by Dixie Davis
Nothing seemed to feel right. Even cooking didn’t sound like it would help.
Lori knew she was just grasping at straws, anything to avoid the obvious-yet-impossible conclusion that Mitch, or maybe Chip, had killed Debbie. And still, she couldn’t get her mind off this possibility.
She checked her Facebook every three minutes, as if Shawn would add her while he was finally out and about and enjoying his vacation for the first time.
Because he’d spent the rest of the time moping in his room.
Could his melancholy have to do with Debbie’s death?
Lori looked at his photos again, his ex-wife still smiling out at her. Of course he was sad after his divorce. Besides, if being sad made you a murder suspect, then Mitch and Chip and Ray and half the town belonged on the suspect list.
Still. She needed hard evidence. And even the photograph wasn’t enough — the photo.
Lori hopped up from her chair, but before she made it to the stairs, the front door opened. She froze. Was this Shawn returning? Was she too late to grab the photo from the trash bin upstairs without being discovered?
“Okay, Mom,” Adam said, closing the door behind him. Goodness gracious, how many times was he going to accidentally scare her out of her skin before he left? He crossed the room to her. “Everything all right?”
Did she not look all right? She forced herself to nod. “Mm hm.”
She should tell Adam about her suspicions.
But then he’d stay, probably for nothing, because this really was far-fetched. And he’d miss his big presentation tomorrow.
“Well, I’d better hit the road. Sierra made dinner plans for us.”
Lori smiled. “Okay, sweetie. Drive safe.”
“Always.” He kissed the top of her head again.
“No speeding, no drowsy driving, and no texting and driving.” Her usual admonishments had only required a little updating for this century.
Adam chuckled. “I’m a grown man, Ma.”
“And I’m still your mother.”
He gave her a quick squeeze. “I’ll be back in a couple weeks, okay?”
“Thank you. I really appreciate your help.”
“Well, I’ll get on Doug’s case to see if we can get him out here, too.” Now that he finally lived within a reasonable driving distance, that actually looked like a possibility.
One last time, Lori considered telling Adam to stay, just in case that one blackened photograph of a dark-haired woman happened to be the same dark-haired woman at the center of the town’s biggest controversies for the last ten years.
And one last time, she reminded herself that Adam had important reasons to leave that were far more concrete than her hunches.
She bid Adam goodbye, wishing that she believed herself half as much as she insisted she did.
Lori returned to her office, pacing a small circle around the room. What was she supposed to do? Wait for Shawn to accept her request before she could snoop through his photos?
She didn’t have time to wait around. Maybe there was a more direct way to find out about a relationship. Lori pulled out her cell phone and called Chip’s number.
“Lori?” he answered, his voice weary already.
What was she supposed to say to him? I found a photo that looks vaguely like Debbie in the trash of a man who as far as I know has no more connection to her than a few million other people?
She opted for vagueness as the best policy. “Chip, hi. We have a bit of a situation down here. Can you come?”
“I’ll send Eddie —”
“This is bigger than that. You need to come.”
There was a half-second of pause. “Lights and sirens?” He sounded like he was already moving.
That would surely spook Shawn. “No, better not.”
“On my way.”
If he was coming here directly, it should only take about six minutes. But with the nervous energy caroming off the walls of her mind, Lori couldn’t just sit in the parlor and wait. Besides, she had cleaning to do. The Vecchios were checking in tonight.
Lori headed back up the stairs and grabbed the cleaning supplies from the linen closet. She dragged the cart and vacuum down the hall. She wouldn’t have time to vacuum before Chip got there, but she’d have to do it soon anyway.
Lori started with a quick wipe down of the nightstands, dressers and table with a disinfecting cloth. Definitely didn’t want anyone getting sick from her inn. By the time she finished that, a knock sounded at the door.
Lori hurried back down the stairs to answer the door. Chip hurried past her, one hand on his hip — no, on his gun. He craned his neck around the room. “Where is he?”
He was ready to take Shawn down already? She hadn’t even conclusively proved it was him yet — or even that he knew Debbie. “He’s not here.”
Chip’s shoulders fell. “You said I needed to come down personally. Did you let him leave?”
“He’s free to go,” Lori said slowly. “And I didn’t know what he’d done this morning.”
“Everyone knew this morning — wait, Mitch?”
Lori shook her head vehemently. “No, my guest, of course.”
Chip pressed his lips into a frustrated frown. “What’s this about your guest?”
“Wait — maybe we should talk about Mitch first.”
The police chief folded his arms, waiting for her to go on, if not entirely receptively.
“You came by and laid out the evidence against him the other day, right?”
He gave a single curt nod, then relaxed his arms to tick the items off on his fingers again: “Wedding ring, divorce papers, journal, phone call.”
“Right. Would it surprise you that Mitch told me over the weekend that Debbie left the wedding ring behind when she left him? Before you mentioned the ring to me?”
Chip blinked, just shy of rolling his eyes. “Nothing would surprise me about this case anymore. I’m sure he realized we’d found the ring.”
“And did you find the ring that was on her hand when we pulled her from the water? Her left hand?”
