Creeps, Cache, & Corpses, page 17
I leaned forward and ached to solve the puzzles, open the cuboids, and satisfy my curiosity by examining the contents.
Gray coughed. He removed the lid on the second carton, retrieved a tall stack of folders, and continued his story. “The notes indicate the unidentified patient had given birth, but no one could find any trace of the baby she called for in her delirium. The IV antibiotics eventually saved her life, but with one headshake from the doctor, Danica thought her baby was gone. She withdrew into herself and almost succumbed to her injuries. When she finally was well enough physically, the staff tried their best to help her through the trauma of losing a child. She remained heavily sedated and although her physical health returned, her voice did not. Her doctor couldn’t determine if she understood questions posed to her, if she’d lost her ability to grasp what had happened because it had become too complicated, if she had limited understanding of what was going on, or if she’d chosen to forget.”
“May we see her?” My tinny voice didn’t reach far.
“I’m afraid not. She’s under arrest for the murders of Edith Farthington and Willy Zasko.”
CJ rose swiftly and stormed from the room. The throbbing in my head, amplified by the silence left in his wake, nearly drowned out the scolding officer.
“Told you,” Ed blustered and shoved away from the table. He stomped after CJ.
“What possible motive could she have? Is there any clue among the notes you uncovered?”
A loud commotion took Zasko and Connelly from their seats and out the door. Gray turned his head away, tapping the paper on the table. I spun the open file and read notes about providing the tragic but beautiful young woman with a home and a job. Over time, it seemed Danica had accepted her fate, living with and working for Edith. I reached to turn the page for more, and the door clicked open. Gray’s fingers drew the file onto his stack and closed the cover.
“Where is she?” Kahula glided into the small space and said quietly but with the weight of a mother in terrible pain. “I haven’t seen my child in seventeen years. You will bring her to me.”
Connelly guided her to the table. Kahula stood stiffly behind the black plastic chair next to mine. Connelly nodded at Gray. He left the room.
“I’m Chief of Police Rebecca Connelly, and you are?” Connelly said and tilted her head.
“My name is Kahula, and I will see Danica Bluestone now.” She raised her chin and crossed her hands in front of her.
“Kahula, please sit.” Connelly pulled out the chair.
Kahula’s eyes lit from within. For a moment, all combustible material was at risk. She exuded incredible power. She perched next to me and patted my hand under the table but kept her intimidating glare on the chief. The clock ticked twenty-seven seconds, and the door opened again.
A tall, beautiful woman with straight black hair, strong cheekbones, and icy gray eyes entered. Danica’s expectant look faded when she saw Kahula and me. She seemed to be expecting someone else—perhaps CJ. Her head sagged to her chest, and she lumbered forward, the dangling chains of the handcuffs clinking at her wrists. She trudged two steps into the room, and Kahula rose. Her fierce defiant glower silenced any comment. She opened her arms, just as she had for Carlee. Danica stepped into her mother’s embrace and melted.
Kahula’s palms caressed her daughter’s face; her fingertips scrutinized Danica’s long-lost chin, hair, and followed the line of her nose and lips. “My girl.”
Kahula traced the tears coursing down Danica’s cheeks. “I’m sorry.” The young woman squawked the two words.
“Have a seat,” Chief Connelly said. “Please.”
Kahula settled Danica in an empty chair and took the adjacent chair for herself, entwining the fingers of their hands. She regained her composure and said, “This is Katie Wilk.” She cocked her head toward me. “You’ve met Sheriff Zasko and Chief Connelly.”
Zasko made a small noise promptly shushed by Kahula’s raised forefinger. “Danica, what has brought us to this?”
Danica lowered her head, closed her eyes, and delivered her words on the edge of her breath.
“I thought my life was over.” Her voice gruff from disuse didn’t match her lovely face. “No husband, no place to go.”
Kahula tensed but said, “And?”
“No child—”
“Your child is alive.”
