Chapter 17
“It was 1983 when she died,” Karen began. “That year will forever be imprinted on my heart. Her death devastated me for a long time. The thought of her being tortured and killed by this monster was unbearable.”
“Did you find it odd that she was the only victim that wasn’t found?” asked Sabrina.
“Not at first. The pain was so consuming that I didn’t really think of much of anything. But yes, over time, when I began to get my head around it, I did think about that. I also wondered if her father may have killed her. But I didn’t have any evidence of that and a part of me just didn’t want to open up the wounds.”
“Why did you think her father might have been involved?” I asked.
“It was the fall of our final year, right after summer vacation. I walked into the apartment and found Lucinda in tears. I remember setting down a bag of groceries on the counter before rushing to her. Funny, I can’t remember dates, but I remember that. I asked her what was wrong. Lucinda tried to talk, but nothing came out. This made her cry even harder, so I just put my arm around her and let her cry. Eventually the tears ended and I remember handing her a tissue. She wiped her nose and then tried to speak. Her voice was weird, like flat and hoarse. She said, ‘My father wants me to move home after graduation. He’s ordered me to.’ I told her that he can’t do that and to just say no, but she said that he scared her, and when I asked her how, she just shook her head.”
I saw a tear roll down her cheek. Karen stood up and walked into the bathroom, returning with a box of tissues.
“Wow,” she said. “I never thought tears would come so many years after it all happened.”
“Memories are funny things,” said Sabrina.
Karen nodded and continued the story.
“Lucinda said to me, ‘There are things I’ve never told you. Things I can’t tell you. He’s threatened me. I’m afraid he’s going to kill me.’ I told her that that was ridiculous and that her own father wouldn’t kill her. And this is where it got scary. She said, ‘It’s not ridiculous. I found out some things about him, things I can’t tell you because they would put your life in danger.’ I told her that she was scaring me and she apologized and told me that she didn’t want to see me hurt, which was why she hadn’t told me. I asked her when she found out the things about her father and she said it was when she had gone home for summer vacation. I tried different ways to get her to tell me, but she refused, so I asked her if she had told Jackson.”
“Because of their closeness?” asked Sabrina.
She nodded. “If she wasn’t going to confide in me, I wanted her to at least have someone to confide in. She said that Jackson already knew what was going on and that he told her to just let it go. I know that frustrated her, but she had told me many times that Jackson wasn’t very strong, and he definitely couldn’t stand up to his father. Lucinda was the only one who could do that at one time, but I got the feeling that those times were over. She was just scared of him now.”
“Couldn’t she have gone to the police?” I asked.
“I asked her that. She told me that I didn’t get it, that her father was a very powerful man who probably had the authorities in his pocket. So she was stuck. She was all alone. I asked her if she could talk to her mother and she waved me away dismissively.”
“If her father was so concerned about Lucinda sharing all of these deep, dark secrets, why didn’t he just keep her home and not send her back to school?” I asked.
“I asked her that. She thought he figured it might look too suspicious to leave school so close to graduation, so he threatened her instead. I think his intention was for her to work in the mine office. It would keep her close to home and fairly removed from the rest of civilization. I only wish she had told me what it was. I might have been able to help her.”
“You would probably be dead,” said Sabrina. “Lucinda wasn’t kidding about her family.”
“She said that one of the things her father threatened her with was Jackson. He said that if it all got out, the mine would go out of business and Jackson’s life would be destroyed. The mine was the only thing he had. I think that was what finally convinced her to stay silent.”
“If I had to guess,” I said, “her father probably used your life as a threat, as well.”
She took a breath. “I suppose that’s possible. Things seemed almost normal for a while, but then, after Christmas, Lucinda seemed to distance herself from me a bit. Then came the blowup with Jackson.”
“Do you know what caused it?” I asked.
“No. By the time of the blowup, she was barely talking to me. Please understand, she wasn’t angry with me in any way. I think she was trying to protect me. Was my life really in danger? I don’t know. So what her fight with Jackson was about, I don’t know for sure. All I can tell you is that these were two people who were inseparable forever, and suddenly they weren’t.”
“If you had to guess?” asked Sabrina.
“I thought about it a lot at the time. The only thing I could come up with was that it was about Jackson’s inability to confront his father. But was it enough to cause such a rift? I can’t believe it. He wasn’t able to confront his father his whole life. So would it suddenly cause that kind of meltdown between them? No, it had to be something else. After that, Lucinda totally cut ties with me. Nothing to that effect was said, but it was obvious. I saw almost nothing of her after that, and then one day she was gone.”
“Did she take anything with her?” I asked.
“Nothing obvious, which is why I—and I guess everyone else—believed the story that she was murdered.”
“You remembered more than advertised,” I said when Karen had finished her story.
“Trust me, I’m more surprised than you are,” she said. “Once the memories started, they gushed out. There was so much I had forgotten about. I hope it was of some help.”
