forgotten (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 2) (2 page)

What the hell?

Wade had an evidence bag in his pocket. He put the page inside, then turned his thoughts to the woman’s missing ID. Maybe she had something in the pocket of her jeans, but he wouldn’t be able to get at it until the paramedics arrived.

Wade placed a gentle hand on the injured woman’s arm. “Help is coming. You hang tight.” Still she gave no response.

Wade mulled over the accident scene. There were no dead animals, the usual cause of single vehicle accidents in the summer when the roads were good.

Maybe Chet had suffered a heart attack or stroke.

Noticing a trail of blood from the woman’s forehead to her left eye, Wade used the clean flannel cloth to wipe it away. He wished he could do more. She was awfully pale, terribly still.

“They’ll be here soon.”

She remained unresponsive. He took note of her left hand, and the pale line of skin where a wedding band might have been. Her nails were painted turquoise.

Wade glanced up at the sky and guessed it was an hour past noon. So much for his peaceful break from mayhem. Then again, he shouldn’t complain. At least he hadn’t been in the oncoming lane when this truck went off the road.

“Who are you lady?” He spoke again hoping his voice would reassure her, even though she wasn’t conscious. “Seems like you were in the wrong place at the wrong time today.”

In the distance, he finally heard the sound he’d been waiting for. But even the sirens didn’t wake her up.

i
n the summer, the favorite after-hours hangout for the locals of Twisted Cedars was the Linger Longer, mostly because the tourists preferred Wally’s Wharf. Wally’s had a quaint nautical décor, trendy tapas menu and a pretty rooftop patio overlooking the ocean.

In contrast, the Linger Longer was a no-frills establishment, selling beer, pizza, burgers, and chicken wings. A small dance floor near the front didn’t see much action until after ten, while the pool tables in the back were almost always busy.

This Saturday night, Charlotte Hammond, the town’s librarian, leaned on the well-worn pine bar while she ordered two draft ales.

“Sorry about your sister, love.” Sean Fitzgerald said, while he filled two tall glasses for her.

Dark-haired, charming Sean had been the guy all the girls had a crush on back when Charlotte was in high school. She’d collaborated on a science project with Sean once. She’d done all the legwork, of course. He’d handled the presentation. Even at sixteen he had the confident air of one who’d figured out life and knew how to get what he wanted.

At twenty-eight, Charlotte still couldn’t say the same for herself.

“Thanks Sean. Is Mia here tonight?” Sean’s wife worked almost as many hours as he did.

“No, she isn’t working weekends anymore. Not until we find a new babysitter. We caught the last one making out with her boyfriend on our living room sofa.” Sean shook his head, disapprovingly. “Now Mia only works during the hours when her Mom is free to babysit.”

It didn’t seem that long ago that Sean would have been the boy sneaking in to neck with a babysitter. How had the years gone by so quickly?

Charlotte smiled vaguely, then headed back to her table.

She was expecting Wade any minute. He’d dropped by her house last night to make sure she was okay and to set up the meeting. His consideration was typical of him, and not at all surprising given that, not long ago, she and Wade had been a couple. They’d dated for about six months before he’d foolish proposed to her on the night of Kyle Quinpool and Jamie Lachlan’s wedding.

The wedding had been in May, little more than six weeks ago. And since then, the shit had certainly hit the fan. Poor Jamie must be wishing she’d taken her brother Dougal’s advice and called the whole thing off. Charlotte couldn’t blame her for her lack of perception, though. Even she, Daisy’s younger sister, had been fooled by Kyle. Maybe it was his golden-boy good looks, or his charming smile, but she’d never once suspected him of harming her sister.

Let alone killing her—and burying her body behind the family cottage.

But it sure looked like that was what had happened.

Charlotte took a long drink of her beer, thinking she should have ordered something stronger. She suspected Wade had arranged this meeting so he could bring her up to date with the investigation into Daisy’s death. But she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear the details.

So far, all she knew were the bare facts. Dougal Lachlan, true crime writer, and very recently, and surprisingly, Charlotte’s lover, had been digging up the old garden behind the Librarian Cottage five miles out of town on Old Forestry Road—which he was currently renting—when he’d come across Daisy’s remains, wrapped in a large green tarp.

