Emily set a piping-hot coffee in front of him. “Sugar? Cream?”
“Black.” He brought his lips to the rim and took a quick sip to test the temperature.
“It’s probably going to be a few hours before you’ll be able to drive out. I have a coffee cake in the oven and a bowl of fresh fruit. I can make some eggs, too.” Emily was studying him for the slightest tell.
“Wow. Impressive. A real bed-and-breakfast.”
There was no tell. He was calm and cheery. Not an ounce of guilt. Her heart sunk. What if he was just using her? Of course he is. Who spends Thanksgiving with a first date and total strangers? Now that she was single again, she really needed to brush up on her dating savvy.
“I was wondering if you could AirDrop the pictures you took yesterday at Anna’s? Before we forget.”
“Of course.” Dr. Payton was careful to hold his phone away from her. “Turn on your Bluetooth.”
She did, and soon the pictures came through. She pressed Accept. Dr. Payton set his phone on the counter, the screen now black.
“Thanks. These are great. The very first pictures I have of me and Anna.” She sprinkled sugar in her voice.
The kitchen timer beeped. Emily pulled the cake from the oven and set it on a hot pad. “It just needs five minutes to cool, and then we can cut it.” She set a plate and fork on the counter. She couldn’t stand to be in the presence of this liar one more second. “Fruit first?”
“I’d love some.”
She scooped some into a small bowl and slid it toward him with a force that knocked his coffee cup down like a bowling pin. The coffee spilled over the counter and onto Dr. Payton’s lap. The mug landed with a crash and splintered on the floor.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I’m a klutz!” she exclaimed.
“Don’t worry.” Dr. Payton bent down to pick up the pieces, and Emily took the opportunity to switch his phone with hers, pocketing it in the kangaroo pouch of her pullover sweat shirt.
“I’m gonna grab a couple towels to mop this up.” Emily disappeared into the laundry room off the kitchen. She quickly pulled his phone out. Darn. It had gone into lock mode. She tried a few generic sequences. No go. Then, remembering the address of his building, she punched in the number. Access! She clicked onto the photo app and found the photos she was after. There were at least three dozen he had captured from the Parkman case file. Snake times a hundred! She deleted every single one, before emerging from the laundry with a couple of old towels.
“Here you go.” She tossed him the towels. As he knelt to the floor to mop up the coffee, she deftly placed his phone back on the counter in place of hers.
“Oh, look. There’s the snow plow. Wow, they’re really on top of it today. Usually takes hours,” Emily said, pointing to the road, where the massive machine sent a wave of powder into the ditch. Dr. Payton bobbed his head up, and Emily could see the relief on his face.
“I think I’m going to head off before we get any more snow.”
“I totally understand. I’d probably do the same thing.” Emily couldn’t wait to get rid of him.
“Thanks for everything, Emily. I enjoyed our time. And I’m looking forward to the football game tomorrow.”
“Me, too. If I don’t get snowed in,” she said.
“So, I’ll call you later and we can make plans?”
“You bet,” she said with a calm smile.
Emily walked him to the front door. He gave her a hug, but she didn’t hug back.
“I don’t …” he said. “Did I miss something here?”
“What do you mean?” She liked that she was channeling her inner Scarlett O’Hara. She wished she could be there to see the look on his face when he opened his photo app.
“I thought maybe there was something between us. Sorry if I misinterpreted.”
“We should probably keep things professional for now.” She pressed her lips together with a quick raise of her eyebrows to show her absolute confidence in this decision.
He nodded. There was definitely disappointment in that frown this time.
“Drive safely,” she said.
He slipped out the door, and it took some effort for him to shuffle his way through the slippery terrain to his car. And when he got there he would have to warm it up and brush off a foot of snow before he could drive away. Emily didn’t wait to wave goodbye. She shut and locked the door behind him.
41
“Emily, I need to tell you something.” Delia Andrew’s urgent command over the phone pulled Emily out of her lazy afternoon nap.
