Violet Dawn

by Collins, Brandilyn

  “Wow, great view.” Frank skirted the kitchen table to stand before the sliding glass door, arms folded. “Must be pretty at night too, with the lights from town.” He turned toward Paige, a small smile on his face.

  She nodded briefly. “It is.”

  He looked back toward the deck, gesturing with his chin.“You use the hot tub a lot?”

  Something coiled through Paige. Vince felt it. Her shoulders straightened, head pulling back ever so slightly. She stared at Frank as if gauging hidden meaning behind the words.“Sometimes.”

  Vince stood still, watching her. Paige’s gaze moved from Frank to him, then bounced away. She pushed off from the counter. “Want to see the rest of the house?”

  Vince nodded. He and Frank followed her from the kitchen into the hall.

  The first bedroom, on their right at the front of the house, was completely bare. Paige shrugged. “I haven’t had any reason to fill it yet. When I save the money, I was thinking of getting a computer, putting it in here.”

  Vince’s eyes roamed the light-brown carpet, stopping at the base of a door. “That a closet?”

  “Yes. It’s empty too.” She walked over and slid back the door as proof.

  In the bath next to the empty bedroom, Vince peeked at the drains in the tub and sink. Aware of Paige’s watchful eye, he couldn’t check them as much as he would have liked. She could stop their search at any time.

  Across the hall, between the kitchen and the master bedroom, was a laundry area. Vince stepped in for a cursory look. Not much more than a washer and dryer, side by side, with one built-in shelf on the wall above them.

  His gaze snagged on the top of the washer. Spilled white speckles of detergent. Everything else in the house had been so tidy. Had Paige been in a hurry to wash something?

  He pointed to the lid of the washer. “Mind if I look in here?”

  Paige licked her lips. He could see her body tensing. “Okay.”

  He lifted the lid and peered inside.

  A small load, both dark and light colors, washed and compressed together from the spin cycle. Vince frowned at it, trying to decipher the various items. Frank eased up beside him, his weight on one leg as he leaned in for a look.

  Vince looked to Paige. “You run these this morning?”

  “Oh. Yeah. I forgot. I did that just before I went to work.”

  Vince regarded her. No way had she forgotten. He kept his voice light. “What’s in there?”

  She glanced from him to Frank. “Some clothes. And, um, I think a sheet.”

  A warning bell went off in Vince’s head. Bedding was usually washed together — top and bottom sheets, pillowcase. “Just one sheet?”

  Paige shifted on her feet. “Yeah. I spilled something on it.”

  He nodded. Scratched his cheek. Frank stuck a hand in the washer and pulled out a black glove. Held it up. “You need this in the summertime?”

  Paige stared at it. Vince could see the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. “No. That pair’s been dirty for a long time, and I finally remembered to wash them.”

  “Makes sense.” Frank shrugged and set the glove back in the washer. Paige watched him, her jaw set.

  Vince put his hand on the dryer, sensing the need to move on. As much as he wanted to take the gloves as possible evidence, and the sheet, he didn’t dare without a warrant. Some indignant defense attorney prancing about in a suppression hearing would persuade a judge to throw out the stuff in a heartbeat. Twenty years ago things had been more lenient for cops, but those days were gone. Now, seeing that a search warrant was needed, Vince couldn’t let on how much the items interested him. Paige was growing more concerned by the minute, and he couldn’t risk her stopping their sweep. He wanted to take an unsuspecting Paige back to Simple Pleasures and obtain the warrant before she could return here after work and make things disappear.

  “Anything in here?” He tapped the dryer.

  “No. Have a look if you like.”

  Vince bent down to open the machine. Empty. He clicked the door shut and straightened, giving Paige a brief smile. “We’re almost through, Miss Williams. We really appreciate your cooperation.”

  In silence they walked the few steps over to Paige’s bedroom, Vince’s mind spitting out data to include on the paperwork for the search warrant. Argument with missing person. Small abrasions on the palms of her hands. Possibly seen at night in car. Possibly dragged something on deck. Grass bent. Sheet, dark clothes, and gloves washed.

