Thirty-One and a Half Regrets (Rose Gardner Mystery #4)

by Grover Swank, Denise

  I also realized that I’d more than likely told Jonah more about our location than was wise. I needed to let Mason know. I started sliding out from under the bed, when something shiny caught my eye. I reached for it, and my hand jerked back when I realized what it was. Tucked between the bed slats and the box spring was a gun.

  Why was there a gun under Dora’s bed?

  Chapter Fifteen

  I found Mason in the office, still absorbed in his work. I stood in the doorway and leaned against the frame for nearly a minute before he looked up.

  A tired smile spread across his face. “Hi.”

  “Hi. I found out a few things I think you should know about.”

  He set his pen down on his legal pad and leaned back in the seat.

  I moved into the room and circled the desk, resting my bottom on the edge of the desk so that I was facing Mason. “I found my bag and unpacked it. You put my purse in there. Thank you.”

  “I thought you might need it.”

  “My cell phone was in there.”

  He watched me, unconcerned. “I put it in there so it wouldn’t get lost.”

  “I had a missed call from Bruce Wayne.”

  That got his attention. He bolted upright. “Did he leave a message?”

  “Yeah.” I played it for him, watching his face, surprised by how little he reacted.

  “This is all there is?”

  I nodded. “But look at the time it came in. A little before Crocker’s guys showed up at the motel.”

  His mouth pursed. “I noticed.”

  “Mason, there’s something else.”

  He looked up at me, waiting.

  “My phone rang immediately after I played the message and I answered without thinking. It was Jonah.”

  He looked startled at first, then relieved when I mentioned Jonah’s name.

  “I asked if he had any information about Bruce Wayne, and he didn’t but he did find out something about Crocker’s guys.” I shifted my weight. “They’ve been recruiting a lot of new people and they needed something to help them recognize each other. They all wear St. Jude’s medallions.”

  Mason blinked. “How did he find out?”

  “He didn’t say. It must be one of the sources he’s been contacting about Bruce Wayne’s whereabouts. But Thomas has a St. Jude’s necklace. He was wearing it on Halloween night. And I found one on my front porch after it was trashed. The police found one in Miss Dorothy’s backyard after the break-in.” I paused. “And there was one on Bruce Wayne’s dresser.”

  His squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back in his seat, rubbing his forehead. “Damn.”

  “Did you know about the St. Jude’s medallions?”

  He shook his head. “No. We knew there was something, but we didn’t know what.”

  “Jonah also said there was a secret code or password, but he hasn’t found out what it is yet.”

  He stared at the wall for several seconds before looking up at me. “We don’t either.”

  “There’s one more thing.”

  He chuckled. “You provide one more clue we’ve been searching months for, and I’ll deputize you on the spot.”

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “Never mind. What else?”

  “I found a gun stuffed underneath Dora’s bed.”

  His mouth gaped. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  He stood and moved around the desk. “Show me.”

  I led the way upstairs and Muffy trotted along behind us, probably confused about why we kept going up and down the stairs. When we reached Dora’s room, I got to my knees and pointed under the bed. “There.”

  He dropped to the floor and scooted into the small opening between the floor and the bed frame. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “I wonder if she bought it for protection.”

  “If she lived out here alone, she might have.”

  “No, I’m not talking about that. I’m wondering if someone was after her…if maybe she was murdered.”

  He slid out, still on his back, and looked up at me. “When you told me about your birth mother, you said she died under mysterious circumstances.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. “Good memory. She died in a car accident. Her car ran off the road and into a tree. According to my aunt, the brake lines looked like they’d been cut, but the Henryetta Police messed up the investigation.”

  He grimaced. “They do have a reputation.” He moved back under the bed. “Can you hand me a towel or a piece of cloth?”

  I grabbed one of the long-sleeve T-shirts he’d packed for me and handed it to him. When he re-emerged and stood, he was holding the gun wrapped in my shirt.

  “Who do you think killed her?” he asked softly. “Something in your voice tells me you have an idea.”

  “Momma. I think Momma killed her. They had argument and then Dora crashed on her way home.”

  “When this Crocker mess is behind us, I’ll help reopen the investigation, okay?”

  I was surprised how much that meant to me. “Thank you.”

  “Come downstairs and I’ll show you what I’ve been working on.”

  Muffy and I followed him to the office. He put the still-wrapped gun in the drawer of the office desk and motioned for me to come around and join him. He gestured to the spread-out papers. “Like I said, I’ve suspected for a while now that there’s a leak somewhere in either the police or sheriff’s office. What I didn’t tell you is that it’s tied to Crocker, and I’m certain it started long before his arrest. In fact, as far as Crocker and his men were concerned, his arrest should have never happened. They had a source who clued them in on any ongoing investigations and helped keep the heat off them. And in the cases that did make it to trial, witnesses suddenly changed their testimony or disappeared.” Mason leaned against the desk. “Crocker could have used his informant to find you yesterday, but we can’t be sure since the Henryetta safe house is so well known.”