That had been a week ago.

Since then, Charlotte had been living in a state of shock. She’d barely registered Dougal’s decision to make his move to Twisted Cedars a permanent one. Last Friday he’d flown back to New York City to pack up his belongings and his cat. She hadn’t heard from him since, though it was possible he’d left her a message on her phone.

Charlotte had stopped answering calls on both her home and cell phone. She’d also taken the week off work. So many people, with the kindest of intentions, no doubt, wanted to talk to her about Daisy.

The problem was, Charlotte didn’t know much more than anyone else. She had nothing to say.

But she had plenty of questions.

“Charlotte. Sorry I kept you waiting.” Wade leaned over to kiss her cheek, before taking the empty seat at their table.

“You aren’t late. I was early.” It wasn’t surprising she’d hadn’t noticed him come in. While it was only eight o’clock, already the pub was hot and noisy. Plus she’d chosen a table tucked in the corner, hoping it would be easier for them to talk.

They could have met somewhere else, of course. But she was grateful he’d chosen the Linger Longer. It might be chaotic and a little uncomfortable. But it was familiar. She felt safe.

Charlotte pushed the extra beer in front of him and was surprised when Wade downed half of it in a few seconds. “Tough day?”

Up close his face was worn down, almost haggard with fatigue. There was a streak of something on his arm that looked like blood.

“What happened?”

Wade’s normally bright and observant light brown eyes were dull. He sighed and shook his head. “There was an accident.”

Charlotte’s stomach muscles clenched as his words triggered a memory. Going to answer a knock at the front door in the darkest hour of the night. Seeing the Sheriff, who’d been Wade’s father at the time.

She’d known what was coming, even as he placed a hand on her arm and gently suggested they go inside and sit down.

There was an accident
.

Her parents had been killed in a car crash on their way home from the country club.

Charlotte tightened her grip on her glass and took a deep breath. Across the table, Wade was contemplating his half-empty glass

“Anyone we know?”

“No.” Wade was quick to reassure her. “Sorry, I should have made that clear from the start.”

He was a good man. She was glad there was no residual awkwardness between them. Or at least very little. The reason for that was the same reason she’d refused his proposal.

She wasn’t the woman Wade really wanted. His proposal on Jamie Lachlan’s wedding day made that quite clear. But while she’d refused him because she knew she was his second choice, her new affair with Dougal made her realize it had been the right decision for her, as well.

“It was a commercial truck, a single-vehicle accident,” Wade said. “I was driving back from a fishing trip around noon, on Bear Camp Road, and came upon the scene not long after it happened. The driver crashed down the embankment and overturned his truck.”

“It’s a bad road.” Several infamous tragedies had occurred on Bear Camp Road, one horrifically involving a family on vacation who had been trying to get to the Interstate via what seemed, according to their GPS, to be a shorter route. An early winter snowstorm had stranded them on a side road, and the father perished when he struck out on foot looking for help.

“The driver was dead,” Wade continued, “And he had a passenger, a woman. She was unconscious when I found her and still hadn’t come to when the ambulance drove off with her.”

“The driver’s wife?”

“No. Looked about your age, which makes her young enough to be the driver’s daughter. But she wasn’t that, either. We’ve spoken to the driver’s wife—she lives in Klamath Falls—and they have no children.”

“So, who was she?”

“No idea. She wasn’t carrying ID.”

“Not even a purse? Or a phone?” Charlotte couldn’t fathom walking to the corner market without hers.

“Nope.” Wade was clearly troubled by this.

“Did the driver’s wife have any ideas?”

“We asked, of course. Had her husband made plans to give someone a life? Was he in the habit of picking up hitchhikers? She said no to both questions. As far as she knew her husband was traveling his route alone, like usual.”

Charlotte could tell from Wade’s expression that he hoped for the wife’s sake there hadn’t been anything sordid about the woman’s presence in the truck.

“Besides,” he continued, “The woman didn’t look like someone who would be hitching a ride. She had diamond studs in her ears. Nails done up nice. Clean clothes—maybe a little wrinkled, is all.”

