Buried Truth

by Jannine Gallant

  “I already know what I want. The spinach soufflé is unbelievable.”

  After they’d placed their orders, Nina sat back in her chair and studied Leah. “Is something wrong? You look . . . tense. Are you still having headaches from the concussion?”

  “Concussion? Oh, no.” She let out a breath. “Was it only last week I got knocked on the skull? Seems longer.”

  Paige squeezed her arm. “Then what’s bothering you? Are you and Ryan having problems? I hoped this time you two would stick.”

  “We’re okay . . . better than okay, but we haven’t talked about the future.” She swallowed hard as tears burned the back of her throat. “Right now the present is such a mess . . .”

  “Hey, tell us what’s wrong.” Nina’s green eyes darkened. “We’ll help you fix it. Isn’t that what we always do for each other?”

  Leah’s smile shook a little. “If only this were as simple as copying homework.” She opened her mouth to spill her guts about the pictures, then caught a glimpse of Arnold Dorsey crossing the restaurant toward the table where Waylon Brewster sat. Too risky. If they overheard her . . . She changed mental gears.

  “It’s my grandma.”

  “Oh, no. What crazy thing has Evie done now?” Paige asked.

  “For once, the problem isn’t totally Gram’s fault.”

  The story of the con man took the conversation through the salad course. By the time Leah had explained about Tony Bennett, their waiter had served their dinners and departed.

  Nina poked a scallop in cream sauce then twirled the accompanying fettuccini around her fork. “What a sleazeball. Is Evie going to be okay financially? I sold a couple of paintings during the Fall Festival. I could donate—”

  “Thanks, Nina, but no. I appreciate your generosity, but that would only be a temporary fix. Without her investment income, Gram can’t afford the senior apartments. She’s going to have to move in with me.”

  “How will that work out?”

  Leah blew on a bite of her soufflé before glancing back at her friend. “Fine. We get along well. She has a more active social life than I do. Once Ryan heads home, chances are I’ll cramp Grandma’s style more than she will mine.”

  “Ouch. Is Ryan leaving soon?” Nina asked.

  “I’m not sure—”

  “What was the other alias?”

  “Huh?” Leah turned to stare at Paige.

  “You mentioned Thomas Woodward and Anthony Benedetto. What was the third name that creep used?”

  “I can’t remember.” Leah frowned. “Wait, it was Williams.”

  Paige’s blue eyes brightened. “Andrew Williams?”

  “That doesn’t sound right.” Leah snapped her fingers. “Howard. Howard Williams.”

  Paige pulled out her cell and tapped the screen.

  “What are you doing?” Nina bit into a scallop and chewed. “Your pork tenderloin is getting cold, and you’re being very mysterious.”

  “I have a theory . . . hold on . . .” Paige set down her phone and let out a whoop, then cringed when diners at nearby tables glanced their way. “Oops, sorry, I got a little carried away.”

  “About what?” When Arnold Dorsey turned to frown in their direction, Leah lowered her voice even more. “Geez, you’re going to get us blacklisted from this place.”

  “Doubtful. Not while we’re spending money. Anyway, I figured out the connection between the names. You know how I have a head for useless facts . . .”

  Nina laughed. “That’s because you look up the history of all your antiques. What does that have to do with the cretin who robbed Evie?”

  “This isn’t about antiques. Do you remember when my mom and a couple of her old college friends went to Vegas together? Well, they saw Tom Jones in concert.”

  Leah frowned. “Who?”

  “An early version of a pop star back in the late sixties and early seventies. I remember seeing his real name somewhere. Thomas Woodward.”

  “You’re kidding!” Leah dropped her fork. “First Tony Bennett and now another singer?”

  Paige tapped a few times then held up her phone. “This is Tom Jones back in the day when he was considered a sex symbol.”

  “Oh, my God! That sort of looks like the police artist’s sketch of the con man.”

  “Does it?”

  Leah nodded. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

  Nina balled up her napkin and set it on the table. “Where does the Williams guy come into the picture?”