“It was,” said Sabrina. “I’m not sure yet where it leaves us, but it’s helping to fill in the blanks.”
“You knew her for a while,” said Karen. “What was she like near the end?”
“Nothing like the person you remember. She was bitter and full of hate. Nobody knew to whom the hate was directed, but now I have an idea. I never saw her smile, ever. She kept her education a secret. She kept her whole life a secret.”
“But you mentioned a marriage and a daughter,” said Karen. “So she really lived three lives, seemingly independent of one another. Who can do that?”
“We now know something about lives number one and three,” said Sabrina. “Do we go back to Wisconsin and talk to Ronnie to try to learn more about life number two or look up her father and learn more about life number one?”
“I’m getting used to the Boston-to-Pittsburgh run,” I said. “I think we might learn more from the old man. After that we can head up to Wisconsin. That work for you?” Compiling the notes on our previous adventure seemed further and further away. I loved it.
There was nothing more to be gleaned, so we thanked Karen profusely for her time.
“I still can’t believe she was alive for all those years and that she died such a lonely death. It makes me so sad,” she said as we got in the car.
There wasn’t anything we could say to that. Sabrina gave Karen’s hand a squeeze and I put the car in reverse. As we left, Karen was just standing at the top of her driveway, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Chapter 18
A half hour later we had crossed the Bourne Bridge over the Cape Cod Canal and were back on the mainland. There was a certain relief for me to be on that side of the bridge, but luckily my trip to the Cape this time was quick and painless.
“Do you think Holt will talk to us?” I asked.
“Honestly? No. But I’m kind of hoping her brother is still in the area. If he was as close to Lucinda as Karen indicated, maybe he’ll talk to us.”
“You’re calling her Lucinda now?”
“This isn’t the person I knew. Da
isy was old, tired, and angry. Lucinda was young and full of hope. It just seems more appropriate to separate them.”
We traveled back to Boston in relative silence. At one point Sabrina put her hand over mine. I turned my head to find her smiling at me. It was a contented smile, a sweet show of love. I felt my whole body tingle. I turned my hand over and interlaced my fingers in hers. I could have sworn I heard her sigh. God, I hoped I wasn’t going to wake up and find myself back in my old, tired life.
Sabrina leaned over and kissed me lightly on the cheek.
No, this was real.
*****
We headed back to Pittsburgh … again.
It took Sabrina longer than usual to look up an address online, as it seemed that Lucas Holt didn’t want to be found. But I had faith in Sabrina and she came through. Holt lived out in the country on a massive piece of property spread out over rolling hills. The driveway was almost a half mile long, but there was no gate, which was nice. A gate would have been pretty much a waste of time, considering that there was no fence around the property.
As we drove down the lane, which seemed a more appropriate description than driveway, I saw three people riding horses across the hills.
“I love horses,” said Sabrina. “I rode a bit as a child. Maybe someday we can buy some property like this and have horses.” I loved that she said “we.”
“If your current book sells anywhere near as well as the rest have, you can buy the Taj Mahal.”
“I don’t want the Taj Mahal. I want a piece of property away from everybody. Something like this.”
I knew where her thoughts had originated. She was recognized on the plane down to Pittsburgh and had had to deal with a half dozen obnoxious people demanding her autograph. As usual, most of them had no idea who’s autograph they were getting. It left her shaking, and it left me ready to punch out some people. Maybe living on property like this would be good for me, too.
“Okay,” I said. “When this adventure is all over—assuming we are still alive—let’s look for some property. I’ve heard that Virginia has a lot of properties like this one, and a lot of horses.”
The smile on her face said it all.
As we approached the house, we could see horse barns, tennis courts, and a swimming pool. The pool looked like something that belonged at a Hyatt or a Marriott, with cabanas and a couple of hot tubs. I could see a woman sitting in a chair by the edge of the pool reading a book. We pulled around the circular driveway to the front of the house. We got out of the car and approached the ornate front door.
There was a time when all of this upper-class stuff would have had my legs shaking, but no longer. Was it because I was with a world-famous rich author and felt part of that crowd? Or was it simply because in the last year I had been the subject of numerous murder attempts and very little could throw me now? Either way, I wasn’t overwhelmed.
I rang the bell. After a minute Lucas Holt himself answered the door.
We had seen pictures of him online. He had aged about thirty years from the pictures, but it was definitely him. He was small and stooped over slightly, which made him look even smaller. His white hair was so thin I could see his pink scalp underneath. He had a wisp of a mustache, also white, the remnant of the more impressive jet-black mustache he had in the pictures we had seen. His arms were ever-so thin. He was wearing bedroom slippers. A shell of the powerful coal-mining baron.
“Mr. Holt? My name is Sabrina Spencer and this is Del Honeycutt. We were wondering if we could speak to you for a few minutes.”
His mouth gave a funny twitch and he looked at a spot between us.
“Why?” He still hadn’t looked at either one of us fully.
“We were talking to Senator Wheeler and he suggested we talk to you.”
