by Norah Wilson
“Understandable.”
She called up the memory. “We’d had a few of drinks—one of the few times I’d seen him have more than two—at a friend’s engagement party. I think it wasn’t a serious pass so much as one of those reflexive things you do when you’re slightly drunk. You know, like those people who pat their pockets for a cigarette, even though they gave up the habit months ago.”
“You’re sure?”
His intense scrutiny made her shift in her chair. “That it wasn’t serious? Yeah, pretty sure. We laughed it off, and everything went back to normal.”
“And normal was . . . ?”
“He was like the big brother I never had, helping me around my apartment with the handyman stuff and keeping an eye on me. I always got the feeling that your brother was looking for something—someone. Not actively, but, you know, keeping his eyes open. I just knew his heart would be wide-open to her when she came.”
“And you?”
“I wasn’t looking for anyone at all. I’m still not.”
He looked as if he was going to ask her more about her declaration, but instead he took another sip of beer. “Fair enough. You said Josh didn’t really keep you abreast of his investigation?”
“Only in the most general of terms. It was the one thing he didn’t talk to me about.”
“I doubt it was the only thing.”
She blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I’m just saying no one is ever a completely open book, no matter how much they might appear to be. We all have things we hold back.”
His words were casually spoken, but when she met his eyes, they were filled with a strange intensity. Almost . . . was that accusation? Did he think she was holding back on him?
She lowered her own gaze quickly. “I suppose you’re right.”
An awkward silence fell between them. This was why she hadn’t wanted to dine with him. She picked up her beer and took a swig of it. “So, what more do you want to know, Boyd?” She placed her mug down carefully instead of thumping it down like she wanted to. “I’ll try to answer as honestly and completely as I can. You know, be that open book.”
“Now I’ve offended you.”
She looked up to find him studying her, but he’d tamped down whatever that was she’d seen in his eyes.
“Not at all,” she lied. “People do hold things back, tell each other white lies. It’s the social lubricant that makes the world go round, right?”
“Right.”
“He did mention that you weren’t as interested in finding your birth parents as he was.” Hayden picked up her beer mug again, more for something to do with her hands than because she wanted another sip. “He said you didn’t approve of the investigation.”
Boyd stared hard at her. Ignoring her comment, he said, “So he didn’t tell you he thought he’d had a major break in the case? That he’d found the identity of our birth mother and was pretty sure he knew who our father was too?”
“No.” She clumped the heavy mug back down on the table. “No, he didn’t. Is that speculation, or did he tell you that?”
He rubbed at his temple again. “He sent me a series of text messages asking me to call, but my cell phone had run out of juice, and I’d forgotten my charger at home. So he left me a voice message saying he’d had a big break and thought he knew not only who our mother was but possibly our father. I didn’t get the message right away, or even the next morning. By the time I plugged in my phone, saw the texts, and called back, Josh was freshly dead.” A muscle leapt in his jaw. “When I couldn’t reach his cell, I tried to reach him at the paper. They told me he hadn’t come back from lunch. I tried him at Dr. Stratton’s, but they hadn’t seen him since breakfast. I made a mental note to try his cell again in an hour or two, but before I could, Sergeant Quigley called me with the news.”
“I’m so sorry.” Hayden forced the husky words through a throat tightened to the point of pain. “That must have been horrible.”
He dragged a hand across his face. “It was a complete shock. I mean, when he worked at the bigger papers and was still building his reputation, he’d been involved in a handful of dangerous investigations over the years. Biker gangs, political corruption, corporate wrongdoing. Any one of those investigations could have gotten him killed if he put a foot wrong. But with him in Fredericton, covering small-town news and searching for our birth parents, I thought he was safe for once. Compared to his other assignments, searching for our biological parents didn’t even register on the danger meter. I just . . . I wasn’t prepared to hear that he’d died. If only I’d been home when he called, maybe things would have been different.”
Her hands tightened around the cool mug as she realized what he was saying. He’d intimated before that he thought Josh had stirred up a hornet’s nest, but she’d somehow assumed it was a work-related investigation. “You think he was killed over the investigation of your birth parents?”
“I don’t know what to think. All I know is that he’s now gone, before his time, and I’m here trying to piece together how in the hell it could have happened.”
“Did he give you a name? Tell you what the big break was?”
His laugh broke. “Of course not. This is Josh we’re talking about. He just gave me the teaser. He was saving the full story for when I called back. But he never got a chance.”
Hayden heard the self-blame in his voice. She wondered what had kept him away from home overnight. Work? Or a woman? The latter thought came complete with visuals, shockingly vivid in their details. She shook them away.
“You said you were going to meet with the police when you left the hospital earlier,” she said. “Did you learn anything more? Are they closer to knowing the cause of death?”
“Unfortunately not. I already knew the pathologist found nothing untoward on the autopsy—no anatomical evidence of a heart problem—and that the standard hospital tox screen showed nothing. The forensic toxicology report is probably weeks away still, and the genetic report will no doubt be months coming. My results from the private lab will probably be back quicker.”
She licked suddenly dry lips. “So do you have reason to suspect anyone?”
