Jill Elizabeth Nelson (4 page)

If Mason had been behind the wheel, Rich could have arrested him. Maybe this third time would have been the charm, and the D.U.I. would stick. Or maybe not, if Judge Becker heard the case. The Elling fortunes might be in the tank, but their influence still loomed large.

Whip-slender and inches shorter than Rich's six feet one, Melody's son halted in front of Rich and snapped
a sloppy salute. “If it ain't the chief. Come to harash me again? Shorry to dishappoint you.” The twenty-six-year-old delinquent burped in Rich's face.

“I think you've disappointed yourself enough for the both of us.” Rich went to the sports car and knocked on the window.

The glass whooshed down, and Taylor Mead, Dr. Sharla's daughter and Mason's newest girlfriend, stared up at him. “Don't mind me, Chief, I'm clean and sober.” Her gaze fell away.

Rich shook his head. She'd probably had a soft drink, that was the kind of girl she was. But how long would she maintain her standards if she hung around Mason and his crowd? The doctor's family went to the same little community church that Rich did. He'd taught Taylor in youth group, and she was a classmate of his daughter Katrina's, though not a close friend.

He leaned closer. “Does your mom know you're rocketing around in this death trap with a drunken passenger?”

Taylor glared. “Hey, he called me up and asked me to drive him home from Sparky's Bar. He knows you guys are waiting for him to slip up again. He's not so bad, you know. Just needs someone to understand him.”

Right.
He'd heard that same song from women with black eyes and busted jaws, courtesy of the poor, misunderstood dirtball they called boyfriend or husband. He didn't want Taylor to end up another statistic. Mason was known to have the Elling temper.

“At least let me give you a lift back to your own car.” Rich offered a smile.

She tucked her lower lip between straight white teeth that must have cost her folks a hunk of change, and then shook her head. Her gaze was fixed on the young man who stood swaying on the entrance walk.

“I'll probably hang out here awhile. Play video games. Whatever.” She opened the car door, and Rich stepped out of the way as she emerged. “I'm nineteen years old and headed for college in a few weeks. I appreciate your concern, but you and my parents will have to stop mother-henning me.” She flipped her blond hair over her shoulder and stomped off.

“If you think you need a ride,” he spoke after her, “call me no matter what time it is.”

Heart heavy, he got into his SUV. Something was seriously funky in that household, and a bright girl with a promising future like Taylor didn't belong in all that darkness. But he couldn't control her choices. Just like he couldn't control Jan Keller's choice not to tell him what she knew about the baby that was buried in her backyard.

He guided his vehicle out of the driveway and onto one of the torn-up city streets. Behind him a pair of headlights came up quickly, bouncing over the bumpy track. Whoever it was needed to slow down and keep their distance. Frowning, Rich's hand moved toward the control for his bubble lights, then froze. The car behind flashed its headlights and signaled to pull over. Rich eased to the side of the road, and the other vehicle stopped behind him. The car's door opened, and the dome light revealed Nicole climbing out. Rich met her between their vehicles. The headlights from her car outlined her figure but left her features in shadows.

“Hi.” He ventured a small wave. “Thanks for handling matters so well back there.”

She let out a small laugh. “Here, I thought you were going to scold me for horning in on the investigation.”

“I probably should, but I get the sense that you were
caught up in the moment and ended up where you didn't expect.”

Her shoulders slumped. “The whole day has been like that. More like the past year.”

Was something heavy going on in Nicole's life even before her husband was killed? Rich stopped the question from popping out of his mouth. He didn't have the right to ask anything like that yet.

“What have you got there?” He motioned toward a bag she cupped in a palm as if it were fragile and precious.

“I was waiting at the intersection up the street for you to leave the Ellings so I could give you this. It's from Hannah. Baby Samuel's hairbrush. Maybe there's still usable DNA on it.” Nicole held the bag out to him.

Rich let out a low whistle and took the offering. “Thanks. I knew you'd handle Hannah like a pro.”

“No handling necessary.” She crossed her arms. “She volunteered. At least one person in that house wants the poor child identified.”

Rich nodded. “We need an ID to have any hope of finding out who might have buried the infant on your grandparents' property.”

“You're giving them the benefit of the doubt?”

Her breathless hope sent a shaft through Rich's heart. He steeled his emotions. “No more than I would any other citizen in good standing. Innocent until proven guilty, remember?”

She cleared her throat. “Well, thanks for that anyway.”

An awkward silence stretched between them.

“Good night,” she ventured first and turned away.

“Good night,” Rich called after her.

Good night? He climbed into his SUV. What a joke!

Nicole's discovery could steamroll her whole family
under the wheels of justice. Unfortunately, he was the guy that had to drive the steamroller whichever direction the investigation led. Neither of them was going to sleep well tonight.

