Violet Dawn

by Collins, Brandilyn

  The phone clatters in Rachel’s ear. The line goes dead.

  A minute passes as she stands in her bedroom, staring at the receiver in her hand, as if it will tell her what to do. Then she throws it down, grabs her purse and keys, and hurries from the apartment.

  FORTY-SIX

  Leslie paced just outside Edna San’s gate, eyes throwing daggers at the cop on the other side. Of all officers the Kanner Lake police had to station here, it had to be Roger Waitman. The man was in his forties and cantankerous as any two-year-old. He hated the press and made no beans about it, and particularly hated Jared Moore, although Leslie had no idea why. Waitman hadn’t given her one lousy new piece of information — surprise, surprise. Not one. All he’d done was intone “No comment” like some brainless robot, which as far as Leslie was concerned just about summed up his lowly existence.

  Her cell phone rang — Jared’s ID. She whipped it open and stuck it to her ear. “Jared. What you got?”

  “What do you have?”

  She bared her teeth in a silent growl. “Nothing since I told you about Paige Williams, thanks to the very unhelpful policeman doing his best to ignore me.”

  “Well, girl, save your energy; that’s what cops do.”

  Yeah, but not to her. She was supposed to be able to charm anybody.

  “Fine, Jared.” She couldn’t keep the petulance from her voice.“Anyway, I called Sarah Wray. Paige is back at Simple Pleasures. Apparently, the whole thing had to do with someone claiming that Paige threatened to kill Edna San. Which Sarah insists never happened — and she was right there.”

  Jared made a sound in his throat. “Who do you suppose could have told the police that?”

  “No idea. Maybe someone in the store at the time of the argument.”

  “Does Sarah remember who was there at the time?”

  “Nope. No one she knew. But I’m going to rattle Frank West’s cage again, see if he’ll give me some details.” A honeybee cruised by. Leslie ducked from its path “So what have you got?”

  “Well, a few things. First, I got through to both Edna San’s son and daughter, and they were willing to talk. Neither has any idea what could have happened to their mother. Both have been talking to Francesca Galvin, who’s told them about the search going on at the property. Got some good quotes and a few interesting details. Did you know that this morning the sliding door that leads from the kitchen onto a rear patio was unlocked?”

  From the corner of her eye Leslie caught movement in the woods. She peered into the trees, wondering if it was someone searching the property. A large wild turkey cocked his head and stared at her. She glared back. “Really.”

  “Yeah. So the SAR team started their search off that patio.”

  The turkey watched Leslie, unmoving. She turned away.“Where’d the scent take them?”

  “Through the woods; that was all Francesca knew. Apparently, the police aren’t telling her anything they find.”

  Leslie frowned. “Think she’s a suspect?”

  “She was the last person to see the woman, Leslie.” Jared’s voice carried a well-duh tone. “Of course they’re gonna look at her real close.”

  Leslie huffed a sigh. She hated it when Jared treated her like a know-nothing. Just wait till I get myself on TV, Jared Moore.

  “You think Edna’s son and daughter will talk to other reporters as easily as they talked to you, Jared? This inside scoop may not last too long.”

  “Well, I like to think not. We do have a history with ’em.”

  A click sounded in Leslie’s ear. “Hey, Jared, gotta go. Someone’s trying to call.” She lowered the phone and punched a button. “Leslie Brymes.”

  “Hi, it’s Bailey.” The woman sounded hurried. “I just have a quick minute. Wanted you to know I just saw a news van for KREM head up the street, probably toward the police station.”

  Leslie’s shoulders slumped. Drat it. She checked her watch.

  Almost two thirty. If the CBS station in Spokane was already here, folks from the other major networks couldn’t be far behind. They’d all be doing stories for their evening news shows.

  “You there?”

  “Yeah, Bailey. Thanks for the info. Would you call me if you see any other reporters?”

  “Absolutely.” Bailey paused. “Do you know anything more, Les? I’m so worried about Edna.”

  “They haven’t found anything, I’m sorry to say. And you know, with each passing hour . . .”