Danica looked up with resolve, and her penetrating silvery blue eyes met mine. I saw Carlee staring back at me, strong, single-minded, and full of love. “I felt a connection though I thought I’d lost my mind. I frightened myself with hope. She’s the young one called Carlee?”
I nodded. A calm façade replaced the sadness in her demeanor and before I could wonder what we would do next, Zasko pulled a pair of glasses from his pocket and Mirandized her. He perused a long list of printed questions and opened with, “Why did you kill Edith Farthington?”
“I didn’t kill her,” she barked.
“The facts say otherwise.”
“Then the facts are wrong.”
“Tell me when you last saw her.”
Kahula nodded and Danica answered, “Friday evening.”
The sheriff removed his glasses and said, “Is this the same Friday evening Reggie proposed marriage and Edith told him he wouldn’t be marrying you unless it was over her dead body?”
THIRTY-TWO
Blindsided, I blurted. “What? But Reggie’s engaged to Irinia Holocek.”
“Reginald Farthington’s proposal was a standing offer I always refused.”
If Kahula had been shocked, she didn’t show it. “She requests an attorney,” she said.
“Ms. Bluestone?” Zasko said. Danica searched her mother’s impassive face and nodded an affirmation. “Then we’re done here. Gray, take her back to the cell. If you can’t afford an attorney—”
“We’ll hire one,” Kahula said.
Danica stood and helped Kahula to her feet. She gripped her daughter’s hands. “We love you. We’ll get you out of here.”
Danica stepped through the door unassisted, head held high, purpose in her step, her mother’s daughter, followed closely by the parade of Connelly, Zasko, and Gray. Before Gray pulled the door closed, he caught my eye and glanced at the contents of the carton spread across the table. I took it to mean, ‘It’s all yours.’
The door clicked and Kahula slumped back into her chair, the weight of the visit taking its toll. “It’s up to you.” She composed herself and closed her eyes; she could honestly say she didn’t see anything.
I dug beneath dated spiral notebooks containing yearly summaries of business dealings going back decades and extracted a manilla folder. None of the enclosed pages would be allowed to leave the room but I’d been asked to help, sort of. I quickly fished out my phone and snapped as many shots as I could as I rifled through the dossier. The inventory included a handful of official documents—multiple copies of various wills for Edith Farthington arranged from the most recent to earliest, power of attorney assigned to William Zasko, legal forms, property transfers, reports, and bills. The sticky notes attached at the top identified the owner.
A second much skimpier file held Zasko’s will, marriage certificate, incomplete divorce papers, police reports, and personal contracts.
The third folder bulged with the chronicle of Edith’s life, the bigger events—significant correspondence, diplomas, a current ledger, up-to-date contracts, and a large copy of a family tree. I slid aside the monstrous paper and uncovered the short stack of unopened stamped envelopes held together with fraying red yarn. Each was addressed to Lieutenant Chantan John Bluestone, and either the postmarks had faded, or the envelopes had never been mailed. I cleared my throat, and Kahula opened one eye. I lifted the pack so she could read the addressee. Her eyes went wide. She squeezed them closed again.
I combed through the papers in the file. Gray had penciled the English translation from the Hidatsa dictionary on four encrypted pages. I snapped a photo of those as well as the yet undeciphered pages. When I peeled back the last piece of evidence, I did a double take, and my heart sank. I’d hoped for more. What could I possibly find that would be any different or any more helpful than what the Sheriff’s Department had uncovered?
I closed the folders and stacked them neatly. My chair scraped the floor as I heaved myself forward, bracing my forearms against the table, and began swiping through the array of pictures on my phone. Zooming in on Edith’s signatures, they all appeared the same—no forgeries, but what did I know? The figures in the ledger seemed to generate a steady income.
I skimmed Gray’s decryption. I am ready to take on the world, but Edith doesn’t believe I have the capacity able to navigate the world on my own. I have to get away and succeed or fail on my own terms.
Searching among the photos, I found a legal document dated sixteen years prior, naming Edith Farthington caretaker for an enfeebled female, recently awakened from a coma, impaired after an extended hospital stay, unable to communicate, in need of assistance making financial and health decisions, and identified as D. Curious, I consulted my phone for specific details regarding conservatorship.
