by Nancy Bush
September nodded but just said, “Maybe.”
“You don’t think she was satisfying her cougar’s itch?”
“The affair seems real, but Anna Liu referred to the boy involved as flirtatious, cheeky, entitled.... That just doesn’t sound like my picture of Lance. He used drugs. He befriended Tommy Burkey, who was much younger and on the mentally slow side. I’ve never heard he had a car. He rode a family horse in the fields behind their house. It doesn’t seem to add up to the same guy.”
Gretchen thought that over. “The real estate woman mentioned that the druggie hung around with other scruffy boys.”
“Kitsy.”
“Yeah, Kitsy. She said one of ’em supposedly had money, but that they all dressed alike in baggy jeans and hoodies.”
September nodded. “We need to learn more about Lance Patten’s buddies. And Wendy Kirkendall’s murder.”
She shot a look at George, who was their heavy hitter on research, mainly because he didn’t like to do fieldwork. His phone had rung while September and Gretchen were talking and he was engaged in a conversation that was mostly listening on his end. She heard the terms “game player” and “chess” and grew curious. Gretchen, too, paused, and both of them listened in unabashedly.
Finally, George hung up and gave them a baleful look. “I’m working,” he said, as if they’d criticized him.
Gretchen raised her palms in surrender.
George pursed his lips. “That was one of the regulars from Trinidad Finch’s Pilates classes. She said a few months back a new guy joined who clearly had a thing for our vic. He didn’t talk much, but he did mention that he was a game player. This gal asked him what he meant, and he said he played chess, among other things. He was flirty and she kinda thought he was cute, though he wore a toupee. . . .” He shrugged. “Some women don’t care, I guess.”
“Did he make a pass at Finch?” Gretchen asked.
“Maybe. They got together somehow. Apparently the hormones were raging.”
“What’s his name?” September asked.
“I checked with the club. He’s listed as Robert Fisher. He’s probably the boyfriend who was supposed to see her that night. Jarrett Sellers said she was stood up, so maybe that’s when he made his play. Andrea Wren, who just happens to be Sellers’s sister, mentioned Finch was seeing someone she called Bobby.”
“The name Robert fits. We have an address?” Gretchen asked.
“Only a fake one,” George said.
“Well, that’s suspicious.” September thought foul play was definitely in the picture. “We have a photo of this guy?”
“Uh-uh.” George shook his head.
“What about cameras at the club?” September pressed.
“There’s an outside one. I’m getting a copy of the last month’s video.” He sounded less than excited and September didn’t really blame him. Going through hours of security tape was tedious work.
“So you’re leaning toward homicide now,” Gretchen said.
George nodded slowly.
“All right, well, we’ve got our own to solve: Mr. Bones’s,” Gretchen said.
September’s brows raised. She was pleased her partner finally appeared to be back on their case.
Gretchen went on, “We need to find some thirtysomethings who used to be part of a scruffy band that hung out at Aurora Lane when they were teens sometimes.”
September grabbed up her bag and jacket again. “Sounds like they really hung out at Schultz Lake.”
“Where are we going?”
“To talk to the Kirkendalls. They live in Laurelton. No phone, so we’re just going to drop in.”
“I’ll drive,” Gretchen said.
They were climbing into the department-issued Jeep when September’s cell rang. The number looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “Rafferty,” she answered.
“Detective, it’s Luke Denton.”
“Hello, Mr. Denton,” she said, hiding her surprise as she shot Gretchen a meaningful look. Her partner registered with a nod that she understood the message. “If this is about the cricket poisoning, Detective Thompkins is still the investigating officer on—”
“That one’s a homicide,” he cut her off. “Gut instinct and a few other things tell me that. But I’ve got some other things to say.”
“Okay.”
“Andi’s been receiving threatening notes. That’s why she hired me.”
“Andrea Wren’s been receiving threatening notes,” she repeated for Gretchen’s benefit.
“Yes.”
“And you think this has some bearing on Ms. Finch’s death.”
“Maybe. Or they’re separate issues that share a big coincidence.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Andi and Trinidad both have last names that are birds. They’re Ms. Wren and Ms. Finch respectively. The notes are a play on their names. The first one was left in Andi’s cabin, on her bed. It said Little birds need to fly. The second one was at her office and said, It’s too bad when little birds have to die. That note came the day Trinidad Finch was killed.”
September was scrabbling for her notebook as Gretchen pulled out of the parking lot. “Say that again.” Denton repeated himself and September scratched out the phrases. “You think the second note was meant for Ms. Finch?”
“Maybe. It sure seems that way. And then Andi got a third note today, left on her front door.” He cleared his throat and said in a faintly ironic voice, “I believe it was referencing me. Little birds should be careful whom they choose as a mate. Tsk, tsk. There is no such thing as faithfulness. You should know where he’s also been putting his pecker. Be careful. Seabirds can die, too.” September was writing furiously. After a few moments, she questioned, “Seabirds . . . ?”
“I don’t what that means, but I have a theory, . . .” She heard a woman’s voice in the background and Denton corrected himself. “We have a theory.”
“What is it?”