Forty-five minutes later, Delia arrived at the front door, a powerhouse of purpose in a cherry-red puffer jacket. She stomped the snow off her boots and entered the foyer.
“How was Thanksgiving?” said Delia.
“It took an interesting turn,” said Emily, hanging Delia’s coat in the front closet. “That Dr. Charles Payton is a snake. I caught him taking pics of my ME files with his phone!” She handed Delia a spare pair of pink slippers and marched into the kitchen with Delia trailing behind.
“What do you mean, doll?”
“I caught him in Dad’s office stealing photos of the Parkman file?”
“He was here? Overnight?” Delia’s eyebrows raised.
“It wasn’t like that.” Emily tsked.
Delia sat herself on the barstool at the kitchen counter. “Well, this confirms it. I did some checking on Dr. Payton with a couple of my colleagues. He has a track record of ‘borrowing’ research to construct journal articles. It didn’t cross my mind he would do that to you, seeing as he had an interest in you.”
“That’s exactly why he took an interest in me.” Emily grinned. “Don’t worry. I took care of him, Hartford style.”
“You are your father’s daughter,” Delia said with an approving smile.
Emily fired up the flame under a teakettle on the stove. “Green tea?”
“Read my mind.”
Emily prepped loose tea into two tea bags.
“Where’s Nick?” asked Delia in a delicate tone that shifted Emily’s gaze to her.
“How should I know?”
Delia sighed. “We need to find him.”
“Why? Is something wrong?”
“This morning Pepper Cave Construction was doing more excavation on the site where Parkman’s bones were found, and something else came up.”
“If it were more bones, I would have been called,” said Emily.
“No. Maybe worse. It’s a letterman jacket. The name Larson is on the back.”
“What?”
“And if that’s not enough, Nick’s graduation year is on the sleeve. And the initials NL in black marker on the inner tag.” Delia’s gaze didn’t move from Emily’s as her brain struggled to put the information together.
“What was it doing out there?”
“When the foreman found it, he called the sheriff’s office. Nick couldn’t be reached. Not even on his cell.”
Emily felt a cold shudder run up her spine. What did this mean?
“The cop on duty processed it and placed it in the evidence locker.”
“How did you find out about this?”
“I know the foreman’s wife, Melany. She stopped in the bakery this morning shortly after her husband found it.”
Even a snowstorm couldn’t stop the Freeport gossip train from speeding along its tracks. Emily paced the kitchen. Where could he be?
“This doesn’t look good for him,” Delia said.
“Do you think he killed Sandi Parkman, Delia?”
Delia shrugged. “I don’t want to believe that any more than you do.”
“They were friends, but—” Emily’s tone wavered. But this was corollary evidence. Not good.
Emily grabbed her phone and dialed his cell. The other line rang until voice mail picked up. Emily didn’t bother to leave a message. She pressed end.
“What do we do, Delia?”
The doorbell rang.
“Maybe that’s Nick!” Emily
darted for the door. But when she opened it, a familiar figure dressed in a long black wool coat and suit greeted her.
“Ben Bishop! Aren’t you supposed to be in Phoenix?”
“Good afternoon, Dr. Hartford. How are you?”
His presence made her panic. Why would he show up dressed like an undertaker? Oh no! Cathy! “Is everything okay? Is your mom okay?”
“Yes, yes, she’s great. Never better.”
“What are you doing in Freeport?”
“Lily and I drove back this week,” he said. “She missed her family here, and with the baby coming, she—well, we—wanted to be closer.”
“And your mom?” Emily bobbed her head around Ben to get a glance at his car.
“She’s in Phoenix. Loves it. We did a house swap. We’re planning to go down for a few weeks every winter.”
“I see. I’ll have to give her a call.”
“If you can catch her at home.”
“What do you mean?”
“She jumped right into retired life. Water aerobics. Golf. Pickle ball. Shopping trips across the border. Happy hours at the community pool.”
Emily was glad to hear she was moving on.
“And let me guess, you took over Bishop and Schulz?”
“I did. Guess I kinda missed Freeport, too.”
