Find Me

by Debra Webb

  Motive, means, opportunity. The Big Three.

  No one committed a murder for anything less than one or all.

  CHAPTER 14

  Hanover's Mercantile, 10:00 A.M.

  "Ms. Hanover?"

  Marta Hanover was busy restocking the produce in her general store when Sarah and Conner approached. She had decided that his presence might actually gain her more cooperation than if she'd showed up on her own. The tactic had worked reasonably well with Jerald Pope.

  Folks in small towns didn't take too well to strangers.

  She had learned that the hard way, too.

  "Kale, morning. How's Mr. C?"

  "He's hanging in there. Thank you for asking."

  Marta Hanover wiped her hands on her apron, arrowed a brief glance at Sarah. "You let your mama know that I'm bringing some special goodies by this evening."

  "Yes, ma'am. I'll do that." Conner gestured to Sarah. "This is Sarah Newton. She's here to look into Valerie's murder and Alicia's disappearance."

  Judging by the pained expression on his face, Sarah estimated that he wasn't anticipating a favorable reaction from the seemingly pleasant lady.

  As Ms. Hanover's scrutiny swung to Sarah, she jumped in with both feet. "I sincerely appreciate your time, Ms. Hanover." Sarah thrust her hand in the woman's direction. "I'm here to help." Marta accepted the offered hand and gave it a rather limp shake. "I have ten years' experience working cases very much like this."

  The older lady's eyes tapered with suspicion. "You're the one from that magazine."

  "Yes." Sarah nodded. "Truth Magazine is an investigative journal. We work particularly hard to find answers in tragic cases like this one."

  Marta's hands settled on her hips. Not a good sign. "The problem here is simple," she said frankly. "That Enfinger fellow has barged in with his big plans and walked all over our history. Mark my word, things won't be right until he's gone for good."

  "That may certainly be the case," Sarah placated. "I was hoping you might be able to help me confirm some of the facts."

  The pleasant-looking, loose-tongued lady had been quoted in several newspapers. That was why her name was at the top of Sarah's interview list. The woman loved to talk.

  Marta glanced around the store. A gentleman, probably her husband, was at the counter running the register. A couple of stock boys were filling the shelves. Five, maybe six customers milled about. No one appeared to be paying attention to the quiet conversation going on in produce.

  "Let's go in the back," Marta said with another quick assessment of the man behind the counter.

  "Of course." Sarah followed the lady through the double doors marked Employees Only; Conner was right behind her.

  Marta went over to a large commercial sink and washed her hands. She pulled off a couple of paper towels and leaned against the counter. "Valerie Gerard was a good girl," she began. "I'm sure Kale told you that."

  Sarah nodded to keep her talking. She had reviewed the history on the girl, as well as her MySpace and Facebook pages. She appeared to have been a great girl. Not the typical rebellious teenager.

  "Her family's just devastated. She was their only child and they'd poured everything they had into that girl. They had high hopes for her future. There was talk of Harvard."

  As any good parent would. Not that Sarah would know.

  "She worked here during Christmas vacation," Marta offered. "She was a hard worker and always kind to our customers. We didn't have one complaint. She was never late and never missed a single day."

  "She sounds like the ideal teenager," Sarah commented. She had this part already. What she wanted to learn was the flip side. Everybody had one. "Did she have a boyfriend?"

  Marta moved her head side to side. "She was too focused on her studies to be fooling with boys. She didn't even date as far as I know."

  "That's right," Conner cut in. "She went to her senior prom single." He said to Sarah, "Her friends have confirmed there was no boyfriend, then or now."

  "What about her friends?" Sarah looked from Conner to Ms. Hanover. "Did she have a lot of friends?"

  "Not that many." Marta pursed her lips a moment. "All you had to do was look at the Youngstown Sun to know that Valerie Gerard didn't bother much with a social life. She was always involved in activities that would further her education or that supported the community."

  "How would you compare Valerie to Alicia, the girl who's missing?"

  Marta tossed the wadded-up paper towel into the closest trash receptacle. "No comparison."

