“Still working?”
Charlotte jumped, then slipped the letter into her purse. Turning, she smiled at the janitor. “Sorry, Luis. I guess I’ve done enough for one night. I’ll get out of your way now so you can finish cleaning.”
* * *
Dougal left his motel room in Medford at noon on Wednesday morning. The cleaning woman was outside the door, waiting impatiently. She gave him a terse nod, then pushed her way inside to collect the dirty linen.
Outside it was already hot, with no ocean breeze to offer any relief. Hard to believe that Twisted Cedars—so much cooler and windier—was only seventy-five miles away, on the other side of the Cascades.
Medford was a bigger city than Corvallis, but it was no New York. As he drove toward the Pear Blossom Assisted Living Home, Dougal reflected that the citizens of Medford probably lived under the delusion that they were safer here than if they lived in a big metropolis like Manhattan.
But if there was one thing he’d learned in his years of research, it was this. No town was too small to have a dirty underbelly. Ugly crimes like rape and murder happened everywhere, and that included pretty little cities in Oregon.
He’d phoned ahead, so the staff at the Pear Blossom would be expecting him. He was directed to a Nurse Stevens, a seemingly sensible and kind woman in her early fifties.
“Ruth has been with us for a long time. She’s highly functioning and suffered with macular degeneration for several decades on her own. When she lost her sight completely, she made the difficult choice to leave her home of fifty years and move in with us. It’s sad, really, because if she had any family at all she would still be fine living at home.”
Nurse Stevens led him out to a courtyard. They found Ruth Fraser—Isabel Fraser’s mother—sitting in a shady patch next to the fruit tree for which the home was named.
For a ninety-year-old, Ruth’s posture was remarkably erect. Her hair was still thick, cut to a fashionable length at her chin and she had covered her blind eyes with a pair of designer sunglasses that made her appear rather chic. Her white cane was propped on her lap, where her hands—which truly showed the ravages of nine decades of living—were also resting.
She tilted her head as they approached. “Is this my visitor?”
“Yes it is, Ruth. Dougal Lachlan, the author. Did you bring your book for him to sign?”
Ruth nodded, and only then did Dougal notice the paperback on the bench next to her. He picked it up and sat in the space. “It’s nice to meet you, Ruth. Thanks for agreeing to talk to me.”
“A visitor is a rare treat for me these days. Not to mention a famous author.”
“I’ll leave you two to chat then. Mr. Lachlan, when you’re finished, please sign out at the front desk?”
When he nodded his agreement, she left them alone.
“I was told you’re writing a book about my Isabel.”
He thought about all the things he could tell her. How he’d never felt so unsure about a project in his life. That he knew there was a story to be told, just wasn’t sure he’d ever discover enough to tell it. Instead, he said, “Talk to me about your daughter.”
Her face brightened—even with half of it hidden by sunglasses, he could tell that much.
“She was a wonderful girl, the pride of my life. She was only fourteen when we lost her father. In the line of duty, they called it—he was a police officer. But it was flat-out murder. A man he’d put in jail got out on bail and came after him. We went through a terrible time. I was afraid the loss of her father would turn Isabel bitter. But she was stronger than I gave her credit for. She finished high school, went on to college. I was so proud. And when she decided to come back to Medford after graduation, I admit I was relieved.”
“She was living with you when she died, wasn’t she?”
Ruth nodded. “I know what you’re thinking. She must have been a dull, quiet girl. A forty-five-year-old librarian who still lived with her mother. But she wasn’t. Isabel had so many friends. She was outgoing and fun. Oh, did that girl love to talk! She was often giving speeches at the library—and she was good at it.”
Dougal leaned back in his seat. Thanks to this woman, and Medford’s balmy climate, he was warm, inside and out. He listened through several stories, most of them made him laugh.
“Thank you for letting me share my happy memories about my girl. But I know it’s the bad stuff you came here to talk about.”
What an indictment, Dougal thought. “I know her homicide was never solved by the police. Did you have any private theories about what happened?”
“It was just one of those things, Dougal. Like when lightening kills one person standing on a golf course, but leaves the three men standing next to him unscathed. I’ve lost my husband, my daughter and now my eyesight. But I don’t feel as if a black cloud hangs over my head. I’ve had a lot of good luck too, you see. I like to think so, anyway.”
Dougal let her words settle in for a while. He felt in no hurry to move. He opened the book he was still holding in his hands, removed a pen from his pocket, and signed.
When he was done, Ruth asked him to read what he had written.
“It was an honor and a pleasure to meet you.” He closed the book and pressed it into her hands. “May I visit again, sometime?”
“I will pencil you into my schedule, Dougal.” She smiled slightly. “And I do look forward to reading your story. I hope it comes out as an audio book.”
chapter twenty-six
the elementary school celebrated the last day of the school year with a family barbecue, starting at three-thirty in the afternoon. Jamie left work early to attend. She’d baked brownies for the affair the previous evening—something that had really made her feel like a mother, as she remembered her own mom doing the exact same for her on more than one occasion.
Three days had passed since her meeting with Dougal. She hadn’t taken any further steps to find her father—but she hadn’t written off trying, either.
