Eighth Witness

by Kathi Daley

  ******

  Unfortunately, once we arrived at the modest home where Gina’s parents lived with Hannah, a quick search of the yard using binoculars netted us the information that the garbage cans were not visible in the yard as we’d hoped, and were most likely kept in the garage and so not easily accessible.

  “Okay, do we have a plan B?” I asked, as we crouched down behind some bushes that lined the walkway of the home across the street from the Portlands’.

  “We could try to break into the garage, but that might be crossing some line that would make the DNA we managed to collect inadmissible. I suppose we could just follow Mr. Portland around and wait for him to toss a coffee cup or throw away a piece of gum.”

  “I’m sure he’s left for work by now. There is a light on inside the house, but I’m going to assume that Gina’s mother is home with Hannah. Do we know where Mr. Portland works?”

  Jack admitted that he didn’t. I was sure we could find out; to this point it hadn’t come up in conversation with anyone.

  “Oh look: someone is coming out of the house,” I said, crouching down even lower. I had hoped the people who lived in the house on the property on which we were hiding weren’t home. There was no car in the drive and the house appeared to be deserted, but I wasn’t sure how we were going to explain what we were doing if someone came out and found us watching the house across the street.

  “It’s Mr. Portland,” Jack, who was holding the binoculars, said. “He is heading toward the garage. I guess he hadn’t left for work just yet.”

  I took the binoculars from Jack and watched as the garage door rose, revealing two cars and a whole lot of boxes stacked from floor to ceiling along each wall of the double-wide building. Mr. Portland backed his car into the driveway, got out, and then walked into the garage. I watched as he headed to the back, where there appeared to be a work bench. He stood at the bench for maybe thirty seconds, doing something I couldn’t make out, and then went to his car. He opened the trunk, put something inside, and then headed back to the house. The car was still running, so I knew he’d be right back, but I also realized this was my chance to get something from the trash without having to break into the garage, so I took a deep breath and ran across the street. I could hear Jack behind me encouraging me to come back, but once I had committed to my probably stupid plan, I felt I had to see it though. I made it to the garage and was heading toward the trash cans when I heard a voice behind me.

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” the voice said.

  I quickly ducked behind a stack of boxes and held my breath. Mr. Portland had returned to his car, but he seemed to be on the phone, and I was sure he hadn’t seen me yet.

  “No, I haven’t worked everything out, but I will. Just wait for me and we’ll talk about it when I get there.”

  I watched from behind the boxes as Mr. Portland came back into the garage. He headed toward a large toolbox, which was situated against the wall just to the left of where I was hiding. I was afraid he would hear me, so I held my breath. He opened a drawer, but from what I could hear from my position behind the boxes I couldn’t actually see what he was doing. I then heard his footsteps as he walked across the cement floor and headed to his vehicle. I peeked my head up just enough so that I could see him get into the driver’s seat. I figured the next thing that would happen was that the garage door would close with me still inside, and I didn’t know if the door could be opened without the remote, so I slowly made my way out from behind the boxes, keeping my eye on him as he sat in his vehicle, still talking on the phone and smoking a cigarette. He wasn’t looking in the direction in which I was crouched and seemed to be completely focused on his call. I was considering when the right time to make my move might be when he simultaneously tossed his cigarette out the window, hit the remote to lower the garage door, and backed out of the driveway. I slipped out from beneath the door as it came down, which, of course, made it rise back up again. I dove behind a large bush as Mr. Portland hit the remote again and the door continued down, hitting the ground with a thud. He drove away and I grabbed the cigarette butt and ran across the street to where Jack was hiding.

  “What was that all about?” Jack asked after I joined him behind the shrubs.

  “I wanted to try to get something with Mr. Portland’s DNA on it, so when he went inside I saw an opening and took it.” I help up the cigarette butt.

  “If you had just waited for a few more seconds, I would have told you that there was a pile of butts next to the drive and that all we had to do was wait until he left and retrieve one.”

