Jill Elizabeth Nelson (13 page)

He picked up the old school yearbook laying on the corner of his desk. He'd found the volume in the town library as soon as it opened this morning. If whoever took the book from Jan Keller's attic had hoped to hide something by swiping it, they'd done a poor job. If anything, the theft had drawn attention to the book, not away from it. Then again, the thief may have hoped the clutter in the attic would mask the missing volume, and no one would go looking for a copy.

Rich opened the book to the prom page and stared at the photo. So Frank Keller and Hannah Breyer had attended prom together. She'd been a very pretty girl back in the day, with an impish, appealing smile. Hannah was a junior and a new kid in town that year. Rich's research showed that Fern was guardian of her teenage sister when she married Simon and moved to Ellington. That didn't allow Frank and Hannah a lot of time to develop a hot romance. Then again, those things could sometimes happen in a flash. Did the relationship continue over the years? If so, what bearing did the liaison have on the baby buried under Frank Keller's rose garden? Those were burning questions. With Frank dead and Jan incapacitated, one person remained with the answers. He could add Hannah to the list of people he needed to talk to in the Elling household.

Rich punched the number into the phone on his desk. Simon answered.

“This is Police Chief Rich Hendricks. I'm coming up there to talk to Fern, Mason and Hannah, and I'm not taking any excuses.”

“Excuses?” Simon chuckled. “Just bad timing on your part before. Hannah? What do you want with her?”

“That's between her and me.”

“Suit yourself. Come ahead. We're eager to cooperate with the police.”

Sure, you are.
“I'll be right there.”

Within a few minutes, Rich was ushered by a too-smug Simon into a massive living room with a vaulted ceiling. The area was sparsely filled with worn, but high-quality furniture.

Mason slumped on one end of a claw-footed couch, bleary gaze betraying a hangover. Rail-thin Fern perched on the other end of the couch, dressed in a dark-colored skirt and blouse, ankles crossed, hands folded in her lap. Across from Fern, Melody lounged cross-legged in a high-backed easy chair. She was clad in her usual designer elegance, and her hothouse-flower perfume clashed with her mother's rose scent. Melody sported a yellowed bruise high on her right cheekbone that heavy makeup couldn't quite conceal. Had Daddy reached the end of his rope with her expenditures? Knowing Simon, it was a short rope.

Plump Hannah sat, shoulders bowed and head lowered, in the matching chair on the other end of the grouping. From a padded footstool near Hannah's chair Nicole gazed up at him, a becoming flush on her cheeks.

“You beat me here,” he said. Her presence wasn't a complete surprise. Her car was parked out front. He might have known she'd pick up on the same clue about the yearbook as he had and decide to talk to the same person—Hannah.

She shrugged and sent him a rueful smile. “Just barely.”

Rich looked toward Simon. “Is there someplace I can visit with people individually?”

The man crossed his arms. “We're a family. If the child that was found really is Samuel, we're the victims here. Whatever you have to say and whatever questions you have should be open to all of us.”

Nicole bit her lip. She looked as frustrated as he felt. Simon seemed to be maneuvering them both out of the opportunity for private interviews. Rich didn't want what anyone said to be colored by what others in the room might think. Hannah didn't look prepared to utter a sound in this setting. However, he'd learned to play the hand he was dealt. Maybe something would come of this family chat.

“Mason, can you account for your whereabouts the evening Jan's Sewing Room was torched and the early morning of the fire at Ellington Implement?”

The young man scowled and reddened. “Don't try to pin that stuff on me. I'm no firebug. I don't have an alibi if that's what you mean. I was alone and minding my own business both times.” His lifted chin dared Rich to prove otherwise.

“Do you know the whereabouts of Ralph Reinert?”

Mason sneered. “That loser? I'm just glad he hasn't been trying to hang out with me and my buddies the past couple of days.”

“Answer the question.”

“No, I have no idea where Ralph Reinert is. Don't care, either.”

That went well.
Rich shifted focus. “Hannah? Would you look at me, please?” No response.

“It's okay.” Nicole touched the woman's knee.

Hannah's head slowly lifted. Her gaze was distant, vacant. Not auspicious for getting straight answers.

“How well did you know Frank Keller?” Rich plunged ahead anyway.

“Wh-who?” She blinked at him.