At twenty-to-four she met Cory in the parking lot behind the school. A row of barbecues were already in full commission, grilling burgers and hot dogs. She let Cory add the brownies to the other dessert contributions set out on a table beside a tub of ice containing juice boxes.
“Is your father here, yet?”
“He’s playing football.” Cory pointed out a group of fathers and sons scrimmaging together. Jamie sensed Cory felt left out.
“Let’s go.”
Cory glanced hopefully toward the game. “Girls aren’t playing.”
“Why not?” Jamie took Cory’s hand and walked to the edge of the field. She waited until one of the fathers noticed them.
“May we join in?”
The father seemed surprised by the request, but at that moment Kyle spotted them. Her heart lifted as he smiled, waving them onto the field. “You can both play for our side. We were one player short, anyway.”
It was simple, disorganized, spontaneous fun. No one played set positions. At one point Jamie snagged the ball only to be tackled by her own team-mate.
She was cushioned on the way down, when Kyle pulled her on top of him.
“Hey—" she sputtered. “We’re supposed to be on the same side.”
“I couldn’t resist. You look so damn cute. Where’d you learn to catch a ball like that?”
She just grinned, and he helped her up, and the next minute Cory made an amazing interception, much to the astonishment of all the boys.
“Run, Cory, run!” They were all cheering for her, even the fathers playing on the other side. As soon as she scored the touchdown, she threw the ball triumphantly to the ground, then searched the crowd of players for her father’s face.
At his proud smile, Cory just shone. The happy glow stayed with her all evening, throughout the dinner, then later on the walk home.
“Time to hit the shower, kids,” Kyle announced when they stepped in the front door shortly after eight. “Cory first, then Chester.”
As th
e kids ran off, he snagged Jamie around the waist. “As soon as they’re in bed, I have plans for you, sweetheart.”
She loved it when he was in this playful mood. “Let me guess...do your plans involve tackling, turnovers and double coverage?”
“Add a tight end and a wide receiver, and I think you’ve got the idea.”
“Hm. I think I’ll go have a bath, then slip into something more...appropriate...for the game.”
“You do that. I’ll handle the kids. Just give me half an hour.”
Before they were married, Kyle’s fathering skills had been one of his most endearing qualities. Having been raised by a kind mother, herself, she appreciated that quality above all others in a parent. And that was what she had seen in Kyle. Patience, good humor and kindness.
He could be firm, too, when the situation warranted, and that was something she admired, as well.
What she hadn’t realized was how unyielding he could be in his firmness. How quickly he could shift from the kind, understanding parent, to the uncompromising, demanding one.
Now, after almost a month under the same roof, Jamie realized that the twins watched their father closely for signs that he was switching from one mood to another. Tonight he had been the fun dad, and as she soaked in the tub—very much anticipating the future pleasure Kyle was promising—she could tell his good mood hadn’t dimmed.
The master bathroom was separated from the children’s by one thin wall and Jamie could hear the conversation between Kyle and his kids.
“Did you remember to brush your teeth?”
...a pause, and then Chester,
“Can you play football tomorrow night, too?”
Kyle’s answer was evasive, then five minutes later it was Cory’s turn to brush her teeth.
“Dad, do we have to go away to summer camp this year?”
Jamie’s heart dropped. Much as she loved Cory and Chester, she’d been looking forward to having Kyle to herself for a while. He’d promised her a trip to San Francisco for their honeymoon—something she was planning on asking him about later tonight.
“Remember when we looked at the website you thought it would be fun,” Kyle replied.
“But that was before we had Jamie.”
“Jamie has a full-time job and you guys are too young to stay home alone while the two of us are at work.”
The sound of running water washed away Cory’s answer to that. A minute later, the bathroom door closed and Jamie could hear footsteps padding toward the bedrooms.
She pulled the plug and stepped out of her warm bath water, feeling slightly guilty. She hadn’t realized the kids didn’t want to go to summer camp.
Kyle hadn’t said anything more to her about quitting her job. But she could see how much easier his life and the kids would be if she stayed home full time. She just wasn’t sure how she would feel about it. She’d always worked, or gone to school. Wouldn’t she be bored? Yet she had friends who were stay-at-home parents and they were among the busiest people she knew.
Fifteen minutes later, Kyle entered their bedroom with an open bottle of wine and two glasses. She had some sensual music by Diana Krall playing in the background and a row of candles burning on the bureau.
“Nice.” He gave her that smile. The one that made her instantly hot. They managed one sip of the wine before they set down their glasses.
The sex was heated and intense. After, Jamie curled up to Kyle’s chest and sighed. “What a great night.”
It had all started with that football game, she thought. Kyle had been proud of his children, how well they’d played. And he’d been impressed with her, too. “I’m so glad you were able to get off work early.”
She felt a slight tensing of his body. She lifted her head. “Is something wrong?”
“No.”
But Jamie could feel the difference in his muscles, which still hadn’t relaxed. “Are you sure?”
“If you must know, our accountant quit today. Olivia gave me her letter of resignation about a half hour before the barbecue.”
