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Authors: Nancy Mehl

Tags: #FIC042040, #FIC042060, #FIC053000, #Missing persons—Fiction

Deadly Echoes (4 page)

BOOK: Deadly Echoes
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Paul frowned at me. “I don't think you're plain. Not at all.”

“Well, thank you, but you don't have to say that. Next to Hannah, I disappeared into the woodwork. She was very special. And not only on the outside. She was beautiful inside.”

“So you were never adopted?” he asked.

“No. After being shuffled around to several foster homes, I
ended up with a couple in St. Louis who were in the system only for the money the state paid. With all the moving around I did, Hannah and I lost contact. Though I asked repeatedly for help finding my sister, the people I lived with weren't interested. To them, I wasn't a child. I was a paycheck. They weren't physically abusive; they just didn't care about me. I never complained because I didn't want to move again, afraid if I did, Hannah would never find me. So I kept my mouth shut and put up with the mistreatment.”

“I'm sorry,” Paul said. “Some people shouldn't be foster parents.”

I nodded. “That's true, but actually I'm very grateful to them. You see, the family had two dogs that they treated better than their foster children. It was my job to take the dogs to the vet when they needed care. That's where I met Janet. She ran a veterinary office near our house. She was very kind to me. Not long before I turned eighteen, she told me she was moving to Sanctuary and asked me to live with her. Her sister owned the house where Janet lives now, but she'd decided to move to Florida. She offered Janet the house, and she accepted. As soon as I turned eighteen, I left my foster family and came to Sanctuary.” I took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. “I know that's the long answer to your question, but I don't know how else to explain it.”

“And now you're a teacher.”

“Yes. I'd wanted to be a teacher ever since we lived with my aunt. She was an incredible teacher. She not only gave me a love of learning, she showed me how teachers can make a huge difference in the lives of young people. Janet helped me obtain a scholarship, and I went to a small community college in Park Hills to get my degree. I worked hard and graduated in three
years. My plan was to try to find a position near Sanctuary, but then the town approached me with the idea of opening a school here. I jumped at the chance.”

Paul nodded. “So when did you and your sister reconnect?”

“Almost a year ago. After searching for me for a long time, she finally found someone who knew my foster family and remembered that Janet and I were friends. Hannah was able to track down an old friend of Janet's who told her she'd moved to Sanctuary. Hannah called Janet, found out I was living with her, and she and Cicely came to visit. I was so thrilled to have her in my life again.” I looked away for a moment, trying to rein in my emotions.

“I'm sorry. Maybe we shouldn't talk about this right now,” Paul said gently.

“No, it's okay. Although I loved seeing Hannah, she seemed almost obsessed with our parents' murder. You see, she didn't believe their deaths were the result of a burglary, the way the police had said. She'd been trying to find evidence to prove that ever since she was nineteen. Then a couple of months ago, a reporter, who was a friend of my mom's when she worked for a Kansas City newspaper, contacted Hannah. The woman developed cancer and had to leave her job. She had a file about Mom and Dad's murders. She'd kept that information all these years because the killers had never been found. I guess she didn't want to destroy the file until she felt my parents had some kind of justice. Anyway, not long before she died, she gave the file to Hannah. Something in that file really stirred up my sister.”

“Did she tell you what it was?”

“No. I told her I wasn't interested in talking about the murders.”

“And did she back off?”

“Yes, but I knew she wanted me to . . . I don't know, get
involved in whatever she was doing.” I shook my head. “I just couldn't. I wanted to spend time getting to know Hannah again. And Cicely. The past was something I'd tried hard to put behind me. I didn't want to get pulled back there again.” I shook my head. “I want closure too, Paul, but Hannah's claims were just too unbelievable. I couldn't allow myself to get sucked in. It . . . hurt too much.”

“I understand,” Paul said. “I'm sure I would have felt the same way.”

“Hannah seemed to understand too, but I know she was disappointed.” I took another sip of coffee before saying, “Paul, something's happened. Something I want to share with you.”

