Final Call

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  Ten minutes later, dressed and with my hair newly wet, I found her in the kitchen brushing the dried mud from my boots. “Sorry about that,” I said. “I hadn’t planned on rolling around in the mud. Guess I should have sprayed them off last night.”

  “Not if you didn’t have time to stuff them so they wouldn’t shrink. A lot of water isn’t good for leather. Look, this is taking it off just fine. You can wear them now. Later we’ll try a little leather soap and a thorough oiling. They’ll be as good as new.”

  I bowed to her greater knowledge of footwear and made myself a bagel sandwich to take along. Already I was feeling much better.

  “I put dinner in the Crock-Pot for after church,” Tawnia said.

  It was the one dish she did well. “Good.” I picked up Destiny, who had awakened and was staring at me with her big eyes.

  “Don’t forget your gloves,” Tawnia said. “You’ve read enough imprints for now.”

  “I’m more worried about a coat. Mine needs washing.”

  “I already stuck it in the machine. I’m glad it wasn’t wool. You’ll have to wear Shannon’s, if you don’t have another one.”

  “I’ll find something.” I wasn’t going to wear Shannon’s coat again. No way. It was too, I don’t know, possessive. Too reminiscent of a childish crush. I felt warm and safe and loved in that coat—feelings too dangerous to perpetuate.

  Finding something else wouldn’t be easy. Unlike with antiques, I didn’t hang onto a lot of clothing. If I didn’t love it enough to wear it often, out it went. Still, there should be something I could scrounge up.

  Tawnia turned to me, hands on her hips. “You should kiss him.”

  “What?”

  “Shannon. Try it and see what happens. Then you’ll know how he makes you feel. So just pucker up and smooch already.” Tawnia was a great believer in kissing to reveal truth, but I’d thought I’d felt it already with Jake. My attraction to Shannon pretty much obliterated that idea. Though I was a great believer in fate and the universe sending back to you what you sent out, I didn’t subscribe to the one true love ideology. True love involved decisions and commitment, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for either.

  “Not making a decision is actually making one,” my sister added quietly.

  “He would have given his coat to anyone,” I retorted.

  “Yeah, but not this.” She retrieved something from the cupboard, holding it between two fingers as if it stank. “I found it in your coat pocket. I know how you feel about guns, and this has Shannon written all over it.”

  “I took a course.” I set Destiny back in her seat and took the gun from Tawnia. Removing the Ruger from its protective pouch, I popped out the magazine and checked the barrel to be sure it was still empty before replacing it. Not that Tawnia would have racked it, but I didn’t want to chance it going off without my knowing about it. The gun had no safety because safeties were little more than a crutch and could actually be a detriment if you had to use the gun in a pinch and forgot to take it off. The safety could also be knocked off accidentally and the gun shot before you realized it. Definitely not a good thing around children who are curious about buttons. Better to develop the habit of racking and then firing. My pistol couldn’t go off unless it was racked, and racking it wasn’t something Destiny would be able to do for a long, long time.

  “I see.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s going in a safe. Shannon promised to make the department spring for one. I’ll make absolutely sure Destiny will never have access. It’s only for when I’m investigating.”

  “I’m glad you’re taking your safety seriously, Autumn,” Tawnia surprised me by saying. “Though I don’t suppose you’d ever really shoot someone.”

  I was quiet for a long moment and then said quietly, “You’re right. At least not unless they threatened you or Destiny.”

  She hugged me tightly. “I love you, you know?”

  “I do know.” I hugged her back. “We should go.”

  I found a coat in the closet, one that had belonged to Winter. It was ragged and old but reliable, a lot like he’d been. There weren’t any positive imprints on it, but it comforted me as though it did.

  “Gloves?” Tawnia asked.

  I shook my head. I couldn’t find the gloves that had been in my coat pocket last night before my tussle with Rosemary’s boyfriend. Probably they were somewhere on her back lawn.

