forgotten (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 2) (13 page)

“You didn’t recognize him?”

“Why would I? I was a little kid last time I saw him. Plus he’s old now. Looks about ten years older than he should.”

“So where is he now?”

“God only knows. He’s taken off again. I’ll bet he’s got a new identity as well.”

“Good. Maybe this time he’ll stay gone.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

If he could, he’d let Stella be. He knew she had a deep aversion to discussing Edward Lachlan—partly because she wanted to protect him and Jamie from the truth about their father. But also because she felt guilty that she and Amos had been the ones to introduce Edward to his mother.

“But given his track record, it isn’t likely. He’s going to be getting touch with me again, Stella. I just don’t know how he’ll do it this time.”

“You have to keep avoiding him.”

“The best way for me to protect myself—and Jamie—is to find out everything I can about him. Knowledge is what I need. I can’t afford to hide my head in the sand.”

After Liz had left the cottage that afternoon, Dougal had tried to settle down to write an outline for his new idea.

But the only stories in his head were those of the four librarians who had been murdered by his father.

Why had Ed Lachlan killed them? Was it just a way of seeking revenge on his birth mother for giving him up? If so, it was monstrous. And Dougal needed to understand what had made his father capable of such evilness.

Not so he could write a book the way his father wanted him to. But so he could put the ghosts to rest. And hopefully move on.

Stella sank into a kitchen chair, then glanced at her watch. “We don’t have much time. Liz is coming over in half an hour to go over our schedule for the next month. And your sister will be home soon as well.”

“We have enough time to make a start,” he insisted. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“God, Dougal, you always were a persistent little bugger.” She started rubbing her lower back and he felt guilty. She worked hard. She didn’t deserve to be interrogated like this.

But he had to know.

“It’s hot in here,” Stella opened the back screen door. “Let’s go out on the patio. Maybe you should bring a couple of beers.”

He found two cans in the fridge and brought them out. The sun was low and long shadows extended past the height of the shrubs and trees, shrouding the yard in darkness.

Stella took a long drink, then stared dully at the old oak. He suspected it was the past she was looking into—not the gnarled wood and weathered branches. As her expression grew duller and sadder, he knew he was right.

“We first met your father when he was working with Amos at the Golf and Country Club. Ed had been hired on to help Amos build the new clubhouse. One skill your father had was the ability to switch charm on and off like an electrical switch. And for some reason he decided he would befriend my Amos.”

Dougal had heard this part before. But he sat still and listened.

“One night, Amos decided to invite Ed home for dinner. And me, I figured I would round out the numbers and invite my new business partner, too. Your mother and I met at the Ocean View Motel, but neither of us were happy working there, so we decided to form a partnership and start our own cleaning company.”

Dougal decided it was time for a little re-direction. “What do you know about his past, Stella? Did he ever tell you where he was born? Or anything about his parents?”

“He said he moved here from Salem. He did mention the fact that he’d been adopted, and that they’d been cruel people. Amos saw the scars on his back once. So Ed wasn’t lying about that. When he was sixteen he ran away from those folks.”

Dougal pulled his notepad and pen from the back pocket of his jeans and scratched down the information. “Who were his adoptive parents? Did he mention their names?”

“God, I can’t remember Dougal. But they must have lived on a farm or at least an acreage. He mentioned once how there were no neighbors to see or hear what his adoptive parents were doing to him.”

An icy chill raced down Dougal’s back. “When did he move to Twisted Cedars?”

“He’d been around for a few years before he started working with Amos. Working with a roofing company, I believe.”

Dougal needed dates. “Mom married him in 1977 and I was born the same year. They were together six months before that, so they must have met in 1976.”

“That’s the year they built the clubhouse,” Stella agreed.

“So if you were to pick a year Edward moved to Twisted Cedars...?” There was a sound from the side of the house, a rustling, but Stella didn’t seem to notice.

“I’d guess your father must have moved here in 1972 or ‘73.”

