Buried (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 1)

by C. J. Carmichael

  “I’m sorry, honey.” Kyle sat on the mattress next to her and stroked her hand tentatively. “I was way out of line. Of course you can keep the patio chairs.”

  She was glad to hear him say that. She didn’t want discord in their marriage. Certainly not over such a trivial matter.

  “I don’t understand why you were upset in the first place.”

  “I guess I’m not used to change. My parents weren’t ones for updating or following trends. We waited until something broke down before we replaced it. Old-fashioned, I know.”

  He made it sound like her purchase had been frivolous.

  “With two incomes we can certainly afford the odd luxury.”

  “You’re right. And it’s only natural that you’d want to have some things here that reflect your taste rather than my mother’s.” He touched her chin, lifting her face so her eyes would meet his. “Are we okay?”

  She didn’t feel okay. Not really. But she nodded.

  “Good.” He kissed her lightly on the mouth. “That was a client on the phone, by the way. We’re working on the sale of an old farm outside of town, and the purchaser wants to discuss the contract. I’m going to have to go out for a few hours.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m sorry, honey. I’ll try to be as speedy as possible.”

  What had he done before they were married, she wondered, when he received these late night calls? But she didn’t voice the question. One fight a night was enough for her.

  He paused in the doorway. “What do you say to getting a sitter on Friday and going out to the Linger Longer?”

  “That sounds like fun.”

  After he’d left, she tried to go back to reading her book, but she was intensely aware of his footsteps going down the stairs, then the front door closing. A few minutes later, she abandoned her book and went to the kitchen. A glance out the window confirmed that his vehicle was no longer in the drive.

  She’d been thinking she might make herself some tea. Instead, she went down another level to the basement and turned on the light in the storage room. The boxes she’d packed on the weekend were right where Kyle had placed them. She looked beyond them, seeking out the carton marked “Daisy,” but it was no longer there.

  chapter twenty-three

  eight o’clock on Friday night at the Linger Longer, Dougal spotted Wade sitting at the bar and went to join him. He’d been here a few times this week already and this was the first time he’d seen Wade. His old friend looked at him warily. He’d removed his hat but was still wearing his uniform.

  “You’re not meeting Charlotte here, are you?”

  “Nope.” Dougal ordered a whiskey. “You?”

  Wade shook his head. “That’s over.”

  “Despite what you saw the other day at my place...there’s nothing between us. Nothing serious, anyway.” He hadn’t talked to her since Sunday. He’d avoided the library, driving to Port Orford, instead, to check his email messages and grab supplies.

  “Are you sure? Don’t mess with her, Dougal. She’s too nice a person. And I mean that.”

  “I know. That’s why she’s better off with me out of the picture.”

  “You’ve told her that?”

  “God, you’re acting like her older brother. Give it a rest, okay?” He knocked back some whiskey, and it burned like guilt going down his gut. Sure he could call Charlotte and make a clean break of it. But that was what a nice, thoughtful guy would do. And if he was that guy, then he wouldn’t need to make the call in the first place.

  “How’s the research going?” Wade asked.

  “Interesting. I’ve got the names of all four of the murdered women now.”

  “All strangled with a red scarf?”

  “Yup. The pattern is one killing per year, the first in Roseburg in 1972, then Pendleton in 1973, Corvallis in 1974 and Medford in 1975.”

  “Where the hell are you getting your information?”

  “Confidential source.” He nodded at the bartender as he passed him his drink.

  “And you still think Shirley was somehow involved?”

  “Her death in 1975 was just three months after the last murder. Plus, I find it curious that she was wearing a red scarf in the most recent photograph we found of her.”

  “I’ve got to admit—you’re starting to intrigue me.”

  “You know something else that bugs me? I’ve spoken to one of the original investigating officers in Medford. He tells me that only after the 1975 killing did they realize they might be dealing with a serial killer. Can you believe that?”

  Wade rubbed the side of his face, thinking. “We’re talking about the seventies. Serial killers didn’t have the profile back then that they do now. Not even in the police department. Each of those deaths would have been investigated in the jurisdiction where the body was found. And since each death was a year apart and took place in a different county...”

  The murderer had been smart enough to space out his killings and to move around, yet he’d never strayed beyond Oregon. There had to be a reason. The deaths had followed a pattern—Dougal just couldn’t see it.

  Damn it. He ordered a second whiskey. “Buck a game? Loser pays?”

  “Rack ‘em up.”

  As they carried their drinks to the back of the room, Wade said, “Given all the years that have passed, the killer you’re looking for may already be dead.”

  “Maybe. But if he was in his twenties—and the majority of serial killers start then—he could still be alive.” Dougal was reaching for a cue, when his sister and Kyle walked in.

  He watched them for a few moments—long enough to get the impression that his sister wasn’t as deliriously happy as she’d been the last time he’d seen her in the bar with Kyle. Was the gold coating coming off the marriage so quickly?

  Wade was eyeing them, too. “Has your sister forgiven you for skipping her wedding, yet?”

  “I doubt it.” He set down his cue. “Excuse me a minute.” He wove through the crowd, brushing against shoulders and backs as he made his way to the table where his sister had just parked. He passed Kyle who was on his way to the bar. Kyle nodded, then paused to say hello.

