forgotten (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 2) (6 page)

“Exactly.”

Neither of them needed to add the most likely source of the beatings. They’d both seen scenarios like this too often.

On the drive back to Twisted Cedars, Wade mulled over the situation. It was an unholy mess. Marital discord might explain the beatings. But he still had no idea why his Jane Doe had been in Walker’s truck. Or what had caused Walker to veer off the road in broad daylight during perfect driving conditions.

s
unday afternoon Charlotte was on the verge of panic, when she thought of the photo albums. Chester and Cory had been playing video games with their hand-held game consoles for hours. Ever since Jamie left, actually.

Jamie had been a godsend. Not only had she helped the twins pack and move, she’d also stayed the night at Charlotte’s, calling it a sleep-over and making the night fun for the kids. All four of them had spread sleeping bags in the family room and watched Toy Story 1 and 2 while snacking on popcorn and chocolate milk.

In the morning Jamie had made pancakes and scrambled eggs for breakfast, listened to all Chester and Cory’s stories from camp and taken them out to toss a football on the beach for an hour.

And then she’d left.

“Can’t you stay forever?” Charlotte had begged, only half-joking.

“They won’t get to know you if I’m always around.”

Jamie was right, of course. But Charlotte felt clueless. She was comfortable with preschool children—reading circle at the library was one of her favorite things about her job. But she couldn’t offer to read picture books to Chester and Cory.

And then inspiration struck. “Would you guys like to see pictures of your mother when she was a little girl?”

They both shut off their games within seconds.

“You really have pictures of her?” Cory asked, her eyes wide.

“Sure. We were sisters. We grew up together. In this very house.”

Fortunately their mother had taken lots of photographs over the years. Their father had shot lots of video, as well, but Charlotte figured today she would start with the albums.

Her mother had kept them in a bookshelf in the study, organized and labelled by date. Charlotte asked the kids to help her carry them to the family room where they’d have more space to spread out.

She started with Daisy’s baby pictures. Both kids were instantly fascinated. Cory stared hungrily at a photo of Daisy taking her first steps toward her father. “Who is that guy?”

“He was your Mom’s father. Your grandpa. Do you remember him at all?”

“A little.”

Charlotte pulled out a more recent photo of her parents. “This is your grandma and grandpa Hammond. They died in a car accident when you guys were seven.”

“He used to take us to the beach,” Chester said, pointing at her father.

“And she made us cookies.”

Charlotte was glad they had a few memories, at least. Her parents had adored spending time with their grandchildren and would gladly have spent more, if Kyle had been less standoffish.

When they opened the second photo album, a six-year-old Daisy appeared holding a crying baby in her lap. Her nose was wrinkled as if something smelt bad. And maybe it had.

“Who’s that?” Cory wanted to know.

“That’s me. I was three months old when the Hammonds adopted me. Look at your Mom’s face. I don’t think she was very excited about getting a sister.”

Both of the kids laughed, but to Charlotte it still hurt. Sibling rivalry in her and Daisy’s case had lasted much too long. Maybe, if they’d had a closer relationship, she would have been able to help her sister more after the twins were born. But Daisy had shut out even Mom at that point.

They went through Christmas photos and family holidays—including the disastrous trip to Disneyland when Charlotte had refused to have anything to do with the costumed characters that populated the park. They’d frightened her, but Daisy had loved them. There were photos of her with Sleeping Beauty, Tigger and, of course, Minnie Mouse.

Eventually they reached the last album, with photographs of Daisy as a cheerleader, then graduating, and soon after that, as a bride, marrying Kyle. There were a couple photographs of Daisy with her infant twins, and in these the transformation from the golden-haired, happy bride, to the depressed new mother, was so shocking, even the twins commented on it.

“Why doesn’t she look pretty anymore?”

Had anyone ever explained post-partum psychosis to them? If not, maybe it was time.

“Sometimes, after a woman has babies, her hormones go all crazy. It’s rare, but it’s a terrible sickness. It makes the mother really sleepy and mixed up in her head.”

The twins were both stared at her, riveted.

