Wayward Secrets, page 13
“Are you afraid they’ll do something to you?”
He nodded and sniffed.
“If I catch them, they can’t hurt you because I’ll lock them up.”
It seemed to take forever for him to whisper, “It was a pretty blond woman.”
A pretty blond? Not sure anyone would describe Flavia that way. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
I strode past my deputies, arms crossed and tough cop glares firmly in place, to the credenza in my office where I had a file on Flavia Reed. Even though I couldn’t prove anything that would result in a charge that would stick, I knew she was guilty of many things. I’d been jotting down notes on her actions since I became sheriff and kept them in a file. If anything ever happened to me, the new sheriff would find the file beneath the stack of law enforcement manuals and conference brochures. Also in the file was her mugshot from the one time I detained her for causing a disturbance at Triple G.
“Is this her?” I held the picture up for Singer to see.
He squinted, tilted his head to the side. “That’s her. She had on lots of makeup, and her hair wasn’t all pulled back like that.” He tapped his nose. “I remember her nose.”
Flavia’s profile was quite distinctive with her narrow, ski-slope nose.
Singer stuck his hand through the bars. I placed three cookies on his outstretched palm and got a bottle of water for him.
“I can’t just let you go. If you get trampled in a wild buffalo stampede on the way back to the circus, your parents will sue me. I need to call them to pick you up.”
“My parents wouldn’t care,” he muttered. And then looked at me with a confused expression. “Are there wild buffalo in the Northwoods?”
“Nope.” I winked at him. He grinned in return. I motioned for Reed and Jagger to follow me to my office. “We’ve got a positive ID. Singer has identified Flavia as the one who asked him to set off the firebombs at the circus. Now I can bring her in and at least hold her on arson charges and endangering a minor. I’m going to go over to her cottage and get her.”
Reed shook his head when I looked at him. “I won’t go with you.”
Irritated with his attitude, I snapped, “I wasn’t going to ask. Jagger, you come with me. Reed, you stay here and keep an eye on Brady. Also, Call Singer’s parents and tell them they have to come pick him up now. I’ll talk with them and Creed about everything once we’ve got our people back.”
Jagger and I were just about to walk out when Reeva and Rae walked in the front door.
“My mother told me about the missing villagers,” Rae stated. “My girls, Gabe, and the others.”
“Please tell me you’re not here to report anyone else missing,” I begged.
“Nothing like that,” Reeva assured. “We couldn’t wait at home so have been out looking for them.”
“Why are you here?” Reed asked.
“We thought you’d want to know,” Rae began, “we found Tripp’s and Rosalyn’s cars.”
Chapter Seventeen
Amazing how fast plans can change. Jagger immediately knew he wouldn’t be accompanying me to Flavia’s cottage.
“Stay here and watch these two,” he stated as if reading from a to-do list. “Call the circus. When the kid’s parents get here, tell them you’ll go up to talk with them about what happened as soon as you can.”
I gave him a grateful smile. “I knew I chose well. Contact either of us for anything. The station walkie-talkie is on the credenza in my office. There are extras in the supply closet. Get one charged up and carry it with you everywhere.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed with a crisp nod.
“Reeva? Rae? Where are the vehicles?”
“In the east side parking lot,” Reeva explained. “Rae stopped by and told me what was going on. We were on our way to Unity to talk with Drake and Sanjay to see if they had any hints on where Jola went—”
“Did they have anything for you?” I interrupted.
“We never made it that far,” Rae said.
“I noticed Tripp’s truck from across the highway,” Reeva stated, “so we ran over there to see if he was in it.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Was he?”
Reeva shook her head.
“Tell me you didn’t touch anything on the vehicle.” Her fingerprints would complicate things greatly.
“Neither of us touched anything,” Reeva promised. “We found Rosalyn’s SUV parked next to Tripp’s truck. It was also empty, so we came right over here.”
“Okay, good. Across the highway,” I repeated. “Where exactly are they parked?”
