A Denial of Death

by Gin Jones

  Helen unwrapped her tortilla. It smelled wonderful, but it didn't soothe her disappointment. "A free lunch isn't the same as finding Angie."

  "You learned something, though," Tate said. "If no one saw Angie, then it's likely Angie didn't stay very long, despite the prepaid room. At a guess I'd say this was just a stop on her way somewhere else, maybe to set up a false trail."

  Helen hadn't seriously considered that Angie might have been hiding intentionally. Why would she have wanted to do that? Normally, Angie worked hard to be seen, not to be invisible. If she was hiding, then who was she hiding from? Just Ralph, or both her husband and her sister? "I wonder if Charlene knew Angie wasn't planning to stay here."

  Tate made sure his lap was entirely covered with napkins before he unwrapped his lunch. With a warning look at Helen he made it clear he didn't intend to discuss business while he ate. His final word on the subject before biting into his tortilla was, "You'll have to ask Charlene."

  * * *

  There was a dark SUV idling in Helen's driveway beside Tate's car. A red emergency light flashed from the dashboard, and the license plate identified it as a municipally-owned vehicle. An unmarked police car, she assumed.

  Jack drove past it to park next to the path to the cottage's front door, and Detective Peterson hopped out of the SUV. Helen still hadn't entirely forgiven him for treating her like an invalid, and a feeble-minded one at that, on the day her visiting nurse had been murdered. He was just a hair over 5' 6", but stocky, and he somehow managed to look down on everyone, regardless of the other person's height.

  She assumed Detective Peterson's presence meant Ralph had filed the missing persons report. She would have liked to think Peterson was here to see if she could help them narrow down their search, but in reality he was probably just going to tell her to stay out of the investigation. He hadn't forgiven her for almost getting herself killed by her nurse's murderer after his department had arrested the wrong person.

  Helen was tempted to push Tate out of the car and tell Jack to make a run for the border with her, but that wouldn't help matters.

  Jack turned off the engine and climbed out of the front seat. Normally, Helen would have done her best to hop out quickly, but she wasn't in the mood to make things any easier for the detective. She took her time gathering up the remnants of their take-out lunch, making sure they hadn't left any of the napkins or stray crumbs behind for Jack's cousin at the car lot to complain about. Tate stayed in his seat, listening to someone on the other end of his phone, only interjecting the occasional "yes," "no," or "I see."

  After a couple minutes of checking for any incriminating evidence of their take-out feast, it dawned on Helen that Jack should have come around and opened the car door for her by now. He usually gave her a sporting chance at opening it herself, but by now he should have been checking on her. Where was he?

  Helen tossed the bag of lunch trash to Tate, and scrambled out of the limo as quickly as she could manage with her hip stiff from the two-hour drive. Once outside the vehicle she could see that Detective Peterson was blocking Jack from coming around the car to her door.

  Helen leaned down into the opening she'd just scrambled through. "Jack might need your legal services again."

  Tate sighed and ended his conversation. He emerged from the other side of the car a moment later.

  Helen went over to the front of the limo. "What can we do for you today, Detective Peterson?"

  "We're trying to find Charlene Rice. Her sister has been gone a while, and her husband thinks she might know where Angie is."

  "What's that got to do with me?"

  "Nothing." Peterson pointed with his chin. "We think Jack here might know something about where Charlene is. A passing patrol car recognized him going into her house yesterday, and given his past burglaries, it looked suspicious. There wasn't enough evidence to do anything at the time, but the officer recognized the address when he heard we were going there to talk to a witness."

  "Jack was with me yesterday," Helen said. "All afternoon."

  "We have a reliable witness that puts him at Charlene's house," Detective Peterson insisted.

  "We were both there," Helen said. "Jack took me there. In my car."

  "He didn't perhaps borrow your car and not tell you where he was going, and now you're protecting him?"

  "Of course not," Helen said. "Why would he go visit Charlene without me?"

  "Why would you go visit Charlene?"

