Deadly Echoes (10 page)

“I'll bet that was the main reason no one adopted you.” He shook his head. “As you said, most people looking to adopt want babies or toddlers. Not sullen teenagers.”

I understood what he was saying, but Hannah was six years older than me, and she'd been adopted.

I scooted back a bit on the couch. “Look, I really appreciate what you're trying to do, but I'd be much more comfortable if we could get back to talking about my sister's case.”

Paul studied me for a moment. It made me uneasy, and I wondered if the friendship I thought we were developing was over.

“Okay,” he said finally. “But if you ever want to talk . . .”

“I'll definitely let you know.” I felt guilty saying that, since I had no intention of ever bringing the subject up again.

He got up and went back to the chair where he'd been sitting. “I'm trying to find a way to help you, but I've looked into the case about as much as I can. I need more information. And by the way, anyone can be a detective, Sarah. It just takes a little common sense and a lot of determination. I'll keep working on my end, but I want you to do the same. If there's anything else to uncover, we can do it together.”

“I'm not trying to solve my sister's murder,” I said. “I just want to give the police a reason to look beyond the assumption that her death was the result of a burglary. Even if they have arrested someone. I'm afraid if they only look for a burglary suspect, they could miss the real killer. You understand that, right?”

“I heard about the man they have in jail. If they find evidence that connects him to Hannah's death, we'll have to let it go. I'm glad to hear you say you're willing to allow the police to do their jobs, because that's really all we can do.” He took a sip of coffee and then put his cup down on the table. “Didn't you tell me you cleaned out some papers from your sister's desk?”

“Yes, but I haven't had a lot of time to go look at them. Trying to get Cicely settled and wrapping up my sister's business has taken almost every minute of my time.”

“As soon as you can, why don't you sort through her papers? We need more to go on. I'm not saying she knew the person who killed her, but usually murder is personal. The fact that Hannah was stabbed bothers me.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Burglars usually carry guns. Mostly because they can use
them to threaten their victims so they can make a getaway if they have to. Or if challenged, they'll pick up something that's handy to defend themselves. But not many thieves take a knife to a home they intend to rob. That speaks of premeditation. It doesn't point to a random burglary. According to the officer I spoke to, the knife didn't come from your sister's apartment, and it wasn't found at the scene. In my mind, killing her was his intention all along. I think the items that were stolen were taken just to throw off the police. You may not know this, but over seventy percent of all murders are committed by someone the victim knows. I think Hannah either knew her killer or knew the person behind the attack.”

“Why do you see this but the police in Kansas City don't?” I asked, feeling bewildered.

Paul smiled. “You mean how can a small-town deputy sheriff be one step ahead of a big-city police department? First of all, Detective Sykes has probably seen the same things. Don't assume he hasn't just because he hasn't called you yet.”

“I hope you're right. So far I haven't found anything that looks like a file from that reporter. What if it's not there?”

“We'll have to use whatever we've got. Look for names of people you don't know. Odd comments or notes. Anything that looks suspicious. If you come up with anything let me know. I'll see what I can do to follow up.” He stood up again, this time picking up his hat. He ran his hand through his thick black hair before putting it back on his head. “Maybe it's time to talk to Wynter Evans, since she used to work in television news. She probably has some kind of connection I don't. Wynter might actually be able to get further with the police in Kansas City than I can. Even though I hope Detective Sykes is working hard on your case, we shouldn't put all our eggs in one basket. I
would like to know what's really happening behind the scenes. If you hear from Sykes before you talk to Wynter, and he gives you cause to feel hopeful, then don't call her.”

“All right.” Wynter had been by a couple of times to check on us, and I'd been wanting to talk to her anyway. She understood childhood trauma, and I felt she was someone I could talk to about Cicely.

“We also really need to know more about the guy they arrested. Are they going to charge him with Hannah's murder or not?”

“I just hope he doesn't become a scapegoat. A way to close the case without looking for the truth.” I thought for a moment. “Should I call Captain Bentley?”

Paul shook his head vigorously. “Not yet. As long as there's a chance Detective Sykes is working the case, I don't think we want to antagonize him by going over his head. Besides, Captain Bentley's got too much power. What if he shuts everything down? Contacting Bentley might open a door we may not be able to shut.”