  “Why would a deputy or police officer give them information?”

  “Money. We estimated that before his arrest, Crocker was the third biggest industry in Fenton County. He actually had some legit businesses that hired a lot of county residents, many of whom have since lost their jobs.”

  “I’ve heard a lot of people think he’s innocent.”

  “There are two sides to Daniel Crocker. His public persona as the guy who sponsored Little League teams and donated money to church raffles, and the very dark side of him that a lot of people chose to ignore or disbelieve.”

  No wonder so many people thought he was framed.

  “Guys like Crocker don’t get as far as they do without help, and I’m sure he’s supplemented the income of more than one law enforcement official. But I think this goes deeper than some guy on patrol giving Crocker’s guys a head’s-up. I think a high-level official is involved, and I’m determined to find out who.”

  I remembered our conversation after I was arrested for obstruction of justice for investigating Bruce Wayne’s case when I was a juror. I had asked Mason why he was an assistant district attorney. He told me that he wanted to make the world a better place and put the bad guys away. And, for some reason, the fact that he’d started this investigation before he ever knew Crocker had it out for me was even more admirable. He really did believe in fighting for justice.

  “What Crocker didn’t count on was that the state police would start their own investigation without him learning about it. The state police also suspected that Crocker had inside help, which is one of the many reasons they didn’t clue the Henryetta Police Department in on the bust.”

  “But Weston’s Garage is in Henryetta city limits. Why investigate the sheriff’s office? Wouldn’t it make more sense for the source to be in the local police department?”

  “We thought so, but then a few interesting cases popped up before his arrest—some break-ins and an assault. They all occurred outside of city limits, which would implicate the sheriff’s office.
When I made that connection, I reached out to Jeff. I’d been investigating the cases on my own, but Jeff is as eager to find the source as I am, especially if he can pin it on the Henryetta police. There’s no love lost between the two departments. We’ve been meeting regularly to discuss our individual findings.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “No one does. Or so we thought until last night.”

  “The break-in at your office.”

  He nodded. “We’ve kept this between the two of us, so no one should have even known this investigation existed. I kept most of the files in a safe at home, but I had a few at the office. They were missing after the break-in. Along with your files.”

  “I don’t understand. Were they after the investigation files or mine?”

  “Or both?” he asked. “Or was one a cover for the other? We don’t know—at least not yet.”

  I sat down heavily on the desk chair.

  “I’ve been going through these cases one by one, trying to find a connection and I just haven’t yet. Both law enforcement agencies are involved at this point.”

  “Could there be a leak on both sides?”

  “Or maybe somewhere else? Like I said, no one knew about this investigation other than Jeff and me. We didn’t even tell the sheriff or the DA. It wasn’t out of suspicion, more a the less people who know the better decision.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We planned to take our findings to both men.”

  “But could it be one of them?”

  He sighed. “The sheriff is a good ole boy but he seems to be on the right side of justice. And I’m fairly certain someone is lining the DA’s pockets. I just thought it came from higher up the food chain, from a guy like J.R. Simmons.”

  “If it’s someone higher up, are we safe?”

  He looked out the window and shook his head. “After yesterday, Jeff and I worried about that too. When I told Jeff about this farmhouse, he jumped on it. To be safe, he’s told everyone else—including the sheriff—we’re at another location. In fact, Jeff has set up decoys at the other location so we’ll be notified in case it’s compromised.”

  “So who’s our immediate threat? Crocker or the informant?”

  “Possibly both.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve been going back through the files and notes trying to connect a high-level source to the cases. So far I have nothing.”

  I stood and pressed my hands to his chest. “If I can do anything to help, let me know.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ve got my own list of very important things to accomplish. Mine is focused on the house. I’m washing bedding,” I teased. “I thought you’d want the front room with the view, and Muffy picked Dora’s room for us.”

  His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Okay.”

  After giving him a quick kiss, I headed down to the basement to transfer the laundry. The washing machine was done, but the dryer was still running. I leaned against a folding table and took a moment to look around. Gray stone walls lined the space and I didn’t see any windows other than one in a door at the top of a set of stairs that led to the back of the house. The hot water heater and furnace took up one end of the basement, but a row of wooden shelves stacked with boxes was on the other. Two were clearly labeled photos, which must have been what Mason had seen.

  I wandered over to them, suddenly curious. I pulled one of the boxes down and carried it over to the folding table. I stared at the folded top for a long moment. Did I really want to explore the contents? Was I ready to see the photographic evidence of the life I’d almost had?

  The dryer dinged, catching me by surprise. I had come down here to move the sheets to the dryer so I’d have a bed to sleep in, not to open a Pandora’s box. I put the warm bedding on the folding table and moved the wet laundry to the dryer. As I folded the sheets, my eyes kept returning to the box. Why didn’t I want to look inside?

  I’d convinced myself that I didn’t want to know anything about Dora or the life I could have had. Knowing would be like rubbing salt in my wounds. But what if I found something inside the box that killed my fantasies about Dora and Daddy? Would that be worse?