“What's that?”

I picked up my purse, opened it, and took out Hannah's letter. I handed it to him and watched as he read it. His eyes widened with surprise. When he finished, he handed the letter back but didn't say anything.

“I know it sounds as if our parents' murders are connected to what happened to Hannah,” I said, “but how could that be true?” I picked up my napkin and dabbed at my wet eyes. “What if I was wrong, Paul?” I said in a near whisper. “What if Hannah really did discover something important?” I put the letter back inside my purse. “And what if my reluctance to listen cost Hannah her life?” I gazed into dark brown eyes. “I don't know what to do.”

“First of all, you're not responsible for what happened to Hannah,” Paul said emphatically. “Don't do that to yourself. As far as the rest of it . . . I don't know. The police need to see this letter.”

“No.”

He looked confused. “I don't understand.”

“I don't want them to know about it . . . yet. I'm afraid they'll think Hannah was delusional. And what if Cicely finds out about it?” I shook my head. “I intend to wait. If they find the person who killed my sister, I'm going to destroy the letter. Cicely will never know anything about it.”

Mary walked up to the table with our plates, so we stopped talking. I hadn't been aware of how hungry I was until I was faced with Mary's marvelous stack of pancakes. We thanked her and she left to tend to other customers. I said something about how good our food looked, but Paul's face was tense and he seemed distracted.

“Have I upset you? Do you disagree with me?” I asked.

“No, it's not that.” He picked up his fork and started eating.

I was convinced there was something else on his mind besides breakfast. Why had he wanted to meet me? We ate in silence until he asked me about school.

“I'm taking some time off,” I said. “Reuben King has offered to fill in for me until I'm ready to return.”

Reuben served as our town's mayor. Even though our Mennonite population didn't officially acknowledge his position, he was still able to represent their needs, along with everyone else's, with government officials. He'd done many things to help Sanctuary, and everyone admired him.

“That's great. He'll do a good job.”

“You've been friends a long time, haven't you?” I said.

“Ever since we were kids.”

“How are things going with him and Wynter?”

Wynter Evans was a reporter who had supposedly come to Sanctuary to do a story about interesting towns in Missouri. In truth, she suspected her kidnapped brother lived here. She was right. Wynter moved to Sanctuary not long after she found her
brother, Ryan, who had been adopted by a Mennonite couple that had no idea their son had been abducted from his parents and sister. Wynter had fallen in love with Reuben, and now they were engaged. She'd left her job in St. Louis and moved to Sanctuary to do some writing—her real passion. She lived with Esther Lapp, an older Conservative Mennonite woman whose house was next door to Janet's.

Wynter's real name was Emily Erwin, but she'd changed it when she went into broadcasting. Although her family called her by her given name, everyone in Sanctuary knew her as Wynter, so the name had stuck.

“They're doing great. They're working on wedding plans, but they can't seem to agree on a date.”

“Well, I hope they work it out. They're such a wonderful couple.”

“Yes, they are.”

That seemed to end our conversation about Reuben. Paul was quiet and still seemed preoccupied.

Finally I put my fork down. “Paul, why did you ask me to breakfast this morning? I've enjoyed our time together, but I got the impression you had something specific you wanted to talk about.”

He drained the rest of his coffee and then poured himself another cup. After checking my cup, he put the carafe down. Then he wiped his mouth and put his napkin back in his lap. “I guess I'm thinking about our conversation. Sometimes we need to heed warnings. I wonder if I'm getting one now.”

I frowned at him. “What kind of warning? What are you talking about?”

“A warning to walk away, Sarah. Not to pursue your sister's death too closely.”

“Why? What's happened?”

“I don't want to make this more dramatic than it is. It's probably nothing. But . . . well, it bothered me, and I felt you should know.”

“Should know what?”

“I heard back from my friend in Kansas City. He e-mailed me the initial report taken at the scene of your sister's murder. Again, this may not mean anything . . .”

“Let me be the judge of that,” I said.

“You mentioned something about flowers at the scene of your parents' murder. Is that right?”