  “Hear you’ve rented the Librarian Cottage for a while.”

  “I did.”

  “Would drive me crazy. Living in that shack out there in the woods by myself. You should drop by our office sometime. I guarantee I could find you someplace a lot nicer. How does an ocean view sound?”

  “I like the forest. But thanks.” Dougal moved on, touched his sister on the shoulder when he reached her table. “Hey there, Jamie. How are you?”

  She fixed her eyes—round and warm, just like their mothers’—on his and waited.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t go to the wedding.” He forced out the apology because he knew she expected it, even though if he had the day to live over again, he’d make the same decision. He just couldn’t give even tacit approval to this marriage.

  Of course, she’d tell him to jump in the Rogue River if he told her that.

  “How long are you staying in Twisted Cedars?”

  She hadn’t exactly accepted his apology. But she was moving on, and that was good with him.

  “Not sure, yet. Maybe permanently.” He noticed Kyle coming toward them now, two drinks in hand. “If you want to go for lunch some time, give me a call, okay? I don’t have internet or cable, yet, but the phone was hooked up this week and the number is listed.”

  “Actually,” Jamie said quickly, her gaze on her husband who was making his way back to their table. “How is Monday? Could you meet me at the trailer? I have a box of stuff to give you.”

  “Sure. Monday. Lunch time. I’ll bring sandwiches.”

  Wade didn’t say a word when Dougal rejoined him, just lined up his shot and scattered the balls. They played out the game silently, grunting when the other guy made a good shot—which was rare. They both seemed to be more aware of the couple on the dance floor than the positions of the balls on th
e pool table. When the game finally ended, Wade leaned in to him.

  “When we were kids, I thought the world of that guy.”

  Dougal knew he was speaking of Kyle.

  “Pretty deluded, weren’t we?” He wondered if Wade knew how often he had been part of Kyle’s deceptions and pranks. He hoped not. “Were you living in Twisted Cedars when he and Daisy got married?”

  Wade shook his head. “I went to college at Blue Mountain in Pendleton. Came home for the wedding—Daisy was four months pregnant by then.”

  “What did you do after college?”

  “Worked as a deputy in Umatilla County. Stayed there until my folks told me they were retiring to Palm Springs. Dad thought I might be interested in running for Sheriff. Obviously, I was.”

  “So by the time you moved back here Daisy had already run off?”

  “Long gone.”

  “Where do you think she went?”

  “Somewhere in Sacramento. Charlotte has a joint bank account with her sister. Every month or so Daisy takes out some cash, but always from a different ATM so we can’t pin down the neighborhood. I suspect she’s changed her name and that’s why she’s so hard to find.”

  “Why would she do that? Do you think she’s afraid of Kyle?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Physically?”

  “I can’t say. But Kyle was never one to fight with his fists.”

  Dougal hesitated. He wanted to throw the guy under the bus. But he had to agree with Wade. There were other types of hurting, which they both knew about too well. But before they could discuss it further, Charlotte entered the bar. Damn. The whole gang was here.

  * * *

  Charlotte had never been one to go to the bar alone. But since it seemed she was going to be single for the rest of her life, she was either going to start doing things on her own or divide the rest of her days between the library and home.

  The first people she noticed when she stepped in the door of the Linger Longer were Kyle and Jamie swaying to a slow song with drinks in their hands. “Get a room,” someone called out, but only in jest. Kyle smiled and pulled his wife even closer to his chest.

  Charlotte sighed. That was when she spotted Wade and Dougal over by the pool table. What were they doing together? At that moment Wade noticed her, too, and her gaze skittered guiltily away. She made her way to the bar, ordered a beer and settled on a stool in a quiet section. Having lived in Twisted Cedars all her life and working as she did at the library, she recognized a lot of faces. People smiled and said hello, but they were engrossed in their own conversations, their own lives.

  She realized then that it had been a mistake to come, that she actually felt more alone here than she had at home. She drank her beer like it was a glass of water, then dug in her purse for her wallet.

  “My treat.”

  Dougal was standing beside her, placing a ten on the bar beside her empty glass.

  He had been in her thoughts almost constantly since she’d run out of his cottage last weekend, but she hadn’t heard a word from him.

  “Would you like another?”

  She studied his face, trying to read his intentions. Was he being polite? Did he feel obligated? Or maybe he just wanted to spend the night in her bed.

  “I’m finished. Thank you for the drink, but goodnight.” Part of her wanted to take his money and throw it back at him. But though she knew she ought to be angry at him, she wasn’t. He hadn’t promised her a single thing, and she’d had no right to expect so much as a phone call.

  She slid off the stool and headed for the door. Dougal followed. Once they were outside, she turned to him. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to walk you home.”

  “What if I don’t want you to?”

  He sighed. “You’re angry at me. I don’t blame you. I’m not the right kind of guy for you, Charlotte. I should leave you the hell alone.”

  He turned to go inside. Good grief, he really meant it. She grabbed his arm. “What if I don’t want you to leave me alone?”

  His muscles tensed under her fingers, lines of indecision formed around his eyes and mouth.

