“Apparently they can’t find Fran’s sketchbook. It was like a diary for her.”
“You didn’t find it when you went through the cabin down at the lake?”
“A bear had broken in and destroyed almost everything.”
“You find anything important despite that?”
Tessa tried to come up with a convincing reply. It took her too long.
Dana could see right through her. “You’re really a collector of secrets, my friend.”
Tessa allowed this remark to go unanswered.
17
The cats outdid each other with their pitiful meowing. There was no escaping it. Dana found a radio program that filled the car with country music. They could still hear the cats complaining over the music. The pickup hopped down the rough road. Dana’s driving was too wild for Tessa’s taste. “What are you going to do if we meet a logging truck coming at us?”
“They’re done for the day.”
“I hope they’re not doing overtime,” Tessa murmured.
Suddenly the pickup went off the side of the road. Tessa and Dana were both caught by the seatbelts, and the cat cages slipped forward. For a couple of seconds the pitiful meowing stopped. Then it became even louder.
“For God’s sake,” Dana complained. “This road gets worse and worse. The trucks are wrecking it.”
Tessa put the cat cages back and talked quietly to the animals to calm them down.
The eerie atmosphere on Fran’s farm stuck to her bones. Normally the place was alive with children laughing and dogs barking when she arrived. But today there was a paralyzing silence. What had actually happened there that Tuesday? Not knowing everything had driven her almost crazy since visiting the morgue. On the radio the Bee Gees were singing “Staying Alive.” She had recently read that three of the four Gibb brothers were now dead.
She felt like she had a concrete block in her stomach. The cats’ unease reinforced her feeling of helplessness. Suddenly the music stopped, and a familiar voice could be heard inside the pickup. Her mother’s voice.
“Fran, maybe you hear me wherever you are. Come home right away. We are there for you.”
Then a male voice: “With these words, Martha Griffins is appealing to Fran Miller, who has been missing since Tuesday. Fran is a former foster child of Martha and Kenneth Griffins. She . . .”
Tessa’s upper body shot forward. “What the hell?”
“Shh,” said Dana. The cats continued to protest.
“Breena, Clyde, and Kayley were found shot dead in their house two hours away from Whatou Lake. Their father, Hank Miller, was lying on the lawn in front of the house. He had also been shot dead. The police explained today at a press conference that they have eliminated the possibility that Hank Miller shot the children and, after that, himself. Fran Miller, the children’s mother, who is married to Hank Miller, is still missing. Two dozen members of the RCMP are out looking for her on the ground and from the air. Bloodhounds are also in operation. The police are being supported by volunteers from the area. Corporal Kate Jennings said today at the press conference in Whatou Lake . . .”
A female voice jumped in: “At this time, we are going on the assumption that Fran Miller is still alive. We know that a jacket belonging to her was found in Whitesand Bay. We can now confirm that the blood on it is hers. We’re asking the local people to pass on any information they think could help us in our investigation of these terrible crimes. We are doing everything possible to find the missing person and the killer or killers.”
Then the radio announcer spoke again. He repeated the information from the police that there was no immediate danger to the public. If anyone wanted to help in the search for Fran Miller, they should contact the police, and not go off on their own. “This wilderness is a dangerous place where you could lose your life. Keep an eye on your children and don’t let them wander off. Don’t linger in dark and isolated places.”
Dana and Tessa looked at each other.
A short conversation with Harrison Miller, Hank’s father, followed.
“This is a tragedy . . . not only for my family but also for the whole community. Four innocent people were brutally murdered, and we don’t know where the mother of my grandchildren is. We . . .” His voice broke down briefly before he collected himself. “We cannot understand that this sort of thing could happen in the Whatou Lake area. I am warning everybody who had anything to do with this, this heinous act will not go unpunished. My son and my grandchildren . . . sorry . . .” Harrison Miller could no longer go on.
The announcer said they would make sure to update listeners and that they would be taking tips. Then he went on to talk about the upcoming election in British Columbia.
Dana turned the volume way down. “No immediate danger to the public,” she burst out. “How could they know that? They can’t exclude anything.”
Tessa was bothered by something else. “At the same time they say that you should keep an eye on your children and not let them wander off alone, especially not in the dark. That doesn’t fit.”
“What a lot of crap. They must be out of their mind.”
Tessa pushed her hair back in a forceful gesture. “They say they don’t think it was a murder-suicide. Well, I would hope so! And then Harrison says we don’t know where the mother of the children is. That can only mean one thing.”
“That they think Fran is the killer.”
One of the cats meowed really loudly behind them. Tessa loosened her seat belt, reached back, and put the cat cage on her lap. “It won’t be long now,” she said to the animal, that looked at her with wide-open eyes. It had a sparkling collar around its neck. “We’ll be there soon. Soon, soon.” She opened the cage, reached in, and stroked the cat’s soft fur. She felt a raspy tongue on her fingers. She became calmer, her thoughts clearer. Ron Halprin and his colleagues must have a strong suspicion, that was her impression. Maybe not Fran. But maybe they had enough information to suspect a certain person. A person who was already under observation. Probably there were undercover investigators working on the case. Maybe in little Whatou Lake they would be taken for non-local engineers at the copper mine, or other contract workers. She shared her thoughts with Dana, who was driving more carefully down the logging road. Her friend nodded.
