Ice (A Chris Matheson Cold Case Mystery Book 1)

by Lauren Carr

  “He’s also Sandy Lipton’s brother.”

  “And Ethel Lipton’s son. Remember, Ethel told the deputy sheriff that she had information on a murder at the Stardust. Carson is a very important link in all three cases.” He turned right to drive up the long driveway to the casino’s main entrance.

  “Your friend Tommy Bukowski was staying at the hotel,” Francine said. “All roads lead to the Stardust.”

  After parking in the garage, Chris rolled down his window for Sterling. “You need to stay in the truck, Buddy.” He patted the disappointed dog’s head.

  “But he’ll get cold.” Francine shivered.

  “With all that hair?” Chris chuckled while following her to the casino’s garage entrance.

  From the driver’s seat, Sterling watched them disappear through the ornate double doors. With narrowed eyes, he waited for them to return. After a long moment, that seemed like an hour to the canine, he whimpered.

  “Archie, I have a feeling today’s gonna be our lucky day,” said an elderly woman in a thick down coat and knit cap.

  “It better be, Molly.” The old man walking with a cane stopped to catch his breath. “What are we gonna tell the kids? I don’t want them to know what a fix we’ve gotten into.”

  “It ain’t our fault that someone stole your identity and wiped out our savings. Damn computers.”

  “Damn hackers,” he said. “I hope you’re right about feeling lucky today. No luck today means no electricity come Monday.”

  Sterling leapt through the open window and trotted after the couple.

  Molly looped her arm through Archie’s. “I’ve been praying every night. Last night, I had a dream that God sent us an angel to pay off our bills. Then, we didn’t have to depend on your skill at the blackjack table while the authorities straighten out this awful mess.”

  Archie opened the door and held it for her to step through. “That’s a nice dream, Molly. But miracles only happen to other folks.” He followed her inside.

  Sterling slipped through the open door before it slid shut.

  Francine led Chris through the frosted cut-glass doors of the Stardust’s elegant restaurant. Only a few stragglers enjoying coffee and dessert remained from the lunch hour rush.

  “I guess your warring daughters declared a truce.”

  Chris jumped at the sound of Helen’s voice from behind him.

  Francine turned around to face the state police lieutenant. “Is that her?” she whispered to Chris. “She’s very pretty.”

  Helen was sitting in a corner booth with a man in a chef’s white jacket. His face had aged considerably in the two decades since Chris had seen him.

  “You know Mom,” Chris answered Helen with a shrug of his shoulders. “By the time I got home, my three girls were the bestest of friends again.”

  Helen turned to her companion in the booth. “Carson Lipton, I believe you know, Chris Matheson.”

  “It’s been ages since we’ve seen each other.” With a broad grin that deepened the wrinkles lining his face, he stood to clasp Chris’s hand. “How have you been, Chris?”

  “Fine. You?”

  With a chuckle, Carson spread his arms wide. “Can’t complain. Chef of a five-star restaurant with patrons coming from all over for my cooking. I’m living my dream.”

  “You’ve certainly come a long way from that diner across the street. As a matter of fact, I parked my truck in what used to be your kitchen.”

  Carson let out a laugh.

  “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  “That’s why you’re here. Lieutenant Clarke told me that you blew away those goons who gunned her down.”

  “Unfortunately, as soon as the local police found out that she was Sandy’s mother, they assumed I was involved in her murder.”

  Carson shook his head. “I never believed you had anything to do with what happened to Sandy, Chris. Besides, that was a long time ago.”

  Helen invited them to return to their seats in the booth. Chris introduced Francine, saying that she was a member of his book club. Helen cocked an eyebrow at them, wondering why Chris had invited someone from his book club to join their investigation.

  “Chris knew me when I was an investigative reporter with the Associated Press,” Francine said. “I once did an expose on gambling and organized crime and he asked if I’d be willing to help. With my sources, I might be able to dig up what Ethel Lipton happened onto here at the casino. Of course, I jumped at the chance.”

  Wordlessly, Helen regarded Chris with disapproval.

  “Francine promised not to publish anything until after we give her the go ahead,” he said.

  Francine turned her attention to Carson. “If you don’t mind my saying, you don’t seem awfully broken up about your mother’s brutal murder.”

  “I haven’t spoken to my mother in twelve years,” Carson said. “Best twelve years of my life.”

  “But she was a regular here at the casino,” Chris said.

  “Because they gave her VIP treatment,” Carson said. “She’d made a killing when she sold the apartments and diner to Stardust. In four short years, my mother had gone through every penny she had. It’s a miracle she still had the house. I keep hearing through friends about the scraps she’d gotten herself into. Loans from the wrong people to pay her gambling debts. Legal fees for DUIs, hit and runs, you name it. Someone keeps bailing her out.” He caught himself. “Sorry. Kept bailing her out. Past tense now.”

  “But you didn’t cut her off until recently—long after the Stardust had expanded?” Francine noted. “What happened?”

  “I got married,” Carson said with a smile. “Mabel. She’s the restaurant manager here. She saw that Mom was sucking the life out of me and laid down the law. Said it was her or Mom. Not both. I chose Mabel. Cut mom off completely. Best thing I ever did.”

