Hometown Girl

by Courtney Walsh

  “It was wrong of them to put all that pressure on you,” Beth said. “Even adults wouldn’t be able to process what you saw. Did anyone tell you it wasn’t your fault?”

  Her words stopped his breath for a split second.

  She came up behind him, wrapped her arms around his chest and laid her head on his back. They stood like that for several seconds until finally the weight of his burden began to fall away.

  He turned around and pulled her close, letting his chin rest gently on top of her head. He inhaled her, charmed by her sweet vanilla scent.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

  “It’s okay. I know it wasn’t easy.”

  No. It wasn’t. And yet, he felt a sense of relief having gotten it all out. He inched away and studied her face. “There’s something else.”

  “There is?”

  “The day you found the room in the closet.”

  Beth nodded, pulling just out of his grasp.

  “I remembered something. A song came on the radio outside, and it was like I was there. I was ten years old again.”

  Drew recounted the man in the stable. He’d seen him. He remembered him, but he didn’t recognize him. “What if this is the man who took Jess? What if Harold was right, and I’ve had the answer all along?”

  She shook her head. “Don’t do that to yourself. You remember now.”

  “I need you to help me with something.”

  She raised her eyebrow. “Anything.”

  Drew picked up her notebook and handed it to her. “I need you to sketch his face.”

  Beth took the notebook, and for a second, she looked like she didn’t recognize it, didn’t know what to do with it. “You want me to draw the man in your mind?”

  “That’s why I went to Bishop. To see if they had someone who could sketch it for me.”

  Beth frowned. “I don’t think they do.”

  “I didn’t think so, but I didn’t want to leave town without at least trying.”

  “You shouldn’t have been leaving town at all.” She smirked.

  He tugged at her hand. “You thought I was guilty. I thought I’d lost you.”

  “I’m sorry for that.” Embarrassment whisked across her face.

  “Will you help me?”

  Beth stared at the blank paper. “I’ll try,” she said. “But I can’t promise you it’s going to come out right.”

  Drew pressed his lips to her forehead. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

  Her eyes found his. “And neither do you.”

  Simple words had never spoken so deeply to his soul.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “Was his face long or round?”

  Drew squinted. “Round. Pudgy. And he had freckles across the top of his nose and cheeks.”

  Beth sketched, feeling rusty. “I feel like someone else would be better at this.”

  “It doesn’t have to be perfect, remember?”

  But it felt like it did. There was so much riding on this.

  She listened closely as he told her what he remembered. Every once in a while, he’d get quiet, lost in a memory. She’d wait patiently for him to continue, praying this brought him the closure he needed.

  “Have you ever told anyone about any of this?” She kept her gaze on the sketch pad as she shaded the man’s left eyebrow.

  “No.”

  The one word said so much. He’d bottled it up all these years, but he’d trusted her enough to break his silence. “I’m glad you told me.”

  “I am too.”

  She prayed he saw that self-preservation, not cowardice, had driven him to bury these memories. That lie he’d believed had robbed him of years of living.

  Beth stopped shading the face of a pudgy man, young, maybe late teens, with a stout nose and thin eyebrows.

  “Are you sure the expression is right?” she asked. The man she’d sketched didn’t look angry, but sad. It took a special kind of evil to harm a child—maybe Beth had gotten it wrong.

  Drew took the paper and studied it. “No, this is right. He looks mean to me. You don’t think so?” He turned the drawing toward her.

  Drew saw the man differently. Like a child might. Beth stilled, but before she could respond, the front door opened. Bishop still stood on the porch. It had been over an hour since he’d gone outside to give them some time alone.

  Oops.

  “I assume you’ve had enough time to chat?” he asked, hands on his hips, looking a bit disheveled.

  “Bishop, I’m so sorry you’ve been out there this whole time.” Beth stood. “Come in.”

  He shuffled through the door and turned his attention to Drew. “Do you want to tell me now why you were down at the station yesterday?”

  Drew stood and handed him the drawing. “I remembered something.”

  Bishop studied the paper, eyebrow raised, but no recognition on his face. “Who’s this?”

  “Was hoping you could tell me.” Drew shoved his hands in his pockets.

  Bishop took another look, then shook his head. “Doesn’t look familiar, but I can show it around. Who is he?”

  Drew explained his memory of the man hiding in the stables and watching him and Jess, and Bishop agreed he was certainly a person of interest.

  “It’s hard to say whether or not anyone will recognize him now. It’s been a really long time.” Bishop must’ve caught the look of despair on Drew’s face, because he quickly added, “But this is the first solid lead we’ve ever had in this case. Good job, man.”

  A commotion on the porch drew their attention outside, where Birdie was stumbling up the stairs.

  “Oh, thank heavens, you’re okay. I just heard about the damage from the storm.” The poor woman looked terrified.

  “We’re fine, Birdie. I suppose we should be thankful no one was hurt.” But even as she said the words, Beth felt anything but thankful. She was happy no one was in the barn when the tree went through the roof, but not happy at the decisions ahead of them or the knowledge that she was about to lose the life she’d grown to love.

  “Did you just find out about the storm?” Drew asked.

