by Emily James
She’d paused long enough in her story that I could feel an unhappy ending coming.
She traced a line down the fog on the window. “Lee wanted me to get rid of the baby. He said we were too young to be parents—I was only seventeen—and he wasn’t going to marry me just because I was knocked up. He even accused me of getting pregnant on purpose because his parents were rich.”
Even after how much time had passed, her voice still carried a raw edge to it, like hearing those things said out loud again—even in her own voice—still hurt like the first time he’d said them.
“But I wasn’t going to kill my baby.” All the ache was gone from her voice, leaving only a coldness that sent a chill down into my core and would have convinced Chief McTavish she was guilty if he’d heard it. “We hadn’t seen our loser dad in over ten years. Our mom couldn’t stay out of rehab long enough to keep us. Other than Grady, that baby was the only family I had.”
Grady probably wouldn’t have asked me to take his sister’s case if he’d known how much of his history I’d learn in the process. I wasn’t sure how I was going to be able to look him in the eyes without him seeing a touch of pity there for what he and Daphne went through. My parents might have been emotionally distant, but they kept me safe and provided for every physical need, and I had my Uncle Stan. Thanks to him, I’d always felt loved.
Daphne gave a little shake-shiver. “I got dressed and left him there. It was the last time I saw him alive.”
Did I touch her arm to show solidarity or not? How much like Grady was she? Any sign that I might feel sorry for him would make him angry and confrontational. I had to keep on good terms with Daphne if I was going to represent her. Reaching out to her might create a wedge.
But my mind kept replaying that part of the story where she went back to someone who’d betrayed her because he told her she was the only one he cared about. It spoke to such a deep level of need and self-doubt that it made my heart feel like it weighed more than my car. Even though it was years ago, I knew how the things we experienced in childhood stuck with us.
And, after all, she was Grady’s sister, not his clone.
I put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Her muscles tensed under my touch. “Don’t be sorry. Be a good lawyer. That’s why my brother hired you.”
I dropped Daphne back at The Sweet Tooth, where it turned out she was the manager. I kept my car parked out front. Mark had texted to say he’d actually be home for supper tonight, so I wanted to be there, too. That meant I only had an hour or two to work on this case. McTavish was convinced Daphne killed Lee. It was only a matter of time until he felt he had enough to arrest her unless I could do something about it.
Grady wasn’t likely to feel my favor was fulfilled until Daphne was cleared, and the last thing I wanted was to continue in his debt. With the start of a new year and my new life with Mark, I wanted that old slate not only washed clean but sold to a new owner.
I’d tried to find out from Daphne who else might have known Lee was in that particular field that night or whether anyone else might have wanted him dead. She hadn’t been able to give me an answer. She reminded me that she would have told the police about it when Lee originally went missing.
Usually when I worked a case, I had pictures of the scene or I could easily follow up on the victim’s whereabouts. With a case so far in the past, even people’s memories would be suspect. If someone asked me where I was or what I saw on a night over ten years ago, odds were good I wouldn’t remember, either.
And as much as Fair Haven maintained an active and thriving rumor mill, rumors weren’t something I could build a case on.
The best place to start seemed to be to identify the most reliable sources. Elise would have been off at school at the time, or at her first job, which I knew hadn’t been in Fair Haven. Erik wouldn’t have been here yet, either, and Mark would have been living in New York.
The only people I knew for sure were here and might remember any stories floating around about Lee’s disappearance were Russ and Mandy. Russ had a policy about not telling me anything that wasn’t a fact, and Mandy dealt in tall tales rather than truths.
I turned the radio on to the local Christian radio station and sang along for a minute. Sometimes forcing my mind to relax gave new ideas a chance to crawl out.
I needed someone who would have been aware of the case and the happenings around town at the time. I needed facts.
What I really needed was someone on the Fair Haven police force who’d been involved with the original investigation and was willing to talk to me.
Only one person might fit that description—Quincey.
I dialed his number and took my phone off of Bluetooth since I was parked. My phone had recently started dropping calls and cutting in and out when I was using a remote connection.
“Hey Nikki,” Quincey answered. “Christine and I were just talking about inviting you and Mark over for supper some night next week.”
Quincey’s wife, Christine, made butter chicken that I dreamt about for days after. “I’ll have Mark call Christine to set it up. I was actually calling on business this time, though.”
I felt a little guilty asking him about it now. Since he’d opened with a supper invite rather than telling me he was at work, I’d gotten him on his day off.
“I wondered if Scherwin would try to hire you when the bones turned out to belong to Lee Mills.”
For once, I couldn’t blame the Fair Haven gossip hot line. Quincey probably learned all that from the source.
“Hire might be stretching it. I owe him a favor for helping us when Mark was arrested.” I thought I heard Quincey chuckle, but it was faint enough that I got the impression he was trying to hide it. I could see how the thought of me working with Grady Scherwin would make anyone want to laugh. “Were you working here when he disappeared?”
