By The Howling (7 page)

The sheriff came around from behind David and shook both women’s hands. “Does this lot belong to you Mrs. Boynton?”

“Yes, yes it does. It’s been in my family for years,” Brenda answered. “What’s wrong, Sheriff? Has something happened?”

“I’m afraid so,” The sheriff answered. “This afternoon boaters found a body—that of a young woman—in the marshy shallows by this lot. The medical examiner is in there now.” Then he turned to Charlotte. “Ms. Diamond, would you mind accompanying me into the crime scene?”

“Charlotte?” Brenda said just as Charlotte was saying “Me?”

“Yes, please, if you’ll indulge us, we certainly could use your help.”

“My help?” Charlotte said.

“Of course. You don’t think, I hope, that the celebrated chief of the criminal investigations division of the FBI’s Maryland office could move into my county without me knowing about it—and not be someone I wouldn’t want to consult, retired or otherwise.”

Charlotte sighed and gave a pained expression, both of which were belied by the fierce beating of her heart and the ever-familiar excitement of the hunt, dormant for six months, which rose inside her.

The sheriff and David turned and walked along the curb toward where there was a path into the wooded lot at the corner of Brenda’s yard. Charlotte followed him, and Brenda moved in that direction behind them as well.

As they passed the Vale’s, Joyce reached out with her hand and clutched at Charlotte’s arm, and cried out, “It’s Susan, isn’t it. I knew it.”

Hearing this cry, Jane started wailing from across the street, “It’s her, I knew it. I didn’t . . . I didn’t. I know I said I’d taken care of her—but I just meant I’d complained about her to the arts council that sent her here.”

David Burch broke off and headed for Jane, no doubt speculating that a confession of some sort might be in the offing, and Charlotte might have followed except for the clutching hand on her arm.

“Again. Just like before,” Joyce growled. She looked like a crazy woman.

“What do you mean ‘like before?’” Charlotte asked, trying to use as soothing a voice as she could.

“Ask her,” Joyce spat out, casting her eyes beyond Charlotte’s shoulder. “Ask Brenda. She returns and it happens again.”

Charlotte turned to Brenda, who had tears in her eyes.

“My mother,” Brenda said. “She died there, at the water’s edge. When I was in high school. That’s why we didn’t develop the lot. That’s why I left here as soon after high school as I could and only now came back. And they never found out how it happened.”

Charlotte turned and embraced Brenda, but Rachel was there now, having left Jane to David and moved up to talk in guarded tones with Sheriff Wainwright a bit off to the side.

“Here, Charlotte,” Rachel said gently. “I’ll see to Joyce. The sheriff is waiting for you.”

Charlotte’s eyes darted this way and that as she entered the woods, already back in the investigator mode, already keen to find anything amiss, anything that would help solve this conundrum.

She didn’t see anything of interest as they approached the river’s edge, but then she saw enough to pique her interest and get her adrenaline going in high gear.

Crouching over the body as the medical examiner pulled the sheet from the dead woman’s face, Charlotte looked up at the sheriff and said, “This isn’t who everyone back on the street thinks it is. This isn’t Susan Purcell?”

“Interesting,” the sheriff said. “Do you have any idea who it is?”

“No,” Charlotte answered. “It’s no one who lives here, I’m pretty sure. But I have seen this woman before. She was sitting out in a car on the street yesterday. It occurred to me at the time that she was engaging in surveillance. But beyond that I have no idea. That was the only other time I saw her, and when I returned from the meeting I was going to—when I thought I’d talk to her—she was gone.”

“Can you describe the car?”

“Yes, certainly. I can even give you a partial on the license plate.”

“Ah, old habits,” the sheriff said. But he didn’t say it to criticize. He said it almost in awe, having the greatest deal of respect for the reputation of this woman.

Charlotte barely heard him, though. She was thinking back to her statement that this wasn’t the woman everyone out on the street expected it to be. She knew it was quite possible that she had misspoken. She knew that it was highly likely that at least one person standing out there on River Street knew exactly who this young woman was.

