exposed (Twisted Cedar Mysteries Book 3) (11 page)

“I suppose it’s possible. I can see why Wade wants to investigate further.”

Which alternative would be safer for Chester—Ed Lachlan or Brad Scott? It was a no win scenario. She had to keep praying the answer was neither, that Chester was hiding somewhere, perfectly safe. But as each hour went by, that option seemed less likely.

“This is all my fault for not quitting my job and staying home with the twins.”

“Hey. Stop that. Don’t blame yourself.”

“How can I not? When I think of all they’ve been through in their short lives, it just about kills me.”

“Yes, it’s unfair. And hard. But I can’t see how any of it was your fault. Just the fact that you were willing to step in as their guardian makes you a damn good person in my opinion.”

“It was the right thing to do. And it was what I
wanted
, of course.”

“Maybe. But it wasn’t easy. So don’t you beat yourself up. Working parents all across America rely on after school care for their children.”

“Yes. But maybe I should have hired an older child to escort them from school to Nola Thompson’s house.”

“It’s only a few blocks, and the Thompson kids walk it all the time. If Chester was kidnapped, then whoever did it was going to find a way.”

“You don’t think there’s a chance he’s a runaway, do you?”

Dougal didn’t meet her eyes. “I guess it’s possible.”

But she could hear in his voice that he didn’t. “Be honest with me.”

“I don’t want to take away your hope. It’s just—I have this really strong feeling that my old man took him. And until I find out otherwise, I have to keep writing that damn book as if Chester’s life depends on me finishing as quickly as possible.”

She wished she could relieve Dougal of this burden. But he was right. “Thank you. I know this is extremely tough on you.”

“I’ve interviewed lots of criminals and murderers for my books. It’s different when it’s someone who’s related to you, though. Who shares your DNA.”

“Only fifty percent of your DNA,” she reminded him, following him to the front door where he paused to kiss her.

“I’ll check in with you in a few hours,” he promised.

She hated to see the bleak expression in his eyes.

“Don’t let him get to you. His sins are not yours.”

Dougal nodded, but she could tell her words didn’t really reach him.

* * *

On the short drive to Jim Quinpool’s apartment, Wade reflected on what he knew of the man. He’d been a protective, somewhat indulgent father to his only child, Kyle, as well as an influential member of Twisted Cedar’s business community. Not only did Jim own the most successful real estate business in the area, but he had also been active with the Chamber of Commerce.

Some of Wade’s contemporaries—Dougal included—had been surprised when Kyle turned down a football scholarship to become his father’s business partner. But not Wade. Kyle was the kind of guy who preferred being the large fish in the small pond. For him, staying in Twisted Cedars, marrying his high school sweetheart and joining his dad’s company had been the logical choice.

Successful business, beautiful wife, important standing in the community—until the birth of the twins, Kyle had led a charmed life, and Jim and Muriel had basked in their son’s success.

But there was no doubt things had changed after Cory and Chester’s arrival. Daisy had withdrawn, become depressed and incapable of looking after herself, let alone her babies.

The change in her behavior had been put down to post-partum psychosis—and Wade had the reports from her doctor to support that. No one knew if it was this illness, or something else, that had led Daisy to walk out on her husband and children a year later. Shortly after the divorce was finalized, she’d “disappeared” from town—or so everyone had thought.

Though Kyle was currently serving time for criminally negligent homicide, Wade didn’t think anyone but Kyle—and possibly his parents—really knew what had happened the night Daisy died.

Undoubtedly there had been an argument—but about what? Kyle had claimed they were talking about custody of the twins. But could it have been the affair with Brad Scott?

On the face of it, none of this had anything to do with Chester’s disappearance. But his father’s arrest had definitely been responsible for Chester’s frame of mind the day he went missing. Possibly someone had used his feelings of anger and abandonment for their own ends...whatever they might be.

Having reached Quinpool Realty, Wade went up the stairs to the second-floor apartment and rapped on the door. Jim answered immediately, in a state of obvious inebriation.

“Have you found my grandson?” he asked, words blurring into the background noise of the television.

