In Dark Waters

by Mary Burton

  "No."

  The curt response confirmed her suspicions. "You do feel guilty."

  "We were young."

  She set down her box, her appetite suddenly gone. "But you believe you should have known better. Good and perfect Mitch Garrett slept with a troubled, teen-aged virgin, broke her heart and it still eats at him." She heard the bitterness in her voice and it made her even madder.

  "Kelsey," he said lowering his voice, "if I had known, I never would have slept with you."

  She hated pity more than debt. "You just thought I knew the ropes." She shrugged, hoping he didn't notice the trembling in her hands. "Why shouldn't you? Like mother, like daughter, right?"

  "I misjudged you."

  "It was a long time ago." So why did the pain still linger?

  He met her gaze and, almost against her will, held it. "We should talk about it."

  "Look, it's been a real long day." As she stood, a dull ache began to pound in the back of her head. At the rate she was going, she'd have a full-blown migraine soon. "I'm tired. Thanks for dinner."

  She didn't dare look at him as she walked inside the house and closed the massive front door. For a moment, her knees wobbled and she couldn't walk. She leaned against the door and closed her eyes. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

  She heard Mitch pack up. His purposeful steps thudded on the front porch toward the door. He rang the bell. "Kelsey, let me in."

  Every muscle in her body tensed. She didn't move, holding her breath until she heard him mutter an oath, turn and leave.

  Kelsey exhaled. As much as she'd wanted to find her mother these last ten years, she prayed now that the body in the quarry wasn't Donna. Not knowing what had happened to Donna had been painful, but facing the past was excruciating.

  Maybe Mitch and everyone else were right. Maybe the body didn't belong to Donna. She was the consummate survivor. A cockroach.

  Late Monday afternoon, Mitch got the preliminary report back from the pathologist. The body was that of a woman in her early forties who was about five feet seven inches tall. The victim had endured several fractures, one on her face, one on her wrist and another on her ring finger on her right hand. The fractures had happened over the years and had healed with varying degrees of success. The victim hadn't had access to good medical care. The victim, judging by tooth decay, had been an addict.

  Though no positive ID could be made until Donna's dental records had been examined, the evidence indicated that the body was Donna Warren.

  There was another bit of information the autopsy had revealed. The victim had been murdered. According to the report, the victim had sustained a gunshot wound to the chest. The buckshot had shattered the left ribcage, most likely tearing directly into the heart muscle. She'd died instantly.

  The fact that he now officially had a murder on his hands changed everything. He'd have to get the underwater crews back. The quarry and the woods around the upper lip of the quarry would have to be searched for evidence. Time had probably eradicated most of the evidence, but the search would occur nonetheless.

  Mitch leaned back in his office chair. His first thought was of Kelsey. This information wouldn't sit well with her. After last night, his sloppy reminder of their past had shaken her fragile hold on serenity. He had wanted to clear the air but had only managed to muck things up more.

  His phone buzzed and a green light blinked as Mabel's voice shot through the phone. "Mitch?"

  "Yep?"

  "The pathologist is on line one."

  "Thanks."

  Mitch's hand hovered over the black phone. He snatched it up. "Dave."

  "Hey, Mitch." Dr. Dave Wilder had been a pathologist with the state for almost thirty years. He saw mostly accidents, but had handled hundreds of murders.

  "What you got for me?"

  "The body is definitely Donna Warren. I just reviewed the dental records. Granted, the victim's teeth were badly damaged, but I had a set of X-rays from a checkup Donna had had about twenty-seven years ago. They show a distinct overbite, two cavities on the back left molar and a chip on the front left incisor."

  His first thought was for Kelsey. "Any other signs of trauma?"

  "No skeletal signs. I can tell you that she was shot at close range. Less than five feet, maybe."

  "Someone she knew." He didn't realize he'd spoken out loud.

  Dave chuckled. "That's for you to find out. I've got more tests to run and if I come up with anything unexpected, I'll give you a call."

  "Thanks, Dave." Mitch hung up the phone. He rose and walked to the small window. The sky was crystal-blue.

