The Girl in the Woods

by Gregg Olsen

  “Had Donald been ill?”

  “Hey, you’re not here to ask me questions. You’re here so I can ask you some.”

  The woman was nothing if not assertive.

  “I don’t have to answer, you know,” Birdy said.

  “You will. If you give a little, maybe I will too.”

  “Did you poison your husband?”

  “Which one?”

  Such a strange answer, Birdy thought.

  “Either,” she said. “Both?”

  “You must think I’m stupid. That I would admit to anything. First of all, just so you know, I didn’t kill either one of them. Donny died of a heart attack and I know you think Ted was poisoned—I don’t know if that’s a lie or a fact.”

  “It’s a fact. He was poisoned.”

  “Says you. But if he was poisoned, like you say, why would I have done that?”

  Birdy thought a second. Maybe just letting out a little of the cat would be fine. The bag was plenty big enough.

  “Bobby told me that you wanted money. That you were a thief. Maybe Donald caught you? Maybe he was going to dump you and you did what you had to do to protect what you thought was yours.”

  Jennifer glared at Birdy. “You’re a real Law and Order fan, aren’t you, Dr. Waterman?”

  “I am, but that’s not the point. The point is that you have a history of getting what you want by any means possible.”

  “You have black hair,” Jennifer said, stating the obvious. “I bet you’ve always hated your hair. It’s thick enough. But it doesn’t catch anyone’s eyes. I see that you don’t have a ring. Too bad. Can’t find a man? I have had no problem in that regard. I could get the officer standing outside this door if I wanted to.”

  “Where are you going with this?” Birdy asked.

  Jennifer seemed annoyed, not really angry. “Women like you are haters,” she said. “You hate me because of how I look. You despise me because I have more than you’ll ever have.”

  Birdy rolled her shoulders. “I have no feelings about you whatsoever.”

  “Then why are you here?” she asked.

  “Because you asked me to come.”

  “Fine, I did. I wanted you to know that I loved my husbands. All of them. Well, except maybe Bobby.”

  Birdy kept her expression flat. “That’s interesting,” she said. “He’s the only one that’s still alive.”

  “I know you saw him down there in Scottsdale.”

  Birdy saw no reason to lie. “That’s right, I did.”

  “Did he tell you that I was devastated when my husband had that heart attack?”

  “I can’t remember what he said your reaction was,” she said.

  Jennifer fiddled with her belly chains. “Did he tell you that Donny had high blood pressure?”

  “He mentioned it.”

  Jennifer stared at Birdy with a strange and awkward intensity. “That he didn’t take his medication?” she asked, sputtering out her words. “That he ate too much? Drank even more? That he was screwing the hostess at his restaurant—the restaurant that could have been an empire if he hadn’t keeled over and died?”

  “Look,” Birdy said. “This isn’t going anywhere.”

  The switch had been pulled. Jennifer in her orange jumpsuit, a color that she considered less than flattering, started to cry. It wasn’t sniveling either. A gusher, accompanied by the kind of guttural moaning and crying that comes when a wild animal is caught in the rusty jaws of a snare.

  Like Birdy felt right then.

  “I loved Ted,” Jennifer howled. “Damn! I loved him with all my heart. I moved away from the sun for rain-soaked rust bucket Bremerton to be with a man that gave me the safe harbor I’d always been looking for!”

  Officer Tobey, a concerned look on his face, poked his head in.

  “Dr. Waterman, everything okay in here?” the corrections officer asked.

  She waved him away.

  Train wrecks like Jennifer Lake Drysdale Roberts were dangerous, but in a twisted way they were captivating too.

  “He was the man of my dreams. Honestly, you, having no husband, can’t comprehend what I’m saying, Dr. Waterman. He was the love of my life,” she said, gulping air.

  “You’re going to hyperventilate,” Birdy said. “Please try to calm down.”

