exposed (Twisted Cedar Mysteries Book 3) (12 page)

“On it.”

Wade turned to Deputy Dunn, next. His eldest deputy’s large-frame was hunched over a stack of paperwork and he was shuffling through the pages, as if hoping a magical clue would leap off one of the pages.

“Dunn, you’ll be our on-site coordinator supervising change of command, coordinating with the county and state departments and agencies, responding to investigative inquires and gathering intelligence.”

The most senior officer in the department, Dunn sometimes took umbrage at being assigned duties without consultation, but tonight he just nodded his assent.

“I’ve asked the state police for help in case this turns into a homicide investigation, and they’re coordinating an Oregon-wide search as well. Field, you’ll remain liaison with Chester’s family, as well as manage our media relations. Marnie can help you with that. She’s already got some stuff up on Facebook and Twitter, that sort of thing.” Wade was a little vague on the details of social media, but he knew he could count on Marnie to sort it out.

Next Wade filled the team in on the conversation Cory had seen her brother have with an older man who appeared to be a football coach. He told them about his discussions with Brad Scott, his wife, and Jim Quinpool.

“I’m going to drive to Salem tomorrow to question Kyle,” Wade concluded. “At this point I’m grasping at straws, but I want to make sure Chester’s disappearance isn’t connected to his mother’s death, or his father’s subsequent incarceration.”

There was some trivial chit chat after this, which Wade quickly put a halt to.

“I expect the overtime is going to continue for the foreseeable future, or until we find our boy,” Wade said. “With that in mind, I want each of you to grab some sleep tonight. To borrow an analogy from Carter, this is no longer a sprint, it’s a marathon.”

Five minutes later the only one left in the room with Wade was Marnie. She was collecting the dirty coffee cups and brushing donut crumbs off the table.

“Leave that for the cleaning crew. You should get some rest.”

“I napped a few hours this afternoon,” she admitted. “That couch in your office is pretty comfortable.”

“You took a nap in my office?”

“Why not? It was the only quiet place in the building.” She put her hands on her hips, a combative posture she seemed to take quite often around him. “You don’t object, do you?”

He couldn’t think of a logical reason why he should. And yet, later, when he returned to his office contemplating zoning out himself for a bit, it seemed he could still see the indent of Marnie’s petite, curvy body in the old leather cushions.

So he drove home instead, where he followed a two-hour sleep with a long shower and a proper breakfast of eggs, toast and orange juice. The drive to Salem took him four-and-a-half hours, and he arrived at the start of opening hours for the Oregon State Penitentiary.

Kyle had lost some weight, and his skin had turned sallow, but he held his head high as he walked to the other side of the table and took his seat across from Wade.

“Have you found my son yet?”

His tone grated, reminding Wade of the Kyle he’d known in high school. Anytime he was caught out for doing something wrong, he immediately went on the offensive. That quality had made him a great football player. It didn’t serve him quite as well now.

“When we find Chester, you’ll be one of the first to hear about it. We’re doing everything we can. I came here because I’m hoping you can help.”

“You get me out of here, and I’d love to. It’s killing me to be stuck in here when my son needs me.”

“We’ve got a lot of manpower working this investigation,” Wade assured him. On this point he couldn’t help but sympathize with his old friend. “But we could use more information. Has it occurred to you that Chester’s disappearance might be related to you, and the crimes that put you in here?”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I mean I would like the truth. You told me you and Daisy were fighting about custody of the twins the night she died. But I believe you were really arguing about her affair with Brad Scott. Isn’t that right?”

As Wade stared calmly, directly, into Kyle’s eyes, he could almost see the other man’s inner squirming.

“What? How did you—”

“How did I find out about that? During routine questioning as I was looking for your son.” Wade planted his hands on the table and leaned in. “What else have you lied about Kyle?”

“Nothing important. I can’t see why it matters to you why Daisy and I were arguing. I readily admit that I pushed her. Harder than I meant to, obviously.”

“There are times when so-called “white lies” are acceptable. Homicide investigations do not qualify.”

“Fine. You caught me out.” Kyle leaned back in his chair. “Yes, Daisy was sleeping with Brad Scott. And yes, I wasn’t pleased. Satisfied now?”

