by Lauren Carr
“I know I wouldn’t live here voluntarily,” Helen said.
With Sterling on his leash, they went into the diner. Before the host had a chance to offer them a table, Chris spotted a friendly face seated at a booth in the far corner. Crooking her finger at them, his former partner invited them to join her. Sterling wagged his tail.
Clad in a dark trench coat, Ripley Vaccaro slipped out of the booth to greet both Chris and Helen with hugs. She even took time to rub Sterling’s head before returning to her seat.
“How’s life treating you, Vaccaro?” Chris asked after they’d ordered a platter of cheese fries and soft drinks.
“Things have been boring since you left.” She arched an eyebrow in his direction. “Then, suddenly, out of the blue, you invite me to join you and your homicide detective girlfriend for dinner on a Sunday night. I’m hoping you have more to offer me than a threesome.”
“How would you like to join us in ripping open a cold case?” Chris reached into the inside breast pocket of his jacket for Shannon’s letter.
“Are we talking beer or murder?”
“Kidnapping and murder.” Chris slid the letter across the table to her. “My mother’s best friend died yesterday. She’d left this letter for me. It’s her dying wish that I solve her husband’s homicide.”
Ripley frowned when she saw the multiple handwritten pages. Chris directed her to read the signature. When she did, her frown deepened. “Mercedes Livingston?”
“The Mercedes Livingston,” Chris said with a nod of his head.
Ripley folded the letter and covered it with her hands. “Give me the highlights.”
“Mercedes’s disappearance was voluntary.” Chris made a walking motion with his fingers. “She simply walked away from her old life and started a new one under a different identity.”
Ripley’s eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me that the unsolved crime of the century was a hoax?”
“Not a complete hoax.” He wagged his finger. “Someone kidnapped the husband she’d left behind and made off with a half million bucks in ransom.” He shook his head to silence her natural response. “It wasn’t Mercedes. She says in the letter that she didn’t know what had gone down until she’d heard it on the news after she had married her new husband.”
“By then, she couldn’t come back because she knew she would be the prime suspect,” Helen said. “The news had reported that the last time the victim was seen alive, he was getting into her car, which was found in the Potomac River. Everyone assumed they had been abducted together.”
Ripley shoved the letter across the table toward Chris. “This has to be a joke. Mercedes Livingston is dead. Her husband’s remains were found when—”
“A decade later when they put in the freeway.” Chris shook the letter at her. “But they never found Mercedes’s remains. Wouldn’t it make sense that if the kidnappers had both of them, that they’d bury the remains together?”
“Which is another reason for the argument that she did it,” Ripley said. “The area where they found Livingston’s body was a thickly overgrown wooded area. Most likely her remains had been carried off by wild animals. Some of them are probably buried under that freeway.”
“But the wild animals didn’t touch George?” Helen said. “His body was found intact.”
“Maybe he didn’t taste as good,” Ripley said. “Horace Billingsley insisted on paying the ransom. He’d been warned about the odds of the kidnappers murdering his daughter and son-in-law anyways. George’s remains proved the agents handling the case were right. You know how it goes, Chris.” She tapped the letter. “Your mother’s friend is either delusional or has a warped sense of humor.”
“Our expert ran a facial recognition program comparing Mercedes Livingston to Shannon Blakeley,” Helen said. “It was a match. They’re the same woman.”
“Mercedes Livingston was internationally famous author,” Ripley said. “She had it all. Why would she voluntarily walk away from all of that?”
“Because she was in love,” Helen said.
“I knew Shannon for most of my life,” Chris said. “The life she had created was wonderful. She loved her husband and was so proud of her kids. She was a homeroom mom. Baked cookies. Went to every single football game and gymnastics competition. She was not crazy.”
“The feds swooped in on the case immediately,” Helen said as the cheese fries arrived.
“Dad said they were on the scene at the Bavarian even before the ransom demand,” Chris said. “What were the feds doing in Shepherdstown?”
“I have no idea,” Ripley said. “I’ve never looked into the Livingston case. All I know is what the general public or cold case mystery enthusiasts know.”
“Do you think you can get access to what the feds have?” Chris asked.
“We’re talking about a legendary cold case. As soon as I ask about it, folks are going to be asking why.” Ripley scooped up a helping of the fries. “I do know the original lead investigator on the case.” She shook a fry at him. “You know him, too. Kevin Crane.”
Chris chuckled. “Yeah, I know him.” He turned to Helen. “Kevin Crane owns a private security firm. KC Investigations and Security. It’s a big company.”
“I’d say,” Helen said. “I’ve heard of them.”
“Crane offered me a job when he heard I was retiring. I was anxious to get out of the city, though. I turned him down.”
“Kevin hires a lot of former federal agents,” Ripley said. “He keeps the Livingston case out of his bio. Not his best moment.”
“Wouldn’t you, if you’d lost a half million dollar ransom?” Helen said.
“The only reason I know he was in on the case is because one of my first training officers told me,” Ripley said. “We were having lunch and Kevin Crane stopped by our table. He was already retired at that point. Crane walked away, and Luis shook his head. He proceeded to tell me that Crane had a great reputation—but his career had taken a real hit because of the Livingston case. The fact that the kidnappers had gotten away with a half million bucks right out under the agents’ noses—” She shook her head. “It took a while, but Crane did make a comeback—proving that anyone could make a mistake and still come back from it.”