  “I can’t,” Jennifer said. “I’m trapped in here. My kids are going into foster care.”

  “The kids aren’t. Ruby is about to turn eighteen. The judge might allow her—with monitoring of course—to eventually watch Micah, pending the outcome of your case.”

  Jennifer looked surprised. “She is? Oh, that’s good.” Jennifer calmed down a little.

  “Yes, don’t worry about them,” Birdy said. “Worry about what you’ve done and why you’re here.”

  Jennifer tried to dry her eyes, but the chains on her wrists made it a struggle.

  “That Molly O’Rourke wanted Ted for herself,” she said. “You’ll see. I was set up. You have to do something about her. This is all her fault. I don’t know what I’ll do when I get out of here. Since you think I’m already a killer, what would it matter? I’d slit her throat from ear to ear.”

  Birdy called Kendall after the interview.

  “How was it?” the detective asked before even saying hello.

  “Just your garden variety glimpse into a mind of a narcissist,” Birdy said, as she walked across the back parking lot to her office, “if you really want to know.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. What did she want?”

  Birdy laughed. “What they all want. She wanted to win me over. She wanted to find out what I had dug up—pun meant—in Arizona.”

  “Anything we can use?” Kendall asked.

  “She blames Molly. So, no, not really. It would have made good TV.”

  “That’ll come.”

  Birdy stopped while a car backed out of a spot. “I can hear Dateline producers circling now.”

  “Speaking of which, guess who I’m going to see?” Kendall asked.

  The driver was an elderly man and he was taking his sweet time. Birdy, tired of waiting, went around him. “I don’t have the slightest.”

  “Dateline’s pin-up, true crime star attraction,” Kendall said.

  It could only be one person.

  “The one and only?” she asked.

  “Yup,” Kendall said. “The one and only Brenda Nevins.”

  “I’m not going.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Do you think she’ll tell you if she put Missy up to killing Darby?” Birdy asked, going up the steps to the front door of the coroner’s office.

  “Nope,” Kendall said. “But like you and your interview today, I’m going because I can’t wait to be manipulated.”

  “Manipulation is such fun,” Birdy said.

  CHAPTER 31

  When Birdy arrived home after seeing Jennifer in the jail, Elan was waiting for her. He’d had a haircut and it looked good on him.

  “I didn’t know you were going to do that,” she said, looking him over. “I like it. It’s cleaner.”

  “It was getting a little on the scruffy side,” Elan said. “How was your day?”

  “You don’t want to know,” she said.

  “That means I would want to,” he answered.

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Another of those ‘Elan, I can’t talk about it’ kind of things?”

  “Yeah, sorry. You want to take a walk? I picked up a couple of sandwiches at Whiskey Creek.”

  “Sure,” he said. “We can talk about something other than whatever cool thing you did today and I can tell you about how much I hate school. Or at least most of it.”

  “Deal,” she said. “We can talk about other things too.”

  “Ugh. I don’t like the sound of that,” he said.

  Birdy acknowledged his remark but disappeared into the bedroom to change into jeans and more appropriate shoes, and the two of them took off. The sun was lo
w as they walked along Beach Drive toward the little waterfront village of Annapolis. They walked outside to the fishing pier jutting out over the water, pointing to Bremerton. Just as they reached the end, a floating fishing platform, a ferry’s wake rolled under the dock, bobbing it up and down.

  “This feels like being drunk,” Elan said.

  Birdy took a hard look at her nephew. “How would you know how that feels?”

  “I’m sixteen,” he said a little sheepishly. “Not six. Not that the age matters much in our family.”

  She handed him a sandwich. “You’ve been on your best behavior here, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah. I’m doing all right,” he said, happy to see that there was actually meat in the option she bought for him. “I’m making friends. I like it here.”

  “That makes me happy,” she said.

  “Can’t I just live with you?” he asked.

  She looked out thoughtfully as a man and little boy went past on a small boat with a purring outboard motor.