  "Can you be more specific?"

  "Alicia has herself lots and lots of boyfriends. Parties. Big social life." Marta threw up her hands. "Not that I'm talking bad about the girl. She's a pretty good kid. Just a little wild. But no one"—her gaze locked with Sarah's—"deserves this."

  "You're so right. I certainly hope I can help find her." Before it's too late.

  "Alicia's always in the paper, too," Marta went on. "She's won all kinds of beauty pageants and her grandparents have her in every kind of dance and theater activity around here. They take her to New York shopping about once a month. They've spoiled that child. Maybe a little too much."

  "Do you know the name of Alicia's most recent boyfriend?"

  "Brady Harvey," Conner cut in. "His family owns the inn where you're staying."

  Sarah hadn't met the innkeeper's family. She'd have to make it a point to do that. Brady definitely went on her list.

  "Thank you, Ms. Hanover." Sarah reached into the front pocket of her shoulder bag for a business card. "I hope you'll call me if you think of anything you believe might be useful."

  Marta took the card, considered it, then set her attention on Sarah. "It's the curse."

  Sarah started to let it go, but something in the woman's eyes made her rethink that strategy. There was something more there than idle speculation. "Why do you say that?"

  "I saw the roses."

  Conner and Sarah exchanged a look. "What roses?" he asked.

  "The red ones. A big bouquet. Sandra Gerard got them the day before they found her girl's body."

  Sarah noticed the new tension in Conner's posture. This was something he didn't know. "Who were they from?" Sarah inquired before he could.

  "The card was unsigned. Just said, Deepest regrets!" Marta shrugged. "When I took that fruit basket to Sandra I asked her about them. I didn't say nothing, of course. I didn't want to upset her."

  "Did you speak to Chief Willard about this?" Conner was visibly agitated now.

  Sarah was mildly intrigued.

  Marta frowned as she shook her head. "I didn't really think about it. I figured the chief would remember same as I did. You're too young," she said to Conner. "But the day before those two missing girls were found twenty years ago, each family received a big old bouquet of red roses. They never did know who sent them. Could've been anybody, I guess."

  "No one thought the flowers were relevant?" Sarah asked.

  "I guess I can see why they wouldn't," Marta explained. "When there's an illness or death or something like that, most folks take something to the family. It's the community's way of helping. I just thought it was an odd coincidence."

  Sarah scarcely took the time to thank the lady before walking quickly to the parking lot. "Take me to the Gerards' home." He wouldn't like her request. If she hadn't let him talk her into riding along in his vehicle, she could just go. She wanted to see those flowers. To touch them. Her instincts were humming.

  "That's probably not a good idea." He paused on the sidewalk. "The family's been through enough. They've—"

  Frustration lashed through her. "Their daughter is dead. What the hell do they expect? To just close the book and forget the last chapter? There should be more questions!" She was pissed now. "The questions shouldn't stop until we have all the answers."

  For five seconds he stared at her.

  She was the first to blink. Damn. That almost never happened.

  "Fine. We'll go over there."
He stepped off the curb. "But it's a waste of time. Like I was trying to tell you, Valerie's parents have gone to Florida for a couple of months to stay with friends." He looked at Sarah across the top of the car. "You're right, the investigation has to continue, they just couldn't be a part of it anymore."

  "If they're not home, what does it matter if I snoop around? They'll never know." These people had to get past the whole "let's not inconvenience anyone" or "hurt anybody's feelings." A girl was dead! What did it take to wake them up?

  "You wouldn't understand." He shook his head. "There's this thing called respect—"

  "That doesn't make sense." How was trying to find their daughter's killer being disrespectful?

  "Just get in the Jeep, Newton."

  Sarah kept her mouth shut during the drive along Main. He turned onto Central Street and she mentally braced. Going to the victim's home was one of the worst parts. Seeing things the way they used to be and knowing it would never be that way again. Looking into the eyes of those left behind… but there was nobody home here.

  That felt wrong. Maybe she just couldn't understand the reaction. Bury your child and then take off?

