Buried (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 1)

by C. J. Carmichael

  “You decide what you want to keep and what you want to throw away,” he said as he topped off her coffee after breakfast. “Then in the afternoon, the kids and I will help you haul the boxes home.”

  “Thanks, honey.” Much as she would have enjoyed a few hours on the beach with her new family, she appreciated the opportunity to go through her belongings on her own, free to wallow in the memories to her heart’s content.

  Once they’d left, she drove to the trailer and parked in her usual spot, to the right of their double-wide. A “Sold” sticker had been slapped over the “For Sale,” sign. She’d brought her camera with her, thinking she might mark the occasion with a few photos, but now that she was here, her heart felt too heavy.

  So she left it in the car, and went to open the trunk. For a moment she paused, looking back at the pretty doublewide and recalling the day her mother left to go to the hospice. She’d kept her chin up, a smile on her face. “Thanks for the memories,” she’d said, slapping the door on her way out. If she’d ever been scared—about the cancer, about the pain, about dying—she’d never shown it.

  In her trunk, Jamie had a pile of cardboard boxes she’d picked up from Sam’s Market yesterday. She carried them to the door, then unlocked the trailer.

  Already her old home had an unused smell about it. Or was that her imagination?

  “Just get the job done, girl. Stop moping.” She turned on the radio to the country station. Might as well listen while she could, since Kyle preferred classic rock. She glanced around. The place already looked stripped, though all she’d taken so far were a couple of suitcases worth of clothes and shoes and books.

  Her mom had believed in traveling light through life and she’d passed that philosophy down to Jamie. Still, there were a few things she wanted to keep.

  The photo album, of course. She’d start with that.

  It was impossible to pack the album, though, without taking a peek. She had to smile at the early photos of Dougal. Such a serious baby. Then she’d been born, and pictures of Dougal now included her. It was at this point that there ceased to be any photos of her father. Not that there’d been that many to begin with.

  On the radio, the top of the hour news began playing. Wow, time had flown without her realizing. She had to stop looking and do more packing. She put the album into a box, and then packed some of her mother’s favorite dishes. The soup tureen she’d inherited from her grandmother. The silver gravy boat they’d never used, but which had been a wedding gift.

  Next, Jamie opened the drawer where her mother stored Dougal’s mementoes. He’d taken nothing but his clothing with him when he’d moved out, leaving behind school yearbooks and report cards, not to mention his high school football trophies. She boxed all of this and shoved it in a corner. Then she carted the boxes with her things out to her car.

  Finally she cleaned out the last of her mother’s drawers. Most everything had already been given to Goodwill. Stella Ward had helped her sort the clothing about a month after her mom had died.

  But there was still one drawer that had been untouched. In it were scarves and accessories and one small box containing what her mother had called the “good” jewelry. Jamie tried on her mother’s old wedding ring. So thin and fragile. She put it back in the box with her mother’s pearl earrings and gold chain, then carefully zipped the box into a compartment of her purse.

  The rest of the stuff was junk. She dumped it all into a large garbage bag. That was when she saw the letter.

  It was still in an envelope, with a return address from the Oregon State Penitentiary.

  As soon as she saw that, she knew it was from her father.

  Jamie sank onto her mother’s stripped mattress to read it.

  Two pages, hand-written with a date on the top left corner. It had been written about six months before her mother died.

  Katie...I just heard about your cancer diagnosis. You of all people. It’s so god damned unfair!

  How had he found out? Obviously there was someone in Twisted Cedars he kept in contact with. But who?

  You fight this thing, okay Katie? Don’t give up. And in case you didn’t already know—but I’m pretty sure you figured it out at some point—the reason I left was because I loved you. You were the only one who ever saw any good in me.

  Her father wrote a little about his life in prison, then reminisced about the first time he’d met Katie—Stella and Amos had us over for dinner. I went, expecting to be bored senseless. Instead, for the first and only time in my life, I fell instantly in love.

