forgotten (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 2) (3 page)

“It’s unconscionable,” Wade agreed. He finished his beer, then nodded at her almost empty glass. “Want another?”

“I better go home.” Her head had started to ache. Plus she had a feeling Dougal might be returning from his trip today. He’d said he was only going away for a week and it had already been eight days.

She hated to admit how much she longed to see him.

Because counting on Dougal was never a smart move.

d
ougal Lachlan stood in long term parking at the Portland Airport and tried to remember where he’d parked his SUV. Holding a duffel bag in one hand, and a pet carrier with his cat Borden in the other, he needed a third hand to get out his keys.

It was seven in the evening and raining. He’d just spent ten hours flying from New York City to Portland, with a connection in Chicago, and he still had a five and half hour drive to Twisted Cedars.

Home. Strange to be calling it that again after all these years.

But then, a lot was strange these days.

Most notably, finding a buried body in the former garden at Librarian Cottage.

And then that body belonging to Charlotte’s sister Daisy.

He was worried about Charlotte. She hadn’t answered any of his calls while he was away. Maybe she was pissed at him for taking off so soon after finding Daisy’s body. But he had his demons, too.

And he’d had to get his cat.

Borden let out a yowl of displeasure from inside her carrier.

“I hear you.” He set down the carrier to get his keys. When he hit the “unlock” button on the fob, lights flashed on a vehicle halfway down the next row, accompanied by a quick beep. There it was.

He tossed his luggage in the trunk, then set up a makeshift litter box behind the driver’s seat. On the other floor mat, he put a bowl of water and an open tin of tuna.

It had been a long, confusing day for Borden and she howled at him when he let her out. She ignored the food, sniffed the water, but wouldn’t drink it. She did make use of the litter, though.

When he offered her a greenie treat, she wouldn’t deign to even look at it.

“Don’t think I’m joining you in this stupid hunger strike of yours.”

He put her back in the carrier and secured it with the seat belt. Fifteen minutes later he was in the drive-through line for a burger and a soda, after which he filled the tank, and tried phoning Charlotte again.

No answer. Again. Hell, what was going on?

The July days were long, which worked in his favor. He didn’t lose the sunlight until he finished the mountain traverse to the coastal highway. Then he had only a few more hours to go. Moonlight was playing on the ocean waves when he finally reached town limits, shortly after midnight. Despite his longing for his new forest home, he drove past the exit to the Librarian Cottage and headed instead to the Hammond’s beautiful beach home, where Charlotte lived alone.

The house was much too big for one person. He suspected Charlotte had hung onto it, after her parents’ deaths, in the hopes that one day her sister would return. The two story clapboard would have had plenty of space for Charlotte and Daisy, as well as Daisy’s two children.

But that was not to be.

A pale light shone from the main floor, suggesting not only was Charlotte still awake, but she hadn’t even gone up to her room, yet. Dougal scooped Borden from her carrier. “I want you to make a good first impression, okay? So be friendly.”

He jogged up the steps and followed the wraparound porch to the kitchen door, which he tapped on lightly, before trying the door. Unlocked, as usual. For a woman plagued with numerous irrational fears and anxieties, Charlotte was surprisingly casual about practical matters of safety.

“Charlotte? It’s me. Are you up?” The familiar smell of her house made him feel like he was truly home. In his arms, Borden was wiggling so much, he had to set her free. But as soon as the feline’s paws landed on the unfamiliar tile floor, she froze.

“Yeah, it’s another strange place. But I promise, you’ll like this one.”

“Dougal?”

He heard Charlotte’s sleepy voice a second before she rounded the corner. She was wearing a long T-shirt, her shapely legs and feet bare. The blanket she usually kept on the sofa was wrapped around her shoulders.

Clearly he’d awakened her. “I’m sorry. I saw the light and assumed you’d be up.”

“Dougal.” She dropped the blanket and ran into his arms.

He hugged her close and for a few seconds couldn’t speak. It was such a relief to see she was okay with him. To feel her body next to his, warm and welcoming.

Gently he brushed his hand over her head, smoothing her hair. “I’m not used to worrying about people. Why didn’t you answer any of my calls?”

