Thanksgiving Past

by Kathi Daley

  “Good to know. Thanks for the warning.”

  After Hope returned to her car and continued on her way, I decided to take a walk around the property. I wanted to get a feel for things, so I would be able to visualize what Parker referred to when we met that evening. The house was situated on a large lot on a quiet street. There were homes on either side of the property, but they were set in the center of their own large lots, so the three structures weren’t really all that close together. The backyard was fenced, but the gate was easy enough to open, so I popped the latch and headed around to the rear of the property. The grass was dead and overrun with weeds, the same as the grass in the front of the property had been. The upstairs windows were covered with shutters, as were the windows at the front of the house, but the downstairs windows were covered with large pieces of plywood. Small pieces of glass on the ground seemed to indicate that someone had broken the windows at the back of the house at some point, and whoever was supposed to be keeping an eye on the place had covered the openings with wood rather than replacing them.

  There was a tall wooden fence around the entire property at the back. A small wooden gate along the back fence line provided access to the meadow behind the property. Beyond the meadow was a road, and on the other side of the road was a heavily forested hillside. I supposed if it had been dark when the family left their property, they could have snuck out the back and met up with a car that was waiting for them on the road behind the home, and no one, not even the neighbors on either side of the house, would necessarily have seen them.

  I wasn’t sure where the road that ran behind the home led, but if I had to guess, it probably hugged the hillside and then eventually met up with the main highway that ran along the bay. The bay road was the only road in or out of the area, so if the family had fled in a vehicle, they would have had to have taken that route which led to the bridge that crossed the inlet separating Gooseberry Bay from the road leading to Port Angeles.

  I wondered what was on the other side of the wooded hillside. I’d need to look at a map. If the family had fled at the last minute as their enemy approached, they wouldn’t have had time to arrange for a car and would have been on foot. In that case, it would have been safest to disappear into the woods rather than traveling along the highway. I felt a chill climb up my spine. I couldn’t imagine the terror the family must have felt if they had been forced to run for their lives with only the clothes on their backs on what had most likely been a chilly night.

  After I checked out the area behind the property, I headed back through the gate to the fenced yard. I took another walk around the house and then headed toward my SUV.

  “Afternoon,” a woman with long blond hair who looked to be in her early twenties approached from across the street. She was holding the hand of a child who looked to be around three.

  “Afternoon,” I replied.

  “I noticed you were checking out the Hamish place,” she said. “I live in the area and try to keep an eye on the place. Was there something you needed?”

  “My name is Ainsley Holloway,” I said. “I’m working with Parker Peterson, who works for the local newspaper. Parker is doing a follow-up story on the family who disappeared, and I was just here to take a look before our strategy meeting.”

  “I know who Parker is,” the woman said. She held out a hand. “I’m Vanessa Hudson.”

  “Happy to meet you.” I looked down at the child who was still clinging to the woman’s hand. “And what is your name?”

  “Arial.”

  “I’m happy to meet you, Arial.” I really hadn’t spent much time around children. Being an only child, I hadn’t had nieces and nephews to dote on, nor did I have friends with children, but this little pixie sure was a cutie. I looked back toward the woman, whom I assumed was the girl’s mother. “Did you live here when the family went missing?”

  She nodded. “I moved to the area about the same time as the Hamish family. I was devastated when the family simply disappeared.”

  “I can imagine. I recently moved to the area, but based on what I’ve been told, the whole thing is quite the mystery.” I smiled at Arial, who had walked over and sat down on the edge of the raised sidewalk. She scooped up a pile of brightly colored leaves and began stacking them neatly. “Did any of the family members say anything in the days or weeks before the incident that might explain what happened?”

  “No. Not really.” Vanessa furrowed her brow. “How exactly do you know Parker Peterson?”

  “As I indicated, I recently arrived in Gooseberry Bay. I’m currently renting a cottage out on the peninsula. I became friends with the other residents who live out there, and Parker is a frequent visitor.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you know Parker well?” I asked.

