by Paige Sleuth
“Thank goodness her neighbor bothered to investigate,” Kat said, shuddering at the thought of Julie walking into such a scene.
Andrew swiped his finger across the screen and continued reading. “Conway was an active member of the parent teacher association at her daughter’s middle school. And given the sheer number of cookies present in the kitchen, she appeared to have been preparing for a PTA bake sale scheduled for that Monday.”
Kat seized on that tidbit. “Maybe one of the other PTA parents had come over to help her, they got into an argument, and things turned violent.”
“According to this report, her fellow PTA volunteers were all questioned and dismissed as potential suspects. Most had alibis, and the others lacked a known motive and couldn’t be linked to the scene in any way.”
Kat’s spirits fell, but she pushed aside her disappointment. She wasn’t going to give up that easily. Just because the police hadn’t unearthed any PTA leads didn’t mean Kat wouldn’t.
Except, how would she even begin to track down the parents who might have served with Carolyn four years ago?
Andrew set his phone down. “That’s all there is in the report I got. My buddy said he’ll need more time before he can dig up all the secondary documents, and then he can only send me the ones he’s allowed to share with the public.”
“I appreciate him doing this,” Kat said. “And hopefully Ms. Dearborn can fill in some of the details, too.” She eyed the pile of clothes. “That’s assuming I locate a decent outfit to wear tomorrow.”
“You think you’ll find what you’re looking for in that mess?”
She didn’t answer. At this moment, she wasn’t sure she would ever find what she was looking for.
CHAPTER FIVE
“We’re about halfway there,” Kat said, infusing her voice with more cheer than she felt.
When she received no response, she glanced at the passenger seat. Julie had listed against the window. Her eyes were closed, and her chin was tucked into her neck.
Kat exhaled, relieved the pressure to make conversation was off. She’d spent the first hour of their two-hour drive to Seattle with her stomach in knots, both from having to entertain Julie and thoughts of seeing her old foster mother again. Although she’d managed to locate Fran Dearborn’s email address online and had cleared this visit with her ahead of time, she still wasn’t sure what kind of reception she would receive. Ms. Dearborn’s reply to her request had been curt, leading Kat to suspect she hadn’t warmed up any during the past twenty years.
Kat picked at the scratchy fabric of the conservative black skirt she’d finally opted to wear. It was the only thing she could find a matching blouse for. At least she was fairly confident her old foster mother would approve. Ms. Dearborn’s preferred styles leaned toward the uncomfortable, and this outfit certainly qualified.
Julie was still sleeping when Kat reached Seattle and merged onto I-5. Cars clogged the northbound lanes, inching along at half the posted speed limit. Kat didn’t mind. The delay gave her more time to work out what she would ask Ms. Dearborn.
Although Andrew had filled her in on the case highlights, she knew there had to be more to the story than what was in that police report. The indisputable fact was that someone had wanted Carolyn Conway dead. And whoever that someone was, they had successfully evaded the police’s radar for four long years.
Julie stirred. Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes. “Where are we?”
“We just entered Seattle,” Kat informed her. “According to the exit numbers, we’re about four miles from Ms. Dearborn’s house. But it could still be a while in this traffic.”
“Why don’t you take the back streets?”
“I’m not familiar with Seattle.”
Julie aimed her finger out the windshield. “Just get off here.”
Kat flicked on her turn signal. The way they were creeping along, she didn’t see any downside to following Julie’s directions. Even if they ended up lost, she didn’t figure their trip would suffer much time-wise.
Julie yawned. “Thanks for letting me tag along, by the way.”
“To tell you the truth, I was glad your aunt let you come,” Kat admitted. “I was kind of worried about dropping in to see Ms. Dearborn by myself. I remember her as being a little standoffish.”
“Yeah, Old Franny was like the ice queen when I lived with her. But she didn’t seem to mind Voldemort, just me.”
“Animals are sometimes easier to relate to than people.”