  “But she was still a regular here,” Helen said.

  “Practically lived here.”

  “And you worked under the same roof.” Chris was doubtful.

  “I worked in the kitchen.” Carson turned in his seat to point toward the hallway leading to the restrooms and a door marked for employees only. “My office is back next to the kitchen and I park in the employee lot. I may go into the banquet facilities in the hotel for special events. As for the lounge and casino—” He shook his head. “I have no reason or desire to go in there and that’s where Mom hung out.”

  “On the same day your mother was murdered,” Helen said, “she told the deputy sheriff that she had information about a murder here at the casino—”

  “I have no idea what she could have been talking about.”

  “If there was a murder here at the casino, people would have been talking,” Francine said in a whisper as if she were taking part in a secret plan. “Come on, you can tell us. Did your kitchen help hear any juicy rumors in the last few days about dead bodies found in the laundry?”

  “I don’t listen to gossip,” Carson said with a shake of his head. “That doesn’t mean there hasn’t been any rumors flying around. The person you should be checking with is the bartender in the lounge. When Mom wasn’t gambling, she was drinking. Ask for Tyler. He works the late shift.”

  “The deputy sheriff has latched onto the idea that your mother could have found some sort of evidence to prove that I killed Sandy,” Chris said.

  Carson’s mouth contorted as he scoffed. “Mom knew you had nothing to do with Sandy disappearing.”

  “But she swore up and down that I did and accused my dad of covering it up.”

  “Because she was jealous. How dare you come from a functional family where everyone worked for everything you had? That’s one of the things that Sandy loved about you—your family. She had this fantasy of being part of a family like yours—instead of the trash that ours was.”

  Carson’s blun
t response dropped a blanket of silence over the table.

  Chris cleared his throat before asking, “Did your mother make Sandy say I got her pregnant?”

  “No, Sandy came up with that on her own. I mean, who else could. Look. That prom was Sandy’s first date. You were the first guy who’d ever kissed her. She lived in this fantasy world where you were the baby’s father. In the end, you would come riding by on your white horse and carry her off to live in your castle on top of the hill overlooking the Shenandoah. Then, the two of you would live happily ever after. Kind of sick if you ask me.”

  “Who do you think got Sandy pregnant?” Helen asked.

  “Whoever raped her. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure it out. It wasn’t Chris, and Sandy never went out with anyone else. That leaves a rapist.”

  “Why didn’t she say so?” Helen asked. “She ruined Chris’s reputation by claiming he was the father.”

  “Then she stood by and said nothing while your mother accused me of statutory rape.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that maybe Sandy was more afraid of her rapist than she was in love with you?” Carson asked.

  “All these years,” Chris said, “you’ve had to have thought about it. Who do you think raped your sister?”

  “Back then, there were racetrack people all over the place—staying in our apartments and eating at the diner. They’d come and go. Any one of them could have knocked on the apartment complex’s office door, dragged her into the back room, and raped her.”

  “But if he was a transient, then he wouldn’t have been around nine months later to make her disappear,” Chris said. “If the same person who raped her abducted her, then he had to be a regular part of the picture.”

  “Regular enough to know that blood tests may identify him. So he decided to get rid of Sandy and the baby to keep that from happening,” Helen said.

  “Any ideas?” Chris asked.

  “Have you tried looking seriously at Victor Sinclair?” Carson asked.

  Helen’s mouth dropped open. “Jefferson County’s prosecutor?”

  “He had it bad for Sandy,” Carson said. “Back then, Victor was just a nerd hoping to make it to the top on his Daddy’s name. He had a thing for Sandy, who had a thing for you, Chris.”

  Carson leaned in Chris’s direction and lowered his voice. “As a matter of fact, he came in here for breakfast this morning and asked me about you.”

  “What did he want to know?”

  “He was asking me if I’d remembered anything from back when Sandy disappeared. Wanted to know if I’d seen you since you came back. I told him I hadn’t. I also told him the same thing I told him back then. You weren’t the baby’s father and had nothing to do with Sandy disappearing.”

  “Thanks, Carson,” Chris said. “But I doubt if it did any good.”

  “Me, too. Victor is out to pin a murder charge on you.”

  “Why the vendetta?” Helen asked.

  “Victor had asked Sandy to prom first,” Carson said, “but she turned him down because she wanted to go with Chris. Victor was crazy with jealousy.”

  “Jealous enough to rape her and then threaten to kill Chris if she said anything?” Francine asked.

  Carson tapped his finger against his lips. “I did see Victor’s car that night—the night of the prom. When you pulled into the driveway to drop Sandy off, Chris, your headlights shone in through my bedroom window. It woke me up. I checked the time, and it was around midnight. I heard Sandy come in—alone. I don’t remember what made me do it, but I looked out my window and saw you drive away. Then, I saw that there was a car in the parking lot at the diner across the street. It was Victor’s old blue Camaro.”

  “Are you sure?” Chris asked.

  “Positive,” Carson said. “He had no reason to be there. He lived in Shepherdstown. The guy was nuts. A few weeks later, we found out Sandy was pregnant. I think he followed you guys, and then after you left, he broke into the house and raped Sandy.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Chris asked with an edge in his voice.