“You're right,” I said slowly. “I have some time this afternoon. I'll start going through Hannah's personal papers with a fine-tooth comb. If I find anything interesting, I'll let you know.”

“Good.” Paul started for the front door but then stopped and turned around. “I don't suppose you've found Hannah's cell phone?”

“No. I went through her purse once, but I didn't see a phone. I'll look again. Why are you asking?”

“It might be good to see who she called. Find out who called her. Also check any text messages. Depending on what kind of phone she has, we might be able to check her e-mail. Whoever took her laptop may have been trying to hide something. I'd
love to know what it was. And we should probably check to see if Hannah was on Facebook,” Paul said. “It's possible we could learn something important. Find out who her friends were.”

I shook my head. “I'm sorry. I don't have a Facebook account.”

“That's okay. We'll take a look when I come back next time.”

“Okay.”

Paul paused for a moment with his hand on the doorknob, and I got the feeling he wanted to say something else. In the end he just said good-bye and left.

I sat on the couch for a while, thinking about what Paul had said concerning Hannah and me. It was easy for him to feel special because he was handsome, smart, and successful. Even in school, I'd been compared to my sister and had come up lacking. My parents had never treated me as less than Hannah, but it didn't make any difference. I knew they loved me, so I expected their approval. After Mrs. Johnson died, no one wanted me. It wasn't that I felt sorry for myself. I didn't. But I'd learned to face reality. Paul's comments were kind but misguided. Seeing myself unrealistically only brought pain. I was content knowing what I was—and what I wasn't.

I shook off our conversation and refocused on the situation with Hannah. Since I had some time to myself, I headed to the basement. We'd stored everything that belonged to Hannah downstairs until we decided what to do with it. It only took me a couple of minutes to find two boxes labeled Personal Papers. I carried them upstairs and placed them on the kitchen table. It was almost noon, so I fixed a sandwich and a glass of iced tea. As soon as I finished my lunch, I opened the first box.

Most of the papers inside were tax records and bills. I pulled several of them out, because I needed to make sure they had all been paid. One large envelope marked Important Records
contained a list of Cicely's immunizations, information about Hannah's bank accounts, including her PIN number and account numbers. I'd been so busy paying off her bills and closing out her credit accounts, I still hadn't contacted her bank. She didn't have much money in either her checking or savings, but these accounts would still have to be closed.

After completely going through the first box, I put it down on the floor and picked up the second one. It was stuffed full of papers I'd quickly shoved inside when I was at Hannah's. This box was much more interesting. I found some personal letters and cards sent to Hannah by people I didn't know, but none of them were suspicious.

I also found some of Cicely's school papers and report cards clipped together. For the most part, the grades were good. They weren't spectacular, but none of them were lower than a C.

I put all the papers into stacks, trying to bring some order to the chaos. There were three more manila envelopes in the box, along with about a dozen loose papers.

Inside one of the manila envelopes I found a smaller envelope that contained birth certificates. I discovered Hannah's certificate and even a copy of mine. The next certificate I picked up was Cicely's. I looked at the space labeled Father, but it was marked Unknown
.
I stared at the box for a while, trying to figure out why Hannah was so committed to keeping Cicely's father a secret. No matter what Hannah told her daughter, someday she might want to know the identity of her father.

I also found Hannah's adoption papers. It was hard to look at them. Although I told myself I was happy she'd been adopted, it had always hurt that I'd been left behind. Hot tears filled my eyes, and I chided myself for being silly and childish. Maybe it took longer for me to find a home, but God was faithful, and
I had everything I wanted. I put the papers back in the large envelope and continued on.

Among the loose papers I found a rental agreement for Hannah's apartment and some vacation brochures. Seems she was interested in going to Nashville and Branson. I wondered if she and Cicely had taken these trips or if these were plans they'd never get to fulfill. It crossed my mind that maybe Cicely and I could take them together someday. I set the brochures aside.

I picked up the second large manila envelope. It was marked Private
.
Feeling a little like an intruder, even though Hannah was my sister, I opened the clasp. Several things fell out, including a business-sized envelope. I turned it over and gasped at the message written on the front:

For Sarah, in the event of
my death.

I stared at the envelope for several seconds, almost afraid to open it.

“Don't be silly, Sarah,” I said to myself. “It's probably a copy of her will.”

