Jill Elizabeth Nelson (3 page)

Who put the child there—and why—was Rich's business to find out, and Simon's reaction sounded…off. He didn't hear fatherly grief in this man's tone. More like an investor's outrage at a swindle. He'd known Simon was a hard man, but this hard?

 

Nicole's steps slowed as she neared the hunched figure who sat on a wooden bench beneath the shade of a maple tree. Nicole stopped on the weed-grown remnants of a stone path a few feet away and held her breath. The ample figure indicated that the person was female. She wore a vintage 1950s dress with a wide Peter Pan collar and a full, swing skirt. Nicole wouldn't be surprised if there was a crinoline beneath it. Only one person in town dressed as if they'd never left the era of saddle shoes—Hannah Breyer, Fern Elling's sister. And thank goodness, the woman's chest moved up and down with even breaths. Hannah was asleep, not dead, and the shroud over her face was merely a dark scarf flopped forward in her sleep.

Nicole slowly exhaled. She'd leave Hannah to her nap.
Pivoting, Nicole's shoes scraped against the dirt coating the paving stones, and a breath stuttered behind her.

“What?… Oh, my. Who are you?”

Heart sinking, Nicole turned toward Hannah. The woman brushed her scarf out of her face and back on top of her gray curls. Faded-green eyes squinted up at the intruder.

“I'm sorry to disturb you.” Nicole lifted apologetic hands. “It's Nicole Mattson. Er, you probably know me as Keller. I thought…” She hesitated. “You looked…” How did she tell the other woman she'd mistaken her for dead? “Oh, never mind. I was just passing by and stopped to check on you.”

“Keller? Really?” A debutante's giggle left Hannah's throat. “How kind of you. Not many folks around here check on this old gal. Have a seat.” She patted the bench beside her.

Nicole glanced toward her car, half hidden in the trees, and then back toward Hannah. The poor thing looked so hopeful for human companionship, Nicole didn't have the heart to turn her down, even though her feet wanted to carry her back to her vehicle. She settled on the edge of the bench. A faint lilac scent drifted to her from the other woman.

“Tell me about yourself, Nicole Keller.” Hannah's pudgy hand patted Nicole's knee. “My, you've gotten grown up. Are you visiting your grandparents, like usual?”

Nicole stiffened and met Hannah's open gaze. The older woman remembered her? To Nicole's knowledge, they'd only met once, and that was by accident years ago. “I'm staying with Grandma Jan for a while. Grandpa Frank passed away ten years ago.”

Hannah's face puckered like a child presented with a puzzle. “Mercy me, how could I forget something like that? Where is my head going to?”

Nicole smiled. “It's all right. He went peacefully in his
own bed.” Not like her father or her husband. She shook off the pinch of grief.

Sadness drooped Hannah's lips. “He was a good man. A very good man.”

“I agree.” Nicole clasped her hands together in her lap. Frank Keller had nothing to do with the baby buried under his rose garden. Surely, everyone would know that.

Gentle fingers brushed a sweep of hair from Nicole's cheek. Hannah's green eyes searched her features. “You look troubled, dear. Do you want to talk about it?”

Nicole shrugged, words crowding to her lips. She
did
want to talk, to rant, to pull her hair, maybe even scream. But none of those reactions would change anything. They wouldn't bring her dad back, or her husband, or put that poor child's bones back into the ground where they couldn't cast a shadow over everything that still mattered in her life.

“I was just driving around thinking.”

Hannah bobbed her head, scarf tips wagging in rhythm under her full chin. “I do the same thing when I've got something on my mind.”

Nicole cast a glance toward the rear door of the house. A small canopy wrapped the portal in deep shadows. What was the police chief in there telling Simon Elling right now? How did the dead child connect with the Ellings? Hannah might know. She was going to find out about Nicole's discovery sooner rather than later.

She dragged her tongue across dry lips. “The contractors dug up something in my grandparents' backyard, and I found it.”

