forgotten (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 2) (10 page)

Before Dunne could pass on more details about Leanne Walker’s menu plans, Wade jumped in. “Did you ask her about the passenger?”

“I did, though I felt it was a touchy subject. Leanne said her husband didn’t fool around with women and wasn’t in the habit of picking up hitchhikers, either. He liked to listen to audio books when he was on the road. Hitchhikers talk too much.”

“As far she knew, then, Chet hadn’t offered anyone a lift?”

“No. He was just doing one of his regular runs up the coast to Coos Bay. Left his home around eight-thirty Friday morning, went to load up his truck and called his wife when he was on his way about an hour later. She didn’t hear anything from him after that.”

“Go on.”

Dunne pulled his notebook out of his pocket. “I asked his wife to go online and see where he’d made his last purchases. He uses a company credit card when he travels, and she keeps the books for him, so she had no problem doing that.”

“Good. And what did she find?”

“He gassed up at the North Valley Shell in Medford,” Dunne said. “Must have been shortly before he turned off the Interstate to head through to the coast.”

“What time was that?”

“Around noon. He probably had lunch at the same time, judging from the amount of the bill. There were no more credit card purchases after that.”

Wade took a long drink of beer. There was definitely something sad about tracking a man’s last actions before he died. Where had Chet made the fateful decision to offer a ride to Birdie? And had it been that decision that had led to the accident?

Or would the truck have crashed with or without Birdie in the passenger seat?

They were still a long way from having the answer to those questions.

“Did you check if Chet was caught on video at the gas station?”

“I did. The manager was cooperative and has already emailed me the footage. Chet ate alone, and there was no one in his truck when he drove away from the pumps. So he must have picked up his female passenger somewhere between Medford and the turn off to Bear Camp Road.”

“Or, his passenger was slumped down, sleeping or hiding, and wasn’t picked up by the camera.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” He gave Wade a grudging look of respect, before continuing. “Another thing—Leanne said she didn’t know why her husband would have taken Bear Camp Road. He usually took the 42.”

c
ory had crept into Chester’s bed, and had her hand resting on his back, when Charlotte went to their room to check on them late Monday evening. She moved in closer and saw tear tracks down Cory’s cheeks. Chester’s were dry. Was he tougher? Or just bottling in his fear and sadness?

Charlotte pulled the light blanket up to their shoulders. It was a warm evening, they wouldn’t need more. Gently she dropped a kiss on the top of each head. Their hair smelled like ocean water. Jamie must have taken them to the beach while she was touring Birdie around town.

Quietly she withdrew from the room, turning out the hall light, but leaving the two night lights burning. It was almost eleven, she should go to bed herself.

She’d finished reading
Sense and Sensibility
and was looking forward to moving on to her favorite Jane Austen novel.

But the old restlessness was tugging at her. In the past she would escape to the beach, and walk along the edge of the ocean until she felt tired. Tonight, however, she poured herself a glass of wine and went out to the porch. She sat in the dark and wished Dougal would magically appear, like last time.

But he didn’t.

She sipped her wine and stared into the darkness. Her emotions tangled like seaweed, reflective of a life which was far more complicated than it had ever been before.

She was ashamed to admit, even to herself, that she felt some resentment for how becoming the twins’ guardian was changing her life. Her relationship with Dougal was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her—and now it was being hobbled by her new, engulfing, commitments.

And there were other changes. Needing to find appropriate childcare so she could continue working. Worrying about providing meals that were nutritious but also appealing to younger palettes. Eventually, when the twins were ready for their own rooms, she’d have to do some re-decorating and furniture shopping. And she was even going to have to buy a new car, since only two could sit comfortably in her coupe.

Those were her selfish concerns, and she hated owning up to them.

But she also felt sorrow—for the way Daisy’s life had ended, and for all that had been lost, not only to Daisy, but to those little kids up there. If Daisy had lived, she might well have had a full recovery, and been able to be the mother Chester and Cory deserved.