  “You have a family, Elan.”

  He swallowed a bite. “Yeah, and that includes you.”

  “Family members tell each other the truth,” she said.

  “I’m not lying,” he said.

  “You know what I’m getting at, Elan. Talk to me.”

  Elan squinted into the setting sun.

  “All right. Mom’s having an affair with a guy at work. I caught them in bed when I came home from school early. By the way, it was my bed. Isn’t that gross?”

  Birdy stayed quiet. A seagull swooped down low to grab a piece of lettuce that had slipped out of Elan’s sandwich.

  “Elan, that’s a problem for your parents.”

  “It was my bed, Aunt Birdy.”

  “That is pretty bad. Did you talk to her about it?”

  “Not really,” he said. “It was just the end of what I couldn’t take anymore. I know about everything.”

  His words hung in the salty and breezy air. Birdy didn’t want to push any further just then. If it was what she thought it was, there would be no point in doing so. There was nothing that could be done about it.

  “Does your dad know?”

  Elan balled up the white butcher paper that had wrapped his sandwich. “You going to eat the other half of yours?”

  “It’s veggie,” she said.

  Elan pulled the zipper up on his hoodie, then shrugged a little. “I don’t care.”

  Birdy handed him the sandwich.

  “You know he’s not my dad,” he went on. “Why do you keep calling him that?”

  Birdy took the wadded paper from his sandwich and hers and put it in the paper bag.

  “He raised you,” she said. “That’s why.”

  Elan seemed to like the sandwich enough to eat Birdy’s half in four bites.

  “I hate him,” he said. “I hate both of them. I wish they’d just fall into a big hole somewhere and never crawl out.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say,” Birdy said.

  Elan spoke with his mouth full, but she didn’t admonish him this time. “Well, you asked. That’s how I feel,” he said, swallowing.

  Birdy put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his puddled brown eyes.

  “You are going to be all right, Elan,” she said, meaning every word. “I promise you.”

  Elan didn’t want to leave Port Orchard. He’d settled in. He was trying to make a new life before his old one, back home, circling the drain, sucked him down, into oblivion.

  “You know everything, don’t you, Aunt Birdy?”

  “Your grandmother says I do have an answer for everything,” she said. “But really, I’m just like everyone else. We’re all doing the best that we can do. You’ll get to a good place. I believe in you. So I guess, I’m sorry to say, I do have an answer for everything.”

  She smiled warmly at Elan. This was a good kid.

  “I can forgive you,” he said.

  “Thank you. You know that I love you, Elan.”

  He turned away, not wanting her to see him cry.

  “Someone has to.”

  They returned to Birdy’s house, mostly in silence, though the subject of a dead opossum in front of their house and how it had gone from mush to bones did come up. Birdy didn’t give him all the gory details about how that little feat was accomplished. He didn’t ask.

  On the front steps was a Target shopping bag.

  “Wonder what this is?” Birdy said, struggling to open the knotted opening.

  “Does Target deliver now?” Elan asked, dumping their dinner bag into the trash can on the side of the house.

  Birdy stayed silent, peering inside.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. I think they’re some letters.”

  “Don’t we have a mailbox for that?”

  “That we do.” She closed the white plastic bag peppered with red bull’s-eye logos.

  “Do you have any homework?”

  Elan made a face. Their bonding time was clearly over.

  “Some,” he said.

  “Good,” Birdy said, heading to her office. “Let’s get to it. So do I.”

  With the exception of one, each in the bundle of letters had been addressed to Ted Roberts, 511 Camellia Street, Port Orchard. The return address was what appeared to be an apartment on E. Dynamite in Scottsdale. All but one had been sent by Jennifer Drysdale.

  As a precaution that there might be something related to the case on the envelopes or on the papers held within, Birdy put on latex gloves. She arranged them in date sequence.

