Disguise for Death

by Sylvia Nickels

  How would Chrys take this revelation? Who would tell her? Would knowing she had a brother, was not totally bereft of family, comfort her, if only a little bit? And what of Palm? Or did he already know? When he saw and talked to his mother at the motel, did he learn who his actual father was and that he had a sister? Was that part of the answer to the way he acted at the jail?

  Chapter Twenty

  Consumed with questions with no answers, Royce sat on the floor for long moments. Her hand automatically sought the comfort of stroking Devon’s black coat as he lay close beside her. But she had not finished the final page of Lily’s letter.

  “I’m writing this letter on a plane, headed for Fall Creek. I’ve dreamed that someday I’d return to see my son, tell him why I left, and receive his forgiveness. From some casual mentions of him by Chrys, I know Palm has grown into a fine young man. But she also told me that the man he knows as his father, Hal Woodstone, has been cruel and unloving toward him. I am dying of cancer. The only legacy my children will receive from me is shame, disgrace, and rejection.

  “I’m not proud of what I am planning either, but I am desperate to leave something else for my children. One way or another, I will get a substantial sum of money from someone I once knew.

  “And now, Royce, I beg you to do something that will be hard for you. Not for my sake, but Eddy’s, for I know you loved him. Please, oh, please, be a part of the lives of my children, Eddy’s children. Chrys tells me you care for Palm. Will you also care for my Chrys? Will you be there for them if they are ever in trouble or need someone?

  “I’ll call you when I arrive in Fall Creek, if I can find the courage. Failing that, I’ll mail this letter, conclude my business, and return to Atlanta. I will keep my illness from Chrys as long as possible. If you can do this, Royce, my gratitude will know no bounds.

  Heather Forrest/Lily Woodstone”

  ****

  Fall Creek’s airport was larger than most would expect for such a small city. But it served a fairly large metropolitan area of five counties and several small- to medium-sized cities. Since the airport was the one thing they all needed and cooperated on fully in its operation, it prospered. Dense fog covered the region of the airport when Royce arrived next morning at a quarter to seven. A department cruiser, the chief’s car, and a sedan she recognized as belonging to the detective squad were already parked next to the curb in front of the terminal.

  She’d made a quick stop at a twenty-four-hour convenience store with a coin-operated copy machine. Chief Granite would take Lily’s letter, but she intended to keep a copy also. Showing it to him was not something she looked forward to doing.

  She passed through the revolving glass doors and walked down the long concourse. As she rounded a corner and started toward the boarding area, she saw the chief standing with several people, a couple in police uniform, near the Atlanta flight’s arrival gate.

  When he glanced up and saw Royce, Chief Granite came to meet her. When he was near enough to speak in a normal tone, he said, “I’d like for you to go back home, Royce.”

  “I don’t think so, Jared.”

  “If I order you to go?”

  “I still won’t go. You know this girl will need a friend when she gets the news that her mother is dead.”

  Eyes hard, he waited a second, then spoke. “You will keep quiet. Not a word.” He started to go back to his official contingent, then turned back.

  “When you met with Lucianne yesterday, did she tell you who shot her?”

  “Didn’t she tell you?”

  “Did she?”

  “Of course not. If she knows, why didn’t she tell you?”

  “Do you know anything about it, Royce? If you’re withholding more information—”

  Royce interrupted him. “I don’t know anything about who shot your ex-wife. Maybe it has something to do with why she really came to Fall Creek.”

  “Why—?” The chief’s words broke off as the overhead speakers crackled, and a garbled voice announced through static, “Flight 104 from Atlanta via Knoxville now arriving at Gate 10.”

  “There’s something else, Jared.”

  “What now, Royce?” There was no softness in his eyes; his mouth was a straight line. Where was the comforting Jared who’d held her at Eddy’s funeral? It didn’t matter, she had to give him the letter.

  “You’d better read this.” Royce pulled Lily’s letter from her shoulder bag and handed it to him.