“It’s been a rough week. So many people were phoning with condolences and everyone wanted details of what happened. I couldn’t deal. So I turned off my phone.”

“I called the library. They said you weren’t at work, either?” He leaned back to study her face and his heart ached at the sorrow he saw in her eyes.

He’d felt the same when his mother died a year ago. But he’d been too stupid to admit his grief, instead had tried—and failed—to carry on living as if nothing had changed.

“I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate at work. Plus I couldn’t face the people there, either.” Charlotte eased out of his arms. “Was that Borden I saw a minute ago?”

Dougal took a quick look around the room. “She must be exploring your place. I hope that’s okay. I’d better go get her litter box and her food and water bowls.”

“I’ll pour us a drink while you do that.”

He could hear amusement in her voice. Up to now, she hadn’t seen much of his nurturing side. But hey. If you owned a pet, you had to look after it.

* * *

A few minutes later, all three of them were cuddled on the sofa, Charlotte and Dougal on the cushions, Borden perched on the back. The old cat was cautious, but she’d allowed Charlotte to scratch her behind the ears and under her red leather collar. Charlotte decided they were going to get along just fine.

“Revisiting Jane Austen, are you?” Dougal was looking at the stack of novels on her coffee table.

“My go-to books in times of stress,” she confessed. She’d started with
Emma
and was now a quarter way through
Sense and Sensibility
. “Austen is so comforting. As her
Emma
says,
If things are going untowardly one month, they are sure to mend the next
.”

“Pretty quote. I prefer scotch myself.”

“Well, I did have a beer tonight, as well. I met Wade at the Linger Longer earlier this evening.”

“Rekindling the old flame?”

She checked his expression. When she saw he was teasing, she mock-punched his arm. “No. He was bringing me up to date on the investigation in Daisy’s death. Yesterday I handed over the banking records from our joint account. They’re going to see if they can match all the withdrawals to Kyle’s so-called business trips.”

“Sooner they arrest that guy, the happier I’ll be.”

“It would be nice to have some closure before I plan the memorial service for Daisy.”

Dougal brushed his hand down the side of her cheek. His touch gave her delicious shivers, making her feel cared-for and aroused, all at the same time.

“Do you regret letting me rent the Librarian Cottage? If I hadn’t dug up the old garden, Daisy’s body would probably never have been discovered, and you could have at least had hope.”

“But if Kyle did this, he ought to pay. Besides, what good is false hope? The truth is better, even if it’s painful to face. Think about Chester and Cory. It’s awful that their mother is dead. But at least they know she didn’t desert them.”

“Yeah. I’m glad for my sister’s sake, too. When I warned Jamie not to marry Kyle, I had no idea he’d done anything this evil. I just thought he was a jerk.”

“I’m still having trouble believing he did this. Maybe I could picture him accidently getting too rough with her. But burying her out in the forest? Rather than taking responsibility for his actions?”

“Kyle has always been a master at getting away with things. At school he was rich, good-looking, and the best athlete on the football team. Did he take advantage of that? He sure as hell did.”

“But think of what will happen if he goes to prison. Chester and Cory will practically be orphans.”

“Yeah. It’ll be tough on the kids all right.”

Charlotte sank her head against his chest. “This is depressing. Tell me about New York. Were you able to sublet your apartment?”

“Actually, subletting the apartment was the least of my worries.”

“Oh?”

“It’s kind of mind-blowing. Maybe we should wait until tomorrow. It’s late and you look beat.”

“You can’t be serious. I’ll never sleep now that you’ve made me so curious. What happened?”

“You know that neighbor who was looking after Borden while I was away?”

“You said it was an old guy. Monty, right?”

“Yeah. Monty Monroe, or so he said. I thought he was a lonely guy willing to do me a favor by pet sitting Borden. But his motivations were much more devious than that. He was the one sending me those emails. My neighbor was none other than Librarianmomma.”

The reason Dougal had come back to Twisted Cedars last month—first time since he’d left after high school graduation—was to follow up on a lead for a potential new crime story about a man who’d murdered four librarians back in the seventies.

Dougal had been tipped off about the series of homicides by anonymous emails—and all his evidence to date had supported the information he’d been given.

