forgotten (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 2) (7 page)

When it came time for him to leave, she asked if he would come again, tomorrow. “For dinner. So you can get to know the kids.”

He raked his fingers through his hair and grimaced. “About that. I’m no good with kids, Char.”

“Hey, I haven’t had much experience with children this age, either.”

“Yeah, but you’re a nice person, a librarian, no less. You’ll be a good influence on them.”

“And you won’t?”

“Do you really need me to answer that for you? You’ve read my books.”

“So?” She shook her head at him. “Even Stephen King has children.”

day 3 after the accident

d
espite having worked for most of the weekend, Wade found his desk buried under files, messages and forms when he showed up Monday morning. His office manager, Marnie Philips, was at her desk juggling all his incoming calls, motioning with her eyes that she needed to speak with him. Everyone in the office was feeling the stress of having two new cases on top of the usual summer madness.

Wade glanced through the messages, prioritizing in his mind the calls and meetings he needed to make before noon. Within a few minutes, Marnie interrupted, splaying her hands with her perfectly manicured nails on his desk.

“You were in on the weekend, again.” She said this like it was a crime.

Marnie was in her mid-twenties, but with her big eyes, clear skin, and round-shaped face she looked much younger. This youthful appearance didn’t stop her, however, from acting like she was the boss of the place.

“I realize sometimes you are going to need files when I’m not here to pull them for you. But when you’re done with them, please just leave them on my desk.”

“Don’t tell me I messed up your filing system again.”

She raised her eyebrows, silently making her point.

He sighed. “Fine.”

“Thank you. By the way Dunne and Carter both want to talk to you as soon as possible. Want me to set up some times?”

The deputies were in charge of his two most pressing open investigations. Frank Dunne was handling the investigation into the fatal truck accident, while Duane Carter was in charge of the Hammond-Quinpool homicide. “Tell Dunne to come in around ten. And I’ll meet Carter at the Buttermilk Café for lunch.”

“Will do.”

He was reaching for his pen, about to sign his approval for Carter’s expense report, when he sensed Marnie had something else to say. He glanced up. Sure enough, she was still standing there.

“How was the fishing on Friday?”

He frowned at the question. Friday seemed so long ago now. He realized the fish he’d caught were still in the ice chest. By now, the ice would be melted. The fish would have turned. Crap.

“Weather was great and the fish were biting, fine. But that truck accident sure took the shine off the day.”

“Too bad about the accident. But do you think you could show me that fishing spot sometime? I went out on Saturday and didn’t catch a thing.”

Marnie fished? That was a revelation. “It’s a MacKay family secret. But sure, you bring in a map and I’ll show you how to find it. You have to promise not to tell anyone else, though.”

He thought he was being magnameous with his offer, but Marnie didn’t seem to appreciate that. In fact, she looked a little disappointed.

Wade turned back to his work, and it felt like less than thirty minutes later when Frank Dunne showed up at his door. Wade checked the time on his computer, surprised to see that, yes, it was ten.

“Come in, Frank. How are you doing?”

Frank Dunne was around forty, a large man who moved—and thought—slowly. He wasn’t the brightest deputy Wade had working for him, but he always followed through when he was given a job. He dotted every “i” and crossed every “t.” And his impressive bulk was handy for intimidating troublemakers in volatile situations.

“Not good. I can’t tell what caused that driver to leave the road. We got the report back from vehicle inspection. Nothing wrong, mechanically speaking. As you know, weather and road conditions were excellent, so we can’t blame fog. Possibly a deer or moose ran across the road—but we couldn’t see any tracks.”

“Maybe the autopsy on Chet Walker will give us our answer. I expect we’ll have that by the end of the day.”

“A heart attack would explain a lot,” Frank said. He checked his notes. “I did call the hospital to check on the passenger. She’s awake now, being released today. I wanted her to come in and make a statement, but they say she can’t remember anything.”

“Yeah. I tried to get a statement from her yesterday. The neurologist says she’s suffering from amnesia, can’t even recall her name.”

Frank looked at his papers again. “I guess she won’t be much help with this, then, will she?”