She didn’t say anything for such a long time that Tessa couldn’t stand it any longer and told her about her encounter with Tsaytis Chelin. When she was done, Dana only said: “You and Tsaytis.”
“What do you mean by that?” There was nothing more to be gotten from Dana. She just turned up the music. Tessa turned it back down again. She patted the cat and asked: “Why did Dad allow that to happen?”
Dana looked over at her. “What do you mean?”
“He let Mom get behind a microphone. Why didn’t he do that?”
“Maybe she just really wanted to.”
“Mom? I can’t imagine that.”
“Your mother has changed, Tessa. She’s doing what she wants now. I think she wants more autonomy.”
“I didn’t realize that. Maybe I don't know everything about her.” It was something she didn’t gladly admit.
“I don’t think your father realized it, either,” Dana replied drily.
The tone of their discussion made Tessa uncomfortable. She didn’t dare ask Dana questions about her mother. Does one ask other people to talk about one’s own parents? Martha Griffins seemed to be more open with Fran, Savannah, and maybe even Dana than she was with her own daughter who had moved away to Vancouver.
That was certainly her own fault. Because of her work, she had spent too little time talking to her mother. She preferred to keep a distance between herself and Whatou Lake.
What had made her mother change? Hearing her on the radio—and maybe she had even been in front of cameras—shocked Tessa. Hopefully she would be able to talk more with her soon.
But as they drove up to the Griffins’ home, Tessa realized it would be a while before that could happen.
18
Tessa put the cat cage down on the car seat and hurried into the house without waiting for Dana. She was expecting something bad. On her way in she passed Savannah and found her mother at the kitchen table, sitting across from a policewoman. Both had a cup of coffee in front of them.
Tessa greeted the police officer with a nod before she kissed her mother on the cheek. “Mom, what’s happened? Has Fran been found?”
Martha Griffins seemed astonishingly composed. “Corporal Jennings drove me back home, Tessa.” She directed her words to the police officer: “This my daughter Tessa. She’s a lawyer in Vancouver.”
The officer stood up and introduced herself. “I’m a member of the homicide division, and I’m responsible for contacts with the public. I come from Vancouver, too.”
Tessa’s tension gauge went into high gear and then up a notch. Whoa. Calm down, Tessa, get your blood pressure back to normal. She sat down across from the police officer. “Thank you for driving my mother home, corporal. I haven’t heard the latest news. Fran’s still missing, right?” She did her best to sound as if she was all business.
“Yes,” the police officer said, who looked like she might be of East Indian origin and, like Tessa, had an asymmetrical hairstyle. “I work with Sergeant Halprin.”
They were distracted by noise and voices in front of the house, before Jennings continued speaking. “Your mother gave me a list of her former foster children.”
The list Tessa was supposed to have delivered. She had promised it to Ron Halprin.
The main door opened and then closed again. Pitiful meowing filled the kitchen. Savannah briefly stuck her head in the door. “Tessa, I’ll bring the poor creatures into the guestroom for now. This morning I bought pet food and cat litter. Luckily, the dogs aren’t around.”
She disappeared before Tessa could react.
Outside the sound of an engine that quickly disappeared. Dana had not come in. Tessa would phone her later and apologize for the awkward good-bye.
“Those are Fran’s cats that Tessa has picked up,” her mother explained to the officer. “Fran loved her children and her pets. She never would have left them behind.”
It occurred to Tessa that she hadn’t mentioned Hank.
“They were at the farm?” the mountie asked.
Tessa nodded. She didn’t feel like answering any questions as long as her mother was listening, and this time she was glad that Savannah showed up again.
“Both of them are hiding under the bed,” she announced.
“But there are three,” Martha Griffins called out.
“We haven’t found one of them,” Tessa explained.
“She has to be in the shed. Did you look there?”
“Mom, we’ll find it, I promise.”
Why are we talking about a cat when Fran is still missing? Tessa thought. She found the conversation unpleasant.
Savannah made the situation even more difficult. She talked about dinner. As if anybody could be in the mood for it. “Should we wait until Dad gets back?”
The police officer was the first to respond. “I have to go now, but I’ll contact you again. And you can, of course, contact us at any time.”
Tessa thanked her and led her to the door. The officer turned to her once again and said: “We depend upon the cooperation of everybody involved. I hope you help us.”
“Of course,” Tessa answered, noting the reminder. “Is there anything new?”
“You’ll have to ask Sergeant Halprin about that.” The officer left and rushed to her car.
Tessa quickly closed the door and went back into the kitchen. Her mother sat at the same spot with an absent look on her face.
“Where is Dad?”
“At the funeral home,” Savannah answered, bent over the dishwasher.
Tessa stopped short. “Why? Have the bodies been released?”
“No, but Robert Pleeke called him up. He owns the funeral home.” She gave Tessa a knowing look.
The phone rang.