  He glanced at the envelope’s postmark. “What is it?”

  “A letter from Lily Woodstone.”

  An angry flush crept from beneath his collar and moved across his face. “I could arrest you for withholding evidence, Royce. By God, I ought to do it right now.”

  “Yes, you could do that, Jared. I didn’t open it until after three o’clock last night—this morning. I suppose I could have called you then. But I thought it could wait until now.”

  The chief locked his gaze on her for a few more seconds. Then he took the sheets of paper from the envelope. He read them quickly but kept his face impassive.

  “I’ll keep this, Royce. And I’ll expect you to follow us to the station.” Chief Granite turned on his heel and walked away before she could answer.

  She followed a few steps behind him. No way was he going to keep her from being there to support and comfort Chrys. When they arrived at the small group near the gate, Royce was relieved to see that one of the officers was female. Granite turned and scowled in her direction, but Royce lifted her chin and stood her ground.

  The passengers deplaned. Chrys hurried through the passage behind a businesswoman dialing a cell phone. Chrys’s gaze swept the area, and her haunted eyes passed over the group of men, landing on Royce. Before Chief Granite could step forward, she rushed to Royce, hands clutching her shirt. “Royce. Have you heard anything? Did my mother come to Fall Creek?”

  The chief put a hand on the young woman’s arm and turned her, though gently. “Jared Granite, Ms. Wynter. I believe you know that I’m the Chief of Police here in Fall Creek. I’d like a word with you.”

  She whirled toward him. “What are you doing here?” She turned back to Royce. “Has something happened to my mother?”

  “Ms. Wynter. If you wouldn’t mind, come with us to my office at headquarters. We’ll tell you all we know.”

  “Headquarters? Why? No. I want to know now.” Chrys stood still and stared at the chief.

  Royce held the chief’s eyes. Finally, he gave a tiny nod. She placed her hand on the trembling fingers grasping her arm and gently led Chrys to the nearby row of seats. “Let’s sit down, and the chief will tell you what he can.”

  Granite looked at the seat next to Chrys, then sighed and sat down, too. “You asked Mrs. Thorne if your mother had arrived in Fall Creek. Do you have reason to think that she was coming here, Ms. Wynter?”

  “Why do you want to know? What do you have to do with my mother, Chief Granite?” Visibly Chrys tried to get control, but her voice cracked.

  “Was she coming to Fall Creek? To visit you perhaps?” The chief persisted, though not in an unkind voice.

  “My mother was not in her Atlanta apartment when I got there yesterday. I found a note about an airline reservation. This morning, just before I left, the police told me the ticket was for a flight to Fall Creek.”

  “Were you expecting her?”

  “No. Is she here? Is she all right? Where is she?”

  “We’re not sure. That’s why we need you to come down to headquarters, Ms. Wynter. My car is out front.”

  Chrys turned toward Royce. “He’s not telling me anything. Is my mother here?”

  Royce put her arms around the girl and looked up at the chief. “You’re making it worse. Just tell her, for God’s sake.”

  Granite ignored her. “Ms. Wynter. For what day and flight was your mother’s ticket reservation?”

  “Friday morning,” Chrys replied in a strangled voice.

  “And she didn’t call
you when she arrived?”

  “When…so she is here. I want to see her right now.”

  “When was the last time you saw your mother?”

  “Six weeks ago. I spent a weekend with her in Atlanta.”

  Chief Granite cleared his throat. “A woman arrived in Fall Creek by air last Friday and took the city bus to the Fall Creek Inn. She was found nearly dead in her room at the inn on Sunday morning. She was taken to Fall Creek Medical Center. We have reason to believe she was a woman known as Daisy Wynter. Your mother.”

  “Was? Is she all right? Take me to her.” Chrys started to rise, but Royce and the chief held onto her arms. She tried to jerk loose. “Take me to her.”

  “I’m very sorry, but she died in the hospital.”

  “No! No, it must be a mistake. Not my mother. She can’t be dead.”

