Just For A Heartbeat (Piper Anderson Legacy Mystery Book 2)

by Danielle Stewart

  “It’s not cruel if we’re right,” Ruby protested. “Maybe if they saw the photographs they would see something that could identify their daughter in a way we have overlooked.”

  “You’re being practical,” Piper interrupted. “It’s an attribute I’ve always appreciated in my life. Normally I find it refreshing to forgo emotion for a plan, but I have to agree with Bobby. You cannot show a mother pictures of dismembered bodies, imply one might be her child, and then have nothing else to tell her. There has to be another way. Like the rest of the film in the box. How many were you able to develop?”

  “Six rolls of complete useless garbage.” Ruby sighed. “There isn’t going to be anything else in the box linked because nothing is remotely related to the style film that held these photographs. It’s an utter waste of time.”

  “Sometimes the exclusion of things is as important as finding the linchpin in a case,” Patrick interjected, trying to sound rational. “You don’t always know something is important right when you find it. As the investigation progresses you find relevance to past discoveries.”

  “Right,” Bobby said, nodding feverishly. “We use what we have to try to find out more. These girls and their cases very well may be linked, but we need to find other ways to try to make the connection.”

  “I can map out the locations and dates they were last seen,” Piper offered. “Maybe it’ll line up with something else down the road. I’ll also look for any similarities between the girls that aren’t superficially apparent. If no one has tried to link these cases before, something may have been overlooked.”

  “No one has tried to solve them, let alone link them,” Ruby snapped.

  Bobby quickly replied, seeming to take the accusation personally, “Plenty of people run away every year. They make a choice to disappear. The cases get the manpower a jurisdiction can afford to dedicate to them, but the world isn’t perfect. If you’ve got a chip on your shoulder about law enforcement, then maybe pursuing this isn’t a good idea.”

  “I don’t,” Ruby argued. “I have a problem with a murderer chopping people up and getting away with it. They deserve to have their stories told and find some peace. It’s the least that can be done for them.”

  “And if we can’t?” Patrick asked, hesitantly, Stephanie’s warning words echoing in his ears. “Are you going to be able to handle that?”

  “What does that mean?” Ruby asked, her face glowing red with either anger or embarrassment.

  “It’s important to have realistic expectations,” Patrick continued gently.

  “No,” Ruby said shaking her head. “It’s important to believe that you will accomplish what you set out to do. It’s important to give it everything you have and not stop until you get the answers you need, the truth they deserve. That’s what’s important.”

  Everyone was quiet for a moment as Ruby slammed her hand down on the table, sending the photographs jumping in the air.

  It was Piper who answered through a smile. “I knew I liked this girl.”

  Chapter 9

  Patrick followed a few steps behind Bobby as he hustled toward a pier. The coastline of Bolton Bluff was rocky and salt stained. In most areas the trees butted right up to the water-battered rocks. But one area, smoothed by sand and spotted with piers, was where most boats and ferries docked. Boats adorned with nets and hooks bobbed up and down as the tide rolled in.

  Bolton Bluff was halfhearted in its attempt to draw in tourists. The main street followed all the rules of any summer island. It had the candy shop and the gift store. You could get ice cream, chowder, lobster, or mussels at any little spot on the strip. The bookstore was filled with worn-out covers perfectly suited for lounging on the beach: half reading, half daydreaming. But besides the small area meant to greet those coming off the ferry, hopefully just for the day, Bolton Bluff and its year-round inhabitants did little to welcome tourists.

  They had their own school, a clinic, a decent size grocery store, all a few miles around the west side of the island. Permanent residents didn’t bother going to the pier often and opted instead for the few less kitschy restaurants that were inland.

  Patrick, however, loved this part of the island. It reminded him of his trip here as a child and the simplicity of it.

  “Do you think Ruby is approaching this the right way?” Patrick asked Bobby, watching a few kites dance in the sky in the distance by the shore line. “And what exactly are we doing down here anyway?”