Chapter Seven

“I’m sorry, Charlotte. If you’ve come to see Joyce, I’m afraid you are out of luck. I’ve just now gotten her to sleep. The sedative Rachel provided took quite some time to set in. Finding out that the murdered woman wasn’t Susan was a shock in itself. There’s still Susan. She’s still missing. So, thanks for dropping by, but—”

“I’m sure you can help me as well as Joyce could, Todd,” Charlotte said coolly, “and I believe you are aware that I’m not operating in a neighborly capacity any more—that I’ve been officially attached to this case now.”

“Yes, we weren’t aware that we had such a famous detective among us.” Todd said it somewhat sourly, which was an attitude that had Todd written all over it, so Charlotte didn’t mince words in responding.

“Nor did you or Joyce bother to tell me that Susan was Joyce’s daughter despite all of us living on the same street. And that would bring me here as much as official duty. Susan’s disappearance drops some neighborhood responsibility in my lap. I’ve been left with the Wells’ dog, which Susan is supposed to be taking care of, parked on my lawn—or, rather on my screened porch, because I have the sense of community responsibility to not leave it running free—as Joyce’s daughter did. Now, since I
am
here on police business, perhaps you will invite me inside so we aren’t discussing all of this in public. I can see curtains pulled aside in windows all up and down the street.”

“I suppose. Yes, do come on in,” Todd said reluctantly, cowed by Charlotte’s majestic presence and bearing if by nothing else. He stood aside, and Charlotte sailed into the parlor and made sure that she lowered her bulk into the most substantial chair therein.

“I have a couple of questions you could help me with, actually,” Charlotte opened with. “First, since Joyce is Susan’s mother, it would save me time and effort to receive permission to enter the Wells’ house to see if anything there would help us find her. There’s no reason to think her disappearance and the body found on the lot across the street are linked—but without evidence to the contrary there’s no reason not to link them, either. I could contact the Wellses for permission, but I would have to track them down in Turkey.”

Todd hesitated, and Charlotte wondered why. It occurred to her for the first time, which she would return to in her thoughts, that there might be some reason why Joyce and Todd weren’t quick to permit someone to look into Susan’s affairs—something that might even explain why Joyce had never mentioned that Susan was her daughter. She decided to zing him.

“What if Susan is in the house? What if she has fallen and needs help? Have you or Joyce gone there to make sure that’s not the case?”

“Oh, no. We didn’t even think of that possibility.” Todd was all flustered now, and Charlotte’s trained eye told her that his reaction was genuine. She had actually played her fears of what might be the case down. The Wells house wasn’t large and Charlotte had been all around it on the previous day, giving every opportunity for Susan to call out if she was in there and conscious—and she hadn’t seen anything amiss through the ground-floor windows. Although Charlotte considered the possibility that she was in there, her years of training told her that what was to be found might be much more grisly than a fall down the stairs.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Todd said, now all willingness to help. “Anything to help in finding Susan. I’m sure Joyce has a key to the house. I’ll just—”

“No need for that. I have a key myself—that the Wellses gave me. But I want to do all of this properly. I have a form here for you to sign, if you will, giving permission.”

While Todd leaned over the coffee-table to sign the paper, Charlotte asked him several questions about whether he knew of anything that would help explain Susan’s absence, and, since he couldn’t, if he’d have Joyce contact her if she could be any more helpful—which he said he would.

“I’ll talk to Joyce later myself, when she feels up to it,” Charlotte said, “and if we haven’t found Susan in the meantime. It could be that she just went off on a whim for a couple of days, but that doesn’t seem likely as she had arranged a meeting at the arts center not long before she went missing.”

“Will that be all?” Todd replied, obviously keen for her to leave. “I had planned on cleaning out the gutters this afternoon. Now, it looks like rain, so I’ll have to do it another time.” He said it as if it was Charlotte’s fault that it had clouded up and started to sprinkle intermittently since she had appeared on his porch.

“No, there’s one other thing you could help me with. There was a woman in the crowd out in front of Brenda’s house yesterday. Standing apart from the others and across the street, closer to the entrance to the village than the others were standing. She looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t identify her. Do you remember seeing her and know who she is?”