  There was a knock at his door. He turned to see Mabel standing just inside his office, her yellow pad in hand. "Mitch?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Patrol just radioed in. They've found a car on the side of I-81."

  "Okay, why do they need my input?"

  "The car belongs to a Chris Hensel."

  "Stu's partner?"

  "Yeah."

  Mitch got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Any sign of Chris?"

  "No. No signs of struggle. Just the car, parked on the side of the road as if it belonged there."

  "Mabel, tell the officers to keep this quiet. I don't want a lot of people traipsing around there. I've got enough thrill-seekers trying to get onto the quarry land."

  "So what should they do?"

  "Have them conduct a thorough search of the area. I want to make damn sure Chris isn't nearby. Tell them to treat it like a crime scene. Gloves, evidence kit, the works. And call the state prison and see if they can lend a team with bloodhounds."

  "Will do."

  The front door to the station house banged open and closed, rattling the glass entry wall. Irritated, Mitch stepped out of his office, loaded for bear.

  Standing in the entryway was Boyd Randall. He wore khakis, a bright yellow shirt and golf shoes. The shoes' spikes clicked across the floor as he marched toward Mitch. "Any word on the body?"

  Mitch turned to Mabel. "Go ahead and radio patrol."

  "Consider it done," she said.

  Mitch motioned his hand toward his office. "In my office."

  Boyd marched inside and took a seat in front of Mitch's desk. He crossed his leg over the other and tapped his knee. "Any updates on that body?"

  Mitch closed the door. "All evidence suggests that the body is Donna."

  Tension tightened his face. "Have you run DNA?"

  He sat behind his desk. "It'll be a couple of weeks on that, but the dental records were positive."

  Boyd sighed. "The last damn thing I need is a murder. It's not going to look good."

  Mitch leaned forward. "Why the interest?"

  "Let's just say an investigation into Donna Warren's life would not be the best thing for me." . "Why not?"

  He hesitated, as if gauging each word very carefully. "Donna and I had a thing once."

  "A thing?"

  "We were lovers. It was a very long time ago."

  "Before you married Mrs. Randall?"

  "No. We'd been married about two years when I met Donna. Things weren't good with Sylvia, and Donna was available."

  "You're not the first politician to have an affair."

  Boyd fisted his fingers. "It was my first and only slip. It was very painful for Sylvia and it took a lot of work to rebuild the trust I had with her."

  For some reason, Mitch believed that Boyd was genuinely concerned about his wife's feelings.

  "I just don't want old business polluting what we have. She's not been well lately and she doesn't need this."

  Boyd seemed earnest. But that didn't mean squat. "I'm not sure what you want me to do," Mitch said.

  "Wrap this up as quickly and quietly as you can."

  "I'm not sure if I can guarantee that. I don't know what I'm going to find when I start digging."

  "You're going to find that Donna was a cold-hearted bitch who used men like Kleenex. She had a dozen lovers in town and likely one of them got tired of pa
ying her to be quiet."

  The bitterness in Boyd's voice caught Mitch by surprise. "Sounds like you're talking about yourself."

  He shook his head. "Like I said, I cut things off with Donna years ago. I didn't even know she'd returned to Grant's Forge that last time until I saw that kid of hers working in the scuba shop. What's her name?"

  "Kelsey."

  "Right." He shook his head. "The kid was all mouth in those days. Seems her mother had just taken off and left her with Ruth."

  "We know now she didn't just take off. She'd been murdered."

  "I sure didn't know that at the time."

  No, but you were worried that Donna had returned to town. "Is there anything else you can tell me about Donna? You might know something that could lead me to her killer."

  "Not much. She talked of moving to L.A. and being a star. She was always like that—plans bigger than her pocketbook. Once she took off for L.A., I never saw her again. That was twenty-plus years ago."

  "Right." Mitch stood.

  "Look, I don't want Sylvia hurt. She's a good woman and she deserves better than this."

  Until Mitch had more evidence, there wasn't much more he and Boyd had to say to one another. But he sensed they'd chat again. "Thanks for stopping by. If you think of anything else about Donna, you will tell me?"

  Boyd rose. He smoothed a thick lock of white hair off his face. "I sure will."

