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

“Describe him.”

Since Dougal was walking toward the house, she followed so she wouldn’t have to shout.

“He was an inch or two shorter than you. Slender. He looked about sixty, I’d say. His hair was gray and short. Oh, he had a beard—it looked freshly trimmed.”

Dougal tried the main door, which was locked, then attempted to peer into the windows, but the curtains effectively blocked his view. “How about his eyes? Are you sure you didn’t see them?”

“He wore sunglasses the entire time.”

“You didn’t get even a quick glance?”

“I’ve told you all of this already. Why do you insist on going over it and over it?”

Earlier that week Dougal had helped her settle into the new house she’d purchased on Horizon Hill Road. He’d moved her sofa from one wall to the other until she figured out where it looked best. He’d helped her connect her TV and Internet and had shown her how to program the fancy thermostat for the gas furnace.

It was only because he’d been so nice that she’d finally given in to his demand to show her this place and to go over—yet again—her encounter with Brian Greenway last month.

“I’m hoping you’ll remember something—a detail, a sentence, a word—that will help me prove my theory.” Dougal paused to look back at her. “I didn’t complain when you made me move that heavy sofa six different places before we pushed it back to the original spot did I?”

“Fine. No, I didn’t get even a glance at his eyes. He claimed he was very sensitive to the sun. He had his sunglasses on the whole time.”

“What about his voice? Did it sound familiar?”

She paused. A breeze rippled through the grass, over her skin, through her hair. It had been dead calm the last time she was here. In her mind a voice echoed.
“Call me Brian...Hope you didn’t mind the drive.”

“I
did
have the feeling I’d heard his before. Which was strange because our meeting had been set up by Colin.”

Dougal looked at her sharply. “Did it—sound like mine?”

She could feel the pain behind the question. Dougal begrudged any resemblance between himself and their father. And that’s who he believed Brian Greenway really was. Their dad, Edward Lachlan, a man Jamie had never met—unless Dougal was correct and she’d spoken to him a month ago, in this very spot.

“Maybe. I’m not sure.” When Dougal turned away in disappointment, she felt compelled to apologize. “I’m
sorry
. It was a while ago, okay?”

“I didn’t mean to pressure you. What happened next?”

“He suggested we talk in the gazebo.” She glanced at the cedar structure, about thirty feet from the house.

“Let’s check it out.”

Again Jamie followed her brother, pausing as he opened the screen door. When the hinges screeched in protest, she couldn’t remember if it had done so before. Inside cobwebs festooned the rafters like holiday garland, and a layer of grit had settled on the plank flooring.

“There was a table here, before. And cushioned chairs. He’d set out lemonade and snacks.”

But now the space was empty. She traced a circle with her steps, while Dougal stood and watched.

“What did you talk about?”

“He told me he’d been living here about a month and then he asked a bunch of questions about my background, including where I’d gone to college. I thought he was vetting me to see if I was qualified to handle his tax returns.”

Was it possible she’d been talking to her father that day, without realizing it? Jamie found it almost impossible to believe she wouldn’t have felt some sort of connection if it were true.

All her life people had been protecting her from Edward Lachlan. They told her he was a man with a dangerous temper, capable of great violence. It was why her mother, Katie, had kicked him out when she did, not even telling him she was pregnant with Jamie.

The idea was that he would never even know he had a daughter.

Years later, when Edward was imprisoned for killing his second wife, Katie’s caution was vindicated.

Not exactly daddy of the year material.

And, according to Dougal, he’d done worse. Much worse.

“Did this
Greenway
actually show you his portfolio?”

She nodded.

“And is he wealthy?”

Again she nodded, wondering if by so doing she was breaking client confidentiality, if indeed Greenway could still be considered one. He’d paid a significant retainer, but he’d also stopped answering phone calls and emails shortly after her visit. If Dougal’s theory was correct, his only purpose in approaching Howard and Mason had been to meet her. Now that he had, they’d never hear from him again.

Despite the warm air, she shivered. “We talked about some of his tax issues, and then he asked if I’d like to walk down to the river.”

“And you said yes,” Dougal continued, moving the script forward. “Show me where you went.”