“You sound like my aunt.”
From her tone, Kat didn’t gather the comparison was meant as a compliment. “I’m sorry your aunt was at work when I picked you up. I would have liked to have met her.”
“Why?” Julie sounded genuinely baffled.
“Well, because I’m stealing you away for the day. I guess I wanted to reassure her that I wasn’t going to harm you.”
“Oh, she wouldn’t care about that. She’d probably be grateful if something did happen to me.”
Kat stole a peek at Julie as she stopped for a red light. “You don’t honestly think that, do you?”
Julie’s only response was an almost imperceptible shrug.
Kat wanted to say something to convince her otherwise, but what did she really know about Julie’s aunt? The fact that she loved her cats didn’t guarantee she felt the same level of affection toward her niece.
“Turn left here,” Julie said.
Kat obeyed, and five minutes later they were idling in front of a small, one-story house that looked to have been built in the ’30s. In fact, Kat wouldn’t be surprised if the house and Fran Dearborn shared the same birth year.
“Where am I supposed to park?” Kat asked. The narrow driveway was only wide enough to accommodate the white sedan already wedged into it.
“On the street.”
Sweat beaded on Kat’s forehead as she took in the row of cars lined up by the curb. She didn’t want to admit it to Julie, but the last time she’d parallel parked was during her driver’s test.
“You’ll have to buy a sticker since you don’t have a permit,” Julie said. “Look, there’s a spot up there.”
Deciding she didn’t have a choice, Kat gritted her teeth and eased her foot off the brake. It took her three attempts to shoehorn her car into the empty spot, but that didn’t diminish the burst of pride she felt when she finally succeeded.
“I did it!” she crowed.
Julie opened her door. “You’re two feet from the curb.”
“It will have to do.” She just hoped she didn’t get towed.
After buying a sticker and displaying it in the window, they headed for Ms. Dearborn’s house. Julie hung back as they approached the front door, letting Kat do the honor of ringing the bell.
The door squeaked as it opened. Ms. Dearborn peered at them through the screen door, looking exactly as Kat remembered in a freshly ironed, ankle-length, royal-blue dress. Her face sported more wrinkles than she remembered, but her brown eyes were as alert as ever.
“Ms. Dearborn?” Kat said, shifting her feet as though she’d regressed back to her insecure twelve-year-old self. “I’m Kat Harper.”
“I remember you.” Her eyes skirted to Julie, a slight pucker to her lips as she took in Julie’s tight jeans and too-short red tank top. “And you.”
Ms. Dearborn didn’t elaborate, leaving Kat to wonder whether her memories were good ones or bad ones. Either way, they evidently weren’t worth sharing.
“Sorry we’re late,” Kat said. “Traffic was terrible, and I had some trouble finding parking.”
Ms. Dearborn scrutinized her, her narrowed gaze suggesting she were seriously considering rejecting Kat’s apology. Kat resisted the urge to squirm.
“It’s much different here than in Cherry Hills,” Ms. Dearborn finally said, unlatching the screen door and pushing it open.
Kat let out a breath and grabbed the handle. “It certainly is.”
Ms. Dearborn jerked her thumb over her should
er. “Mange is in the backyard if you’d like to see him,” she told Julie.
Julie scooted farther behind Kat. “Mange?”
“That dog of yours,” Ms. Dearborn clarified.
Julie’s mouth gaped open. “You renamed Voldemort?”
“Yes, that was it. Never could remember what you called him.”
Julie stared at Ms. Dearborn for another moment before squeezing past her and disappearing into the house.
Kat moved more slowly, pausing inside the tiny entryway to survey the living room. “This is snug,” she said, at a loss for a more flattering term to describe the stuffy room crammed full of furniture. If there were children present in the house, the living room showed no signs of it.
Ms. Dearborn let the screen door slam shut. “I don’t foster anymore,” she said, as though she could read Kat’s mind. “I gave it up when I turned eighty-five last year. I don’t have the energy I used to.”
