exposed (Twisted Cedar Mysteries Book 3) (2 page)

“Hi! I’m looking for my nephew. He’s nine-years-old, sandy-colored hair and wearing a dark green T-shirt and jeans. Have you seen anyone like that?”

The woman, who was cute and looked twenty, if that, gave her a blank stare. Then she shook her head. “Sorry. I haven’t.”

“Right. Thanks anyway.” Charlotte dashed through a gate to the dunes, to check the beach next. Though going near the ocean without adult supervision was strictly forbidden, at this point she would have been relieved to spot Chester on the expansive sandy shoreline.

Quickly she scanned the scattering of people out enjoying the beautiful day. No children close to Chester’s age here either. She stopped to ask a mother of toddlers if she’d seen anyone who looked like her nephew.

“We’ve been here for over an hour and there’s been no one like that,” the young mom said.

God. Where was he?

Her gaze flashed up to the bluffs. All she could see were trees. Knowing it was possible Chester was purposefully hiding, she attacked the steep incline, taking longer than she wanted to finally gain the summit.

But Chester wasn’t here either.

Terrible possibilities swamped her mind. Had he been hurt or worse in a terrible accident? Been approached by a sick child molester?

No. Please no.

Charlotte skidded and slid her way down from the bluffs.

There were still other places to look.

She’d start at the school. It seemed doubtful he was still there, but she ought to check. Plus she needed a list of his classmates. Perhaps Nola was right and he’d gone home with one of the other kids.

Since the school was only a short walk from the park, Charlotte didn’t bother with her car. She ran across the road, her pulse a loud, rapid-fire beat above the rasping of her breathing. She grasped and tugged at the main doors, only to find they were locked.

She left the paved sidewalk and jogged across the freshly mown lawn that ran down the side of the three-story brick structure, hoping for an open window and someone nearby to hear her call out.

Within seconds she heard the faint sound of a woman speaking, her tone lecturing, though no words were distinguishable. Charlotte traced the sound to an open window, which she guessed—having spent a lot of time in the school the past two weeks—was the staff room.

“Hello!” She was tall, and had no trouble looking in the window. About eight women, and a couple of men, were seated throughout a room furnished with two round tables, a sofa and several arm chairs. “I’m sorry to interrupt but my nephew Chester Quinpool didn’t come home from school today.”

As she spoke, she focused one by one on the teachers’ faces. Most were familiar to her. The school lacked funding for a proper library and so often made use of the public one which was, after all, only a ten minute walk away.

“Charlotte?” Olivia Young, the twins’ teacher, came to the window. “Weren’t Cory and Chester supposed to go to the Thompsons’ after school today?”

Olivia was in her early thirties, newly married, and if Charlotte wasn’t mistaken, newly pregnant, as well. They’d had several meetings already to discuss the twins and how to best help them transition into the new school year after the trauma of having their father imprisoned for their mother’s homicide.

“Cory did. But Chester still hasn’t shown up.” Charlotte glanced at her phone to make sure she hadn’t missed an update from Nola. “I’ve looked for him at home, at the park and the beach. I even climbed up the bluffs, but I’ve seen no sign of him.”

The school principal, Gabrielle Hodges, an athletic, somewhat masculine looking woman in her late fifties stepped closer to the window. Gabrielle had been Charlotte’s fourth grade teacher way back when, and she had a comforting aura of authority as she weighed in.

“I’m sure we’ll find him, Charlotte. We’ll search the school thoroughly, and call all his classmates. There’s a good chance he went home to play with one of them.”

“Maybe.” But Chester hadn’t seemed to be on good terms with any of the other children these days. This past week he’d been spending most of his free time alone in his bedroom.

“Why don’t you come inside?” Gabrielle invited. “I’ll go unlock the front door for you.”

“I have to keep looking for Chester.”

“Okay. You do that. We’ll make sure he isn’t hiding somewhere on school property.”

“And I’ll call everyone on the class list,” Olivia promised.

“Thank you.” Focusing on Olivia, she added, “Can you think of any incident that came up today, something involving Chester, that might help explain where he’s gone?”

