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Authors: Nancy Mehl

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Deadly Echoes (6 page)

BOOK: Deadly Echoes
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For several seconds all I could do was stare at him. “You . . . you what?”

He leaned forward in his chair. “We've arrested a man who broke into a house the same night your sister was attacked. It was only three blocks from her house.”

“B-but how do you know it's the same man?”

He straightened up and sighed. “We don't. Yet. That's why I didn't want to say anything until we're sure. But the evidence is pretty strong. I think he did it.”

I didn't know what to say. Had Hannah been wrong? Was she just so obsessed that she saw things that weren't there? “Wait a minute,” I said slowly. “But what about the flowers? How can you explain them?”

He shrugged. “Coincidence.”

I pointed at his folder. “But the flowers are on top of her. Explain to me how that happened. If a vase of orchids was knocked off the coffee table during a struggle, wouldn't she have fallen on them? Why aren't the flowers under her? Did you find any underneath her body?”

Sykes's amenable expression changed as quickly as a pop-up thunderstorm. “How do you know where the flowers were found? Even if your niece or your sister's neighbor mentioned the flowers, I'd be surprised if either one of them looked closely enough
to realize there were no flowers under the body. I'm certain no one from our department shared that with you.”

Realizing I'd put my foot in my mouth, I struggled to find a way to explain. “Maybe I didn't know,” I said after a few seconds. “Maybe I was just guessing and wanted to see how you'd react. It's obvious I was right.” I forced myself to meet his steely gaze without flinching. The last thing I wanted to do was get Paul into trouble.

“All right,” Sykes said slowly. “I'm going to assume you're telling me the truth. But a word of warning: interfering with our investigation won't help us close this case. It will only impede our progress.”

Trying to keep my voice steady, I said, “Look, Detective. I appreciate knowing you're working your
case
. But this isn't just a case to me. This is my family. I've lost my parents and my sister. You can walk away from this when you go home at night. I can't. How can you tell me not to interfere?”

Sykes cleared his throat and stared down at his file, his jaw working furiously. It upset me to know that he was angry. I was the one who had the right to be enraged. Just when I was ready to chew him out again, he sighed and looked up at me.

“We deal with a lot of really bad situations, Miss Miller. Stuff you don't see living in some small rural town. The only way to survive is to try to keep some distance from the awful things people do to each other. I'm sorry if I come off as uncaring. I assure you it isn't true. I really am listening to you, but I have to stay professional. It's my job.” He fingered my sister's file. “I see your point about the flowers. That bothered me too. Until we're sure we have the right guy in custody, I'll keep digging. Now, if I promise to look into any connections I can find between your parents' case and your sister's, will you allow me to complete this interview?”

“Of course.”

He pulled a sheet of paper from the file and stared at it for a moment. “These questions are designed to find some connection to the burglary, in case the man we have in custody isn't involved. We want to be certain the person who broke in wasn't someone your sister knew. Usually, thieves break into homes where they know there are valuables that will make their efforts pay off. It appears your sister didn't have anything worth taking the risk of getting caught—let alone killing someone over. So let's do this. I'm going to ask about people she knew. Maybe we can find a reason someone might want her dead. Would that satisfy you?”

“I'm afraid I can't help you, Detective. I don't know any of her friends.”

He shook his head. “How is that possible?”

I explained to him that Hannah had found me just a year earlier.

“Well, this is going to make things much tougher. I don't suppose you knew anyone she worked with either?”

“No. She was an administrative assistant for a local law firm. I . . . I can't remember the name of the firm. I think Kennedy was part of it. I'm sorry. I guess I'm useless.”

Sykes pulled out a piece of paper from his file. “Don't worry about it. I've got her employer's name right here. Kennedy, Worthington, Klemm, and Sparlin. We'll check with them. See if they can give us any useful information.” He slid the paper back into the file. “From reading your sister's letter, I assume you have no idea who Cicely's father is?”

I shook my head. “The first time I knew she had a child was when we reconnected. I asked her about Cicely's father, but she told me it was a closed subject. I never asked again.”

