So, not Joe Danvers’s murderer. Disappointment warred with mild amusement. All of this for a country singer? “I see. Thanks for letting me know. And good luck with this.” I waved a hand vaguely toward the rest of the crowd. “I’m heading inside to talk to a detective about something else, but I’ll let him know about your displeasure.”
“You can try,” the woman said. “They aren’t letting anyone in.”
I was hoping that since I wasn’t there about Travis McCoy, they’d let me in to see Cavanaugh. I mean, I was there about a murder, which had to take precedence, right?
I worked my way through the crowd, avoiding flying arms and purses, as the women continued to shout. Now that I knew what I was listening for, I noted many of them were screaming, “Free McCoy!” over and over again. Unfortunately, they weren’t yelling in any sort of synchronized way, so it ended up sounding like a muddled mess. I had a feeling that a lot of them had imbibed their favorite beverages well before the show had started.
Since ninety percent of the people here were women, it did make me wonder what kind of songs Travis sang. Based on the song title the woman had given me, I was guessing he specialized in love songs. But even then, I’d have thought more men would be present.
Nearby, a woman hoisted a poster in the air that told me all I needed to know about the country singer.
Travis McCoy couldn’t be much older than twenty, twenty-two at the most. His jeans were two sizes too small, and he stood gazing adoringly over his shoulder, so you could get a good look at his backside. His shirt . . . well, let’s just say it wasn’t so much a shirt than it was netting. If it wasn’t for the cowboy hat and boots, and the acoustic guitar in his hands, I might have mistaken him for a stripper.
It took some doing, but I finally made it to the doors. The women who’d been trying to force their way inside had backed off and were shouting from a nearby van decorated with more Travis McCoy images. A quick look at his bare torso plastered on the side of the vehicle told me it was unlikely the guy even knew what a shirt was, let alone ever wore one.
“Hi,” I said, approaching the two cops. I didn’t know either man. “I’m here to see Detective Cavanaugh.” I had to raise my voice to be heard over the shouting behind me.
“Get back with the others,” the first cop said. His nametag read GRACE.
“I’m not with them,” I said, jerking a thumb toward the other women. “I’m here about a murder.”
“Was someone killed?” the other officer—Officer Kang, according to his nametag—asked. His gaze moved to the crowd, like he thought there might be a body amongst them.
“Not at the concert, but earlier. I’m here about Joseph Danvers’s murder. He was killed just the other day. Detective Cavanaugh has the case. I have some information to deliver to him.”
The two officers shared a look. Officer Grace was the one who spoke. “Is it an emergency?” he asked. “As you can see, it’s pretty crazy here at the moment.”
“Kinda.” I cringed as I said it.
“It’s as bad inside as it is out here,” Kang said, glancing over his shoulder. “It might take a bit to find him.”
I heaved a sigh. Leave it to a celebrity to shut down an entire police station. And of all the times. I wasn’t sure how Detective Cavanaugh was going to be able to focus on his investigation with this circus happening just outside his door.
“That’s all right,” I said. “I can wait.”
“All right,” Officer Kang said. “Stay here. I’ll check to see if the detective is available, but I can’t promise anything. We are a little swamped, as you can see.”
“Thank you.” If there hadn’t been an army behind me, I might have hugged him.
Grace muttered something under his breath that was lost to the cacophony as Kang hurried inside. There was a surge as some of the women started forward, but it subsided as the doors closed and Officer Grace put a hand on the butt of his gun.
“Guess that singer’s a pretty big deal, huh?” I asked, hoping to break the ice a little.
Grace glanced at me and scowled. “Wife loves him. She’s going to kill me when she finds out I had a hand in this.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I said. “Did he really punch someone?”
A smile tried to form at the corners of Grace’s mouth, but he managed to keep it at bay. “It was that woman’s husband.” He nodded his head toward one of the irate women standing by the van. “McCoy got a little too cozy with her before his show and Mr. Mock didn’t approve. Mock got aggressive and McCoy popped him one square on the nose. If we hadn’t been there working security, McCoy would have been in a world of trouble.”