I nodded. “White orchids.” I thought for a moment. “Now that you mention it, I remember Hannah saying something about those flowers. That they weren't there before the murders.”

“But you don't remember?”

“No. I saw them when we were taken out of the house, but I assumed Dad bought them for her. I do remember that he liked buying her flowers.”

Paul picked up his coffee cup and stared at it, as if he couldn't stand to look at me. “I was able to see the report taken at your sister's crime scene. And it just seemed odd to me . . .”

“What? Tell me, Paul.”

He looked up slowly until he met my gaze. “Orchids. There were white orchids scattered around your sister's body.”

Chapter
Five

The food in my stomach rolled over, and for a moment, I thought I was going to be violently ill. Paul must have been afraid I would faint again because he got up from his chair and came over to sit next to me.

“Are you all right, Sarah? You look so pale.”

I nodded, but I couldn't find my voice. The room spun around me, and I felt as if I were looking at myself from somewhere far away.

“Do you want me to take you home?”

I shook my head. “No. Just tell me about the flowers.” My dream from the other night came flooding back. In my mind, blood and flowers blended together in a kind of macabre torrent.

“There's not much more to say. There was a broken vase next to Hannah's body, and white orchids on the floor.” He frowned. “The detective I spoke to is convinced the vase was knocked off the table during a struggle. The very same way it happened with your mother. But . . .”

“But what? Did you see something different?”

He nodded. “The flowers were not only on both sides of
Hannah's body, they were on top of her. If the vase had been broken when she tried to fight off her attacker, she probably should have fallen on them. It doesn't make sense.”

“Did you ask your friend about it?”

Paul sighed. “Yes, but after that he cut the conversation short. He wasn't supposed to let me see that report in the first place. Besides, I'm a deputy sheriff in a small county in Missouri. He works in Kansas City. I don't think he liked the idea of my questioning the work their detectives were doing.”

“This is exactly what happened to my parents. How can that be?” My hand trembled as I picked up my coffee cup.

“It wasn't my intention to upset you,” Paul said. “Maybe I shouldn't have . . .”

I shook my head and took a sip of coffee. “You did the right thing. This is
my
sister.
My
family. I need to know what's going on.” I put my cup down and stared at him. “Was Hannah right, Paul? Was she killed because she found out something she wasn't supposed to?” I had to stop a moment to catch my breath. “Why didn't I listen to her?” I asked finally. “What have I done?”

“Don't go there, Sarah,” Paul said sternly. “There was no way for you to know Hannah's claims had any validity. Besides, I'm finding it hard to believe that whoever killed your parents came back almost twenty years later to murder your sister. That's really farfetched.”

“Maybe she uncovered something, Paul. Like she claimed. And the wrong person found out about it.”

“But why didn't she just go to the police? If she had proof, they would have listened.”

“I don't know,” I said, “but if the killings are connected—”

“Are you basing this solely on the flowers? Couldn't Hannah have bought them?”

“That's impossible. We both hate white orchids. She would never, ever have them in her home. They remind us of the night our parents died.”

Paul crossed his arms and fixed his gaze on some spot behind me. I could tell he was trying to make sense of the situation. I was dealing with several emotions at once. The terrible realization that the person who killed my mother and father may have just murdered my sister, guilt because I didn't listen to Hannah when she tried to share with me what she'd uncovered, and an underlying sense of fear. If the person who murdered my parents had come back for Hannah, how could I be sure he was through? Was Cicely next? Or me?

“Look, I'm going to do what I can to help you,” he said finally. “But you've got to understand that I'm very limited. If the sheriff found out I was nosing around in a case from another county, he'd have a fit.”

“Seems to me that people in law enforcement should care about justice.”

“We do care about justice,” he said soothingly. “Unfortunately, some departments are more committed to closing cases than finding the truth. But I care, Sarah. You won't be alone in this. I'll do my best to find out what really happened and who is behind it. You'll need to trust me. Can you do that?”