“Did that happen to our Mom?” Chester asked.

“I’m afraid so. It wasn’t her fault and it wasn’t your fault either. It was just her body, sending her the wrong chemicals. The doctors tried to fix the problem, but they couldn’t.”

She thought they’d have questions, but they absorbed her explanation in silence, leaving her terrified that she’d told them too much.

Fortunately the doorbell rang.

“That must be the pizza.”

“Yay!” Cory ran for the door. “Did you remember to get mine without tomatoes?”

“I did.” Charlotte let the kids carry the two pizzas to the kitchen, while she settled the bill. She wouldn’t earn any parenting points with meals like this, but at least the kids were happy. As they sat down to eat, she glanced at her watch, wondering if she’d hear from Dougal.

She’d like him to meet the twins. And, she was hoping he’d stay the night, as well.

But even after she’d watched a movie with the kids, and they’d had their showers and brushed their teeth, she still hadn’t heard from him.

“Can we sleep on the family room floor, again?” Cory asked, her eyes wide and beseeching.

“Wouldn’t you like to try the beds in your new room? They’ll be way more comfortable.”

Yesterday Charlotte and Jamie had put the twins’ belongings away in Daisy’s old bedroom. Charlotte had given them the option of separate bedrooms—the big old house had five—but they preferred to stay together. Daisy’s old room was certainly big enough. It was almost twice the size of Charlotte’s, with two twin beds and a cushioned window seat overlooking the ocean.

Charlotte pulled out her old copy of
The Adventures of Tin Tin
and asked the kids if they wanted her to read to them, or should they all three take turns?

Chester and Cory hadn’t been introduced to the thrills of the Tin Tin stories before, and Charlotte was gratified when they begged to keep reading after her thirty minute limit.

Gladly she read for another fifteen minutes, then told them it was lights out.

She hesitated, then said, “Would it be okay if I kissed you good night?”

Cory happily threw her arms around her, but Chester wrinkled his nose. “I’m too old for kisses,” he said.

“No one is ever too old for kisses. If you change your mind, let me know.”

She left a night light in the room and another in the hallway, then went downstairs to tidy up the family room and kitchen, playing the evening news quietly in the background while she worked.

About half-an-hour later she heard footsteps racing down the stairs.

It was Chester. “Maybe a hug would be okay.”

She gave him a super big hug. “I bet it feels strange sleeping here. But you’ll get used to it. I promise.”

“Will we ever see our Dad again?”

“You will. You just have to let the grownups sort out a few problems first. Okay?”

With a trembling bottom lip, he nodded.

Charlotte accompanied him back to his bed, tucked him in, and gave him another hug. In the next bed over, Cory was already asleep, clutching her favorite stuffed dog to her chest.

“Let me know if you have trouble falling asleep,” she said to Chester. But his eyes were already heavy. They’d been up late last night. And now it past eleven.

A big, heavy feeling bloomed in Charlotte’s heart as she turned back from the doorway to check them one more times.

More than love, it was the recognition that these children needed her. And that from now on, they were going to be her number one priority.

There were going to be changes in her life. Big changes.

No more late night strolls by herself on the beach.

She’d need to arrange childcare so she could go back to work.

And—most difficult of all—no more sleepovers at the Librarian Cottage with Dougal.

At midnight, she checked on the kids again. They were both asleep now, and while she knew she ought to go to bed, too, she didn’t feel she’d be able to sleep.

So she took a glass of wine out to the porch and almost spilled it when she spotted Dougal. He was sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs, his bare feet propped on the wooden railing.

“I wondered how much longer it was going to take you to get your ass out here.”

She almost laughed, she was so happy to see him. “Why didn’t you text me?”

“I didn’t want to look desperate.” He reached for her hand, gave it a squeeze and kept holding it after she’d settled in the chair next to his.

It was dark now, and quiet, only ocean sounds to keep them company. She offered him a drink from her wineglass. “Want me to go inside and get you your own glass?”

“I’m happy to share.” He sat quietly for a while, then asked, “How’s it going?”