Four librarians had been murdered, one a year, until 1974, when Charlotte’s Aunt Shirley—also a librarian—had hung herself in the Twisted Cedars Library. Dougal was planning to write a book about the murders, and Charlotte was helping him with the research.

“No! You actually found Librarianmomma? Was he just playing a game with you?”

“It wasn’t a game. He was deadly serious. And Monty Monroe was just an alias.” From his pocket Dougal pulled out the note Monty had left him in Borden’s cat carrier.

Well done, son. Now write the book
.

Charlotte read the note twice, then frowned. “He calls you son. Some men, do that, don’t they? Even when there’s no relation.”

“Some men do. But in this case, I’m afraid it’s true. I’m almost positive Monty is my biological father, Edward Lachlan.”

“No, that’s not possible.” She studied his face. Realized he was serious. Less than a year ago, Ed Lachlan had been released from the Oregon penitentiary, where he’d served time for killing his second wife, Crystal Halloway. Fortunately he hadn’t harmed their eight-year-old daughter who’d been on a sleepover at the time.

“Your father should still be on parole, right? So how could he have ended up in New York City? Let alone afforded to rent an apartment. It’s got to be expensive, right?”

“I’m guessing he skipped parole soon after his release and got himself set up with a new identity. I’m also guessing he has money stashed somewhere. God knows how or where he got it.”

Dougal rubbed a hand over his face. He looked so tired. But worse, deep in his eyes, she could see pure misery. Dougal hated his father with a passion.

“Are you sure Monty is your father? How is it you never recognized him?”

“I hadn’t seen him since I was six. Plus, he’d gone gray and grown a beard, and was all stooped over. Going up stairs he’d complain about his arthritis. He’s only in his sixties, but prison must have been hard on him. He looks much older.”

“So what happened when you saw him? What did you say to him?”

Dougal shook his head. “Monty—I mean Ed—had cleared out by the time I got there. He left Borden with lots of food, water and litter, at least.”

“Did you call the police?”

“Yeah, but they weren’t impressed. I have no proof Monty Monroe was really Ed Lachlan. By now he’s probably changed his identity again. They’ll never find him.”

“I’d have no idea how to change my identity.”

“That’s because you’re honest. My dad would have the right connections.”

“Did you ever meet his second wife, the one he killed?”

“Absolutely not. My mother cut off ties completely from our father after he left. And her friends, the Wards, made it pretty clear that if he ever tried to contact us again, they’d make big trouble. It was only after I turned eighteen and left Oregon that Ed dared to get in touch with me.”

“I wonder where he is now?”

“Far away, I hope. South America would be nice.” But even as he said this, Dougal scanned the room anxiously, and Charlotte realized how much this was going to haunt him. From this point forward, Dougal would always be on the lookout for his outlaw father.

And then something else occurred to her. Less than two weeks ago they’d figured out her aunt Shirley had given up a child for adoption when she was sixteen. This child, they’d reasoned, could be the person sending the e-mails, the infamous
Librarianmomma
.

“Does this mean your father—Ed Lachlan—was the baby my aunt Shirley gave up for adoption?”

“Talk about twisted, huh? Good thing you’re adopted.”

She wrinkled her nose. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. “Why do you think he hid behind that Librarianmomma ID for so long?”

“I would have deleted the messages, unread, if I knew they were from him. I guess he figured if he could hook me with his story, I would get sucked in. And I did.”

“Is there any chance he didn’t murder those librarians?”

“No. He’s the killer. Nothing else makes sense,” Dougal said, his voice dead of emotion.

She reached for his shaking hand and held it tight. Pain practically radiated off his skin. It had been hard for him to come back to Twisted Cedars, to the memories he didn’t want to face.

Growing up Dougal had lived with his mother and younger sister, Jamie, in a trailer park on the east side of town. His mother cleaned houses for a living, and he and Jamie often had to fend for themselves.

But childhood poverty wasn’t what had provided the scars.

Those came from knowing he had a father who was violent enough to kill. Dougal was obsessed with the fact that he shared fifty percent of his DNA with a man capable of murder, and he was terrified of his own dark side.