Cold Case Witness

by Sarah Varland

  Then she turned to him. “Did someone whistle?”

  Gemma coughed. Matt felt his face go red.

  “Sorry, ma’am.” He stuck out a hand. “Matt O’Dell. Thank you for letting me come with Gemma tonight to make sure she—”

  Mrs. Phillips’s eyes hadn’t left his face, so he knew she didn’t see what happened. Which was good, because she missed Gemma stomping her heel down into the tips of his toes. He winced, swallowed hard and stopped speaking even though he was in the middle of a sentence. She didn’t want her parents to know he was just here for her protection? He shifted his eyes her direction, but she was looking away. Pretty intentionally, it seemed like.

  “Well, come in anyway. And no need to introduce yourself, Matt. We know who you are.”

  If only those last words seemed encouraging rather than a little derisive.

  Mrs. Phillips turned and entered the house, seeming to expect them to follow.

  Matt looked at Gemma then. Before he could ask her why she’d stomped his toes blue, she shook her head, her expression mortified. “She’s never been like that. I mean, they’ve always had money, but they’ve never been...”

  “Above people?” He forced the words out, then forced himself to shrug his shoulders, hoping if he did it enough times in his life in response to treatment like that, then it wouldn’t matter anymore.

  Too soon, they were inside the house, Matt fighting the urge to turn and leave with every step he took forward. If he weren’t so concerned about Gemma, he’d be out of there in less than a heartbeat.

  But he’d been right to insist on coming. This place was a logistical nightmare for someone trying to stay out of a stalker’s reach, like Gemma was. First, the place sprawled and he’d noticed several outbuildings on the way in. Buildings like that quickly became a liability in a scenario like this, since they provided a place for criminals to conceal themselves before an attack, or somewhere for them to hide a person—or worse, a body—if they’d abducted someone. Then there was the staff. Had he known people still had cooks? So far, that was the only other person he’d seen besides the family, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more people around who were employed by the Phillipses. People with easy access to attack Gemma with outright violence, or more subtly by slipping her a drug to knock her out or even poison her. And he couldn’t exactly ask how many staff there were without seeming more low class than they already viewed him.

  For the sake of the confusing feelings he had when Gemma was around—he wasn’t ready to figure out what those were yet—he’d kind of hoped they’d forgotten his family’s reputation. That maybe they would be willing to accept him for the man he was.

  So much for that.

  “So, Matt. You’re a police officer?”

  “He is, one of the best Treasure Point has, in my opinion.”

  Mr. Phillips looked at Gemma with amused eyes. “Let the man answer for himself, sweetie.”

  “Yes, sir,” he answered, feeling like he was still expected to. “I’ve been an officer for the past eight years.”

  “You enjoy the work?” This question was from Claire, who smiled a little as she asked it—maybe at least Gemma’s sister was willing to give him a chance.

  “It’s rewarding knowing I’m doing my part to keep Treasure Point the town we’ve always loved.”

  Mr. Phillips nodded.

  “And, Matt,” Mrs. Phillips said, “do you find it’s difficult for you to do your job, considering?”

  He felt the muscles in his legs tense, wished he could walk out of the room and be done with this. Instead, he flexed his fingers at his sides, comforted himself with the fact that he could work on his latest kayak when he got home.

  “Considering what?” He kept his words slow and measured as he met her eyes.

  She attempted to play off the awkwardness of the question with a little laugh and a dismissive wave. “Oh, you know. Your history.”

  “I don’t have much interesting history, Mrs. Phillips. I went to the same school both of your daughters did and I believe it trained me pretty well for this job. That’s really all the history that matters, isn’t it?”

  She let it go after that.

  But the questions didn’t ease off, and most of them were no less insulting. Gemma’s face grew paler by the minute, but she didn’t say anything. Neither did Claire.

  His phone ringing in the middle of what would have been an incredible peach cobbler if his stomach hadn’t been churning actually turned out to be a relief. He slid it from the phone holster on his belt loop and glanced at the screen.

  Treasure Point PD.

  “Excuse me, please.”

  He opted to head for the front door so he could step out onto the front porch to take the call, rather than go to an empty room. He was half-afraid if he did the latter Mrs. Phillips would accuse him of stealing some little trinket. He’d been surprised by her coldness, if only because it didn’t fit the genteel-hostess role that would have matched the house. He’d have expected more politeness, at least the pretend syrupy stuff, from her.

  He shut the front door behind himself and answered the call. “This is Officer O’Dell.”

  “Hey, Matt, it’s Clay. We got a call from a guy at the Brunswick Police Department. He’s working the scene of a robbery right now and says it’s something you’ll want to see. He didn’t have your phone number, so I told him I’d pass on the message.”

  His and Gemma’s ticket out of here.

  Matt let out his breath. “Great. Thanks for letting me know.”

  “Anytime.” Matt knew that Clay meant it, too. He was a good guy, easy to work with and someone Matt trusted.

  The Phillipses looked at him quizzically when he began explaining that he and Gemma needed to go, seeming shocked that he would leave before dessert was over, even more shocked, it seemed to him, that he’d speak for Gemma, too.