The chair whined as I sat back and thumbed through the scant logs. Danica had suffered too many great losses for a young woman to handle and withdrew from the world. Although Edith made most decisions on Danica’s behalf, Danica recorded her first entry on Carlee’s second birthday in flowery, loopy, blue script. It only seemed encoded because no one knew the language of her birth. Perhaps she’d found a place to belong, an oasis where Edith’s assistance proved invaluable, helping her navigate her new world. I couldn’t wait to translate the latest annals because she seemed perfectly capable of making decisions and running her own life now.
Kahula tapped the table to get my attention. She’d unrolled a woodcarving tool kit and pointed to an empty slot. Her eyes were wide and shining as she re-tied the leather strip in place and slid the bundle across the table.
In one translated piece, I read about Edith’s desire to have a family and she created one with Danica and Reggie. The Danica we’d met could’ve been trapped for many years, and not just financially but emotionally as well. She had a number of reasons to want Edith out of the way.
I squinted to make sense of some of the police reports among Willy’s papers. If he fought to keep Danica in Edith’s guardianship, I supposed she would’ve had reason to want him dead too.
When the doorknob twisted, I chucked my phone in my pack, afraid the contents might add fuel to their already roaring fire. Gray and Connelly found me seated quietly next to Kahula. Gray pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow.
“May we leave now?” said Kahula.
“Yes,” said Chief Connelly, “But please make sure your party remains at the inn. We may have more questions.”
Kahula walked out of the conference room with a spring in her step, her chin thrust forward, and a look that could make a grown man cower. The entire station watched as she marched, full of assurance, through the department.
“Paul could not open himself up to believe Danica might be alive. He will have to see for himself. He dropped me off. I expect to ride back with you.”
I almost laughed. She was clearly used to giving orders. As we neared Jane’s Edge, I noted the empty space where CJ’s truck had been parked. Where could he have gone? What would he do next?
Kahula took my arm and climbed into the passenger seat. Only after I started the vehicle did she exhale the emotions she’d held in check. Her rigid backbone collapsed, and she deflated like a hot air balloon upon landing. I reached out but she said with a bowed head, “Go.”
Our crew jumped from the porch of the inn when we pulled in front. Carlee flew down the hill, stopping abruptly when her hands slapped the forest green hood. Kahula’s door opened with a grinding, and she slid to the ground.
Between gasps, Carlee said, “Is it her? Is it my mother?”
Like a telescope, Kahula zoomed in on Carlee. “Yes.”
“How is she? Where is she? Can I see her?” The words somersaulted over one another.
“She’s fine, and no, you may not see her at this moment.”
“What are you doing to get her out? What can I do?”
“We’re working on it.”
“Not hard enough,” Carlee nearly screeched.
Maverick stuck his nose between her fingers. She glanced down and scratched his ears. Flanked by her supportive friends, Carlee brushed aside her tears. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t yell at you. I know you’re doing what you can.” She sniffed. “Where’s my dad?”
THIRTY-THREE
Kahula took Carlee’s idle hand in both of hers and looked to me for an answer.
“We don’t know, but we’re going to find him.”
Maverick stood and wagged his tail. He cocked his head and woofed just enough of an answer to raise one corner of Carlee’s mouth in a half-smile. “I believe you,” she said.
“We’ll mind the store, won’t we kids?” Jane and Kahula herded our brood back to the inn. Jane called over her shoulder, “You’ve got this, girlfriend.”
Did I? What did I need to do next?
Maverick jumped through the driver’s seat and took up residence as a passenger, tongue lolling, anxious for our next adventure. I climbed in after him but was more circumspect. Where would CJ go?
I read the time on the dash. If we hadn’t found Danica, we’d be holding her memorial in about twenty minutes. Either way, a consult with Father Svoboda was in order. CJ might have cancelled the service, or he might have sought solace, but St. Wenceslaus Catholic Church would be my next stop.
