by Rita Herron
Pure outrage flared across the man’s thin face. “My family’s private life is none of your business.”
Derrick didn’t flinch. “It is, if it leads us to Katie Lee’s killer.”
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Ellie ignored the man and addressed his wife. “Mrs. Curtis, I understand this is a difficult time, but we need your help. You do want to see Katie Lee’s killer get caught, don’t you?”
Agnes’s eyes fluttered with turmoil.
“Did Katie Lee know that your husband was not her birth father?” According to Will, she had. But she might not have talked to her parents about it yet.
Mr. Curtis flung his hand toward the door. “Get out. Now.”
“Did she know?” Ellie pushed.
Mrs. Curtis gave a tiny shake of her head, and a vein bulged in her husband’s neck.
“Are you sure?” Ellie pressed. “Maybe she found out and went looking for him.”
“That didn’t happen,” Mr. Curtis snapped. “Now stop prying into our private family business.”
“If it takes prying to expose the person who killed that sweet young girl, I’ll do it,” Ellie said sharply. “What about the father? Who is he? Did he know about Katie Lee?”
Mr. Curtis clutched Ellie’s arm in a death grip. “If you don’t leave now, I’m going to file harassment charges against you, Detective.”
“Take your hands off Detective Reeves, Mr. Curtis, or I’ll arrest you for assaulting a police officer,” said Derrick, grabbing the man’s arm.
Ellie had not moved. She refused to give him the satisfaction of thinking that he’d gotten to her.
Mr. Curtis hissed, then dropped his hands and stepped away, but his look remained dangerous.
“Come on, Detective,” Derrick said. “Let’s go.”
Ellie silently cursed, then glanced back at Mrs. Curtis. The poor woman was trembling in her thin skirt and white blouse. “If you decide to talk, please give me a call.”
“She won’t. Now leave us alone to grieve for our daughter.”
Ellie shot him a look of contempt. He might pretend to be a doting father, but she knew better. Doting was not the word Katie Lee had used in her journal, or the way her brother had described him.
Hands knotted, she turned and strode out the front door. She would leave for now. But if it turned out he’d hurt Katie Lee; she would be back for him.
92
Stony Gap
“You pushed too hard with Curtis,” Derrick said half an hour later, outside Vanessa Morley’s house.
Ellie shot him a sardonic look. “I thought you were the hard-assed agent.”
He shrugged and together they made their way to the door.
The air practically vibrated with tension, made worse by the overpowering heat and her growing remorse over not keeping in touch with Vanessa. Warm sunshine always lifted her spirits, but this summer heatwave made it difficult to breathe.
Trudy answered the door, dusting flour from her blouse. The scent of cinnamon apples wafted to Ellie, along with the heat from the kitchen. In spite of the air conditioner churning noisily, she felt like she was walking into a giant oven.
“Detective? Agent Fox?” Trudy said, her voice breaking. She wiped her hands on her apron, motioning for them to come in. A minute later they were seated in the kitchen where the scent of the pie made Ellie’s stomach rumble. But sweat dribbled down her face, and she fanned it, waving away a fly who also had an appetite for the sweet dessert.
“Is Mandy here?” Ellie asked.
Trudy picked up a paper napkin and folded it in half. “She went to a friend’s. I figured it was all right, that maybe it would help her. She’s been so upset.”
“I’m sure she has been,” Ellie said softly.
“Did you need to see her for some reason?” Trudy asked.
“No,” Derrick said quietly. “It’s probably better we talk alone anyway.”
Trudy twisted the napkin between her fingers. “Do you know who killed my sister?”
Derrick explained about the DNA, and Trudy’s forehead crinkled.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “You’re saying that Vanessa and this teenager have the same father. That would mean they were half-sisters.”
“That’s right,” Ellie said. “You mentioned that your mother died giving birth to Vanessa. Did you and Vanessa share the same father?”
“No. Mine died overseas when I was two. I honestly don’t know who Vanessa’s father was.”
“Did Vanessa ever search for him?”
“A while back, she mentioned having some health issues, said she needed to know about her family medical history.”
“What kind of medical issues was she having?” Ellie asked.
“She didn’t really explain,” Trudy admitted. “Just said the doctors were asking. Said she might look for him, but if she found him, she never told me.”
“Did she have any private papers here? Maybe a safe we could look into?”
Trudy glanced back and forth between them. “I don’t understand what Vanessa’s father has to do with this?”
“It’s a link between two victims. It may not have anything to do with their deaths, but we’re exploring every possibility,” Ellie said. She had to. Like breadcrumbs, eventually the little pieces might lead her to the killer.
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Trudy rocked back in the chair, stunned at the revelation. “I haven’t gone through her things yet. I wasn’t ready to.” She clamped her teeth over her bottom lip, biting down hard. “Although I suppose I’ll need to pick out a dress for her memorial service.”
Ellie winced. The funeral director must not have revealed the extent of the damage to Vanessa’s body caused by the fire.
“Is it okay if Agent Fox and I look around?” Ellie asked.
“I guess so, if you think it would help catch my sister’s killer. And it would be better if you did it before Mandy gets back.”