Martha Griffins shot out of the chair and grabbed the receiver.
“Hello, Dana,” she answered and slowly wandered out of the kitchen. “Yes, I will tell her. No problem. She definitely doesn’t hold that against you. Everything is chaotic here and . . .”
Her voice drifted away to the back part of the house. Tessa was irritated. Dana’s phone call was definitely meant for her. Savannah began to bang around with the silverware. Her strong, tattooed arms were moving constantly.
She set the table and looked at Tessa as if they were conspiring.
“You have to tell Mom that she should be more careful around the police. That every word that she lets slip counts.”
Tessa heard the criticism in Savannah’s words, but she controlled her annoyance. She very much wanted to hear what Savannah had learned.
“What did Mom actually tell the police?”
“That Fran, in the last couple of months, was behaving strangely. That she sometimes came to Whatou Lake without the children. She found that very strange. Fran didn’t tell her what she was doing in Whatou Lake and who she was doing it with.”
Tessa could hear her mother’s muffled voice. What private matters were she and Dana talking about? Tessa put out the knives and forks while Savannah noisily put the glasses on the table.
“Don’t you also find that strange? Before, Fran always brought the children to Mom when she went shopping on her own or to the dentist.” Savannah bent down over the table and lowered her voice even more. “Fran and Mom had an argument. Maybe Mom should talk to you about it first before she talks to the police about it.”
Tessa stood with the knives in her hand. “What were they arguing about?”
“I don’t know. One time I came into the house and heard loud voices. Dad was in town. I only heard Mom say: ‘You wouldn’t dare. I’ll make sure of that.’ And Fran said very quietly: ‘I have to know the truth. You’ve got to understand that.’” Savannah lowered her head, trying to hear Martha’s call.
Tessa was getting impatient. “Was that everything?”
“The wind blew the open door shut as I came in, and they stopped talking. Fran came out to see who was there. She said a quick hello and left the house.”
“When was that?”
“In February. She came without the children. And without Hank.”
“And Mom?”
“What’s that about me?” Martha Griffins appeared in the doorway.
Savannah immediately got her act together. “Are you having wine or . . . ?” Just then a car pulled up in front of the house and stopped.
‘That’s Ken,” Martha said. “Wine for me, please.”
Tessa seized the moment and quickly went outside.
Her father sat in the Pathfinder as if he couldn’t force himself to get out and face the situation in the house. Tessa opened the passenger door and sat down next to him. A happy whining greeted her in the interior of the car and a moist nose snuggled on her cheek. She noticed dark shadows under her father’s eyes. His voice sounded exhausted. “Fran was in the funeral home in February and was looking at coffins. Robert Pleeke told me that. Not that they have many coffins there, only about half a dozen. He said she stood there for a long time looking at them.”
Tessa grabbed her father’s hand, which felt cold.
“Fran told Rob that even as a child she had been curious about how a funeral home looked, but that she had never dared to go inside one. After that, he said she hardly said anything more, and just looked.”
Tessa couldn’t make sense of any of this.
“Maybe it’s just a coincidence,” she offered. “Maybe it was really like she said.”
Her father’s gaze seemed to travel into the distance. “Robert said if the police questioned him, he would have no choice but to tell them about this. Nevertheless he first wanted to tell me.”
“Dad, did Fran have mental problems? Had she been a
cting strangely lately?”
He let go of her hand and ran it over his distraught face. “I don’t know. She hardly came by to see us. And when she did come, I wasn’t home.”
She told him about the argument between her mother and Fran in February. Was there some connection between these things? Fran had a dispute with Mom and then went to visit the funeral home?
Her father looked at her suspiciously. “Martha never mentioned any of this. She would have been very upset by something like that.”
“Maybe she just didn’t want to let it weigh you down.”
He remained silent.
Tessa recalled Dana’s remarks about her mother: She’s doing what she wants now. I think she wants more autonomy.
Maybe that was also the case with Fran. Fran didn’t want to tell her parents about her plans. She didn’t want to admit to them that she wanted to move far, far away from them to Grouse Valley, which would make it even more difficult for the parents to visit their grandchildren.
Fran wanted to get away.
Did it have to do with Hank, with the fact that he wasn’t home often? Or was there another woman? At Watershed Lodge, Hank came into contact with many female guests and coworkers. Tessa suppressed her wild speculations. In order to learn more, she would have to fly up to the lodge as soon as possible. Even if Tsaytis Chelin was there.
Her father’s voice broke into her thoughts. “What was going on in Fran’s house? Who did you meet there? What did you see?”
Before she could answer, Martha appeared in the open main door. She beckoned them in.
“Actually I didn’t see anything except the storeroom. I’ll tell you later,” Tessa said quickly. She had already opened the car door when she felt her father’s hand on her knee.
“Harrison wants the dogs. Legally he probably has a right to have them. But I can’t bring myself to take them to him.”
Tessa looked at him in surprise. “Harrison? But surely Mom wants to keep the dogs . . .”
“She already has Fran’s cats. Didn’t you bring them with you?”
MURDEROUS MORNING: A heart-stopping crime novel with a stunning end. Page 10