  “Oh.” I blushed. “I guess that would have worked just as well. Let’s get this to Rick so we can hopefully get this case wrapped up once and for all.”

  Chapter 16

  Friday, January 25

  After all was said and done, Ryan was set free thanks to Nancy’s confession, and custody of Hannah was returned to him. Ryan planned to raise his daughter with the help of his sister Vivian. I wish I could say that things turned out fine, but I suspected that it was going to take Ryan a lot of time and a considerable amount of counseling to really get his life back on track. The poor guy not only had lost more than two years with his daughter—a very important and formative two years—but he’d lost his home and his business while he was sitting in prison doing time for a crime he didn’t commit. And of course there was the psychological damage to Hannah to consider as well. She was just a toddler, but I would imagine that the Portlands treated her much the same way they’d treated Gina, which sounded barbaric.

  In spite of the unlikelihood in my mind that Gina’s father would frame Ryan with his own boots, Rick was able to match the DNA from the cigarette butt with the skin cells on the blanket, and Gina’s father was arrested for framing Ryan for his daughter’s murder. While sentencing had yet to take place, I had a feeling he was going to be spending some time behind bars.

  Jack and I had, along with George and Meg, spoken to Gracie Hartwell. She was hesitant about going forward with the article about her father at first, but after George promised that Toby Wells was willing to make an official statement about what he had witnessed, she finally agreed to let us publish a story as long as she was allowed to read it first. Jack and I agreed to her request and the piece was set to be delivered to Pastor Branderman for approval next week.

  Vikki seemed to be back to her old cheerful self, and she planned to take off on a long weekend with Rick while he had no open investigations. I was really pulling for the pair, but I did understand that life on Gull Island was a huge change for my previously jet-setting best friend. Alex and Brit had both headed off on book tours, so Jack and I, along with Garrett and Clara and George and Meg, had decided to do it up big with a day at the film festival, followed by dinner at the steak house.

  “Oh my gosh, I’m so glad you came.” Brooke hugged me. “I missed you at the cocktail reception last night.”

  “It’s been a crazy month and I felt like I needed to just unwind and relax by the fire. How is it going so far?”

  “Fantastic. Almost every movie has been sold out and the food vendors have told me that they are making a killing. The wine tasting is set for this afternoon and of course we have the banquet tomorrow.”

  “We may stop by the wine tasting. Is it still at four?”

  “It is.” Brooke looked toward the five friends who were with me. “You are all invited to attend. I’ll leave comp tickets at the ticket booth.” Brooke waved at someone off in the distance. “I have to run. Have a wonderful day.”

  “I wish I had half her energy.” Meg chuckled.

  “Tell me about it. She is really something. I guess we should head toward the community center. If the movie is sold out, we’ll want to get there early for good seats.”

  “I noticed that you were showing cabin seven to a woman today,” Clara said. “Was it one of the ones you told us about a couple of weeks ago?”

  “Yes, Lorelei Walker. Remember, Jack knows her and v
ouched for her, and after meeting her today, I think she will fit right in with the group.”

  “She looked to be close to my age,” Clara said.

  “I think she is in her midsixties. The other woman, Rena Littleton, is closer to Brit’s age. She will be by next week for a tour.”

  “It’ll be nice to have tenants for the empty cabins as long as they fit into our happy family.”

  I hooked my arm through Clara’s. “I totally agree. I am taking my time looking for new tenants to increase the odds that we will find just the right additions to our little group.”

  Inside, we found six chairs all together toward the center of the facility. We filed in and sat down just minutes before the previews for other films to be shown over the weekend began. I realized as I sat with my friends in the cozy auditorium that while my mother might not choose to be part of my life, there were wonderful people who had chosen to share their lives with me. I wound my fingers through Jack’s as the lights were dimmed and said a prayer of thanks that fate had brought me here to this perfect little island where I’d built a life with people I loved who loved me in return.

