I settled across from Beth and pulled out a large sketchpad, a T-square, and a ruler. I redrew the rooms of the house, making the measurements neater. Using the crime-scene photos, I placed Adam Sinopa’s body along with his wife’s. After I finished, I glanced at Beth. “Well?”
“You believed you were mistaken about the timing and location of Holly’s and Jacob’s murders. You also wanted me to look at murders with a child missing sometime in the last thirty-two years.”
“Right.”
“So I made the original search parameters the Pacific Northwest, last thirty-two years, and murders involving a child. That took me to a couple of years ago in The Dalles, Oregon.”
“Wait! You should have found Holly’s and Jacob’s murders!”
“No. Not anything even similar. Not to be insensitive, but when you came home that day at fourteen and saw all the blood, did you . . . um . . . see any bodies?”
“Nooo.”
“Where do you think all that blood came from?”
I closed my eyes and thought about that day. The sky was clear, the day hot—
“Are you going to sleep?”
“Um, no. I was giving myself a cognitive interview.”
“Ohhh.” Beth nodded knowingly. “They talk about that all the time on the television show Criminal Minds.”
I grimaced. “And they always act like it’s a terrible ordeal, something to be avoided, terrifying even. It’s just a way to help someone concentrate by using memory techniques.”
“Would you consider teaching me how to do it?”
“Sure. You can help me.” I found a blank piece of paper and wrote for a few minutes, then handed her the notes. “Just ask these questions. Speak slowly and wait for an answer.”
Beth took the outline and read, “Close your eyes and relax. I want you to think about that day. Start at the beginning and tell me everything that happened, even if you think it’s unimportant.”
“Okay.” I closed my eyes. The old house creaked and moaned around us. The light fragrance of Beth’s perfume mingled with the smell of bread.
“Tell me about the kind of day it was.”
I took a deep breath. “The sky was clear, phthalo blue, with a hint of yellow . . . from a forest fire somewhere. The day hot. June, a hot June day. I was . . . outside. Walking up a hill. With a . . . paper sack. Heavy paper sack, and I’m sweating and thirsty.” I shifted in my seat, the room suddenly warm.
“How do you feel?”
“Confused. Holly sent me to the store for . . . soup. Tomato soup, which I loathe. And macaroni and cheese. And milk. A gallon of milk. But . . .” I chewed my lip, thinking. “But we had just gone to the store, so why did I have to? It was a long walk. And I couldn’t see the rabbits in the hutch. Maybe they were all lying down because it was too hot.”
“Tell me about the rabbits.”
“Jacob loved them. He’d sneak in the house with one when Holly was gone. Holly said we couldn’t have an inside pet.”
“Now, Gwen, you’re a camera on the inside of the house, recording everything. The camera picks you up at the front door. What does the camera see next?”
“I reach for the screen door, but I don’t want to open it. Because . . . it’s too quiet. But I open the door and step into the room.” I turned my head, looking at that long-ago scene. “Everything is red. Carpet, sofa, walls. Furniture . . . the coffee table is overturned . . . a chair tipped over, broken vase . . .” My voice caught. “Smells like copper. And . . . guts. And stinks like an outhouse.”
Breathing hard, I spread my arms. “He found us! Like Holly said! I dropped the groceries. The milk spilled on the blood . . . and . . . and I turned to run . . . and I stopped . . . then I ran as fast as I could.” I opened my eyes and jumped to my feet. Sweat dampened my shirt. “I’m done.”
“What made you stop?” Beth asked.
“What?”
“Before you ran, what made you stop?”
“Because I saw . . . because I saw something. In the corner of the room.”
Beth waited.
“It was brown. Small. One of the rabbits.” I looked at Beth. “Holly must have found Jacob with one of the rabbits in the house and killed it. From the amount of blood, she must have killed all of them.” I picked up a pencil and tapped the surface of the table. “Jacob was only four. Could Holly and Jacob still be alive?”
