“No, Detective, you only have my word for it. The letter was postmarked here in Fall Creek on Saturday. It was delivered on Monday, but I didn’t look at my mail then.”
“Why not?”
“My neighbor’s son was missing, then found and charged with murder, his father didn’t seem to care, and then I learned my young friend’s mother was missing.”
After she had gone over her story at least twice more with the detective, a knock sounded on the door. Driver went to open it. Royce saw the FBI agent, Howard, standing in the hallway. Driver reached back for his folder, excused himself, and closed the door behind him. Was the FBI deeply involved in this case because Lily was a fugitive?
Chapter Twenty-One
When Detective Driver returned, Special Agent Howard came with him. They both sat down across from Royce. Driver opened the folder he had again laid on the table. He looked up at Royce. “So you were planning to leave the country?”
Royce crossed her arms and stared back at him. “I am. As soon as Palm is cleared of this murder charge.”
“Where are you going?”
“To France. To lay a wreath on the grave of my late husband’s grandfather.”
Driver took a sheet of paper from the folder and slid it across to Royce. “That’s why you obtained a passport?”
Royce lowered her gaze to the sheet of paper, then jerked her eyes back up to the detective’s face. “What kind of trick is this?”
“It’s your passport, Mrs. Thorne.”
Royce slapped the table in frustration and almost ground her teeth. “Why do people keep telling me I have a passport? I have never had one. I called about applying for one, but the woman said I already did. I was going to their office today to straighten it out.”
“Look again. Isn’t that your picture?”
“It is not. If you can’t see that, perhaps you should consider a job change.” The sheet of paper in front of her was a photocopy of the first page of a passport. The name printed on it was Royce Henderson Thorne. The photo bore a resemblance to her driver’s license photo, similar hair style and color, and she recognized the shirt the person wore as one she had donated to a local charity. But it was not her picture.
Agent Howard had taken no part in the interrogation. Now he spoke up. “How do you account for this document with your likeness on it, Mrs. Thorne?”
“I don’t. You might ask that of whoever fraudulently got the passport.”
“Do you know why someone would want a passport with your name and picture on it?”
Royce tried not to reveal her relief. “So you do know it isn’t me?”
“Our experts have examined the original. They concluded that someone went to great lengths with hair and makeup to look like you for the picture.”
“But it doesn’t make sense. Wouldn’t they know it would be discovered when I tried to get my own passport?”
Agent Howard seemed to have taken over the questioning. “You’ve never been out of the country?”
“That’s right. Eddy, my husband, and I talked about it sometimes. Going to France.”
“But basically, you stay close to home. And unless someone knew you well, knew about your plan to visit the cemetery in France, they would not expect you to travel overseas, right?”
Royce failed to see what he was getting at. “I don’t suppose so.”
Just then noises outside the door became louder. It sounded like sobbing. Chrys. Royce jumped up and flung the door open. Chrys, Detective Wade, and the chief were in the hall. Chrys had both hands up, covering her face, crying and shaking her head. The detective stood close, a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Royce ran to Chrys and put her arms around the sobbing young woman. “I’m so sorry. Chrys, honey, so sorry.”
“Royce. It is my mother. Oh, God. Who did this to her?”
“Mrs. Thorne, would you come back in here, please?” Detective Driver was beside Royce.
“Do as he says, Mrs. Thorne,” Chief Granite ordered. “I have to talk to Ms. Wynter.”
“You’re going to question her now?” Royce wheeled on the chief. “Have a little compassion, Jared.”
“Go with Detective Driver, Royce. Now.”
The chief’s lips were a thin line. From the look in his eyes, she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to arrest her if she didn’t do as he ordered.
“I’ll see you in a few minutes, Chrys. Hang on.” She patted Chrys’s arm and moved with short, angry steps back into the interrogation room, followed by Detective Driver. Agent Howard had remained in the room.