That one gave Chip a moment’s pause. “He probably put it on her after he killed her.”
She pursed her lips as if to ask seriously? “Seems like a stretch. Why wouldn’t he use the first ring if he still had it?”
“I’m saying she had it, and he must have felt she didn’t deserve it.” At Lori’s mystified look, Chip added, “He took it off her.”
And hid it in his house? Once again, the chief was sounding just a little too much like someone who might have had a reason to hurt Debbie. Enough of a reason to actually do it.
And plenty of access to the evidence to make it look like Mitch was guilty.
“I’m guessing you’ve got rationale for dismissing the rest of the evidence, too,” Chip said.
Although he obviously didn’t want to hear about it, Lori nodded. “The journal was already a known quantity. Kim Yates read it years ago. She thought it meant Debbie had committed suicide.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You expect me to believe Kim Yates sat on the juiciest gossip of her life?”
“For her best friend? Stranger things have happened.”
Chip drew a heavy sigh. “And the divorce papers?”
“He told me yesterday he was working with a lawyer.”
The chief pinched the bridge of his nose, slowly shaking his head. “Look, Lori, you’re a very nice person, and I know you mean well —”
“But I definitely don’t know what I’m talking about when it comes to murders, so I should button my trap and butt out?” She let her sarcasm show how seriously she’d take that advice.
“Okay, yes, you’ve had a good streak. But that’s not a replacement for serious investigation.”
“Let me know when you start doing that, and I’ll step out of the way.” As soon as the words passed her lips, Lori clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t —�
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Chip just leveled her with a glower. “I was trying to give you a compliment. When it comes down to it, you’re too biased to see Mitch for who he is.”
“And you aren’t, with your high school grudge? When it comes to Debbie?”
Once again, pink began to creep up Chip’s neck.
Lori held up a hand, cutting off their argument. “This isn’t why I called you down here.”
“Oh?”
“I found something today that I think you should see.” She beckoned for him to follow her upstairs, and he did, no less grumpily than he’d listened to her rebuttal of the evidence.
Lori showed him upstairs to the linen closet. When she opened the door, Chip snorted behind her. “You wanted to show me cleaning supplies?”
She shot him a quick glare, then turned back to the closet, pulling trash bags out of the larger bin. After two or three, she spotted the Styrofoam container and pulled it out.
“Please don’t tell me you’re going to complain about something your guest ate.”
She turned up the strength on her glare, then flipped open the box. She lifted the blackened photo from the sweet and sour sauce, its edges warped from the moisture.
Chip fell silent, leaning in and squinting at the photo. “You’re telling me you think . . . you think that’s Debbie?”
“Don’t you?” Lori glanced down at the photo and remembered her own doubts.
“You can’t see most of her face. Her hair’s the right color, but it could be anybody with dark brown hair.” Chip sighed like he was really, really sad for her. “Lori, you’re grasping at straws. You know this isn’t evidence.”
Right, and that was why she’d tried to get a peek at Shawn’s Facebook photos, but that hadn’t panned out.
“I’ve known Deb our whole lives,” he said, obviously using his practiced, patient police tone. “Even I couldn’t tell if that’s her. Can you?”
Her eyes flitted back to the photo again, but her hesitation was answer enough.
“Well?” Chip pressed.
“No,” she admitted. “But it was enough to investigate.”
“Uh huh. All those investigation skills we obviously don’t have.”
She needed to learn not to tick Chip off. It always came back to bite her.
“All right. If you find some actual evidence, call me, okay?”
“Yeah.” Lori closed the Styrofoam container and dumped it back in the trash, piling the bags on top of it again. Maybe she was just lucky Shawn hadn’t caught her looking at a photo that could be his mom or grandma. She didn’t make eye contact with Chip as she led him back down the stairs.
Normally, her pride wasn’t too wounded by the police — easy to let everything slide off your back when your first run-in was your own arrest for a murder you didn’t commit — but today was different. So as Lori and Chip reached the ground floor of the inn, she stumbled upon a perfect, terrible, very wrong thing to say. She showed him to the door and opened it, standing there a moment.
“You knew Debbie your whole life?” she asked once he’d passed the threshold.
Chip turned back on the porch. “Better than anyone.”
Lori paused and turned to him. “Then you know where she’s been for the last ten years?”
This time, the pink didn’t creep up from his collar: it flooded his face. Flustered, he floundered for words.
And Lori calmly closed the door in his face, not even giving him the satisfaction of answering the question for him.
As soon as the door shut, Lori kicked herself again. She really didn’t mean to make a habit of investigating murders, but if this kept happening to her, she also really didn’t want the chief of police to hate her.
Maybe a little too late for that.
Lori checked her watch. Surely her guests would be home soon. She took the photo to her office and wiped off the sweet and sour sauce before she hurried back upstairs and threw herself into cleaning.
She dust mopped the floor and wiped down the bathroom surfaces, telling herself that Chip had to be right. If not about Mitch, then definitely about the picture of Debbie. It could be anyone. Apparently anyone but her.