  Too many pieces for mere coincidence. If Vince hadn’t quite believed it before, he did now. Paige Williams was involved in whatever happened to Edna San.

  The growing realization weighted his chest. He wanted to solve this case — quickly. But the loneliness in Paige Williams’s eyes had touched the core of his own pain. He would not relish the hard questioning he would have to put her through, nor the potential results.

  Vince entered Paige’s bedroom.

  With windows looking out to the lake, it was fairly large, but like the rest of the house, sparsely furnished. A small bedside table held four stacked library books. Here, in the most intimate of areas, Vince found the barrenness even more bleak. Again no photos. No knickknacks or memorabilia. Vince envisioned his daughter’s room before she moved out at twenty. Concert tickets stuck into the corner of her mirror. Pictures of friends on shelves and her dresser, pinned to fancy-framed bulletin boards. Figurines of fairies and butterflies, fluffy pillows and throw blankets. The room of a twenty-five-year-old may not display such ambient girl-brightness, but Vince couldn’t believe a mere five years would have reduced Heather to this.

  He focused on the bed. It was made but the coverlet was rumpled, as though someone had lain on top of it.

  Bed not slept in last night? Sheet and dark clothes washed early this morning . . .

  Paige hung back in the hallway, clearly uncomfortable being in her bedroom with Vince. Or perhaps her anxiety still fizzled over his discovery in the washing machine. Frank stayed near Paige in the hall, merely poking his head in the bedroom door, as if seeking to ease her disquiet.

  “Okay. Thanks for letting us have a look around.” Vince smiled at Paige as if he’d seen nothing suspicious. “We’ll just check your garage quickly, okay?”

  She stilled. Looked to Frank. “There’s not much to see in there.”

  “Yeah.” Frank gave her an empathetic look — I know this is crazy.

  With a sigh she led them back down the hall and to a door on the far side of the kitchen. They stepped through it into a roomy single-car garage with an open rafter ceiling.

  The first thing Vince noticed was the cleanliness of the floor. No dust, no dirt. Not even tracks where the car would drive in. Place must have been swept very recently. This morning?

  He walked to the center, where Paige’s car would be parked, his eyes roaming. In the back corner of the garage, left of the door, stood a monster of an old metal cabinet, supported by thick two-inch legs. He pointed toward it. “What’s in there?”

  Paige leaned against the wall, hands clasped behind her.“Garden tools and stuff. They belong to my landlord, Mr.Ryskie.”

  “Mind if we look inside?”

  She shrugged. “Go ahead.”

  Frank walked over and opened the cabinet’s double doors, Vince on his heels. Not much to see. To the left stood a rake and broom. Two shelves on the right held garden scissors, a hand trowel, a hammer, a coil of rope, a flashlight, and a small assortment of screwdrivers. Thinking of the flattened grass, Vince examined the teeth on the rake, looking for obvious signs that it had been recently used. He couldn’t tell.

  They closed the cabinet. Vince took a moment to walk to the other side of the garage and open the door to a crawl space. He bent down, peering into the area, dimly lit by a window along the back wall. His gaze moved over hard-packed dirt, pipes running along the ceiling, but he couldn’t see very far. Some of the pink insulation on nearby pipes lay scattered in little pieces.

&nb
sp; “Looks like you have rats.”

  “Had.” Paige’s voice was tense. “I heard them at night. I set traps.”

  Vince closed the crawl space door and latched it. “Catch any?”

  “Three.”

  “Wow.” Frank pressed his lips in a Way to go expression.“Good for you.”

  Paige’s mouth tightened into what might’ve been an attempted smile.

  “Okay,” Vince said, “just a quick look around the backyard, then we’re done.” He saw fear trail across Paige’s face. She started to say something, then closed her mouth. He headed for the rear door before she could stop him.

  As his hand fell on the doorknob, a phone rang inside the house. Paige jerked toward the sound, her eyes widening. A second ring. She hesitated, then looked at Frank. Relief at the serendipitous interruption wafted from her shoulders. “Could you wait a minute while I answer that?”