  “Yeah.” Bailey took an audible breath. “I’ll just keep praying.”

  Leslie clicked off the line, the words resonating in her head. Bailey was always praying. Leslie went to the same church she did, listened to the same sermons from Pastor Hank every Sunday. But she sure wasn’t as close to God as Bailey seemed to be.

  She turned toward her car, shaking the thought away. She wasn’t getting anywhere out here. Might as well return to town, hit up the police station again. Maybe she could wheedle some juicy new tidbit out of Frank West —

  Her phone rang a third time. She pulled up short and checked the ID. Somebody long distance. Hope surged through her.

  “Leslie Brymes,” she answered in her most professional of tones.

  “Ms. Brymes, this is Alison Votle, reporter with FOX News. I’m in a microwave truck from Seattle, headed to Kanner Lake. We should be there in about three hours. I understand you called us at FOX about this story, and I want to thank you for that. Wanted to check with you now and see if you’ve got any updates for us.”

  Leslie made a face. Updates, yeah, right. Like she was going to give her story away to this gal.

  On the other hand, she didn’t exactly want to tick off the reporter.

  “Yes, I’m on the story and do know some people on the inside.” Leslie clipped her words. “I’m on the run with a development at the moment but will be happy to talk to you when you get here.”

  Leslie pulled open her car door and slid inside. She slammed the door shut, hoping the woman would hear.

  Dear Alison would have none of it. The woman did her best to extract information as Leslie gunned her engine and pulled a U-turn on the road toward town.

  Huh-uh, babe, no way.

  “Tell you what,” Leslie said, cutting her off. “Call me when you’re about thirty minutes away from Kanner Lake. By that time I’ll know plenty more. I grew up here; I can get people to talk to me who’ll never talk to you. Besides, I’ll have a good six hours’ lead on you with this story. I’m sure we can work something out.”

  Alison Votle capitulated — but then, what choice did she have? Leslie could have sworn she heard a grudging respect in the reporter’s tone as they said their good-byes. At least she wanted to believe that’s what it was.

  She threw the phone onto the passenger seat with a grim smile. Leslie, you go, girl!

  Just outside town she passed a news van with KXLY on the side, driving in the opposite direction. ABC News was headed toward Edna San’s estate.

  Great. She’d better find some more inside information on this story soon. Like now.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  As Vince drove toward town, feeling the rev in his gut of an investigation about to turn, an idea formulated in his head. By the time he hit Main Street, he knew he should follow it up right away. It was a shot in the dark but it wouldn’t take long, and who knew what the payoff might be.

  He passed Simple Pleasures on his left, driving farther up to the station. In the parking lot he hurriedly shut off the engine and climbed out of his car.

  Inside the station he informed Frank and C. B. of what he’d seen. “I’m going to make a phone call. Then I’m picking up Miss Williams again to go back out to her house for a cursive sweep. Frank, I’ll want you to meet us out there, as long as she allows our visit.”

  C. B. shook his head. “You think that young gal could pull this thing off by herself? She must’ve had help.”

  “Probably did,” Frank said. “We really don’t know that much about her, just
that she’s new to town, no relatives here.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe we can remedy that.” Vince headed for his office.

  “Hey, Chief,” Frank called after him, “CBS was here. Followed by ABC. I think they’ve headed out to the San estate.”

  Vince slowed at the threshold, assimilating the news. Not that it was unexpected. Once information had been released to the media, he knew they’d be sending out crews. He just hoped none of them would spot him coming out of Simple Pleasures with Paige. Leslie Brymes already knew too much.

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  He eased into his office and closed the door. Seated at his desk, he pulled a pad of paper near him and reached for the phone. Before he could pick it up, his cell phone rang. He pulled it from its holder and checked the ID. His own home number displayed.

  Nancy, home from work. Guilt pierced him. He hadn’t thought to call her.

  He flipped open the phone. “Hi, Nance.”

  “Vince.” She sounded worn. “I heard about Edna San at the grocery store. Do you know anything new?”

