by Kathi Daley
“I thought Jack might be a nickname for Jackson, but it’s also a nickname for John, and the timing fits,” I pointed out. “Elliemae and Marley both said that John was a different person after the accident. Elliemae said that the accident happened just before Thanksgiving in nineteen ninety-five. The missing women on Orson’s list started going missing in January of nineteen ninety-six, and the final woman on Orson’s list to go missing was last seen in May of nineteen ninety-seven. John Reynolds was shot and killed in June of nineteen ninety-seven. Based on what we know to this point, there were no additional missing women until January of this year.”
“If John is the one who was kidnapping and killing these women back in the nineties, he certainly isn’t the one kidnapping them now,” Finn pointed out.
“No, of course, he isn’t. I guess if my theory is correct, the current kidnapper must be a copycat.”
“I wonder how we can prove any of this,” Cody commented. “John Reynolds is long gone, so we can’t bring him in for questioning.”
I nibbled on my lower lip. “I’m not sure. I guess if we can figure out who is currently kidnapping these women, assuming we’re right and that actually is what’s happening, once he is caught, we can ask him what he knows about John and the kidnappings in the nineties.”
“This person either has access to police reports, or he knew John and knew the details of what he’d been doing, again, assuming our theory is correct. The pattern that is being repeated is very similar. Too similar,” Cody pointed out, “to be a coincidence.”
“Okay, say you’re right,” Finn said just about the same time that Mystique jumped up onto his desk. “Say it had been John who was kidnapping and killing these women. Why would someone start mimicking these killings all these years later? It has been a really long time.”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “There is a lot about this that doesn’t make sense, but I really do feel that Mystique and I might be onto something. If nothing else, our theory seems solid enough to warrant further research.”
“I agree,” Finn said. “I’ll see if I can find any additional proof that John was in some way linked to the missing women in the nineties. He lived on the island for quite a while. Folks knew him. If he brought these women back to the island, someone must have seen him.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ll find that he didn’t bring the women here,” I said. “Margaret’s friend saw him on Lopez Island. I bet he stayed away from Madrona Island. Still, he had to be keeping these women somewhere. He must have secured rentals on the other islands. Or maybe Fairchild was correct when he said that the killer must have had a home on one of the private islands, although Elliemae said that John and Margaret were broke, so I sort of doubt that. Maybe he had a friend with a house, or maybe he knew which homes would be empty and broke in. It’s really hard to say at this point.”
“I’ll ask around,” Finn promised. “It happened so long ago that it’s going to be hard to find anyone who remembers anything, but I’ll try.”
“In the meantime, Mystique and I will continue to work on the mystery of the current missing women. If we can figure out what is happening to these women, perhaps we can figure out what happened to the missing women in the nineties.”
Chapter 15
Tara called shortly after Cody and I had returned home. The bar was closed on Mondays, so she and Danny were both off. She wondered if we had time to get together to talk about the information Danny had gathered from some of his contractor friends. I told her that she and Danny were always welcome, but I wondered if Willow shouldn’t be involved in these sorts of discussions. Cassie, too for that matter. She agreed that it might be a good idea to get together when both Willow and Cassie could attend, and she admitted it was going to be hard to remember that we had new partners whose opinions would need to be considered when making any sort of decision. I suggested she call Willow to set up a time for us to meet that was convenient for her since my current schedule was pretty flexible, as was Cassie’s. She agreed to my suggestion. After that, I asked her if she and Danny wanted to come over for dinner just to hang out since they were off, and she accepted the invite, saying that she felt antsy after everything that had happened and needed to get out of the house. Ten minutes later, she called me back to tell me she’d talked to Willow, who’d assured her that she was fine with us discussing the bookstore in her absence and filling her in later. The last thing Willow wanted to do, she’d assured Tara, was make anyone feel that she was interested in running things. She liked the way things had been before the explosion and wanted nothing more than to return to her regular routine. Tara had suggested we get together for lunch one day this week so we could go over everything we discussed this evening, so I called Cassie and invited her to have dinner with us. She had a date, so she declined the invitation, but at least I felt like we had attempted to reach out and include all the owners of the new Coffee Cat Books.
“It looks like the rain is still coming down pretty hard,” I said after showing Danny and Tara where they could leave their wet outerwear.
“It’s pouring right now, but according to my weather app, it should clear up in a couple of hours,” Danny said.
“Come on upstairs,” I invited. “Banjo and Summer are staying here with Mr. Parsons until the storm blows through since their little hut tends to leak, so we’re going to have our meal up in our apartment rather than down here in the main dining room.”
“Banjo and Summer have money. They also have a very expensive piece of land. Why don’t they tear down that little shack and build a proper home?” Danny asked.
I shrugged. “I’ve asked them about that in the past, and they both said the shack suits them and since Mr. Parsons is happy to have their company when the weather is bad, they can just come here so why should they bother building something more suited to our oftentimes severe weather.”
“To each, his own, I guess,” Tara said as she started up the stairs behind Danny. “They are one of the happiest couples I know, and I guess, in the end, that’s all that matters.”