After a few more minutes of fruitless questions about the fake passport from Driver and Howard, Chief Granite opened the door and beckoned to the detective. They conferred for a moment, before the chief spoke to Royce. “You can go now, Royce. But we may want to talk to you again today.”
Emerging from the stifling confines of the interrogation room at last, Royce spotted Chrys walking toward the door.
“Chrys. Chrys!”
Chrys paused for a fraction of a second but didn’t turn around or acknowledge Royce’s call. She kept moving. Royce ran past the sergeant’s desk and caught up with her at the door.
“Chrys, I’ll take you to my house. You shouldn’t be alone.”
Chrys finally looked at Royce. Her blue eyes were blank, expressionless. “But I am alone.”
Eddy’s eyes. And Palm’s. Can’t think about that now. “No. I’m here. You’re not alone.” Royce put a hand on the girl’s arm. Chrys didn’t pull away, at least not physically, but Royce felt the emotional withdrawal.
“I read the letter she sent you. Mom’s letter.” Chrys looked over Royce’s shoulder, as though speaking to someone behind her.
Royce started when Detective Wade spoke as she walked up. “Chief Granite asked me to drive you wherever you want to go, Ms. Wynter.”
“I’m so sorry you had to find out—this way. Chrys. Come on. Let’s go to my house.”
What words could she say to a young woman who had just been told the mother she loved had been murdered? That her mother had another wholly different life unknown to her daughter? And a son left behind in that life? That the son of a casual acquaintance was her brother? How could anyone deal with all that at once?
“I want to go home.”
Home? Surely not back to Atlanta. “Where, honey?”
“My condo.”
“All right. I’ll drive you.”
Wade shrugged and said, “Whatever you want, Ms. Wynter.”
“Not a police car. Royce, then.”
Wade turned back to the squad room. Royce took the girl’s arm and urged her through the door. Chrys didn’t resist. Dark clouds covered the sun, threatening to spill rain. The dismal sky fits the occasion, Royce thought.
She guided Chrys toward her car and opened the passenger side door. At the sound of tires screeching on pavement, both of them jerked around and looked toward the street. A black pickup truck swerved into the public parking lot across the street, too fast. Its left rear tire bounced over the curb. Even so, they could see the white letters spelling out Woodstone Nursery on the driver’s side door. Hal Woodstone jumped out, slammed the door, and crossed the street looking neither left or right.
Chrys took a step back toward the building, her face suddenly animated with fury. Royce grabbed her arm, holding her back.
“He beat my mother. She ran to get away from him.” Chrys tried to pull away.
“No. Not now, Chrys.” Royce attempted to turn her back to the open car door.
“Why didn’t you and—why didn’t you help her? You knew about the beatings.” Chrys rounded on Royce. She put her hands on Royce’s shoulders and shook her.
Royce bit her lip. She could find no words to answer the girl. Her own abject misery in that period seemed no defense. To say she had not been convinced at that time that Woodstone was an abuser would sound cruel. Chrys was right. She should have done something. Finally, she said, “I don’t know. Chrys. I jus
t don’t know.”
As quickly as it came, the fight went out of Chrys. She got into the car, slumped down, hands over her face. Royce went around to the other side and sat in the driver’s seat.
“Are you sure you want to go to your condo?”
Voice muffled by her hands, Chris replied, “Yes. I have to call Marc and Amanda and tell them about Mom.”
“Why don’t you just pick up a few things and let me drive you back to the Sage house? You can call from there. And your car is there, isn’t it?”
“Brenda will come over and take me there.”
“Brenda.”
The name brought back the questions she wanted to ask Chrys about her replacement at the Sages’ law office last summer. Maybe talking about something else for a few minutes would help her to deal with her mother’s death. “Your friend?”
“You know she is.”
“She worked for Marc and Amanda as your replacement last summer?”
“You know that, too. Why these questions?” Chrys raised her head.