  “No. I’ve never even spoken to her in person, but I know who she is. I’ve read her articles, and I remember her covering the missing family for her newspaper at the time of the disappearance. I guess you can say I’m more of a fan than a friend.”

  “She’s very talented,” I agreed. “I guess you must be around the same age as the oldest Hamish girl, Hannah.”

  “Yes. We were in the same class in high school.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve heard from her since the family disappeared.”

  The woman hesitated before responding. I could see that she was trying to work something through in her mind. Her smile faded, and her previously open facial expression shuttered, as she seemed to have come to some sort of decision. “No, I haven’t heard from Hannah. I’m pretty sure she’s dead. I’m pretty sure they all are.”

  “You don’t think they might have simply left the area for some reason?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t see why they’d just leave. I remember that Hannah really liked it here. I also remember her mentioning that the others liked it here as well.” Her smile returned, although a distant look came across her face as she seemed to be remembering the family she’d once known. “Courtney was in the eighth grade when they lived here. She was the most outgoing of the sisters. The loudest as well. She was going through a rebellious phase during her time in Gooseberry Bay, and it seemed that she found herself in trouble more often than not. Still, I remember noticing how smart she was and how confident.”

  “Thirteen is a tough age,” I agreed.

  “It really is, but Courtney had gumption. She knew what she wanted, and she knew how to get it. I remember thinking that when she got older, she was going to rule the world. And anyone who knew her knew that she was going to do it on her own terms.” Vanessa wiped a tear from her eye. “I hate the thought that she might never have had the chance to grow up.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s such a tragic situation. Did you know the younger girls?”

  She nodded. “Sarah was only ten and already into a lot of different hobbies. Mama wouldn’t let her do any organized after-school activities, like ballet or gymnastics, but Sarah loved to draw, and she loved to read.”

  “Mama?” I asked.

  “Her mama, Mary.”

  I nodded. “Go on.”

  “Laura was the baby of the family. She was six and had just started the first grade. She still liked to play with her dolls, and she was forever out in the yard burying things with her little pink shovel and bucket.”

  “Burying things? What sort of things?” I asked.

  “Anything she could find.” Her grin widened. “One time, she buried her daddy’s car keys, and no one could find them. There was this huge search for them before Laura was finally convinced to give them up or lose her bucket and shovel forever.”

  “It sounds as if you knew the family well,” I said.

  She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “You said you lived in the area at the time of their disappearance. Do you remember seeing anything at all on that Thanksgiving Day that might explain what happened?”

  She hesitated before continuing. “No. I didn’t see anything.” She looked tow
ard the house and then back at me. “But one of the other neighbors told me that they remembered seeing a car in the area.”

  “Car?”

  “It was a blue, four-door sedan. I’m not sure of the make or model, but the neighbor said that it had been parked on the street in front of the Hamish home a few times in the days before the family disappeared. I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about the car.”

  “No. I just started working with Parker. I’ll have to ask her about it. Do you remember anything else about the sedan?”

  “I didn’t notice the vehicle personally, but the neighbor I spoke to at the time told me that the windows were tinted, so it was hard to see inside. It was the opinion of this neighbor that there was someone sitting in the vehicle, watching the Hamish house.”

  “Does this neighbor still live in the area?” I wondered.

  “No, he’s long gone. It’s too bad you can’t talk to him about it. I kept thinking that the blue sedan might turn out to be the lead that would help the police find the family, but after that first bit of local gossip, I never heard another thing about it. Of course, I was just a kid. Well, maybe not a kid, but not an adult, either. Still,” she added, “I have wondered about the investigation. I’ve wondered about what the police might have found. I’ve wondered if anyone ever identified the owner of the blue sedan.”

  “I’ll have to ask Parker. I suppose she might know.” I turned and looked back toward the house. “And you don’t remember personally seeing the car?”