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  If there is anything I have learned over the course of the past fourteen months, it is that life is fluid and evolving. It is made up of highs and lows that seem to merge one into the other as events unfold and memories take us where they might. It is messy and unpredictable, and a single unforeseen moment can result in an event so unimaginable, it can cast us into our own personal hell. But life can also surprise and uplift us. It can bring joy and laughter, and if we open ourselves to its presence, it can bring a breathless beauty mere words cannot convey. Life can energize and enrich us, it can provide meaning and belonging in places never expected. Life is a state into which we are born, but in the course of living out our moments, it can also be a decision we are challenged to make.

  Fourteen months ago, my husband Ben and infant son Johnathan were killed in a senseless accident that sent me into the darkest depths of despair. At the time, it seemed easier to give in, to lose myself in the darkness, but somewhere along the way, I’d found a reason to choose life, and with that choice, a willingness to dig myself out of my grief one painful moment at a time.

  Today would have been Ben’s thirty-fifth birthday had he lived, which, if it had been anything like his thirtieth birthday, would most likely have resulted in a day of sullen introspection on his part. Ben had serious goals for his life, and a timeline marked off in five year-increments, which corresponded to those goals. If his timeline was off by even a tiny bit when a defining birthday came around, you could bet that champagne toasts and decadent cakes would have been replaced by the sort of despondent torment that would make him almost unbearable to be around. Of course, in this moment, as I sat in a dark room and remembered my life with the man I had loved with my whole being, I knew in my heart I would welcome despondent torment, or really any mood, if it meant that Ben and I could be together even one more day.

  God, I missed him.

  I leaned back into the pillows I’d stacked against my headboard as a deep sorrow engulfed me. Rufus, the cat I’d never wanted but now couldn’t imagine living without, snuggled up next to me, purring loudly. I leaned over and turned on the bedside lamp. Opening the drawer of the nightstand, I pulled out a small box. Taking a deep breath, I lifted the lid, then reached into the box and pulled out a photo. The one I’d randomly chosen had been taken of Ben the day he’d made detective. I ran a finger over his huge grin. He’d been so happy and proud. He’d worked hard and never looked back despite the challenges he’d been tasked with along the way. Ben had most definitely been a disciplined fellow, and with the promotion, he’d actually been ahead of his schedule, so maybe this birthday, unlike his thirtieth, would have been all smiles and happy celebration.

  Rufus butted his head under my chin, in a move I’d come to recognize as his attempt to offer comfort when I was sad. I scratched him behind the ears, then picked up another photo of Ben and me on our wedding day. A single tear trailed down my cheek as I turned the photo over to find our names, Ben and Abby Sullivan, along with the date of our union, and the location, in the heart of San Francisco, California where we’d promised to love and honor each other until death do us part.

  Death do us part. Who could have guessed that death would part us a mere five years after we pledged our lives to each other?

  I replaced the photo and rummaged through the box, which also contained photos of the first little apartment we lived in before we were even married, my first book signing, the trip to Mexico we took when I made the New York Times Bestsellers list, and, of course, many, many photos of the unexpected and unplanned but very welcome child who had come from our union. Ben loved Johnathan and would have been a good father, but I did have to wonder how a baby in the house might have altered the life path he had set up for himself. Would he have taken changes to that plan casually or would he have eventually sunk into a depression he might never have been able to work himself out of? Now I guess we’d never know.

  Johnathan had only been five weeks old when a distracted driver had swerved into Ben’s lane, ripping both my husband and my infant son from my life. Ben had never wanted children, and to be honest, prior to having Johnathan, a baby was the farthest thing from my mind as well. But once Johnathan was born, and I’d held him in my arms, I knew that he occupied a hole in my life that could never have been filled by anyone as completely as it had been by the tiny little gift from heaven that had arrived two weeks early on a rainy fall day.