“Does her daughter know who her father is?”

“No. Hannah told Cicely that her father was someone who didn't want either one of them in his life, and they were better off without him.”

He nodded and wrote something down in his small note pad. I wanted to yell at him. To tell him that Hannah was a wonderful woman. That she loved God and wasn't the kind of person who would sleep around with random men. But that was the Hannah I knew when we were younger. To be honest, I had no idea what kind of a life she'd lived during the time we were separated. It hurt that I didn't know more.

“Look,” he said, “I want you to do something for me. I need you to make a list of people your parents knew.” He raised an eyebrow. “You do remember some of them, don't you?”

“Not very many. I was only six.”

The detective pushed a pad of paper and a pen toward me that were on the table.

I quickly wrote down the names I could recall and slid it back to him. “I'm sorry. That's it. If I remember anyone else, I'll call you.”

He looked over the names I'd written down. “The Fergusons. The Bittners. And someone named Ray? That's it?”

“That's it. And the Bittners are probably dead. I think they were in their seventies when we knew them. I only remember them because Mrs. Bittner used to bring us taffy when she came over to visit.”

“This isn't much to go on.”

I sighed. “I know that. My sister would be able to give you more information. Again, I'm sorry.”

“It's okay.” He tore the piece of paper off the pad and put it in his pocket. “I'm still not convinced these two murders are connected, but I'll do some poking around. Just in case.” He
stared at me with his eyes narrowed. “But if we find proof that the guy we're holding was involved in your sister's death, all bets are off. You understand that, right?”

“Of course. If he did it, he did it.” I waved my hand toward the file. “Then none of this will matter. Except my parents' case will stay unsolved. I guess I'm used to that.” It wasn't true, but I knew there was no way to get an old case opened again unless I could give the detective a valid reason to do it. And I didn't have that. “I want you to know that I appreciate your help.”

“Well, I haven't done anything yet. Let's see what happens.”

He straightened up, slid the copy of Hannah's letter into the green folder, and closed it. “Is there anything else you can think of that I need to know?”

I hesitated a moment while Sykes frowned at me. “There's one thing, although I can't see how this would help you. Hannah and I heard two men at the house the night our parents were killed. One of them found Hannah and me hiding under the stairs. But instead of telling his partner, he closed the door and walked away. It's possible he saved our lives.”

Sykes shook his head. “A killer with a conscience. It sounds strange, but I've run across it before. Some people don't mind killing adults, but they won't touch children. It's a twisted kind of moral compass.” He frowned at me. “But doesn't that mean you saw him? That you could describe him?”

I shook my head. “He shined a flashlight in our eyes. We couldn't see a thing.”

Sykes stood up. “That's too bad. A description would have been nice.”

“I do have another question.”

He nodded at me.

“As I said, I want to go to Hannah's house. I need to pack up some things for Cicely and for me. Is that all right?”

“Yes, we're through there. You can remove whatever you want to.”

“If I find the file Hannah talked about, should I contact you?”

“Yes. As I said, I doubt a reporter would have access to anything I don't, but I'm willing to look at whatever information she obtained.”

“Thank you, Detective.” I stood up and faced him. “Am I free to go?”

“Yes. Can I walk you out?”

“No. I remember the way. But thanks.” I held out my hand and he took it in his.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Miller. I'll keep in touch.”

“I really appreciate that. I hope I haven't offended you. It's just that I don't want Hannah's murder to be swept under the rug—if there's more to it. If it was just the unfortunate result of a break-in, I can live with that. And if the man you picked up is guilty, I'll be happy to know he's been caught. But until then, I think we need to do whatever we can to pursue the truth. I believe my sister deserves it.”

“That's my job, Miss Miller. I'll do my very best for you and your sister.” He took a deep breath. “I'm sorry I upset you when I asked you not to insert yourself into our investigation, but I was very serious. It could cause us real problems. Give me some time to see what I can come up with before you do anything on your own, okay?”

I nodded. “I have no plans to get further involved. I'm not a detective.”

