The Elizabeth McClaine Thriller Boxed Set

by Catherine Lea

  A phone rang in the background and it sounded like he’d switched the phone to his other hand before speaking. “We had a call last night to say that Laney Donohue broke into Sunny Springs and took some files.”

  “Well, at least we can rule her out as the dead body. I don’t suppose she had Kimmy with her while she was doing her break-in?”

  “I wish. Would have saved us some time.” She could hear the cynical smile in his voice.

  “What files did she take? Do you know?”

  “I can’t make any comment on that, Elizabeth. You know that.”

  “How did I know you were going to say that?”

  Another pause.

  “Have you seen this morning’s paper?” he asked.

  She picked up it, shook it out in disgust, and tossed it back on the dining table. “Yes, I have. I don’t know what that Reels woman is insinuating. First thing this morning, I intend to catch up with her and put her straight. I’ve been one of the most vocal lobbyists, fighting against this kind of institutionalization, Lance. How could they make me out to be…endorsing it?”

  “Preaching to the converted here, Elizabeth.” That smile was back in his voice. In her mind’s eye, she could just see the creases each side of his mouth, the faint smile lines forming around his eyes. Then it was gone.

  Snapping back into cop mode again, he said, “I’ll let you know if anything interesting comes out of our investigations. In the meantime, we’ve got the girl down at the morgue, awaiting ID.”

  “Any clues yet?”

  “A couple.” Still evading her questions, still playing it close to his chest.

  “Lance, I’d really appreciate it if you could let me know as soon as you find out who she is. In the meantime, I need to get to the bottom of this story before they start flinging more mud and I find myself waist deep in alligators.”

  “Good luck with that,” he said, the smile in his voice suddenly appearing again. Then he hung up.

  “So, what now?” Penny asked, but Elizabeth was already lifting her phone.

  She found the number in her received calls list and hit the send button. “I want to find out what files Laney Donohue took. I’d like to have that in my back pocket before I see David Whitcliff. Hello,” she said when the girl picked up. “Caroline, it’s Elizabeth McClaine. I’m sorry to call you so early.”

  “That’s okay, Mrs. McClaine. I couldn’t sleep all night, worrying.”

  “Listen, I believe Laney Donohue came back to Sunny Springs last night.”

  “She did? Oh, thank the Lord. Did she bring Kimmy back?”

  There was so much hope in the question, Elizabeth hated answering. “No, I’m afraid she didn’t.”

  “Then where did she leave her? She had no family apart from that aunt. And she wouldn’t leave her there.”

  Elizabeth blinked in surprise. “What aunt?”

  “Laney’s aunt. Oh, golly, what was her name? She used to visit Kimmy every week. Jenny…Jeanette? Janelle, that was it. Janelle Hooper. She lives somewhere out in Garfield Heights. But there’s no way Laney Donohue would take her there. One of the girls here told me about her, said there was some family issues or something. Said Laney’s aunt wouldn’t have anything to do with her. That’s why she ended up in Sunny Springs.”

  “I had no idea Kimmy had other family,” Elizabeth said, more to herself than to Caroline, and turned to find Penny frowning up at her.

  “Well, that’s what I was told.”

  “Okay, Caroline, thank you so much. If you find out anything, anything at all that sounds unusual, could you let me know?”

  “Of course.”

  “I appreciate it,” Elizabeth said and hung up. “Let’s go. We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

  “What do I do?”

  “You’re staying here. I want you to follow up on a woman named Janelle Hooper—Laney Donohue’s aunt. It’s a long shot, but she could know where Laney is. And I’d like to know why she didn’t come forward to take care of Kimmy when Elaine Donohue went into Carringway.”

  “And you?”

  Before Elizabeth could answer, her phone rang. She swiped it up and checked the screen—Charles.

  “Oh, terrific. That’s all I need.”