“I was here, but I was only on the periphery of the investigation. What there was of it. Lee had a history of petty theft and vandalism. Most people thought he finally took off for a fresh start somewhere where people didn’t prepare to call the police as soon as he stepped onto their property.”
I never thought I’d hear myself think it, but I had to agree with Grady. If I’d had a sister, I wouldn’t have wanted her dating Lee, either.
On the upside, a person like that was bound to have enemies. The question became whether we could narrow it down enough. I couldn’t investigate a whole town or even all the people Lee might have wronged in his minor crime spree. “Did anyone he stole from or vandalized seem to want to take it further than calling the police?”
“I was the officer dispatched on one call where a business owner caught Lee with a can of spray paint. He ended up having to drop the charges against Lee in exchange for Lee dropping the assault charges against him. I’ll text you his name.”
I thanked Quincey profusely. Having him send me the name would save me the time of having to go digging through all the public court records.
Still, the police had likely already followed up on someone as obvious as that. It could quickly be a dead end. “Anyone else you can think of who might have wanted to hurt Lee?”
There was a pause, like Quincey was shaking his head and forgot I couldn’t see him. “You should talk to Case Hammond, though. He’d been working as a dispatcher for about a year when Lee went missing. He’s not much older than Lee and Grady, and I think I remember him knowing both of them back then.”
Case Hammond. The man I’d tricked into giving me information when I was trying to build a defense for Mark.
At the police department’s Christmas party that we attended right after returning from our cut-short honeymoon, Case had finally recognized my voice. An average person might not have, but it seemed to be part of his skill set as a dispatcher. Even though he didn’t cause a scene, he made it clear that he knew what I’d done and what he thought of me as a person that I’d deceived him.
Of course, it wasn’t
enough that I was stuck in a favor to Grady Scherwin. Now I had to face Case again, too.
That meeting was not going to go well.
Case Hammond didn’t answer when I called. If my name showed up on his caller ID, he might never answer when I called.
I left a message, making sure to mention that I was legal counsel for Daphne Scherwin. He and Grady were friends, after all. He might not call me back otherwise, but he should for Grady’s sake.
My phone dinged with a text. I moved it away from my ear to check it, and a low battery message blocked my view. Only five percent battery remaining even though I’d charged it to one hundred last night. It was either time for a new phone or a new charger. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be getting either this week. The nearest store that could figure out what was wrong was forty-five minutes away.
It was time for me to go home anyway. I wouldn’t have time to follow up on any name Quincey sent me tonight, and I couldn’t go running around without a phone. People had done it in the past, but I’d been in too many dangerous spots to ever feel safe again without a phone to call for help.
Mark’s truck was already parked in our driveway when I pulled in. Near the tree line, the silhouettes of two people and either two large dogs or two miniature ponies headed away from me. Given the height difference between the two, it had to be Russ and Mandy walking my dogs before it got too dark.
Technically, our dogs now that Mark and I were married. I loved that we were an us, but it was still a little odd, like breaking in a new pair of shoes, no matter how much you adored them. Now it was our dogs. Our house. Our money. I felt the weight of trying to make sure I didn’t let Mark down in some way.
Inside, I stripped off my shoes and coat.
Mark stood in front of the refrigerator, both sides held open. He shut the doors and turned around. “Is the food still in the car? I’ll help you bring it in.”
I’d taken cooking lessons from Mandy and from Mark’s mom before we got married, but I was still far from domestic. Besides, when it came to the division of labor, we’d agreed to share things equally. I wasn’t supposed to have dinner on the table when he came home unless it was my night to cook. I’d cooked last night, hadn’t I?
“You look confused,” Mark said. “Didn’t you get my text? I asked you to grab a few things from the store on your way home.”
I fished my phone out of my purse. I pressed the Home button, but the screen stayed dark. Apparently, five percent battery life didn’t even get me fifteen minutes anymore.
I turned the black screen toward him. Even if he’d asked me to pick up takeout, I wouldn’t have known. “Are we completely out of food?”
A smile drove Mark’s dimples out of hiding. “Only if you wanted meat or vegetables. I think I spotted some just-add-water pancake mix behind the two remaining apples.”
“I know we have peanut butter. I happen to like peanut butter and apples and pancakes, and I know we have plenty of syrup.”
He opened his arms, and I walked into them for a hug and a kiss.
“I guess we need to schedule who buys groceries each week as well,” Mark said when we pulled apart.
Mark mixed up the pancake batter while I washed and cut up the apples.
I kept having to stop myself from telling him about my day. I couldn’t tell him about what really happened to Daphne that night. I couldn’t tell him about calling Quincey and getting the name. I couldn’t tell him about Case not answering my phone call.
It felt like I couldn’t tell him anything. We were on opposite sides of this case. And for the first time, I wondered if Anderson wasn’t more right than wrong that lawyers should marry other lawyers. Because Mark and I couldn’t exactly spend the rest of our lives not talking about how we spent eight or more hours of every working day.
7
My call to Case Hammond the next morning went to voicemail again. Maybe he and Grady weren’t as close as I’d thought if he wouldn’t even take my calls for Grady’s sake.