“I'm glad to hear that.” He pulled the door open. “Good-bye, Miss Miller.”

I said good-bye, walked out the door and down the hall. When I stepped outside, I found a nearby bench and sat down. The entire time I'd been inside the building, I'd felt smothered, as if I couldn't catch my breath. I had to pray the police wouldn't rush to judgment and blame the thief they'd picked up in Hannah's neighborhood. Although it sounded like a nice way to wrap everything up, it wouldn't explain the flowers. Or my sister's conviction that the murders were somehow linked. After a few minutes, I got up and made my way to my car. Had my visit with Detective Sykes helped or hurt? I had no way of knowing, but at least he'd listened to me. I hoped we were one step closer to catching a murderer.

Chapter
Seven

After leaving the police station, I drove to Hannah's small rental house. Her landlord had promised to meet me and let me in. Sure enough, as I pulled up, an older man got out of his car and waited for me on the sidewalk.

“You're Hannah's sister?” he asked as I walked toward him.

“Yes. Mr. Hanson?”

He nodded. “I sure am sorry about Hannah. She was a real nice person and a reliable renter. Wish all my renters were like her.”

“Thank you.”

He walked up the steps of the bungalow and unlocked the door. Then he handed me the keys. “You keep 'em. When you're done, you can leave 'em in the house. The back-door lock is busted. Seems the guy who broke in came through there. I put a temporary latch on it. If you'd pull that latch before you leave out the front, I'd appreciate it.” He shook his shaggy gray head and sighed. “You and Cicely take all the time you need to get Hannah's stuff moved out. I'm not in any hurry.”

“That's very kind of you. We'll pack up what we can tomorrow.
I'm concerned about the furniture though. We'll have Cicely's bedroom furniture picked up and delivered, but the rest of it will probably have to be sold.”

He thought for a moment. “Look, why don't you let me put whatever is left in storage for you. I have plenty of room. That way you can deal with it when you're ready. If you still want to sell it, I'll help you. I've got connections to local used furniture stores. I'll call 'em up and see what they can do for you.”

Tears filled my eyes at his kindness.

“Aw, I didn't mean to make you cry.” He blinked several times, obviously emotional too. He reached over and patted my shoulder. “She was a real special lady. If you're her sister, I know you are too. You and that little girl will be fine.” He sniffed a couple of times and wiped his face on the sleeve of his coat. “You have my number. You call me if you need anything.”

I nodded. “Thank you so much, Mr. Hanson. I really appreciate it.”

He turned and started to go down the steps, but then he stopped and swung back around. “I should warn you. I hired some folks to clean the place up some. But there's still a few stains on the carpet. I woulda cleaned it up more, but I had a water pipe bust in another house and couldn't get over here in time. There's all kinds of cleaners under the kitchen sink. Carpet cleaner too. I'm sorry I couldn't take care of it for you.”

“I understand. I'll be fine.”

As I went inside the house, I was grateful I hadn't brought Cicely straight home from Cora's. Truthfully, I wasn't certain bringing her here at all was a good idea, but neither was keeping her away. At least this way she could choose the things she wanted to bring with her. And I hoped it would give her some closure. Help her say good-bye.

It felt odd to enter Hannah's house for the first time. Hannah and Cicely had always come to Sanctuary to visit me, but I'd never made the trip to Kansas City because I didn't own a car. Janet had offered to let me use hers, but I'd been concerned she might need it. Hannah had told me it was easier for them to come to me, so I hadn't worried about it. Now I felt a little guilty.

The front door opened into a small but inviting living room. Hannah's personality was obvious. Framed pictures of her and Cicely adorned the fireplace mantel. I found a photo of Mom, Dad, Hannah, and me taken about a year before they died. I had no pictures of us, so I picked it up and put it inside a tote bag I'd brought with me. Although the living room and connecting dining room were in order, there was something that looked like dust covering almost everything. I realized it must be some kind of chemical used to capture fingerprints.