Rae drew invisible pictures in the air as she spoke. “A few cars in from the edge by the highway. The spots next to them were empty when we saw them, but you can’t miss them. They’re right next to each other.”
“She didn’t even try to hide them.” My skin crawled, and I looked to Reed.
“That’s what I was just thinking. Unfortunately, I sent Elsa and Gino in other directions.”
“Luck of the draw,” I dismissed. “Or un-luck, in this case. Grab the kit from the van. We’ll dust for prints. I’ve got Flavia’s on record.”
Not even five minutes later, we were in the parking lot staring at the two red vehicles. Near the highway, but not the entrance, and next to each other. Flavia put them here. Or told someone to put them here.
As Reed took pictures of the scene, I thought of how both vehicles would be full of items that would remind us of Rosalyn and Tripp. Rosalyn’s back seat would be filled with empty paper coffee cups and old receipts. There would likely be a pair of shoes and possibly a change of clothes. But not a cocktail dress.
I’d been helping her look for a book she was sure she’d left in the car and discovered a sparkling, silver-gray dress and high heels. “You still carry a dress around with you?”
“Nothing wrong with being prepared, sis,” she insisted. “Never know when you’ll need to attend a fancy dress party.”
“One time,” I responded. “That guy asked you to go dancing one time.”
“And I didn’t have a dress so couldn’t go. Who knows what could have happened if I’d had one with me?”
“He probably expected you to go home and change. Not pull a quick-change in a phone booth.”
She paused, head tilted. “Are there still phone booths?”
I thought about that for a second. When had I last seen one? “I don’t know. Anyway, you realize if you had a dress that day, you likely wouldn’t be here now. You would have charmed your way into that guy’s heart and never come to Whispering Pines.”
She pulled the dress out of her car that instant and tossed it onto the grass. She still kept a change of shoes and a clean shirt in case she spilled on herself during lunch. I didn’t bother pointing out that she rarely drove her car anywhere anymore. If she wanted to go somewhere, she made me, Tripp, or Reed drive. Except for this morning.
Tripp’s truck would smell like him. Rustic bread and dish soap and a hint of whatever meal he’d made most recently. His precious grocery boxes would be puzzled together in the backseat. Now that it was warm, he’d returned Meeka’s cage to the bed. Like Rosalyn, he was also always prepared, but not for a fancy dress party. He carried a toolbox filled with the basic tools, jumper cables, a blanket, small bags of trail mix, granola bars, and bottles of water.
“If I ever get stranded somewhere,” I’d told him once while digging through his stash of snacks, “I want it to be with you. And not just because you’re so cute.”
“Always prepare for the worst. I think that’s the Boy Scout motto.”
“Close. It’s just ‘be prepared.’ You were clearly never a Boy Scout. Your motto is far too doomsday.”
“Let’s change it, then.” He thought for a second. “Always be prepared to survive.”
“Much better,” I praised and kissed him.
Had he been prepared this morning? What was he doing to survive at this moment?
“Hang in there, baby,” I whispered.
“You’re avoiding,” Reed said, standing next to me with his hands in his pockets.
“We both are. You want to check Rozzie’s car? I’ll take the truck?”
I had never been a Boy Scout either, or a Girl Scout for that matter, but I had prepared all three of us by setting up our keyrings with keys for all three vehicles. That way we could always come to each other’s rescue without having to stop at home first. Reed and I pulled on rubber gloves to preserve any fingerprints, and I unlocked Rosalyn’s car first.
“It’s empty,” Reed announced.
“What do you mean?” I asked as I opened the truck door and immediately understood. There was nothing except the floor mats in the truck. It had been vacuumed from top to bottom. The windows and dashboard had been wiped down. Standing at Reed’s side, I saw that Rosalyn’s little SUV was in the same state. There wasn’t a single coffee cup or receipt. Even her backup shoes were gone.
“There’s a bag in back,” Reed noted as he pushed the button to open the hatch.