Gretchen glanced at what September had written, then shot her a look, questions in her eyes. September switched to speakerphone.
“This is going to sound flat-out crazy, but on the news today, Pauline Kirby was reporting on the woman they pulled out of the Columbia River this morning. She’d been tased. Looks like a homicide. Her name is possibly Christine Tern Brandewaite, who’s been missing since last night or this morning. Police aren’t saying yet.”
“You want us to follow up on that?”
“Yes.”
“And this crazy theory?”
“According to the news report, a lot of people knew the missing woman as Christine Tern. I looked up her case further and saw tern was spelled with an e. And terns are seabirds.”
September started. “You think the note about seabirds was referencing Christine Tern? Is there a connection between Ms. Wren and Christine Tern?”
“No. None. Except that their last names are birds. Detective, I believe that body pulled out of the Columbia is Christine Tern and that’s she was killed, like Trinidad Finch.”
“I’d like to see these notes,” September said.
Gretchen murmured, “You’re gonna have to fight George over that case.”
“But Detective Thompkins is still the lead investigator on the Finch case,” September was forced to say.
“He doesn’t think it’s a homicide,” Denton stated flatly.
“He’s leaning more that way.”
“I know how it’ll work, Detective Rafferty. He’ll dismiss the whole damn thing.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I don’t have time to convince him, and that’s fine. I’m investigating this on my own. I just wanted you to know.”
And he was gone.
“Damn,” September said.
Gretchen gave her a sideways look. “You’ve got ex-Portland PD working George’s case. That’ll make his day.”
“I’d better tell him.” She put a call through to him, and when he answered, she asked, “Wo
uld you look up cases where someone with a last name that could be a bird have been killed?”
“What?” George snorted.
“Bird names. Like Finch and Starling and Robin.”
“Why?”
“Just do it,” Gretchen called loudly. “It’s for your case.”
“You want me to look up homicides where the victim’s last name is a bird?” he reiterated.
“That’s exactly what I want. But there’s something you should know,” September started.
“And we’ll tell you all about it later,” Gretchen yelled, signaling for September to hang up the phone. After she did, Gretchen said, “Let Denton do his worst. At least he’s in the field, and that’s more than we can say for George.”
* * *
“What did she say?” Andi asked. She was curled up beside Luke on her couch.
“Just what I expected them to say. It’s a wild theory, but what the hell. At least they know.”
“You didn’t mention the Carreras or Scott Quade.”
“That’ll be my next report.”
“What do we do now?”
That stopped him for a moment. Andi looked from him to the bedroom door and back again.
“Now that is a great idea,” he said.
* * *
The Kirkendalls lived on one side of a duplex on a street with homes crammed up next to one another and patchy yards. Their RV was parked in their driveway and, based on the splotches of rust, looked to be the same one they’d owned years earlier. It was currently being pummeled by a harsh rain that seemed to come out of nowhere.
Gretchen and September huddled at the front door beneath a small overhang that listed to one side but kept them reasonably dry from the squall. A small woman with sad eyes answered the door.
“Yes?”
“Mrs. Kirkendall, I’m Detective Rafferty and this is Detective Sandler.” They both pulled out their identification as the woman’s hand flew to her chest.
“You’ve found out who killed Wendy!”
“Unfortunately, no,” September said. “I’m sorry. We’re working on a case that involves a family on Aurora Lane. May we come in to talk to you?”
“All right. We only lived there a short time. I don’t know what I can tell you.” She reluctantly held the door open wider.
“I tried to call you, but I couldn’t find a phone number,” September apologized.
“Oh, Leland doesn’t much like cell phones. So many charges. We use disposal ones.”
“Leland’s your husband?”
“If you can call him that.” She sniffed, and September remembered Grace Myles had referred to him as Shithead.
September said, “I spoke to the Pattens this morning, the people who rented from Mr. Mamet after you did.”
Kim Kirkendall flushed. “That landlord was a butt. He kicked us out. Leland was a bit late on the payment, I admit, but after Wendy died, we didn’t know what to do. And he didn’t care at all!”
September nodded sympathetically, but Gretchen, ever impatient, asked, “Do you know about the bones discovered in the Singletons’ basement?”
“Saw it on the news. Very, very creepy. I didn’t know those people. Leland didn’t like them.”
“Some of the bones are from an eighteen-year-old male who would be about thirty-two now,” Gretchen added. “We’re trying to identify them. A working theory is that they might be the Patten’s son, Lance.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know him.”
“Is Leland at work?” September asked.
“He used to be a plumber a long, long time ago. Now he’s a bum, if you want the truth. If you need him, he’s probably at Tiny Tim’s.”
“Can you tell us about Wendy?” September asked.
Her sad eyes gazed at September for a long moment. September wasn’t sure she was going to answer, but then she said, “Wendy was a good girl. She didn’t deserve what happened to her.”
“No,” September agreed. Gretchen moved restlessly, but September gave her a hard look.
“I always thought it was those kids that did it. You know, those spoiled brats with lots of money.”
Gretchen asked, “What kids?”