“No, no one specific.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “But it just doesn’t smell right. The message he left me, then his phone going missing . . .”
“To play devil’s advocate here, that could be coincidence, couldn’t it? The timing, I mean.”
“I’m a detective. I don’t have the luxury of believing in coincidence.”
“Fair enough, I guess.” She watched him take a sip of his beer. “What about the phone. Isn’t it possible that he could have just lost it?”
He slanted her a look. “Again, this is Josh we’re talking about. I can’t see him letting carelessness separate him from that phone. It was like a damned appendage.”
She shrugged. “It happened once before.”
His eyes widened. “He lost his phone? How?”
“While he was gassing his car up, he thinks. He finished his call, put the phone on the roof of his car while he recapped his gas tank, went inside and paid, then hopped in the car and drove away without pocketing the phone. He completely forgot about it once he set it down. It must have fallen off the roof somewhere along the way. He retraced his route, but he never did find it, or even pieces of it. When he tried calling it, he got that ‘customer out of range’ message, and figured it must have been smashed when it hit the asphalt, or maybe gotten run over.”
“Or someone stole it while he was in paying for the gas,” Boyd put in. “There’s a huge market for stolen phones.”
“Really?” She arched an eyebrow. “Then maybe someone stole it this time too. Maybe he left it in the car while he went for his run and someone stole it.”
He shook his head. “No evidence of a break-
in, and you know Josh. He’d never forget to lock his car.”
“Maybe they used one of those mystery devices we’ve been hearing about that can unlock a car remotely. Then there wouldn’t be any broken windows or scratched paint.”
“And they only used this rare high-tech break-in tool on Josh’s car? None of the other cars that were parked there?”
“Okay, so probably not.” She tapped her finger on her glass. “So basically, you’re in a holding pattern, waiting for those reports?”
“Not quite,” he said. “Detective Morgan has been checking in with obstetricians, trying to discover which ones Josh had talked to, what they’d told him. But he’s one guy, and he has other cases.”
“What are the chances they’re going to voluntarily tell the police if they were involved, even peripherally, in a shady adoption?”
“I know!” A few diners turned their way. His face strained, he continued more quietly. “Sorry. I’m just a little frustrated. I know we don’t have much to work with. Maybe when the toxicology report comes in, it will point to something that can help. Or maybe there’ll be nothing there at all. Maybe the coroner will call it natural causes, and the guys won’t be able to sustain the file. But I can’t sit still doing nothing, waiting God knows how long on the damned tests to come back when I feel in my bones something isn’t right about his death. And if our situations were reversed, if I were the one discovered dead in my car, I know Josh wouldn’t rest until every stone had been turned, every lead exhausted, every theory—no matter how implausible—run to the ground. And that’s what I’m going to do for him.”
The waiter arrived just then with their meals. Grateful for the interruption, Hayden leaned back in her chair to allow the young man to place the plate in front of her. The gorgeous salad failed to tantalize her as it usually did. Not surprising, since her stomach felt like a leaden ball.
After placing Boyd’s plate in front of him, the waiter said, “Enjoy your meal,” and left them alone. Hayden noticed Boyd seemed even less interested in his meal than she was in hers. Then she remembered how pale he’d appeared earlier. He needed to eat.
She picked up her fork and dug into the salad. “Mmm, just as good as I remembered.” She gestured with a fork at his untouched plate. “How’s the salmon?”
The look he sent her told her he knew what she was doing, but, dutifully, he picked up his knife and fork, cut off a piece, and ate it. “Pretty good,” he said, sounding surprised. “Pretty damned good.”
They ate in silence, which was probably a good idea considering the subject matter of their conversation thus far. Forensic talk, grief, and guilt were not good dinner companions.
Guilt. Yes, he felt plenty guilty. She’d heard it in his voice, in his words. He really thought if he’d been home to take that call, Josh might not have died. But she doubted that. On the other hand, he now would have had the name of the woman Josh thought was their birth mother. She put down her fork.
Across the table, Boyd put his own utensils down and leaned back. His plate, she saw with satisfaction, was bare.
“I guess I needed a good meal. Thank you, Doc.”
“For what? I didn’t do anything.”
Instead of answering, he picked up his mug of beer and cradled it. “Did you ever go to Josh’s place?”
“At Dr. Stratton’s? Yeah, I used to go there to watch TV sometimes. It felt strange, at first, being in her house. She’s sort of medical royalty in this town, which made it kind of weird. Initially, I couldn’t get why Josh didn’t just go ahead and rent an apartment, but he seemed to like staying there.”
“You must know how he wound up there?”
“Yeah. He told me. Apparently, she was one of his first stops when he got to town. He picked her because she’s one of a handful of active docs who were practicing back then, and he figured she’d be a good resource to give him the lay of the land. When she realized the duration of his stay was contingent on his investigation, she suggested he take a room she’d just finished as a B&B rental.” She laughed sadly. “He took her up on the offer for the short term, planning to get himself an apartment, but then he had his first gourmet breakfast there. The arrangement instantly became longer term.”