  “Thank you for dinner,” he finished as he glanced Gemma’s way. She set her napkin on the table, scooted her chair back and stood, as well.

  “Gemma, you can stay. Can’t you?” her mom pleaded. “Your dad can drive you and Claire both home later. She shouldn’t ride her bike at night anyway.”

  Gemma shook her head. “No, I’m leaving with Matt. I’ll be back by...” She glanced over at him. “As soon as I can.” At least she understood he wasn’t likely to let her far out of his sight after that car wreck.

  Her dad nodded. “We’d like to see you soon.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Matt heard the promise in Gemma’s words.

  He followed her to the front door, said goodbye and thanked them one more time—though he wasn’t sure why since their hospitality had been anything but genuine—and finally they were outside. They walked to the car, where Matt held Gemma’s door open for her and explained what the call had been about.

  “That estate sale I mentioned I wanted to keep an eye out for? The one in St. Simons?”

  “Yeah?”

  “They were setting up for the sale and noticed that sometime between yesterday morning and tonight, all of their maps were stolen. They have limited security there, but it sounds like they might have enough to get us a lead, if we work for it. A crime scene team from Brunswick is there now. I’ve got a buddy on it who knew it might tie to my case and called into the station. He asked Clay to pass the word along to me if I wanted to have a look.”

  “Then, let’s go.”

  Matt raised his eyebrows. Well, what harm was there in letting her come? As long as she stayed in the car so she was out of the way of the investigative work, he knew his friend wouldn’t mind. “All right, let’s go.”

  They drove back into Treasure Point to get the highway, and then took it south toward Brunswick and St. Simons. The sun had set sometime in the middle of their dinner—apparently wealthy people liked to eat late—and the sky was fully dark now. Matt glanced over at Gemma, glad she was with him, and tried not to think about the last late-night drive she’d taken. About how differen
tly things could have turned out.

  When they reached St. Simons, he pulled into a gated community—frustrating that their private security hadn’t managed to keep criminals from stealing objects of value—and followed the directions he had to a large house at the end of a cul-de-sac.

  He parked the car, eased his door open. Gemma followed suit. Matt shook his head. “No.”

  “No?” She raised her eyebrows, challenge all over her face. “What do you mean?”

  Yeah, judging by how her parents doted on her, there was a good chance that wasn’t a word she’d heard much growing up.

  “You can’t come out into the middle of a crime scene, Gemma. You’re not an officer. In fact, if anything, you’re part of this investigation and one of the very people who shouldn’t be here.”

  Her dark eyes seemed to smolder a bit at that comment. Then, just as fast, the anger was gone and she was nodding. “You’re right. I’ll stay.”

  Matt didn’t argue. Just nodded, told her he was glad she understood and walked away.

  No way Gemma planned to stay in that car. But what did she plan to do?

  He found his friend from the Brunswick PD, Derek Dallas, near the three-car garage.

  “Thanks for calling, man.” Matt stuck out his hand. “I heard you thought this might be something I needed to see.”

  Derek shook his hand. “Yeah, I think it is. The things stolen were a little odd. There were a lot of items of value that were going to be sold this weekend, everything ranging from rare books to fine china, even some paintings by some Southern artists whose names any art critic would recognize. But none of that was taken. We aren’t sure if the perp ran out of time or if there’s something else going on here.”

  “And the only things missing?” Matt asked, even though he was fairly sure he knew the answer.

  Derek was already nodding. “Maps. Could be coincidence. They were probably the least secure items. The guy liquidating the estate is a distant relative of the deceased—he didn’t even realize the maps were all that valuable. He said that he thought some of them might go for a few hundred dollars.”

  Matt winced. He knew from researching the old case that many old maps went for thousands. Easily. Some for enough thousands to buy a car. “Does the seller know which maps were stolen? I mean, did they keep an inventory list or anything so we know what the maps were of?” Just in case they were wrong about maps themselves being the treasure this criminal was drawn to. It would also be useful if they could find out just how rare or valuable the missing maps really were.

  “I don’t believe so, but we can ask. He’s inside, practically beside himself that he let this happen.”

  They headed toward the double front doors of the estate, Matt shaking his head that he was headed into a house full of opulence for the second time this night. Here he’d thought normal people lived in houses just a bit better than the run-down trailer he and his dad had called home. Turned out half the people in their corner of Georgia had something like what he would call mansions.

  He followed Derek across the grand foyer into a living room, hoping he wasn’t getting mud on the deep Persian rug that stretched across the hardwood floor. That room connected to a dining room, where they skirted around a large table. Derek pushed open a small swinging door. The kitchen?

  In the kitchen was a seating area with a small round table and four chairs. Two of them were occupied already. One with an older man—probably in his early seventies—and one with a young woman who looked almost like...

  Matt raised his eyebrows. “Hello, Gemma.”

  The man, whose back was toward the door, swung around. “Oh, hello, Officer. This young woman was just asking if she could get me anything. I was about to say I’d love a mug of coffee, but first I was telling her about what happened. She hadn’t heard the details, you know.”