“Kyle said there was a tunnel at the back of the root cellar where the kidnappers had ordered the drop,” Helen said. “How could the agents miss that?”
“Because the agents had no idea where the drop was going to take place,” Ripley said. “The kidnappers used the old trick of sending Kyle from one place to another to another.”
“Most likely, they followed him to identify the feds racing to keep up,” Chris said.
“By the time they got to the final drop site, the agents didn’t have time to check it out to find the tunnel.” Ripley shrugged her shoulders. “I suggest if we want a first-hand account of how it went down that we talk to Crane.”
Chris cocked his head at her. “Is this the royal ‘we’ you are using?”
“This is a forty-year-old cold case. Cracking it open will be a career maker.” Ripley stabbed a dab of sour cream with a fry. “That’s my favorite kind.”
Chapter Ten
Francine had retired as an investigative journalist with a home cozy enough for her and her cat. Within a matter of fifteen months, both her son and her daughter got divorced and returned home with their children.
Cozy quickly turned into crowded.
She loved her family with all her heart, but the point of living alone was to be alone. Wasn’t it?
After driving her teenaged grandson and granddaughter to school, Francine would reward her generosity with breakfast at Panera Bread where she would take advantage of its free wi-fi to investigate her book club’s latest case in peace.
Sometimes, she would run into a fellow Geezer or two getting their caffeine fix, and they would occupy a g
roup of tables in the back corner to hold an impromptu meeting.
That morning, Francine had made herself at home in the corner with her laptop, cell phone, travel mug filled with fresh coffee, breakfast sandwich and cinnamon roll. She devoted her attention to Shannon’s collection of articles about the Lacey Woodhouse case.
Doubting that the student’s murder had anything to do with George Livingston’s abduction, she was intrigued with what she could uncover.
She couldn’t help herself. It was a cold case.
According to several forums, Lacey Woodhouse had gone to high school with Sal Loughlin, the book shop owner. She was the popular cheerleader type and he was a self-proclaimed nerd.
Sal had loved nothing more than perusing used bookstores and reading old letters. As a teenager, he had found a tattered letter between the pages of a book in a thrift shop. Written by Louisa May Alcott in 1862, the letter told about her work in progress—a work that she would later call Little Women.
After selling the letter for hundreds of thousands of dollars, he opened his own antique bookstore near Penn State campus. His reputation grew until he finally dropped out of school to become one of the county’s most respected rare document experts. When Lacey had started attending the same university, she got a part-time job working for her former classmate.
According to Sal, their relationship grew into something much more due to their shared love of old books and letters communicating what had been in the hearts and minds of great people long gone.
Fearful for Sal’s safety, Lacey had insisted that they keep their relationship under wraps until she could be sure Rick Hudson was out of her life completely.
It was only by accident that Mercedes had found out about their relationship a couple of days before Lacey’s tragic death. She had dropped by the book shop while her roommate was out running an errand and Sal had proudly declared his love and intention to marry Lacey.
Days later, a battered and dazed Sal had staggered into the student pub where Mercedes happened to be with her boyfriend and told them that Rick Hudson had been waiting for him when he closed the shop.
Decades before cell phones, Mercedes rushed to their apartment to warn her roommate.
She was too late.
Mercedes found Lacey on the kitchen floor. She had been beaten and strangled.
What seemed like a slam dunk case for a prosecutor proved not to be the case.
Rick Hudson had left town with three football buddies to spend the weekend on the lake in Ashtabula, Ohio—three-and-a-half hours away. Not only did Rick have his friends to alibi him, but his new girlfriend was with him as well.
In other words, Rick Hudson had a solid, unbreakable alibi.
For his statement on Lacey’s murder, Rick had denied stalking Lacey. He did confess that he hadn’t taken Lacey dumping him well. However, he claimed he got over it quickly when he took up with another girl.
Hmmm. Rick stopped harassing Lacey as soon as he got another girlfriend. Doesn’t exactly sound like an obsessive boyfriend to me.
“Oh, what a beautiful German shepherd!” Francine heard a woman gush near the entrance. “And he’s wearing sunglasses!”
Near the main entrance, two women dressed in nursing uniforms pelted Sterling with compliments where he stood at his master’s feet.
“What’s he trained for?” one of them asked Chris with a hint of hesitance. To ask the owner of a service dog was basically the same as asking, “What’s wrong with you?”
The corners of Francine’s lips curled as she listened to Chris’s reply. “He helps with my PTSD.”
Even from the opposite side of the dining room, Francine could see that one of the women was more interested in eying Chris’s handsome physique than Sterling’s puppy dog eyes. As she and her companion left, she watched Chris’s backside with a slim grin when he approached the service counter.
Chris ordered his breakfast and expresso and joined the line of customers in front of the order pick-up counter.
Francine admired him while he leaned against the half wall separating the dining area from the service counter. His form-fitting riding pants and boots emphasized his toned buttocks.