“Other guy bigger?” I asked.
This time, Officer Grace did allow himself a smile. “About twice his size and three times as mean.”
The door opened, but it wasn’t Officer Kang or Detective Cavanaugh who emerged.
“Oh! Mrs. Denton.” Officer Reg Perry looked surprised to see me. “I wasn’t expecting you here.” He had to shout over the increased volume as the women started chanting in earnest.
“I’m waiting for Detective Cavanaugh. I need to talk to him about his case.”
Officer Perry’s expression turned sympathetic. “You won’t be able to talk to him right now,” he said. “But I can try to pass word on to him, if you want.”
I frowned. “Is it about the country singer?”
Officer Perry shook his head. “No, he’s not in. Is it something I can help you with?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. I was glad to see Officer Perry, but I wasn’t sure how he could help me. From what little I knew about him, I took him for a kind, gentle man. His gray hair stood out in stark contrast to his dark skin. He looked stressed, but his demeanor was still friendly.
Something shattered in the parking lot—it sounded like a glass bottle—and the noise died down as everyone turned to look. A single voice rose in the silence.
“Sorry.”
The shouting picked right back up.
“Let’s take this to the side,” Perry said, guiding me away from the front doors and around the corner of the building where it was quieter. “I can’t wait until this gets sorted out and we can get back to normal.”
“You and me both,” I said. I knew he was referring to Travis McCoy’s arrest, but I was thinking of something else entirely.
“So, is there anything I can do for you, Mrs. Denton?”
“Please, call me Liz.”
“Then I’m Reg.” He smiled. “I’ll be retired soon enough anyway.”
It felt strange calling a cop by his first name, but I obliged. “Okay, Reg. It’s about Joe Danvers,” I said. “I’ve heard a few things I thought Detective Cavanaugh would want to know.”
Reg’s expression turned sad. “It’s a real shame about Joe. He wasn’t a bad man; never thought he was. And come to hear that his wife was alive all this time.” He tsked and shook his head.
“Did you meet his son, Erik?” I asked. “He was here earlier.”
“I did. He reminded me a lot of his father, to be honest. Well-spoken, kind, even. He left about an hour ago, which is a good thing considering . . .” He motioned toward where the shouting was still going on.
“You knew Joe?” I asked, surprised. It hadn’t occurred to me until then that Reg Perry might have been involved in the case back then. He was old enough for it.
“Not too terribly well,” he said. “But I took an interest in the investigation when it happened. Never believed Joe responsible, but wasn’t much I could do about it since I wasn’t officially on the case.”
“You didn’t believe the witness?” I asked.
Reg’s face clouded over. “Harry Davis.”
“That’s him.”
“By your tone, I can tell you’ve met him. I never liked that man.” The way he said it made it sound like that was a rarity for him. “Didn’t trust him the moment he showed up out of the blue, claiming to be a witness. He wouldn’t talk to m
e. He dealt solely with the detective in charge.”
“And that would be?” I asked, hoping it was someone I knew, though my knowledge of the Grey Falls police department staff was limited to just a couple of men.
“Detective Wayne Hastings. He was fair, don’t get me wrong, but he didn’t listen to my concerns about Harry and those he ran around with. I even pointed out other incidents involving Harry, but at the time, Joe was the best suspect—the only suspect, really. Taking Harry at his word was far easier than trying to dig through what little we had.” Reg lowered his head. “I wish I would have tried harder to get him to see what was right in front of all our faces.”
“I’m sure you did the best you could.”
“I tried.” Reg shot me a smile that was a little sad. “If you see the old detective around, tell him hello for me. He retired years ago, and I haven’t seen him since. I’m not even sure he’ll remember an old codger like me, but I do remember him fondly, despite our differences.”
“I’ll do that,” I said. “And if you see Detective Cavanaugh, would you tell him I stopped by?”