“My grandfather, Frank Keller,” Nicole inserted.

Hannah's gaze fell to Nicole, and her posture marginally softened. “You have his eyebrows.”

“You knew him well, then?” Nicole's tone edged on husky.

Rich's heart twisted. This must be a highly emotional moment for her.

Hannah stared down at her lap and picked at imaginary lint on her poodle skirt. “He was my friend.”

“That's all? Just a friend?” Nicole leaned toward the other woman, knuckles white where her fingers gripped the edges of the footstool.

Hannah's nod was barely perceptible. “And then he left me.”

The desperation in her tone, the hint of a wail, set Rich's teeth on edge. There was much more to this story than was going to emerge the way Simon had so deliberately set the scene.

“He left you?” Nicole sank back on her seat. “What do you mean?” Her gaze devoured Hannah, oblivious to anyone else in the room.

“It's okay, Nicole.” Rich measured his tone to be soothing but firm.

Her head whipped toward him, and their eyes held for long seconds. Emotions wrestled one another across her face—hope and fear, dread and anticipation. Then her shoulders relaxed, and she inclined her head.
Good girl.
The Elling patriarch wasn't going to get the last laugh. Rich would make sure of that. But for right now, he and Nicole
needed to exercise patience. Maybe even caution. Rich had the strangest sense that the family would do anything to keep their dark secrets.

“Isn't anyone going to ask
me
any questions?” A petulant voice entered the conversation.

Rich focused on Simon's wife. The woman's lower lip pouted. Indignation washed her gaze as if she'd been slighted. If Fern had ever been attractive, years of chronic illness had leached away the beauty, leaving a shell of mottled skin and bony angles.

“I'd like you to tell me what you remember about the night your son disappeared,” Rich said.

Fern stared somewhere beyond Rich's shoulder. “Sammy woke up crying in the night. That wasn't unusual for him, and he was teething. I went to him and soothed him and put him back in his crib. Then the next morning, when he didn't wake up at his usual time, I went in to check on him, and he was gone.”

The words came out in a near monotone, as if she was reciting a lesson learned by rote. In fact, what she said was almost verbatim the quote contained in the old police report.

Rich frowned. “You don't remember anyone showing unusual attention to your son around the time of the kidnapping…someone you met around town, someone who came in to visit, a repair person?”

“Everyone was always fawning over Sammy. He was a beautiful baby.” A wild-eyed glare accompanied Fern's statement, as if she was indignant about the question.

Or maybe she was jealous about all the attention shown her child. Could any mother resent her offspring for stealing the limelight? This household was so twisted, anything was possible. He was also getting nowhere fast, except for some very bad vibes.

“If you think of anything else, be sure to call me,” he told Fern. Like that would happen, but he too could spout stock statements. “Nicole, shall we be going?”

“But—”

“I'll walk you out to your car.”

She gave him a disgusted look, but stood up. She'd had some success getting Hannah to cooperate a few days ago, but Simon wasn't about to allow a repeat. Besides, his gut said he should get Nicole out of this house. Now.

“Do not darken our doorway again, Mrs. Mattson.” Simon's tone could have frozen a penguin. “Members of your family are not welcome in this house anymore.”

Nicole's eyes widened. “Surely, you don't think my grandparents had anything to do with—”

“The more I think about the situation, the more I
do
think exactly that. Any reasonable person would come to that conclusion, and I pray that Frank and Jan will rot in—”

“That'll be enough!” Rich took a step toward the Elling patriarch.

The man glared at him, face a mottled purple. Quite likely no one, with the possible exception of his father, Seth, had ever told Simon to hold his tongue. Their gazes held, and Rich fully intended to take whatever action necessary to stop this man from inflicting one more ounce of pain on Nicole. Simon must have read Rich's resolve, because his chin lowered, and he clamped his lips shut.

Nicole scurried from the room, shoulders hunched and tears in her eyes. Rich sent Simon one more warning look and stalked out behind her. She charged ahead through the front door, but he caught up with her as she started to open her car door and placed a hand on her shoulder.

She didn't turn and look at him. “Thank you for that small mercy.”

“Anytime. Let me know if anyone at all bothers you
about what might or might not have happened all those years ago.”