But if Chip could dismiss her concerns because of how she’d felt about Mitch, surely she could dismiss Chip’s concerns because of how he’d felt about Debbie, right?
Of course right.
Although she had to admit she didn’t have much evidence of anything concrete. Shaky at best. At worst, Chip was right.
But he was wrong about Mitch. He had to be.
Lori scrubbed out the toilet and swept the floor, taking the fluffy bathmat out to the hall for its turn in the laundry when she was done. She glanced down the hall to where Shawn’s door still stood closed.
What did she know about the man? He lived in Atlanta. He was sad. He was probably divorced. He was on vacation alone.
Lori returned to the Carolina Beach Room and double-checked the closet and drawers, as well as the lamps and clocks, then ran the vacuum. Shawn had checked in Thursday. He hadn’t seemed unhappy then. In fact, he was . . . jittery. She’d figured it was a long drive that had required caffeine, or had just made him a little stir-crazy.
Friday morning at breakfast, however, he was jittery even before his coffee, his hands shaking as he served himself breakfast and filled his mug. But he hadn’t looked particularly sad at that point.
In fact, she couldn’t remember the mournful look to his eyes before Friday evening.
Lori realized she’d stopped cleaning long ago and forced herself to put away the cart. Dusting wasn’t quite distraction enough to keep her from recounting every conversation with Shawn.
At check-in, he was asking about good places to fish — no, originally he’d asked about places to sit and talk. He was excited; his eyes didn’t carry some hidden light, but something about him seemed . . . hopeful.
Friday at breakfast, he’d mentioned going fishing and looking for good spots. Lori told him he’d probably need a boat to access some of them — and he’d asked about renting one.
And then she’d told him about Miller’s Point, where she and Mitch were going crabbing that night.
The spot that was Debbie’s favorite as a teenager.
The place her body was found that night.
Goose bumps prickled up down Lori’s back.
Lori paused in switching the laundry. Had she accidentally given the murderer the perfect opportunity?
Debbie had to have come to Dusky Cove late Thursday or early Friday. Obviously she hadn’t stayed with Ray and Katie or Mitch. She still had friends here, but all of them thought she was dead.
There were only four places to stay in town: three bed and breakfasts — all pricier — and the motel. Could she have stayed there? Lori hurried to finish loading the washer again before she headed to her office. She dialed Walt at the Riverboat Motel.
“Riverboat,” Walt’s gravelly voice answered. “Can I help you?”
She’d tried to help him improve his customer service, and the greeting was better than he’d used in the past. “Hey, Walt, it’s Lori. Did you know Debbie Watson Griffin?”
“Yup.”
“Have you seen her recently?” As soon as Lori asked this, she realized how stupid it would sound to someone if they hadn’t seen the papers this weekend. Have you seen someone who died ten years ago?
“Nope,” Walt said. He fell silent, but Lori could almost sense that this was more of a hesitation than a pause. “But now that you mention it, there was a lady staying here that mighta looked a little like her.”
Lori began pacing almost involuntarily, glad for a cordless phone. “Is she there? Did she check out?”
“No, she was only staying one night.”
Hm. She couldn’t be sure whether that helped her case or not. “When was she there?”
“Checked in Thursday.”
Lori stopped. Could it really be? “What name did sh
e use?”
“Lizzie Bennett.”
She rubbed her temples. People could share a name with the protagonist of Pride and Prejudice, sure, but what were the odds?
Lori racked her brain for Debbie’s middle name. Had she ever seen her grave?
The flyer Chip had given her. Debbie E W Griffin.
A middle initial of E, a wedding ring . . . had Debbie changed her identity?
Anything was possible. It wasn’t as though she’d run away to hide in a closet for a decade. Of course she’d work to build a new life. It could have even paralleled her old life. For all Lori knew, maybe Debbie had gone on to have a family.
“Thanks, Walt,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. None of this answered the most pressing questions now: why did that new life have to end? Who could have done this to her?
Lori hung up the phone again.
Was this her fault?
No. Of course not. There was no way she could have known Shawn would know Debbie — Lizzie — whoever — at all, or have any reason to kill her. She still didn’t have evidence he did know her, just one bad, generic photo. And a hunch.
But all this time, everyone in town was so sure her death now had to have something to do with her life — and alleged death — then. What if they were wrong? What if it all had to do with her new life?
Lori flopped into her office chair. That didn’t make sense either. If her death had nothing to do with her life here, why come back here? After all this time, what could have made her return?
Lori couldn’t imagine, but she had a hard time putting herself in Debbie’s mind. Sure, she’d had rough times as a wife and a mom, especially once Glenn was gone. She’d wished she could just run off to some vacation paradise, but she also knew no such place existed.
And why start a life over somewhere new only to make the exact same life for yourself?
People were comfortable with what they knew, what was familiar.
Lori sighed. None of this was familiar to her. Not even the things she’d really, really thought were.
As per usual when she was stuck, Lori headed out to clean the parlor. It really didn’t need much beyond a quick dust and dust mop, but when she was upset or stuck, nothing seemed to help jog her mind more than menial cleaning tasks, even ones she didn’t love normally.