“I understand. It’s not easy chasing after children all day.” Kat offered her an apologetic smile, trying to remember whether she’d given Ms. Dearborn much trouble.
“It was more the regulations and red tape that I found tiring.” Ms. Dearborn settled into a rocking chair, motioning toward a nearby couch. “Have a seat.”
Kat thought the couch with its ugly, nubby faded floral print might be the same one Ms. Dearborn had twenty years ago. The fabric was worn down to mere threads in spots, and springs poked into her butt as she sat down. She’d forgotten how Ms. Dearborn liked uncomfortable furniture almost as much as she liked uncomfortable clothes.
Ms. Dearborn folded her hands in her lap. “You wanted to discuss Carolyn Conway’s death.”
Kat nodded, grateful her old foster mother didn’t feel the need for small talk. “I was hoping you could tell me what you remember about her murder.”
“It was heinous. Julie cried for weeks after it happened.”
Kat let her gaze wander toward the window. Through the glass she could see Julie laughing as a black Lab pranced around her in the grass. Both creatures were clearly delighted to be reunited.
“Julie’s like you,” Ms. Dearborn said.
Kat shifted her attention back to her hostess. “How so?”
“She’s a sensitive soul.”
A whisper of a smile passed over Ms. Dearborn’s face, startling Kat. Was it possible the old woman had been more fond of her than she’d ever realized?
Ms. Dearborn’s expression turned serious again. “She hardened up some the longer her mother’s murder went unsolved, but broken hearts never completely heal. The world’s cruelty is not something a person can ever become truly immune to.”
For the first time, Kat found herself wondering how much suffering Ms. Dearborn had witnessed in her decades of fostering. The shift in perspective gave her a whole new respect for the woman.
“When Julie first came to live with me, I was quite hopeful they would solve the case before the state located a permanent guardian for her,” Ms. Dearborn continued. “I used to call up the lead detective every now and then to ask for updates.”
Kat straightened. “You did?”
“Yes.” Her lips curved up. “I was curious, like you.”
“I only want to help Julie.”
“I know. Like I said, you’re a sensitive soul.”
Kat was starting to view Ms. Dearborn as a sensitive soul, too, despite the front she put up. “I just keep putting myself in Julie’s shoes and questioning how she can move on when her mother’s killer is still out there on the streets.”
“Sometimes we don’t have a choice but to move on.”
“Maybe,” Kat conceded, “but I’m not there yet.”
Ms. Dearborn squinted at her for a moment before she began rocking back and forth. “In that case, I’ll tell you what I remember.”
Kat settled into the couch. “Thank you.”
“But it’s been four years, and my memory isn’t like it used to be.”
“Anything you can tell me would be appreciated.”
Ms. Dearborn arched one eyebrow. “You know the basics, I presume?”
“I know Julie’s mother was found stabbed in her kitchen by a neighbor. What I don’t know is what kind of evidence the killer left behind.”
“There wasn’t any.”
Kat needed a moment to absorb the words. “There was no evidence at all?”
“None that the police could conclusively say came from her murderer.”
Kat frowned. Although Andrew hadn’t mentioned any evidence, she had assumed that was because his police contact hadn’t had time to dig up those reports yet. It hadn’t occurred to her that none existed.
“But there would have to be something, wouldn’t there?” Kat asked, thinking out loud.
“Well, of course,” Ms. Dearborn said in the same matter-of-fact tone Kat remembered from her childhood. “They located some fingerprints and fibers, but nothing they could tie to her killer.”
“So whose fingerprints and fibers were they?”
“Friends she or Julie had invited over to the house, mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“They eliminated the prints they could, but I take it some were never matched to anybody.”
“What about the prints on the knife?” Kat asked.
“The knife used to kill Carolyn was never found.”
“You mean the killer took it with him?”
