have anything to do with him.”

  “That’s a terrible situation, but not quite the same,” Quinn said, wishing desperately she could end the conversation and get outside.

  “Of course, it isn’t. I was only saying, you never know how things will turn out. My heart goes out to Kathy and Seth, Seth especially. To have lost a daughter so soon after he’d found her must have been heartbreaking, but to learn that his son was the one to take her life is probably enough to push the poor man over the edge. But Seth is strong. He’s tough. He’s so American in the way he deals with problems,” Phoebe added, making Seth sound like a gunslinger from a Western movie.

  That almost made Quinn chuckle, but not quite. “Look, sorry, but I’ve got to go.”

  “Of course. Sorry to have kept you. I’ll see you on Sunday.”

  “Yes. Looking forward to it,” Quinn said, and ended the call.

  She pulled on her jacket, stuffed her mobile, a ten-pound note in case of emergency, and her ID in her pocket, and left the house.

  Chapter 52

  When Quinn returned, she felt no better. At least with Drew, she could ask for an update, but now that the case had been passed over to the Met, she was no longer directly involved. She wished she could ring DI Marshall but knew he wouldn’t tell her anything. Quinn made some lunch, threw in a load of laundry, and stared at the same page in a book she’d been trying to read for a full ten minutes before finally giving up and ringing Drew. He picked up immediately, his voice surprisingly cheerful.

  “Guess you heard the good news,” he said. “Dan’s got them to reopen the case, and he’s heading the investigation.”

  “Is that because he’s the best man for the job or because he’s best placed to hide where the information came from?” Quinn asked.

  Drew chuckled. “The information I provided will never be used in a court of law, Quinn. I used it to show a direct link between Brett, Jo, and the car. The case Dan builds against Brett will be meticulously documented and supported by legitimate evidence that can be used in a murder trial.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Quinn murmured. “Have you heard from him? I can’t stand not knowing.”

  “You are going to have to be patient. This could take months.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. This is not a TV program, where a case gets solved in a few days.”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” Quinn said.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard from him. They’ve impounded the car and have been in touch with the New Orleans PD.”

  “Why?” Quinn asked, surprised by this turn of events.

  “To request Brett Besson’s fingerprints and a copy of his psychological evaluation.”

  “Is the NOPD obligated to comply?” Quinn asked. She had no idea how an investigation involving a foreign national worked.

  “They can make things difficult if they choose to, but generally, police officers are happy to help each other, especially in a murder inquiry.”

  “Is there any chance they might be able to lift his prints off the car more than two years after he’d driven it?” Quinn asked.

  “I wouldn’t bet on it, but they have to try. That car will be taken apart by a forensic team, and if there’s anything to find, they will find it. Quinn, I know this advice will fall on deaf ears, but you should really put this whole thing out of your mind. Concentrate on your own life. If there are any major developments, you will be apprised.”

  “Will I?” Quinn muttered.

  “Yes. If you don’t hear it from Marshall, you’ll hear it from me. I still have my sources at the station.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “Thanks, Drew. You’re a star.”

  “That I am,” Drew said with a chuckle. “They don’t shine brighter than me. Now, I’ve got work to do, and if I remember correctly, you have children that need collecting.”

  “Right. Bye,” Quinn said. If she didn’t leave now, she’d be late.

  Drew was right, Quinn thought as she hurried to get the kids. She had to put the case out of her mind for the time being and concentrate on her own life. Mia’s birthday was a week and a half away, and she needed to prepare. There were still the cake and balloons to get, the presents to wrap, and the snacks and drinks to purchase. She also had to check with all the invitees to make sure they were still coming. She hoped Logan, Rafe, and their surrogate, Chrissy, would be able to attend. Quinn hadn’t seen Logan in weeks and genuinely missed him. She couldn’t really say the same for Sylvia, but she’d invited her, nonetheless. Mia was Sylvia’s granddaughter, regardless of how Quinn felt about her birth mother.

  She wished her own mum and dad could come. It’d been too long since she’d seen them in person, when they’d come to London the previous summer for a fortnight before heading to Scotland for a week. Strange how spread out her family was these days. She supposed this was the new normal for many people, especially those whose families had as many branches as hers now did.

  Once Mia’s birthday was planned, Quinn would concentrate on Jocelyn’s story. She didn’t have time to dither if Rhys hoped to turn the narrative into a Christmas special. She still had no inkling how the ring had come to be buried in Hertfordshire but meant to find out. She’d miss Jocelyn once the case was done, Quinn thought as she took her place by the gate, waiting for the children to be brought out. She identified with the young American woman, maybe because, at the moment, she felt as lost and unsure of what was to come as Jocelyn had. At least she had a good man by her side, unlike Jocelyn, who seemed to have inspired admiration but not real love in the men who’d desired her.

  She had been truly beau
tiful, but Quinn wasn’t sure if the men in her life saw her as merely ornamental or if they had taken the time to get to know her. They certainly treated her like a prize to be won. Everyone from Ben Wilder, who was convinced Jocelyn had feelings for his brother, to Captain Denning, who seemed determined to break down her walls with his brand of brash charm, had sought to possess her, but how many of them had really cared for her? It seemed that even her brother had been happy to leave her to her own devices at a time when a woman alone was far from safe.

  Quinn smiled brightly when she spotted Alex, then Mia. Mia was clutching her favorite giraffe toy, and there was a daub of green paint on her cheek. She saw Quinn and waved happily, then broke free of her teacher and ran to her mum. Alex followed suit, and the three of them took a moment to enjoy a group hug.

  “Come on, guys. Let’s go home,” Quinn said, feeling lighter for the first time in weeks.

  Chapter 53

  August 1777

  New York City

  It was in the last week of August that Thomas invited Jocelyn to take luncheon at a quayside tavern just off Beckman’s Slip. As they drew near the tavern, Jocelyn had to take out her handkerchief and hold it over her mouth and nose, but it did little to block the smell of fish and rotting vegetables coming from a nearby market, and the acrid stench of sweat and piss that permeated the air. Overheated sailors, their faces glistening with perspiration, crowded the docks, while several army officers, who had to be cooking alive in their wool coats, were supervising the loading and unloading of the ships. They were barking out orders and hurling insults at the exhausted men, who paid them little heed as they maneuvered heavy crates and rolled barrels onto the waiting ships.

  “What are we doing here?” Jocelyn demanded. “Surely there are plenty of other places we could have gone.”

  “It wasn’t my choice,” Thomas said apologetically. “Come on. Nearly there.”

  The Dock House was small and dim, the interior smelling of sun-warmed wood, spilled ale, and fish stew. At least half the tables were occupied by sailors who’d come in for a cool drink and a meal. Some talked loudly among themselves, while others sat in silence, presumably too hot and tired, having been laboring since dawn, to do more than lift a tankard to their parched lips. There wasn’t a single woman in the place, not even a serving wench. A grizzled, balding man behind the counter spotted them and tilted his head toward a door at the back. Thomas nodded and steered Jocelyn through the crowd at the bar.