They left the gazebo and as Jamie picked out the faint trail through the forest to the river, she remembered more trivia from that day. “He talked about the salmon spawning in the drainage of Dry Creek. I asked if he was a fisherman. He said he didn’t have the patience.”

The sound of rushing water grew louder as she made her way through the trees, her sandals crunching over small twigs and scattered pine cones. When she pushed aside the branch of a thick spruce tree, a squirrel came rushing down the trunk to scold her, before dashing back to safety.

Jamie stopped when she came to the river bank. What a beautiful, magical place. The river spanned about twenty-five feet, disappearing from view as it curved to the right. “There’s a big waterfall beyond that curve, but you have to walk along these rocks to see it.”

The river was shallow on this bank, so clear you could see perfectly to the pebbled floor. As Jamie stepped cautiously from one big rock to the next, the chattering of the river became a dull roar. She stopped well back from the ledge where the land abruptly gave way to a twenty foot drop.

Even as she was doing so, Dougal grabbed her arm.

“Careful! You’re too close to the edge.”

“Brian Greenway warned me to be careful that day,” she recalled. “I remember I leaned too far forward and almost lost my balance. But then he pulled me back.”

That brief moment of physical contact between them—it had passed so quickly. She’d felt nothing, no special bond, to suggest she was being touched by her father.

“Shit, Jamie. Are you sure he wasn’t the reason you almost fell?”

She started to deny it, then stopped. Memory was a funny thing. Now that Dougal had planted the idea in her head, she almost believed that yes, it had happened that way.

“You’re trembling. Let’s sit down for a bit.” Dougal pointed to a log a few yards back from the ledge.

Jamie sank down gratefully, stretching out her legs, but folding her arms over her chest. Even from this distance she could feel a deliciously cool mist from the cascading river.

“If Brian Greenway was our father, why would he have pulled a stunt like that?”

“He meant it as a message for me.” Dougal sat beside her, staring out at the river, his expression stony. “He killed our half-sister Joelle and her baby for the same reason. He wants me to write a book about his killing spree in the seventies.”

“Or else what? He’ll kill me next?” She tried to sound incredulous. Because it was unbelievable. And yet so many awful things had happened the past four months.

When Dougal didn’t respond, she had to concede. “Maybe you’re right. God knows you were right about Kyle.”

* * *

Dougal was thirty minutes into the drive back to Twisted Cedars with his sister when the phone he’d tossed into his cup holder let out a series of chirps.

Jamie’s phone was doing the same thing.

“Guess we’re back in cell phone range.” Jamie fished her phone out of her purse. A moment later she said, “Oh, crap. No. No way.”

“What is it?” Foreboding, cold as a rogue wave in December, washed over him. The call could be about anything. Maybe she’d missed an important meeting at work. But his fear was confirmed with her next words.

“It’s Chester. He’s missing.”

Icy fear slid down Dougal’s spine. He tried to push it away with reason. Kids broke rules sometimes. Maybe that’s all this was. “How long? Fifteen minutes? Half an hour?”

“No one’s seen him since school let out at three-thirty.”

The dash on the car taunted them with the current time, which was two hours later.

Dougal swore, then glanced at his sister, who was still hunched over her phone.

“Charlotte’s left me about five text messages, asking if I’ve seen him. I’ve got three voice mails from her too. I’m going to—hang on, I think she’s calling me now.”

Dougal pushed his speed to the brink of safety, calculating in his mind the distance to Twisted Cedars. Another hour and a half, at least.

“Charlotte!” Jamie’s voice changed, grew louder and urgent. “I’m with Dou—”

Her explanation was cut off by a torrent of words from the other end of the line. Dougal missed the first few seconds, while Jamie turned on the Bluetooth. And then Charlotte’s voice came through, clear, but frantic.

“—been everywhere! The park, the school, the beach, all his friends! But we just can’t find him!”

“Charlotte. Dougal here. Have you called 911?”

“Yes. Wade’s at my house right now. I’ve given him pictures and a video clip of Chester I had on my phone. They’ve called an Amber Alert. Everyone’s looking for him.
Everyone!
So why can’t we find him? He had his bike, but how far can a nine-year-old get on a bike? Oh my God, I just can’t believe this.”