“I’ll start looking for an alive Holly and Jacob next. After The Dalles.”
My heart thundered in my chest. “No. Wait. What about earlier?”
“Nothing. At least in that time period.”
“That can’t be!”
Beth stared at me, mouth open.
“There has to be a murder, a bloody murder of two people thirty-two years ago. The child, a girl, went missing.”
“Gwen, you’re as white as a sheet. Why are you so convinced this happened?”
“Because the two people killed were my parents. And the child who disappeared is me.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“WHAT?” BETH ASKED.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I sat and made an effort to relax. “When I was four or so, a man broke into our home and murdered my parents.”
“Oh, Gwen! Were you there?”
“No. I was with Holly. She was the sitter, the one who found the bodies. She described the blood, the carnage, so many times. She said the killer was after me. She said she would hide me, keep me safe, but I could never tell anyone who I was or he’d find me.” My armpits were damp and my stomach hurt.
“Are you telling me your babysitter took you from your parents?”
I stared at her, drumming my pencil against the table. “I . . . I never thought to question her. She loved me. Cared for me. That’s why I called her my sorta-mom. Until the day I came home and found her dead . . . or at least I thought she’d been killed.”
Beth reached over and took the pencil out of my hand. “You’re going to scar the table.” She set the pencil down. “You made a big assumption that Holly was murdered. Considering I found no evidence that your parents were killed, you might want to think about Holly kidnapping and brainwashing you.”
Blinking rapidly, I wiped my palms on my slacks. “No. It wasn’t like that. We were always on the move, town to town, state to state. She was always afraid, always watching out for someone to take too much notice—”
“Of course she would be—if she’d kidnapped you.” Beth reached over and touched my arm.
I jerked away. “No! She told me if anything happened to her that I must run. Change my name. Never tell anyone because he’d found her. When I came home that day, I believed it all. I would be next unless I ran. So I did. Hitched a ride to Montana and hid out at Dave’s dad’s place. When they found me, I didn’t say a word.”
Beth got up and started to pace. “Dave’s dad was the sheriff. He would have looked for your folks—”
“He did, but he didn’t know where to look. Like I said, Holly moved us around a lot, and I was homeschooled.”
“He should have been able to track you through one of the homeschool organizations.”
I gave her a wry smile. “Not officially homeschooled. Dave’s dad actively searched for any records for almost two years, hired a private investigator, contacted different agencies—”
“You knew he was doing all this and didn’t tell him the truth?”
“I didn’t know at the time. Dave told me much later, after his dad died. He told me his dad wanted to adopt me, but officially I didn’t exist, so he simply raised me like a daughter. Dave became my big brother.”
“Gwen, this doesn’t make sense. I found no record of your parents’ murders. And even if they were murdered, your family, friends, neighbors . . . people would have gone crazy looking for you.” Beth stopped pacing. “Didn’t you wonder?”
“No!” I said with more force than I meant to. “Holly wouldn’t have lied to me about my parents’ deaths.”
My friend slowly
lowered herself to a chair. The silence stretched between us.
Surely she could see why I’d never looked into my childhood. It was bracketed by murder. The murder of my parents at the beginning and of Holly at the end. I put that time of my life in a box and vowed never to open it. But now the facts were staring me in the face. Holly had lied to me. Everything I knew, everything I believed for those many years, needed to be pulled from the box, researched, and reassembled.
I reached out to grab the armrest and knocked against a glass vase on the side table. The vase fell on the floor and shattered, the sound abnormally loud in the quiet room.
We both leaped up. Winston charged from the bedroom. I caught his ruff before he could walk in the glass and led him to his mesh kennel. The dog slunk inside, making sure I was aware of his displeasure. By the time I’d returned to the living area, Beth had brought the waste bin from the corner of the room and was gingerly picking up the pieces. When we’d removed all the larger shards, Beth said, “I’ll borrow a vacuum cleaner.” She stood. “Have faith, m’friend. We’ll get to the bottom of what happened to you as a child.”