Hannah's face lit. “A treasure?”

Nicole shook her head. She tucked her feet under the bench and gripped the seat with both hands.

“You can't leave me in suspense!” The older woman grabbed Nicole's arm. “You simply have to tell me now!”

“I know. But it's…hard.” She swallowed. “I found a child's bones.” She winced, more from the sound of those terrible words than from the grip that tightened around her arm. “Who would bury a baby in my grandparents' backyard?”

Hannah let out a little squeak and released Nicole. Her eyes, mouth and nostrils all formed round
O
's. She clasped Nicole in a python's squeeze. “You found him! Baby Sammy's been found at last!”

“Baby Sammy?” Nicole's words came out muffled in Hannah's lilac-scented bosom.

Hannah set her away. Tears streamed into every crevice of the older woman's face. “The dearest little boy on the planet. Little Samuel Elling. He went missing over fifty years ago. I'd given up that he'd be found.” Her hands flapped like an excited bird. “We must tell Simon straight away.”

She leaped up, but Nicole grabbed her hand. “The police are here already.”

“Then we must hurry.” Hannah tugged Nicole to her feet. The woman was as strong as she was stout. “I need to see Simon's reaction when he's told his heir has been found. I wouldn't miss that for the world.”

“Just a minute. I don't understand.”

“You will soon enough.” Hannah hurried up the flag-stones toward the house. “Come along, dear.”

Nicole scurried to keep up. “I don't know if I should. I mean, I'm not family.”

“Oh, pish. I'm family and I invited you. You're entitled. After all, you found him.”

Joy pulsed from the woman as if Nicole had announced the child was about to be returned alive. Maybe Hannah's muddled mind had misunderstood. But how could she?

When Nicole was a little girl, Grandma Jan had warned her about the people who lived in this house, and the
warning had struck deep. Her grandmother wasn't one to speak ill of others. Of course, everyone knew about Melody, the ice queen, and her prima-donna ways. But it wasn't about her that Grandma had cautioned the most. It was Hannah. Grandma gave her orders to stay away from the woman in the funny clothes.

But Nicole hadn't seen a thing to fear in the mixed-up woman—either now or the day she ran into her, literally. Twelve-year-old Nicole had been trotting along on a main street sidewalk eager to meet up with some friends, then boom! She came up short against a stout figure emerging from Darlene's Beauty Shop. The scent of lilac enveloped her then as it had today, and she looked up into the dreaded woman's face, steeled for a scolding. Only Hannah hadn't said one harsh word. She'd asked who Nicole was and seemed pleased to meet the Kellers' granddaughter. She'd smiled and dug in her purse then swished off up the street, leaving Nicole with a pair of wide eyes and a peppermint in her hand.

Ahead of Nicole, Hannah's crinoline swished exactly the way it had twenty years ago, and the '50s dancing slippers on her feet tapped the stones. She led the way up three steps, pulled open the door and motioned Nicole inside.

Nicole hesitated. She was about to enter the boogeyman's lair. Not that a childhood ghost story had any hold on her now. Her fears had way more substance. What did her grandparents have to do with the missing heir of the town's founding dynasty? Rich might not be happy to see her barging in, but anything she could find out about the investigation might help her discover the truth that would clear her family name.

Or not.

“I
'd like to speak to Fern,” Rich said.

“Sorry.” Simon tapped his snifter. “My wife is indisposed and has gone to bed.”

“You don't think she'd want to be informed of this development as soon as possible?”

Simon took a sip. “Giving birth to our son nearly killed her. After we lost him, she never got over it. Half a century has passed. I won't rob her of sleep over news that can wait until tomorrow. Old scars are going to rip open.
I
want to be the one to break it to her.”