  “That’s what I was checking. Andy Williams, who was another famous crooner from the same general era, was born Howard Williams.”

  Leah stared at Paige. “Grandma listens to Andy Williams on her old stereo. She has a whole collection of records that are practically antiques.”

  “So, this guy who has been robbing seniors impersonates singers from our grandparents’ heyday?” Nina’s gaze darted over Paige’s shoulder, and she lowered her voice. “But he uses their birth names, not their stage names. Why?”

  “Maybe the crook likes taking risks but is a chicken at heart.” Paige picked up her fork. “He knows most of the seniors he scams would recognize these stage names but counts on them not knowing the names each man was born with. He’s playing a game and getting some sort of satisfaction from fooling people.”

  “Interesting theory. I guess you’re using your psych degree after all.” Leah stopped speaking as Arnold Dorsey paused beside their table.

  “Evening, ladies.” He spoke in a well-modulated tone. “How are your dinners?”

  “Wonderful, Mr. Dorsey.” Nina smiled at him. “Your chef always turns out a top-rate meal.”

  “Excellent.” He took a step back. “Enjoy your evening.”

  “Thank you,” Paige said. After he had walked away, she added, “Hey, he didn’t even kick me out for shouting and disturbing the ambiance.”

  “Not a chance.” Leah ate a bite of her soufflé. “While I’m extremely impressed with your powers of deduction, how are these new insights going to help catch the con man?”

  Nina shrugged. “Tell the police and let them figure it out. That’s their job.”

  “That would be my advice.” Paige smiled. “Although it was fun solving the mystery.”

  “Fine, I will.” Leah dug into her soufflé. “Let’s eat and talk about something else. We spent too much on this dinner not to enjoy it.”

  “True that,” Paige agreed. “You promised an update on your relationship with Ryan. Spill it.”

  “All we’ve done is talk about me and my problems. Surely you two have something to contribute to the conversation.”

  “Selling the buffet was the highlight of my week. That and advising Quentin about his latest woman problems. He seems to really like this one.” She sighed. “Obviously I need to get a life. How about you, Nina?”

  “Let’s see. A For Sale sign went up on the house next door to mine, which totally sucks. I’ve enjoyed not having close neighbors since the wannabe rock star moved out.”

  “That place needs a lot of work, so maybe it’ll take a while to sell.” Paige sipped her champagne. “Didn’t you mention something about a date with Clayton Smith a while back? How’d that go?”

  “Horrible.”

  Leah frowned at her friend. “Why? He’s good-looking, has his own business, and is plenty sharp. What was the problem?”

  Her face tightened. “He’s not Keith.”

  Paige scooted her chair closer and gave Nina a quick, hard hug. “It’s been nearly five years. Keith would want you to be happy.”

  “I know, and I gave it a shot. Clay was sweet and tried really hard, but . . .” She shrugged. “I’m just not ready to let myself feel again.”

  Leah couldn’t think of anything to say in the face of her friend’s determined martyrdom, at least nothing Nina would want to hear. She clamped down on the urge to shout and changed the subject. “Fine, we’ll talk about Ryan. Maybe that will motivate you two to put yourselves out there instead o
f wallowing in work or . . . whatever. Have I mentioned he’s really great—”

  Paige slapped her hands over her ears. “TMI! I was kidding about you dishing the dirt.”

  Leah laughed. “You’re actually blushing. What did you think I was going to say?”

  “That Ryan’s an animal in bed?” Nina suggested.

  “Kissing and telling isn’t my style. You’ll have to keep wondering about that.” She eyed Paige’s still pink cheeks. “Or not. I was going to say Ryan is great for my ego. It’s awfully nice to have a man around who tells me I’m wonderful instead of constantly criticizing.”

  Nina pushed back her plate. “You are wonderful, and Brock is an asshole. Old news. Is your relationship with Ryan serious?”

  “I think so.” A pain tweaked somewhere near her heart. “I sure hope so, but we have other . . . complications to work out before we can talk about the future.” Her attention strayed to the table several yards away when Waylon Brewster and his companions rose to their feet. As their gazes locked, the man’s lips twisted in a smile, and he gave a brief, acknowledging nod.