“Why can’t my life be easy and straightforward for a change?” I threw my arms in the air. “Cancer, divorce . . . now this . . .”
“Whoa, there. Since when have you started looking at a glass half full?” She studied my face for a moment, then squeezed my shoulder. “I’ve told you often enough that I believe everything happens for a reason. I also believe that we go through seasons in our lives, some good, some bad.”
“And this season?”
“Maybe it’s your time to search.”
“And after that?” I asked softly.
“I’d say a time to mend. I don’t know what God’s plans are for you, but I do know all the trials you’re going through are molding you into an amazing person.” She left, closing the door behind her.
I curled up on the sofa and thought about her words. Beth returned shortly with a vacuum cleaner, plugged it in, and cleaned up the last of the glass. “There now, good as new.”
“Thank you, Beth.”
“For vacuuming? Not a problem.”
“For your friendship. And your wisdom.”
Beth’s cheeks turned pink. “Ahhh. I’m not so wise. I just have a good source.”
A whine from my bedroom reminded me I’d evicted Winston until after the glass cleanup. I strolled to the bedroom and released the dog from his kennel, then returned to the living area we shared.
“Now.” Beth glanced at her stack of research covering the table. “Back to your parents. I guess I have to ask you . . . do you want to know the truth? Do you want to find out what happened?”
I wandered across the room. Did I want to know? What if . . . ? Sinking onto the sofa, I curled my legs under me. Winston jumped up next to me, but I didn’t correct him. I wrapped my arms around his furry ruff and gave him a hug. “Yes. I need to know. As soon as possible.”
“And your work on this case?”
“Don’t worry. The case has priority—”
My cell phone rang. The caller ID said Seth Kus. “Hello?”
“Just got a call from the casino. You had an appointment for an interview—”
“Doggone it!” I looked at my watch. “I was doing some . . . um . . . background research and the time got away from me. I’m on my way.” I disconnected and looked at my friend. “I am so in trouble. I have to run. See if you can find anything that happened to a family with a child thirty-two years ago.” I dashed for the door. “And check the history of this house and the guest book for a murder, or anyone named Gwen.”
“Wait! Was your name always Gwen?”
I paused and thought for a moment. “Yes.”
Assistant manager Peter Otskai let me use his office for the interviews of his staff. The first was the head of housekeeping, a pretty, slender woman of about forty named Kim.
“Please be comfortable.” I pointed to a chair. “May I get you something to drink?”
“I’d love a Coke.” She sat and crossed her legs.
“A Coke.” I stared at her blankly.
She smiled. “In the casino, to your left.”
Grabbing my purse, I stepped from the room and looked around the pinging-ringing casino. I spotted the soft drink machine and walked over. Two men stood in front of me, deciding on a drink. While I waited, I thought about what Beth and I discussed. Did Holly kidnap me and lie to me for ten years? Could my parents still be alive?
“Are you going to make a selection?” a woman asked.
The men had left. Why am I here? I started walking back to Peter’s office. Did my folks look for me, miss me? Or was Holly telling the truth? Is there a connection between the current murders and the murders of my parents so long ago? But why couldn’t Beth find out about it?
Coke.
Turning, I rushed over to the machine and bought the soda.
The interviews dragged on, with a maintenance worker pointing out he’d given me the same information three times in a row. The final scheduled interview ended and I glanced at my sparse notes. I’d learned nothing new. The staff hated Adam. No one sent the threatening letters. No one saw anything. They all felt bad about Beatrice.
I drove as fast as I could back to the bed-and-breakfast. I didn’t want to call Beth about her results. I wanted to hear them in person, but the closer I got, the more my heart pounded.
Beth was outside with Winston when I arrived. I wanted to ask her then and there, but several people were wandering around the grounds and I needed privacy. After my dog inspected and watered several trees and one car tire, we moved to the game room and I shut the door. “Well?”