Rich studied Simon under lowered brows. Fine-sounding concern for his wife. Only Simon wasn't known for patience with his sickly spouse. The man resumed his seat at the desk and leaned back in his chair, chin lifted. He'd never looked so arrogant…or so closemouthed. Too bad Rich couldn't have videotaped this proceeding for later review. Something stunk around here, but smell wouldn't show up on camera, only in a cop's nose.

“I was hoping she might know something to help with the identification.”

Simon shrugged. “Another day.”

Rich made a note in his book. “How about Hannah?”

Simon's eyes widened. “What about her?”

“She lived here at the time of the kidnapping, she might remember something useful.”

The other man barked a laugh. “Are we talking about the same woman?”

Rich pressed his lips together. Yes, Hannah lived somewhere in the last century, but she wasn't an idiot. “What could it hurt if I asked her?”

The study door burst open, and a plump figure in an old-fashioned dress swept inside, followed by a more hesitant slender woman in jeans. Rich's eyes narrowed. Hannah he might have expected, but what was Nicole doing here? She cast him a sidelong glance, and then her gaze moved from Simon to Hannah and back again. Rich followed her look. She was a good observer. The patriarch's face had darkened nearly to the color of his beverage, while Hannah appeared to be walking on air.

Simon rose, chest inflated. “I've warned you about barging into my study uninvited.”

The light on Hannah's face dimmed. “I had to come because of the news. Dearest Nicole has found our Sammy.”

Rich stifled a sigh. Nicole had spilled the beans. But why was she here in the first place? His gaze rested on her.

She shifted from one foot to the other. “I was driving around…thinking. And I saw Hannah sitting in the garden. She looked—”

“Like I needed help.” Hannah finished for her with a bright chortle. “Wasn't that sweet?” She scurried over to Simon's desk. “Isn't it wonderful about little Sammy?”

Simon scowled. “Wonderful that a baby's bones have been found? We don't know that it's Samuel, and if it is, he's no less lost to us than the day he disappeared.”

“But—”

“Contain yourself.” Simon's words came out a growl, and Hannah winced then sent a pleading look toward Nicole.

Rich made a mental note. The older woman had formed an instant bond with Nicole. Was it because she found Samuel's remains or because she showed Hannah compassion by stopping to check on her?

Nicole stepped forward, her gaze on Simon. “I know this is terrible news and does nothing to restore your loss, but I don't fault Hannah for being excited about the possibility of closure for your family. Your wife will likely feel the same way.” Her gaze slanted toward Rich and then darted away.

Smooth words from the heart of a peacemaker, but she could as well have added aloud, “As long as that closure doesn't implicate my grandparents.” Rich's gut clenched. Circumstances placed Frank and Jan at the top of the suspect list. There wasn't enough hard evidence to make an arrest—yet—but the community was going to have a field day with speculations.

Rich poised his pen over his notebook. “As long as you're here, Hannah, let me ask you a few questions.”

Simon subsided into his chair with a wave that absolved him of any connection with the discussion he considered a waste of time. Nicole's posture stiffened.

Rich would just as soon she wasn't privy to any more information than she needed to be, especially when the investigation involved her grandparents. “You should head home, Nicole. I'm sure your grandmother could use the company.”

Color rose in her cheeks, and her dark eyes snapped. “My grandmother has shut herself in her bedroom and won't talk to me, so I'm not sure what you think I should be doing for her.”

Dismay sent a pang to Rich's heart. “I wasn't criticizing. I meant—”

“I won't say a word without her here.” Hannah wound her arm through Nicole's and clung, jaw jutting.

Nicole's mouth fell open. It seemed Hannah's fixation on her was as much a surprise to Nicole as anybody else.

“Very well.” Rich nodded. “Hannah, do you remember what Samuel was wearing when he disappeared?”

“When he was cruelly kidnapped from his own bed, don't you mean?” Hannah's gaze turned fierce. “He was in his fuzzy red sleeper with an adorable sheep embroidered on the right shoulder. It was fall, you know, and the air had a nip so we dressed him warmly.”