“It was 1972. When I moved into the Librarian Cottage, Charlotte found an old letter addressed to her aunt from an adoption agency in Portland.”

Stella looked puzzled. “An adoption agency?”

“Yes. They were warning Shirley their offices had been broken into and some of their records stolen—including the adoption documents for her son.”

Stella sucked in a surprised breath. “Are you telling me Shirley Hammond was your father’s birth mother?”

“I’m almost positive. Here’s what I do know for sure. Shirley got pregnant when she was sixteen-years-old and gave the child up for adoption. I can’t prove that child was my father, but I’m pretty sure that Ed, at least, believed he was her son.”

Stella placed a hand on her heart, and at that moment, Liz Brooks appeared from the same side of the house as he’d heard the rustling sound earlier. Her dark, curly hair was loose, and she wore faded jean shorts, a T-shirt and plain rubber flip-flops on her tiny feet.

How long had she been there, standing in the shadows on the side of the house?

“Liz. You startled me, dear. I’ll get you a drink. Beer okay?”

When she nodded, Stella disappeared inside to get the drink.

Liz moved closer to Dougal. “You were talking about Edward Lachlan.”

“We were,” he agreed. “And you were listening.”

Liz fingered a pendant hanging at her throat. She had to be in her mid-twenties, but she looked so young in that moment, almost like a teenager.

“Here we go.” Stella was back. She handed Liz the cool can and invited her to sit down. “Dougal will be leaving soon. Then we can discuss our business.”

“I’m sorry I interrupted your conversation.” Liz’s voice sounded strained. “I actually think I have something to contribute.”

“But we were talking about Dougal’s father, dear. You’ve never met him.”

“That’s true. But my father did.”

“Your father knew Edward Lachlan?”

“They met in prison. And Ed told my father lots of stories.” She nodded at Dougal. “Mostly about you.”

i
t was almost eight o’clock when Wade got home from Sacramento. He thought about parking himself in front of the TV for a few hours before he went to bed. Instead, he drove by the women’s emergency shelter, intending to make a quick check, for his own peace of mind.

When he arrived, he got out of his SUV, intending to check in with the night staff. On his way to the visitor’s entrance, however, he caught a whiff of cigarette smoke. He turned toward the designated outdoor smoking area.

Birdie was sitting alone, a cigarette in her hands.

He approached her slowly, not wanting to alarm her. “You may not remember me—"

“I do. You’re the Sheriff.”

She was looking a lot better than the last time he’d seen her. A lot better.

“Yes. Name’s Wade MacKay. Mind if I join you for a few minutes?”

“Go ahead.”

He settled into one of the plastic chairs. Shrubs protected them from the main road to the east. A trellis screen blocked them off on the north and west, and the building was to the south. It was a private seating area designed to make women feel safe as they indulged in their smokes.

“How are you feeling?”

“A lot better. I even found a job. Today was my first day.”

“A job?” He sure hadn’t expected to hear that.

“I’m a hair stylist.”

“So you’ve got your memory back?”

“Only fragments. I’m a hair stylist, and I’m pretty sure I used to live in a city, not a small town or the country. I like Thai food and the color orange.” She smiled sadly, then shrugged. “Not much, is it?”

He glanced at the cigarette. So far she hadn’t taken a single drag. “And that?”

“I thought maybe I smoked, but I took a puff and it made me cough. So I guess I don’t.” She ground the cigarette into a large can filled with sand.

“Give it time. I bet you’ll remember more tomorrow.”

“I still have no idea why I was in that man’s truck. Or even if I knew him.” She stared out into the night. “I should at least be sorry he’s dead, shouldn’t I? But I don’t feel anything.”

“You’ve had a bad shock. Physically and mentally. I wouldn’t be too hard on myself, if I was you.”

“
Boldness be my friend
.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m not sure. I was thinking I had to stop feeling so scared about the future and those words just came to me.”

“Anyone in your situation would be scared.” Only four days ago this woman sitting across from him would have been living her regular life. Now she had no idea who she was or where she’d come from. “But you’re safe here. Try to relax.”