“Eddy had Marc draw up a will for him last summer. The initials on the bottom of the last page beside Marc’s are BAB. That would be Brenda, wouldn’t it?”
“I suppose. What of it?” Her voice reflected no interest in the direction of the conversation.
“Do you remember the telephone call I got that upset me so before you left?”
“Yes.”
As they approached the last intersection before the ramp to the bypass and the condo complex where Chrys lived, the traffic light turned red. Royce turned to look at her passenger as she braked and stopped. Chrys looked straight in front of her, her gaze fixed on the cafe, Frankie’s, just ahead on the right.
“There have been others. A woman. Asking about something that wasn’t mentioned in the will but in a letter. She asks what I’m going to do about it.” Royce kept her eyes on Chrys. Had it really sunk in that Eddy was her father?
“You think Brenda called you about the will? My father’s will?” It had sunk in. Anger again colored Chrys’s voice. “Why would she?”
“I don’t know. But who else could know about his will? Is a copy kept in Marc’s office?”
“Of course. An attorney keeps a copy of many of the documents he or she draws up for clients. Wills and such. For safekeeping. In case something happens to the client’s copy, he can get another.”
“Who has access to these documents?”
“The attorney. The attorney’s assistant.”
“No one else?”
“In the office, no. The client can show his copy to whoever he wants. Eddy could have shown it to anybody,” Chrys said, and crossed her arms over her chest.
“I hardly think—” A memory stopped Royce’s reply—the conversation with Jared Granite when she told him she suspected Chrys was Lily’s daughter. She believed Jared Granite had known all along about Eddy’s affair with Lily. Did he also know about the will? But the chief wouldn’t have discussed it with anyone else, some woman, surely? Not even some female in the department.
Royce glanced at the dashboard clock, after one o’clock. “When did you last eat something?”
“I don’t remember.”
Just as the light changed, a silver Hummer roared into the intersection, turned right, and nearly clipped a light pole. It swung into the parking lot just past the coffee shop. Royce hesitated, then pulled through the intersection at a slower pace than the Hummer. The Hummer’s driver wheeled into a spot just being vacated by a brown Cadillac. The door of the big vehicle swung open. A long-legged woman in a tailored light-gray pants outfit got out and strode toward the door of the cafe. What was Thelma Morrell doing at Frankie’s for the second day in a row? Royce drove past the entrance of the small parking lot and turned into the second, which was actually the exit, squeezing by the Caddy. “I’m hungry. Let’s grab a bite.”
“No. Well-l-l…”
Royce was glad to find a vacant spot several spaces before she reached the Hummer. Reaching into the console between the seats, she took out two pairs of sunglasses and a scarf.
She handed one pair of the sunglasses to Chrys. “Here, put these on.”
Chrys glanced out the window and back at Royce. “We don’t need sunglasses.”
Unwilling to reveal why she wanted them to wear the glasses, Royce replied, “I’ve read that to avoid eye damage, even on cloudy days, you should protect your eyes.”
Pulling the rearview mirror toward her, she made a production of trying to do something with her hair. “What a mess.” She pulled the scarf over her head, knotting it at the back of her neck.
Chrys stared at her during the performance and shook her head. She put the sunglasses on and got out of the car. They walked into the cafe, pausing a second while their eyes adjusted. Royce spotted Thelma Morrell seated alone, with her back to the door, her booth at a right angle to the low rock wall. Royce headed for a table on the other side of the wall.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Just as they sat down, Royce glanced toward the door. Hal Woodstone barged through the door and looked around. Had he followed them? Then he headed straight for Thelma’s booth.
Thelma spoke in clipped, angry tones. “I told you we should not be seen together again. What is it now?”
“The police know about Lily. That Palm and the girl are both that son of a bitch cop’s bastards. His money.”
“How can they know they’re his kids?”
“They subpoenaed my medical records, by God. They know they can’t be mine since…”
“You’ve always shot blanks.” A hint of amusement colored Thelma’s voice.