Olivia’s brow furrowed. “He did seem troubled. But I’m afraid that’s not unusual.”

No, sadly, it was not.

“I don’t want to alarm you,” Gabrielle said. “He’s probably gone to a friend’s house or something. But I’m going to call 911.”

Adrenaline jolted through Charlotte’s system, tightening every muscle, while turning her stomach—and her world—upside down. Alerting the authorities elevated the situation from worrisome to catastrophic. Possibilities that had seemed remote at first, possibilities like an accident, or a kidnapping, could no longer be pushed to the back of her mind.

She glanced at her watch. Chester had now been missing for forty minutes.

“Yes. Call 911.”

Charlotte left her cell phone number with them, then jogged back to the sidewalk, trying to push through her panic and think rationally.

Though it was a possibility that had to be crossed off the list, she didn’t think they’d find Chester hiding on school property, or at one of his classmates’ homes. Where else could she look?

She supposed she could randomly drive up and down the main streets of town in the hopes of spotting him or his bike.

Then inspiration struck. Maybe Chester had gone to see his grandfather, Jim Quinpool. For a few years Jim and Muriel had lived with Kyle and the twins. If Chester was upset, his grandfather was an obvious person to run to.

As she hurried back to her car, she called Jim. The phone rang and rang on the other end, but there was no answer. That didn’t mean Jim wasn’t home. He’d wanted custody of the twins after his son went to prison, and he’d been ticked off when the court appointed her, instead. Possibly he’d seen her name on call display and had refused to answer out of spite.

So she’d just have to go flush him out. On the drive to Jim’s place—he now lived in an apartment above the realtor business he’d once run with Kyle—she tried Wade McKay, the Curry County Sheriff and a personal friend.

The 911 call would be routed through his office. But she wanted to speak to him personally.

Wade answered after the first ring.

“Charlotte. We just got the call from Gabrielle Hodges. Where are you?”

“In my car, on my way to J-Jim’s house.” She swallowed. At the first sound of Wade’s voice, she’d had a sudden urge to cry.

But she couldn’t break down now. She had to be strong and hope for the best. That she would find Chester soon and he’d be fine.

“I’ve already checked the park across from the school and the beach. Chester’s teacher is calling everyone in his class and the rest of the staff are searching the school.”

“That’s good. Drive carefully Charlotte. Try to stay calm. I’m sending out every available vehicle to comb this town. Chances are good we’ll find him in the next half an hour or so.”

Even as he said that, Charlotte passed a black and white SUV with “Sheriff Curry County” stenciled on the side panel. The driver, Deputy Dunne, gave her a wave and a nod, as if to say, “Don’t worry ma’am. We’re on this.”

Before Dougal moved back to Twisted Cedars, she and Wade had dated. He’d even asked her to marry him once—though she was pretty sure he hadn’t loved her at the time. For sure he didn’t love her now. But she was grateful he wasn’t the sort of man to hold a grudge.

“Thanks Wade. I just—thank you.”

“Of course. We’ll be in touch.”

Charlotte ended the call, but kept a tight hold on her phone.
Please ring. Please be Nola, reporting that Chester had finally shown up. Or Olivia, saying Chester was fine, he’d gone home with a school friend...

But her phone remained silent.

She wished desperately that she had a way to reach Chester directly. The twins owned iPads which they weren’t allowed to bring to school. But they didn’t have phones. Their father had said they had to wait until they turned thirteen—a rule that had seemed reasonable to Charlotte, once.

Now she swore that as soon as they found Chester, she would go out and get them, not just phones, but possibly GPS tracking devices she’d strap to their ankles.

Charlotte turned onto Driftwood Lane, the town’s main drag, grateful that August was over and there was plenty of available parking. She was able to pull into a space right outside Quinpool Realty. The business was closed. It had been since Kyle’s arrest.

She rushed out of her car, glancing around, hoping to see, if not Chester, then at least his bike. But neither one was in sight. She opened the door to the left of the glass door to Quinpool Realty, and then climbed a narrow, steep flight of stairs to the upper apartment.

With each step her heart thumped harder. Sweat rose on her hands, filming against the phone and keys she was carrying. She put both into her pockets, then rubbed her palms on the light wool blend of her skirt.