  Charles McClaine was her ex-father-in-law. A wealthy construction tycoon, he had wanted to ensure the mother of his only granddaughter would remain living in the manner to which she’d become accustomed, and under his control. After Elizabeth and her husband separated, Charles had set up the Charles McClaine Foundation and placed Elizabeth as custodian. The role meant that whereas she lacked personal wealth, her social standing and political connections kept her in the upper social circles of Ohio, and never far from the McClaines. The fact that Charles probably used the foundation as some kind of tax haven had never escaped her suspicions. But the number of families with disabled children that she’d helped over the years convinced her that some questions should be left unanswered.

  No guesses why he was calling, though.

  So, with her heart in her mouth, she lifted her chin and swiped the screen to answer.

  “Charles,” she said, her tone reeking of overblown friendliness. “Lovely to hear from you.”

  “What in the hell is going on, Elizabeth?”

  She could just see him in her mind’s eye, sitting at his broad cherrywood desk, newspaper spread in front of him, finger pounding the page. She pressed her lips hard together and absently repositioned a napkin on the table. “Going on? What do you mean?”

  “The piece in the paper is what I mean. Who gave them this information?”

  “I don’t know but I’m working to get to the bottom of it.”

  “Well, when you do, I want a retraction from that paper, and a public apology. I have some very critical deals on the table right now, and I can’t afford to get involved in some public slur campaign. Do you hear me?”

  “Absolutely. Loud and clear.”

  “Call me when you’ve got the issue ironed out.” And he hung up.

  “Not so happy, huh?” said Penny, who had obviously heard every word.

  “Oh, I intend to find out what’s behind it, all right. But I’m damned if I’m going straight to the paper to demand an apology before I have a few more answers.” She scooped up her purse and keys and headed for the front door.

  Penny scrambled to grab her own purse and hurried after her. “So where are we going?”

  “I am going to have a long chat with David Whitcliff. I want to know how many people knew about the incident last night, and what axes they might have to grind. And he’d better have the answers.”

  “And what about me?”

  “I want you to find this aunt of Laney’s—that’s if she even exists. Hopefully, she may be able to give us some answers.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  DAY ONE—8:45 AM—LANEY

  By the time Laney got to the only address she had for Wendy O’Dell, the wind had dropped, and while the rain had stopped, the sky remained overcast and threatening. She found a parking slot two doors down, and sat for some minutes studying the house. A picturesque two-story brick colonial, it sat midway down a tree-lined street of well-maintained houses with neatly trimmed front yards and white picket fences. The drapes were still drawn. At almost nine on a Tuesday morning, that didn’t bode well. Folks should have been up and going to work by now.

  It was only now as she turned back to the file that the questions began bubbling up.

  Why would Wendy leave with the guy if it was clearly against her will? Was he her husband?

  “But if you’re married to him, why put your mom’s address on your resume?”

  Unless he was abusive and she had gone to her mother’s place to escape him. Which made sense. In which case, why not just go to the police? Why go and work at a dump like Sunny Springs? And what did Velma have to do with it?

  Hopefully, the answers lay just behind that front door.

  Laney got out of the car, crossed th
e street, and mounted the four steps to the front door. After driving a finger into the bell press, she turned to view the street, while she waited. No sound or signs of life from inside. She leaned over to peek through the adjacent window but the drapes were drawn. After another minute, she skipped down the stairs, heading back to the car when the door opened behind her and a woman in a bathrobe peered out. She looked like she’d just gotten out of bed.

  “Mrs. O’Dell?” Laney said and turned for the stairs again.

  The woman bunched the front of her robe in at her throat and squinted out into the light. “What’s this about?”

  “I’m looking for someone named Wendy O’Dell. Does she live here?”

  The shock on the woman’s face was immediate. Her color paled visibly and her eyes widened in desperation. “Have you seen her? Do you know where she is?”

  The questions came with such urgency, Laney found herself floundering. “Uh, no, I don’t. I was kind of hoping you could tell me where she is.”

