Bitter Past, page 5
Again the room fell silent.
“Did you see him that day?” she pressed, her gaze on Shawn.
“I did,” he said with obvious reluctance. “And he did have questions about Eve Brooks, but I couldn’t help him.”
That was it? She waited for him to say more, then realized she was foolish if she expected it to be so easy. Eve had been missing for a long time. If there was a simple explanation for what had happened to her, it would have come to light by now.
Before she could think of a good follow-up question, Sam grabbed the platter of meat and mushrooms. “Barbecue should be hot by now.”
“Let’s all sit on the deck,” Myrtle suggested. Everyone picked up their drinks and followed her to an expansive cedar deck rimmed with potted flowers and plants. A table with six chairs had been placed on the side of the deck nearest to the grill, while a cushioned wicker sectional sat on the other side of the deck beside a trellis fence covered in climbing clematis. The fence, plus the old forest growing protectively around them, gave Joelle a feeling of being cut off from the world. Everyone except Sam—who was manning the grill—took a place at the table, and Shawn opened a bottle of red.
It was an interesting assemblage, Joelle thought. Clearly Myrtle, Sam, and Shawn were a tight family group. Zak must be here because of her. But what were they hoping to learn from her? Did they see her as a threat?
After dinner was served, Myrtle turned the conversation to Lost Trail’s annual Huckleberry Festival. “Vera—she’s in charge of the organizing committee,” she explained to Joelle, “asked me to work the kiddie craft table this year.”
“I’ll be flipping pancakes,” Sam said.
“And I’ll be manning the Forest Service booth again,” Shawn said. To Joelle he added, “We take every opportunity we can get to educate the public on forest fire prevention.”
“And you’ll be in the parade?” Myrtle asked Zak.
He looked slightly embarrassed. “Driving my truck and throwing candy to the kids. Yup. Same drill every year.”
After Myrtle brought out a cherry pie for dessert, Joelle was struggling to find an opening to lead the conversation back to Brent, when Zak helped her.
“So, Joelle,” the young Sheriff said, “do you think your brother-in-law’s visit to Lost Trail had something to do with his accident?”
“The timing seems suspicious,” she pointed out.
“But Eve went missing a long time ago,” Sam protested. “Why should your brother-in-law suddenly get interested in her now?”
Joelle considered mentioning Brent’s lottery win and the subsequent blackmail note. But these people were all new to her. And while Zak might represent local law enforcement, she wasn’t sure she totally trusted him either. “I was hoping one of you might have the answer to that. Did Brent talk to anyone else when he was here?”
Shawn looked uncomfortable. With obvious reluctance he said, “Well, he did pay a visit to Wyatt Cocker and Amanda McKinnon. They worked with us that summer too.”
“She’s Amanda Cocker now,” Myrtle interjected. “She and Wyatt were married shortly after that summer.”
Joelle made a mental note of the names. Wyatt and Amanda had to be the other two co-workers in Brent’s photos. “Do they still live in Lost Trail?”
“Yes, on Amanda’s family ranch about fifteen miles east of town,” Myrtle said. “Wyatt’s full-time on the ranch, but Amanda also works as our town librarian.”
A rancher, a librarian, and a wildlife biologist. Brent’s co-workers from that summer sounded like such normal, harmless people. “Did he talk to anyone else?”
Sam rested his fork on his empty pie plate. “So happens he stopped in at the Courier and had a word with me and Edward. Edward Cocker is the owner and publisher of the local paper. I was picking him up to go for lunch. The two of us go way back.”
“Edward Cocker.” Another name she needed to remember. “Is he related to Wyatt?”
“His father,” Myrtle confirmed. “Vera, the woman I mentioned who’s organizing the Huckleberry Festival, is Wyatt’s mother. But Edward and Vera were divorced a long time ago.”
“Some divorce,” Sam said. “They both still live on their small cattle ranch about ten miles away from here.”
“In separate houses, though,” Myrtle said.
“That’s true,” Sam conceded.