  "The same reason you were going there," Helen said. "To ask her what she knew about her sister's disappearance."

  That seemed to stump the detective for a moment before he asked, "What did she tell you?"

  Helen was tempted to claim the Fifth and refuse to answer. She glanced at Tate, but he'd taken another call and gone around to the back of the car to have a little privacy for a conversation that was apparently more important than keeping Helen and Jack out of jail. She'd have to do it herself. That didn't mean she had to tell the detective everything she knew. She remembered doing a deposition for some civil lawsuit her husband had been involved in years ago, and the attorney preparing her had lectured her repeatedly on listening to the questions she was asked and then answering only the specific question, without volunteering any extra information. It was always the voluntary comments that got witnesses into trouble.

  That seemed like solid advice for dealing with the police too. The detective wanted to know what Charlene had told her, not what Helen thought of that information. "Charlene said Angie's at a casino in Connecticut."

  "That wasn't so hard, was it? We'll contact the authorities there and confirm she's safe and sound so Ralph can stop worrying." Detective Peterson turned his back on Helen to address Jack again. "Now, what can you tell us about where Charlene is?"

  "I don't know where she is," Jack said, not meeting his interrogator's eyes. To anyone who didn't know better, he looked like he was lying. "At work, maybe?"

  The detective shook his head. "She called in sick today, shortly before noon. She wasn't at home when we got there at 1:00. We have a cruiser sitting outside her house, but it's been three hours, and she hasn't been back. Seems odd for her to be out if she's too sick to work."

  "So now you have a second missing person case," Helen said, hoping to draw the detective's attention away from the guilty-looking Jack.

  "You mean Charlene?" Detective Peterson shook his head with a condescending smirk. "She's not a case. She hasn't been gone long enough to be classified as missing. Not officially. I'm sure Angie will show up too when she's good and ready. You know how she is."

  "Not really," Helen said. "And I don't think Angie's going to show up without some help. She's definitely missing, and she could be in danger. It might even be too late to help her."

  "There you go again," Detective Peterson said, sounding like he was talking to a four-year-old. "Making a big deal out of things. I see this sort of situation all the time. Husband and wife have a little disagreement and one of them leaves for a while to cool down, just until everything blows over. Ralph agrees with me, in fact. He thinks Angie's just angry and staying away until she calms down."

  "Then why'd he file a missing persons report?"

  "He said you goaded him into it," Detective Peterson said. "We just need Charlene to confirm what she told you. Then he can have some peace of mind, and we can close the file."

  Now it was Helen's turn to feel a little smug. It wasn't nice of her, but she thought she deserved a little payback for his condescension. "It doesn't matter what Charlene says. Angie's not at the casino."

  "And how would you know that?" Detective Peterson said. "You wouldn't be poking around in other people's business again, would you?"

  Tate loomed up behind Helen suddenly and said, "Afternoon, Hank. They have some nice amenities at the casinos in Connecticut, and I had a sudden urge to play a few hands of poker. Helen was kind enough to accompany me, and as long as we were there, we thought we'd ask if anyone had seen Angie recen
tly. No one had. I decided to quit playing while I was ahead, and we came back home."

  Helen waited for the detective to roll his eyes at Tate's ridiculous story.

  Instead, Detective Peterson accepted Tate's explanation with a shrug. "It's a nice day trip. I go down there occasionally myself."

  "We should go together sometime," Tate said. "It's always more interesting when all the players are skilled."

  Now Helen felt like rolling her eyes, but she had to suppress the urge since Tate was only laying it on so thick in order to help her and Jack.

  "Sounds good." Detective Peterson looked down at Jack and seemed confused about why he'd been menacing the chauffeur. The detective took a step back, freeing Jack, who scurried over to stand beside Helen.

  Detective Peterson ignored both Jack and Helen to address Tate. "Meanwhile, I'm counting on you to keep your friends here out of our way. I don't have to tell you it's serious business, interfering with a police investigation."