Boyd grinned. “Classic Josh. Thinking with his stomach.”
“Definitely.”
“I imagine he was also influenced by not knowing how long he was going to be here.” Boyd sat back in his chair. “If he’d solved his investigation within the first few months, he probably would’ve given his notice at the paper and gone back to his old job, or at least another big-city paper. By staying at the B&B, he wouldn’t have to fuss with a lease or find someone to sublet when he left.”
“All while saving a bundle. So I got used to it. It’s not like I even saw Sylvia when I went there. Well, not very often.”
“I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her—she wasn’t around when I went there to clear out Josh’s things—but she sounds intimidating.”
“She is. Very old-school. It’s Dr. Walsh and Mr. McBride. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a person’s first name pass her lips, not even her ailing husband’s, whom she refers to as Senator Stratton or the Senator. I gather they were a serious power couple, back in the day.”
Boyd frowned. “I remember Josh talking about the Senator. He’s in a coma, right?”
“I’m not sure it’s a coma, exactly, but he can’t communicate. Or so I’ve heard.”
“I’m going to head over there later, I think.”
“To Stratton House?”
“Yeah. I’d like to give Josh’s room a thorough search. The kind I should have done the first time around.” He shrugged. “I just wasn’t thinking.”
She imagined him packing away Josh’s clothes. Had he taken them back to Ontario? Or had he dropped them off at one of the many community donation centers around town? And his toiletries . . . Her heart hurt for him.
“What are you expecting to find?” she asked.
“Josh’s journal. That has to be where he kept the details of his investigation into our birth parents,” he said grimly. “There were no relevant notes on his laptop, which the cops did a forensic examination on, and no file to be found in his room. And, yeah, I know his phone is missing, but no way would he have kept his research notes on that. I bought him a slick hand-held PDA once, and he hated it. He preferred his notebooks and his laptop.”
“He wasn’t much for gadgets, that’s for sure,” Hayden agreed. “I tried to convince him he should buy himself an iPad when I saw all the notebooks he’d filled for work, but he said the only tablets he was interested in were the ones you could write on with a pen or pencil.”
“Exactly. So I’m betting he kept the notes for this personal investigation in a physical notebook. I didn’t come across it when I cleared his things out of his room at the B&B, but I wasn’t thinking straight at the time. I should have looked harder. Josh was private about his personal journals. If they weren’t on him, they were tucked away where prying eyes couldn’t find them.”
“You think he hid it because the information he uncovered was sensitive?”
“Yeah, that too, but I’m pretty sure he’d hide it anyway. Force of habit.” At her lifted eyebrows, he explained, “Years ago I found one of his journals lying around. I teased the hell out of the poor bastard, quoting his deep thoughts back to him. You know, stupid teenage brother ribbing. Oh, man, he was furious. Wouldn’t speak to me for the longest time. He eventually forgave me, but ever since then, if the journal wasn’t on him, he made damned sure it was well hidden.”
“So you’re saying the journal—”
“I think there’s a good chance he hid it in his room.”
CHAPTER 4
Boyd trailed Hayden’s black Subaru Outback through the light evening traffic with ease.
He hadn’t meant to invite her along. S
cratch that; he literally hadn’t invited her. But once she’d realized his destination, she’d insisted on accompanying him. It didn’t take a genius to see she was concerned about him. She hadn’t wanted him to face that empty room alone. Now that he’d had a few minutes to think about it, he decided it was a good thing. Hayden knew more about Josh’s life here than anyone else. He needed to keep her close, keep her talking, see what he could learn.
He had a GPS and could find his way back to the B&B on his own, but following a set of taillights was easier. She led him past a rear view of the provincial legislative assembly building and the towering steeple of Christ Church Cathedral. Then it was through the strange, convoluted intersection beneath an underpass that had confused him last time. Hayden didn’t hesitate, though. She’d probably traveled this path dozens and dozens of times.
On his left flowed the Saint John River, flat and black and glistening with the reflected lights of the city. On the right, they passed a series of grand old houses until she signaled and turned into the driveway of one of them.
It was a large circular driveway constructed of paving stones. Boyd didn’t know a lick about architecture, but the house was impressive, in a monstrous yet distinctly feminine sort of way. Victorian, he supposed, as he took in the rambling, asymmetrical shape of the whole, with its steep roof, gabled windows, and wraparound veranda complete with white rounded columns. And, yes, it even had a tower. A round one. Funny, he hadn’t even noticed that on his earlier visit to claim Josh’s stuff.
Instead of drawing up in front of the veranda, which Boyd had done on his visit, Hayden took a side road that sprouted off the driveway. Paved tastefully with crushed rock instead of cobblestones, it led around the house to a parking lot at the rear, also finished with crushed rock.
He parked his rental beside Hayden’s car, climbed out, and looked around. “Wow, do they have enough parking?”
“They need it.” Hayden closed her car door. “According to Josh, Dr. Stratton expanded it after Senator Stratton fell ill. She keeps a fairly large staff coming and going. Maids and gardeners for the house, LPNs and personal care workers for her husband.”