  At the last minute, remembering my promise to Shannon, I slipped the Ruger into my pocket.

  Chapter 9

  It was one of those rare winter days in western Oregon when it actually stopped raining. There was no way either of us would trust my car for the long trip, so I relaxed as Tawnia drove south on the freeway, enjoying the prospect of doing nothing for the fifty-seven minutes it would take to get to Hayesville. Destiny was asleep in her car seat, a bemused expression on her tiny face.

  Except now that I was feeling well, my mind wouldn’t stop going over the previous day’s events. The way I saw it, I had more suspects than leads in both the murder and Rosemary’s disappearance. Of course, I was more concerned with Rosemary at the moment, though I couldn’t deny that the cases seemed linked. Mentally I arranged my suspects in order of most likely.

  Grady Mullins, who claimed to be Rosemary’s boyfriend. If he’d sent the note, he might have gone even further to force her to do what he wanted. Next was Mr. Taylor, Rosemary’s father, who’d never approved of his child’s dreams and who in Rosemary’s imprint was guilty of using excessive force.

  Of course there were people from the theater who had access to both women. Paxton Seaver, the director who claimed to love Cheyenne, could have had reason to get rid of Rosemary, despite his admiration of her acting skills. He might have regretted his decision to cast her. Or a lover’s spat with Cheyenne could have ended in murder. I didn’t know if he’d been with the company long enough to have attempted the first murders eight years earlier, but it was possible.

  Carl Walsh, the producer and stage manager with the New York connections, also had access to both women. Though he seemed to have the most to lose with Cheyenne and Rosemary out of the picture, there could be undercurrents I wasn’t aware of yet and probably wouldn’t be unless I could touch his belongings. I assumed he used the office, but I hadn’t found anything unusual there. Of course some of the desk drawers had been locked. Maybe the police had found something. I’d have to ask Shannon. Or better yet, his partner, Tracy.

  Next came Erica, the lovely, bitter actress who not only had no love for Rosemary but appeared disdainful of pretty much everything and everyone else as well. Her comments about Walsh had seemed out of place for an employee, and that bugged me. That and her fascination with Shannon.

  Then there was Millie, who, unlike the other actresses, had a part in the four-person play. Her role might not have given her the attention she craved, and Rosemary’s absence created the possibility of her moving to the more important role. She had problems with at least one fellow actor that concerned Walsh, so maybe she was hiding bitterness behind her positive attitude.

  Lucas, the handsome, self-absorbed, high-voiced, dumb-as-a-log actor, could also be hiding something. He might not be as dumb as he looked. Maybe he’d gotten rid of Rosemary because he’d wanted Cheyenne to have the part. Or maybe he’d killed Cheyenne when Rosemary went missing because he didn’t think she was as good and would ruin his chances of going to Broadway. I’d learned these actors were serious about such things. But serious enough to kill? Maybe he was hoping Rosemary would return in time to save the show.

  Last was the actress Vera, who claimed the Juliet play was cursed, but underneath her red hair, she might be using the play’s history to clear a spot for herself. After all, she also had brown hair similar to both Cheyenne and Rosemary. Or maybe her ladies’ man boyfriend, Trenton, had strayed, and s
he was seeking revenge.

  The murderer could be one of the other actors from the theater, though with the insight I’d received from the imprint on the glass, I suspected the killer would want to be near the action to learn if he or she was in danger of discovery. He might even be enjoying giving misleading information as he played the role of his life. Or her life.

  None of my scenarios explained who had attacked me in the prop room.

  “Autumn, what are you doing?” Tawnia glanced over at me. “Who are those people?”

  I looked down to see that I’d written the list of names and brief notes beside each one on a fresh page in Tawnia’s drawing pad. “They’re suspects,” I said. “But the most likely don’t seem to have motives involving both Rosemary and Cheyenne. They might be connected, but the acts are so different—one obviously premeditated and the other committed in a moment of passion.”

  “Yeah, but they both could be murder.”