  I set the box of photos on the nightstand and glanced out the window. It was early. Still dark. I doubted that my roommate would be up, which was just as well because I felt that I needed some time to pull my ragged emotions into line. After Ben and Johnathan died, I hadn’t wanted to go on living. I was so lost and afraid. I truly believed my life was over, and I hadn’t known what to do to find my way back to the living. Those first weeks of empty rooms, pitying glances, and days without hope of happiness were the darkest of my life. But then I’d seen an ad for a dilapidated old mansion perched high upon a bluff overlooking the sea, and I knew that if I ever wanted to reenter the land of the living, I’d need a fresh start and a new perspective. I paid cash for the house sight unseen, packed up my belongings, and moved from San Francisco to Holiday Bay, Maine, where I found the new life I’d longed for and a reason to go on.

  Making a decision, I slid my legs out of bed and sat up. It had been a while since I’d taken Rufus to Velma’s Café for his favorite scrambled eggs. Velma was one of the first people I’d met after arriving in Holiday Bay and I still considered her to be one of the most important people in my East Coast life, second only to my new best friend and roommate, Georgia Carter, who had shown up on my doorstep a couple of months ago with her huge black dog, Ramos. Since Velma and Georgia had become a daily part of my life, the world had opened up for me, and things I’d once thought impossible, had begun to fall into place. Getting out of bed, I slipped on a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a heavy sweatshirt, then padded into the bathroom to brush my teeth and comb my hair. Tiptoeing so as not to wake Georgia, I picked up Rufus and headed out into the frigid morning.

  I paused after exiting the cottage and looked out toward the sea. The dawn of a new day was just beginning to light the horizon. It was a frosty morning and I’d heard they were predicting snow, but in this isolated moment, as I looked toward the distant light, I felt a deep gratitude for the life I had discovered. From the moment I’d first seen the cottage on the rocky bluff overlooking the sea, I knew in my heart that fate had led me to the exact spot in time and space where I needed to be to rebuild my shattered life.

  ******

  The lull between the enchantment and magic of the Christmas Festival and the elegance and romance of the Valentine’s Ball had settled over Holiday Bay, bringing a quiet I found welcoming
. Not that I hadn’t enjoyed the festival, which ran from the day after Thanksgiving until Christmas Eve, but I found that after the energy of the holiday season, I longed for the quiet and serenity that comes with a slower pace. Of course, I supposed that at least part of my appreciation for the silence stemmed from the fact that I was smack dab in the middle of the remodel on the mansion and my days at home tended to be loud, and crowded, and hectic. A lot more hectic, I realized, than I had even imagined they would be.

  “Morning, Velma,” I said to the woman I’d met on my first morning in Holiday Bay and now called a friend.

  “Abby; Rufus. It’s been a while since the two of you have been in.”

  I hung up my jacket and then slipped into a booth. The diner was deserted so early in the morning, which was just fine with me. “I’ve been busy with the remodel, as well as the novel, so I have been staying close to home. Rufus and I woke up early this morning and decided it was a good day to come in and say hi.”

  Velma set a menu on the table. “Georgia not with you?”

  “Georgia and Ramos were still sleeping when we left the cottage.”

  “Well, I’m glad the two of you stopped by. It’s been quiet now that the holiday is over. What can I get for you?”

  “I’ll have biscuits and sausage gravy and Rufus will have scrambled eggs.”

  Velma set a cup of coffee in front of me, then hurried off to make our meals. Rufus, who was familiar with the procedure, followed Velma into the kitchen, where he would eat in the mudroom at the back of the building. Once they had disappeared from sight, I took out my phone and checked my messages. There was one from my agent, asking for an update on the manuscript I was working on, one from an old friend of Ben’s, acknowledging his birthday and wishing me all the best on what must be a difficult day, and one from my insurance agent, asking for some additional information for my homeowner’s policy. The most surprising message of all, however, was a short email from my sister Annie, letting me know that she was thinking of me today.