“The thing is, Lee, you and your family disappeared in the middle of the night.”
“I remember we moved very quickly one night, but you mean they didn’t tell anyone?”
“No, they didn’t. You were there one day and gone the next. This was only a few months after you got out of the hospital. I went over to check on everybody and the place was empty. Not that y’all had much. But there was really nothing left. A few sticks of furniture. Your parents must’ve gotten a U-Haul trailer or something. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was no note or anything. Not a word to anyone. Haven’t heard from them since.”
Pine slowly took this in. “I don’t know why they did it that way.”
“Now, Cy told me about your daddy being dead. I’m very sorry. Like I said, I didn’t know Tim all that well. But I liked him. Now, is Julia still alive?”
Pine said, “I’m…I’m not sure.”
Ridley looked taken aback by this. “Have you not been in touch with her lately?”
“It’s longer ago than that,” said Pine vaguely.
“Oh,” said Ridley, looking sad. “Well, I’m sorry about that.”
“Did your parents not explain things to you when you left here?” interjected Blum, who could see how uncomfortable Pine was looking. “Or at least told you where they were moving to?”
“I remember the new house and then going to school and finding out I was in South Carolina. About fifty miles outside of Columbia.”
“Good Lord,” said Ridley.
“I was only six. I guess my parents didn’t think it mattered to me where we had moved,” Pine said, a little defensively. “And we moved several times after that.”
“Until they divorced?” said Blum.
“Yes,” said Pine curtly. It was clear she did not relish sharing her personal history with two strangers, or even Blum.
They all fell silent at this as Pine felt her face burn and she looked down at the tabletop.
“I suppose you’re back here to try to find out what happened?” Ridley finally said.
“I should have done it a long time ago.”
Ridley stared at her for a moment. “Lee, have you ever heard the phrase, ‘Let sleeping dogs lie’?” she said quietly, glancing at Tanner nervously.
“I have. But in this case, it doesn’t apply.”
“Why not?”
“Because my sister could still be alive.”
“Do you…do you really think so?” said Ridley doubtfully. “After all this time?”
“The odds are clearly against it. But my life has been full of beating the odds.”
Ridley looked her over. “I guess I can understand that. I mean, you want to know the truth. Whatever it might be.”
“I do.”
“And what if the truth is your father did do it?”
“Then I’ll have to accept that. But we’re not there yet.”
Tanner spoke up. “How do you plan on tackling this sucker?”
“There are standard protocols for investigating cold cases. It starts with looking at the established records and going from there, hoping for some lead or inconsistency that no one has discovered previously.”
“So you’ll be talking to this fellow, Dave Bartles?” said Tanner.
“Yes.”
Pine looked at Ridley, who said, “Lots of folks already know you’re back in town.”
“From when we checked in at the Cottage?” said Blum.
“Gladys Graham owns the place and she likes her gossip.” Ridley smiled knowingly. “Although she doesn’t go by Gladys any more. Don’t think she much liked that name.” She laughed. “Look at me. How many parents name their kids Agnes anymore?”
“What name does she go by?” asked Pine.
“Lauren.”
“Is that her middle name?”
“No, I just think she thought it was classy, you know, like that famous clothes guy with the white hair.”
“You mean Ralph Lauren?” said Blum.
“That’s the one. She had it legally changed and everything. Anyway, we don’t need that social media down here. Gladys is like Facebook and Twitter all rolled into one.” Ridley put a small, puffy hand on Pine’s arm. “Honey, do you really want to dive back into the past?”
Pine stared back fiercely at the old woman. “I don’t think I have a choice, if I want to have a future.”
Chapter 7
PINE AND BLUM were crossing the front parlor of the Cottage when a voice called out.
“I guess you don’t remember me.”
They both turned to see the woman walking toward them.
She was in her midforties, slim and pretty, with red hair cut close to her head, and an active spring in her step. She had on dark green slacks that contrasted sharply but attractively with her hair, with a thin black leather belt, a white blouse open at the collar, and black pumps.
“I’m Lauren Graham,” said the woman, her hand extended to Pine. “I was in high school when you and your family lived here. Sorry I wasn’t around when you checked in.”
Pine shook her hand. “I’m afraid I don’t remember you.”
“It’s no wonder. You were so little.”
The two women stared awkwardly at each other across the small space separating them.
Graham said hesitantly, “I guess it must seem sort of surreal being back here.”
“Well, it doesn’t appear to have changed much.”
“In some ways, yes. In other ways, I think it’s changed a lot.”
Pine took this in and nodded. “I guess every place changes, whether we want it to or not.” Pine cleared her throat and said in a more businesslike tone, “Did you come out to the house when we lived there?”
“I used to help your mother with cleaning and doing some shopping. I didn’t see you and your sister all that much. It was sporadic, certainly not every week. But I was glad for the work.”
“I just saw Agnes Ridley at dinner.”
“Yes, that’s right. She babysat for you and Mercy.”