I finally pulled open the seal and removed the folded papers inside. As I suspected, it was an informal will. She must have written this before the will she drafted with her attorney. There weren't any surprises. Basically, she left everything she owned to me, including Cicely. I folded the paper and put it back into the envelope. Then I opened another folded sheet of paper. It was a letter.

Dear Sarah,

I'm writing this after meeting you in Sanctuary today. What a wonderful day it was! Finding my sister again is the culmination of a dream. Sometimes I wondered if I'd ever see you again. But dreams can come true, I guess.

I don't expect to die for a long time, but when I do, I want you to know how much I love you and how much
I've missed you. I also want you to know how sorry I am for allowing us to be separated. I know I was a child when it happened, but I was older than you. Maybe there would have been a way to keep us together. Perhaps I failed you. If so, I hope you'll forgive me. If it helps any, I want you to know that I tried many times to find you. My adoptive parents tried too, but there just wasn't a trace of you until we ran into someone who knew Janet. I'm so glad you two found each other. She's filled such a need in your life. Maybe she's not family by blood, but she's family through love. I look forward to getting to know her better.

Right now, I feel so hopeful about the future. Cicely and I haven't had anyone since Garret passed away and we had to put Betty in the care center. Betty doesn't remember me anymore, so I don't go to see her very often. To find my sister was a miracle. I just wanted you to know how important you are. I'm already planning things for the three of us to do. Vacations to Branson, Nashville, maybe a trip to Disney World? We'll have so much fun!

And, Sarah, thank you for not acting shocked when I introduced you to Cicely. I'm sure you wondered about her birth father. I made a mistake, Sarah. Got involved with a man who made me think he loved me. But I was wrong. He's not in my life anymore. In fact, he doesn't even know about Cicely, and he never will. Although falling in love with him was a mistake, if I had a choice, I'd do it all over again just to have Cicely. I know that sounds wrong, but she is the light of my life. God forgave me for my error of judgment. Instead of giving me guilt and condemnation, He gave me forgiveness. He gave me Cicely. I'm so grateful to Him for all my blessings.

For the first time since Mom and Dad died, my joy is full because I've finally found my beloved sister.

I love you so much,
Hannah

It wasn't until my tears splashed on the paper that I realized I was sobbing. What a wonderful gift Hannah had given me. My sorrow over her death left me grieving her shortened life. But at least now I knew that until recently she was happy, and that she had been reconciled to God. I wondered why she'd never mailed this letter. I'd probably never know, but I was grateful to find it now.

I couldn't help but compare this hopeful letter to the other one Hannah sent me. In a year's time, she'd gone from being upbeat and looking forward to the future to being so scared she'd planned to take Cicely and run away. What could have happened during that year to bring about such a change?

I picked up the scattered papers and repacked them. Then I carried the boxes back to the basement. There was still a stack of loose papers and one more envelope, but they didn't look like the file I was searching for. Where could it be? I gathered the remaining papers together, carried them upstairs to my room, and put them on the top shelf in my closet, intending to go through them later. After reading Hannah's letter, I needed a break. I noticed my hands shaking as I closed the closet door.

I remembered what Paul had said about Hannah's phone, so I retrieved her purse from the back of my closet and sat down on the bed. I'd gone through it once, but I'd been so upset maybe I'd missed something. After dumping it out and going through the contents again, there was still no cell phone.

I picked up the purse, intending to put the things back that
I'd removed, but somehow it didn't feel right. It was too heavy. That's when I noticed pockets on the inside. I hadn't seen them the first time because they were made with the same material as the lining of the purse. One pocket had lipstick, and another had a small phone book. Hoping it would be helpful, I pulled it out and put it aside. Then I dug into the last pocket and was rewarded with something smooth and hard. I pulled it out. Sure enough, it was a cell phone. I looked it over carefully. I had friends with cell phones and had a general idea how they worked, but I didn't understand the difference between smartphones, iPhones, and regular cell phones. This phone looked different from what I was used to. I was afraid I'd accidentally erase something important, so I decided it was best to leave it for Paul. Could there possibly be something on the phone that might help us find Hannah's killer? Had he looked for the phone and missed it too?

As I put the phone and the address book in my desk drawer, I made the decision to call Detective Sykes. Two weeks was long enough. I looked through my purse for the number. When I found it, I took a deep breath and dialed. He answered on the third ring.