  The first one had been written on lavender stationery. She lifted it to her nose to see if it had been scented. Jennifer Roberts had seemed like the type to send perfumed love letters. This one hadn’t been. It was, however, handwritten.

  Dear Teddy,

  I don’t know why I haven’t heard from you since our meet up in San Diego. Or as the kids like to call it, Sand Diego! I had the best time. It must be amazing to have a job that brings you all over the world to places like San Diego. I haven’t traveled much at all. A lot of people think that Arizona is so glamorous and that the desert is intriguing, but not me. I’m so sick of it. I’ve been through so much. I haven’t had it easy being widowed at such a young age. I know that God intends for me to get through all of this. Somehow.

  Love,

  Jennifer

  The missive was interesting for a couple of reasons; Birdy had no idea how Ted and Jennifer had met, and yet they’d rendezvoused in San Diego. The navy was there, so maybe it was just happenstance that Jennifer and Ruby and Micah had been there. The other oddity in the note was the return address and the postmark. Birdy knew that Jennifer and Bobby had split up by then, but Jennifer never alluded to that marriage. She acted like she was merely a widow and not a two-time loser. Maybe she was embarrassed about the short-lived marriage to Bobby, but it was also possible that she didn’t want Ted Roberts to think she was unstable and went from man to man?

  As she had been doing all her life.

  Birdy called Kendall and told her about the letters. She could hear Steven talking to their son Cody in the background and the clatter of dishes.

  “Sorry to bug you,” Birdy said. “Thought dinner would be over.”

  “It’s never over around here,” Kendall said with a short laugh. “What’s up?”

  Birdy explained that someone had dropped off letters that might have been written by Jennifer Roberts.

  “I have two questions,” Kendall said. “I wonder who did that? And also, don’t keep me hanging, what do they say?”

  “I don’t know the answer to the first one, and so far, nothing much. I’ve only read one. But I wanted to give you a heads-up. I’ll bring them to your office first thing tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good,” Kendall said. “The boys are loading the dishwasher and they still don’t know how to do it the right way. See you tomorrow.”

  Birdy thought the same thing about Elan and the way h
e attempted to help out around the house, but she never told him. Loading dishes at all was a blessing. After he went to bed for the night, she found herself putting plates and glasses in the order they needed to be.

  It must be a guy thing, she thought.

  She put down her phone and started on the next letter, though it was not really a letter, but a greeting card. It was sent about two weeks after the first. The outside was a picture of a prickly pear cactus, with full moon-glow yellow blooms and a glistening webbing of spikes ready to wreak havoc.

  Inside the manufacturer printed: The only thing that hurts more than bumping into one of these is not seeing you.

  The message was handwritten on the bottom of the card and continued to the other side:

  Dear Teddy,

  The sound of your voice kept me up all night. I’m not embarrassed to say I had a very nice dream about the two of us. When I got up this morning I felt a little sad inside. I just kept thinking of all that you are doing and wondering how a woman and her kids (teenagers, no less!) could ever fit into a life like yours. I’ve made my share of mistakes in life, but somehow I still am able to dream about that perfect life with the man of my dreams. Silly me. Anyway, I saw this card a few days ago and I thought of you. Not the prickly part, but the part that says I’m missing you. I’m thinking that you must be extremely busy doing all that official secret stuff that you do for the navy. Protecting our country is an important job. Being a mother has been my life’s work. I am ready to start a new life in the Pacific “Northwest” if you’re still serious.

  Love,

  Me

  Birdy stopped reading and fished for her drugstore readers. Her eyes were tired, and Jennifer had a teeny tiny handwriting. Having found her glasses, Birdy went to get something to drink. She opted for a diet soda over a beer. Elan’s crack about her family’s problems with drugs and alcohol resonated a little. She passed by his bedroom. He was on the phone. She could only pick up bits and pieces and she didn’t linger.

  “She’s a lot nicer to me,” he said. “I like her a lot. I haven’t been this happy probably ever.”