“Afraid not. You’re going to have to do some digging. Follow Walker’s route the day of the accident. See if you can find out where he picked up his passenger.”

* * *

At lunch time, Wade left the office for his meeting with Duane Carter. Slipping on his sunglasses, he made his way along Driftwood Lane, squinting in the blazing sunlight and avoiding the swarms of tourists on the sidewalks.

Summer wasn’t his favorite time of the year, anymore. When he was a kid he’d loved the time off school. As a teenager, he’d appreciated the influx of bikinied girls on the beach.

But when you were in law enforcement, the tourists who came every July and August seemed to bring more trouble than they were worth. While the merchants of Twisted Cedars appreciated the extra vacation dollars, Wade and his staff had to deal with the noise disturbances, petty theft, and instances of drunk and disorderly conduct. Then there were the weekend warriors who got lost in the mountains, or stranded on their boats.

Since the Buttermilk Café was only a block from the Sheriff’s Office, Wade reached his destination quickly. The cream and yellow clapboard bungalow, on the south end of Driftwood Lane, catered to the trendy and tourist crowds.

Pictures of cows—cute artistic renditions—hung on the walls, and the menu featured items like pancakes and scones made from buttermilk. There was even buttermilk available on the beverage list. Wade had tried it once. Tasted like vomit.

But he tried to spread his business around town, and he knew Duane Carter liked this place. So here he was.

Duane was in his early thirties, too, but as far as interests went, Wade and his deputy couldn’t be more different. Wade liked hiking in the wilderness, fishing and beer. While Duane was a fitness freak. He and his wife Lisa were always training for a triathlon or marathon, or some such event. And Wade was always getting hit up to be a sponsor.

On the plus side for him, Duane’s mind was as fast and efficient as his body. He got work done well. And quickly.

Wade paused at the entrance long enough to see Duane was already seated at a table. He’d ordered them both lattes, Wade was secretly glad to see. He loved lattes, but on principle—because real men should drink their coffee black, or so his father had taught him—never ordered them himself.

“Hey Sheriff. Think I’ll have the kale and goat cheese omelet. You?”

“The turkey clubhouse.” He didn’t need to think. It was the only item on the menu he liked.

“So—” Wade got down to business as soon as their order was placed. “—where do we stand on the Hammond-Quinpool case?”

“I’ve got the new gal working on the Hammond bank records which were handed over by the sister. She’s comparing the dates to the travel invoices we subpoenaed from Quinpool Realty.”

“Good.” What had first given Kyle away was when his new wife realized that he was lying about his business trips and secretly traveling to Sacramento—which was where Daisy’s ATM withdrawals were always made.

If they were able to match the dates of the withdrawals with the dates Kyle had travelled to Sacramento, that would be a pretty convincing piece of circumstantial evidence.

“We also got the autopsy results on Daisy Hammond,” Duane continued. “Cause of death was the wound to her head.”

Wade nodded. The case would have gotten a lot more complicated had Daisy still been alive when she was buried.

“The Medical Examiner confirmed she had been moved after her death, which is consistent with our theory about her dying at the Quinpool home.”

“Okay. No surprises there.” But none of it looked good for Kyle. “Any results back from the lab on those hair fibers we found on the tarp?”

“That’s going to be another week. Same with the blood sample we took from the wall at the Quinpool house.”

“Any ideas on what we should do while we’re waiting for those results?”

“An eyewitness account would be nice. I’d like to interview Kyle’s parents.”

“Agreed. I’d start with the mother, Muriel. She and Jim separated last year. She moved to Portland after that, to live with her sister.”

“Okay. I’ll see if I can set up something for tomorrow.”

Duane was more than capable of handling the interview on his own. But he didn’t know the Quinpools the way Wade did. Screw all the work waiting for him at the office. This was more important. “I’ll come with you.”

Duane’s eyebrows went up. “Yeah?”

“If Muriel saw Kyle push Daisy—and is willing to testify as much—we’ll have a slam dunk case.”

“You think she’ll rat out her own son?”

“My guess is the guilt is getting to her. Why else would she leave her son and grandchildren and a marriage of several decades?”