  “Which of those two questions would you like me to answer first?” Bobby asked, looking distracted as he casually inspected each boat he passed. “Is Ruby good or why are we here?”

  “Both,” Patrick answered, finally catching up and meeting Bobby’s stride.

  “Do I think Ruby is approaching this the right way?” Bobby repeated back. “I think that’s a nice way of asking if I think she can handle this. Frankly no. I don’t. She seems rattled on a personal level about this and when you allow situations like this to get personal it never ends well. I suspect you know that already.”

  “I do,” Patrick admitted.

  “So why ask my opinion?” Bobby countered. “Or are you asking if I think we should remove Ruby from the situation and let her know her involvement is no longer necessary?”

  “Yes,” Patrick sighed reluctantly. “You and your wife really don’t bullshit do you?”

  “Life’s fragile and way too short,” Bobby replied. “We’ve found calling it like we see it the best way to get things done. But I won’t answer that question. I’m not cutting Ruby out of this unless I see something that could damage the case. You’re her friend, you can make a different decision if you see fit. I’m not getting involved in that.”

  “Fair enough,” Patrick agreed. “So the second question, what are we doing here? You’re not thinking we may just stumble onto a boat that happened to be a crime scene, are you?”

  “Take nothing for granted,” Bobby explained. “The last case in this morning’s pile was from two years ago. If by any chance this is a serial murderer who is operating on a boat, he’s not likely to have stopped unless he’s dead or incarcerated. We know the film was discovered on this island. It’s the only tangible lead we have right now. I’m not saying we’re going to find the boat, but I’m certainly going to look at them.”

  “What if I do think Ruby should back off?” Patrick asked, ignoring Bobby’s request to keep him out of it. “Her friend Stephanie came by this morning and I was still at her place.”

  “Who’s making it personal now?” Bobby accused sternly.

  “I crashed on the couch,” Patrick defended, tossing his arms up. “But I’m not sure Stephanie was convinced of that. She warned me to not let Ruby get caught up in some mission. She was implying that Ruby tends to get carried away with this kind of thing. Now that I know, and seeing her reaction to the case files you brought over, I’m worried.”

  “Worried is a useless state of being,” Bobby replied, crouching down next to one large fishing boat with a porthole.

  “You didn’t strike me as the philosopher type.” Patrick laughed, looking around at who might be paying extra attention to them.

  “You didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who just crashes on a girl’s couch, so maybe we misjudged each other.” Bobby moved on to the next vessel as he continued, “Worrying about whether Ruby could or should be involved changes nothing. People spend all this time having these fights with themselves when they know the answer the whole time. You have information, your own opinion, and experience. You have everything you need to make a decision. Every minute you’re pretending you don’t and worrying is energy you could be using to move this case forward.”

  Patrick knew Bobby was right, but it only heightened his frustration. “Why did you say yes? You’re on vacation and you could have easily told Ruby you weren’t going to help. You don’t strike me as a man who needs your name on the news. So why? Are you and Piper just adrenaline junkies who don’t know how to relax?”<
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  Bobby laughed. “I have a suspicion that is why Piper said yes. She loves being a part of finding justice for people. She’d chase it down with her last breath if she had to.”

  “But not you?” They’d reached the end of the dock now and the waves were bobbing them up and down slightly as they looked over the last two boats.

  “No,” Bobby said, shaking his head. “I know how to relax. I can appreciate a vacation. If this would have been an uneventful trip I’d have been perfectly happy. But when I looked at Ruby, when I saw her holding those pictures, I knew she wouldn’t back off this, no matter what I said. I wouldn’t be able to talk her into letting a case sit at the bottom of a pile in some federal office building. So I knew if I walked away she wouldn’t. Maybe it goes back to your first question: do I think Ruby can handle this? Well, certainly not on her own. No matter what happens, if we find something or not, she shouldn’t be on her own. There is something else going on with her, and this is just a distraction. When it goes away, no matter the outcome, it’ll be good to have a friend.”