  They had no choice but to agree.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Paige hurried through the kitchen door, more anxious for a moment away from the cops than to know who was calling. But who could it be? Probably either a salesman or Sarah, wanting to know what was taking so long.

  She reached the counter and picked up the cordless receiver.“Hello?”

  “Hi, Leslie Brymes here. Is this Paige?”

  Leslie Brymes. Where had she seen that name? The voice sounded young but edged, as if the matter were of utmost importance. “Yes.”

  “Oh, good. You don’t know me, but I’m a friend of Sarah Wray’s, and I want to help you out. I heard Chief Edwards went to the store to talk to you, so I came over to Simple Pleasures to ask Sarah about it. She told me what’s going on. I take it the chief’s still at your house?”

  Paige gripped the phone, reactions oscillating through her head. People in town were hearing that the police were questioning her? The thought made her stomach churn. Everyone would start to talk. The media might hear. The anonymity she’d taken such chances to protect would dissolve . . .

  Should she even answer the question?

  I want to help you out.

  Paige focused through the window at the hot tub, her thoughts mercurial.

  “Yes, they’re here.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “Chief Edwards and another officer. Frank West.”

  “Oh.” Leslie’s tone turned wry. “I know Frank too. Listen to me, Paige; we don’t have much time. You’ve got to get those cops out of your house — now. You don’t have to let them be there, understand? Anything they see, anything you say, they can use against you. Although I’m sure you’ve got nothing to do with Edna San’s disappearance, for some reason they’re targeting you. They wouldn’t be at your house if they weren’t looking for something specific. Plus, I know they’ve already talked to you once. You need a lawyer, right now.”

  Lawyer? The very word froze Paige’s muscles. Guilty people needed a lawyer. People who were arrested, who had to go to trial. People in jail.

  Bubbles pinging her face. Edna’s weighted body pulling her down, down in the frigid water.

  The truth wrapped ghostly fingers around Paige’s neck. She was guilty. And she would not get away with her deed. Even if by some miracle she could convince the police she hadn’t killed Edna San, she would still go to jail. She’d hidden evidence, lied in her interview, hindered a criminal investigation. The all-encompassing scope of the law no doubt harbored a string of felonies she could be charged with. She could spend years in jail.

  “Paige, are you there?”

  “I — yes.”

  “I’ve called a lawyer for you, a friend of mine. Name’s Arthur Gretz. He’s ready to meet with you right now, for free. All you have to do is let him.”

  Paige’s eyes squeezed shut, exhaustion and disbelief snaking through her gut. The advice sounded right. She never should have let the police in her house. But what would they think if she stopped them now?

  “Paige, do what she says.” Sarah’s distant voice filtered over the line. “Leslie knows what she’s talking about.”

  “Did you hear that?” Leslie asked.

  “Yeah, I heard.” Paige rubbed a hand across her forehead. She could barely think straight. “Leslie Brymes.” Her voice had fallen to a whisper. “Who are you?”

  “Your friend, Paige, that’s who. Like I said, I’m doing this to help. But you can’t tell anyone about this conversation, okay? Sarah’s already promised to keep it quiet. Really, it could mean my job.”

  “I won’t tell.” A question about the nature of that job floated across Paige’s thoughts like blown milkweed, then was gone.

  “Thanks. Listen, did the chief drive you out there in his car?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was afraid of that.” Leslie sighed. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. You have a piece of paper and pen? I’m going to give you my cell phone number.”

  “Wait a minute.” Paige scurried to her miscellaneous drawer and pulled it open. Rummaged through its contents, searching for a pen. There. She snatched it up, then sidestepped to the table for one of the napkins stacked upon it. “Ready.”

  Leslie rattled off the digits. “Whatever you do, don’t let them see that number. And remember, as of this minute Gretz is your lawyer. So you march over to those cops right now and tell them so. Tell them Gretz says to leave your property immediately. They’ll have to go; it’s the law. But you stay behind. I’ll come pick you up and bring you into town to Gretz’s office. He’ll want to advise you right away.” Leslie paused. “Got all that?”