  The woman searched out over Laney’s shoulder, bewildered, as if expecting to see someone else before coming back to her. “How do you know Wendy? When was the last time you saw her?”

  “I, ah…listen, would you mind if I come in a second?”

  She considered it for a moment, then widened the door and stood back. “Yes, of course.”

  Laney found herself in a comfortable living room—flowers on the mantel, deep-seated wingback armchairs positioned on either side of a broad fireplace, waiting while Mrs. O’Dell—who had identified herself as such—went and got coffee. When she returned, she sat on the sofa opposite Laney, pushing her hair back of her face, as if suddenly aware of her disheveled state.

  “I haven’t heard from Wendy in over six months now. Last I heard from her was just after she went to Boston. A terrific job came up. She has a Masters in linguistics, you know.”

  “So I heard.” The linguistics degree. Boston Celtics plates on the car. That also made sense.

  Mrs. O’Dell dropped her head momentarily to run her hand through her sleep-tousled hair. The pain and confusion over her daughter’s lack of contact were patent in every worry-line on her face. Though there were no photographs of Wendy among those on the piano, Laney noticed. Or on the bureau. It was almost as though every trace of her had been removed from the house.

  In the face of such heartache, there was no way Laney wanted to add to it by telling her what she knew—that her daughter had been so close to home, only to have been taken, possibly against her will. But she had to say something.

  For some moments Mrs. O’Dell seemed to go off into her own thoughts, so Laney plucked up courage and broke the silence. “So, where was this job she was sup…that she went to?”

  With a quick shake of the head, Mrs. O’Dell snapped herself back out of her thoughts and took a shuddering breath. “It was supposed to be a firm of lawyers. They needed her for their international offices. She’d applied through a site on the Internet. I can’t tell you how thrilled she was when she got it.”

  “You said ‘supposed to be’? You mean they weren’t lawyers?”

  “I’ve searched everywhere for them. The company had a professional site on the Internet when she landed the job. Then…” She shrugged deeply, hands spread wide, eyes searching before meeting Laney’s again. “Then nothing. The day Wendy left, they just disappeared. No mention of them on the Internet or anywhere else. I looked up registered legal entities, the companies register—still nothing.”

  “Maybe they changed their names. Lawyers do that sh…that stuff all the time. You know, like when they get a new partner and such.”

  “Then why hasn’t Wendy called? Why hasn’t she contacted me?”

  Floundering under the intensity of Wendy’s mother’s despairing gaze, Laney opened her hands and scanned the room, searching for an answer. When her eyes lit on a picture of a young woman, she gestured to it, figuring she’d change the subject. “That’s a nice photo. Is that her sister over there?”

  With her features still cast in that same expression of hopelessness, Mrs. O’Dell blinked, then turned to follow Laney’s gesture. Then she met Laney’s gaze again, frowning.

  “That’s Wendy.” Her tone was one of near disbelief.

  For a second, Laney’s brain scrambled. “Excuse me?”

  “That’s my daughter, Wendy. She’s an only child.”

  Laney blinked hard. “I don’t understand. I’m looking for Wendy O’Dell.” Then it dawned on her. “Are you saying that’s Wendy?”

  “Well, of course.” Mrs. O’Dell rose from her seat, crossed to pick up the photograph, then stood for some moments, tracing the outline of the image with one finger while staring down at it. Seemingly taking some effort to break herself out of the moment, she wrenched her eyes from it, then passed it to Laney.

  “That was her just after she graduated. I have no idea…” she told Laney. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, desperate to finish, but her throat visibly tightened and the words remained unspoken. Almost at once, her face crumpled. She clapped a hand to her mouth as the first wave of emotion folded her forward.