  Jamie’s eyes misted over. She dabbed them with the back of her hand so she could read the last paragraph.

  Tell Dougal I’d be glad to hear from him sometime. I’ve tried writing him letters. He never answers. Tell him his old man wasn’t all bad. Would you do that for me, Katie?

  And that was it. Not even a mention about her.

  How could there have been? He didn’t know she existed. Still. Jamie felt his disinterest like an aching wound.

  * * *

  Jamie hummed along to Dwight Yokam on the radio as she left her old home and headed toward the new one. When she arrived, she opened the trunk and hauled out the first of the boxes she’d packed. She knew Kyle would help her with this later, but the boxes weren’t heavy and she decided to get the job over with. One by one she carried them downstairs to the storage room.

  Previously she’d never given the room anything but a glance. Kyle kept it very tidy. The walls were lined with wooden shelving units, most containing plastic storage tubs with printed labels: Christmas lights, tree decorations, baby clothes, sports equipment. One duffel bag contained Kyle’s old football gear and she had to smile. He hadn’t played the game in years.

  The shelf above the duffel bag was empty. Maybe she could squeeze her boxes up there. As she pushed the cartons over, she noticed a box in the far, back corner marked “Daisy.”

  Her heart started beating faster, harder. She’d noticed, like their father, Kyle’s children never talked about their mother. If they wondered if she would ever come home, they never voiced those questions out loud. Was that normal? She should talk to Kyle about it, see if his kids had ever received counselling.

  Jamie glanced again at the box marked with Daisy’s name. She should put her own boxes away and just leave. But would a quick peek hurt anything? She pulled down the carton, set it on the floor and then removed the lid. Inside were personal effects...a jewelry box, make-up, and novels. This was the sort of snooping her mother would never have approved of. Even though they’d lived in cramped quarters, her mom had been strict about respecting privacy.

  Nevertheless, Jamie continued to rummage through the box, pulling out Clinique beauty products, White Diamond perfume—she recognized the scent, which Daisy had worn back when she was in high school— some costume jewelry and a velvet bag with pearls. Funny Daisy had left so much behind. But then, if you were leaving your husband and children, you probably wouldn’t think about trifles like make-up and jewelry.

  Also in the box were a bunch of novels…most of them historical romances where women in lovely gowns and cascading curls were held in the arms of dashing rakes with bare chests. Good old-fashioned, fantasy escape stories.

  Sorting through the books, she came to a thick notebook. The cover was faded, the edges tattered. With a jolt of surprise, she realized she was holding Daisy’s journal. She turned the pages slowly and carefully, startled at how messy the writing was. Daisy had pasted clippings from magazines, ticket stubs, business cards and photographs throughout, creating crazy collages that seemed to have no sense or reason.

  “Why won’t anyone help me?” Jamie read. The following sentences were illegible, and some had been covered over by a magazine photo of a female lion eating her kill. Jamie read the caption to the photo, and was appalled to find out the “kill” was actually the lion’s cub.

  Jamie flipped the page, and eventually found another line she could make out. “I never thought it
would be like this. Why doesn’t anyone warn you? I wish—"

  “Jamie? Are you down here?”

  She gasped. Oh no. Kyle. She slammed the journal shut just as her husband entered the storage room. His gaze dropped to the book in her hand, then to the open box. His expression darkened and for the first time in their relationship, she felt a little bit afraid.

  “Sorry. Oh, God, I shouldn’t be looking through this stuff should I? I’m such a snoop.”

  The angry look was gone. He shook his head at her. “I told you I would take care of the boxes for you,” he said mildly.

  “I know. And I should have left them for you.” She started to repack Daisy’s box, but he stopped her.

  “Just leave it, Jamie. I’ll put that away later. I’m saving those things for the kids, when they’re older. If Daisy never does come back, at least they’ll have something to remember her by.”