It was amazing, in a way, that they were as normal as they were. As far as Charlotte knew, their grades were fine, they got on well with most kids at school, and they had a healthy interest in swimming, football and riding their bikes. They were mostly polite, not too messy, and the way they stuck up for one another proved they were loyal and loving.

She supposed Kyle had earned some of the credit for this.

But if he was responsible for Daisy’s death—he was going to go to prison, probably for ten years or more. By then the twins would be nineteen.

Charlotte sighed, then pulled out her phone. Dougal had sent a text message an hour ago, but she’d had her phone on mute and had missed it.

EVERYTHING OKAY?

She called him back. “Hey there. I’m out on the porch, wishing you were here.”

“I’m wishing the same thing. I started outlining a new book today.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s going to be fiction. I’m tired of dealing with reality.”

She laughed. “I know the feeling.”

“Kids doing okay?”

“They’re sad.” She pictured them cuddled together in the single bed, like puppies finding comfort from merely being together. “I should check into counselling for them. This situation is so difficult.”

“They’re caught in the middle.”

“Exactly. And now, so am I. For Daisy’s sake, I want Kyle to be arrested and serve his time. But when I think of what’s best for Daisy’s children, I’m pretty confused. Is it even possible to be a good parent and also a murderer?”

“That brings multi-tasking to a new level.”

“These are the sort of problems I expect to see on reality TV. Not in my own life.” She thought about Birdie. “But I suppose I shouldn’t complain. At least I still have most of my marbles. Did you hear about the woman who was in the truck accident on Friday?”

“The one who was in a coma?”

“Yes. She came out of it—but she can’t remember anything. Not who she is, or why she was in that truck in the first place.”

“Is she still in the hospital?”

“No, she’s at the Heartland Women’s Shelter. I gave her a tour of our town this evening while Jamie was with the twins.”

“Why at the women’s shelter? Isn’t that just for abused women?”

“It’s possible she fits in that category. Wade has a theory that she may have been running from an abusive husband when the truck driver picked her up.”

“How did she seem to you?”

“Sad and lost. I think she’s still in shock. One of the nurses named her Birdie and it’s stuck. Oh, something interesting happened when we walked by Shear Madness. Suddenly Birdie remembered she’d been a hair dresser.”

“Did she remember anything else?”

“No. But she went inside and asked Belle Taylor for a job.”

“Seriously?”

“She must feel pretty vulnerable. Can you imagine having no money, credit cards or ID?”

“So did Belle give her a job?”

“You know what a big heart Belle has. With a social services number or credentials, she couldn’t hire her as a stylist. But she’s giving her a few casual hours, shampooing and sweeping, that sort of thing.”

“Interesting.”

“Is it?”

“I’ve never met anyone suffering from amnesia before.” After a brief pause he continued. “Weren’t you just saying my hair is getting a little long?”

Charlotte shook head, amused, but not surprised.

Dougal could claim he wanted to try his hand at fiction.

But it was the real life mysteries that got him, every time.

day 4 after the accident

m
uriel Quinpool lived in an upscale condo complex overlooking east Sacramento. Mature oak trees guarded the perimeter, while the inner courtyard was colorful and lush with summer flowers. Wade’s mother had been a gardener. He felt sure she would have approved.

“Posh place,” Duane commented as they waited to be admitted by the doorman.

The portly man seemed annoyed to lift his head from his newspapers. He told them to take the elevator up to the fourth floor, then bowed over the sports page again.

Of course Duane had to take the stairs. Wade followed, albeit at a slower pace. He supposed the exercise wouldn’t hurt.

Muriel took a long time to answer the door, after their knock. Despite the fact that Duane had warned her they’d be coming, she had a puzzled frown as she looked from one of them to the other.

“Hello, Mrs. Quinpool,” Wad said. “Sorry to disturb you, but we have a few questions.”

“Oh. Yes. Wade. Please come in.”

She looked gaunt and tired, much as Wade remembered her from Kyle and Jamie’s wedding in May. She was dressed nicely, though, and wore a pearl necklace Wade recalled from when he was a kid. To his memory, he’d never seen her without it.