“Detective Sykes, it's Sarah Miller. I'm sorry to bother you, but you said you'd call.”

There was silence for several seconds. Had he hung up?

“Are you there?”

“Yes, Miss Miller, I'm here. If I had anything to tell you, I would have called.”

“I . . . I understand, it's just that—”

“I'm sorry. We're doing our best. There just isn't anything new.”

His abrupt attitude started to irritate me. “Look, you could have at least called to check in. You knew I was waiting to hear from you.”

“I've got to go, Miss Miller,” he said quickly. “Again, I'm sorry. But I don't have anything to tell you.”

“But what about the man you arrested? Have you been able to connect him to Hannah? You need to—”

Sykes said something, interrupting me, but I didn't catch it.

“I'm sorry. What did you say?”

He cleared his throat. “I said he's dead. We found him hanging in his cell a few days ago.”

I opened my mouth two or three times, trying to frame a response, but I was too flabbergasted to speak. The man was dead?

“But . . . does that mean you can't tie him to Hannah?” I asked when I could find my voice again. “Or does it mean you think he did it and killed himself out of remorse? I don't understand.”

Sykes sighed deeply into the phone. “Look, I'm really sorry, but I can't talk right now. I'll call you back when I have more time.” With that, he was gone.

I stared at the receiver in my hand. Had he really hung up on me? I suddenly heard the front door being slammed shut. A quick look at my watch revealed the entire afternoon was gone. It was a little after three o'clock. Cicely was home. I quickly put the phone down and went downstairs. Trying to regain my composure, I walked into the living room just in time to see her pulling off her coat.

“How was school?” I asked, trying to shake off my disturbing conversation with Detective Sykes.

“Pretty good. I like Mr. King. He's awesome.” She wrinkled her nose the same way Hannah used to. “He's kind of cute.”

“Yes, he is. And you probably shouldn't say that. Except to me.”

Cicely smiled. Although we still had a long way to go, I could see some improvement. I sent up a silent
thank-you
to God.

“Why don't you come into the kitchen and have some cookies and milk?” I said. “Then you can tackle your homework.”

She nodded and started to walk toward me. Instead of going to the kitchen, I stood my ground and pointed at the coat she'd left lying across one of Janet's chairs.

Cicely's eyes followed my finger. “Whoops. Sorry.” She grabbed the coat and hung it up quickly in the front coat closet. Then she followed me into the kitchen. After a snack of chocolate chip cookies and milk, during which she told me about her day, she headed to her room to study.

I was cleaning up the kitchen when she came back into the room. “Aunt Sarah, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” I sat down at the table. “What is it?”

She chewed on her lip for a moment while looking somewhat apprehensive. Finally she took a deep breath. “How old do I have to be before I can . . . go on a date?”

Her question caught me off guard. “Date? You mean with a boy?”

Cicely sighed dramatically. “Yeah, with a boy.”

I stared back at her with my mouth hanging open. “I have no idea what to tell you, except that you're way too young. Surely young girls don't date until they're at least sixteen.”

It was her turn to look shocked. “Sixteen? There were some girls at my old school who were married when they were sixteen!”

I didn't consider myself a prude, even if I did live in Sanctuary, but that information shocked me. “Sixteen? That's ridiculous.” I reached over and took her hand. “Cicely, you're still a child. Besides, what boy are you referring to?” I couldn't think of any likely candidates in Sanctuary. Was she talking about someone from Kansas City?

The previous cheerful atmosphere we'd enjoyed since she
came home evaporated, and she pulled her hand away. “Mom would let me date. I'm not going to live my life all alone, like you do.”

I sat back in my chair, unsure of what to do or what to say. Maybe we hadn't progressed as much as I thought.

“I think you need to go to your room and do your homework,” I said softly. “You're upset. Let's both calm down, and we'll talk about this later.”

She glared at me. “You're not my mom, you know. I don't have to do anything you tell me to.”

Even though my voice shook, I couldn't let her statement go unchallenged. “You're right. I'm not your mother, but you absolutely have to do what I tell you. As long as you're a minor and you live here, you have to obey me.”

As soon as I said the words, I wished I'd used another term rather than
obey.
Perhaps it was archaic, but it was all I could think of at that moment.

Cicely's expression grew even stormier, and her eyes filled with tears. “My mom was so much better than you! Why couldn't you be the one who died?”