A black plastic bag, a big yard waste sized one, sat in the center of the cargo area. I was almost afraid to look inside.
He frowned as he pulled an edge away slowly. “It’s all her stuff.”
I went to the bed of the F-350. All of Tripp’s tools, the blanket, the food, and his grocery boxes, flattened to fit, had been stuffed inside Meeka’s cage.
“Flavia doesn’t like clutter,” Reed mused.
He was right about that. I’d been inside her cottage a few times. Everything had a precise place, and there was never so much as a speck of dust to be seen. She hated when I brought Meeka in there because she claimed the Westie shed all over her home. Meeka didn’t shed much.
“Why would she do this?” I asked. And then added, “Tripp’s going to be really mad that she flattened his boxes.”
“She’s making a statement,” Reed noted, profiling his mother.
“What kind of statement?”
He glanced at me and away. “What does it mean when all of a person’s possessions get packed up?”
“They won’t be needing them anymore.” A chill ran through me. What if staying in Whispering Pines was your worst decision ever? I backed away from the truck, shaking my head. “No. I don’t accept that.”
My voice broke, and when Reed put his hand on my shoulder, the dam burst open. Tears flooded my face, ran down my neck, and slid beneath the collar of my shirt. Where were they? Were they okay? Were they hurt? When I looked up at my deputy, pain and fear were clear in his misty eyes too.
“This village isn’t that big,” he insisted. “We’ll find them.”
I wiped my face with my hands. In a situation like this, this village felt as big as Madison or Milwaukee. Where were we supposed to start?
“We will find them. We have to.” I thought of the others. Briar, Jola, Lily Grace, Gabe. “Oh, Reed. Morgan breastfeeds the twins. I don’t know much about that process, but I think it gets painful if she isn’t able to pump.”
That set him off. He reached up for the hatch door of Rosalyn’s car and slammed it shut with enough force to rock the whole vehicle.
“Flavia needs to pay big for this,” he hissed. “She needs to be locked away somewhere she can never get out of.”
I gave him a minute to sit with his fury and then got us back on track. “I know she wiped it clean, but let’s check for prints anyway.”
Reed agreed and let out a single chuckle as he handed me a dusting set from our crime scene kit. “Rosalyn won’t like fingerprinting powder all over her car.”
I smiled. “She won’t. We’ll clean it up for her.”
“Good job for the new guy.” He grinned like a big brother. “For the record, Jagger is the right choice.”
After Reed had taken pictures of the interiors of both vehicles, I dusted the truck while Reed checked Roz’s SUV. He had gotten high praise for his printing skills from his instructors at the academy, so I didn’t question it when he told me he didn’t find anything.
“Every surface is as clean as Flavia’s kitchen counters,” he grumbled.
“Is that because she never cooks?” A second later, my heart leapt into my throat. “I’ve got one. A partial right here on the tailgate handle.”
He stood behind me, barely breathing, as I laid the two-by-two-inch polypropylene square on top of the print and carefully pulled it away. A perfect image of half of a fingertip.
“Let’s go see if it’s hers.”
We packed up the kit and then raced back to the station. Jagger stood beside Reed to watch as I compared the lifted partial to the prints I’d taken from Flavia. Fingerprinting her wasn’t necessary that day but watching her practically rub her skin off trying to remove the ink afterward had been very satisfying.
After almost five minutes of comparing, I looked over my shoulder at my deputies and whispered, “I think I have a match.”
I stood and gestured for Reed to take a look, but he remained frozen in place, hands on hips.
“It’s just a print, Reed. Not her.”
He sighed hard and sat to compare the two. After more than a minute, I worried I’d got it wrong. When he finally pushed away from the table and stood, his jaw was clenched tightly enough to crack molars.
“Well?” I asked.
“It’s a match.”
Chapter Eighteen
Reed waited in the van while I pounded on Flavia’s front door again and again.