Maverick panted, and his head ricocheted back and forth, scanning the main street through town. We pulled in next to the parish house, hopped out, and jogged the short distance along the sidewalk. A rotund smiling woman answered the bell, dragging the heavy door aside.
“Good afternoon, girlie. What can we do for you?” She dried her hands on the apron tied and straining around her waist and dusted flour from the tip of her turned up nose.
“Is Father Svoboda in? I’d like to have a word with him.”
“Matter of fact, he is. Follow me, please.” She swiped at the loose strands of tight gray curls around her face.
I glanced at Maverick. “Let me just put him back in the car—”
“Bring him with you,” she said expansively, her arms circling and directing like a cowboy driving his cattle. “I love dogs.” She funneled us down the hall and into a large office as she rubbed his ears. “Aren’t you a handsome devil.”
The massive desk dwarfed Father Svoboda. He rested his chin on his fist and concentrated on the assortment of papers in front of him. The housekeeper said, “Father, someone to see you.” He continued to be engrossed, peering through the lenses sliding down his nose. She cleared her throat and said a bit louder with a familiar touch of a reprimand in her tone, “Father Svoboda.”
“Hmmm?” He tore his gaze from his work and my presence gave him a start.
“Ms. Wilk.” He nodded to his housekeeper. “The Lord works in mysterious ways. Your friend already told me about the change in plans—”
“You saw him. Do you know where he is now?”
“Why, no. I’m sorry. I was preparing my vestments when he found me in church. He said he’s located his wife. Alive. Such good news.”
My attempt at a poker face failed.
“Dr. Bluestone was difficult to read. You, on the other hand, Ms. Wilk, are advertising a vivid undercurrent of adversity. May I help?”
“Father, we did find Danica, but she’s under arrest.” He cocked his head, waiting for more. “For murder. We could use every prayer in your arsenal and a good lawyer. Did Dr. Bluestone give any hint where he might go next?”
Father unfolded his lanky body and grunted. “Some days are tougher than others.” He pursed his lips and stood slowly. “You might try the cemetery. When we initially spoke, he asked about a burial plot, and I told him there is comfort among the repose of our dearly departed ancestors. It is a peaceful place.”
“Where do I find the cemetery?”
He picked up a pen and hastily drafted an answer.
I grabbed his crude sketch. The words “Go with God” floated behind us as Maverick and I bolted. We drove the few blocks north. I understood seeking consolation might have sent CJ to view Danica’s final resting place, but why go there when he knew she was alive?
Maverick’s barking began one block south of our destination, communicating his uncanny ability to find a friend. We drove beneath the metal arch above the entry and followed the paved path to the domed chapel near the center of the large expanse. An angel mounted atop the green-tinged patina blew a soundless horn. CJ sat on the steps in front of the double doors under the Archangel Gabriel, staring. With his elbows on his knees, he dangled his hat from his hands, threading the brim through his fingers. Renegade sat next to him, her eyes fixed on her partner’s face, watching. Our approach didn’t trigger recognition from either of them.
We exited the Edge soberly although I could feel Maverick’s excitement about to bubble over. “CJ?”
His eyes clamped shut like a heavy overhead door. I almost wished the ground would open and swallow me whole, but that would have been the easy way out. I sat next to him and ran my hand down Renegade’s back. Maverick circled behind and dropped his chin on CJ’s shoulder. CJ breathed deeply and laid his head against my dog for a moment before he said, “She’s been here the entire time.”
“She has.”
“She left her daughter and husband behind.”
“You don’t know the circumstances.”
He flattened his tone. “There are no acceptable circumstances. She was here.”
“But Monica left her for dead when she took Carlee.”
The wind whistled in the tops of the trees and a few dry shriveled leaves skittered in front of us. Renegade jerked, curbing her desire to give chase. I gave her a tiny shove, releasing her from her watchdog status, and she romped on the lane in front of us, playing keep-away with Mother Nature’s tiny tan toys.