“How’d the interviews go? Did anyone lie? I love it when you can figure out when someone is lying.”
“Lie? No . . . I mean, I don’t know.”
Beth slowly sat at the table. “Well. That’s a first.”
“Let it go, Beth. I . . . just . . . I need to know what you found out.”
Her eyebrows furrowed, but she didn’t speak and instead pulled a lavender-tinted notebook in front of her. “My research work with Microsoft gave me access to a lot of different . . . people with . . . skills . . . um . . . Just don’t ask about my sources.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Knowing the year made a huge difference. I’m not surprised that neither the private investigator nor Dave’s dad found the information. With a ten-year gap between events, they probably didn’t look far enough back.”
“And Holly was very good at hiding by then.”
“I looked at every event that happened to a family in the year you said you . . . um . . . left with your sitter. I stayed within the Northwest. I found two car accidents, one murder-suicide, and a plane crash.” She glanced at her writing. “I focused on the plane crash. Four people died, a man, a woman, the pilot, and a four-year-old child.”
“That can’t be it—”
“I’m not done. The plane went down in the wilderness area southeast of here in the Clearwater National Forest. It took them a bit to find the wreckage and recover the bodies. All but the little girl. They never found her body. They assumed . . . well, there are cougars, grizzlies, wolves, you get the picture.”
My legs felt like cooked noodles. I sat before I fell down.
Beth folded her arms and looked down for a moment as if praying. “One final thing. The girl’s name was Gwen.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“A PLANE CRASH.” MY MIND WENT BLANK. A STELLER’S jay scolded from the white pine outside. Faint voices came from another part of the house. Dust motes floated in the light pouring in from the window. Winston shifted and sighed in his sleep. The odor of baking bread drifted up from the kitchen below us.
Beth cleared her throat.
I looked at her. “I have to start over.”
“What do you mean?”
“My life—from when I was four to when I ran away at fourteen—was a lie. Everything was a lie. I h
ave to find the truth about those ten years. And what really happened to my parents. And to Holly and Jacob.”
Beth tapped her pad of paper with a manicured nail. “You are right in the middle of a homicide investigation.”
“Yes.” Standing, I retrieved my notes from the interviews and the redrawn crime scene. “I’ll get these off to the chief.” I placed the notes on the table. “How strange is it that my decision to take the Sinopa case led me to search, and discover, my own history—or should I say, personal mystery? If it hadn’t been for that silly Lamb Chop.”
“Lamb chop? Something you ate?”
“No.” I strolled into the bedroom, grabbed the puppet and the sketchpad with the comparisons between the Sinopas’ case and my own, then returned. “Lamb Chop puppet. It was in Beatrice’s room.” I opened the sketchpad. “I was struck by the similarities between the crime scene at the Sinopas’ house and the one I thought I saw the day I ran.”
Beth read down the list. “It does seem strange. I mean, bloody crime scene and the proximity of the locations don’t jump out at me, but the hatchet, puppet, and age of the child involved do seem to stretch coincidence to the limit.”
“Do you think . . . Is it possible . . . that someone could be behind both events?”
Beth scrunched up her face. “You mean, like Holly?”
“Or Jacob.”
“He was just four—”
“Okay, maybe I should use a different word. Not so much behind, but . . . aware. The slaughter of the rabbits would have strongly impacted his young mind. He’d be in his twenties now.”
“Looks like I’d better find both Holly and Jacob as soon as possible.”
“Right, and see if you can order another sheet of foam board, a really big one. And some pushpins in different colors.”
After typing up my notes from the interviews, I e-mailed them to the chief, then dialed his number.
He answered almost before the phone rang. “Kus.”
“Hi. This is Gwen.”
“Gwen.” His voice warmed considerably. “I was just going to call you. We found a child’s body.”
I sucked in a deep breath and looked over at the teddy bear propped on the desk. “You found Beatrice?”
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