  “Chrys, honey. I’m so sorry. I think it’s true.” Royce captured the girl’s flailing hand and held tight. She blinked rapidly. Tears were not going to help Chrys deal with the shock of her loss.

  “I’m afraid so,” the chief said. “When you feel up to it, we’ll need you to identify the body.”

  Chrys sat up stiff and straight, visibly forcing herself to breathe deeply. “How?”

  The chief asked in an expressionless voice, “You’re asking how she died?”

  “Yes.”

  “There was blunt trauma to the head, and she was beaten and kicked repeatedly.”

  At Granite’s last words, Royce felt a spasm wrench the girl’s body, then she sagged in her seat. In her mind, unbidden, Royce saw a shadowy image form of the killer’s blows slamming into Lily’s slight form. Was it that same image which caused Lily’s daughter to raise a trembling hand to her eyes?

  Chief Granite’s voice was firm. “Ms. Wynter. I need to know your whereabouts from six o’clock Saturday evening until Sunday morning.”

  “My—what? My whereabouts?” Chrys leapt to her feet as though a spring holding her in the seat had suddenly snapped. Tears streamed down her cheeks, as though the spring had also been attached to the sluice gate of a dam holding back the water. She swung her arms around to include all those around her, then pointed at the chief, as he extricated himself from his own seat. “You tell me my mother may be dead, killed, then ask me where I was—when? Was that when it happened?”

  “We’re not accusing you, Ms. Wynter. It’s routine.” The chief’s conciliatory tone seemed to be lost on Chrys.

  “How could you think…? She can’t be dead. She’s all I have—” Her voice broke. She swallowed. “It has to be a mistake. It’s someone else.”

  “I have to tell you that is not likely.” Genuine regret echoed in the chief’s voice. “I wish I could say it was.”

  “Take me to see her.”

  “We’ll go to the station. Let you take a little while to prepare yourself.” He indicated the female officer in street clothes. “Please go with Detective Wade.”

  “No. I’ll ride with Royce.” She grabbed Royce’s arm and demanded of the chief, “Am I under arrest?”

  “No. But Detective Wade will ride with you. Royce. A word, please.” Granite walked a few steps away.

  Royce pulled gently away. “I’ll be right back.”

  “No conversation about details of the murder, Royce. I mean it.” Granite emphasized each point with his index finger. “None.”

  “You’ve made it clear you were going to charge Palm with the murder. Now what? Do you imagine he and Chrys conspired to kill her?”

  “This is still an official murder investigation, and I’m in charge.” Granite started down the hallway.

  Royce went back to Chrys. “Do you have luggage?”

  “I just took this.” She indicated the roomy leather tote bag on her left shoulder.

  “All right.” Royce spoke to Detective Wade as they all turned to follow the chief. “My car is parked behind the department cruiser.”

  Wade nodded and fell into step with them. The small procession passed silently through the concourse and left the terminal.

  Royce pressed the electronic key in her hand. She felt Chrys jump when her Hyundai emitted two loud beeps and its headlights flashed. Opening the front passenger-side door, Royce gestured for Chrys to take the front seat. Officer Wade opened the back door and got in. As Royce took the wheel, the chief’s car and then the police cruiser eased away from the curb and she pulled in behind them.

  “It can’t be her. I won’t believe it.” Chrys dropped her head into her hands as her voice broke on the last word.

  When Royce made no reply, Chrys asked. “Have you seen—her?”

  Royce glanced at her. “Yes. I didn’t recognize her.”

  “Well, of course not. You didn’t—don’t know my mother.” Hands gripped in her lap, she repeated her earlier words. “It’s a mistake.”

  “Honey. I’m so sorry. I—” She broke off as the detective in the back seat cleared her throat.

  “Mrs. Thorne can’t really discuss anything. The chief will tell you what we do know when we get to the station.”

  Silently, they waited through the rest of the drive. When they arrived at the station, Wade instructed Royce to follow Chief Granite and the cruiser into the official parking area next to the building.