  “We’re working on some things, but it doesn’t look good.” He closed his eyes, rubbed the area between them. His headache was coming back. “Nancy . . .” The words he needed to say stuck in his throat.

  “I know. You’re going to tell me you can’t stop working on this case, aren’t you? That you’re not going to be able to stay home tomorrow, the day I’ve been dreading for weeks.”

  “Nance, I’ll do everything I can to be with you. But I just don’t know what’s going to hap — ”

  “Oh, I do. You won’t be with me, that’s what.” Her tone turned off-key. “I’ll go through the day alone, the night too. You’ll give everything you have to your job, and I’ll get nothing.”

  The pain in her voice tightened Vince’s throat. He dreaded tomorrow too, but he couldn’t fault her for focusing on herself. Such was the insidiousness of grief — slicing between a weakened couple like an ax through shriveling wood. His eyes roamed to the photo of Nancy and Tim on his desk, taken on Tim’s nineteenth birthday. Good-looking, tall Tim with an arm draped around his mother, Nancy’s head inclined toward him, almost touching his chin. Her blue eyes clear, unpainted by sadness.

  “Nancy, I promise you, I’ll do everything I can to come home — soon. And stay with you tomorrow. I’m following leads the minute I get them. I haven’t stopped all day.”

  She gave a slow exhale. “I know. I’m sorry.” The words pinched. “I’m just . . . I need you, Vince. And it doesn’t feel like I have you anymore.”

  His shoulders slumped. “You have me, Nancy. You do.” What’s left of me.

  The sound of their breathing intermingled over the line. Vince thought of Paige Williams and the loneliness in her eyes. How could he not take care of the family he had?

  “Okay, Vince.” Nancy’s voice fell to a whisper. “Thanks. I’ll see you . . . when you get here.”

  Vince closed the cell phone and lowered his aching head into his hands. Minutes passed before he could pull his thoughts back to his work.

  Slowly he straightened, resolve flowing through him. He had more reasons than one to break his case quickly. Vince picked up the receiver on his desk. Through Information, he learned the number of the police station in Whitsung, Kansas, where Paige had grown up.

  In a large sense law enforcement officers were family. If anyone in Paige’s hometown might be willing to spend a little time running down information on the Williams family, it would be a fellow officer. Williams was a common name, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to track down the right family in a small town.

  He dialed the number and was connected to a young-sounding officer named Daryl Brumley. Vince jotted the name down on his pad of paper as he launched into an explanation of why he was calling.

  “Sure, I’ll do what I can,” Brumley replied. “I’m pushing a lot of paperwork right now on a burglary; you know how that goes. But when I get this done, and if I’m not called out on something else, I’ll start looking into things for you.”

  “Okay. Here’s what I know about Paige Williams. Twenty-five years old; date of birth April 12, 1981. Parents’ names were Betty and Justin. Paige told us they were killed in a car accident when she was three. From there she entered the foster care system. We’ve run her name and she comes up clean. But I’m suspicious of how truthful she’s been about her past. She says she ran away from a foster family named Johnson at age fourteen and left the state. I wonder if you might call a few Williamses in the phone book there, see if you can locate any relatives. I’d be grateful for anything you could find out.”

  “Okay, will do.”

  “Thanks much. I really appreciate it.” Vince gave Officer Brumley numbers for the station and his cell phone. “Look forward to hearing from you.”

  Five minutes later Vince was parking his vehicle on Second Street, around the corner from Simple Pleasures.

  There would be no need to Mirandize Paige Williams again. The Miranda he’d given her was good for twenty-four hours. To cover his own backside, he’d like to be presenting her with a search warrant. Problem was, warrants had to be item-specific, and he had no idea what he was looking for. He couldn’t exactly carry away a patch of flattened grass from her backyard. If this little expedition yielded anything suspicious, he’d work on a search warrant pronto so he could return to Paige’s property and take possession of the item. Meanwhile he’d be just friendly enough to persuade her to sign a consent for the sweep. Once he was inside that house, his trained eyes would take over.