“That’s the common conclusion.” Ms. Dearborn rocked in silence for a moment before adding, “I can tell you the knife was believed to have been Carolyn’s. She had one of those block sets on her kitchen counter, and the police later determined the depth and width of the single, fatal stab wound administered to her chest matched that of the knife that turned up missing.”
Kat wondered if the fact that Carolyn had died from her own knife was significant. Did it suggest that her killer hadn’t gone to her house with murder in mind? Andrew had said the police found no signs of forced entry, which indicated that Carolyn felt comfortable enough with her attacker to let them inside. But what had happened after that?
“Whatever you’re thinking, I’m sure the police have already considered it,” Ms. Dearborn said. “The detective assigned to the case struck me as quite sharp. And I have a keen sense when it comes to sizing people up. Take you, for instance.”
Kat blinked. “Me?”
“I always knew you would make something of yourself, in spite of your rough start. And now look at you. You’re back in Cherry Hills with a bachelor’s degree and a fancy programming job, helping stray animals in your free time.”
Kat’s mouth gaped open. “How did you know all that?”
“I have my sources. They also tell me you and Andrew Milhone have become quite cozy.”
Kat didn’t say anything, stunned that Ms. Dearborn had been keeping tabs on her.
Ms. Dearborn chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised. I may not live in Cherry Hills any longer, but I still have friends there. They keep me posted.”
“I—I guess I didn’t know you wanted to be kept posted,” Kat stammered.
“As I said, I’m curious. And I never forget a child I once cared for. Oh, now, I know it’s different for you youngsters. To you I’m merely a blip in your radar, an old biddy you were forced to cohabitate with at one point.”
Kat flushed, embarrassed by her accuracy. She couldn’t recall ever coming right out and calling Ms. Dearborn an old biddy, but she’d certainly thought it.
“Children are selfish,” Ms. Dearborn said, stating it as fact rather than something that bothered her. “Their whole world revolves around them. Out of sight, out of mind. Why, I reckon you never gave me a second thought after you moved out of my home until Julie came along. Am I right?”
The back door banged open, saving Kat from having to respond. Julie came running into the room, her face sporting a healthy flush.
“Voldemort’s hungry,” she said.
Ms. Dearborn smacked her palms against the chai
r armrests and lifted herself into a standing position. “Then I suppose I ought to feed him.”
Kat stood up. “We should probably get going, too.” Although she still had questions, she didn’t want to ask them in front of Julie.
“All right,” Ms. Dearborn said.
Kat looked at her former foster mother, debating over whether to offer her a hug. They had never hugged before, but they had also never had such an honest conversation before.
But Ms. Dearborn didn’t seem interested in goodbyes. She turned her back to Kat and regarded Julie. “You’re always welcome to claim Mange again, when you’re in a position to take him back.”
Julie’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Of course. He’s your dog. I’m only his foster mother.”
The smile that lit up Julie’s face then brightened the whole room. This visit might not have led to the answers Kat had hoped for, but the look on Julie’s face made it impossible to consider the trip anything but a raging success.
CHAPTER SIX
“Hey, since we’re in Seattle already, do you mind if we stop by Mackenzie’s house?” Julie asked when she and Kat were back in the car.
Kat glanced at the dashboard clock. “Sure, we have time before we need to head back. Who’s Mackenzie?”
“My friend.”
The name registered in Kat’s head a split second later. “She’s the girl whose house you were at when your mother was killed.”
“Yeah.” Julie didn’t seem inclined to elaborate. “What did you and Old Franny talk about?”
Kat eyed her across the console. “You mean Ms. Dearborn?”
Julie slunk a little lower in her seat, looking appropriately chastised. “Yeah.”
“Not much.” Then, not wanting Julie to think she was another adult who refused to treat her as an equal, she added, “We mostly talked about your mom. I had some questions about her death and hoped Ms. Dearborn could help answer them.”