Joelle wondered if Edward and Vera were the other two older people in the pancake breakfast photo. If so, it seemed that Brent had visited all the people in that photo on his trip to Lost Trail. She’d bet he’d taken notes of that visit—they were probably on either his phone or his computer. If only he’d printed them out and included them in his file. But he hadn’t had time, had he? The night after his visit to this place, he’d been killed.
Joelle looked at the people around the table, feeling a growing sense of unease. She’d just met these people, but she had a feeling they were holding back information from her. Could one of the Wards have sent that blackmail note? For sure they knew more about the dead woman in the forest. As the outsider, she was at a distinct disadvantage here.
Shortly after the meal was over, the party broke up. The Sheriff claimed he needed to get home to relieve his babysitter and Shawn said he had to get up early the next morning for work. Joelle thanked her hosts, and made her way back to the cottage, feeling frustrated. She hadn’t learned as much from the evening as she’d hoped.
But at least she had some names to follow up on. Plus the steak had been really delicious.
Chapter Five
Why now? The question kept repeating in Zak’s head as he drove back to town after dinner. He was in the decked-out Tahoe Sheriff Ford had purchased shortly before he’d lost the election. Everyone in the office referred to it as the sheriff-mobile. Though it was the nicest vehicle Zak had ever driven, he’d rather have put the money toward another deputy.
Why now?
What had prompted Brent’s visit to Lost Trail, sixteen years after he’d left as a summer worker? Zak was sure Joelle Medler knew the answer—why wasn’t she willing to share that information? Was she looking for some sort of journalist’s scoop at the expense of assisting a police investigation? But her coup, if she had one, could come at the expense of another life lost. He wondered if she appreciated that.
Ten minutes from home he called Tiff, who was at his house babysitting. “Almost home. How are things there?”
“Jett went to bed at seven-thirty and hasn’t made a noise since. I’m binge-watching Magpie Murders. I’m about halfway through episode three.”
“You okay if I do a quick patrol around town before I head home?”
“Absolutely. I’m not leaving until the end of this episode regardless.”
“Thanks.” He didn’t know what he and Nadine would do without Tiff and Rosemary. Debbie-Ann’s day care was great, but it closed at six on weekdays and wasn’t open at all on weekends.
After ending the call, his thoughts returned to the evening’s conversation. On the surface everyone had been cordial and friendly, but the undercurrents had been treacherous. Bad enough that he didn’t know Joelle Medler’s motives. But he also suspected the Wards of keeping secrets. Were they shielding Shawn? And if so, from what?
As Zak pulled off the highway and headed into town, his duty to protect the citizens of this county weighed heavily on him. More vehicles than usual were parked outside the Dew Drop Inn, probably thanks to visitors in town for the Huckleberry Festival. He detoured by the library, which made him think of Silvia Tombe. She’d been the town’s librarian for decades and had been a lifeline to him in his youth, but after her traumatic abduction a year ago, she’d decided to retire. Six months later she’d married a man she’d met online and moved to Missoula. He emailed her regularly and could tell she was happy—happier than she’d ever been in Lost Trail—but he missed her.
The only upside to her retirement was that it had opened a great job opportunity for Amanda Cocker. Despite the summer they’d worked together, he’d never been close friends with Amanda or her husband, Wyatt, but word in town was they could use the extra money—their ranch was struggling financially. Then again, what small ranch in these parts wasn’t struggling?
Zak took a left and cruised by the Sheriff’s Office. Nadine’s truck was parked outside, and he could see the lights were on by her desk. He was tempted to stop and say hello—Tuesday nights were typically slow—but he resisted. Instead he took the next left, cruised past the cemetery, then onto the rural road that led to their acreage.
The sun still hadn’t set as he pulled up next to Tiff’s SUV. These long summer evenings were so magical. He could hear a robin singing cheerfully as he made his way to the porch. Always the first bird at dawn and again at dusk. Inside, he was greeted enthusiastically by Junior in the foyer.