  “Heavens, no. I was in my fallout shelter.” She looked at Drew. “I told you I was stocked up. I enjoyed myself so much down there, I just came up an hour ago. Cricket had left frantic messages on my machine. The whole town’s buzzing about the damage to your farm.”

  Beth could imagine. The people of Willow Grove had been as excited about their grand reopening as she and Molly were. Selling to Davis wasn’t only a letdown for her, but for the whole town. Beth hated that.

  Birdie turned her attention to Beth. “What a mess. I suppose we’ll move the sale to the art barn, then? Use the great outdoors a little more than we wanted to?”

  Beth looked at Drew. Neither of them had even considered moving the sale. It was like they’d both been completely defeated from the second they’d seen the main barn, but most of the work was still done, including Dina’s advertising campaign.

  “I never thought about that,” Beth said. “I suppose it could be like one last hurrah for Fairwind.”

  Birdie frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s a long story.” Beth couldn’t bring herself to get into it, but one glance at Birdie told her she’d lost her attention anyway. Instead, the old woman seemed captivated by the paper in Bishop’s hand.

  “Birdie? What is it?”

  “Did you draw this?” Birdie took the paper from Bishop.

  “Yes.” Beth felt suddenly self-conscious of her work.

  Birdie turned to Drew. The two of them exchanged a sort of rare, knowing glance, the kind that told Beth she recognized the man in the sketch. The kind that told her Birdie understood what Drew had been through to get that image out of his mind and onto the paper.

  “Who is he?” Drew asked, his voice low and quiet.

  “You don’t remember,” Birdie said.

  He shook his head.

  “It’
s Monty. He worked here that summer. Harold felt sorry for him, so he gave him a few odd jobs around the farm. No one ever considered him a suspect, because he’d been out of town that week.” Her fingers met the edge of the paper. “Or at least that’s what everyone thought.”

  “I saw him two days before Jess went missing,” Drew said. “I know he was here.”

  Birdie fell onto the chair and covered her mouth with her hand. “The answer was there all along.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Bishop said. “All we know is that we need to question him—nothing more.”

  “He was a troubled kid. Sweet, but troubled.” Birdie seemed lost in her own world.

  “Birdie, how can we find this Monty now? Does he still live in Willow Grove?” Bishop asked.

  She slowly met Drew’s eyes, as if what she knew would cause him pain. “He’s right next door, Bishop. That’s Monty Biddle. Davis’s son.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Birdie’s words hung in the air.

  Beth paced the kitchen floor, feeling like they had to piece together puzzles from two separate boxes. She recounted her conversations with Davis to Bishop, who scribbled notes in a little black notebook he pulled from his back pocket.

  Molly showed up at the door, confusion all over her pale face. “Bishop said you were all out here. Why didn’t you call me sooner? Was there a break in the case?”

  Beth ignored her. Not the time to be dramatic.

  “Why are we just standing around?” Drew paced the same six feet of the white linoleum, his brow knit.

  “I want to have all the facts so we don’t barge in half-cocked,” Bishop said. “Molly, I need you to tell me everything that happened the day Davis Biddle’s assistant gave you that business card.”

  Molly went over it again.

  “He obviously wants this property for something,” Beth said. “He’s gone to a lot of trouble to make that clear.” He’d made offers before and after the storm. Good offers that any sane person would take. He wasn’t backing down.

  Molly shrugged. “Is it possible he doesn’t know about Monty? Maybe his son never told him what he’d done? Maybe he wants the land because it’s valuable—and so are the orchards.”

  “I don’t think that’s it,” Beth said. “I mean, we all see the value in this old farm, but I can’t help but wonder if his motives have nothing to do with money at all.”

  Birdie let out a soft sigh.

  “What is it?” Beth asked.

  “I don’t know why I didn’t put it together sooner, but Monty stopped working here after that weekend. I’ve only ever seen him a handful of times since, but as far as I know, he still lives with Davis.”

  Concerned looks crisscrossed the room. Had something happened to Monty that day too? Maybe Davis wanted the farm because he—not his son—was the real criminal. Maybe there was still evidence on the property, or he was one of those creepy serial killers who kept trophies of his victims.

  Was Fairwind his trophy?

  “He’s a special kid, Monty,” Birdie said quietly. “He was always very sweet, but he was behind the rest of the kids. Got picked on a lot. Davis hired tutors for him so he wouldn’t have to deal with all the bullies.”

  “And you’re sure he still lives at home?” Bishop asked. “He’d be in his late thirties by now.”

  “I’m not sure of anything.” Birdie’s bracelets jangled as she stood. “And there’s no sense speculating. We should just go over there and ask.”

  Bishop shook his head. “We aren’t going anywhere. Monty needs to be questioned, I agree, but that doesn’t involve any of you.”

  “Yes, it does.” Drew glowered in the corner. “You’re not going without me.”

  After some hesitation, Bishop agreed, out of common sense or fear, Beth didn’t know. But she wasn’t about to let them go without her either.

  “What if I go?” Beth asked, ignoring Molly’s slack-jawed expression.