Danny and Tara greeted Cody, who was busy getting our dinner on the table. As if by some sort of mutual consent, none of us talked business while we ate. We discussed the weather, the cottage Cody and I planned to build, and the upcoming Easter holiday. Once we’d eaten dinner and cleared the table, we gathered in front of the fire to discuss the bookstore and the effort that would be required to rebuild and reopen.
What it really came down to was the structural integrity of the wooden supports and the amount of money it would take to repair versus tearing down and rebuilding.
“According to both contractors who looked at the place, the foundation is fine,” Danny said. “If you choose to tear down the structure, you could tear up the foundation and really start from scratch, but both contractors felt that if you were willing to work with the existing footprint, you’d be able to save quite a bit of time and money. What they’re both recommending is taking the building down to the studs, keeping the existing foundation, and only replacing those supports that are damaged. Doing that would limit what you could do to a degree, but how you organize the space between the supports would be up to you.”
“Tara and I have always talked about how nice it would be to have the huge stone fireplace on the side wall rather than the back wall since it interfaces with the view on the back wall. Would doing a partial tear down prevent us from moving it?”
“No,” Danny answered. “Not since you’ve converted to gas. You kept the chimney intact when you remodeled the first time, but you don’t really need it. I would consider taking it out and just adding a vent to whichever wall you decide to put the fireplace on.”
“And we also talked about flipping the storeroom and the office,” Tara said. “The current storeroom has no windows even though one wall of the room overlooks the water.”
“What you do with the interior of the structure would be up to you,” Danny confirmed. “I have another friend
who is an architect and is willing to work with you to draw something up. You’ll want to get started right away since you’ll need to obtain a permit for the new construction, and that can take a while. If you wait until summer, the wait will be even longer, so I’m going to suggest you let me set up a meeting this week.”
Tara, Danny, Cody, and I discussed what we considered to be our wish list. Danny called his architect friend, who had time to meet with us on Wednesday. Tara called Willow and arranged to meet for lunch tomorrow. I texted Cassie and told her about the lunch, which she agreed to attend. That way, we could all discuss the functionality of moving the fireplace or coffee bar, which were two items Tara and I had discussed in the past.
Eventually, our conversation migrated to different topics. The return of the whales, the upcoming fishing and tourism season, the fate of the Seahawks should different trade scenarios come to pass. It had been a while since the four of us had hung out. I missed this. Since Cody and I had been living full-time with Mr. Parsons, we really hadn’t entertained much. It just felt different being in someone else’s home. I hoped that having the cottage would bring a feeling of normalcy back to my life. Not that we’d be there all the time. We had, after all, moved in with Mr. Parsons to help out and to keep an eye on the older man. But having the cottage with the deck I envisioned butting up to the sea, would give us a place to entertain without our guests having to tromp through Mr. Parsons’ living space.
The rain had stopped by the time Danny and Tara left. In fact, the clouds had cleared, and the stars had come out. Cody and I decided to take both dogs for a walk along the beach before turning in. Banjo and Summer were watching an old movie with Mr. Parsons, and Mystique seemed perfectly content to sit in Summer’s lap and watch the movie with them.
“Do you realize that this was the first time we’ve had guests over for dinner since we moved into Mr. Parsons’ place full-time?” I asked Cody as we walked hand in hand down the beach.
“I guess I hadn’t really stopped to think about it.”
“We used to have people over to the cabin all the time. Inviting people over now feels different. Not that Mr. Parsons would ever complain about people having to tromp through his part of the house to get to the stairs, but in my mind, it still feels like an imposition. I’m hoping the little cottage we plan to build will serve as a place for us to entertain.”
“I spoke to a contractor, and he said much the same thing Danny just said about the length of the permit process. He recommended we get started right away. When we get back to the house, maybe we can come up with a rough draft of what we are thinking. Once we have that, we can get an architect on board, and once we have plans, we can apply for the permit.”
“I really hoped to have the cottage built by summer.”
Cody pulled me into his arms. He leaned forward and kissed me. “I’m not sure we can get everything done we need to do before the summer building season really kicks in, but we’ll do what we can. In the meantime, we’ll make more of an effort to invite our friends to dinner in our apartment. It is a pretty nice apartment.”
“It’s a very nice apartment, and we do have that deck we never use. Maybe we should get some new patio furniture.”
“I think that can be arranged. We’re going to need furniture for a couple of the second-floor guest bedrooms, so I was thinking about taking a trip to Seattle. We can look at patio furniture while we’re there.”
“A couple of the guest rooms?” I asked.
“I guess I might have forgotten to tell you that Mom plans on bringing a friend when she comes to visit this summer.”
“And will they both be staying with us?”
Cody nodded.
“When exactly is your mother coming?”
“The end of June or the beginning of July. I know that having two house guests for a month to six weeks is a lot, but…”
“But she is your mother. I get it. I really do.” I leaned my head on Cody’s shoulder as we continued to walk along the waterline. I loved these quiet moments when it was just the two of us. We used to take long walks all the time, but lately, it seemed as if we’d both been preoccupied and busy. I still felt the knot in my stomach that I’d been feeling for some time. I supposed that between the changes with the bookstore, the investigation into the disappearance of the missing women, the break-ins at the newspaper, and the impending visit from Cody’s mother, I had reason to be stressed. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, however, I realized my feelings of doom weren’t the result of any of those things, which caused me to worry about what other surprises might be waiting for me just around the corner.