Charlotte fingered the studs in her own ears, a present she’d been given by her parents when she graduated college. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Too soon to tell. She’s at the Medical Clinic in Brookings. Last I checked, she was still unconscious.” Wade took another swallow of his beer.

His hand was shaking.

This wasn’t like Wade. But then, like her, he’d been through a lot the past week.

“We’re checking missing person reports in both Oregon and California, too. No matches so far. Hopefully she’ll regain consciousness soon and give us the answers we need.”

He hesitated. “If she makes it, that is.”

“Well. I hope she’s okay.”

“Yeah.” Wade’s voice trailed off, then he sighed. “But this isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Charlotte’s shoulder muscles tightened. She leveled her gaze down at the table. “How did my sister die? Did she suffer?”

“I don’t think so. Her head injury was sufficient to knock her out. Whether it was the cause of death we don’t know conclusively. I’m expecting more from the medical examiner next week. The final autopsy will be about four weeks after that.”

Wade put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Charlotte. I can imagine what a shock this has been for you.”

“It’s surreal. A part of me feels like I always knew Daisy was dead, and it’s good to finally have closure. But another part of me isn’t ready to let go of the hope that I might see her again.”

Charlotte rubbed her finger in a circle on the table, tracing the condensation from her glass. “I always figured she’d come back to Twisted Cedars to see her children, if not me.”

“At least you know she never made the choice to leave. Is that any comfort?”

“In a way. But it’s pretty cold comfort when you consider I’ll never see her again. We weren’t close as kids. Now we’ll never have a chance to be close as adults.”

Wade said nothing to that. What could he say? Wade wasn’t the sort of man to talk, when there wasn’t any point. Charlotte had always appreciated that about him.

She appreciated many other things about Wade, too. He was loyal, honorable and kind. The sort of man she knew her parents would have been happy for her to settle down with. She wondered if one day she’d regret turning down his proposal.

“It had to be Kyle who did this, right?”

“He’s a strong suspect. First, he was the last person to see Daisy before she supposedly left town. He’s also the only one we know who had a grievance against her. We know from her lawyer that she’d been fighting him for partial custody of their kids.”

“Could it have been a stranger, Wade? Someone just passing through town, maybe?”

“Hard to understand how a stranger would have been able to bury her body at a cottage only a local from Twisted Cedars would know how to find. Plus, why would Kyle have used her bank card to make it seem she was living in Sacramento, if he didn’t have something to hide?”

“That’s the most damning thing of all, isn’t it?” Years ago her father had set up a joint-account for his daughters. A fund they could dip into if they ever got into a jam.

Ever since Daisy disappeared, monthly withdrawals had been made from random ATMs in Sacramento. While he was alive, their father had kept transferring funds to the account. After his death, Charlotte had continued to do so as well.

Perhaps they’d been foolish to see the withdrawals as proof Daisy was alive.

Maybe if they’d been more assertive with the bank, tried more investigators than the two they’d hired—one when Daisy disappeared, another after their parents’ deaths—Kyle’s ruse would have been discovered earlier.

“I just wish it could be someone other than Kyle. Not that I’m a fan of the guy. But I hate the idea of my niece and nephew losing both parents. And from all accounts—including Jamie—Kyle is a good father.”

“I hear you. We’ll have more to go on in a week or two. We’ve sent some evidence to the lab for testing—hair and fibers found on the tarp that was wrapped around her body. Also blood traces we found on a corner wall in Kyle’s kitchen, under a couple layers of paint.”

Charlotte frowned. “Blood traces in the kitchen?”

“Evidence suggests she was moved after she died.”

“Supposing Kyle wanted to kill her. Why would he do it in his kitchen?”

“We can’t assume he intended to commit murder. Perhaps they’d been arguing—they did that a lot, by all accounts. Maybe the fight got physical. A hard shove against the sharp corner of the wall could have been all it took.”

Charlotte could feel tears coming, and she swallowed hard. “It’s some comfort to think Daisy’s death might have been an accident. But if it was why wouldn’t’ Kyle call 911? Why did he bury her out in the forest—leaving his children, and all the rest of us to worry and wonder what had happened to her?