 

Nicole tossed and turned in her upstairs bedroom. The last time she looked at the bedside clock, it was nearing midnight. There was no way that Grandpa Jan or Grandpa Frank had anything to do with her horrific discovery. They were so honest they'd go out of their way to return a dime if a checkout clerk gave them too much change. But then why was an infant buried beneath Grandpa Frank's roses?

And what was the matter with her that she'd taken note of that police chief's naked wedding ring finger? What a time to suddenly feel attraction for a man. The shock of her discovery must have affected her even worse than she thought if a square chin and a pair of vivid hazel eyes could jump-start her pulse.

Had he always been single? Or was he divorced like too many cops? Maybe widowed? That would be a switch, the spouse going before the cop, but it happened. His voice had been strong, yet gentle when examining the remains. He'd been firm when questioning her grandmother, though, but not bullying, like some behaved with suspects.

Suspects! Her grandmother was a suspect in the death of a baby. Unbelievable! Her grandfather, too. He might be dead and gone, but this discovery promised to assassinate the memory of his character. Unless he was clearly exonerated. Unless they both were.

Nicole caught her breath.
Please, God, let this mystery be solved.
But what if the case remained unsolved and suspicion clouded the rest of her grandmother's days?
And let my grandparents be innocent.
But what if they weren't?

Sighing, Nicole sat up and switched on the small table
lamp. She might as well go downstairs and warm a cup of milk. The old-fashioned remedy had helped many nights when Glen was out on night duty, and she knew he had a particularly dangerous case on his docket.

Nicole threw on her robe and padded barefoot down the carpeted stairs, relying on the nightlights her grandmother had strategically placed along the route for vision. She stepped off the hallway carpet onto the cool kitchen linoleum, and the sound of stealthy footfalls on the porch froze her in her tracks. She'd read in the local newspaper about a rash of nighttime thefts in the county. Her heart did a somersault.

Had they forgotten to lock the door?

The door latch clicked, and the panel creaked slowly ajar.

“G
randma!” Nicole blurted the word on a gust of pent-up breath.

The nightlight over the sink outlined the full figure who stepped inside. Grandma Jan let out a squeak and pressed a hand to her chest.

Nicole stepped farther into the kitchen. “What in the world are you doing outside in the middle of the night?” Had she been poking around in the crime scene? But no dirt showed on the woman's robe, nightgown or slippers.

“Aw, honey, you nearly scared me out of my skin.”

Nicole gurgled a laugh. “You did the same for me, sneaking around like that.”

Grandma Jan's posture stiffened. “I wasn't sneaking. Couldn't sleep so I went outside for some fresh air. What are you doing up this time of night?”

“I couldn't sleep, either, so I thought maybe a glass of warm milk would help.” Nicole went to the refrigerator. “Would you like one?”

Her grandmother patted her on the shoulder. “No, thanks, dear. I think I'll try to catch forty winks now.”

Nicole turned and watched her pad away. Was that a note of relief she'd caught on the other woman's voice? Like she'd successfully accomplished a secret mission? Nicole
shrugged. She was always second-guessing people's reactions and motives. Hazard of being a cop's daughter and a cop's wife. She needed to get out of that habit. She wasn't going to get caught up in that way of life anymore. Another reason to kick herself for checking out that fine-looking police chief. Available or not, he was off-limits as far as her wounded heart was concerned.

She thunked a mug onto the counter more briskly than she'd intended and winced at the noise. Then the milk came out of the jug faster than she'd anticipated and slopped over the edge of the cup. Nicole made an exasperated sound, wiped the counter with a paper towel and threw it in the wastebasket under the sink.

That's funny. An empty trash bag lined the container. Last night before she went to bed, she'd made a mental note that the full garbage bag needed to be taken out to the large trash bin in the alley bright and early in the morning before the city truck came by to pick it up. Her grandmother must have taken the trash out as part of her midnight wanderings.

On one hand, finding something productive to do if she wasn't able to sleep would be just like Grandma Jan. On the other, what had her grandmother been looking for in her bedroom right after the gruesome discovery? Some sort of evidence that had to do with the bones that were found? Did she dispose of the article in the trash? If so, why wait until the middle of the night? Grandma could have taken out the trash while Nicole was gadding around town in her car. But maybe Grandma couldn't decide what to do with whatever it was she wanted to hide? Maybe it had taken her until the middle of the night to make up her mind to destroy it?

Nerves quivered beneath Nicole's skin. Digging through a garbage bag in the wee hours was not an appealing prospect, but she needed to assure herself that her suspicions
were baseless. But what if they weren't? Then she needed to get at the truth. A baby was dead. Someone had to be held accountable. Her ingrained sense of justice wouldn't allow any alternative.