“Not yet. I need to talk to you about some things.” Wade could see an open bottle of Scotch on the low table by the sofa, one-third empty. “Mind if I come in?”

Jim didn’t answer, just walked away from the door and grabbed the remote. It took him a few tries to hit the mute button. “No sense talking to me. If I knew where Chester was, don’t you think I’d go get him myself?”

“I’m wondering if there could be a connection between Chester’s disappearance and your family troubles.” The apartment had been finished with high end materials—granite countertop and stainless steel appliances in the adjacent kitchen. Good quality furnishings and nice paintings on the walls.

But the place looked like hell. Not just messy, but actually dirty, to the point where a funky odor had developed. The condition of the apartment didn’t compute with what Wade knew of Jim. Not that long ago he’d been one of the best dressed men in town, with a beautiful Mercedes he kept in immaculate condition.

“Family troubles,” Jim scoffed. “What would you know?”

“I know ten years ago you had the world by the tail. Devoted wife, successful business, son married and happy, one of the biggest houses in town...” Wade glanced around the condo. “Contrast that with now. Your wife has left you, your business is closed, you live in a pigpen and your son is in prison.”

Jim glared, his eyes spilling anger and hatred. “It’s all goddamned Daisy’s fault. She was so spoiled, so used to being the center of attention, she couldn’t handle the fact that the twins took the spotlight away from her.”

“Her doctor diagnosed her with post-partum depression. Some people think the diagnosis should have gone further and that she actually had post-partum psychosis.”

“Bullshit! She was the most selfish woman I’ve ever met. She deserted her own children!”

“And then she had that affair...”

“She had no shame,” Jim agreed. “Sleeping with the very guy her husband—”

Abruptly he stopped, realizing he’d spoken thoughtlessly, admitted too much.

“Goddamn you, Wade. Why are you digging in my family’s dirty laundry? This has nothing to do with Chester.”

“No? You don’t think it’s possible the man who was sleeping with Daisy might be angry at Kyle for killing her?”

“Kyle didn’t kill Daisy! It was a damned accident!”

“Criminally negligent homicide is what the courts call it. Either way, accident or homicide, it’s because of Kyle that Daisy is dead. So maybe this man decides to get even by taking Chester.”

Jim’s eyes widened with fright. Clearly this possibility had never occurred to him. “Scott wouldn’t do something like that. He has kids of his own.”

Wade permitted himself a moment’s satisfaction as the name he’d been probing for slipped easily off Jim’s tongue. “The fact that Brad Scott has kids, means he knows how much he’ll hurt Kyle by taking Chester.”

Jim let out a string of curse words. “Then what are you doing here? You need to haul Scott’s ass into jail and get him talking.”

“I’ve spoken to Scott. And to his wife. Right now I don’t have a shred of evidence to suggest Scott kidnapped Chester.”

“Then why the hell did you bring it up?”

“To illustrate a point. It’s possible that the mistakes and tragedies connected with Daisy’s death are also connected to Chester’s disappearance. I need you to come clean with me. Tell me what really happened the night Daisy died.”

Jim paced to the bottle on the table and topped up his glass with a shaking hand. “Kyle already told you everything. That’s why he’s in prison. To pay for his crimes.”

“Maybe the reason he’s in prison is just to avoid a trial.”

“That’s right. He didn’t want to put his kids through all the hell of a court case.”

“Or maybe he just didn’t want to risk the truth coming out.”

“That’s crazy. Kyle told you exactly what happened that night. And I backed up every detail I could.”

“Yes, you’ve been a very protective father. But you went too far this time.”

“You’re just speculating.”

“Am I? Kyle told me he and Daisy were arguing about child custody issues the night she died. But that wasn’t true. They were fighting about her affair with Brad Scott. Kyle didn’t like that much, did he?”

“What husband would?”

“They were no longer married at that point.”

Jim looked like he wanted to leap across the room and grab Wade’s throat. Instead he turned to the fireplace and a picture of his family taken during happier times, when he and Muriel were still married and the twins were about three-years-old.

“You keep twisting my words. I won’t stand for it. I’ve got nothing else to say to you Sheriff. Now leave my home.”