It was strange for Pine to hear people talk about her sister as though she was somewhere living her life just like everyone else.
“I was surprised to see you back here. When your family left, I never thought you’d come back. Not after that awful night.”
“I understand we sort of moved away in the dead of night?” Pine said expectantly.
Graham stared at her for a moment before answering. “I remember it was the talk of the town for a few days. No sign you even lived there. And nobody ever heard from your parents again.”
“Agnes Ridley told us the same thing. That must have been a shock,” said Pine.
“Look, I don’t blame your mom and dad. The things people were saying. It was disgusting. I would have moved, too. Who needs that crap, especially after suffering such a loss.”
“They were saying those things because they thought my father was involved somehow?”
“Either that, or they thought he cared more for his beer and pot than he did his kids. But that’s not the way I saw it.”
“Why’s that?”
“They made one mistake, and someone took advantage of it. You can’t watch your kids twenty-four/seven. They loved you and your sister very much. Your mom would have died rather than let something happen to her girls.”
Pine seemed taken aback by this statement. “I…uh, never really talked about it with her. She didn’t want to…go there, I suppose.”
“I guess I can understand that. But I can also understand that you probably had a million questions you wanted answers to.”
Pine now looked at Graham in a different and perhaps more favorable light. “I did. Only I never got those answers.”
Graham looked down at the FBI shield on Pine’s hip. “FBI agent now. Very impressive.”
“You could tell from just glancing at the shield?”
“I Googled you after you made the reservation. Recognized the last name.”
“It’s a
job I enjoy doing.”
“Where are you living now?”
“Arizona.”
Graham looked wistful. “Never been there. Hear it’s beautiful.”
“It is,” interjected Blum when it appeared Pine was not going to respond. “Quite different from here. But this part of the country has its own charm.”
Pine looked at her and said apologetically, “I’m sorry, where are my manners? This is Carol Blum, she’s my assistant.”
“Hello, Carol.” Graham smiled. “I’ve never really been anywhere. I went to college at Georgia Southwestern State University. Worked in Atlanta for a while in the hospitality sector, and then came back here.”
“Are you married?”
“I was. But no longer.” She looked around at the space. “I bought this place and started my little business. It’s mostly tourists coming to see the prison, but it pays the bills and lets me get by. I used to have more ambition, but this seems to fit me okay now. Though I would like to travel a bit. And who knows, I might get married again.”
“This is a charming house,” said Blum, looking around.
“Thank you. I grew up in it.”
“What? This was your family’s home?” said Blum.
“Me and my four siblings. My parents died years ago. My brothers and sister didn’t want it. Sort of all clicked. I had saved my money, bought them out and took the plunge.” Graham turned to Pine. “They never found out what happened to your sister, did they?”
“No.”
“So, are you here trying to change that?”
“What do you remember about what happened?”
Graham glanced at Blum. “Would you both like some coffee? I just made a fresh pot. There’s a bit of a chill out there. We can talk out on the side porch, where we serve our complimentary breakfast.”
Pine and Blum moved to this room and took a minute to look around.
They finally arrived at a glass display cabinet set against one wall. The cabinet was so large that it rose all the way to the ceiling. Inside was a collection of dolls, some quite large, almost lifelike, and some small, all dressed in old-fashioned clothing.
Blum drew closer to look at them. “These are really nice. Vintage. The largest one isn’t really a doll. It’s like a mannequin. Cost a pretty penny to put this together, I bet.”
“I see you’ve noticed my little collection.”
They turned to see Graham standing in the doorway with a tray of coffees and a plate of sugar cookies. They sat at a table and she passed them out.
Graham glanced at the cabinet. “My mother actually started collecting them. When I was little they were like my fantasy friends. I gave them all names and histories and…well, they became very real to me.” She looked down, seemingly a bit embarrassed.
“Children have very vivid imaginations,” said Blum diplomatically, as Pine looked strangely at Graham.
“Yes, well, I’ve never had any of my own.”
Pine glanced at Blum before refocusing on Graham. She seemed nervous but also excited, thought Pine. She imagined there wasn’t much that was thrilling in Graham’s life, and recollecting a mystery might liven things up.
“About that day,” prompted Pine.
Graham began, “I was at school and it was all anyone was talking about. Police sirens and the ambulance taking you to the hospital. Then the Georgia Bureau of Investigation was called in. And even the FBI,” she added, once more looking at Pine’s shield. “I went over that night to see if I could help with anything. Your father was there, your mom was with you at the big hospital over in Americus.” She looked embarrassed. “There was a crowd of people around just gawking. It wasn’t right. But I was there to help,” she added quickly.
She paused and took a sip of her coffee, shooting glances at Pine and Blum as though to gauge their reactions to her words.
“Did you see my father?” asked Pine in a strained voice that made Blum look at her.
Pine wasn’t sure what she was feeling. She had not prepared well for what this trip might do to her emotionally, when preparation had been key for everything she had done in her life.
So why did I drop the ball this time?