“Shut up. You hear me?” Woodstone ground out, enunciating each word. “They’d love to know about you. And California.”
Then both were quiet as a server approached with cups and a carafe of coffee on a tray.
When the server left, Thelma asked in a cool voice, “You’re threatening me, you dirt-groveling misogynist?”
“You wouldn’t be the first fugitive the FBI’s dragged back to California to face trial.”
“And Chief Granite would be very interested to hear about Tim Conroy and your little clandestine operations.”
There was heavy silence for a minute on the other side of the wall.
“You turned pale.” Chrys leaned forward and took off her sunglasses. “What’s wrong—” Her question broke off as Royce touched her own lips with a finger, shushing her.
“Take your orders?” A thin blonde in skin-tight jeans and black T-shirt spoke at Royce’s elbow. Startled, Royce jerked around.
“Sorry,” the girl said.
“Coffee and whatever the special is today,” Royce said softly and motioned for Chrys to give her order.
“The same,” Chrys said.
“Be just a few minutes on the sandwiches. I’ll bring your coffee right out.”
As the server walked away, Chrys looked a question at Royce.
Royce said, still in a quiet voice, “Not now. I’ll tell you later.”
On the other side of the low wall, Woodstone cleared his throat. “Tim Conroy’s a punk. We paid him plenty. He knows better than to talk.”
“He’s an addict, and he’s been in jail for months. If they offer him the right deal, he’ll be only too happy to spill everything he knows about your sideline.”
“My sideline? Maybe Bert found out about yours, and you killed him. And her. Maybe Lily came back here to make a deal with the law and put you behind bars.”
Thelma’s voice held a note of contempt. “She wouldn’t dare. The hussy was too beaten down after two years with you and your kid. God, and still Bert was bewitched by her.”
“Not my kid!”
Thelma ignored the outburst. “I told her those big feet of hers had better make tracks out of town, or the FBI would be receiving an anonymous tip. She believed me.”
“So that’s why she left. I ought to—”
“Ought to what? Kill me, too?”
“There’s another way for you to get yours. All I have to do is make a call to Conroy, and he’ll collect that reward on your head.”
“You would do well to listen to me, Woodstone.”
“You rich bitches. Think you can get away with anything.”
“You’re obsessed with money. You’d do anything to get your hands on it. Even frame your own son—”
Woodstone slapped the table. “He’s not—”
“Stop that.” Thelma hissed.
“I deserve it. Damn cop made a fool of me! Twice!”
“And you’re your father’s son, right? Justice with your fists. Your wife was gone, so you took care of her lover when you thought you could profit from it.”
“Bitches in glass houses better not throw rocks. You’re a killer on the run, even if money and connections helped you dodge prosecution.”
“I always have contingency plans. I’ll be long gone again if you’re such a fool. And you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
“Okay. Okay. You think I’d turn you in after all we’ve been to each other?”
“Me and every other woman in town. Except Royce. It’s eating you, isn’t it?” She gave a throaty laugh. “You’re sure the chippie at the pharmacy doesn’t know about me?”
“I sure as hell didn’t tell her. She only knows I proposed to Royce.”
“God, why did I ever get involved with you?”
Woodstone sneered. “I was good enough for you till that whiplash injury put Morrell in the hospital after his car crash. Bet he cursed that day. Especially when he realized he was about to be shot.”
“They better charge your kid with the murder soon. Too bad he was in jail when Jared Granite’s ex was shot. Nosy bitch.”
“Why the hell did you have to—”
“I did you a favor,” Thelma said.
“Me a favor? Fat chance.”
“She was checking out your greenhouse. To see if you were still up to your old tricks. Did you take her in there when you and she—”
“None of your damn business.”
“You didn’t know she was using you back then to stay close to Thorne, after she realized he’d never leave Royce. And married Granite for the same reason.”
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