  After I folded the last piece of bedding, I rested my hand on top of the box, closing my eyes. If I had learned one thing over the past few months, it was to face my fears instead of letting them control me. Because when I really examined the source of my hesitation, it was fear. I was afraid of the past.

  It was time to conquer that fear.

  I piled the stack of folded sheets on top of the box, then hauled them up to the living room. After I stacked the sheets on the sofa, I set the box on the old wool rug and sat cross-legged beside it. Muffy curled up next to me, pressing her little body against my leg, giving me comfort.

  Taking a deep breath, I carefully opened the box and peered inside. There was an assortment of old photo albums and loose photos—some ancient black and white square pictures and other newer rectangular ones. I pulled out the album on the top, flipping through the pages. I didn’t recognize anyone in the pictures, but I did recognize the exterior of the house. In the pictures, it was freshly painted and in much better shape. They looked like they had been taken in the forties since the women wore flowing skirts, Victory rolls in their hair, and dark lips—probably red lipstick that didn’t show up in the two-tone pictures. Since I didn’t recognize the people or the names scrawled on the back—Betty, Floyd, Margaret, William—I paid more attention to the changing features of the house. At one point there had been a porch swing and I liked the idea of putting up another one.

  I moved through two more photo albums, finding nothing of interest until I got to a small square album. The first pictures were of Daddy and Dora, looking so happy they could burst. In one, Daddy was holding a small Violet, a huge smile on his face. Next were photos of Dora in maternity clothes, progressively more pregnant in each passing photo. The next photos were of a newborn baby screaming in a hospital bassinet. Aunt Bessie was holding me in one with Uncle Earl next to her, his usual stoic expression on his face.

  I tried to let the significance of the moment sink in.

  Sensing someone’s presence, I looked up. Mason stood in the doorway of the office, watching me. His gaze drifted to the photos in my lap then back up to my face. “How are you doing?”

  “Better than expected.”

  “Can I look with you?”

  “Don’t you want to keep working?”

  “I could use a break.” A look of contrition crossed his face. “Unless you’d rather be alone.” He took a step backward. “Which I understand. Just let me know if you need anything, okay?”

  “Mason, wait.”

  He paused in the doorway.

  “I want you to join me.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”

  I smiled and scooted some of the loose photos away, making a spot for him to sit. “Please.”

  “Thank you.” He sank to the floor beside me, picking up the album. “Is this you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You were a beautiful baby.”

  “I was ugly. Look at my pointed head and red face.”

  He shook his head with a grin. “All babies are beautiful, Rose. Think about it. They truly are a miracle. Two cells from two different people join together to create this…” He held out his hand toward the photo. “This life. It’s unbelievable when you think about it.”

  I grinned at him. “I never knew you were so philosophical, Mason.”

  “I’m usually not. I’ve just been doing a lot of reevaluating over the last few months.”

  “What’s prompted that?”

  He shrugged. “Savannah. The way my life took an unexpected turn.”

  I reached into the box and pulled out a stack of eight-by-ten black and white photos that looked like they’d been taken in a photography studio. Once I set them on the floor, I recognized the baby in the top photo as myself, but the first few didn’t have the Sears portrait studio look. I began to turn them over,
intrigued. They were all of me, and in a few of the photos, a woman was with me. My mother.

  She faced the camera, smiling as she cuddled the baby—me—on her lap. The photos were all staged, with an artistic background of a gauzy white curtain hanging from a window.

  Mason picked up one of the photos. “There’s a darkroom in the basement.”

  My head jerked up. “What?”

  “When I was lighting the pilot light in the furnace, I snooped around for potential entrances and exits. I found a room in the corner. It had been set up as a photography darkroom. There were negatives stacked on the table.” He grimaced. “I’ll admit that I looked at a few. Most were landscapes and flowers, but there were some of a woman and a baby—you and Dora.”

  “Dora was a photographer? I definitely didn’t inherit any artistic tendencies.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. Landscaping is an art and has an aesthetic. But I don’t think Dora was the photographer.” He paused. “I think it was your father.”

  Daddy? It seemed unlikely since I’d never seen him hold a camera, let alone take and develop portrait-style photos. But I couldn’t dismiss it either. It was like Daddy had been an entirely different man with Dora.

  I flipped through the rest of the stack of photos. There had to be close to thirty of them, and the last two portrayed a family of three. Me, Dora, and a much younger Daddy. He was kneeling next to the chair, one knee up, gazing at her with more love in his eyes than I’d ever seen on his face.

  Dora had been the love of his life. He’d lost her and never recovered.

  And Violet and I had paid the price.

  Chapter Sixteen

  An unexpected fury ignited in my chest. How could my father give up on everything after losing her? How could he condemn me to the hell I’d experienced as a child?

  Mason covered my hand with his.

  Tears burned behind my eyes. “I’m so angry with him, Mason. He just gave up when she died. He let Momma destroy me.”