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. But the man I spoke to said it was an average looking blue sedan. It wasn’t the sort of car one would necessarily notice if it happened to drive by or park on the street.”

  I supposed that made sense. I can’t say that I noticed the cars that parked on the street where I’d lived before moving to Gooseberry Bay. Still, the blue sedan seemed like a clue, given the timing. Part of me wanted to pay a visit to Deputy Todd to see if I could use my power of persuasion to get him to tell me what he knew, but I doubted he’d share anything of real value, and I supposed I should head home and get ready for dinner.

  Arial had gotten up from the curb she’d been sitting on and walked over to her mother. I guessed she’d grown tired of stacking the leaves.

  “I guess Arial and I should get home,” Vanessa said.

  “It was nice meeting you both.” I smiled at the little girl and then looked up at the mother. “If I give you my phone number, would you be willing to call me if you think of anything else that might lead us to the answers we’re after?”

  “Sure, I can do that.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket. I rattled off my digits, and she punched them into her phone. She slipped her phone back into her pocket without offering me her number in return.

  I said goodbye to both Vanessa and Arial and watched as they walked away. I took one last look at the house and then climbed into my SUV. As I drove toward the peninsula, I forced my mind onto other topics. I thought about all the projects I still wanted to tackle to make the little cottage I’d rented feel like home, and I thought about the pilgrimage that had brought me to Gooseberry Bay. I thought about the cop who’d raised me, and the dreams I’d been having since his death. I thought about the photo of the woman on the porch of the house on Piney Point with two small children, and I wondered for about the millionth time, who the woman had been, and what had become of the baby she’d held. I was certain that the baby had been my sister who I hadn’t remembered until the door had been opened and the memories had begun to return.

  Chapter 2

  Once I arrived at the peninsula, I grabbed the groceries I’d picked up while in town and headed toward my cottage. Kai and Kallie would be ready to go out by now. I figured I’d unpack the items I’d bought in town and then take a short walk along the beach. I’d arranged to meet Jemma, Josie, and Parker at six and didn’t want to be late.

  “Did you miss me?” I asked my two Bernese Mountain Dogs who must have heard me coming since they met me at the front door.

  Both dogs wagged their tails and pranced around in greeting.

  “I just need to put this stuff away, and then we’ll take a walk,” I assured them, as I set my grocery bags on the counter.

  It was a beautiful fall day. Cool, with a hint of winter in the air, but bright and sunny as well. I wondered how much snow we’d get over the winter months. I’d asked a few people who’d replied that it varied widely from year to year. I knew that living by the sea didn’t guarantee a white Christmas, but having lived most of my life in the south, I found myself longing for enough of the white stuff to add authenticity to the picture-perfect scenery.

  I decided to head toward the right after I walked out onto the sand from the deck of my cottage. Cooper Fairchild rented the cottage to the right, and he was rarely home. He owned his own helicopter, which he used to provide tours and air charters. I’d been told that he worked a lot less during the winter months than he did the rest of the year, so I imagined I’d start seeing him around more often.

  When I reached the edge of the peninsula, I looked across the bay toward Piney Point. The only corner of the house I could see from the beach where I stood was the southwest corner, which also happened to be the older section of the mansion and the section I seemed to remember from my childhood. In a way, it was amazing that I could remember anything at all. I still didn’t know with a hundred percent certainty that I’d lived in the house on the point, but even if I had, I would have had to have been a toddler at the time since I’d been with my dad from the time I was around three. It didn’t seem likely that a child who had been three at the time could remember much of anything about events that occurred twenty-five years ago.

  Not that I remembered any events. Not really. What I remembered had been revealed to me as flashes. A stone entry that echoed with voices from the rooms beyond. Narrow windows that had been arched to frame the sea. A sunny porch with the trickling fountain where I’d pretended pieces of sea glass were baby birds who’d come to play. The images came as dreams I hadn’t known were even real until I’d visited the house and saw with my own eyes that the pictures in my mind really existed.