“Flavia, open the door,” I hollered.
“I don’t think she’s home.” LaVonne LeBeau had emerged from her nearby cottage and was coming up Flavia’s short walkway. “What’s going on, Sheriff? Cybil was here earlier all in a frenzy over not being able to find Gabe. And she said the girls are MIA too?”
How to proceed? LaVonne loved to talk to everyone and anyone, and I didn’t want to start a panic. But she had also kept quiet about things when asked. Like the events surrounding Suzette Thibodeaux’s death. At this point, though, the more eyes looking out for our missing villagers or Flavia, the better. Any tip, no matter how remote, would be welcome. And the chance of LaVonne being involved with the disappearances was as likely as me having done it.
As I stood there, debating about what to say, Willie’s words came back to me again. “I don’t want you trying to take this on yourself. That’s not fair to the rest of us.”
I told her enough that she’d understand, but nothing crucial to the investigation.
LaVonne covered her mouth with her hand halfway through my explanation. When I finished, she looked stunned. “How can I help?”
A spot of warmth formed in my chest. My villagers never let me down. They almost always volunteered before I could ask. And if I asked first, they were always right there to do whatever I requested.
“Here’s my dilemma,” I began. “We’re ninety-nine percent sure Flavia is involved.”
If this surprised LaVonne, she didn’t let on about it.
“We have one person in custody—”
“Brady Higgins?” When I didn’t respond, she shrugged. “He’s always over here doing things for her. Little lapdog of a man is what he is.”
“The problem is, we don’t know who else might be helping her.”
“You’re not sure who to trust.” LaVonne inhaled deeply and turned to gaze at her neighbor’s cottages. “I’ve lived here for twenty-five years, as have most of my neighbors. I know everyone’s got their secrets, and that you can’t really know everything about a person. But in all those years, Suzette was the only one on this street I didn’t share things with. If you need help, you can count on these people.” She put her right hand in the air as though taking a vow. “I’ll let you take my Packers jacket if I’m wrong.”
I burst out laughing at that. LaVonne was the biggest Packers fan in the village. I hadn’t seen it, but there were rumors that she had decorated the room she used for an office in floor-to-ceiling green-and-gold.
“LaVonne, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a more convincing statement, and I appreciate the offer. I hesitate to send people searching because I have no idea where to have you start. Just be on the lookout, I guess. Don’t reveal too much, but maybe ask your neighbors about when and where they’d last seen any of our missing folks.”
“I can do that.” She pointed at Flavia’s. “I haven’t seen much of her. Flavia rarely leaves her cottage anymore. Maybe she’s been sneaking around in the dark, but otherwise, someone from Sundry delivers food. Newt James stops with deliveries for her every week.”
Newt? The village’s postal carrier. Singer had been kidding about ordering things himself. Or maybe he’d been lying and taking the blame in hopes of protecting himself from Flavia. Either way, glycerin and potassium permanganate could surely be ordered online. If I searched Flavia’s cottage, would I find the materials for making firebombs?
“Thanks for the information, LaVonne. Don’t put yourself into any questionable situations, but I appreciate any help you all can give.”
I crossed the dirt road that ran past Flavia’s cottage and up to the Meditation Circle to where Reed waited in the station’s van.
“She’s not in there. Or she’s not answering.” I stared back at the cottage. “I really want to go inside. LaVonne says she’s been getting lots of deliveries lately. What do you want to bet I’ll find potassium permanganate and glycerin in there?”
“You don’t have a warrant,” he replied with little emotion.
“I know I don’t. But we have to do something. Some of our villagers have been gone for almost twelve hours. Morgan needs to get back to those babies.”
“Do you think they’re inside Flavia’s house?”
His question hit me like a blast of cold air on a summer day, shocking me and wondering where it had come from. “No. Do you think they’re in there?”
“No. You want to go in there just to look for firebomb supplies. Is that it?”
“Yes, because—”
“How will that help us find Tripp and the others?”