She inclined her head when he introduced his Deputy Duane Carter, but said nothing else, just indicated they should follow her to the sitting room off the entrance. On the coffee table next to the sofa were two glasses of water, with ice and a slice of lemon. She waved her hand at the sofa and Wade and Carter each took a side.

As for Muriel, she settled in the high back chair facing them, as primly as the Queen of England, with her hands in her lap and her ankles crossed.

“How are you, Mrs. Quinpool?” Wade asked.

“Not in the best health, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?” When Child Services was looking to find the appropriate guardian for Chester and Cory, Muriel had demurred because of her health. “Nothing too serious, I hope?”

“Oh, aches and pains, mostly. Trouble sleeping. The normal complaints that come with aging.”

During his school years, Wade had spent a fair amount of time at Kyle’s house. But Muriel had always been in the background, not the sort of mother to offer a plate of home baked cookies, or try to chat with her son’s friends to get to know them.

Back then, her reticence had been appreciated. Wade and his pals had loved having free rein in the Quinpool’s basement, and there were always lots of chips and sodas to snack on in the kitchen.

Besides, if they wanted home baked cookies all they had to do was go to Wade’s house. Wade felt sad, thinking of those old days now.

“You’ve heard, no doubt,” Duane began taking the lead when Wade was slow to do so, “that Daisy Hammond’s body was found buried in the garden at the Hammond’s cottage off Old Forestry Road.”

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Yes. I heard.”

Wade glanced at Duane, giving him silent approval to continue.

“Daisy died from a blow to her head, Mrs. Quinpool. Your son, Kyle, told everyone—including Daisy’s children, her parents and her sister—that she’d run out on them. But she hadn’t. All these years Daisy has been dead. Buried illegally, without benefit of a service or even a coffin.”

Partway through Duane’s statement of facts, Muriel lowered her gaze to her hands.

She looked very old. Very frail. But Wade couldn’t afford to feel sorry for her. The point was to play on her guilt, hopefully building the pressure to a point where she would be ready to unburden herself of the weight.

“For Daisy’s sake, but especially for Chester and Cory’s sake, the truth needs to be told,” Wade added.

“What makes you think I know anything?” Muriel asked, her voice so soft Wade could hardly hear it.

“You and Jim were living with Kyle and the kids at that time,” Wade said. “If Kyle and Daisy had a fight when Daisy was visiting—you would have heard it. We found Daisy’s blood on the corner wall next to the kitchen counter. Kyle pushed her, didn’t he Mrs. Quinpool? I’m sure he never meant to hurt her. It was just terrible luck that her head happened to hit that sharp corner wall.”

Muriel was breathing faster now, rubbing the skin on the back of her hands in a compulsive fashion. “I don’t think that happened. You’re trying to trick me.”

“We only want you to tell the truth,” Duane said, his tone sharp. “After all, you don’t want to perjure yourself.”

“Perjure,” Muriel repeated, as if she was unsure what it meant.

“Lying to law enforcement officials is a crime,” Wade said. “I’m sure you know that.”

“B-but I’m not lying. I just don’t
know
!” She popped out of her chair as if the pressure of remaining sitting had become too much. She went to an antique bureau where family photos were displayed—including her wedding photo.

Wade joined her, picking up the photo as if it had just caught his eye. “Wow, you and Jim made a handsome couple.”

Muriel bit her bottom lip, then gave the slightest of nods.

“It’s nice you hung onto this photo.” Wade carefully placed it back on the wooden surface.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Most divorced women pack away their wedding photos, or give them to their children, don’t they?”

A red stain crept up Muriel’s cheeks. “We had a lot of happy years. I refuse to focus only on the bad.”

“What did happen to you and Mr. Quinpool?” Wade asked. “It had to be something pretty serious considering all the years you’d been together, and the full life you had in Twisted Cedars. Not to mention your son and grandchildren.”

“That’s private. You have no reason to ask about that.” Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned. “You have some nerve Wade MacKay. We welcomed you into our house. You were one of Kyle’s best friends.”

Wade didn’t need her to point any of this out. He was all too aware of the past they had all shared. “We have to ask these questions. Daisy Hammond was my friend, too, Mrs. Quinpool.”