Abandoning her milk on the counter, Nicole grabbed a flashlight from on top of the refrigerator and went to the back door. She glanced down at her bare feet. No help for that now. She wasn't going back upstairs for her slippers. And even the flashlight was pushing it for a light source since Grandma's room faced toward the garage and alley. Nicole didn't want her grandmother to suspect she was checking up on her.

The outside air was still muggy after the warm summer day, but a breeze ruffled Nicole's pajama pants as she soft-footed down the deck stairs. Grit on the sidewalk stuck to the bottoms of her feet as she hustled toward the alley. A three-quarter moon lit her way, so she didn't bother with the flashlight. The single-car garage that housed her grandmother's late-model Chevy loomed to her right, and beyond the building at the end of the short driveway squatted the large, plastic trash bin.

Nicole stopped at the bin and glanced around. The house across the alley lay in darkness. To her right, she made out the arced form of her compact car sitting on a cement pad. To her left, the wind rustled the leaves on a hedge of bushes that lined the Keller property on the alley side. The neighborhood lay quiet. Not even a dog barked at this time of night.

She eased open the lid of the garbage can, and a rush of foul smell attacked her nostrils from years of trash passing through its confines. Using the lid as a shield, she pointed her flashlight down into the container. Her eyes widened. The can was empty. Nicole's gaze quickly scanned the area again. Nothing out of place. Certainly nothing that
resembled a stray trash bag. What had her grandmother done with the garbage from the kitchen?

Nicole shifted her stance, and a pebble nipped her heel. She let out a grunt of pain. Why was she standing out here in the pitch dark in her pajamas and bare feet, hunting for a sack of refuse? Because she couldn't stand a mystery unsolved, that was why. The only other place she could think to look was the garage. A few steps took her to the side garage door. She twisted the knob, but it didn't budge.

Grandma told her she'd started locking the garage at night since the rash of petty thefts had resulted in people losing lawn mowers, leaf blowers, snowmobiles and even motorcycles.

Nicole blew out a breath that ruffled her bangs. So much for plan A. She'd just have to move on to plan B. Squaring her shoulders, she headed back to the house.

A few hours later, her fitful slumber was blasted by the shrill of her alarm clock. Moaning, Nicole groped for the shut-off switch…or maybe she should just press the snooze button. She forced herself to sit up straight. Dawn light filtered around the blinds on the bedroom window. As much as she could use a little more shut-eye, she needed to hunt for that garbage bag while her grandmother was still in bed.

Nicole threw on a blouse, denim capris, ankle socks and tennis shoes. Halfway down the stairs, she halted and groaned. Plan B was shot, too. A distinctive smell wafted from the kitchen. Bacon. And her grandmother's tuneless hum accompanied the sound of frying. Nicole continued down the stairs.

Grandma's humming ceased. “Pancakes or waffles?” her voice called before Nicole showed her face in the kitchen.

Shaking her head, Nicole leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb. “Worms.”

Her grandmother turned from the stove, brows lifted.

Nicole chuckled. “Isn't that what the early bird is always after?”

Grandma laughed and turned a slice of bacon in the frying pan.

“Waffles, please. You know I love those.” Nicole headed for the brew in the carafe beside the automatic drip coffee-maker. One of the few gadgets of which her grand mother approved—other than the electric sewing machine.

“Waffles it is, then.”

Forty-five minutes later, they cleared the meal dishes from the table, and Nicole still hadn't had a chance to go outside. Conversation had been sporadic small talk. The garbage truck was due any minute.

“I'd better take the trash out,” she said as she ran wash water in the sink. No dishwasher in Jan Keller's house, of course. She held her breath for her grandmother's response.

“Already done, dear,” the woman answered, face serene.

Nicole ducked her head and squirted dishwashing liquid into the warm water. She hadn't realized her grandmother was such a stellar actress. What did that say about her claims to know nothing about the bones in the garden?

Outside, the rumble of a truck announced that the garbage truck had reached their alley. Sounds of garbage collection continued as Nicole washed the dishes and her grandmother dried.

“Slow down, dear,” Grandma said. “I know you want to get over to the shop, but it's early yet.”

Truck noises retreated down the alleyway. Nicole's grandmother hung her dish towel on a bar over the sink and squirted lotion onto her hands from the bottle on the counter. A wide smile stretched her lips. “I think I'll go
back to bed for a while and join you at the shop later.” The woman stretched and left the room with a sprightly tread.

Nicole gazed after her, frowning. Grandma was way too happy about something. Did she think the garbage bag had been taken by the city truck? If so, where was the bag when Nicole looked for it last night? Had someone removed it from the trash bin after Grandma Jan put it in there and before Nicole went outside? A tiny shiver shook her.