June 15 1972, Librarian Cottage outside of Twisted Cedars, Oregon

It was ten on a Sunday evening, a month after the first time Shirley heard the distinctive knock on her door, that she heard it again. Immediately she sensed it was him.

She’d just poured herself a cup of herbal tea, spilling a little in the saucer to her annoyance. Recently she’d developed a fine tremor in her hands. Most annoying. Miss Marple, always so stalwart in tense situations, would not be impressed.

With each day that had passed since the young man first announced himself to her, Shirley had felt increasingly hopeful that having made his point with her, he would never return.

There had been the puzzling matter of her red scarf’s disappearance, followed by the even more suspicious disappearance of the one she’d purchased to replace it.

But women lost scarves all the time. They were almost as tricky as gloves to keep track of.

She felt badly for the young man, of course, and for the boy he had been. But the unfortunate choice of his adoptive parents hadn’t been hers. The best thing for him was to put the past out of his mind and concentrate on the future. That’s what she had done. And it kept her sane.

Shirley sat at the table and sipped her tea, waiting for the second knock.

It didn’t come.

This time she didn’t even consider going for her gun. She was tough. But she wouldn’t be able to shoot him. Not now.

So she waited. And when half an hour had passed in such silence that she began to wonder if she’d imagine the knock in the first place, she finally rose from her chair and opened the front door.

In the summer dusk she could see the shadows of the forest around her. Above, in the indigo-blue sky a single star sparkled. The air held only the sighs of the branches rustling in the faint breeze.

He could be hiding anywhere. He could have already left. Maybe he’d never even been here.

And then, as she was about to shut the door, she saw it, a glimmer on the front mat. Upon closer inspection she saw it was a snow globe.

She picked it up. It felt heavy in her hand. Inside the glass bubble was a miniature Main Street, and on the wooden base was inscribed Roseburg Oregon. Slowly she turned it over once, then again, sending bits of snow fluttering over the little shops, cars and people inside the globe.

Two weeks ago she’d gone to the State Library Association conference in Roseburg.

Did he know that? Was that why he’d purchased this for her?

After one last look down the road that led, eventually, to civilization, Shirley withdrew into her house. She carried the snow globe to a lamp where she studied it more closely. There was no hidden message, nothing at all to suggest the boy had brought this for her.

She almost threw it away. She wanted no reminders, and just the sight of this made her skin crawl. But somehow, she could not, so instead she placed it on the bottom shelf of her curio cabinet where she would never see it unless she crouched down to her knees.

* * *

At nine that evening Wade held an impromptu meeting in the situation room with Marnie and Deputies Field, Carter and Dunne. As he glanced around the table at his exhausted and discouraged team, he felt an unaccustomed sense of hopelessness.

“It’s been over twenty-nine hours since Chester Quinpool disappeared, and so far we haven’t found one piece of physical evidence. We have no idea if we’re dealing with a runaway, an accident, an abduction or a homicide.”

“I hope this isn’t your idea of a pep talk.” Marnie was going around the table offering fresh coffee. Earlier she’d placed a plate of donuts at the center of the table. Of the assorted dozen, only two were left.

The team was already strung out on caffeine and sugar. Wade knew they couldn’t keep operating at this level of intensity.

“It’s reality,” Wade countered. “Unless someone knows something I don’t?”

He glanced at each team member individually. Not one spoke up.

“Right,” Wade continued. “Until now we’ve been focusing on an intensive search and questioning of potential witnesses in town and within a ten mile radius. It’s time to widen the net and take a more systematic approach.”

Again his words were met with a weary silence. The only sound Wade could hear was Carter, tapping his pen repetitively on his notepad, an anxious gesture betraying the high-strung state of his nerves.

“Carter, you’ll be search operation coordinator for Curry County.” Carter, with his physical stamina, would have the energy for the job. “It’s time to pull out of the forest reserve around the Librarian Cottage and key in on campgrounds, state parks, recreational properties. With the summer season over, it’s possible Chester could be hiding out in a nearby vacant cottage. Let’s cover as many square miles as is physically possible, with copters where necessary.”