As I headed toward the dining room, I saw a large brown stain on the carpet. Someone had tried to clean it, but it was still visible. Too visible. I stood there for a while, staring at it. Hannah had died here, on this very spot. Even though I knew it would be hard to see the place where she'd breathed her last breath, the reality overwhelmed me, and I sank to the floor. For some reason, touching the stain made me feel closer to her. As I cried, it was as if she stood next to me, her hand on my shoulder, telling me everything would be okay.

“I'll take good care of Cicely,” I whispered. “I promise. She will always know she's loved.”

I finally got up, determined to get the house and carpet looking as normal as possible before Cicely came home. After taking my coat off, I went to the kitchen and found the cleaners under the sink that Mr. Hanson had mentioned.

I scrubbed the carpet until the stain was almost invisible.
Then I set about to clean the weird white dust off everything else. Warm water with a little dish detergent seemed to do the trick. By the time I finished, I was exhausted, but the house looked passable. Cicely's room was a little messy, but I left her things alone. My first instinct was to straighten up, but something told me she would want to find her room the way she left it.

I finally gathered the nerve to go into Hannah's room. Her clothes were hanging on a hook by the closet, obviously set out for the next day. Her bed was unmade. It appeared as if she'd heard a noise and gone to the living room to investigate. I walked over to a drawer in her nightstand that was pulled open. What had she grabbed before she faced her attacker? There were some papers in the drawer, a bottle of pain reliever, some keys, a pad of paper, and several pens. I looked in her closet and found a large, empty file box. I put it on the bed and began dumping things into it. The papers and the pad of paper from the drawer, and all the papers and files in her desk. I found another file box toward the back of the closet that was full of more papers and large envelopes. I pulled it out and put it next to the other box. I wondered if the file from the reporter was in one of these boxes. I didn't have time to look through everything now, but if possible, I wanted to find that file before I left town. On Hannah's desk there was a card file with bill information. I added it to the first box.

I'd decided to check the closet again when I noticed something sitting on a chair in the corner. When I realized what it was, I knelt down in front of it as tears rolled down my cheeks and dripped onto my shirt. My stuffed blue bunny. It was the last birthday gift I'd ever gotten from my parents, and I loved it more than anything I'd ever owned. All through the time we'd lived with my aunt and then Mrs. Johnson, I'd kept it close to me. It
was a reminder of Mom and Dad. When Hannah and I found out we were going in different directions from the children's home, Hannah had been inconsolable.

“I'm supposed to take care of you,” she'd said through her tears. “How can I do that if we're apart?”

“But we're sisters,” I'd told her. “They won't do that.” I'd handed her my bunny, Mr. Whiskers. “You keep him until we're back together. It will help you to believe.”

The truth was that I'd been so afraid of losing her that somehow in my childlike mind I'd been convinced that if she had Mr. Whiskers, she'd have to return him to me. At that moment, without realizing it, I'd not only lost my sister but also my beloved stuffed bunny.

“I knew she'd bring you back,” I whispered to him. Hannah had kept him in great shape. He looked almost exactly the way he had when I'd given him to her all those years ago. I picked him up and nuzzled him. My tears made his fake fur damp. Mr. Whiskers had been my best friend and confidant when I was a little girl, and if I'd ever needed him, I needed him now. Maybe crying over an old stuffed animal made me look immature and ridiculous, but at least for now, I found his presence comforting. It was as if Hannah were saying, “You keep him until we're back together again, Sarah. It will help you to believe.”

I put Mr. Whiskers back on the chair and gathered myself together. Before I got up I noticed something on the floor, partially hidden by the bedspread. I reached over and picked it up. A single white orchid. Dead and shriveled. How had it gotten in the bedroom? I put it on the side table next to the bed. Then I got up and delved deeper into the closet. As I searched the upper shelf, I found a locked metal box shoved in the back. After taking it down, I decided to see if any of the keys in the drawer opened
it. I sat down on the bed and tried sliding key after key into the lock. Finally I found one that fit, turned it, and the lock popped open. I gasped when I looked inside. A package of bullets. Hannah's letter came back to me. She'd armed herself because she really was afraid. Why hadn't she just gone to the police? Paul had asked the same question, and I couldn't answer it. If I'd been threatened, especially if I had a child, I would have contacted the authorities immediately. What was Hannah thinking? If she'd called the police, would she still be alive?