“Thank you,” Ellie replied. “I promise we’ll be respectful of her things.”
“I’ll look around in the living room and kitchen,” Derrick said.
“I’ll check her bedroom.”
“What are you looking for?” Trudy asked as she directed Ellie to her sister’s bedroom.
“I’m not sure,” Ellie said. “Something we might have missed when we were here before.”
Trudy gave a little nod. “I’m going to make some phone calls about the memorial arrangements for Vanessa.”
She disappeared down the hall and Ellie stepped into the bedroom. The furniture was old and worn. Someone had made the bed up with a plain beige comforter since Ellie’s last visit—the last set of bedding had been retrieved as evidence. Ellie rummaged through the drawers of the small desk in the corner. No journal, tablet or laptop. No address book. She searched for notes referencing Raintree Family Services but found nothing except old paycheck stubs and bills. She flipped through the check log.
Most of the checks appeared to be payments for routine expenses—the power company, garbage collection, grocery store. The cursive writing was pretty, precise, as if Vanessa took great pains to form each letter. A few swirly lines suggested she might have dabbled in calligraphy. Ellie felt a tug at the thought of everything they missed out on.
She continued scrolling through the check book, stopping at a name which had been repeated. A few weeks back Vanessa had written two separate checks for five hundred dollars to a man named Patrick Grogan.
She didn’t recognize the name. Curious, she googled it, finding one of the top links was to a private detective agency.
Had Vanessa hired a private investigator to find her father?
After searching the rest of the room and finding nothing else, she headed back to the living room. Derrick shook his head, indicating he’d had no luck.
Trudy looked tired and frazzled as she hung up her phone.
“Trudy, Vanessa wrote a couple of checks to a man named Patrick Grogan. There’s a private investigator by that name working in the state. Do
you know if she hired a PI, or why?”
Trudy’s eyes widened in surprise. “I didn’t know if she had.” She fidgeted with the neck of her blouse. “But like I said, we weren’t close lately.”
Ellie thanked her, knowing their next move. Patrick Grogan might know the reason Vanessa was killed.
94
Pigeon Lake
Marty paced his bedroom, the detective’s statement raising ugly questions in his mind.
If his father and Katie Lee’s were not the same, that meant his mother had been with another man. The thought made him want to puke.
It was gross to think about his parents doing the deed. He knew they sure as hell didn’t do it now, not with all his father’s ranting about religion. And that was fine with him. No kid wanted to think about their parents that way.
But he wasn’t stupid either.
They had to have done it sometime or he wouldn’t be here. Unless the old man wasn’t his real father either.
He clutched his sister’s journal in his hand and skimmed several more entries. Katie Lee’s writing was uneven, the lines slanting sideways, the words running together as if she’d been upset and rushing to get her thoughts down.
I hear Mama and Daddy talking at night. Whispering. Daddy telling Mama no one can know about me. That I’m their dirty little secret.
Marty ran a hand through his sweaty hair. It was a million degrees in his shithole of a house. The air was on the fritz again, heat bleeding through the cracks in the windows. Pigeons swooped around the ledge outside his bedroom, pecking at the glass and planting their droppings in a pile as if leaving him a present.
Another entry caught his eye. The page was wrinkled, as if his sister’s tears had fallen on the paper.
Today I asked Mama about their dirty little secret, if it was me? But Daddy slapped me and told me to shut up. Said he gave me a home and if I didn’t appreciate it, I could hit the streets and see where that got me. That I’d probably end up a whore and become a drug addict. Mama cried and tried to hug me, but Daddy pushed her away, and I ran upstairs. I started to pack, but I don’t know where to go. I only know that they don’t want me here.
Marty’s breathing grew shallow. He’d known Katie Lee was miserable, that his father preached to her about being a good girl, but he hadn’t known about that conversation.
He flipped the pages further to see if Katie Lee had learned the truth but found that two pages had been ripped out. The next page held another surprising entry.
I’m going to meet Will today. We’ve been talking about the church. I think he might be able to help me.
Marty heaved a breath, and turned pages, but that was it.
He had to talk to Will.
He slipped to the top of the stairs and heard his mother crying, his father’s cold voice.
“You will not talk to those cops again. You will not talk to anyone.”
“I didn’t—”
“Shut up, Agnes. This is all your fault. I told you one day it would come back to haunt us.”
Marty dug his hands into his pockets.
“Now, go and pray. Do not come out or answer the door to anyone.”
His mother’s sobbing grew louder, then her bedroom door closed. The key turned in the lock, and anger slammed into Marty. His father had locked her in the room.
Outrage poured through Marty. His sister had talked about wanting to leave, to get out of the house. If his father only recently learned Katie Lee wasn’t his daughter, then he could have blown a gasket. He knew first-hand how volatile his old man’s temper could be.
95
Cherokee Point
Grogan’s PI Agency was located in the small community of Cherokee Point barely ten miles from where Vanessa lived, which explained her reason for hiring him. They’d driven past chicken houses on the way, and on the corner of the turnoff was a barn-like café called Goats on the Roof, complete with live goats roaming freely around the property and on the metal roof.