  She was right there. “Why haven’t we found Rosemary, then? I hope that means she’s still alive. If she was the one hit with the hammer, the assailant might not have actually wanted to kill her, just get her out of the way for a while.” Or get her away, period, if her boyfriend was responsible.

  “Do you think she’s the one in my drawing?”

  I turned back the page to examine it more thoroughly, mentally comparing it to the picture of Rosemary that Liam had sent to my phone. “It’s hard to tell with all that hair, but I think so. Maybe if I showed it to Liam or her roommates, they could identify her or something she’s wearing. Too bad there’s nothing in the picture background to tell us where she might be.”

  Tawnia fell silent, her teeth worrying her lip. I knew she was concerned with the reappearance of her so-called gift, and I wasn’t sure what to say to her. At least we were taking a step toward understanding why we might be this way. I didn’t exactly think something was wrong with us, something that needed to be fixed, but it would be nice to know if these abilities were in our family history, like our directional impairedness and heterochromia.

  “Bagel sandwich?” I asked, offering mine to her. When in doubt, offer food.

  “Thanks.” In a swift move, she unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite.

  “Hey, I didn’t think you would actually accept it.” I reached, trying to get it back.

  “Relax. I have a full cooler in the backseat. All your favorites. You can thank me after you eat.”

  A short time later, with an even fuller stomach, I dozed. When my sister eventually awakened me, I felt completely restored to my usual self.

  “I plugged in the address on the GPS,” Tawnia said. “We’re almost there.” Nervousness laced her voice, which was unusual for my confident sister.

  My eyes wandered over the houses we were passing. “Suzy wasn’t joking when she said it was a dive. I mean, these houses are falling apart, some of them.”

  “I know. There’s nothing wrong with being poor, but I can’t help imagining what Kendall must have gone through. I read her letter again last night, and she didn’t seem to care about being poor. She just wanted love.” She paused and then added, her eyes mournful, “If I ever find him, I’m going to kill him.”

  I knew she was talking about the man who’d taken advantage of a fifteen-year-old girl in the middle of the night on her birthday. My first inclination was to feel the same way, but I knew Winter and Summer would urge caution. “We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of,” Winter had been fond of saying, “and you can’t judge someone until you’ve walked in their shoes.” I wasn’t exactly prepared to forgive my birth father, if I ever caught up to him, but I would hear him out. Regardless, the information he had about my heritage was the important thing. I certainly didn’t plan on having any kind of a relationship with him.

  We fell silent as we came upon a group of dwellings that were obviously new. “They’ve destroyed the old houses,” Tawnia said. “If they’ve rebuilt all of the houses in this section, we’re not going to find anything.”

  “We can still talk to the neighbors. Situations can change. Maybe someone built a new house on their old property.” But we both breathed a sigh of relief when the next turn took us back to the older houses. These were not in complete disrepair, and some of the yards were well-tended. Still, there were not many signs of life, though that wasn’t unusual on a cold Sunday morning. Many folks were probably taking advantage of the weekend and sleeping in.

  Tawnia pulled to the curb. “This is the road. Suzy thought it was the second or third house. We might have to try them all.”

  “I still think if you were drawing, you could have at least drawn the house where Kendall had lived,” I said dryly. “It would have been more helpful.”

  “Too bad. Get out and start walking.” She slid from the car herself, retrieved Destiny’s stroller from the car, and ensconced the child in so many blankets that I suspected she might be in danger of overheating. When Tawnia wasn’t looking, I slipped my finger down Destiny’s back to make sure she wasn’t sweating.

  You’d think that without the rain, it’d be warmer, but the day was crisp and cold. A strong wind blowing in from the north had me wishing I were in the stroller with the baby.

  No one answered at the first door. At the second, we raised a grouchy, bearded man still in his pajamas. No, he didn’t know any of the people we asked about. At the third house a child answered, and her young mother was also no help. So it went. All the way down one side of the street and up the other. We went to the next block and began again.