“Anything else in your story you want to modify?”

Kyle set his jaw and didn’t add a word.

His original story was that his parents and children had been asleep upstairs during the argument, and only after Daisy had been pushed into the wall, struck her head on the corner, and died, had his father come down to see what was going on.

But Wade was no longer prepared to accept that version.

“How about your claim that the two of you were alone when you pushed Daisy? If you were having a loud argument, surely at least one of your parents would have woken up and come to see what was going on.”

Kyle remained mute, though his eyes shone with resentful anger.

Wade pushed harder. “You weren’t alone when you pushed her. Who else was in the room?”

Kyle’s gaze shifted slightly to the left as he spit out, “No one.”

Wade leaned forward. “That’s a lie.”

“Where’s your proof?”

Up until that moment Wade had been confident Kyle was responsible for Daisy’s death, a conclusion borne out by the fact that Kyle and Jim had taken Daisy’s body out to the Librarian Cottage and buried it in an unused vegetable plot.

But in the moment of that slight hesitation and shifting of Kyle’s eyes, it occurred to Wade that not only was Kyle not alone when he pushed Daisy—but quite possibly he hadn’t done the pushing at all.

Which meant Kyle had gone to prison to protect someone else.

Kyle was generally out for number one. But the Quinpools had always been tight. On more than one occasion Wade had seen Jim put his arm proudly around his son and say, “We Quinpools watch out for one another.”

Could it be his father Kyle was protecting? That might explain why Jim was drinking so heavily. The burden of guilt, knowing his son was serving time on his behalf would be extreme.

“You could be hurting your son by keeping these secrets, Kyle.”

“What’s happened to Chester has nothing to do with Daisy’s death. Instead of wasting your time here, you should be out looking for my boy, Wade.” Kyle kept his voice low, even though he was pulsing with rage. “He’s a good kid. You better find him before anything bad happens to him or I swear, when I get out of here—”

“Don’t compound your problems by threatening an officer of the law.” Wade stood, more than a little angry, himself. “If you change your mind and decide to cooperate in our efforts to find Chester, get in touch.”

Kyle’s hands were in fists, his jaw clenched and his eyes flashing murder. But he didn’t respond.

When her cell phone rang shortly after lunch on Friday, Charlotte’s heart went into palpitations. Even though the chime was the unique one she’d assigned to Dougal, she couldn’t help the illogical hope it might be Chester calling. No doubt her nerves were fried from too little sleep and proper food, combined with too much worry and caffeine.

But of course it wasn’t Chester.

She tried not to sound downcast as she said, “Hi Dougal, how are things going?”

“Just finished a marathon session with Ed.” Exhaustion permeated each slowly spoken word. “He’s giving me an hour to make notes and then he wants me to check into yet another chat room again at two o’clock.”

Charlotte wished Dougal could tell Ed to screw off. Nothing was worth putting the man she loved through this anguish. Except of course, something was. Chester’s life.

The faster Ed told his story, the sooner Chester would be free. At least that was Dougal’s contention, and Charlotte was beginning to think that he was right.

“Stella was in to clean today. It was nice having company.” Stella’s younger partner Liz Brooks should have been there too, but she’d taken time off for a trip, and Charlotte had been just as glad. She found Stella very comforting to be around. Liz, not so much.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you.”

“I didn’t mean to complain. This is hell for you, too. I get that.” Charlotte paced around the kitchen island, trailing her fingers on the freshly oiled butcher block. Stella used a special beeswax cream that made the kitchen smell of vanilla.

It seemed wrong for her home to be so pristine, when her world was so messed up and crazy. She still found it unbelievable that Chester had vanished, so quickly and completely. Shouldn’t there be at least one tiny clue left behind?

“Give Jamie a call,” Dougal suggested. “I bet she’d be happy to keep you company for a while.”

“She has work.”

“Yeah. But she loves Chester, too. I bet she isn’t getting much done at the accounting firm.”

Dougal was probably right about that, but once he’d ended their call Charlotte didn’t dial his sister the way he’d suggested. Instead, she went to the study and pulled out a pad of paper.