  Mitch waited until Boyd left before he grabbed his hat. He was anxious to talk to Kelsey, but knew he needed to check out Chris's car first. "Mabel, I'm headed up I-81 and then over to Ruth Warren's house. I won't be back today." Whatever hopes he'd had of making an early evening of it were long gone.

  Mitch spotted the patrol car and the blue Toyota Corolla parked on the side of I-81 South. He slowed and pulled over to the side, put his car in Park and shut off the engine. A cool breeze greeted him as he climbed out of the car and put on his hat.

  Deputy Leonard Jackson, who'd been waiting for him in his car, got out. Jackson was a tall, lanky man with a thick mop of black hair. In his mid-twenties, he'd been with the town police force for six months.

  Jackson touched the brim of his hat. "Sheriff."

  The gravel on the side of the road crunched under Mitch's boots. "What do you have for me?"

  "It's Chris Hensel's car. I found it about an hour ago. I checked out the car—it was locked. There is no sign of Chris."

  Mitch reached in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. "I swung by the dive shop and picked up a spare set of Chris's keys from Stu."

  "I'm surprised Stu didn't come."

  Mitch inspected the car's black interior as he walked toward the back of the car. Other than several fast food bags and cups, the car looked clean. "I didn't want him here. I promised I'd call if there was any trouble."

  "Let's hope we don't find a body in this car."

  Mitch shoved the key into the trunk lock. "Yeah." Chris had lived in Grant's Forge for at least ten years. He'd never been in any trouble that Mitch was aware of and was well liked in the community.

  He turned the lock and the trunk opened. The trunk contained fins, a wet suit, a regulator, a beat-up brown cloth suitcase and a cooler filled with diet sodas. But there was no sign of Chris.

  Jackson expelled a breath.

  Mitch did, too. "Where the devil is Chris?" He moved to the driver's side and got in. He turned the key in the ignition and it started right up. The gas tank was full.

  Mitch checked the glove box. Nothing out of the ordinary. He looked under the seats. Nothing.

  "I've got a couple more men headed your way, Dieteck and Abley. When they get here, we can start searching the woods."

  "Doesn't make any sense," Jackson said.

  "No, it doesn't." Chris did have a history of heart trouble, so it was possible he could have run into trouble, and that a motorist had helped him. "Radio Mabel and have her check the area hospitals."

  Just then, another patrol car pulled up and Dieteck and Abley got out. They only had a couple of hours of daylight left, but Mitch decided they needed to make the best of it. After radioing Mabel, the four men fanned out and started checking the woods.

  It was four o'clock in the afternoon when Kelsey's front doorbell rang. She'd spent the better part of the day working her way through the downstairs hallway, throwing out piles of newspapers, decade-old piles of junk mail and all the other clutter she could find in the front hallway. The process was painstaking. Though she'd have loved to chuck all the junk, she felt as if she needed to check each and every bit, fearing if she didn't she'd miss a clue about her mother.

  Kelsey opened the door and standing on the front porch were two teenaged boys. Tall, slim with dark hair, they shared Mitch's deep blue eyes and square jaw. In many ways, they reminded her of the Mitch she'd known ten years ago.

  "Hey," she said, recovering.

  The boys stared at her for a moment, neither speaking as they took in the sight of her cutoffs, cropped white T-shirt streaked with newspaper print and her blond hair tied back with a bandana.

  The older of the two was the first to recover. "Uncle Mitch sent us," he said. "My name is Rick and this is my younger brother Jeff. Mitch said you might need some bags hauled away."

  She'd forgotten Mitch had said he'd send over his nephews. "Hi, I'm Kelsey."

  Jeff grinned. "We'd have been here sooner, but school isn't out yet for the summer. Nine days to go until freedom." He looked as if he'd recently tried to shave his face. By the looks of it, he'd only managed to nick up his smooth skin. "We are here to help."

  She couldn't help but smile. At Jeff's age, the last school days before summer vacation had flown by. She liked school and hated being home with Ruth all day. "You sure you want to spend a spring afternoon hauling dusty papers?"

  Rick nodded. "Mitch said whatever you needed hauled away, we were to do it."