“I’d like to. But I can’t help feeling as if there is something important I need to be doing.”

Was this another memory, trying to break through?

“But the harder I try to remember what it is, the more my head aches.” Birdie reached a hand to her scar and touched it gently. “What if I never remember?”

He had no answer for her. He couldn’t even imagine being in her shoes. To be himself, but to have no memories of Twisted Cedars, or his job, parents, or any of his friends. Who would that person be?

* * *

Jamie thought about the twins as she drove home from her meeting with Kyle. Charlotte had told her that when they drove out to the summer camp to tell them about their mother, they’d claimed to already know she was dead.

Was it possible they’d also known their father was responsible? They’d only been toddlers the night their mother died. But maybe they’d heard things. Kids often knew more than adults suspected they did.

It was awful to think of Chester and Cory carrying such heavy burdens.

Jamie’s route home took her right by the Hammond’s house. She was tempted to stop and say hi to the children. But they needed to get used to the routine of living with Charlotte.

So Jamie took a right turn into town, drove a few blocks, then turned right again. A group of pine trees growing in a vacant lot reminded her of the woods at the back of the Librarian Cottage. She thought of Daisy, buried and forgotten all those years.

How could he have done that?

He was a monster. He had to be.

And yet—she thought of how patient and gentle he could be with the children. In bed he’d been giving and loving. And he always made the time to listen when she needed to talk about missing her mother or being upset with her brother.

What advice would her mother give, if she were alive? Would she tell her to have her marriage annulled, to cut her losses, not to worry about children who weren’t hers to worry about?

No.

Jamie knew her mother had retained an attachment to her father, even though he’d been abusive toward her. She suspected her Mom had kicked him out because she was worried for Dougal, and for the unborn child who had been Jamie, not for herself.

Why else had she found a letter from her father in her mother’s possessions after she died last year?

Besides, it hadn’t been in her mother’s character to hate or dismiss anyone. She’d had the most loving heart of anyone Jamie had ever met.

Having reached the small bungalow where Stella and Amos lived, Jamie turned off the ignition and car lights. Now that it was almost nine, the air was finally cooling off. The gentle breeze carried summertime scents of backyard barbecues and blooming gardens.

The lights were off inside Stella and Ward’s house, but Jamie could hear voices coming from the backyard. She followed the paved path along the side of the house, her arms brushing against the lilac hedge that separated this property from the neighbor’s.

When she emerged from around the corner, she was surprised to see three people sitting on the plastic patio furniture.

“I didn’t know you were having a party, Stella.”

But the only festive element to the gathering was the fact that all three of them—Stella, her brother and Liz Brooks—had a beer in their hands. Their expressions were grim, and no one had bothered to light the outdoor candles or to set out any munchies.

“Grab a drink,” Dougal said. “I think you’ll need it.”

“What in the world were you guys talking about?” She’d heard their voices earlier, but they’d clammed up the moment they saw her.

Liz was so small she was able to sit cross-legged in her chair. Jamie remembered Stella saying she and Liz were planning to have a business meeting tonight. But she didn’t think Dougal would be much interested in that subject.

“Would you like a drink, dear?”

Before Stella could get out of her chair, Jamie indicated she should remain where she was. It seemed everyone was very anxious that she have a beer, so she might as well oblige them. She filled a bowl with potato chips, too. Not having eaten much of her dinner, she was suddenly starving.

Back outside, the tension seemed even thicker than before.

Was this an ambush?

Had Stella told Dougal she was meeting Kyle?

But that didn’t explain Liz’s presence.

“Would someone please tell me what’s going on here?”

“Liz?” Dougal said.

“Jamie, I was just telling your brother something that I should have told you both when I first moved here. But I was afraid you’d think I was some kind of weird stalker. So I kept quiet. I thought it might get easier once we got to know one another a little better.”

“I don’t get it.” Jamie studied Stella’s face, then Dougal’s for a clue.

“Liz’s father met ours in prison. I guess they were sort of buddies.”