  She hesitated for a second before accepting Kyle’s hand and allowing him to help her up. Was this a good time to mention the idea of counselling for the children? She glanced at his eyes, and shivered at his stony, cold expression. No, it wasn’t.

  They climbed the stairs in silence. She could hardly blame him for being annoyed with her. She’d had no right to look through Daisy’s belongings and certainly not to read her journal. But now that she had, she couldn’t help feeling sympathy for the other woman. If Daisy’s mind had been in the same shape as that journal, it must have been quite a mess. But what had Daisy wished she’d been warned about?

  * * *

  Jamie was still sleeping when she heard a timid voice.

  “Are you awake yet?”

  It was Cory. Jamie opened her eyes. The little girl was standing on the other side of the open bedroom door.

  Jamie patted the empty space beside her. Kyle must be up already. Oh, right. He’d told her he was playing golf this morning.

  “I made you breakfast in bed.”

  Jamie sat up on her elbows, cleared her throat. “How nice. Come on in, Cory.”

  The little girl nudged the door wide open before she entered with a carefully balanced tray. “I made you oatmeal and juice. Your favorite.”

  “How did you know oatmeal was my favorite? Mm, that smells good.” She sat upright, pulled the covers up to her navel and then took the tray from Cory’s hands. “Did you make enough for two?”

  “You have oatmeal every day. That’s how I know it’s your favorite. And I’ve already eaten. Chester and I had cereal with Daddy before he went to play golf.”

  “Sorry. I’ve been lazy.” She stirred the lumps out of the oatmeal, then took a big spoonful.

  “That’s okay. Daddy said we should let you sleep. I’ve been waiting a long time.”

  Which explained why the oatmeal was cold. Jamie took another bite, then some juice. “So what would you like to do today?”

  Kyle had suggested she and the kids meet him at the club-house for a late lunch after his game. It would have been nice to spend the entire day together, but he was playing with business associates and they’d be discussing a new condo development.

  “Cross your fingers for me,” he’d said last night. “If this financing comes through, we’re almost guaranteed to make a pile of money.”

  “We could go to the beach again,” Cory said. “But I think Chester wants to stay home and play video games.”

  “Is that what he’s doing now?”

  Cory nodded. Her hair was in desperate need of a good combing and her T-shirt was stained. Jamie suspected the kitchen would be messy as well.

  Jamie quickly spooned down the rest of her cereal. “That was very nice, Cory. How about I get dressed so we can get started on the day?”

  “I’ll put the dishes in the dishwasher.”

  “You don’t need to do that, honey.”

  Cory beamed at her, then left with the tray. Jamie wondered how long this super-pleasing phase was going to last. She hoped that soon Cory would be comfortable enough to just be herself.

  Jamie spent ten minutes in the bathroom, then dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and went looking for the kids. She found them in the living room, where Cory was perched on her brother’s chair watching him play Xbox.

  “Hey Chester. What game is that?”

  “Madden NFL.” His eyes never left the screen.

  “So you like football, do you?”

  “My Dad was offered scholarships to play college football. He turned them down to work in the family business. When I’m older, I’m going to play football, too.”

  “That sounds like a good plan.” She glanced out the window into the big back yard. “It’s a nice day. What do you say we go outside and toss a real football around for a while?”

  “Do you know how?” Chester sounded skeptical.

  “Sure. I have a perfect spiral. My brother taught me. Dougal used to play on the same high school team as your father.”

  “I’ve got a football,” Chester said. “Can we play now?”

  “Sure. Cory, are you in? It’s more fun with three.”

  She looked thrilled to be included and nodded emphatically.

  They slipped on sneakers then went out the back door. Jamie hadn’t thrown a football in years, but the technique came back naturally and her first spiral only wobbled a little.

  “How do you do that?” Cory asked.

  Though they were still small, both kids had good arms and a lot of stamina. An hour passed quickly with the three of them scrimmaging while Chester provided a running commentary of the action. Jamie had never heard him speak so much or with such animation.