  I’d just turned to head back toward the cottage when my phone dinged, letting me know I had an incoming call. I took my cell out of my pocket and answered. “Uncle Gil,” I greeted Gil Monroe, my father’s ex-partner and best friend. “Thank you for calling back so quickly.” I’d left a message that morning letting him know that I had some questions about my father and my past and hoped he could help me out.

  “I’m always here for my little sweet pea,” he answered, using the familiar nickname he’d given me a quarter of a century ago. “You still in Savannah?”

  Gil had moved his family to Denver a decade ago, so the last time I’d seen him had been at my father’s funeral.

  “No. I’m in Washington State. A beautiful place called Gooseberry Bay.”

  “Washington? What are you doing all the way over there?”

  “Actually, I’m looking for answers.”

  “Answers?”

  I paused and gathered my thoughts. “A few months ago, I decided it was time to sell Dad’s house. Of course, I had to get rid of all the stuff he’d been collecting over the course of the previous five decades before I could do that, and while I was working on the boxes in the attic, I found an old diary as well as a photo that seemed familiar.”

  Gil waited while I took a breath.

  “The photo,” I continued, “was of a woman and two small children. Both female. I’d say one was around three years in age, and the other was probably one.” I swallowed as I tried to control the emotion that had begun to build just by talking about my find. “I’m not sure why I even took a second look at the photo. There was nothing spectacular about it, but for some reason, it drew me in, and shortly after I found the photo, I began having dreams about a house I was sure I’d never visited.”

  “But now you think the house is fro
m your past. From before you went to live with your dad?” he asked.

  “I do. It took me a while, but I was eventually able to track the house down. It’s located on a bluff known as Piney Point, which is partially situated on Gooseberry Bay.”

  Gil didn’t say a word. He didn’t seem shocked or startled, which made me believe he already knew quite a bit about whatever it was that was really going on.

  “After visiting the house on Piney Point, I now know for certain that I spent time there as a child. I suspect I’m the three-year-old in the photo, and I’m pretty sure the baby is my sister, Avery. I don’t feel a connection to the woman in the photo the way I do to Avery, but I assume she might be our mother.” A tear slipped down my cheek. “Or possibly an aunt or even a babysitter. I’m just not sure yet. What I do know is that my father found me alone in a burning warehouse on Christmas Eve when I was around three. I know he took me home and raised me. He was a wonderful man, who I love with all my heart, but after finding what I have, I’m beginning to suspect that perhaps the truth he told me wasn’t the whole truth.”

  “You want to know if I know anything.”

  “Do you?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t totally shut me down. “You were his partner and best friend at the time this whole thing went down. It seems if he was going to confide in anyone, he would have confided in you.”

  Gil took a deep breath. I suspected he was taking a minute to decide what to say and what to keep to himself. If my dad had shared what had really happened with Gil, he would have sworn him to secrecy. Even though my father was dead, Gil was the sort of guy to keep a pact with his best friend. Eventually, he began to speak. “Marta had just had Susan that Christmas, so I was out on leave.” Gil referred to his wife and oldest daughter. “Your dad was partnered with a man named Steve Burger while I was out. He didn’t stick around long, so I never really got to know him, but I do seem to remember that your dad and Steve didn’t really hit it off.” He paused and then continued. “I came back to work around January fifteenth, and by that time, you were already living with your father. He told me the same story he told you. He said that he’d found you in a burning building and that he felt sorry for you, so he’d decided to keep you and raise you himself. As far as I can recall, he never specifically mentioned adoption, and I guess I didn’t ask. You clung to him like a lifeline, and he didn’t seem to mind. Your dad had never been the sort to settle down and make a commitment. He swore he’d never marry or have children, but then you came along, and suddenly he was about as committed as I’d ever seen anyone.”