  Mitch had remembered her and she was touched. "You guys are in for some work."

  Rick looked past her into the hallway. "Does the whole house look like this?"

  "Oh, yeah. You should see the upstairs." She stepped aside to let them in. Being alone in the house all day had taken its toll. Too many unwanted memories had flooded her brain and, in truth, she was feeling a little squirrelly. She was actually grateful now for the company.

  Jeff, who looked to be about fourteen years old, pulled off his ball cap. "Man, I always knew the old lady was a little creepy, but I never figured on this."

  Rick jabbed his brother in the ribs. "Jeez, Jeff, shut up."

  Jeff shrugged. "What? Mrs. Warren was creepy. She got after me just a month ago because she saw me tossing out old newspapers. Guess she had a thing for newspapers."

  Rick looked at Kelsey, his eyes filled with apology. "Sorry. Most people thought a lot of Mrs. Warren."

  She shrugged. "It's okay. Ruth did have a thing for paper. All kinds of paper." She glanced down the cluttered hallway. She'd ruined the neat stacks as she'd gone through the papers today. Papers were strewn everywhere. "I bought a bunch of garbage bags today."

  "We can start stuffing 'em and hauling out to the truck," Rick said.

  "Let's do it," Kelsey said.

  The boys worked hard, hauling out garbage bags to a large beat-up pickup truck parked by the curb. By the time they'd finished, twenty bags filled the bed of the truck. Every muscle in Kelsey's body ached and the boys were covered in sweat.

  "You guys have been a great help, but I know it's getting late." She found her purse hanging on the coatrack by the front door. "Let me pay you guys for your help."

  Rick shook his head. "Nope, this one is on us."

  Jeff grinned. "Mitch said it was a great way for us to work our way out of the doghouse."

  Rick glared at his brother, his face reddening.

  Kelsey couldn't help but laugh at Jeff's honesty. She met Rick's hesitant gaze. "So how'd you end up in the doghouse?"

  "It was just a misunderstanding," Rick said.

  "He bo
rrowed Mom's car without asking," Jeff offered. "While he had it, he backed into another car. Cost almost a thousand dollars to fix it."

  "Tough break," Kelsey said. "I took Ruth's car a time or two, though I never wrecked it." She'd taken Ruth's car out at night after her aunt had fallen asleep. She never went anywhere in particular. She just drove.

  Rick looked relieved. "If Dad had been alive, Mom wouldn't have freaked so much. When she told Mitch, he had a fit."

  The boys had lost their father. Her heart went out to them, but she didn't press for details. She'd always hated it when people asked her questions. "I'll bet Mitch did blow a gasket," she said, following the two boys out to the truck.

  "We'll be back tomorrow," Jeff said climbing into the passenger side.

  "Are you sure? You don't have to," she said. Today, she'd made three times the progress she'd expected.

  Rick climbed behind the wheel. He smiled and for a moment she couldn't breathe. He was Mitch. And she was transported back to a time when she and Mitch had worked in the dive shop. He'd had that same easy grin that made her heart melt. "We'll be here." He sounded almost anxious to return.

  "Heck," Jeff said, "It's kinda fun. Like a treasure hunt."

  Kelsey waved as the boys drove off.

  Treasure. If you could consider murder clues treasure.

  Chapter 7

  By the time Mitch pulled up in front of Kelsey's house, it was past nine o'clock in the evening. The house was dark except for a light in the kitchen. He saw Kelsey's slim figure pass in front of a window. Good thing she was still up.

  A dull ache had settled around his temples, and he itched to crawl into bed. He'd not had seven straight hours of sleep in two weeks.

  The search for Chris had yielded nothing. The guy had simply vanished. Mitch had called Stu and informed him. The old man sounded fragile and worried, and spent several hours calling Chris's friends and family. No one had seen any sign of him. It was as if the man had fallen off the face of the earth.

  Mitch strode up to the Warren house. The sound of music drifted out to greet him. Jazz. He never figured Kelsey for a jazz enthusiast. She struck him as the pop/rock type.

  He knocked on the door. At first, he didn't hear footsteps and thought perhaps she hadn't heard him over the music. He knocked again.