“Is Cory alright?” Jamie’s face had turned a pasty white.

“Yes. She’s home with me.”

“Can you put her on speaker phone?”

Dougal gave his sister’s shoulder a quick squeeze. Legally she was still the twins’ step-mother. Although that bond would soon be rescinded with the annulment of her marriage to their father, he knew she still cared deeply about the kids.

“J-Jamie?” Cory’s voice sounded shattered.

“Honey. Are you okay?”

“Sort of.”

“Dougal and I are on our way back to Twisted Cedars right now. We’ll be there before seven, I hope. We’ll come straight to your house.”

“I’m at Aunt Charlotte’s.”

Jamie glanced at him, her eyes soft with empathy. Moving houses in order to live with their aunt had been one of many adjustment forced upon the twins in the past few months.

“Right. Your aunt Charlotte’s place. We’ll see you as soon as we can get there. Hang tight, honey. I love you.” She ended the call, then drew in a long, shaky breath. “Those poor kids.”

Dougal glanced at his sister after she ended the call. “You okay?”

“I suppose...but is Chester? The past few months have been hell for that kid. He hero-worshiped Kyle. Having his father thrown into prison was terrible. And facing the kids at school must be a constant reminder.”

“I can imagine.” Actually, he didn’t need to. He’d been twelve, three years older than Chester, when his father was convicted for killing his second wife and sent to prison. Though Ed had been out of their lives for years, the news had somehow spread through town and the schoolyard taunts had been brutal.

But the inner shame had proven the more lasting torment.

Jamie drummed her fingers restlessly on her thighs. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find out Chester’s run away.”

Dougal didn’t dare tell her that was a best-case scenario here. His top two fears were first, that Chester could have drowned in the ocean, or the mighty Rogue River. Or—and this one was just as bad—that somehow Ed Lachlan had gotten his hands on the boy.

“Suppose he did run away,” Dougal said. “Where would he go?”

“Somewhere far away. Maybe his grandmother’s place in Sacramento?”

Dougal nodded. Kyle’s mother had moved there after she divorced her husband Jim. “That’s a long way for a nine-year-old to travel.”

“True. Another place he loves is Wolf Creek Camp.”

Charlotte had enrolled the kids at the outdoor living camp for most of the summer, at their request. The wilderness setting had protected them from the media circus that followed the discovery of their mother’s body.

“At least that’s in the right state. But it’s a long car ride to Wolf Creek, I can’t see him getting there on a bike. He’d have been picked up by a patrol car for sure, if he tried.”

“Do you think he’d try the Librarian Cottage?”

The rustic A-frame he was renting from Charlotte had been in the Hammond family for decades. Chester definitely would know how to get there. And the distance—about five miles—was something he could manage relatively quickly on a bike.

Dougal was happy to snatch at this hope, however faint. “Let’s check it out on the way to Charlotte’s.”

The approach to the Librarian Cottage was down a narrow forestry road, through a tunnel of old growth cedar forest. Dougal was forced to reduce his speed considerably.

“Keep an eye out in case Chester is hiding on the side of the road.”

“Believe me, I am.”

Dougal glanced at Jamie sharply. Every now and then his sister would say something that reminded him so much of their mother it was painful. The two of them were so similar, they were almost carbon copies. Jamie was kind and empathetic just like their mom. And physically she was similar, too, with her curvy figure, thick dark hair, and deep set, intense blue eyes.

One of these days Dougal was going to have to find a genetics specialist and ask them to explain how it was possible to create a child who only had one parent’s DNA.

For just as Jamie was so like their mom, all his life people had told him he was
just like his dad
.

Did those people realize how it felt, as a kid, to be compared to a man who had beaten his first wife and killed his second? It didn’t feel that great as an adult either.

For a long time Dougal had been happy to escape this dubious heritage and make his life in New York. But when he’d come back to follow a lead for a new story this spring, he’d decided to stay for two reasons.

One was definitely the local librarian, Charlotte Hammond, who had somehow managed to disarm him completely.