Wade didn’t feel good about putting away his old high school friend. But Daisy deserved justice. And that was his job.

* * *

After lunch Wade tried calling Charlotte at the library, but was told she was on leave. He had better luck with her cell phone number.

“Hi Wade, what’s up?” She sounded breathless.

“You volunteer at the Heartland Women’s Shelter, right?” He could hear sounds of children in the background. And surf. She must be at the beach with Chester and Cory. Until this moment he’d forgotten she’d been approved to take custody of Kyle and Daisy’s children. That must be why she was taking time off work.

“Yes. I bring them books every two weeks, and I run their book club, too.”

“That’s what I thought. Thing is, Charlotte, that woman I told you about—the one who was in the truck accident on Friday—is going to be checking in at Heartland today.”

“So she’s okay? You said she was still unconscious when they sent her to the hospital.”

“She was in a coma for over a day. Good news is she came out of it. Bad news is she can’t remember anything. The staff at the hospital have been calling her Birdie, rather than Jane Doe.”

“Poor woman.”

“Yeah. And it gets more complicated. Birdie had bruises that pre-date the accident. And a tan line on her ring finger suggests she recently removed a ring.”

“So you think she’s been going through marital difficulties, and her husband may have harmed her?”

“It’s a theory. And if we’re right, it’s possible our truck driver intervened. Or, at the very least, offered her a ride to get out of a tricky situation. Until her memory returns, and possibly even after that, the safest place for Birdie is at the shelter.”

“Definitely. But what would you like me to do?”

“I was wondering if you could check on her next time you’re there. I’m going to give Terri a call, too. If Birdie’s memory begins to return, I’d like to know. We still have no idea why that truck crashed.”

His call to Terri Morrison, who ran Heartland, wouldn’t be as pleasant as this one. Terri had a perpetual grudge against law enforcement for not doing enough to protect women against the men who abused them.

In some respects Wade sympathized with Terri’s stance. But he had to work within the constraints of the law and his budget, something Terri never seemed to understand.

“It’s about time I changed out the books at the shelter,” Charlotte said. “I could go tonight, provided Jamie will babysit.”

“That would be great.” A beep signaled another incoming call. “I should go. Thanks again, Charlotte.”

Wade took a deep breath to clear his mind and focus on whatever this new call was going to bring. “Sheriff MacKay here.”

“It’s Tom.”

Dr. Tom Olsen was the deputy state medical examiner. Wade had asked him to call personally when he’d finished Chet Walker’s autopsy.

“I’ve just finished my examination,” Tom continued. “I’m afraid my findings aren’t going to make your job any easier. As far as I could see there was no medical reason for Chet Walker to lose control of his truck. No indication of his having had a seizure or suffered a stroke or heart attack.”

“Is that right.” Only then did Wade realize how much he’d been hoping for a different sort of report. The death was tragic, no matter what the cause, but if Chet Walker had driven off the road because of a serious heart attack, it might have been easier on his wife to know that.

Plus, Wade wouldn’t have had to worry about what
had
caused the accident.

It wasn’t unheard of to have an inconclusive report on a traffic fatality. But Birdie’s presence in the truck, her amnesia and her pre-accident bruising, complicated matters entirely.

There were just so many possible scenarios. The driver could have abducted Birdie and she caused the accident when she tried to escape. Or Birdie may have been running from someone when the truck driver picked her up and offered to help. Of course the simplest explanation was that Birdie had simply been hitching a ride because she had no money.

It all boiled down to this: he couldn’t be sure Birdie would be safe when she got out of the hospital if he didn’t know why she’d been riding in that truck with Walker and what had caused that accident.

j
amie reviewed the printout with satisfaction. Everything balanced, each number was reasonable, the whole statement made perfect sense. There were no problems at the accounting firm that couldn’t be solved with the patient application of logic—and she loved that.

It was so good to be back at Howard & Mason, in her old office, dealing with familiar clients. She was grateful the partners—Colin Howard and Ben Mason—held no resentment for the way she’d abruptly resigned two weeks ago. It was as if they understood she’d been manipulated by Kyle, without her needing to tell them so.