Whoever had disposed of that infant's remains could still be in the community. Were they watching the house? That person might do anything to keep from being exposed.

 

A few ticks before 8:00 a.m., Rich pulled his SUV into the alley outside the Keller home with Derek Hanson—a young, rookie cop, but a sharp one—in the passenger seat. Behind him, Terry's black-and-white cruised to a halt. The little Ford on the parking pad by the garage was just backing up. The car halted, and Nicole got out, staring at the police vehicles.

Rich stepped toward her and pulled a pair of documents from the pocket of his uniform shirt. “We've got warrants to search the Keller home and the shop.”

A tentative smile morphed into a scowl. Nicole waved toward the house. “Grandma's barely stirring, and I was just headed for the shop. What in the world do you expect to find?” Dressed in tan slacks and a print blouse, she came around her car and stopped in front of Rich. Her lips were pressed into a tight line as if restraining herself from saying more.

He gazed into her shuttered face. “The remains were found on Keller property. The judge agreed it would be due diligence to conduct a thorough search of the premises.”

“But why the shop, too?” She put her hands on her slender waist.

The other officers flanked him. Terry stuck his thumbs in his belt and rocked back on the heels of his cowboy boots. “Mornin', Nicole. We got a job to do.
I'm
glad we caught you home.”

The inflection on
I'm
suggested a personal interest without strictly flirting. Rich shot the man a sharp look. Then he turned toward Nicole.

“The fabric from Jan's store plays into the case. I know it's a long shot, but that baby deserves every chance for justice.”

Her gaze softened. “I agree. My heart bleeds for that child…for the parents. We need to find out who did this, but I don't want—” She halted and licked her lips, a wordless dread flickering in her deep brown eyes.

Rich's gut clenched. She had to have picked up on the fact that her grandmother was hiding something. That put her in a bad predicament—torn between compassion for the dead infant and fear for the fate of her living grandmother.

The deputies moved off toward the back door. Nicole's expression firmed. Scowling, she darted in front of them.

“Hold it!” She put up a forestalling hand. “I won't have you barging in on Grandma Jan. I'll go get her.”

“We'll accompany you,” Rich said evenly. “But, yes, you can let her know we're here.”

“You might have told me last night that you were planning this,” she shot back.

Terry sent him a startled look that Rich chose to ignore.

Nicole marched up the sidewalk ahead of them. Striding beside him, Terry's gaze was glued to her swaying hips. Rich jostled his shoulder, and the man answered with a slick grin. Rich frowned him down. What the guy did off duty was one thing, but they were on the clock. Never mind
that he didn't like anyone eyeing a class act like Nicole with such sleazy eyes.

They went into the Keller house. The kitchen was neat and clean, and smelled like bacon. Rich's stomach muttered a complaint. He hadn't felt like eating much breakfast this morning. He'd known this search was going to give him a major black eye with Nicole.

“Grandma,” she called as they neared a doorway. “We have visitors.” The way she spat the last word, she might as well have said
intruders.

“Oh, really? Who, dear?” The older woman stepped out of her room, dressed in casual pants and a button-up shirt, and pulling a brush through her thinning white hair. Her eyes grew big, and then she smiled. “I suppose you're here to search. We'll get out of your way.”

Rich narrowed his eyes. Janet Keller was as chipper today as she'd been obstructive yesterday. Had he already missed the boat on discovering evidence? If so, then Jan not only knew something about the dead child, she had deliberately destroyed evidence. Rich's jaw clenched. He hadn't been able to get in touch with Judge Christy for the warrant before this morning. Yes, he might have tried Judge Becker last night, but he'd just as soon leave Simon Elling's crony as far out of this case as he could.

Nicole and her grandmother went outside, and he and his deputies got to work. A couple of fruitless hours later, he stepped out to find the women seated at the small porch table sharing coffee and donuts from a convenience store down the street.

Nicole avoided his gaze, but Jan beamed at him. “What did you find?” She nodded toward the yellowed newspaper clippings he held in his hand.

“Nothing I plan to take along. I've got copies of these and
more in my file back at the office. I thought Nicole might find them of interest.”

Nicole accepted the sheaf of clippings. “What are they?”

“You can draw your own conclusions. We found them in a trunk in the attic.”

Unfortunately, there was nothing incriminating about an older resident of the area hanging on to news clippings about the kidnapping. It was the most sensational event to happen in the area since the railroad came through. Reading those ought to enlighten Nicole.

Terry and Derek clomped down the porch steps. Terry threw one of his lady-killer smiles toward Nicole. If she saw the look, she didn't respond. Good for her.

“We're heading for the shop now,” Rich said.