“That could have been Mrs. Smith. Edith Smith,” Todd answered after giving it a bit of thought. “She’s reclusive—and a bit eccentric, I’ve heard.”

“Edith . . . Smith. Rather an innocuous name. And is she a long-term resident? Despite supposedly being mayor here, I’m only recently becoming aware of how long some have lived here—and,” Charlotte dug in with a sharp look at Todd, “how intertwined some of their lives are.”

Todd reddened up, but he didn’t venture a retort. “She’s only been here five or six years. A widow, I understand. She lives at the Clagett farm just outside the village. The Clagetts were here for generations and all died out, I think. I’m not aware that she has any connection to them. Why do you ask?”

“I’m not sure. My mind is just telling me that it might be important. As I said, she seems quite familiar to me, and my brain is connecting her with something that tells me could connect with the events here of the last couple of days.”

“Why don’t you just go out and talk to her then?” Todd asked.

“I just might do that,” Charlotte said as she worked her way out of the overstuffed chair and got to her feet. “I might do some checking first, though,” she said without revealing that whenever she could avoid it, she didn’t go asking questions without already knowing what the answers were. “With what little I’ve got to run on now,” she continued, “I’m not sure what I’d even ask her. But for now, I will take a look in the Wells’ house. If I find anything I think you should know about, I’ll let you know. And I also have to feed Sam—something I’d like to discuss with Susan when she finally pops up. Luckily, Brenda and I stopped at a pet store in Easton yesterday and I bought some dog food. Otherwise, thanks to Susan, Sam would be one hungry and neglected puppy now.”

Todd was thoroughly cowed as Charlotte sailed through the foyer and out onto the front porch and scanned the houses up and down the street for the reward of seeing curtains ruffle at the windows.

Ah, the comfort of small town living, she thought as she steamed up the street between raindrops to feed Sam and then get into the Wells’ house. She was itching to see what was inside. As she walked and felt a dozen eyes follow her, though, she was slightly discontent that her cover had been blown. The locals had known she worked in the government before coming here—and she’d mentioned to Rachel that it was in a police investigative capacity—but now they knew the depth and extent of her involvement, and she felt she never again would be able to pass as simply a local, disinterested retiree.

Sam taken care of, with several more minutes taken in walking him and giving some attention enjoyed by dog and human alike, Charlotte descended on the Wells’ house like a clipper in full sail. She felt guilty that she wasn’t going to the house as quickly as possible, but she felt a responsibility to Sam too—and she knew he was a completely innocent bystander to whatever was going on.

Her fears—and, frankly her assumption—were fulfilled, although not as drastically as she thought they might be, when she got into the house. There was no aura about it of an intended departure. There was no evidence of Susan in the flesh, however, which was both a relief and a deepening of the mystery surrounding her absence. Charlotte did a cursory, but expert inventory of the signs and timeline of Susan’s last presence here. Papers from the last two days, including the morning Susan was to meet Charlotte and the other art judges at the arts center, were on the front stoop—something that Charlotte hadn’t noticed on that day, but then she remembered that her own local newspaper hadn’t been delivered until the afternoon—something that deliverymen certainly wouldn’t be permitted to do in Annapolis, but that seemed to be tolerated here in the hinterlands. The dishes in the drain board were more evidently from a dinner than a breakfast. The living areas of the first floor were in somewhat of a comfortable disarray, which indicated that Susan hadn’t left on any intentional journey of any length. TV programs for the evening before last were circled on the TV guide on the coffee-table in front of the television, giving the impression that Susan had planned to be watching television that night.

Upstairs was even more revealing, and it was here that the mystery deepened and Charlotte began to link up some threads—which always was the beginning of the end in her investigations. There was no evidence that Susan’s closet was stripped of clothes and an apparently full, matched set of women’s luggage was lurking at the back of the walk-in closet. Lingerie and blouses were strewn around enough to indicate both that Susan wasn’t particularly tidy and that she hadn’t planned on being gone for any great length of time. And, most telling, the bed was made and a nightgown and robe were laid out on the bed, indicating, as the evidence downstairs did, that Susan had last been here the evening previous to the day her absence was noted.