Suddenly, I remembered something. Sykes hadn't mentioned finding Hannah's gun. Tomorrow I'd call him and ask about it. A missing gun seemed like an important detail. Could that be why the drawer to the nightstand was open?

After going through Hannah's bills, I called the credit card companies, informed them of her death and told them her cards had been stolen. They gave me a list of things I'd need to do, including sending them copies of the death certificate. I was happy to find that no charges had been made since the cards were taken. If a thief actually had made off with them, it seemed to me he would have tried to exploit them by now. Of course, if the police actually had their man, it would make sense. He couldn't very well use Hannah's cards from jail. Sykes hadn't mentioned finding them on their suspect. Had he ditched them?

After I got off the phone, I carried out all the boxes and put them in the trunk of my car. I felt I should at least look through them before picking Cicely up in case there was something else I needed to do before we left in the morning. The amount of phone calls and paper work that stretched out in front of me seemed overwhelming. It would take a while to complete it all. Before leaving, I checked the house one last time. I found a couple of photo albums in a chest at the foot of Hannah's bed
and grabbed those too. Although I didn't want Cicely to think I was stealing things from her home, I removed the framed pictures from the mantel and loaded those into my tote bag. After I made what was supposed to be my last trip from the house, I went back one more time and got Mr. Whiskers. There was no way I was leaving him behind.

After locking up the house, I drove to a nearby motel. Staying at Hannah's would have cost less, but I just couldn't do it. I knew I'd never be able to sleep. Fortunately, I was able to park right next to my room, so carrying in my suitcase and the boxes with Hannah's belongings was easy. Once I was settled in, I called Janet.

“I'm so happy to hear from you,” she said. “I've had you on my mind and in my prayers all day long.”

I told her about my meeting at the police station and then my time at Hannah's house.

“I'm sure that was difficult,” she said. “I'm proud of you, Sarah. You're handling all of this with great strength.”

“If you'd seen me collapsed on Hannah's floor, bawling like a baby, you wouldn't say that.”

“Crying helps, honey. It's God's gift to help us get our feelings out. You cry all you want.”

I grunted. “Not sure any of us could handle that.”

“Well, I'm getting ready to welcome you and Cicely home.”

“I can't thank you enough, Janet. If you weren't in my life—”

“I expect you'd do just fine. But I'm honored to be here for you, honey. I thank God every day that He brought us together.”

“Hey, what do you know? We're thanking God for the same things.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. By the way, Paul called today to see how you're doing.”

“He did? Maybe I should have called him, but . . .”

“But what?”

I sighed. “I don't want to impose on him. He's already done so much.”

“I don't think you'd be imposing on him. He's legitimately concerned about you.”

“He's a very nice man.”

“Yes, he is,” Janet agreed.

“I plan to pick up Cicely in the morning, take her home, and help her pack. Then we'll get on the road. I'll call you when we're ready to leave.”

“Sounds good. I fixed up the spare room, and I think it looks very nice. When her furniture gets here, we can put the other stuff in the basement. But for now, I think she'll be quite comfortable.”

I told her about Mr. Hanson's offer to store Hannah's furniture and then said good-bye. After taking a quick shower, I riffled through some of Hannah's papers but decided to look at them more in the morning, since I couldn't keep my eyes open.

After falling into bed, I started dreaming. I stood in a field full of ripening corn. As I gazed around me I realized it was actually a corn maze. In front of me were two paths. One led to my left, the other to my right. The path to the right was clear. The corn had been pressed down flat, and I could see light shining on the path, as if it led to a way out. The other path was full of broken ears of corn that blocked my way. I could only see a few feet past the entrance because the pathway was dark. Although I couldn't see her, I could hear Hannah's voice.

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