“Being called up in the middle of the night? Dealing with feuding family members? Waiting for death to pay your bills?” Emily was happy to hear the business would stay in the family.
Ben chuckled. “I know. But you get it. We’re there to help people in their greatest time of need.”
Emily smiled. He had Cathy’s optimism. And he would do just fine carrying on the family torch in Freeport. “Sorry, I should have offered to let you in.”
Ben procured a paper from his inside coat pocket. “No need. I came to deliver this. I just need your signature.”
Emily unfolded the page. As she scanned it, her brow furrowed. “A release for cremation of Sandi Parkman’s body?”
“Yes. It was faxed to me this morning by the police.”
Emily looked at the signature. She couldn’t make it out. “Who signed this?”
Ben pointed at the squiggle of a signature. “Sheriff Larson.”
“How can you tell?”
“See?” He pointed to the name. “That’s an N, and the second word starts with an L.”
She didn’t see. “Were you there when he signed it?”
“No.”
“Did you call him to confirm?”
He shrugged. “It’s on police letterhead.”
Delia looked over her shoulder and shook her head, confirming what Emily had already deduced. It was forged.
“I don’t mean to rush you, but it’s opening day and the guys are gonna head out again at dusk. I missed the morning hunt, and I really don’t wanna miss this one.”
Hunting.
“He’s at his blind,” said Delia, reading Emily’s mind.
“But where’s that?”
“I have no idea.”
“Look, Ben, I’m not signing off on this release for cremation.” Emily took the orders and ripped them in two. “This isn’t Nick’s signature or official police letterhead. I don’t want that body released yet.”
Ben’s face scrunched up.
“I … I … can you do that?”
“She sure can,” said Delia.
“Happy hunting, Ben,” said Emily, closing the door.
42
Delia left, and Emily paced the house until she couldn’t stand being alone with her thoughts any longer. Then she dialed Nick’s number twenty times. Finally, she plopped down in her father’s armchair and closed her eyes. The stack of evidence against Nick was a sandbag smothering her every moment she sat in silence.
Oh Dad. What would you do here? What am I missing?
She lay on the armchair motionless while she tried to still her mind. After wrestling away a string of unhelpful worry thoughts, Emily focused on inhales and exhales. It was a technique Dr. Claiborne had taught her when she was facing a particularly challenging procedure. It helped her stay in the present and keep her mind from wandering five steps ahead.
As she breathed, her mind slowly unblocked, and soon she recognized a small voice as it trotted across her thoughts like a ticker on the bottom of a screen. People don’t change, Dad had always said. Look for the patterns in behavior. They are consistent in how they think and act. We don’t usually see the real person in public. We see their persona.
Her mind shifted from Nick and his jacket to Tiffani.
After Sandi’s disappearance, Tiffani had gone from being the good, studious little sister to a rebel, high school dropout, and stripper.
Tiffani had created a persona to deal with the trauma. A big, splashy persona. But what was the specific trauma? What was it that had caused Tiffani to change so much after Sandi’s disappearance?
People suffered deaths all the time and they didn’t turn from moral to iniquitous without significant reasonable cause.
What terrible thing had happened to Tiffani?
43
Emily wrapped up a plate of coffee cake and hopped in her car. She drove straight to Mrs. Parkman’s home without calling first. Homebound was the word that came to mind when Emily got to the door. She peered into the small window and saw Shirley Parkman wrapped in an afghan on the couch staring at a game show on TV. It looked like she hadn’t moved for days. Would Emily find cobwebs fastening her to the seat cushions?
Emily rang the bell, but it didn’t sound. She rapped on the door four times, shaking Mrs. Parkman from her trance. Emily waved through the window.
Mrs. Parkman labored to come to the door.
“Hi, Mrs. Parkman. I’ve been thinking about you with all this snow and thought I’d stop by to make sure you’re okay and bring you a treat.”
“Thank you, dear. Would you like to come in?”
Absolutely.
Emily stepped in and almost gagged. The house smelled of stale popcorn and moldy mushrooms and body odor and urine. Is this how she spends every day? Is this how she spent Thanksgiving?