  “You’re good,” Patrick said spinning to head back down the dock. “Let’s hope real good. That’s Sheriff Dressden, and he doesn’t look happy.”

  Moving down the wood planks in their direction was the large hat and shiny badge of Sheriff Shepard Dressden, Shep, as he was known in these parts. Remarkably fit for a man nearing sixty-five, Shep carried his broad shoulders around like he was balancing a brick on both of them.

  “Hey there, boys,” Shep called in his thick Maine accent and friendly tone. The dialect always intrigued Patrick. It was similar enough to his Boston friends’ but with more of a slow drawl to it. “You looking for something?”

  “Hey there, Shep,” Patrick said, extending his hand for the crushing shake Shep was famous for. “This is my friend, Bobby. He’s renting a cabin inland and just wanted to come see the fishing boats. The life blood of the island.”

  “Sure is,” Shep replied, looking wholly unconvinced by Patrick’s story. “You’re the boy who was looking for a printer this morning. Printing off some old files or something?”

  “Yes,” Bobby said. Patrick was relieved to see, even without being told, Bobby was uneasy around Shep. “I’m a police officer in North Carolina. I had some case files printed off for something I’m working on. You know how it is, the job never stops.”

  “I know better than you,” Shep argued, never missing an opportunity to trump someone’s statement. “This island here is mine. My jurisdiction completely. I’m never off duty.”

  “Then we won’t hold you up,” Bobby said, dipping his head and making a break to move back toward the rocks. “Have a good day, Sheriff.”

  “Mhm,” Shep hummed, burying his hands into his pockets and watching them both intently.

  “Nice guy,” Bobby remarked quietly.

  “He actually is,” Patrick defended. “He’s a lot of bluster and a bit of a bully, but it’s an act. I’ve seen him do fine things in this community.”

  “Yet you don’t think he should know about these possible murders that happened close by?” Bobby argued.

  “Hell no. I said he’s a good guy, not a good cop. He’s never had to be. The worst thing that ever happened on this island was a senior prank by the twenty-three kids in the graduating class three years ago. They set fire to an abandoned cabin. It was a pretty big deal. That might have been the first actual police work Shep ever did. And even that he screwed up.”

  “How?”

  “He brought all the kids in and threatened them until they admitted it. No Miranda rights. No lawyers. Just a guy putting the fear of God into a bunch of high schoolers.”

  “You must have had a field day writing that one in your paper,” Bobby joked.

  “Not a word of it,” Patrick explained. “I’m pretty far off my axis as far as journalistic integrity these days. His wife came to me and asked me not to write the story.”

  “And you didn’t?” Bobby scoffed, giving Patrick a sideways look.

  “She brought me a homemade blueberry pie and said please. I already had this great piece written up about the lobster mascot at the elementary school. It’s not like I could just toss that gem out.”

  “Don’t you think holding him accountable would have been better?” Bobby asked, not hiding his accusing tone.

  “Maybe,” Patrick shrugged. “There was a time when I knew exactly what to do every moment. I knew what to write and what risks to take. I knew who was wrong and who was right. Then suddenly I didn’t. I’m good with it. A pie and a please can be my compass now.”

  “Good to know you can be bought,” Bobby smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind when I need something from you.”

  “It’s a sliding scale just so you know,” Patrick joked. “Pie is good, but if you really want to get something from me start with a cake and maybe a bottle of whiskey.”

  Chapter 10

  Patrick had promised to be back after dinner to help develop more film from the box. Even though it would be more useless busywork, Ruby was still closely watching the clock. Mostly because of all the other information that was now on the wall. She knew Patrick would be able to help make sense of it all.

  “What’s this?” he asked tentatively as she let him in and gestured toward her handiwork.

  “I took every piece of information we have and pinned it up here,” she said, pointing to the hundred or so push pins ruining her wall. “And it was totally worth it because I found something.”