“You can't control what people think.” She whirled, gaze fierce. “They're going to say things, give me looks, and you can't arrest them over it.”

“I'd like to, if that means anything.”

Her expression softened. “It does.”

“Then you need to trust me.” Would she? She had to!

Nicole's lower lip quivered, but she said nothing.

“We need to talk. Call me. But don't wait too long.”

She dipped her head and nodded then got into her car and drove away. They were close to something about this case busting wide open. He could feel it. And yet one wrong decision by anyone involved could compound the tragedy.

D
on't wait too long.
Rich's words haunted Nicole the rest of the day. She'd pick up the phone and then set it down, fear winning the war against conscience. The sky had darkened to a mottled purple by the time Nicole worked up the courage to put the call through.

She shifted from one foot to the other as the phone rang. When she handed Rich the pieced-together letter, would he be compelled to arrest her for some sort of obstruction? And what had he thought about her continued meddling in the case by showing up at the Ellings' house? Surely, he must have deduced that she'd found the yearbook. His questions of Hannah betrayed that he'd laid hands on a copy, as well.

“This is Chief Hendricks.” His mellow bass fell easy on her ears.

“Can you stop over?” Her voice resonated sorrow and resolve.

“I'm just leaving the office. I'll be right there.”

Rich's SUV pulled up to the nonexistent curb at the front of the Keller home a few minutes later. Nicole waited on the sidewalk, holding the bag with the letter inside. She motioned for him to stay inside his vehicle then climbed in the passenger side of his unit.

“Might as well get it over with. Here.” Nicole handed him the bag.

She twisted a strand of hair around a finger, while he studied the pieced-together scraps of paper.

“Where did you get this?” His gaze skewered her.

She rubbed sweaty palms against jean-clad legs. “Can we drive while we talk?”

His stare remained hard on her for several seconds, then he put the vehicle in gear and sent it up the road. Nicole's heart stuttered. The timbre of his voice and the twitch of a muscle in his jaw betrayed banked anger. They headed out of town.

“Now you need to tell me everything you know,” he pronounced.

Anybody who didn't come clean after those words spoken in that tone of voice needed their head examined.

A desperate little laugh left Nicole's lips. “I don't
know
much of anything, but terrible suspicions keep racing through my head. Sometimes I think I might go nuts if I don't get real answers soon.”

“I'm with you on getting answers.”

Rich headed the vehicle out of town onto township roads. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as farmsteads flowed past. His silence was expectant.

Nicole exhaled a long breath. “I found the letter yesterday in the missing garbage bag. The bag was stuffed in the backseat of my car. There's no indication who wrote the letter or who it was meant for. If the note didn't belong to my grandmother, I assume it came into her hands somehow, and I suspect she tried to destroy it to protect either the author or the recipient or both.”

Nicole didn't say that her grandfather was the likely candidate as recipient, but she didn't have to mention the obvious. The knowledge hung heavily between them.

Rich sent her a narrow-eyed glance. “You should have let the professionals handle the evidence.”

“I know, but I didn't. You can arrest me if you want, but I assure you I wore gloves, and I kept the garbage bag and all its contents. You're welcome to the whole mess.” She spread her hands. “Who put the garbage bag in my car is a mystery, too.”

“Someone wanted the letter found.”

“But who would have something to gain from exposing the evidence? Not my grandmother, and certainly not any other person who might have been criminally involved in whatever happened to that baby.”

“Someone out there knows what happened and wants the guilty party punished,” Rich said, “but they don't care to come forward.”

“They also must have been watching our house that night—maybe other nights, too.” Nicole shivered. Could this watcher be dangerous? Dangerous enough to attack her grandmother? Maybe the person was mentally unbalanced. Fern Elling's feral gaze appeared in her mind's eye. “Fern's a good half a bubble off center, and not in a benign way like Hannah. She'd have powerful motive to want her son's killer caught, but I can't understand why she wouldn't simply come forward with whatever she knows.”

“Fear?”

“Of who? Her husband's a scary guy, but he's got the same reason to expose the killer as she does.”

Rich let out a low hum. “Melody was only a toddler when the kidnapping occurred, and Mason wasn't even a glimmer in her eye. Which leaves—”

“Hannah.” Nicole finished his sentence with a laugh. “The idea of that sweet, persecuted little dumpling being dangerous is…well, ludicrous. Unless…”

“Spit it out. Full honesty, remember?”