Just a year ago, she’d thought Twisted Cedars was a nice town, a place where accidents and heartbreaks happened, but nothing truly evil.

But the events of the past few months had proven her wrong.

There had been so many tragic happenings these past few months. Everyone kept saying it was awful luck for the Quinpools. But it seemed to Charlotte that the tragedies involved her family, the Hammonds, just as much, if not more.

Was it possible all the problems sprang from the same root cause?

Charlotte started a list:

1.Daisy’s death (homicide) and illegal burial – Kyle Quinpool

2.Four murdered librarians – Ed Lachlan

3.Aunt Shirley’s suicide – possibly Ed Lachlan had a hand in this too?

4.Joelle Carruther’s amnesia – accidental, caused by truck crash

5.Joelle’s daughter’s murder – possibly Ed Lachlan

6.Joelle Carruther’s suicide/homicide – possibly Ed Lachlan

7.Chester’s disappearance – possibly Ed Lachlan

Charlotte studied the list. Had she forgotten anything? Other bad things had happened—her parents’ death in a car accident two years ago, for instance. But that had been an accident, and she was looking for tragedy combined with malicious intent.

The doorbell interrupted her focus, and she dropped her pen with a gasp.

Was it news?

A moment later Jamie called out. “It’s just me, come to visit. Okay if I let myself in?”

“Of course.” Dougal must have guessed she wouldn’t call his sister and done it on her behalf. She put a hand on her heart. She had to stop being so jumpy. “I’m in the study.”

A few seconds later, so was Jamie. She was dressed nicely for work, had done her hair and make-up, yet the dark circles under her eyes spoke of her own suffering.

“How are you holding out?”

“I’m holding.” Charlotte stood to give Jamie a hug. It felt surprisingly good. Despite being close in age she and Jamie had never been friends. Charlotte was very open to that changing. “And you?”

“I’m trying to work, but I can’t think straight. I keep wondering if Dougal is right, if Brian Greenway was our father, and if so, if there was something I could have done to stop him—before he took Chester.”

“So I’m not the only one who feels guilty. I blame myself for going back to work, instead of taking the kids to and from school myself. Hell, maybe I should have home-schooled them.”

“They would have hated that,” Jamie said firmly. “And of course you went back to work. Do you think their father ever considered quitting the real estate business and staying home with them full time?”

Jamie noticed the pad of paper then. “What’s this?”

Charlotte moved the pen, so Jamie could read the entire list.

“I think better when I write things down. So many awful things have happened recently. I was wondering if somehow they’re all related.”

“The librarians weren’t from Twisted Cedars. But if we look at the names on this list—forgetting who is victim and who perpetrator—they all fall into either my family or yours.”

She was right. “Daisy, Shirley and Chester are all Hammonds.”

“While Ed, Joelle and her baby are from my family.” Jamie circled her father’s name. “And he’s the link, isn’t he?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, he sort of belongs to both families. Since Shirley was his mother.”

“That’s true,” Charlotte said. “I wonder who his father was, whether it might help to know.”

“It couldn’t hurt. Do you have any ideas?”

“Everyone who would have known is dead now—except Stella, I suppose. But I wonder if we could puzzle it out on our own. Shirley was fifteen and then sixteen years old when she had her baby. I’ve got family photo albums going back that far.”

Jamie snapped her fingers. “Good thinking. Maybe we’ll find a picture of her with a boyfriend. If we do, I’m sure Stella will be able to recognize him. Stella knows pretty much everyone in Twisted Cedars.”

It felt good to be doing something proactive for a change, and Charlotte eagerly pulled several of the older photo albums out of the cabinet, leaving behind the newer albums, which she’d shown the twins just a few weeks ago. It was painful to recall just how excited Cory—and even Chester—had been to see photos of their mother as a child and adolescent.

Charlotte checked the date on the first page of the oldest album. “This looks like it should be the right one. It starts in 1932 which is when my dad’s parents were married.”

She and Jamie settled next to each other on the sofa. The book was large enough to rest half on Charlotte’s lap and half on Jamie’s. The chronologically organized photos had been mounted with sticky black corners, some of which had dried and lost their adhesiveness. As a consequence, they had to turn the pages very slowly, careful to keep the pictures in their proper places.