  Being ignored in her own front yard was too much for Helen. "While you two are deciding what I can and can't do, would you mind if I sent Jack to return this vehicle to Wharton Wheels?" She wanted Jack safely out of reach before the detective reconsidered letting him go. "It's just a loaner, and they're expecting it back before they close for the day."

  Detective Peterson shrugged. "Can't see why you'd want a boring old boat like that anyway. If I could get any car I wanted and didn't have to worry about driving it to crime scenes in all kinds of weather, it would be a sporty convertible."

  Finally, there was something she wanted to know from Peterson. "What would you recommend for driving to crime scenes?"

  "A compact utility vehicle," he said, but before Helen could question him any further, Tate stepped between them and herded the detective back to his SUV.

  Tate glanced over his shoulder, his glowering eyes making it clear the subject was closed. She was not to say anything else that might suggest she was planning to make a habit of visiting crime scenes.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Helen was relieved to see the tail lights of the borrowed luxury car disappearing down her driveway. The car hadn't had an actual "you broke it, you bought it" sign, but she suspected the terms were implied.

  Detective Peterson's SUV followed a few minutes later, and Helen expected Tate to join the parade with his basic sedan. Instead, he said, "We need to talk."

  "I need something to drink first." Helen headed for the cottage. "I can't believe you didn't get some water bottles to go with lunch."

  "See?" Tate said. "This is exactly why I'd rather be turning wood than dealing with clients. I'm expected to think of everything. You'd have been hungry as well as thirsty if it weren't for me."

  "And probably in jail too," Helen conceded. "I guess I owe you the chance to yell at me. I'll even offer you a drink too."

  While Helen filled glasses with ice cubes, lemon wedges, and water, Tate pulled a stool up to the kitchen island. "Now that the police are involved, it's time to tell your friends at the nursing home that you're off the case."

  "I didn't think you'd give in to the detective's demands that easily."

  Tate waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing to do with him. It's that Charlene is missing. Hank may not think it's a big deal, but if there's really a serial kidnapper in town, I don't want you in his sights."

  "That's exactly why I can't stop now," Helen said. "The police aren't taking it seriously. Someone's got to look into it."

  Tate drank his entire glass of water in one go and pushed it across the island for a refill. "Sometimes there's nothing an individual can do. It's better handled by the police." There was a note of frustration in his voice that made Helen think Tate wasn't as resigned to giving up on Angie as his words suggested.

  "You know I'm right. Something has happened to Angie and maybe to Charlene too."

  He toyed with the refilled glass. "I'm not saying you should get involved, but I will concede that two sisters disappearing from a small town like Wharton in the course of a single month isn't likely to be a coincidence."

  If she'd parsed all the qualifiers right, Tate agreed with her, even if he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. If she could pique his curiosity enough, he might be willing to set aside his woodworking for a few days to help her. "Did you hear back from your contacts in Connecticut?"

  "I did." He took another gulp of water. "They didn't find anything on Angie. She hasn't been arrested or detained anywhere in the state within the last six months."

  Another theory busted.

  Since she didn't have any leads at all on Angie, the only remaining angle was to look into her sister's disappearance. Assuming Detective Peterson wasn't jumping to a wrong conclusion again. "Maybe Charlene isn't really missing. If she really was sick, she might have gone to her doctor's office or the ER. That can take all day."

  "I doubt it," Tate said. "You'd have noticed if she was seriously sick yesterday. Most people don't go from being perfectly fine to sitting in the ER for hours."

  Helen plunked her glass down on the butcher block surface of the island. "I must be missing something. We know Angie left three weeks ago on a Thursday. She went to her sister's house, and then that evening she registered at the casino. She left by the end of the week, and she didn't come home to Ralph or Charlene."

  Tate stood, and Helen thought he was going to leave her to go back to his beloved woodworking, but after what appeared to be some sort of internal struggle, he sat back down again. "I can't believe I'm telling you this, but here's where you're going wrong: you're assuming facts not in evidence. Have you corroborated everyone's statements? Two or more witnesses to each statement? Collected any documentary evidence?"