“I will, but I wouldn’t count on hearing from him today.”
I wondered what meetings Detective Cavanaugh could be in that were important enough to drag him away from a murder investigation, but didn’t ask. For one, it was none of my business. And secondly, I wasn’t entirely naïve. Cops often dealt with more than one case at a time. Cavanaugh would be no different.
“Thanks, Reg. I really am happy we got to talk.”
“Maybe next time it’ll be under better circumstances.”
“I hope so.” I made as if to leave, but Reg laid a calloused hand on my wrist to stop me.
“Now, Liz, I don’t know how deep you’re going to get into this thing, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t warn you to watch yourself. These things have a tendency to get out of hand.”
“I’ll be careful,” I said.
“You do that. Harry Davis isn’t a man to be trifled with. I don’t know if he had anything to do with Joe Danvers’s death, but I wouldn’t put it past him to be a part of it. Despite his unappealing nature, he does have friends in this town. If they think you’re going to make a nuisance of yourself, they won’t hesitate to put a stop to it.”
“Do you think he’d hurt me?” I asked.
“If not you, perhaps your family. He tends to be more aggressive to people who aren’t just like him. And since your husband and your children . . .” He trailed off with a frown.
I knew exactly what he meant. Manny’s mom was born in Mexico before she’d moved to America, where she met her husband, the man who’d eventually become Manny’s father. Manny had taken after his mother far more than his father in appearance, and his heritage could still be seen in my children’s faces. It had never been an issue before, but now, it made me worried.
“I’ll be careful. I’m not planning on poking my nose where it doesn’t belong. My daughter, Amelia, is working on the case, however. She’s working with Chester Chudzinski, the PI.”
“I know him. He’s good at what he does.” Reg’s hand moved from my wrist to squeeze my shoulder. “Your daughter is in good hands, but please, make sure to pass my warning along to her anyway. I don’t want to see anyone else get hurt.”
“I will.”
I left Reg to deal with the crowd, which was just as raucous as it was a few minutes ago. I felt better having talked to him, and despite his warning, I felt a near overwhelming urge to talk to some people, just to gain more clarity into what happened all those years ago. Maybe I’d learn something that could help Amelia.
If nothing else, I had another name. If Detective Hastings could tell me something more about Harry Davis and his connection to Christine and her family, then perhaps I’d come up with a motive for not just Christine’s disappearance, but Joe’s murder as well.
13
I was met by a pair of cats when I walked through the front door of my house.
“Hey, guys,” I said, dropping my purse onto the table. “Hungry?”
Wheels meowed and rolled into the kitchen, where her food dish was kept. Sheamus took a moment to put his front feet on my leg to headbutt my hand in welcome before he joined her.
“You need a brushing,” I told the big cat, following after them. “But first . . .”
The bowls were empty but for a few stray pieces. I filled each with dry, and then got them fresh water, before I headed for the laundry room. The door was closed, and it was quiet inside. Unless Ben or Manny had taken him out, Chico would be in there.
As soon as my hand touched the knob, the barking started. I cringed, knowing that Joanne was likely sitting by her window, just waiting for the noise to start so she could come over to complain. After the day I’d had, I definitely wasn’t in the mood to deal with her.
I slid into the room quickly and shut the door behind me. “Let me get you something to eat, then I’ll call your mommy,” I told the irritated Chihuahua.
Chico was practically hopping up and down with every bark. He wasn’t being aggressive, outside the bark, of course, but I was leery nonetheless. All it would take is one sudden move the wrong way and the little dog might snap at me.
I filled Chico’s food dish, and then grabbed his water bowl to refill it. Once that was done, I went ahead and took him out back, just in case no one else had done so while I was out. I’d asked Ben to keep an eye on him, but when I’d pulled up to the house, his car was gone. Amelia’s own car was parked in its place, but I didn’t know if he’d told her to watch the dog, or if he’d skipped out the moment I was out the door.