  As they walked toward the entrance, the flicker of a sodium vapor streetlamp in the parking lot across the street caught Royce’s gaze. The same lot where she’d waited for Clupper to emerge from headquarters and followed him. And overheard him talking to Thelma Morrell about money and a dead woman.

  Had that only been two days ago? How were those two connected to the murder? She’d still not told Chief Granite about that conversation and their references to the robbery. More grounds for him to threaten her with arrest when she told him. Some of that money had been found in the room Palm had occupied. How did it get there?

  The sky was still gray and overcast as the group entered headquarters. Detective Wade ushered Chrys to the door of one interrogation room. A detective she’d never met gestured Royce to another room.

  Chrys balked. “I need Royce to be with me when I look—” Her voice broke off.

  “I’ll be with you, Ms. Wynter.” Wade urged Chrys into the room. “We need to question Mrs. Thorne about some new evidence that has turned up.”

  New evidence that Royce had given them. She imagined her mutinous thoughts floated above her head like a cartoon bubble as she marched into the small room across from the one Chrys had entered. She plopped down at a table. One leg of the table was shorter than the others, so it tilted when she put her hands on it, fingers laced together in front of her. She stared at the detective, Driver he’d said his name was, who had entered the room behind her. He sat across from her and laid a dark green file folder on the rocking table.

  “Chief Granite briefed me a little. He’ll be in to talk to you in a few minutes. But first, let me get this straight. You received a letter from someone claiming to be Lily Woodstone, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ms. Woodstone has been away from Fall Creek for many years?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you doubt that it was from Ms. Woodstone?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? After all this time?”

  “She wrote about things—things no one else knew about.”

  Detective Driver raised pale blond eyebrows. “Such as?”

  She hesitated. “The babies I lost in the early years of my marriage.” Royce felt like her voice was squeezing past the knot in her throat.

  Again, the detective raised his eyebrows. “No one else knew of your losses?”

  “Of course. People who’ve known my husband and me for a long time. But I doubt they’d write me a letter about it.”

  “What else did the letter say?”

  “Haven’t you read it?”

  “Not yet. What else?”

  Royce jumped up, paced the five or six steps the tiny room allowed, whirled, and paced the other way. “I can’t�
��”

  “Please sit down, Mrs. Thorne. What else did the letter say?”

  “She—she spoke of her affair with my husband, Sergeant Eddy Thorne. Satisfied?” She continued to walk, five paces, turn, five paces the other direction.

  Driver remained in his seat. “Did her allegation bother you?”

  “That’s a stupid question. What do you think?”

  He asked softly, “Did it bother you enough to do anything?”

  “Do anything? Do anything? When I first learned of it twenty-three years ago, I tried to beat the crap out of her. I would have strangled her if I’d been strong enough.”

  “You mean it wasn’t news to you?”

  “No, Detective. As I said, I learned of the affair twenty-three years ago.”

  “What did happen then?”

  “Nothing. She left town, and we went on with our lives—Eddy and I.”

  “But you hated her?”

  “For many years.”

  “When you received the letter supposedly from Lily Woodstone, would you have strangled her if you knew where she was then?”

  “I knew where she was.” A perverse satisfaction flavored her thoughts when the detective’s look of surprise made it to his face.

  “You knew?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “At the morgue.”

  “The morgue?”

  Again, even while recognizing that it was childish and futile, she felt the brief satisfaction of catching the detective off guard. “I didn’t read the letter until last night, or rather, early this morning, after three o’clock. And the chief had told me in the early evening that the body in the morgue had been identified as Lily Woodstone.”

  “You were alone, I suppose, when you read the letter?”

  She flung herself into the beat-up chair again and glared across the table at the detective. “Yes. I was alone, except for my dog. Who is very smart, but he doesn’t read.”

  The corners of Driver’s mouth barely lifted, then he said, “So we really don’t know whether you received and read the letter earlier.”