“The ones at the summer camp. Parents sent ’em there to get ’em out of their hair, that’s what Leland said. Otherwise they’d just be hanging around, getting into trouble. Well, they got into plenty at that camp, too. Even the counselors.”
“Wendy hung out with people from the camp?” September asked.
“Oh yeah. Thought they were so la-di-da. Think she was sweet on one of ’em, but she wouldn’t tell me about him. Leland woulda had a fit. I told the cops about ’em back when they found her. Oh, they looked around. Knocked on some doors. But they thought it was a serial killer, y’know. There was another girl killed around the same time, but she was in Portland. I don’t know. I think it was one of them campers.”
September tried to quiz her more about Aurora Lane, but she had nothing to add. She had no recollection of Davinia or Nathan Singleton, which was entirely possible because if Lance was involved, the suspected affair would have occurred after the Kirkendalls left Aurora Lane.
“You can’t remember any name from the campers?” September questioned again, just before they left, but she just shook her head.
“You think one of ’em did it, too?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
They left Mrs. Kirkendall on her porch, watching them with her sad eyes. In the Jeep, September said, “It all comes back to Schultz Lake.”
“You’re thinking Wendy’s death is tied to Mr. Bones’s,” Gretchen said.
“Wendy and Lance both lived on Aurora Lane, and they both mingled with the Schultz Lake crowd. If Lance is Mr. Bones, then it’s a pretty big coincidence that two teenagers died in a narrow space of time on one short street.”
“I think you’re right.” Gretchen started up the vehicle. “I know the summer camp she meant. It’s closed down and either Wren Development or the Carrera brothers are planning to build on the site.”
September thought that over. Lots of threads of cases were floating around that could tie together. She just couldn’t see it yet. “Must be time to talk to somebody who worked at that camp.”
“Let’s get a list.”
* * *
Andi lay beside Luke, her head resting against his chest. His cell phone buzzed from inside his pants pocket and he had to fumble around to retrieve it. “It’s Peg Bellows,” he said in surprise. “I called her so many times, I know the number.”
At that moment Andi’s phone rang, its tone muffled from within her purse, which she’d set on the bedroom dresser. “They’ve found us,” she said, climbing out of bed to retrieve it. She would have left it, but Luke was already on his phone, so what the hell?
“Hi, Peg,” Luke greeted as Andi pulled out her own phone. Seeing it was Carter calling, she made a face and thought about not taking the call. She wanted to cocoon herself inside the cabin with Luke and let all the bad stuff stay outside.
But he would probably just call back.
“Hi, Carter,” she answered. Luke had stepped away from her, standing naked, his muscled back to her, listening hard to whatever Peg was saying.
“Andi!” Carter said, his voice tight. “God. Emma fell down a flight of stairs!”
“What? Oh no. Is she all right? Where’d it happen?” She almost asked, Which bar?
“At the office. It was this morning. She and Ben came in separate cars and he waited for her at home, but she never showed. He finally found her in the office stairwell. She’s in the hospital.”
“Oh my God!”
“I thought she might be drunk when I first heard, but she was sober.”
“Is she all right? Where is she now?”
“Laurelton General.”
“Oh, Carter. Oh no.” Andi could scarcely think.
“Jesus. I mean . . . fuck . . .” He sounded totally undone. “Andi, she’s
unconscious. They don’t know if she’s going to make it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Laurelton General had been designed on a steep hill with its west side at the bottom of the slope. Entering on the west side brought you to floor one, but the main entry was on the south side and at the top of the hill, which was why above the door a sign announced in big block letters: FLOOR THREE.
Andi pushed through the main floor’s double glass doors, hurried up to the main desk, and explained that she was Emma Wren Mueller’s sister-in-law. She was referred to a doctor on the fifth floor and counted in her head to calm herself as she and Luke took the elevator up.
Terrible thoughts circled her mind. Thoughts of the Carreras and how Emma had defied Blake, not once but twice. Hadn’t Brian warned her about the Carreras being better friends than enemies?
“What did Peg Bellows want?” she asked.
“She put a call in to Blake Carrera. Wants to have it out with him.”
Andi had asked the question more to make conversation than because she had any interest at this point, but now her head whipped around. “Did you tell her about the meeting with him today?”
“I just told her it would be better to stay away from him.”
“Do you think she’ll listen?”
“No. She said she was inviting him over. But then you were talking to Carter, and with Emma’s fall, I told her I’d call her back.”
“He’s dangerous. They both are.”
Andi was heading toward the medical hub when she saw Ben pacing outside one of the rooms. He saw Luke and her at the same moment and charged toward them. “They did this. You know they did this.”
“How is she?” Andi asked. “Is this her room?”
He nodded, but then turned to Luke as Andi headed into Room 511. “Carter’s on his way. He talked to some of the other people in the building. Someone in a hoodie was hanging around the offices. A girl from one of the other businesses saw a guy wearing a hoodie hanging around the building and she reported him to her boss. He was gone when they looked for him, but maybe he’d already pushed Emma down the stairs.”
“Wait a minute—” Luke started.
Andi said at the same time, “I thought it was an accident. I thought she tripped or something.”