  Until, finally, Cory went for a catch and ended up nicking the ball with the end of her fingers. She yelped as the fingers were pushed back the wrong way. “Ow! I broke my finger!”

  Jamie took a look. “Maybe just sprained. We should put some ice on it, though.”

  “Can’t we keep playing without her?” Chester had run to capture the ball and now he held it in one hand using the grip Jamie had taught him.

  “Later,” Jamie suggested. “It’s time we stopped for a snack, anyway. Should I make popcorn?”

  “I’ll do it!” Cory forgot about her injury as she raced her brother inside.

  Jamie lingered on the lawn. All morning her thoughts had been ping-ponging from Daisy’s diary, to the letter from her father she’d found in the trailer. Figuring the kids wouldn’t miss her for a few minutes, she dug her cell phone out of her pocket and called Wade.

  “Jamie?” he said, as if he couldn’t believe it was her.

  “I have a favor to ask. Do you think you could find out if my father is still in the State Penitentiary?”

  “I don’t need to check, Jamie, I know. He’s out.”

  Oh my God. Dougal probably knew and he hadn’t told her. “Any chance you could find out his address, or a phone number?”

  “He would be on parole. So maybe. But are you sure contacting him would be a good idea?”

  She wasn’t. And she was pretty sure both her brother and her husband would have major reservations, too. But she also knew she would always regret it if she didn’t at least try to reach out to him.

  “I found a letter he wrote to Mom before she died. It was a nice letter, Wade. He didn’t sound that bad...”

  She could hear Wade sigh. “I guess I could put out a few feelers. But don’t get your hopes up.”

  chapter twenty

  as far as Dougal was concerned nothing could be sexier than this: a librarian wearing only her eyeglasses, her hair tousled from recently having sex, totally engrossed in one of his books. A Murder in the Family, to be precise.

  The print-out had arrived in the mail while he’d been in Pendleton. His last chance to check over the manuscript before it went in for publication. He’d been glad to delegate the job to Charlotte.

  He tried to hand her a cup of coffee—he’d just brewed a new pot—but she waved for him to put it on the bedside table.

  “Is the book any good?”

/>   “Hmmm.” She didn’t even look up for a second this time.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. You have great tits by the way.”

  Still no response.

  He went back to the living room where they’d already packed two boxes of books and were working on the third. At least, they had been working until Charlotte spied the final line edit copy of his upcoming book sitting on his desk.

  “May I read this?”

  He’d been flattered by her interest. “On one condition.”

  His condition had been that she let him take her back to bed. Sex with the librarian was remarkably good. Everything with the librarian was remarkably good. Talking, going for walks, sharing meals, even sleeping seemed nicer with her in his bed.

  He pruned through the books on the last two shelves, finding another dozen titles to put in for the sale. He finished his coffee, cleaned up after their late breakfast of toast and eggs, then went back to the bedroom.

  Charlotte was on her stomach now, still naked, legs bent at the knees so her feet dangled in the air. He felt a strange, light-headed emotion. Happiness?

  He kissed her toes. “Finished, yet?”

  “Oh, no....”

  “I’m getting bored.”

  “Go for a walk. It’s a nice day.”

  “How would you know? You haven’t looked up once since you started reading.”

  “You should take that as a compliment.”

  “I’m beginning to think you only like me for my writing ability.”

  Finally she put down the manuscript pages. She studied his face solemnly. “You must be kidding.”

  “Well, yeah, I was.” He settled on the bed beside her, taking her into his arms. She smelled like coffee and sex and vanilla. “Why didn’t you want to marry Wade?”

  He expected her to say she hadn’t loved him. Instead she said, “I’ll tell you if you tell me something first.”

  “What?”

  “Why didn’t you go to your sister’s wedding?”

  “Because I warned her not to marry that creep.”

  “Yes, but why? What do you have against Kyle? You were friends when you were younger.”