I nodded. “I trust you, Paul. You're the only person in law enforcement I do trust right now.”

“Look, Sarah, most police officers are good people whose job is to bring justice to bad situations. Don't toss all of us out because of what happened with your parents. Right now the authorities in Kansas City know a lot more about your sister's case than I do.” He frowned. “What will you tell the police when you see them this afternoon?”

I shook my head. “I honestly don't know. Hopefully, I'll find there's no reason to say anything. Maybe they've already arrested someone.”

“Whatever you do, don't mention me. If you end up still needing my help, we can't let them know I'm stepping into their investigation.”

“No problem. Again, thank you so much, Paul. This whole thing is so confusing, and I have no idea what to do next.” I sought his eyes. “You said something about a warning. Do you think God's telling us to leave this situation alone?”

He stared back at me, his jaw working. Finally, he sighed. “I don't know if it's God or my own trepidation. Something's really off here, but I have no idea what's behind it. I don't want you or Cicely to get hurt. But . . .”

He stopped and stared down into his coffee cup.

“But what?”

“Look, Sarah. There's one thing I've learned from being in law enforcement. Something I believe with all my heart. Letting criminals go free doesn't help anyone. No matter how scary it might be to confront them, getting them off the street so they can't hurt anyone else is always the right way to go. I just worked a rape case where the victim just wanted to forget what happened and move on with her life. Even though she said she'd told me everything about the incident, I knew she was holding back. She didn't want to go to trial, didn't want her friends and family to know what had happened to her.”

“I can understand that.”

“I can too. But what if more women are raped by this same man? What if someone gets killed? It happens. I wonder if the rest of his victims will understand? And what about their friends and families?”

I didn't answer him, but what he said made sense. Maybe Hannah didn't want me to go after the truth. But what if her killer hurt someone else? How could I allow that to happen? And how could I stand by and see her murderer get away?

“You see my dilemma,” Paul said. “Do I stand by that belief, or do I tell you to stay out of it because I think it could be dangerous?”

I shook my head. “Look, we're making assumptions here. First, let's find out what the police say. Maybe they'll solve Hannah's murder and lay all our questions to rest.”

I said the words and Paul nodded his agreement, but I could see in his expression that he didn't believe that any more than I did.

We finished our breakfast, and Paul gave me a ride back to Janet's. When we pulled up to the house, he got out of the car, came around, and opened the passenger-side door for me. Not used to that kind of chivalry, I thanked him.

“My father used to open the car door for my mother,” I said. “Not many men still do that.”

“Well, they should,” he said with a smile. He closed the door behind me and then put his hands on my shoulders. I was surprised and jumped at his touch. When I looked up at him, I wasn't sure what I was seeing in his eyes. Was it concern? Or something more?

“Sarah, if the police try to tell you Hannah was killed by some random thief, and if they won't listen to you, I'm going to do whatever I can to help you find the truth,” he said softly. “I won't let you down. I promise.”

Before I had a chance to respond, he kissed me on the cheek. Surprised, I pulled away but immediately wished I hadn't. I gazed up at him for a moment but couldn't read his expression. Why
had he kissed me? Was it just something he did with everyone, or was there more to it? My face felt hot, and I prayed he'd attribute my red cheeks to the cold air. Redheads blush easily, and I was true to the stereotype. My father used to tease me about it, calling me his “little beet.” It was one of the things I remembered about him.

“Th-thank you,” I said, embarrassed not only by my physical reaction but also for my emotional response. If I wanted his help, I couldn't risk acting like a silly schoolgirl. He would be uncomfortable, and I'd end up driving him away.

I turned away and practically ran into the house. It took effort to stop and wave good-bye, but I didn't want him to think he'd offended me. He waved back and got into his car. I stepped through the front door and closed it behind me. Then I slumped down and tried to calm myself. My cheek burned as if his lips were still pressed to it. I raised my hand and touched my face, remembering how it felt to have him near. I was glad Janet wasn't in the room to see how flustered I was.

BOOK: Deadly Echoes
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