  On the fourth house there, a pretty blonde answered the door, still in her pajamas and her hair mussed with sleep. She had a toddler on her hip and a smile for us. We explained our quest, already knowing she was too young to have any knowledge of Kendall and her mother.

  “I really couldn’t say. This is my grandmother’s house. She’s letting me stay here. But she lives close by, and you could ask her. She’s lived around here all her life, and she knows everyone, old or new. If you’ll wait a minute, I’ll write down her address.” She returned shortly with a sheet torn from a notebook. “Her name is Mariel, and she lives three streets over in the new houses.”

  The new houses. It figured. Already we were backtracking. “Thanks,” we told her.

  “We aren’t getting very far,” Tawnia lamented.

  “Well, we knew it could take a while.”

  We decided to finish the street before trying the woman’s grandmother’s. Both of us moved with a gritty determination. We had at least another hour before we had to leave in time to get back for one o’clock church.

  With no other leads, we climbed into the car, waited ten minutes for Destiny to nurse on one side, and then drove to the address. I liked the two-story house immediately and not only because of the happy yellow siding and the red door. The walkway was lined with flowerbeds, and even though it was winter, I could identify several dormant herbs. More flowerbeds sat against the house, and I bent to see what else was planted underneath winter’s gray shroud.

  “You coming?” Tawnia asked, leaving Destiny and the stroller at the base of the stairs to the narrow porch.

  A brown nut of a woman with white hair pulled into a ponytail opened the door, wearing surprisingly hip jeans and a T-shirt. “Good morning,” she trilled. “How may I help you?”

  Tawnia grinned. “Are you Mariel?”

  “That’s me.”

  Tawnia launched into our explanation—which was a good thing. Though I’d joined her on the steps, I was still thinking about the herbs.

  “Oh,” Mariel said, her smile widening. “You must be talking about Laina Drexler. You say you’re Kendall’s daughters?” She shook her head. “I always wondered what happened to Kendall. She was a beautiful child. Good girl, too. Used to watch my baby for me. Always knew I could trust her to do a good job. Not like som
e of the neighborhood kids who’d set the kids in front of the TV while they robbed you blind. And she and Laina needed the money.” Here her smile faltered, and I knew there was much, much more to the story. My interest in her herbs was completely forgotten.

  “Do you have some time to talk to us about them?” I asked.

  “Or do you know where we might find Laina now?” Tawnia added.

  Mariel opened her door wide. “Come on inside. It’s too cold to talk out here, especially with that baby.”

  I went inside while Tawnia scooped Destiny from her stroller. Welcome heat washed over me as I went into the room Mariel indicated.

  “Beautiful baby,” Mariel cooed, briefly touching Destiny’s chin. “Have a seat, if you’d like.”

  I sank into a plush, new-looking floral couch that appeared to have come from another era. I was wearing my antique rings, but I was careful not to touch anything. I was finished with imprints for a while.

  Mariel didn’t sit but stood in front of us, her head slightly cocked. “Now that I know you’re Kendall’s girls, I can see the resemblance. Even after all these years. How’s she doing anyway?”

  “About that,” I said. It was always hard, this part. Talking about Kendall’s short life and our separation.

  When I finished, Mariel fell more than sat down on the love seat opposite us. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I was glad when she left home, even though I was Laina’s best friend. Maybe her only friend. Laina didn’t give that girl a fair shake.”

  “Did you know Kendall was expecting when she left?”

  “There were rumors, but nobody knew anything for sure. I always thought it was strange because Kendall was a shy little thing. Stayed to herself a lot. She wasn’t the type to go out with boys, you know. Laina did eventually tell me in confidence that Kendall was expecting and that she wanted her to give up the baby. Apparently Kendall didn’t want to. Laina had done the same thing herself as a teen, you know, and she’d never been able to pull herself up. But I still don’t see Kendall as that type of girl. I mean, she’d seen all the boyfriends her mother had, one after the next. She didn’t want to be that way.”