“How was your holiday?” She didn’t know why she felt the need to raise her voice.
“Shhh. Quiet. I’m not deaf,” said Mrs. Parkman, leading Emily to the living room. She lifted a stack of newspapers from a rocking chair and pointed. “There you go.”
Emily sat, cringing when she slid back in the chair and something sticky tugged at her pant leg from the seat cushion.
“Did you have Thanksgiving with Tiffani?” said Emily.
“No. She had to work,” said Mrs. Parkman, settling into her couch. “When I saw you at the door, I was hoping you had some news about Sandi.”
“I wish I did. We’re all working very hard on the case.” Emily handed her the plate of coffee cake.
“Thank you. Just set it there on the coffee table.”
Emily looked for a spot, landing on a stack of magazines, the top one dated nine years ago.
“I was wondering about Tiffani. You said you remember she went to a friend’s house that day after school. And you said that the friend was kinda tiny and scraggly. Any chance that name came to mind since we last talked?”
Mrs. Parkman’s attention was back on the game show. “What’s that, hon?”
Emily wanted to tell the television, Shhh. Quiet. It was at least ten decibels louder than it needed to be.
“Tiffani’s friend. Where she went after school the day Sandi disappeared?”
“What about her dear?” said Mrs. Parkman.
“Do you remember who that friend was?”
Mrs. Parkman shook her head. “No, no, I haven’t got a clue.”
Emily smiled. “I just keep thinking about Tiffani. You said she changed a lot after Sandi’s death. Can you tell me about that?”
“I dunno. I guess we all have our ways of grieving. I just kinda left her alone. She was one of those self-sufficient types.”
Emily
nodded. She could tell this wasn’t going to be an easy nut to crack.
“Did she start hanging around a different set of friends?”
“Couldn’t say. Like I said, I really didn’t know her friends.” Mrs. Parkman leaned forward and peeled back the foil on the cake. Her chunky thumb and forefinger selected a piece, and she crammed the whole thing in her mouth. “I was working a lot in those days.”
Maybe this was one big, fat waste of time.
Mrs. Parkman chomped away, making no attempt at conversation as Emily patiently watched her stare mindlessly at five minutes of commercials.
Mrs. Parkman went for the last piece, and stuffed half of it into her maw. It didn’t seem as if she had anything helpful to offer about her daughter’s disappearance. Emily cleared her throat to excuse herself from Mrs. Parkman, when a commercial for skinny potato chips cued up. Mrs. Parkman watched for about fifteen seconds before her glossy eyes found focus on Emily.
“Skinny chips. You know what? I do remember this one friend Tiffani had. Skinny Minnie,” said Mrs. Parkman laughing. “Skinny Minnie.”
“Was that her real name?” Emily asked.
“That’s what Tiffani called her.” Mrs. Parkman turned back to the screen. Her recollection was final.
Skinny Minnie. Emily rolled it around her brain a few times to seal it into her memory.
“Is that where she went that day … when Sandi disappeared?”
“You asked if I knew any names. There you go.” The second half of the cake disappeared. “That was delicious.”
“Thank you.” Emily smiled politely. “Does she still live in Freeport?”
Mrs. Parkman shrugged. “I gotta hit the crapper.” Mrs. Parkman pushed herself off the couch and tottered into a hall, using the walls to steady herself. Emily heard the door shut and rose from her seat to take a little tour of the living room. This place could definitely be a featured home on that TV reality show about hoarders. She found the remote tucked into the couch cushion where Mrs. Parkman had just been sitting and notched the volume down on the TV. When she did, a soft scritch-scritch turned her head to the opposite wall. Scritch. Scritch-scritch. She followed the noise, moving across the room. Scritch-scritch. Scritch. Then it stopped. She froze in place, listening. Just when she was tempted to believe her ears had deceived her, the scratching started up again at the base of the wall. Scritch-scritch-scritch. Emily’s skin crawled. Scritch-scritch. Mrs. Parkman had rats!
Secret Remains Page 23