Grogan’s office was set in a small strip mall which had fallen by the wayside. Only two other businesses were left—a dry cleaners and Inked, a tattoo parlor. The wind-beaten metal sign dangling from a post out front advertised that Grogan was also a bail bondsman.
“I hope he was cheap,” Derrick said as they walked up to the frosted-glass door.
Ellie agreed. Derrick rapped on the PI’s door, then twisted the doorknob and lead the way inside. Ellie followed, her gaze sweeping the reception area. Two metal chairs sat against the wall with a stack of outdated, dog-eared magazines on a center table.
The man’s Georgia PI license along with a certificate for a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice hung on the wall in discount store frames. A bleached-blond twenty-something, sporting a V-neck T-shirt and colorful tattoos, sat at the desk chewing gum so vigorously that Ellie was surprised she didn’t crack a tooth.
“Hey,” the young woman said in a nasal tone. “What can I do for you?”
They flashed their credentials. “We need to talk to Patrick Grogan.”
She batted eyelashes that glittered with silver sparkles. “Daddy’s on a call right now. But I reckon you can wait if you want. You here about a bail?”
Ellie bit back a smile. “No. About one of his clients. And yes, we’ll wait.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll let Daddy know you’re out here.” The girl sent a text, then plugged earphones in and began to hum while she tapped the tune with her acrylic nails on the desk.
Derrick claimed one of the metal chairs and Ellie took the other. He gestured toward a print depicting Native Americans huddled around campfires in the middle of a brutal winter snowstorm. “Where is that?”
“Near here. You know the history of the Trail of Tears. Once gold was discovered in Dahlonega, the government forced the Cherokees off their land and to move west. It’s said that Cherokee Point marks one of the points along the trail where many of the Native Americans died.”
Derrick heaved a sigh. “That was a travesty.”
Ellie nodded. She’d cried when she was ten and had first read the story with her father before one of their scenic trips. The door to Grogan’s office opened, and a tall, bearded man who looked to be late forties appeared. He wore a black T-shirt with a grizzly bear on the front. Ellie couldn’t help but think the man looked like a bear himself.
He extended his hand then introduced himself. “Jo-Jo said you wanted to see me.”
She and Derrick accepted the handshake then showed their credentials.
“Let’s go in my office,” Grogan said.
Papers and notes were piled everywhere, a file-cabinet drawer stood open, which was odd since she had a feeling he rarely used it, and three coffee cups sat on the desk, all partially filled. No telling how long they’d been there.
Grogan narrowed his eyes at Ellie as he leaned back in his vinyl swivel chair. “I saw you on the news. You’re that detective over in Crooked Creek who caught those serial killers.”
“I am. We’re here about another case now,” Ellie said, filling him in.
He scrubbed a beefy hand over his thick beard, his face twisting with questions.
“Vanessa hired you?” Ellie asked.
“Yeah, she stopped by. Seemed like a nice lady.”
“We believe she was murdered because she was looking for her birth father. Is that why she came to you for help?”
Indecision streaked the man’s craggy face. “I keep my client’s information confidential.”
“That’s admirable, but we’re investigating her murder, Mr. Grogan. It’s likely that the man who killed Vanessa also murdered three other females. One of those was a social worker named Gillian Roach.”
“You know who she is?” Derrick asked.
The man heaved a wary breath. “No, but I heard about her death on the news.”
“Did you find out the name of Vanessa’s father?”
“No, it wasn’t listed on her birth certificate and no one at the hospital knew. The tra
il went cold fast. Vanessa said her mother died in childbirth. But she thought that was a lie.”
The hair on Ellie’s arms prickled. “Why would she think that?”
“She’d done some digging on her own, asking questions at the hospital where she was born. One of the nurses said she didn’t know exactly what happened to Vanessa’s mother, but she’d heard that years ago there’d been a cover-up. That a new mother called Wanda Morely was okay after the birth but was later listed as having died in childbirth. Said Wanda had apparently seemed upset, though, and had told the staff that if a certain man showed up not to let him in.”
“Go on.”
“I tracked down some of the nurses working back then. One told me that Vanessa’s mother was holding her baby when a nurse called Clara Huckabee left to take care of another patient. When Huckabee returned, the doctor was yelling for a code team—Vanessa’s mother had gone into cardiac arrest.”
“What else did she say?”
“Apparently, the nurse was suspicious but was ordered not to say anything because the hospital was worried about a lawsuit.”
“Did the police investigate?” Ellie asked.
Grogan shook his head. “The hospital swept it all under the rug.”
“Did you question this other nurse, Clara Huckabee?” Derrick asked.
“I tried to reach her, but she didn’t return my calls. The whole case was on hold—Vanessa couldn’t afford to keep me on it long.”
Ellie and Derrick exchanged a look. “We’re going to need the nurse’s contact information.”
96
Peaceable Kingdom
Derrick skimmed the file Grogan had dug from the pile on his desk, his shoulders tightening as Ellie careened around a narrow switchback. After they’d left Grogan’s, they’d stopped for a quick sandwich and peek at the file, learning that Vanessa Morely had been born at Bluff County Hospital.