“My grandmother always warned me about her. I never understood why until I found that yearbook photo of her and Grandpa. But maybe the answer goes beyond jealousy of an old flame. Maybe the warning has substance.”

“You mean she's some sort of sociopath?”

“Or maybe Samuel is my grandfather's love child with her.” Nicole gulped a shaky breath. “There, I said it.”

Rich shook his head. “I've considered that possibility, too, but if so, why would Simon and Fern claim the baby as their own? The Ellings are set on having a male namesake of direct descent. They don't even believe Mason qualifies.”

Nicole smacked her palms together. “I can't get around that question, either, but I'd like to donate a DNA sample anyway. I need to know if the child I found was my uncle.”

“All right.”

“Thank you.”

Her chest tightened. What if the test revealed a familial relationship? How would she cope with losing an uncle she never had the chance to meet—possibly at the hands of her grandfather, the child's father? Her stubborn, blind-faith resistance to that idea eroded with each new discovery.

Rich brought the vehicle to a halt at the stop sign before a state highway leading back toward the lights of Ellington. On the other side of the road, pole lamps illuminated a half-full parking lot around a supper club. A sports car peeled out of the driveway onto the tarmac, burning rubber toward town.

Hissing a breath, Rich switched on his bubbles. “Tighten your seat belt. You're in for a ride. That's Mason Elling's car.”

Nicole's back pressed into the seat as Rich hit the gas and flipped on the siren. The car ahead of them sped up, and Rich followed suit.

“Taylor Mead better not be in there with him,” Rich growled.

“Who?”

“Dr. Mead's daughter. She's been seeing Mason.”

“Good girl fascinated with bad boy?”

“You got it.”

Nicole gripped the sides of the bucket seat, while Rich got on the radio and called all available units, sheriff and highway patrol included, to intercept the speeding sports car. A mile sped beneath their tires, then two, and then the city sign whipped past in a blur.

Ahead, a black-and-white sat sideways across the road, lights flashing. The sports car didn't slow down. It jumped the curb onto a grassy verge outside a tire shop, whipped around the blockade and reentered the street. Rich didn't slow down, either. Nicole's teeth snapped together as they hopped the curb. He was already giving commands on the radio for a fresh blockade that would funnel Mason's car onto a dug-up street. The terrain would force the driver to put on the brakes.

“We don't want a high-speed chase all over town,” Rich spoke into his mic. “I need units coming at him from both side streets and the alleys so he can't turn off. I'll be on his tail. When he reaches the dirt pile the infrastructure crew dug out of that road today, he'll have to stop. A parking-lot fence on one side of the road and a tall hedge on the other should keep him from pulling a repeat of his earlier dodge stunt. And there's an eight-foot pit ahead of him beyond the dirt mound. Watch for him to make a break for it on foot. Mason's not going to give up easily.”

He lowered his mic, and Nicole met his glance.

“You okay?” he asked. “I wish I could let you out, but I can't stop.”

“Go for it. This fool needs to be caught before he hurts someone.”

Rich's teeth flashed white in the dimness. “You're the woman of my dreams!”

A warm flush spread across Nicole's skin. Rich was only using an expression, but she liked the sound of those words way too much. She should be dismayed, but things were happening too fast for her to worry about her giddy reaction now. They turned onto a rough and rutted road. The sports car slowed. Marginally. Then it surged ahead, bouncing and leaping like a spooked deer in hunting season. Sirens wailed. Units converged. The dirt pile loomed in front of them, a good four feet of solid blockade. A cracked slab of dislodged concrete leaned against the mound.

Mason's car sped up, and Nicole's heart seized in her chest. The young man wasn't going to—

“Don't do it, kid!”

Rich's cry merged with Nicole's scream. The sports car shot up the unintended ramp and went airborne. For a breathless second it soared. Then it plummeted, front end first, and disappeared. The screech of tortured metal and crash of bursting glass rent the air above the peal of sirens.

Rich skidded his unit to a halt. They gaped at each other.

“Stay here.”

Nicole didn't need Rich's terse command. Whatever lay beyond that dirt pile, she didn't want to see.