  “Let’s just go for a walk, okay?” She held out her hand, and after several seconds, he took it. They headed down the street, to the path that led to the ocean, following the same route she’d travelled just minutes before. They walked past the Visitor Information Center, then beyond the Ocean View Motel, with its blinking green “Vacancy” light, to the spot in the dunes where they’d made love the first time.

  “You want a husband and children one day, right?”

  “Why do you assume that?” It was true, she had vaguely thought her life would lead in that direction. But right now, she felt too stubborn to admit it.

  “Cause that’s what women like you always want. And you need to know right now, I can’t give you those things.”

  He tried to pull away, but she held on tighter than ever. “Has anyone ever told you that you think too much?”

  He stared into her eyes for a long time. The ocean was a quiet murmur tonight, the air still. She could feel the heat from the sand reaching up to the sky.

  When he finally kissed her it felt natural, right, inevitable. As they sank to the sand, she realized the oddest thing.

  She had so many fears and anxieties. But she always felt safe in Dougal’s arms.

  * * *

  “Would you like to come in?” Charlotte asked, thirty minutes later.

  They were on her porch, at the back door. Her hair was full of sand, her clothing wrinkled, her lips swollen from his kisses. Dougal wanted to take her into the shower, then back to bed.

  But he’d just done what he’d expressly intended not to do. He couldn’t compound the mistake and spend the night here, in her home.

  “Not a good idea.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “Go to sleep, Char. Tomorrow you’ll thank me for leaving. I’m not good enough for you. It’s as simple as that.” He gave her a gentle push, forcing her over the threshold, then closed the door.

  For a moment he stood there, feeling like hell. Then he made his way back to the bar, to the car he’d left parked there, and forced himself to drive home slowly, recognizing that he was finding it difficult to concentrate on the narrow, twisting road.

  He wished he could blame the rye. But he knew his insanity went deeper than that. He just couldn’t seem to stay away from Charlotte. He’d already hurt her some, he was pretty sure about that. And he would hurt her worse if he kept this up. And then there was his sister. He wouldn’t accomplish anything by having lunch with her. Yet, he’d found himself making the suggestion anyway.

  God, he felt like he was going crazy. It was this damn book—no, he couldn’t call it that. Research project more like. He still didn’t know where it was all heading, whether he would find the answers that would let him piece together the entire story. Next week he would travel to Corvallis, then to Medford, to follow up on the phone interviews he’d made earlier. But he already suspected the ultimate answer lay right here in Twisted Cedars, if he could just uncover it.

  Because Twisted Cedars was his town. And he must have been chosen for a reason.

  But what if he never did figure out what had happened all those years ago? Then he’d have wasted all this time. It wasn’t like him. His agent was waiting for the next book proposal. He’d never let so much time slide between projects before.

  Maybe his writing career was over?

  Was that why he’d returned to Twisted Cedars? Because he’d realized he was just a trailer-park kid after all?

  As soon as he reached the cottage, Dougal’s anxieties slipped away. This was his place. At least he’d figured out that much. If he never published another novel, he would be okay. He turned off the ignition and stepped out into the quiet of the woods. The librarian’s cottage waited patiently for him. He unlocked the door, switched on a light, and glanced around. All was as he’d left it.

  He h
eaded to the bathroom where he turned on the water, dropped his clothes, and then stepped into the shower. Sand streamed from his body, stopping when it reached the floor of the tub, stubbornly refusing to swirl down the drain. Less visible, but as efficiently eliminated as the sand, was Charlotte’s scent. He erased it with the soap and the water, and tried not to think about how much he wished she was with him right now.

  chapter twenty-four

  sorry the place is such a mess.” Jamie sat at the table in the trailer. Stripped of the stuff that was meaningful to her, the rest in boxes, disassembled, ready to be picked up by Goodwill tomorrow, the place was not only a mess, it was bleak.

  Dougal had already loaded his box into his car. He hadn’t even bothered checking to see what was inside.

  She was worried about him. He looked sad and tired, his dark hair a crazy mess, his face unshaven.

  “To be expected, I guess. Moving is always a hassle.” He set a paper bag on the table then pulled out sandwiches and colas. “Tuna,” he said, picking up a half and taking a bite.

  Had he chosen tuna sandwiches on purpose? Their mother must have packed a thousand of them for their lunches over the years. So much so that Jamie had grown to hate them. Still, she dutifully picked up a half.

  “I took the family photos over to Kyle’s. I’ll be happy to divide them up with you, if you want.”

  “No. You keep them.”

  She took a bite, found it tastier than she’d expected. Dougal was still chomping at his, looking around as if he couldn’t even remember a time when he’d lived here.

  Yet he had. For eighteen years. Fourteen of those years had been with her, yet she couldn’t say she knew the man sitting opposite her very well. Dougal had always kept so much of himself hidden, unlike her and their mother. For Jamie it was natural to talk about problems when she was upset, and to share her joy when she was happy. She remembered Dougal calling her a chatterbox, complaining to their mother that she never shut up.

  He hadn’t been a mean brother, though. He’d helped her with her homework, and taken care of her when she was sick and their mother had to work.