Yep, Helen is one lucky lady.
Clad in his service vest and a pair of sunglasses, Sterling smiled at her with his tongue hanging from his open mouth. His tail wagged at her in the form of a greeting.
With a wicked grin, Francine typed out a text message on her phone and hit the send button. Hey, cowboy! You can take me for a ride anytime.
Across the room, Chris stood and took his cell phone out of his pocket. He chuckled as he read the message and turned around to flash her a smile.
Francine waved her fingers in his direction.
At that moment, Chris’s pager went off. His breakfast sandwich was up.
While his master collected his order, Sterling looked from Chris to Francine and back again as if to suggest they join her. His breakfast on a tray, Chris sauntered to her table. “You looked so enthralled with what you were working on, I didn’t want to disturb you. Mind if I join you?”
“Make my day, good looking.” Aware that Chris preferred to sit with his back to the wall so that he could keep watch on those entering and leaving the establishment, she gestured at the empty seat next to her before giving Sterling the last of her sandwich and petting him. “What are you doing out and about?”
“The same as most of the folks here.” He slid into the seat next to her and held up his coffee cup. “Getting a healthy dose of caffeine after dropping the kids off at school. I had to take Nikki in early for a field trip.” He took a sip of his expresso. “From here, I’m going to stop in at Home Depot. I’m setting up a fire alarm system in the barn that’ll be connected to the wi-fi and our intelligent personal assistant program.” He paused to take a bite of his sandwich.
“Sounds fancy,” she said while peeling off bites of her cinnamon roll.
“It will be. You know how Buddy can remotely turn on the television and lights?”
“Of course. My Buddy does everything. He even tells the vacuum cleaner when to do the floors.”
“Well, I’m going to automate all of the doors in the barn, including the stall doors, and connect them to the fire alarm and Buddy. If the fire alarm goes off, Buddy will automatically open the doors. That way, if there’s a fire, the horses won’t be trapped inside. I can also use it when there isn’t a fire. Like instead of going from stall to stall, I’ll be able to hit a button and all of the stall doors will open at once.”
“From what Helen’s said, it’s like a stampede when those doors open.”
“Pretty much.” Chris held up a finger. “Never stand in the common area when the barn door opens. When the horses are in the pasture and the barn door opens, they think it’s mealtime. They charge inside. After they eat, I open the doors and they stampede out. I’m thinking it’s their racehorse training. When they see a door open, they think they have to race for the finish line—wherever that may be.”
“Is Buddy going to feed the horses, too?” she asked while he continued to eat.
“He hasn’t gotten that far yet,” he said around his sandwich. “I can’t take all the credit for the idea. A kid at church suggested it. Matthew’s been studying computer networking at the community college and wants some real-life experience.”
“Ah, so you’re a guinea pig.”
“Exactly. If it will help Matthew out and I can feel more secure about my horses not getting trapped in the barn, then the situation will be a win-win.” He jerked his chin toward her laptop. “Find out anything interesting about the Livingston case?”
“Actually, I was researching the Woodhouse case.” She broke two bites from the cinnamon roll. One for her and the other for Sterling.
“The murder of Mercedes Livingston’s roommate? We’ve eliminated her mother.
She was in police custody.”
“She could have had an accomplice do it for her.”
“Certainly not Rex Woodhouse. Her son was in the ER with a broken nose. Are you thinking Leah Woodhouse had someone else kidnap George to get back at Mercedes for not lying to the police about seeing Rick Hudson leaving her apartment? From what I saw that night, I don’t think they were sophisticated enough to have pulled off such a complicated operation and gotten away with it.”
“I’ve never met them, but from what I can find online, I tend to agree.” Francine opened the scrapbook. “I found this in Shannon’s closet. She saved every article she could find on Lacey Woodhouse’s case. There’s no mistaking that she based her book on her murder. Lacey’s mother hounded her to the point that she had to change her number to an unlisted one.”
“When did the murder happen? Close to fifty years ago? Is Lacey’s mother even still alive?” Chris asked before taking another bite of his sandwich.
“No, but Lacey’s cousin is,” Francine said. “She’d promised Leah Woodhouse on her deathbed that she would continue looking for Lacey’s killer and has a website devoted to the case.”
“What about the brother?”
“He died not long after his mother. The problem is that they have to look at the case from an entirely different angle. Rick Hudson didn’t do it.”
“Because his friends alibied him?” Chris asked. “They could have been lying about when he got up to Ashtabula.”
“It’s not just the alibi. Mercedes said Lacey was being stalked after she’d dumped Rick, who denied stalking her. He admitted harassing her for a couple of weeks, but then stopped when he got another girlfriend. There’s a difference between stalking and harassment.”
“I’m sure there is.”
“Stalkers are predators. Hunting is the best part of the game. They don’t just stop. Once they’ve bagged one prey, they start hunting another. Maybe not the next day or the next week, or maybe not even the next year. But at some point, they’ll start hunting again. I ran a background check on Rick Hudson. Other than a few DUIs from years ago, he’s clean. Now he’s married with grown kids and grandkids. No charges of harassment, assault, sexual assault. Nothing.”