Well, that was a bald-faced lie, but Sabrina said it with a straight face. I somehow doubt if Wheeler would have approved.
“John sent you? Well I guess you can come in.”
He left the door open and walked back inside. We followed and I closed the door behind us. We went into an ornate living room—or maybe it was a study. It was all above my pay grade. There were bookshelves and chairs. I suppose it could have been either one.
“We hope you don’t mind,” said Sabrina, “but we had a couple of questions about your daughter.”
“Don’t have a daughter.”
“Lucinda?”
“She’s dead.”
“Yes, sir. We know that she supposedly died when she was in college, but we also know that she really didn’t die then.”
He looked at a spot behind us on the wall. It almost made me want to turn around to make sure there wasn’t someone standing there about to blow us away.
“Who did you say sent you?”
“Senator Wheeler.”
“Don’t know him.”
Sabrina and I looked at each other.
“Um,” began Sabrina. “But you just said you did. You called him by his first name.”
He looked directly at me.
“Does he talk?”
I smiled. “I do, but I thought I would let Sabrina ask you the questions.”
“Don’t like a man who lets a woman do all his talking for him.”
“She’s not, sir. She just has most of the questions.” I took the bull by the horns. “What Sabrina was asking was why you let everyone think Lucinda was killed by a serial killer when in fact she just changed her name and moved away?”
He looked from me to Sabrina and then back to the place on the wall.
“Barbara,” he called out.
A woman entered the room a moment later. The pool lady. Obviously Holt’s wife, Barbara had a no-nonsense look about her. She was probably the same age as her husband—early eighties—but looked ten years younger. She was wearing a robe over her swimsuit. She had pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head.
“Who are you?”
Sabrina gave our names.
“Swell. Now leave.”
“But we had some ques…” Sabrina started.
“I said leave. Can’t you see my husband isn’t well?”
“But Senator Wheeler sent us.”
“Don’t know a Senator Wheeler. Out!”
We left. The door was slammed shut behind us.
We heard a horse approach and looked up to see a sixtyish man peering down at us. His two riding companions were heading for the barn.
“I see you’ve met my mother.”
“We have at that,” answered Sabrina.
He dismounted and approached with his hand out. “Jackson Holt.”
We shook his hand and introduced ourselves.
“I apologize for my mother,” he said. “I would like to say that she is just trying to protect my father, who is becoming a little confused, but she’s always been like that. Not the most pleasant woman, I’m afraid. Sabrina Spencer. Like the author?”
“I am the author.”
“I’m honored. How can I help you?”
“We just had a few questions about your sister, Lucinda.”
“Lucy? Really? What questions could you possibly have after so long?”
“I only ever heard her referred to as Lucinda,” said Sabrina.
“You’re right. Everybody called her Lucinda and everybody called me Jackson—and they still do. I was the only one who called Lucinda ‘Lucy,’ and she was the only one who called me ‘Jack.’ So what questions do you have?”
“I’m sorry in advance if any of this is sensitive,” said Sabrina.
He waved it away. “It’s been a lot of years.”
“We know that she wasn’t really killed by the serial killer in Pittsburgh.”
His eyebrows raised. “What are you talking about?”
“We know that she changed her name and disappeared, got married and had a child, and was sent to prison for killing her husband.”
“Really now.” He had an amused look on his face. “Where in the world did you hear that story?”
“Well, I’m afraid you were given some bad information. This Daisy person lied to you.”
“Actually, Daisy never mentioned it. We only found this out recently. Daisy had gotten out of prison and was murdered in Texas. But she left me some information that led us into her history, which is where we discovered that Daisy and Lucinda were one and the same. We’re trying to find out who killed her.”
Jackson was shaken. Was this news completely out of the blue for him?
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I know I said that it’s been a lot of years, but this kind of news is rather disturbing. My sister and I were very close and losing her to the serial killer was devastating to me. I can guarantee that you are wrong in your assumptions, but nevertheless, it hurts to hear you say that.”
“I’m really sorry, Jackson,” said Sabrina. “I assumed you knew. I assumed your whole family knew.”
He just shook his head.
“I’m sorry, but If I could just ask you one more question, we’ll be out of your hair.”
He nodded absently.
“We located her roommate, who said that you and Lucinda had had a falling out right before she died…”
He didn’t let her finish.
“A falling out? No, not even close. We had an argument, not a falling out. A simple argument, the topic of which is none of your concern. But my sister and I loved each other very much. Occasional arguments weren’t uncommon, but they were always over little things.” He hesitated, then changed gears. “Daisy Leduc, you say?”
We nodded.
He mounted his horse.
“If Lucinda had done anything like that, she would have told me. We were too close for her not to. I’m afraid you got some very bad information.”
While he was talking, I’d quickly jotted my phone number down on a scrap of paper. I handed it to him and said, “If you think of anything that might help us, could you call me?”
Fatal Lies ( Lies Mystery Thriller Series Book 2) Page 10