“Good boy,” I said, returning the dog to the laundry room. At least he’d gone quickly and quietly. Maybe I’d avoid Joanne’s wrath after all.
Once the animals were all fed and comfortable, I checked the notepad by the phone, just in case someone had called. Nothing was scribbled on the pad, and I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or worried. I wanted to get Chico back home where he belonged, but I didn’t want to be berated by his owner again.
Knowing Amelia often didn’t write down my messages, I headed upstairs to check with her. If she had her earbuds in, it was unlikely she’d have heard the phone if it had rung, but miracles sometimes did happen.
“Amelia?” I knocked on the door as I spoke. I gave it a heartbeat before I pushed the door open. “Amelia are you—oh!”
Maya was standing on one side of the room, one of Amelia’s books in her hands. Amelia was sitting cross-legged on her bed, staring hard at the screen of her laptop, which was open in front of her.
“Hi, Mrs. Denton, er, Liz.” Maya cleared her throat and set the book aside.
Amelia shot Maya a look I couldn’t interpret before she lowered her laptop lid, though she didn’t close it completely. “Mom? What are you doing here?”
A snarky I live here was on the tip of my tongue, but I decided not to embarrass her in front of her friend. “I came home to check on the animals. Ben was supposed to be watching Chico.”
“The Chihuahua?” Amelia asked. “He told me his name was Piranha.”
“That’s him. It’s a long story.” One I didn’t want to get into right then. “I take it he left the job to you?”
“He called me a while ago, asking when I might be home. He said he had something super important to take care of, but wouldn’t tell me what it was.” She glanced at Maya. “He’s probably snogging his new girlfriend.”
Maya snickered, but didn’t otherwise comment.
“Snogging?” I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard Amelia use the term before. “Did he say when he’ll be home?”
“No, sorry. He wasn’t here when we got here.”
My gaze traveled around the room. It was messy, as always, but the bed was a disaster. The comforter was on the floor, as was one of the pillows. You’d think that if she had company, Amelia would at least have picked up a little.
Then again, old habits did die hard. She’d never been a tidy person, an
d I imagined that when she finally did get a place of her own, she’d either have to hire a cleaner, or marry someone who didn’t mind a little mess.
“Still working?” I asked, nodding to the laptop.
Amelia nodded. “Yeah. We figured it would do us good to get out of the office for a little while, get a new perspective on things, you know? Ben’s call made the decision easier.”
“Chester was really stressed,” Maya said. “I’ve never seen him so rattled. That Harry guy really got to him.”
“I think that goes for all of us,” I said.
Maya nodded. “He’s a total creep. I kept thinking about what he said, the threats and whatnot.” She clenched her fists as if she might punch something. “Every time I looked up from my desk, I swore I could see him standing there. I needed to get out of the office so I could focus.”
“I take it you haven’t found anything on Christine’s birth parents?”
“Not yet,” Amelia said. “But we’re working on it.”
“I have a few leads that are being followed up on as we speak,” Maya added, tapping her phone, which was stuffed into her back pocket. “I’m hoping I’ll hear back from someone soon.”
“It would be nice to figure this out before someone else gets hurt,” Amelia said.
That, I could most definitely agree with. “Do either of you know anything about a Detective Wayne Hastings? His name came up in conversation today.”
Amelia shook her head. Maya was the one who answered. “I’ve seen his name in some of Chester’s files. He’s the detective who worked Christine’s disappearance, right?”
“He was,” I said. “I was hoping you could tell me whether or not he was trustworthy.” While Reg had seemed fond of the retired detective, I wasn’t so sure I could trust his assessment of his former colleague. The two of them had worked together, probably for years. Just because Hastings might have been good to Reg didn’t mean he was that way with everyone.
Or that he wasn’t dirty.
“As far as I could tell, he was,” Maya said. “I honestly don’t know that much about him. It was before my time. Chester would know more since he talked to nearly everyone involved in the case back when he was first working it.”
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