She told him everything. How wonderful his sister had been and how lost she felt when Jamie left. Then how the photographs and the pizza and then Tin Tin had saved the night in the end.

“So I made it through the day, but I’m still nervous about tomorrow, and the days and weeks and months after that. They’re really going to miss their father. And I don’t know how to help them deal with that.”

“You lost your parents once. And now your sister. You’ll be fine.” Dougal hesitated, then added in a quiet voice, “That said, I know what it’s like to find out your father is a murderer. It’s an awful thing.”

“We’re assuming Kyle killed her. Do you think there’s any chance we could be wrong?”

“If he didn’t—why did he go to so much effort to make it appear Daisy was still alive? Anyway, in cases like this, it’s almost always the husband. Or, in this situation, the ex.”

“I know. I just wish, for Cory and Chester’s sake, there could be another explanation.” She took a drink of her wine, then passed the glass to Dougal. “Oh, I forgot to tell you what happened when we went to the camp to pick up the kids. They already knew their mother was dead.”

Dougal’s eyebrows shot up. “Someone at camp told them?”

“No. They’d known for years. Chester said it was the only reason a mother would leave her kids—because she was dead. But I wonder if the kids overheard Kyle and his parents talking about Daisy.”

Dougal raised his eyebrows. “It’s possible, maybe even likely, that in all these years there might have been a slip-up or two.”

He passed back the glass and she finished the wine, resisting the urge to go back for the rest of the bottle. “How is Borden liking the Librarian Cottage?”

“She hates it! Won’t go near the door or windows. Spends most of her time up in the loft. I guess she feels safe up there, silly thing.”

“Did you work on your story today?” she asked.

“If you mean the one about the librarians—no. I’m going to drop it. I’d hate for my father to believe he’d been successful in manipulating me.”

“He put a lot of effort into his plan, didn’t he? Imagine the patience he must have had to establish himself as your neighbor for several months before starting to send you those emails.”

“Yeah. And offering to cat-sit Borden was quite the extra touch. Believe me, my father used to hate cats. But it seems as if he treated Borden okay when she was staying with him.”

“If his goal is to ingratiate himself with you, harming your cat would be the wrong way to go about it,” she pointed out.

“I hate that he managed to get inside my head, even for a short while. To think of how I followed up on each of the murders, just the way he wanted me to. Now. I just want to forget the bastard.”

“He knows you can’t resist a puzzle.”

“This is one puzzle I have to forget.”

“What about the families of all the victims?” Dougal had told her previously he felt an obligation to them, to lay bare the truth and give them closure.

“I do feel badly about that part.” He got out of his chair and paced to the other end of the porch. Then he turned to face her, again. “Even if I wrote the book, the cops probably wouldn’t be able to lay charges. My father will never pay for the lives he took.”

“Is it possible he was innocent?” Charlotte mused. “Maybe his claim to be the murderer was just the excuse he needed to get your interest.”

“I wish that could be true. But no. The timeline works too perfectly. The records to your Aunt Shirley’s adoption were stolen in 1972. Shortly after that, the murders started. It’s safe to assume Ed tried to contact Shirley soon after he found out she was his birth mother. And she must have rejected him in some way, which set him off on his rampage. "

It hurt to see how badly this tortured him. Charlotte went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her face against his shoulder. “You’re probably right. Your father did some terrible things. But you’re not Ed Lachlan. And you shouldn’t feel responsible for his crimes.”

“I share DNA with that guy. Charlotte, if you had any sense, you wouldn’t have anything to do with me.”

“I don’t think DNA is to blame. Something must have happened to your father to make him turn out the way he did. We’ll probably never know what it was. Maybe you’re right not to let him pull your chain anymore. Just forget about him, and focus on your new life here in Twisted Cedars.”

She kissed him then, and after a few seconds, she felt his muscles relax. He pulled her close, ravishing her mouth, making her need for him run hot in her blood, turning her reckless and wild. They made love there, on the porch, in the dark, with the ocean as witness.

Later, they went inside to the kitchen where Charlotte poured them both a glass of wine. She wished he could stay the night with her. But until he’d had a chance to meet the children, it wouldn’t be right.