  He would soon know if Paige Williams had been up to no good last night.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Paige looked up from the counter to see Chief Edwards reentering the store — and knew she was doomed. Electricity singed her nerves from head to toe. More horror scenes from the previous night flashed through her mind. How would she ever explain? Who would believe her?

  “Miss Williams.” He nodded to her, unsmiling. No feigned casualness, no light tone. A thin manila folder was in his hand.

  Sarah hustled over from a shelf she was rearranging toward the rear of the store, her face full of concern. “Chief! What’s wrong now? Why are you back? Have you found Edna San?”

  The chief rested a hand upon the counter. “Afraid not. I need to talk to your employee again, if you don’t mind. Just a little follow-up from our lunch.”

  She regarded him for a moment, then glanced at Paige. “Sure. You can use my office if you’d like.”

  On shaky legs Paige followed him into the little room. Begging prayers filtered through her head. Please, God, I can’t go to jail. Please help me!

  Chief Edwards closed the door and faced her. “Sorry to bother you again at your work.”

  Paige managed a shrug. “It’s okay.”

  “What I need from you now is a quick look around your house. I just want to put some closure on our conversation today. If you’ll sign this form, we’ll get right to it, and I’ll have you back here as soon as possible.” He pulled a piece of paper from the folder and laid it on Sarah’s desk.

  Paige stared at the form. “Why? I mean, what could be there that has anything to do with . . . anything?”

  The chief spread his hands. “Like I said, I’m not really expecting anything. I’d just like a quick look.”

  Paige’s thoughts flung in all directions. He’d seemed satisfied after their conversation. What happened? Did he know something?

  And what could he find if he searched her place?

  She pictured herself that morning, sweeping, vacuuming the car, raking the grass. She’d thrown her clothes in the wash, along with the sheet and gloves. Exhaustion had gripped her, but she’d remembered everything. Hadn’t she?

  “Miss Williams?” The chief watched her intently.

  Maybe she could put him off until after work. Then she could fly home, look over the place one more time —

  But what will he think if I say no? What if this really was routine
, but her denial made him suspicious?

  She felt her mouth open, form words. “Okay. I mean, I have nothing to hide.” She forced a smile.

  “Good.” He slid a pen from his shirt pocket and held it out to her.

  Her heart flopping into double time, Paige signed her name.

  Back at the store counter, she picked up her purse as the chief explained to Sarah that Paige needed to go with him again. Sarah’s eyes jumped from him to Paige, one hand pulling at a strand of hair. “Sure everything’s okay, Chief?”

  “Everything’s fine. I’ll have her back quick as I can.”

  As they stepped out into the July heat, Paige’s gaze fell upon Bailey Truitt across the street, wiping one of the tables on the sidewalk in front of Java Joint. The woman straightened up from her task — and their eyes met. Her head pulled back in surprise, one hand clutching the wet rag. Slowly her left fingers rose in a brief wave.

  Paige turned up the street, warmth flushing her cheeks.

  As she slid into the chief’s car, the awful realization hit her. During her cleaning last night, she’d never checked the hot tub.

  FORTY-NINE

  The February night is unusually warm as Rachel drives to Rosa’s house. She turns up the air conditioner. Suspicions pop in her mind, but she forces herself to put her cynicism on hold. She will simply do what Rosa asked. It will take three, maybe four, minutes to pick up Rosa’s precious belongings — probably jewelry — and return to her car. All will be well. And Rosa will be so grateful. Maybe they can build on that gratefulness . . . somehow.

  Rachel passes Rosa’s house. The porch is dark, but lights shine from various windows. No cars are parked at the curb. Apparently, she has arrived in time.

  At the next corner she turns left, drives halfway down the block, and parks. She pushes her purse underneath the seat, gets out, and locks the door. The key slips into her jeans pocket.

  The briny smell of the ocean, three blocks away, wafts around her as she walks briskly toward her mother’s house. Briefly she wonders if some of the cops who’ve protected Rosa’s “business” have now turned against her.