  But then, she was definitely no expert on the interactions between parents and their children.

  Conner parked at the curb in front of 1118 Central. It wouldn't have mattered whether or not Sarah knew the address already. The evidence of loss was all over the place. Hundreds of bouquets. Cards and stuffed animals. Candles. The front of the house and the porch were lined with gifts.

  "I don't know about you," Conner said, "but I would find it difficult to come home to this."

  They emerged from the Jeep simultaneously. Sarah couldn't take her eyes off the house. The rest of the neighborhood didn't matter. The feeling of emptiness, despite the visible outpouring of gifts, was overpowering.

  Maybe he had a point.

  Sarah climbed the steps. She didn't knock or ring the bell, she tried the door. Locked.

  "That would be trespassing," Conner warned.

  She didn't care. The need to go inside—to see—was overwhelming. She had to do it.

  Her feet had taken her down the steps and around the corner of the house by the time he'd caught up with her.

  "Ms. Newton—Sarah—don't push it. I'm not about to let you break the law," he cautioned.

  At the side of the house, farthest from the street, she crunched through the snow and pressed her face to the nearest window.

  Kitchen. Vase after vase of flowers lined the counters.

  Her heart skipped a beat, then started to pound frantically.

  On the center of the island was the only vase of red roses. A full dozen, at least. Clear glass vase, water almost exhausted. Several of the velvety heads drooped with the passage of time, but others still stood tall and open. Petals had fallen on the white counter, their deep crimson color like drops of blood.

  She faced Conner. "You have to call Chief Willard. There could be prints on the card… on the vase." The possibilities raced around in her head. "This may be the only break the investigation gets."

  Conner held up his hands. "Just wait a minute. We don't know that this means anything."

  But it did. She knew it. Urgency swam through her veins. "Never mind." She considered what she was about to suggest. Definitely the best strategy. "We can talk to the chief later." She leveled a take-no-prisoners look on Conner. "We need to go to the Appletons'. Now. If they've gotten the roses already…" She swallowed back the threat of defeat. "It may be too late."

  But they had to try.

  The changing expressions on Conner's face told her he wanted to say no. But the possibility that she was right wouldn't allow him to.

  "All right. But you watch what you say."

  "I understand. Let's just go."

  The ten-minute drive to Calderwood Lane had her literally suspended on the edge of her seat. Her hand was on the handle, ready to open the door and bail out of the Jeep the instant he stopped.

  Two endless miles past the big sign proclaiming Apple-ton Farms land for as far as the eye could see, he slowed for the turn.

  "That's the grandparents' home." He pointed to the rambling farmhouse on the left of the driveway. "Farther back"—he nodded toward the gravel road that served as a secondary drive beyond the paved one—"is where Alicia and her family live."

  As soon as he braked, she was out of the car. She didn't slow but he caught up with her.

  "Remember what I said," he cautioned as they climbed the steps to the front stoop.

  Yeah. Yeah. Sarah pressed the doorbell and the door opened almost immediately.

  "Yes?" An older version of the missing girl stared at Sarah a moment before shifting to Conner. "Kale," she said, acknowledging him personally.

  "We're sorry to bother you, Ms. Appleton," he said with obvious shame. "This is Sarah Newton and she'd like to ask you a few questions about Alicia."

  The hesitation that followed prevented Sarah from taking a deep breath. She needed to talk to this lady. She needed to see if red roses had been delivered.

  "Ms. Appleton," Sarah blurted, unable to bear the silence any longer, "there are questions in your daughter's case that I believe haven't been raised yet. I'd like to speak to you about those."

  Sarah was surprised that Conner didn't kick her or argue her suggestion. His silence and tolerance was all she could ask for.

  "All right." Though clearly disappointed that good news hadn't arrived, Ms. Appleton stepped back and opened the door wider. "My husband isn't home right now," she explained as Sarah and Conner entered her home. "He took the boys in to town for lunch."

  Alicia had two younger brothers who still needed parents. Sarah sympathized with how difficult this must be for them as well. "Thank you," she said with all the sincerity she could pack into the two impotent words.