  “Don’t wait.”

  “Huh?” Leah glanced over at Nina.

  “Life is short. Keith and I thought we had plenty of time to get married, have a family . . . If you love Ryan, seize the day. There might not be a tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “That’s quite an interesting story.”

  Ryan sat across from Detective Stannard with the two photos displayed on the battered desk between them. The man was as beat up by time and the stress of his job as his desk. Deep grooves etched stubbled cheeks and bracketed his lips, but the pale blue eyes beneath thinning silver hair were sharp with intelligence. When he shifted in his swivel chair to reach for one of the pictures, his back cracked.

  “I’m sorry to spring these photos and my suspicions on you so late in the day. I’m sure you’d like to go home.”

  Stannard didn’t even glance up. “No one except a cat to go home to since my wife walked out ten years ago. And I honestly don’t think Bruiser cares if I show up or not as long as his food dish doesn’t run empty.”

  “Most cats have the art of subtle revenge mastered when they’re unhappy.”

  The detective leaned back in his chair and eyed Ryan steadily. “Sneaky bastards, but even Bruiser beats coming home to an empty house.”

  “I’d have to agree.” He tapped the pale hair just visible in the photo remaining on the desk. “What do you think? Could this woman be Merry Bright?”

  “Based on what you’ve told me, it’s a definite possibility. The fact that we never solved that case has bothered me for years.”

  “No other unsolved missing persons cases involving young women since then?”

  “Well, of course there’ve been a few. That’s a twenty-year time span.” Stannard closed his eyes for a moment. “I recall one case from ten or so years back. A local girl, early twenties, had a fight with her boyfriend and demanded he let her out of his car south of town near the beach . . . or so the jilted lover said. The woman disappeared that night. He was our prime suspect, but we never could pin it on him. No substantial proof, so the DA refused to file charges.” The detective’s frown deepened. “This victim and Merry Bright were each last seen a good forty miles apart, but it might be worth checking with other law enforcement agencies in the region to see if there’s any pattern to similar unsolved crimes.”

  “God, I hope not.”

  “I’d much rather believe these pictures were taken over near the university at some perverted frat party that had nothing to do with Merry Bright. You said the time capsule was buried in early November, so the likelihood is high this was a Halloween bash turned orgy.”

  “True, but no one with access to the time capsule was a college student at the time.” Ryan planted his elbows on the desk. “They were all men . . . and women . . . mostly in their late thirties and early forties with young children. Except Sloan Manning, who was probably still in his twenties. If those pictures were from some kind of sex party, it was thrown by middle-aged adults, not college kids.”

  Stannard straightened in his chair. “Do you mind if I keep these photos?”

  “Of course not. I have a few others that are similar. My main concern is for the safety of Leah Grayson. If the break-ins and assault she suffered are related to a twenty-year-old crime, and the person responsible believes she has evidence—”

  “I’ll look into the individuals who had access to that box you buried.” He slid the photos along with the list of names he’d written down into a folder.

  Ryan didn’t like the fact that his own mother’s name was on the list. But Stannard had insisted he include everyone, even the kids in his class. He’d tried to remember them all . . .

  “One of the students could have swiped his older brother’s film and dropped it into the time capsule.”

  Apparently the detective was also a mind reader.

  “If I forgot any of my former classmates, you can probably contact the school for old enrollment records.”

  “I’m sure I can.” He held out a hand. “Thanks for bringing this to my attention.”

  Ryan shook the extended palm. “You’ll tread carefully with the police in Siren Cove? If Officer Long’s father was involved—”

  “I’ll be cautious sharing information outside this office.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Still, both you and Ms. Grayson could be potential targets.” Stannard’s gaze held steady on Ryan. “Please be conscious of your surroundings at all times.”

  A chill crept down his back. “I’ve already warned Leah about spending time alone. We’ll be wary.”