 

“I'm alive. I can't believe I'm alive.” Taylor Mead kept repeating those words over and over as she clung to Rich's hand. Light from the open rear of the nearby ambulance spilled over them.

The young woman lay on a gurney with her head and
neck immobilized, as well as both her legs, which were clearly broken. A few glass cuts marred her arms and face. Around them, emergency workers went about their tasks. EMTs were assessing Mason Elling on another gurney. He wasn't doing as well as Taylor. Massive head injuries. He hadn't been wearing his seat belt when his car flipped and landed in the pit. They'd have to get a crane to fish out the wreckage.

Rich looked up to see Nicole hovering a few feet away, hugging herself and staring around. He'd take her home as soon as the ambulance left with Mason and Taylor.

The young woman tugged on his hand. “You were right about him. Mason, I mean. I thought I could help him…save him.” Tears dripped out the edges of her eyes.

Nicole stepped up and dabbed at the wetness with a tissue she pulled from her pocket. She met Rich's approving gaze, colored and looked away. This woman was a compassionate treasure.

“Shhh,” Rich told Taylor. “You don't have to talk now.”

“But I do. You need to know. He was drunk, raving about the blankety-blank pigs always trying to arrest him. I kept begging him to stop, but he yelled at me that he couldn't let you get your hands on his car. He said, ‘I'm not going to take the rap for them.' But I kept begging, and then he punched me in the face.”

Rich's spine stiffened. Was the blood beneath her nose and the puffiness under her left eye from Mason, not the accident? What was Mason's car hiding? The vehicle was going to get the fine-tooth comb. And if Mason wasn't so injured already, Rich would be hard put not to return the treatment he'd given this young woman.

“Oh, my baby!” The shrill cry drew their attention.

Sharla hurried toward them. Rich stepped aside, and
the doctor leaned over her daughter, touching her face and weeping. Then she whirled on him.

“What were you thinking? Conducting a high-speed chase in town and with my daughter in the car!”

Nicole stepped back from the gurney. “Rich did all he could to stop the vehicle safely.”

Sharla glared at Nicole. “What do you know about it? Do you have a child?”

Nicole jerked as if slapped. Rich went to her.

“I'm going to be okay, Mom,” Taylor inserted. “It's my own fault I was in the car with a nutcase.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I just…”

The words faded as Rich took Nicole's arm and drew her away from mother and daughter.

“Typical parental reaction,” Rich said.

“I know.” The words were terse, weighted with sadness.

The situation was awful, but something about what Sharla said to Nicole had turned her face pasty pale.

“Let me drive you home.”

“Please.” Nicole nodded then she gasped.

Rich followed her gaze. The EMTs had stopped working over the inert form of Mason Elling. One shook her head, the other pulled a sheet over the young man's face. Rich groaned. The Ellings…the townsfolk…were about to get slammed with a fresh shock.

He and Nicole climbed into his SUV, and he gazed at her stricken profile, but held his peace.

Nicole turned her head toward him. “A situation like this gives me a rare moment of gratitude that Glen and I didn't have children.”

“You wanted kids?”

“Passionately!”

As Rich wove slowly through the streets toward her
grandmother's house, she told him about finding out that Glen couldn't be a father, his bitterness and distraction, her hope to adopt and then his death.

“I'm honored you told me,” Rich said. “If my opinion counts, you'd make a great mom.”

She brushed a hand under her eye. “But will I ever get the chance to be one? My empty arms make finding that baby under the rose garden so much harder to take. I can't imagine cutting off the life of an infant. Not treasuring a child as a precious gift.”

Rich hummed. “You and I feel the same way about a lot of things—kids, too.”

“You've raised your family.”

He shook his head. “Karen and I wanted more, but after Katrina was born we found out Karen couldn't get pregnant again. Katrina became the center of our world, sometimes to her chagrin.”

Nicole let out a small laugh. “I can't imagine you'd want to start that cycle over again, though. You deserve another chance at happiness with a companion who doesn't expect you to change diapers.”

Rich's heart tripped over itself. Was she probing to see if he'd be willing to have another family? Was fatherhood one of her criteria for a new man in her life? Rich mentally slapped himself. Why hadn't he picked up on the issue of children sooner? Of course, she'd assumed he didn't care to go the daddy route again. She'd assumed wrong.