  Laney’s heart twisted in her chest as the woman remained doubled over, openly weeping. Quietly rising from her seat, Laney slipped the photograph from Mrs. O’Dell’s grasp, and studied the girl smiling out of the frame. She had strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles over a pale complexion. Even with a good hair dye, there was no way this was the same person as the one whose photo was tucked in her jeans pocket. She was about to say something—anything to ease the woman’s pain—but two beeps from her phone stole her attention. She slipped it from her pocket, checked the screen. The message read:

  Meet me. Did some digging. Found something yr going to want to see. Kiddy.

  “Thank God,” said Laney.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  DAY TWO—9:32 AM—ELIZABETH

  For the second time in the past twelve hours, Elizabeth turned the car into the driveway of Sunny Springs. Now, in daylight, the place looked a picture of tranquility. Neatly clipped shrubs lined two of the paths leading around the sides of the building and in front, blocks of brightly colored flowers arranged in patterns flanked each side of the path.

  Determined not to allow the façade of the place to stifle her resolve, she parked next to a glazier’s van, got out, and strode purposefully to the double front doors. Just as they swept apart, she stepped through into the reception area and marched straight to the desk.

  Behind the desk, she was surprised to find Caroline Judemire, who looked up in alarm, her cheeks flashing pink.

  “Mrs. McClaine. What can I do for you?” Caroline was the girl who had first called Elizabeth to notify her of Kimmy’s disappearance. From her demeanor, she fully intended keeping up the pretense that she had no knowledge of what had happened. In truth, she couldn’t have looked more guilty if she’d hung a sign around her neck.

  Keeping her manner distant so as not to incriminate the girl, Elizabeth announced, “I’m here to see David Whitcliff, if he’s available.”

  Behind Elizabeth, a woman appeared from a doorway and made her way towards the hallway leading towards the hospital wing. Caroline’s eyes followed her until she disappeared down an adjacent hallway before leaning forward, whispering.

  “Did you find her aunt?”

  “Working on it.”

  “They still haven’t called the police about Kimmy. I hope they do.” She looked worried.

  “If they don’t, I’ll make absolutely sure she’s found,” Elizabeth whispered back.

  When a second woman entered the reception area, asking for her messages, the girl scavenged around and found them, telling Elizabeth in a loud voice, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll call him and tell him you’re here.” With which she picked up the phone.

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth replied with a furtive wink.

  Caroline smiled in response and mouthed a thank you, as she hung up.

  Not two
minutes later, David Whitcliff strode into the reception area with his hand extended in welcome. “Mrs. McClaine. Wonderful to see you again. Come through to my office.” The look on his face and flat tone of voice totally contradicted the gesture.

  Taking a moment to request Caroline hold his calls, he gestured Elizabeth in the direction of where he’d just appeared from, then walked briskly ahead, speaking over his shoulder. “If you’d like to come this way. Although I’m sure you’re quite familiar with our facility by now,” he added sourly.

  “More than familiar,” she mumbled as she trailed him down the corridor.

  For some moments they walked in silence until he paused at his office, waiting until she’d entered before following her in, then rounding his desk and taking a seat without offering her one.

  She took the chair directly opposite him despite the omission, and waited while he busied himself closing a file on his desk and placing it in a drawer behind him.

  When he swiveled back to face her, he leaned both elbows on the desk, hands clasped at his chin. “I have a full calendar today, Mrs. McClaine. I hope this won’t take too long.”

  “Then I’ll try to make it brief.”

  “I assume it’s about the Kimmy Donohue incident.” He shifted something on his desk. “For your information, we’ve notified the police, but since she was last known to be in the company of her sister, we’re not overly worried.”

  She smiled. “That’s good to hear. Also, while I’m here, I’d appreciate a list of all those on your staff who deal with our private funding arrangements. I’d like to track down whoever has been speaking to the press.”

  For a moment, he looked dumbfounded.

  “The press? What press?”

  “You didn’t see it? There was a piece about how we fund some our clients into private institutions; Sunny Springs in particular. It’s on page three of this morning’s paper. Under the article on welfare fraud.”

  His face blanched. “If anyone here went to the press, believe me, I’d also like to know.”