  Paige felt the gathering of a cataclysmic storm. What could she do but follow Leslie’s advice? She moved to the drawer and dropped the napkin inside. “Yes, I have it.”

  “Okay, girl. Now go.”

  The line clicked in Paige’s ear.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  “You’re sure you don’t want one of us to take you back to town?” Vince stopped in the entryway of Paige’s house, working to keep his expression neutral. Frank’s hand was already on the front door.

  “Thank you. I’m sure.” Paige’s voice was curt, her gaze not quite meeting his. That telephone call had lit the fire of her resolve, but Vince could see the lingering dampness of fear. If he were a lesser cop, he might play on that emotion, convince her to change her mind. But he wouldn’t bend the law. Art Gretz would have his hide in court.

  “All right then. Appreciate your time.”

  Frank gave a final, tight-smiled nod to Paige and they stepped out onto the porch. The door closed firmly behind them. Vince heard the bolt click into place.

  Exchanging grim looks, they walked around to the driver’s side of Vince’s vehicle.

  “Arthur Gretz, huh.” Frank’s voice was low.

  Vince shrugged. “Surprise, surprise. Shows how quick word gets around the streets. Whole town probably knows we’ve been talking to her by now.” He rubbed his jaw. “I’ve got to get back and start on a search warrant. I saw enough in there to convince me she’s involved.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Frank studied the ground, ambivalence creasing his forehead. “That deck sure was clean.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that when I was looking at the backyard.”

  “And the garage too. Not to mention that sheet and those gloves in the washer.” Frank shook his head.

  Impatience surged through Vince. He opened his car door.“We need to get moving on the warrant. Let’s hope we can rustle up a judge on a summer weekend. I’ll check in with the search teams and techs on the way back to town. They should be done with the scene by now, and someone should have dusted that Spirit Lake pay phone for prints. Maybe we’ll have some further information.”

  “Okay.” Frank took two steps around Vince toward his own car, then stopped. Turned back. “I just can’t believe . . .” He raked a hand through his hair. “She doesn’t look like the type, know what I mean? Something about her.” His eyes roamed the house as if looking for answers to the mysterious young woman inside.“She seems so . . . I don’
t know . . . vulnerable. But in a way, strong at the same time. And she’s obviously scared to death.”

  Vince studied him, remembering the flicker of interest in his eyes when he met Paige, the reassuring looks he’d given her.“Frank.” His voice was low. “Don’t go there.”

  Frank pulled in a breath and let it out. Flexed his shoulders.“Yeah.” He turned with resolve and headed for his car.

  Vince slid into his own vehicle, thoughts flitting from Frank . . . to Tim . . . to Nancy. With a sigh he pulled out his cell phone and began making calls.

  FIFTY-SIX

  Black Mamba peered from behind the tree in the forest, binoculars trained on the front of Paige Williams’s house. He’d found the perfect spot for lurking, thick with vegetation, but beyond it a narrow, clear line of vision. Farther down Lakeshore, parked out of sight on an old logging road, sat his car.

  He’d arrived at this spot to see two police vehicles gracing Paige’s driveway. Anytime now one of those cops ought to be bringing the little lady out in cuffs. Mamba sighed. Too bad he couldn’t watch the back of the house as easily. How luminous a sight their discovery of Edna San would be.

  Paige’s front door opened. Mamba leaned forward, anticipation curling through his veins.

  One cop walked out. A young one. Followed by the chief of police.

  The door shut behind them.

  Mamba stilled.

  The policemen walked together toward the rear car, frustration in their gaits, on their faces. They stood talking for a moment, the chief’s hands on his hips, the younger one shaking his head.

  What was going on?

  They split up, both climbing into their vehicles. Mamba heard their engines start. They backed out one after the other — and drove away.

  Slowly Mamba lowered the binoculars. His tongue flicked out, touched his lips. His brain thrashed through possibilities, explanations. Was this a ruse? Were they somehow onto him?

  Impossible. The police never trapped Mamba.