“Why?” Olivia was in her fifties and had solid bookkeeping skills, though she always came to Howard & Mason for help with income taxes, and for advice with transactions she’d never handled before. Jamie had worked with her a few times and was under the impression that she enjoyed her job—especially spending the money she earned on holidays with her husband.
“Just said she wanted to take an early retirement. God knows why she picked now. Maybe it’s a health issue she didn’t want to talk about.”
“I hope not.”
During their discussion, Kyle had shifted. Now several inches separated them in the bed. Jamie waited for him to mention how difficult it was going to be to find a replacement for Olivia. Surely he had to be thinking that she would be the perfect solution.
But he said nothing more on the subject, just stared up at the ceiling with a worried frown.
Maybe he was waiting for her to jump in and offer to help?
“If I was to quit my job at Howard & Mason, and go to work for you and your dad...what would that be like?”
“Are you seriously considering it?”
“Yes.”
He hugged her close. “That would be so great. Olivia used to work three days a week...I’m sure you could get the job done in less time than that. You could make your own hours. Work from home when it suited you.”
The flexibility did sound wonderful. But she’d be making a lot less money. “Did you pay Olivia by the hour?”
“Yes.” He mentioned a sum that was even lower than she’d expected. “But I’ve told you before—you don’t need to worry about money. Come with me to the bank and I’ll set you up with a joint credit and debit card. What’s mine is yours, remember?”
“I appreciate that, honey.” He had been after her to combine their finances even before their wedding date. But she knew she would never feel comfortable spending his money unless it was for food or something for the house or the children. Plus, she liked having her own nest egg tucked away in her brokerage account.
If they had started out as a young couple together, that would be one thing. But everything he had he’d been given by his parents, or built up during his marriage to Daisy.
On the other hand, if she quit her job and showed Kyle that she was truly committed to him and his family, surely that would bring them closer? And maybe put a stop to this niggling feeling she had that something just wasn’t right.
“I’ll give Howard and Mason my notice tomorrow.”
chapter twenty-seven
home. Dougal tossed his duffel bag on the front area rug and set his briefcase beside it. The place smelled citrusy and fresh. Liz Brooks, he realized. He’d forgotten she was scheduled to clean last week.
In New York he’d done his own housework... such as it was. He’d grown up with a mother who cleaned homes professionally and she’d made sure both her son and her daughter knew how to do things properly.
Though she was a lot younger than his mother, Liz seemed to come from the same school of thought where cleaning was concerned. As he moved through the living room to the kitchen, then up the stairs to his bedroom, he couldn’t see any spots she’d missed with either the dusting rag or the mop.
On the quilt he found a pile of folded laundry. On the very top was a pair of Charlotte’s pink underwear.
Now what had Liz made of those?
He went back downstairs to the table where he did his writing. He’d left out some papers, the time-line he’d drawn up with the names of the victims, the map of Oregon with the murder locations circled in red.
Probably meant nothing to Liz, but he made a mental note to be more careful with his notes in future.
Dougal grabbed a beer from the fridge and cracked it open. He sat on the sofa to drink it, but felt the same restless energy that had been building inside him during the long drive from Medford. He felt the need to do something, physical. Might be a good time to work up the soil for his garden.
The small shed out back had gloves and garden tools, so he polished off his drink, then made his way to the sunny patch in the back.
The weeds he’d sprayed earlier were all dead now. One by one he yanked the limp, brown plants from the ground, leaving them in a pile to be disposed of later. Then he struck his spade into the ground and began the hard work of turning over the soil.
Most of the plot was pretty hard going, though one section was softer than the rest, which made for a nice change.
By the time he finished, he was starving. He had a quick shower then contemplated the contents of his fridge and then his freezer. Nothing here to work with.
He called Charlotte’s number.
“Hello?” She sounded cautious.
“Hey, Charlotte.”
“I—Dougal?”
He shouldn’t have called her. He knew it. But now he had her on the line, he had to brazen through. “Fancy a steak dinner? I was just about to fire up the barbecue.”
The pause at the other end of the line was not comfortable.
“Charlotte?”
“Snapping your fingers again, are you?”
He thought this over carefully. “I’m sorry. I’m being presumptuous. You probably already have dinner plans.”
Another unnerving silence. Then, “Actually, I don’t. Can I bring anything?”
“Uh...steaks would be nice. And do you have any salad fixings?”
* * *
As Charlotte added two New York strips to her basket, she couldn’t believe she was doing this. Once she’d added French bread, lettuce, tomatoes and avocado, she headed for the till.
At least Dougal had apologized for asking her to do the shopping.
“I’m sorry. I spent most of the week on the road. I just got home and the proverbial cupboard is bare.”
He might at least have offered to take her out for a meal.
Rather than tell him to call her back another time when he had a better offer, she’d sighed and volunteered to stop at the market on her way out to his place.
And here she was. She handed over her credit card once the groceries had been rung through, then took her two bags and left. It was late, now, almost dark. Normally she would have eaten dinner hours ago, but thanks to stopping at the school gym to do a final sorting of the books for the sale this weekend, she hadn’t had time.
Buried (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 1) Page 18