I might not even need Case, depending on what information I could find out from Royce Allen, the man Quincey said had a fistfight with Lee. It turned out he was the local plumber. He’d agreed to meet with me the following day at ten, which gave me time to run to the grocery store today.
If I didn’t, we’d be down to eating the baking soda for supper. It was the only thing left in our fridge. We’d agreed to limiting how much we ate out. Even though we both made good money, we wanted to be responsible with it. Eating out seemed like a poor way to spend all our disposable income when so many charities could use it to help people or animals in need.
My trip to the grocery store even left me with enough time to drive to the nearest store that could diagnose my phone. When I told Mark what was happening, he’d insisted I prioritize getting it fixed before I met with anyone who might possibly have been involved with Lee Mills’ murder. I couldn’t argue with his reasoning. With my phone’s inability to hold a charge, I’d likely end up with a dead phone right when I needed it most.
The tech I dealt with said the problem was likely my charging port. He’d said it would take a few hours to fix, and I could either wait or come back the next day. Since I had a meeting with Royce Allen the following morning, coming back for it wouldn’t work. Instead, I walked the mall for exercise and even picked up a present for Stacey’s upcoming birthday.
Once I got my phone back, a third call to Case went to voicemail. He was definitely dodging my calls.
Mark and I were even home close enough to the same time that we were able to watch a movie together. It helped stave off the temptation to blurt out all my concerns about Daphne and this case to him. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t help missing the days we worked cases together. Mark had a brilliant mind, and he’d often helped me make connections I wouldn’t have made otherwise.
But maybe it was healthier for us to try to have conversations—heck, even entire evenings—where dead bodies and methods of murder weren’t the main topic of our conversation.
Royce Allen’s truck, parked out front of his business, was powder blue, with a giant plunger painted on it along with the words Go with the Flow Plumbing.
His business catered to locals. Most of those didn’t go with a punny name. Royce seemed to have decided he’d rather be memorable even if he was the only plumber in town.
The man who met me at the door wore coveralls in the same powder blue with the same plunger emblazoned across his chest. Royce knew how to brand himself even if it was so 1950s stereotypical that it made me cringe a little inside.
He’d probably been in his early thirties—a little over ten years older than Lee—when they’d gotten into the fight.
“You must be the lawyer,” he said in the same way that someone else might have said You have a rodent problem.
I don’t know why I expected anything different. A lot of people still made lawyer jokes even though they were long past being politically correct or acceptable in polite company. It just seemed hypocritical coming from a plumber. He wouldn’t want me assuming he’d wear pants that created a plumber’s crack when he worked.
Setting the judgmental attitude aside, it created a genuine problem. If he thought I was a scuzzy lawyer looking to cause trouble, I wasn’t going to learn anything useful from him. He’d likely only agreed to this meeting because people often didn’t realize they didn’t have to speak to a lawyer, or even to a police officer, who came asking questions.
I hated to trade on Mark’s name instead of on my own abilities, but in Fair Haven, his family had more influence than mine did. Or maybe I should say that his had more goodwill. Some people made the positive association between the Dawes part of my last name and my Uncle Stan, but more often people heard Fitzhenry-Dawes and connected it to my parents. They weren’t just famous. They were infamous. They’d been a part of some of the highest-publicity criminal cases of the past ten years.
I stuck out my hand. “I practice law as Nicole Fitzhenry-Dawes, but my marri
ed name is Cavanaugh.”
Royce shook my hand. His grip was surprisingly soft. “Grant Cavanaugh helped my family get through a real rough time when we lost my mother. You related to him?”
I didn’t have to fake a smile. Grant and Megan made life easier for everyone who needed to say goodbye to a loved one. Even if Cavanaugh Funeral Home hadn’t been the only funeral home in town, people still would have gone there.
“Grant’s my brother-in-law. I’m married to his twin, Mark.”
Royce moved out of my way so I could officially enter the building. Two tubs rested off to my left, and taps covered the wall to my right. Royce led the way back past a line of toilets and into an office.
Royce sat behind the metal desk that was wedged into the room so tightly it almost touched both walls. I took the only other seat—a stool that was hard for me to clamber up onto thanks to the heeled boots I’d chosen because they were my most professional-looking winter footwear.
“I’m not sure how much help I can be.” Royce flipped over some papers as if it would be violating some plumbers code to have me see what fixtures his last customer had ordered. “I don’t know anything about Lee Mills’ disappearance. I wasn’t even in Fair Haven the night he went missing.”
A tingle crawled up my neck and into my face. He’d jumped to denial and an alibi faster than a completely innocent person would.
It put me in an even more difficult spot. By opening with an I-had-nothing-to-do-with-it statement, he’d ensured that all my questions would sound like I was calling him a liar. Calling someone a liar, in my experience, didn’t tend to result in them telling you the truth.
There had to be a way around it. What did I really want to know from him—other than whether or not he’d been the one who killed Lee Mills?
Motive would be a good start. It was part of the trifecta of means, motive, and opportunity that were necessary to build a criminal case. The police already had two of the three against Daphne.