Graham said quietly, “Your father…well, Tim had been drinking some. And who could blame him? I mean, after what had happened?”
“And…?”
“And he got into a fight with one of the men. Somebody broke it up, luckily.”
“Why weren’t the police there?” said Pine. “It was a crime scene. It should have been secured as such. Even my father shouldn’t have been there.”
Graham regarded Pine from under hooded eyes. “You mean because he was a suspect?”
“Yes. In fact, he was the only suspect.”
“I think you’re right about that. As far as I know, there was never any other.” She broke off and stared uncomfortably at Pine.
“I told the police it wasn’t my father.”
“You were only a child, Lee.”
“I go by Atlee now.”
“All right, Atlee. And you’d been terribly injured. I believe by the time you could tell them anything at least a week had passed. The person had hit you so hard, your skull had fractured.” Tears clustered in the woman’s eyes.
“So I guess they didn’t believe me that it wasn’t my dad.”
Pine suddenly felt like she had been swallowed whole by something, and that she was now sinking into a horrible muck of her own making.
Blum glanced at Pine and took up the line of questioning. “What else do you remember, Lauren?”
“The FBI was called in when it became apparent that the local and state police couldn’t solve it.”
“Meaning they didn’t have any evidence against Agent Pine’s father even though he was their only suspect?”
“We have crime here now,” said Graham. “And we had crime back then. But not kidnapping. And no murders. Today, it’s either fights among usually drunk or drugged-up men, or people stealing stuff. Now, Julia Pine swore that her husband was passed out on the floor of the living room drunk as could be and that Tim hadn’t moved from that spot when she woke up around six on the couch and went to check on you and your sister. And from the number of empty beer bottles and the remains of smoked joints they found between them, I guess that seemed plausible.”
“There was never any forensic evidence tying my father to what happened.”
“Well, I imagine his prints and DNA were all over the house,” said Blum. “Since he lived there it would be hard to exclude him based on that.”
“Plus, I saw a man coming through the window,” said Pine. “And he was wearing gloves. There would have been no trace really.”
Graham nearly spilled the coffee she had picked back up. “You saw a man?”
“Yes, that’s why I knew it wasn’t my father. Why would he come through the window?”
“And you told the police that?”
Pine hesitated. “I believe that I did. But I was just a kid with a cracked skull. I doubt they cared.”
“Have you been out to your old house?”
“I have. A man named Cyrus Tanner lives there now. He said he was renting it.”
Blum interjected, “He’s quite attractive and interesting.”
Graham smiled. “Yes he is. And Cy Tanner says lots of things. It doesn’t make them all true.”
“So he’s not renting it?” asked Blum.
“I don’t think anyone even knows who owns that place anymore, so I doubt he’s sending in payments to anyone.”
“Then he’s squatting?”
“He’s not the only one. The town has lost nearly thirty percent of its population since 2000, not that we had a lot to begin with. Now, the rest of Sumter County is doing better. Wages are up and so are employment and property values. There’s more young people. But there are abandoned places, and your old home is one of them.”
“I guess I can see that.”
“Do you really think you can solve it al
l these years later?”
“Lots of cold cases get solved,” Blum pointed out.
“But most don’t,” said Graham.
“How do you know that?” asked Pine.
“I’m actually working on a crime novel,” answered Graham. “As I mentioned, this place gives me a living but not much more. I’m hoping to break out of that rut by establishing myself as a writer of historical crime fiction.”
“So you have more ambition than you let on?” said Blum.
Graham glanced at her lap. “I guess so.”
“Let me guess—your story takes place during Civil War times,” said Pine.
“Nice deduction. Good historical fiction reeks of atmosphere. And the war is fully settled into every fiber of this town, for good and bad. For me, I hope it’s good. The point is, I’ve done a lot of research into old crime cases. And most remain unsolved.”
Pine rose. “Well, mine won’t, not for lack of trying anyway. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day.”
Pine walked out of the room, leaving Blum and Graham alone.
Graham looked at Blum. “Do you think she can really do this?”
“If she can’t, I’m not sure who can.”
Chapter 8
ALL GROWN UP NOW, I see.”
It was the next day, and Pine and Blum were seated across from Dave Bartles at the Macon County Sheriff’s Office in Oglethorpe, Georgia.
Bartles was in his fifties with iron-gray hair, a solid, fit physique, sharp-edged features, and the look of a man who had seen his share of depravity over his law-enforcement career.
“All grown up,” said Pine, her lips set in a firm line.
“FBI agent, I hear.”
“That’s right.”
“I guess I know why you’re here.”
“I’m sure it was an easy deduction.”
“We didn’t solve the case back then, and neither did the GBI, or even your own agency.”
“You had a suspect.”
“Your father.”
“Do you still think he did it?”
“We didn’t even have enough to charge him. And we could never find a motive. They were both really young, but from all the people we talked to, they were doting parents.” He paused. “When they weren’t drunk or stoned.”
A Minute to Midnight Page 5