  “Great.” The detective stood and glanced toward the doorway when a heavyset cop knocked on the partially opened door. “What’s up, Fenton?”

  “You have a call. I told him you were occupied, but—”

  “We’re just finishing up here, so I’ll take it. If you could walk Mr. Alexander out . . .”

  The man nodded as Ryan rose to his feet. “Happy to. Right this way.”

  A few minutes later, Ryan drove away from the police station. The marine layer hung clear to the ground, so thick his headlights barely penetrated the fog. Shivering in the clammy interior of the Jeep, he hoped his heater would warm the frigid air soon.

  The trip home promised to be a slow one. Pulling out his cell, he placed it on speaker and called Leah.

  “Ryan?” She sounded breathless. “How’d it go with the detective?”

  “He listened and didn’t act like I’d lost my mind. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I almost wish he’d told me I was crazy to believe the woman in the pictures could be Merry Bright.”

  “I know what you mean. I’d like to think we’re delusional, too.”

  “However, he did theorize it might just have been some sort of Halloween bash.” Ryan squinted, staying well to the left of the white line at the edge of the road so he wouldn’t land in a ditch. “I’m on my way home now. Are you still with one of your friends?”

  “I went out to dinner with Paige and Nina. In fact, we just left the restaurant. I was hurrying to get to my car when you called. The fog is horrendous.”

  “Down this way, too. Don’t go home alone. In these conditions, I probably won’t get back for at least another couple of hours.”

  “They both left the parking lot while I was talking to you. Anyway, I’m tired and just want to crash on my couch.”

  “Follow one of them—”

  “I have Barney for protection. Besides, no one knows we developed those pictures, and it’s been a week since that freak hit me and searched my purse, with no further incidents.”

  Ryan’s grip on the wheel tightened. “I don’t know . . .”

  “I’ll be fine. Please drive carefully. In fact, maybe you should get a room—”

  “No, I’m coming back. Stay alert. Please.”

  “I will.” Her voice softened. “I l
ove you, Ryan.”

  Heat that had nothing to do with the tepid air blowing through the vents suffused him. “I love you, too.”

  * * *

  He stepped out of the shower just as the cell sitting next to the sink rang. Grabbing the towel off the rack, he wrapped it around himself before answering. “Yeah, hello.”

  “We have a problem.”

  “What, now?”

  “Ryan Alexander took a trip down to Coos Bay tonight and did a lot of talking.”

  “Shit.”

  “He brought a couple of photos with him.” The voice on the other end of the connection grew louder. “So your theory that the damn film wound up in the trash is just that . . . garbage.”

  “Only two pictures?”

  “Exactly. Where do you suppose the rest of them are?”

  He closed his eyes and leaned both elbows on the counter. “The interfering bitch has them.”

  “That would be my guess.”

  “What’s the current status on the photos he turned over?”

  “They’ve mysteriously disappeared.” The hint of humor in his tone faded. “However, we need to recover the rest of those prints.”

  “I’ll take a trip over to Leah’s place. If she’s home . . .”

  “Do whatever it takes to get those damn pictures back.”

  When the dial tone buzzed in his ear, he set the cell back on the counter. Goose bumps pebbled his chilled skin, and a hard, hot knot formed in his stomach. Offering up a sacrifice once every decade was part of the deal their forefathers had made, but this—

  Spinning, he opened the toilet lid and puked up his dinner. After a moment, he wiped the back of a shaking hand across his mouth. No time to indulge a weak stomach. He’d get the job done.

  One way or the other.

  * * *

  Leah brushed her teeth and spit, then slowly raised her head. A thump had sounded from somewhere downstairs. Or possibly outside. Had Barney jumped off the couch? Maybe the wind had picked up and was finally blowing out the fog. She’d meant to screw down that loose shutter . . .

  She rinsed her mouth and left the bathroom. When a shiver worked through her, she tightened the belt on her robe and stopped in her bedroom doorway. Not Barney. Her dog was stretched out on the bed. He rolled over and opened one eye to stare at her. Obviously, he didn’t have a care in the world.