  Matt wondered why the man hadn’t thought it odd for a stranger to enter the house and offer things. Too trusting? Possibly suffering from some degree of dementia?

  Or could he be the man they were after himself?

  Suddenly it wasn’t a crazy thought. Seeing her in here, alone with the guy—who looked to be in pretty good shape for his age—frustrated the tar out of him. Hadn’t he told her to stay in the car? How hard were those instructions?

  No. Surely he was getting paranoid at this point.

  Still, the possibility tugged at him. Nagged him.

  “I asked you to stay in the car.”

  “You know this young lady?” the man at the table asked. Derek looked fairly curious, too, something Matt couldn’t blame him for.

  Matt nodded. Didn’t offer any other information and Derek, thankfully, didn’t ask.

  “I’ll get his coffee, if no one minds,” Gemma offered. “I actually was trying to help.” She said the second part more softly, as if she thought Matt wouldn’t believe her. And she was partially right. It was hard to imagine she hadn’t had any intentions of investigating after the way she’d treated his request in the car. Then again, he didn’t exactly blame her for it. Wouldn’t he have done the same thing in her position?

  “Might as well.” Derek shrugged. Then he turned to Matt. “Did you want to ask him about the list?”

  “Sir, I’m sorry to hear about your maps. I wondered if you might have a list of the ones that were stolen?”

  “A list?”

  “Often historic maps have titles or descriptions that correspond to what’s on them, how old they are.”

  The man shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know any of that. Just that there were some old maps.”

  Matt looked at Derek, shook his head slightly. Derek seemed to catch his meaning, because he stood and Matt followed. “I think that’s all I wanted to ask.” Matt tried to mask the disappointment in his voice. What had he been expecting—that the man would have a detailed description of the thief and know where to find him? No, he hadn’t been dumb enough to expect something like that. But he had hoped that investigating here tonight would bring them one step closer to figuring out who had stolen them, since it was very likely that whoever had stolen maps from this estate was the same man who had been part of the gang Gemma had helped break up and send to prison.

  “Sorry. I’d hoped you’d find out more.”

  “It’s okay. It was worth checking out. Get in touch with me if you find prints besides this guy’s, okay? I want to know everybody who’s touching something here. Landscapers, household staff, everybody.”

  “Gotcha. It’s no problem.”

  Matt shook the other man’s hand. “Thanks again for calling.”

  Gemma must have seen him preparing to leave, because she met him over by the truck.

  “Ready to go?”

  “Yeah.” She was quiet for a second. “Sorry. I just couldn’t...”

  “I know.”

  And they climbed into the truck without another word. Matt glanced over at Gemma when they were off the neighborhood roads and back on the highway. She was sleeping—trusting him to keep her safe while she did so.

  They had to find the guy who was after her soon. Because he seemed to know where Gemma was at almost every moment, which meant that even if he was doing his best, Matt still lacked confidence that he could keep her from her stalker for much longer.

  TEN

  Gemma reread what she’d just written on the notepad in front of her, thinking through her ideas again for marketing the Treasure Point History Museum. Within the town, it would market itself for the first few weeks at least. Everyone would want to see what was there, know what all the fuss had been about during the construction process. The trouble with the townspeople would be making this a place they’d want to come see more than once, which was necessary because to survive it would need a year-round operating plan.

  South Georgia, Treasure Point especially, did have some winter visitors, especially people on their way to Florida, so they couldn’t afford to close and miss potential customers. But on the other hand, there
wasn’t as steady a stream of tourists then, so they’d be depending on the people of Treasure Point to visit the museum regularly.

  What would draw them?

  Gemma tapped her pencil against the paper and frowned. Then signed and started jotting down ideas.

  1. Their history. They need to take ownership.

  2. Changing exhibits?

  3. Interactive corners—get them involved.

  4. Kids programs?

  5. Special events/programming—holiday-centric?

  They weren’t bad ideas. She needed to think about them more, though, let them grow in her mind a little. She’d found in the time she’d been working at the big corporation in Atlanta that she was good at meeting deadlines, at working under pressure, but her best ideas came when she didn’t force them, just let her mind work on the problem and then waited to see what it came up with.

  She needed a walk. Gemma slid her shoes back on—she’d taken them off when she was sitting at the desk—and headed outside. She waved to the construction workers, most of whom she recognized even after only a short time of working nearby. There were a few unfamiliar faces, though. Gemma started into the woods, wishing Matt was there to keep her company. Instead, another officer had taken his place patrolling the museum earlier today and Matt had sent her a text earlier that he was following up on some possible leads tied to the estate sale in St. Simons.

  Gemma’s cell phone rang and she stopped just short of the woods trail she’d been about to take. Unknown number. She hesitated, finger hovering over the screen, poised to answer. Then she shook her head, slid it back into her pocket. She was tired of letting herself be terrorized. Either this was a telemarketer, or it was a wrong number, or the killer wanted to threaten her again and she wasn’t in the mood to let him today. Matt had already tried tracing the phone from the text messages, but it was a disposable, pay-as-you-go phone bought with cash. For all intents and purposes, it was untraceable.