  The house looked lived in. Big overstuffed furniture, a little worn. Magazines and papers lying about. A home where people gathered and enjoyed each other's company. But it felt empty. Stark and empty. And too quiet.

  Like the Gerard home.

  "Would you like something to drink?"

  Rachel Appleton's voice was empty of emotion. Her pale, drawn features spoke the same. How did one face the day knowing their child, however old, was missing, possibly dead?

  "No, ma'am." Conner shifted uncomfortably. "We'll only take a few moments of your time." The look he shot Sarah said it had better turn out that way.

  "Well." Rachel stood in the middle of the room as if she wasn't sure what to do next. "All right."

  "Ms. Appleton, have you received any gifts?" Sarah shrugged offhandedly. "Flowers?"

  Rachel's head bobbed enthusiastically as if she were glad to have a question she could answer. "Oh, lots."

  Sarah moistened her lips. "May we see them?"

  Confusion lined the older woman's brow but then she gestured to the hall behind her. "They're in Lici's bedroom." She managed a shaky smile. "That's what we call her."

  Sarah nodded. Rachel Appleton's next hesitation had Sarah ready to explode with tension.

  The lady finally turned and led the way to her missing daughter's room. She opened the door. The light was already on inside. As with the exterior of the Gerard home, Alicia's room was filled with flowers and cards and stuffed toys. Sarah scanned the vases… her heart thumped harder and harder as she moved from one to the next. Dozens of mixed bouquets of pastel colors, some richer, bolder colors like purple and orange. Lots of whites and creams. Rows of pink, lavender, and yellow tulips.

  If the roses had already been delivered…

  Her gaze lit on a vase. The long-stemmed roses stood tall and proud amid the less revered varieties. The water level in the vase was barely an inch from the top. No fallen petals, no bowed heads.

  These flowers were fresh… newly delivered.

  "The red roses," Sarah said, barely resisting the impulse to run over and look at the card, "when did you receive those?"

  "This morning
." Rachel faked a smile. "They're very beautiful, but the sender forgot to sign the card."

  "May I?" Sarah gestured to the flowers.

  "Newton," Conner admonished.

  Rachel blinked, the confusion was back. "It's all right." She swallowed with effort. "Alicia will love them. She loves flowers. We always got her pink ones on her birthday." Rachel's voice quivered as she said the last. "But the red is pretty, too."

  Sarah heard Conner say, "They're very beautiful."

  She dropped to her knees in front of the vase that sat on the floor amid the other arrangements. Her pulse thundered, had her blood rushing. The card wasn't in an envelope. Just tucked loosely amid the greenery and baby's breath.

  Her fingers cold as ice as if the blood wasn't making it that far, Sarah used her fingernails to grasp the very corner and lift up the card just enough to see the written note.

  Deepest regrets…

  No signature.

  She released the note, let it settle back amid the foliage, and pushed to her feet. "Ms. Appleton, do you recall which floral service delivered the roses?" Sarah's gaze connected with the lady's.

  Rachel thought a moment, then shook her head. "They were on the stoop when my husband and boys were leaving. I'm not sure anyone rang the bell. I called Deputy Brighton like I was supposed to. She said it was okay to keep them."

  This could be nothing. Sarah knew that for certain. Just because Marta Hanover recalled red roses from twenty years ago, and because a dozen had been delivered to Valerie Gerard's family more than a week ago… meant nothing.

  But it didn't feel like nothing.

  Conner sent her a firm look. "We should go."

  "Did you see?" Rachel asked. She moved across the crowded-with-gifts room. "Alicia's senior portrait arrived yesterday." She admired the large portrait that sat on an elaborate stand. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

  Sarah studied the image in the portrait. The girl was stunning. She wore a delicate necklace that sported a small shimmering crown. "She's very beautiful. The necklace is lovely, too."

  "That was a Christmas present," her mother explained, clearly excited to talk about something besides the fact that her daughter was missing. "She's won so many beauty pageants, her friends nicknamed her the queen." Rachel touched the flawless portrait, smiled.