  “You can’t leave this stuff up here. It’s not decoration. It’s not part of your house.” Patrick reached for a pushpin but she yanked his arm back.

  “Don’t touch,” she scolded. “There is an order to this. It makes sense. I have all the case files Bobby brought over. All the photographs I developed of the bodies. Any witness statements from the missing girls’ records. Didn’t you hear me say I found something?”

  Patrick’s lack of enthusiasm was only slightly less worrisome than his look of horror. His angular face was full of distress, and his green eyes wouldn’t focus on her the way she always liked. “Ruby this is too much. You can’t be sitting there, eating breakfast every morning, staring at this.”

  “I’m a very visual person,” she defended. “This is how I learn and how I think. If I’m immersed in—”

  He cut her off. “Yes immersed is the right word. Pull out your thesaurus. Tell me what else you hear when you say immersed. Plunged. Submerged. Absorbed. I was an English major, I can keep going if you want me to.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t,” she argued. “Maybe just hear me when I say I found something. You should be begging me to tell you.”

  “You found something that neither Bobby nor Piper was able to find while looking at these cases?”

  “I really appreciate your surprise. It’s great for the confidence.”

  “Fine,” Patrick finally acquiesced. “What did you find? ”

  “This,” Ruby said, forcefully pointing to the wall. “Clara Whistler went missing in the fall of 1990 from Corovan Island. It’s a good ways from here, but there was a note in her file that said her sister saw her getting on a boat that afternoon.” She waited, holding her breath, anticipating the wave to knock Patrick over, the way it had her when she’d found it.

  “That’s all it says?” he asked, thoroughly underwhelmed. “They live on an island. Wouldn’t getting on a boat be a pretty common occurrence?”

  “It wasn’t a boat she recognized, and it was the last time the girl was seen.” How he was missing this monumental lead was lost on her.

  “It’s worth passing on to Bobby. Maybe he can follow up.”

  “We already know he won’t follow up,” Ruby countered. “He’s not going to call a family without more to go on. He said that earlier today.”

  “I heard him,” Patrick said firmly. “And I agree with him. But maybe there is something else he can do with the information.”

  “You know as well as I do there is only
one thing to do with this. We have to call the sister and ask for more information on the boat. There is no description here, nothing. Surely if she could narrow it down we could add that and maybe make some concrete connections. I can feel it; this is one of the girls. I just know it. Don’t you ever have that sense?”

  “We can’t,” Patrick said too gently for her liking. She’d prefer if he were yelling at this point. Anything would be better than the condescending, overly tender tone.

  “I’m all right doing it on my own,” Ruby said, sticking her chin out. “I just thought it would be better coming from you. A journalistic approach to the facts. I know I’ve been a bit emotional about all of this, and I thought you’d do a better job.”

  “Flattery?” he asked, rolling his eyes. “You think I’ll fall for that?” But there was a subtle softening in his jaw that gave her hope.

  “It’s worth it, Patrick. You don’t have to tell her about the pictures or the new evidence. Just say you are looking into old cases and want to get more information from her statement. I’ve already tracked her number down.” Ruby slid a small piece of paper with the number written on it to him. “We should try.” Her eyes moved over to the wall where the dismembered limbs of the forgotten girls lay strewn and discarded. “If she is one of these girls, she deserves to have her story told.”

  “Fine,” he said, blowing out a breath and taking the small paper. “But I don’t want to hear a peep from you in the background. If we do this, we do it my way.”

  She nodded and mocked locking her lips as he began to dial.

  “Hello, is this Erin Whistler?” Patrick asked, clearing his throat as he switched it to speaker phone.

  “Erin Salstone now, but Whistler is my maiden name. Who’s calling?”

  “My name is Patrick Sullivan. I’m a reporter based in Maine. I’m wondering if I could talk with you briefly about a statement you made to police years ago when your sister was reported missing?”