At the top of the stairs was a small landing and a wooden door with a peep hole and a slot for mail. She listened, straining for the sound of Chester’s voice within, but all she could hear was the faint drone of a television.

She rapped on the door, waiting less than ten seconds before repeating.

“Jim?” she called out. “It’s Charlotte. I’m looking for Chester.”

Finally he opened. Behind him was a dimly lit room with a sofa and television. The room had a foul, stale, alcoholic odor. And so did Jim.

He looked rough. Unshaven, clothes rumpled as if he’d slept in them—for more than one night—hair that had gone too long without a wash, or a cut. Considering he’d been one of the better dressed men in town once, it was a long fall.

The man obviously needed help, but she couldn’t worry about that right now.

“Is Chester here?” She scanned the room as she asked this. When she tried to step forward, Jim blocked her.

“No, he isn’t. What the hell is going on?”

Charlotte wished she had an answer for him. She would have given anything to see her nephew sitting on that disgusting couch, eating junk food and watching sit-com reruns with his grandfather.

But he wasn’t here.

He wasn’t at Nola’s, or at home, or the school or the park or any of the normal places he liked to hang out.

So where was he?

Charlotte’s mind went blank as a terrible fear took grip of her body and soul.

Dougal had warned her that the horror that had gripped their town the past few months wasn’t over. Kyle Quinpool may have been arrested. Her sister’s death was being avenged. But there was a bigger evil lurking in Twisted Cedars.

She didn’t want to believe it. But it seemed there was a very good chance Chester’s disappearance was linked to that.

“Are you sure this is the right place?”

Jamie Lachlan didn’t answer her brother’s question. Instead, she slid out of the passenger side of his SUV into tall wild grass that tickled the backs of her calves exposed by her capris cut jeans.

They were at the far end of a gravel road that followed the Elk River into the Grassy Knob Wilderness. All around were giant trees, wild grasses and tangles of vine maples. The last sign of civilization, a rundown cabin, had been a few miles back. Even cell phone coverage didn’t reach this far.

“Jamie? Is this the place?”

She heard the driver side door slam shut and the sound of his footsteps swishing through the grass. But she couldn’t stop staring at the two story home in front of her.

About a month ago she’d met a man here. Brian Greenway had contacted the CPA firm where she worked looking for tax advice for his extensive investment portfolio. The amount of money involved had been significant enough that her bosses had sent her out here to meet him—and get his signature on a letter of engagement.

She’d been so excited at the time. Being sent to sign up a new client—especially an important new client like Brian Greenway seemed to be—had felt like a vote of confidence in her work. Not to mention an indicator that one day she would be invited to be a partner at Howard and Mason.

But shortly after she’d obtained Greenway’s John Henry, he’d disappeared.

According to the property management firm that handled this place, rent was paid up for six months. They had no idea Greenway wasn’t using the place anymore.

But he so obviously wasn’t.

Hard to believe that in just one month a property could come to look so neglected. But this one, with the overgrown lawn and curtained windows, did. All the patio furniture, including the stuff from the adjacent gazebo, was gone. As was the black pick-up truck that had been parked here last time.

Only when Dougal put a hand on her shoulder, did Jamie come out of her trance and remember his question.

“Yes. This is the place where I met with Brian Greenway.”

Dougal’s dark eyes narrowed. At thirty-four her brother had six years on her, and the gap had always been a distancing one. The years he’d spent working as a true crime author in New York City hadn’t made them any closer. Nor had his almost violent opposition to her marriage to Kyle Quinpool last June.

Time had proven Dougal right on that one, since Kyle was now in prison and their marriage was in the process of being annulled.

But that didn’t mean he was right about
everything
.

Even as she had the thought, Jamie recognized the petulance behind it.

“Tell me what happened that day. Walk me through it.”

She sighed, annoyed that he’d insisted on driving all this way, when she’d already told him every detail three times over. Training her eyes on the front door, she recalled the heat of the July day when she’d been here last. A chickadee had been singing when she stepped out of her car. “I parked just about where you did now. Greenway came to the door a moment later.”