  This kind of advice was exactly why Tate was worth his weight in exotic lumber. "The only documents are the credit card statement showing the hotel payment, and a bank statement showing a cash withdrawal at an ATM near the casino."

  "That's a start," Tate said. "What about eyewitness statements?"

  "Ralph wasn't sure when Angie left, but Charlene was. It was a Thursday, Charlene's day off."

  "That's credible enough," Tate said. "I can't see any reason why they'd have gotten together and agreed on a story."

  "You don't have as wild an imagination as Betty and Josie then," Helen said. "They suggested that Ralph and Charlene are in cahoots for some reason, perhaps an illicit romance, and they worked together to get rid of Angie."

  "That would be a hard sell to a jury unless there's proof of Ralph's infidelity," Tate said. "Besides, you'd have noticed if the day of the disappearance wasn't consistent with the ATM and credit card charges, so there's sufficient evidence to establish the date Angie disappeared. Now, what about the next allegation, that Angie went to Charlene's house for a ride to the casino. How do you know she didn't go to the bus station?"

  "Because Charlene said so."

  "How do you know she isn't lying?"

  Helen doubted Tate would be satisfied with something like because she didn't seem like a psychopathic liar. What would satisfy him? "She didn't have any reason to lie. She's devoted to her sister. You can see it in the picture she gave us, in the way she's holding onto Angie."

  "That's pretty subjective."

  "You saw the picture. Do you really think Charlene's a killer who hates her sister and is putting on a show of concern?"

  "Not really," Tate said. "In fact, if she did kill her sister, and we assume she's acting rationally, it would be to her benefit to deny seeing Angie on the day she disappeared. As it is, Charlene's essentially admitted to being the last person to have seen her sister alive, which will make her a person of interest in the eyes of the police if Angie doesn't show up soon."

  "We're right back where I started," Helen said. "We haven't figured out anything new."

  "Yes, we have," Tate said. "Think about what you missed in Angie's itinerary. How did she get to Charlene's house? It's too far for her to walk, and she doesn't drive."

  "
She took a cab, of course." Comprehension dawned. "Oh. The driver might remember her, and Jack could probably use his connections to find him. I don't see what we could learn from the cabbie, though. We know Angie got to her sister's alive and well. Does it really matter how or when?"

  "I learned early on in my career that it pays to be meticulous with trial preparation. I always checked every possible detail leading up to the crime and all the way through the investigation. More often than not, it was some little thing that didn't add up which eventually got me a judgment in my client's favor."

  "I'll talk to Jack about checking with his fellow drivers," Helen said. "I can't just sit here and do nothing while I wait, though. There's got to be some lead I can be tracking down."

  Tate twirled the ice cubes in his glass. "Let's say, hypothetically, the cabbie can confirm Angie went to her sister's house that Thursday. Then what happened? Before she went to the casino."

  "Then Angie asked for a ride to the casino, and they went."

  "An uneventful trip to the casino isn't the only possibility," he said. "What if Charlene said no to the ride, and now she's regretting it? Or what if—"

  Helen finished for him: "What if Angie never left Charlene's house? Charlene could have gone to the casino and registered in her sister's name, while Angie went in another direction. It could have been a smokescreen for when Ralph started to look for his wife. That would explain why the desk clerk recognized Charlene and not Angie."

  "It's not likely, though," Tate said. "She's taken these unannounced vacations before, right? Ralph didn't chase after her then, so why would she think he'd chase her now?"

  "She could be hiding from someone other than Ralph," Helen said. "There's that seventy-five grand no one can explain. Maybe she's hiding from whoever gave her the money. Maybe it was a mistake, and someone wanted it back."

  "Then all she had to do was return it."

  "Unless she spent it or gambled it away." Helen really needed to know more about the entity that had given Angie the money. Helen pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked for messages, but there weren't any from either Lily or Laura. Her nieces were probably sulking over the last-minute cancellation of their weekly inspection of the cottage. "It's just speculation, anyway, until we know more about SLP."