“Good boy.” Zak scratched the dog’s favorite spots, behind his ears and under his chin, then followed the sound of the TV to the family room. Tiff was sprawled on the couch, a bowl of popcorn perched on her baby bump. Her thick dark hair was gathered in a high ponytail that flopped over the side of the couch. He gave it a tug. “Hey there.”
“Just fifteen minutes to go,” she said, not taking her eyes from the screen.
Watson, his once aloof, now ridiculously sociable cat, was curled on her feet. Upon spotting Zak, Watson yawned but didn’t budge from his choice spot. Next Zak checked on Jett. His son was in his sleeping sack, cheeks pink, lips gently parted. Clutched in one hand was his favorite fuzzy sloth. God help them if they ever lost that thing.
Zak poured himself a glass of water, then returned to the sitting room and watched the last few minutes of Tiff’s show, which actually seemed quite interesting. Set in England, it had all the hallmarks of the classic British mystery. Intriguing characters, intelligent dialogue, heavy on the innuendo and clever plot twists. He doubted Nadine would like it though. His wife preferred shows with a lot of overt tension and thrilling action. Their different tastes in entertainment usually required diplomatic negotiations at the start of each evening. Not that there were that many evenings where they watched shows together anymore. His new role as Sheriff, followed by Jett’s birth, had certainly cut down on their couple time.
As the credits began rolling, Tiff gently disentangled herself from Watson and eased herself off the couch. Her tall, model-thin body had been utterly transformed by her pregnancy, but her face with its delicate features, and smooth complexion remained as lovely as ever. “How was your dinner?”
“Interesting. A little awkward at times.”
“Just the way you like them,” she teased. “Who cares about the food when there’s a mystery to untangle. Was there a mystery to untangle?”
“Afraid so. Not that I made much progress with it.” He hadn’t given her any details earlier when he’d phoned to ask her to babysit, and he didn’t give her any details now, even though she was clearly hoping for some.
Tiff sighed. “I liked you better when you were a dispatcher and talked to me about your cases.”
“I didn’t have cases when I was a dispatcher,” he reminded her. “But I like to think I didn’t violate confidentiality back then either.”
“You were always very circumspect,” she agreed, giving him an awkward hug before heading to the door.
“Thanks for looking after Jett.”
“It wasn’t a problem. Anytime, Zak.” She patted her baby bump. “Though after this one is born, you may need to bring Jett to our place.”
“How many weeks now?”
“Four. Though my doctor thinks I may be early.”
“That’s exciting.” Though, in his and Nadine’s case, the word that had best described his emotions in the weeks before the delivery had been terrifying. Nadine, though, had been so brave, before, during, and after.
“G’night, Zak. Thanks for the popcorn, and the candied peanuts. You’re low on milk by the way.”
“I’m sure we’ve got half a gallon.”
She shrugged. “You did. Not any longer.”
He grinned. It was a small price to pay. “Drive carefully.”
He stood at the door and watched as she got into her vehicle and drove away. Nadine wouldn’t be home for four more hours. God but he hated these late-night shifts of hers. He decided to pull out his laptop and some files he’d brought from the office. He wouldn’t sleep until she got home, so he might as well work.
*
The first thing Joelle did when she was back at her cottage was take another look at Brent’s photos. In the picture of the pancake breakfast she now recognized Myrtle, Sam, and Shawn, all seated on the left-hand side of the table. On the other side was the summer worker with the black hair and beard. That had to be Wyatt Cocker. Next to him was an older couple she assumed to be his parents. His father, the owner of the Courier, had a square forehead with a distinctive widow’s peak, and long, straight nose, while his mother, Vera the festival organizer, was an imperiously beautiful woman, with sharp features that reminded Joelle of an actress she’d seen on old film clips while watching the Oscars. She thought the actress’s name was Joan Crawford.
Brent was seated at the head of the table, next to a pretty young woman with dark curly hair. This must be Amanda, the one who had married Wyatt. Yet, judging from the way she was looking at Brent, she’d been more into him than Wyatt. At least back then.
Why had they gathered that morning? What had they been talking about? None of the people seemed aware they were having their picture taken. They certainly weren’t smiling. In fact, they looked grim, worried.