Chapter 16
Tuesday, April 7
Cody had two interviews to do this morning, so I decided to stay home and continue to sort through the boxes Orson had left behind. I was still hoping to find that single clue that would break the mystery of the missing women wide open. Rambler and Max were both sleeping by the fire where they’d settled in after I’d taken them out for a short run. The rain had stopped, but it was still overcast and gloomy, which seemed to cause us all to want to settle in for a nap. Mystique was curled up on the sofa while I sat on the floor with a pile of notebooks stacked up beside me. The real problem, I decided, was that much of what Orson had written was completely illegible. At least it was illegible to me. I’m sure that he understood his unique shorthand and found it quite functional.
I’d just finished sorting through the pile of journals I’d selected to work on first and was about to get up to fetch another pile when Mystique woke up. She followed me to the stacks of boxes we’d identified as needing a second look and began to paw at the second one from the bottom of the third stack against the back wall.
“Do you want me to go through this box next?” I asked.
“Meow.”
“Okay.” I set the three boxes on top of the one Mystique had pointed out to the side, and carried a box with the torn cover over to rug where I’d been sitting. I refilled my coffee and sat down on the floor. I opened the box and took the stack of journals and files out, setting them on the floor beside me. I picked up the one on the top, but Mystique had other plans. She swatted at the stack until it was scattered and then pounced on a blue file folder, which she then pushed in my direction.
I picked it up. “I take it you want me to start with this one.” I opened the file. There was a stack of handwritten notes inside. “Do you want me to look at anything specific?” I set the pile on the floor so the cat would have access.
“Meow.” Mystique scattered the papers across the room before choosing one to bat toward me.
I picked up the page and looked at the notes. Once again, the notes were written in Orson’s special shorthand. “I can’t read this.”
“Meow.” Mystique put her paw on an address that had been circled.
“Do you want me to go here?”
“Meow.” She trotted toward the door.
It was cold and windy, and I really didn’t want to go out, but I’d learned a long time ago that when the cats who were here to help me decided it was time to act, it was time to act. I grabbed my coat and my backpack, called to the dogs, and headed downstairs. I stopped off in the parlor to let Mr. Parsons know where I was going and asked if the dogs could hang out with him for a while. He, of course, was happy for the company but suggested I call Finn before I drove to an address that, for some reason, Orson had associated with the case of the missing women in the nineties. I assured him that I would call Finn as soon as I determined that the address was legit, then I grabbed my umbrella from the stand and Mystique, and I headed out to my car.
The address Mystique led me toward was north of Harthaven, along a part of the shoreline where large widely spaced homes dominated. When I arrived at the indicated address and realized it did indeed exist, I hesitated. Should I call Finn? On the one hand, I didn’t want him to come all the way out here for nothing. On the other hand, I wasn’t a careless woman, and I had promised Mr. Parsons.
Deciding to err on the side of caution, I dialed Finn’s number. It went to voicemail.
“Hey, Finn, it’s Cait. I’m in my car in front of a house. The address of the house is one that was in Orson’s files that are associated with the missing women in the nineties, and Mystique seemed adamant that we come and check it out. I’m still in the car, so I haven’t verified who currently lives here, but there is a truck with a camper shell in the drive, so I assume someone is home. I’m going to see if I can peek in any of the windows. If you get this message, call me back.” I then provided the address where I was currently located in the event Finn decided a visit was warranted. Once I hung up, I slipped my phone in my pocket and then opened my car door and stepped out. I was parked along the street so as not to draw attention to myself. My plan at this point was to sneak through the trees up to the house and try to look in through the windows so I could get a feel for what I was walking into before ringing the bell.
Mystique jumped out after me, and the two of us headed toward the old and fairly rundown home. The house was in a gorgeous location. It had been built on a huge lot, probably at least an acre, and it was only yards from a private dock, which jutted out into the calm bay that curved directly into the open sea. I really wasn’t sure why I’d decided that peeking in the windows before knocking on the door was the best course of action, but my gut warned me there could be danger associated with my visit, so I decided a bit of surveillance was warranted.
The first window I peeked into provided a view of an empty bedroom. I made my way to the next window and then the next until I eventually found a window that provided a view into the kitchen. There was a man in the kitchen, drinking coffee and assembling supplies he had set out on the kitchen table. The supplies included a rope, a lead plate such as the sort used with a weight bar, a very large knife, and, most noticeably, a gun. I took a step back and then faded into the woods, where I was less likely to be noticed. I recognized the man inside. His name was Alton Peyton. He was one of our suspects in the Santa bombings last December. At the time, we’d been looking for people who had reason to hate Christmas, and his name came up because his wife had left him for his best friend the previous Christmas Eve, taking their life savings with her. Alton had spent much of this past December in bars drinking and complaining not only about his ex, but women in general.