  “We can’t roll up there with an entourage, Beth,” Bishop said.

  “But he thinks we’re selling him the farm.” She paced. “Maybe I can find out more. Do a little digging about why he’s really interested in this old place.”

  “All due respect, Beth, I’m not sure he’d open up to you. And I’m not sure we need his life story.” Bishop snapped his notebook shut and put it back in his pocket.

  Beth chewed the inside of her lip. “I understand.” She didn’t really. She wanted to know the man’s endgame. What did he think? That he could bring down Fairwind one barn at a time? That he could destroy what they’d restored and just walk away?

  “I think Beth should come,” Drew said. “It might be easier to get him talking if we go in to discuss business. We’ve already been there once. It can’t hurt.”

  Bishop didn’t look impressed. “I’m not interested in his shady business deals, you guys. If he or his son had something to do with Jess Pendergast’s disappearance, that’s all I care about.”

  Molly put a hand on Bishop’s shoulder. “He’s been out to steal Fairwind from us since the beginning, and from what we’ve heard, he doesn’t like to take ‘no’ for an answer.” She met Beth’s eyes. “We almost forfeited our farm to that man.”

  If anyone could change Bishop’s mind, it was Molly. He’d pull the moon down for her if she asked.

  “This goes against every bit of police training I have,” he said. “But I’ll give you a few minutes alone with him before I come in.”

  Beth nodded a thank-you to Molly and then turned to Drew. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

  He held her gaze for several seconds. “Positive.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Beth called Davis and asked to see him right away. She explained that they were desperate and had made a decision, but they had a few questions before they could finalize the deal.

  As expected, he invited her right over. She and Drew arrived ten minutes later, with the understanding that Bishop would come after twenty minutes. Knowing Molly, she’d likely sneak into the back seat of the squad car when he wasn’t looking—to her, this was all terribly exciting.

  To Beth, it was nauseating. Her stomach rolled as Drew shut off the truck’s engine.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

  “I’ll be okay,” he said. “Long as you’re okay.”

  “What if Monty was a tool his father used?” Beth asked before they got out of the truck. “What if Monty delivered Jess to his father?”

  Drew looked away. Thinking about it had to hurt. Walking in there, asking questions—all of it would hurt. She hated that he had to go through this.

  They walked to the door, which opened before they could knock. Davis’s assistant welcomed them in, ushered them into the office and left them alone.

  Beth’s eyes scanned the framed photographs on the mantel, the desk, the wall. “Don’t you think it’s odd that he doesn’t have a single picture of his family? If I didn’t know better, I’d have no idea Davis had a son at all.”

  “Yeah,” Drew said. “It’s odd, just like everything else about this guy.”

  But he wasn’t odd. Not really. Davis Biddle was a little arrogant, but otherwise a completely normal guy.

  Minutes later he entered, walked straight to his desk and sat down. “I hear you’ve come around, Miss Whitaker. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, really. Farmwork isn’t for everyone.” He smiled. He was almost charming. “If I didn’t have the money to hire out all the work, I probably wouldn’t take it on myself.”

  Beth pressed her lips together. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are your intentions for the farm?”

  Davis laughed. “This is a piece of land, Miss Whitaker, not a daughter I’m trying to marry off.”

  “It’s more than a piece of land to me,” Beth said. It was supposed to be my second chance.

  “I understand the sentimentality of a place like Fairwind Farm, Miss Whitaker. I reall
y do.”

  “So are you going to restore it and reopen it?”

  “I don’t want to mislead you.” He folded his hands on the desk.

  “So you’re going to buy it and level all the buildings?”

  “That’s more likely. Though, the orchards are producing well. Walter tells me they’re worth keeping. Probably worth expanding. We get the outbuildings out of the way, we can give ourselves a lot more room for the orchard.”

  “Seems like small-time for someone like you,” Drew said.

  “I guess I’m just trying to get back to basics, Mr. Barlow. Maybe you’d be interested in staying on as the grounds manager?”

  Drew’s jaw twitched.

  “It’s interesting you said you worked out an agreement with Harold about the orchards,” Beth said.

  “Why is that interesting?”

  “Because it’s a lie.”

  Surprise skirted across his face. “What makes you say that?”

  “Walter told me. It made me wonder why a man like you would go to all the trouble of pouring his hard-earned money into a local apple orchard for no return. Especially the same year the owners’ daughter went missing.”

  “That’s not a secret,” Davis said.

  “Were you just being a good neighbor, or did your sudden generosity have something to do with your son?” Beth pulled the sketch from her notebook and slid it across the table.

  Davis looked at it, then slowly met her eyes. “What is this?”

  “It’s a sketch of a man who was at the farm around the time of Jess’s disappearance.”

  Beads of sweat gathered on Davis’s upper lip. “Of course he was there. Monty worked for Harold and Sonya. What’s your point?”

  “He was seen hiding in one of the stables, watching the little girl play,” Beth said. “And a tenant in one of the barns remembers him. She never saw him working on the farm again after that day.”

  “Is that Mrs. Chirper?” Davis said, his brows drawn down. “You can’t trust anything that woman says.”