  Carson shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t put it all together until much later.”

  “When Victor was running for prosecutor, didn’t you think the public had a right to know that you suspected him of raping and possibly murdering your sister?” Helen asked.

  “I have no proof that he did that,” Carson said. “Even back then Steve Sinclair ruled the eastern panhandle with an iron fist. If I had accused his son of rape and murder without any proof, I would have ended up missing like Sandy.”

  “She was your sister,” Helen said. “Your younger sister. It was your job to protect her.”

  “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, my whole family was dysfunctional.”

  “Did Victor visit Sandy during her pregnancy?” Chris asked.

  Carson nodded his head. “Yeah. Sometimes. He’d bring her flowers and stupid gifts. If she saw him pulling up, she’d go to her room and refuse to see him.”

  Cocking an eyebrow, Helen turned her head. Her eyes met Chris’s.

  “Speaking of visitors,” Chris said in a casual tone, “do you remember the last time I’d stopped by? It was the day before Sandy disappeared.”

  “When you told us that your lawyer had a warrant for blood tests to be done on the baby as soon as it was born.”

  “Exactly,” Chris said. “There were two men in the kitchen with your mother.”

  Carson narrowed his eyes and cocked his head.

  “When Sandy got upset, your mom and one of the men came out. The other one stayed in the kitchen—like he didn’t want to be seen.”

  “I’m not sure I remember—”

  “Don’t lie to me, Carson. You were there. I remember very clearly—”

  “Now I remember.” A grin filled Carson’s face. “They were Mason Davenport and Victor’s father, Steve Sinclair. He was—is—Davenport’s lawyer.”

  Chris blinked. He was uncertain if he should believe him or not. “That was Victor’s father?” He shrugged. “I’d never met him.”

  “Why would Steve Sinclair and Stardust’s CEO have been visiting your mother?” Helen asked.

  “To make plans for buying our property,” Carson said. “They couldn’t have expanded unless Mom sold them the apartments and diner for the parking garage. They needed to know that she’d be willing to sell before they went to the trouble of getting the zoning approved.” He nodded his head. “When you came over, they hid in the kitchen because this was real early in the planning stage. They didn’t want word to get out about what they were up to because they knew there’d be folks opposed to the expansion and casino.”

  “And your mother said yes,” Francine said.

  “Dad used to say that greedy bitch would’ve sold her own mother if the price was right.” Carson looked across the dining room at an exceedingly thin woman with straight white hair approaching their booth.

  “The sea bass has just been delivered for tomorrow night’s dinner dance. You need to check it before allowing them to unload it.” She regarded them with curiosity—not unlike a boss wondering if she’d caught her employees goofing off.

  “Time to get back to work.” Carson slid out of his seat and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. “This is the love of my life, Mabel,” he told them. “Mabel, this is the state police and some of her associates investigating my mother’s murder.”

  “Good luck with that,” Mabel said while shaking Helen’s hand. “She was nothing but trouble. There’re probably half a dozen people in the casino alone who had reason to kill her.”

  “We only need to find one,” Chris said.

  “Well, it wasn’t Carson,” she said in a tone that dared him to say otherwise. “He hasn’t seen her since the week before we got married. Do you want to know why?” She went on to answer in
the next breath. “Because I told him that if he so much as said one word to her, then I’d be gone.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Out of here and no looking back. I meant it, too.”

  Chris noted that Mabel was a severe looking woman, whose demeanor lacked warmth. Maybe that was a job requirement to allow the restaurant to keep its five-star rating.

  “And that’s what he told us,” Helen said. “Even so, we do have to question everyone because they may know something without even being aware that they know it.”

  “Carson doesn’t know anything.” Mabel folded her arms across her thin chest.

  “They were just leaving.” Carson gestured in the direction of the restaurant’s exit.

  While Helen and Francine obediently headed for the doorway, Chris halted. “Actually, there’s one more thing.”

  Francine smirked at Chris’s spunk in the face of the cold-hearted woman.

  “What?” Mabel snapped.

  Ignoring her, Chris kept his attention on Carson. “Would you be willing to submit a sample of your DNA to the police?”

  Mabel’s face turned red—immediately. Her lips pursed together in a tight line.

  His eyes wide, Carson stood up tall.

  Mabel opened her mouth to respond, but Chris plunged on as if she wasn’t there. “Sandy has been missing for twenty-four years. That was in the early days of DNA being used for identification. Now, I assume her doctor has no DNA samples. But if we can upload your profile into the national database, then we can run a search for all the Jane Does with enough common markers to show a familial match. It could help us find Sandy.”

  Not offering any response, Carson looked from each one of them to the other—landing his gaze on his wife’s.

  A smug grin crossed her lips. “You have Ethel’s DNA. Can’t you run hers through your database?”

  “Sandy and I didn’t have the same father,” Carson said. “I called Sandy’s father ‘Dad’ but he was my stepfather—until he went missing. Mom had a couple of her bar buddies kill him and bury him under a horse stall in the stables at the track.”