To help unwind, Joelle settled on the couch and watched an old episode of Gilmore Girls. She patted the cushion beside her, trying to coax Trix to come cuddle, but Trix, ensconced on an armchair near the front window, ignored her. What had she ever done to turn that dog against her? It would be nice to have the comfort of a good dog curled up next to her right now.
It had been a frustrating evening. After years of interviewing experience she could usually tell when people were being upfront with her. That had not been the case tonight. All of them, even the kindly Myrtle, who seemed like she wouldn’t hurt a chicken nugget, had been cagey.
And what was with that Sheriff? Why had he been included in the cozy family dinner? He’d claimed not to be there in an official capacity, but all night long he’d watched her closely, clocking her every reaction and weighing her every word.
Despite her distrust, there was something very likeable about the man. He wasn’t a heart throb. But he was attractive with a leanly muscled body—she bet he was a runner—and intelligent eyes that didn’t seem to miss much.
At some point between her third and fourth Gilmore Girls episode, Joelle fell asleep. It was almost two a.m. when she dragged herself into the four-poster bed. And then she crashed again, only to wake with the birds, right before dawn, with her heart racing and her body in a sweat.
The dream again. More vivid than ever. She was two years old and hiding in a box about the size of the toy chest back home. Only she wasn’t at home. She was in a strange, spooky old house. She had never been so completely and utterly alone like that before. So terrified she couldn’t scream or even cry. In her dream she curled into a ball and stroked the kitten finger puppet on her finger. The frayed yarn was soft, soothing, and she pressed it to her cheek.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’ll take care of you.”
There were blankets in the box. Scratchy and smelly, but she was so cold, she burrowed under them. It had been quiet for a long, long time, but suddenly she heard footsteps and a man’s voice. She tried to make herself so small that she disappeared.
And then she woke up. Stupid dream, she thought, trying to throw it off with her covers. She got out of bed and went to the kitchen. Fortunately the small kitchen was stocked with coffee and a French press, so she put some water on to boil. Then she leaned against the counter and thought about the dream again. She’d had it often as a kid, but it had become less frequent once she became a teenager and eventually it had stopped altogether. Why had it suddenly come back? Was it the trauma of Brent’s death? The unexplained link to Eve Brooks’s disappearance?
Before getting dressed, Joelle checked for messages from Olivia and was relieved to hear their flight had gone smoothly and that the twins were excited to be on their grandparents’ apple orchard where there were horses and kittens and lots of room to run and play. Joelle sent her a thumbs-up to acknowledge receipt of the message. Hopefully she’d have more to report to Olivia by the end of the day.
Since there was no fenced yard for Trix, Joelle leashed her up and went outside so the dog could take care of her business. The sky was clear and the air warm with a mossy, woodsy scent. Joelle sucked it into her lungs in long, deep breaths, with the sensation that she was detoxifying her entire body.
As Trix explored her new territory, Joelle wondered at all the new scents she must be discovering, scents to which she, with her limited human olfactory organs, was oblivious. Eventually Trix led her to the opening in the forest that Myrtle had pointed out last night. The hiking path was about three feet wide, the dirt covered in a thick carpet of old pine needles and leaves. Joelle felt a stirring of adventure, a curiosity to see where the trail might take her. And clearly Trix felt the same thing.
“Later,” she promised. “I have work to do first.”
Back in the cottage Joelle put out Trix’s morning kibble and then sat at the table with a second cup of coffee. There was a notepad and pen on the table—a thoughtful touch—and without planning to do so, Joelle found herself making a list. Actually two. Things to buy and things to do.
She needed groceries. Living out here she wouldn’t be able to order pizza or Thai food on a whim. She also wanted to check the archives of the local paper, the Lost Trail Courier. She wondered if she would find details about Eve Brooks’s disappearance that hadn’t been reported in the Missoulian. She knew she could get access to the articles online, but she wanted to go into the office and meet the people. Especially Edward Cocker. He might remember something, some detail, about that time that could end up being helpful.