Rich wrote in his book. “And was anything taken with him?”

Hannah cocked her head then nodded. “We never did see his favorite toy again. The kidnappers must have bundled it off with him.”

“A toy?” Rich cocked a brow. “Can you describe it?”

“It was a blue-and-white rattle on a stick.” Hannah disengaged her arm from Nicole's and made a shaking motion as if she held the toy. “Such a simple plaything made him laugh and coo. The sides were flat, so he liked to bite it while he teethed. Simon and Fern spent loads of money on fancy toys that squeaked or played music or danced or—”

“We get the idea, Hannah.” Simon's tone dripped contempt. “Stop rambling and answer the police chief's questions.”

Hannah blinked, and her gaze went vague. She squinted toward Rich. “Chief? You? Aren't you some kind of deputy? What happened to Chief Wilson?”

Rich sent her a gentle smile. “He retired six years ago.”

“Oh, that's right.” She gave an airy wave. “Time has a way of flying, doesn't it?”

“Thank you, Hannah.” Rich shut his notebook. “You've been very helpful.”

“Is it Sammy?” The older woman twisted her fingers together.

Nicole touched her arm. “Chief Hendricks won't be able to say yet. They have to run DNA tests.”

Rich smiled toward Nicole. The gesture brought no thaw in her wary expression. He couldn't fault her for being defensive about the investigation, but maybe he'd get a chance later to tell her how much he appreciated her discretion in not blurting that the infant's remains had been clothed in red and that a blue-and-white rattle was buried with the body.

“I'd like to get a DNA sample from you, Simon.” He nodded toward the older man. “And one from Fern as soon as possible.”

Simon rose and set his snifter on the desk. “So basically you're here to question us, collect evidence and offer next to no information in return.”

“I'm afraid that's the way it works at this point.” And why wasn't Simon falling all over himself to cooperate? Was it simply a power trip? His puzzling behavior nagged at Rich.

Simon crossed his arms over his chest. “I'll have to discuss this testing thing with Fern. We'll get back to you.”

Rich's mouth opened then he clamped his teeth together. He wasn't surprised that the frail Mrs. Elling was indisposed, but this was the first time he ever heard of Simon needing to consult his wife about anything.

“I'll do the test,” Hannah singsonged. “I'd love to give some DNA. Give generously. Isn't that what they say at the blood drives?”

Simon whirled on his sister-in-law. “DNA testing isn't like giving blood, you ninny.”

“Actually, it's simpler.” Nicole glared at Simon. “Nothing to be squeamish about.”

Rich clicked his pen and swallowed a grin at the spunky woman's implication that the town patriarch had a yellow streak. Simon's eyes popped wide, and his color darkened. Rich opened his mouth to intervene.

“Then let's do it!” Hannah stuck out her tongue at her brother-in-law like an overgrown toddler.

Nicole's gaze met Rich's. Amusement flickered between them, and his insides warmed. Maybe there was still a chance that they could be friends…or something more.

“I'm sorry.” Rich looked toward Hannah. “We need DNA from the mother and father for legal certainty of the child's identity.”

Hannah's shoulders wilted.

Simon waved her away. “Go polish your nails or something.”

Hannah shuffled to the door, Nicole in her wake. On the threshold, Nicole glanced back and their gazes collided. What did he see in her eyes? Pity toward Hannah? Anger toward Simon? Fear of the police investigation? Yes, all of those. Rich was pretty sure if there was any more information to be gleaned from Hannah, Nicole would get it.

But would she share it with him?

 

Nicole's hands bunched into fists as she trailed Hannah up a dim hallway. The older woman's head hung as if her scarf were a mantle of sorrow. Nicole didn't blame Hannah for chronic depression. If human kindness had ever warmed these rooms, all trace had long since leached away. In Hannah's place, she would have popped Simon one in the snoot—at least in her imagination—and packed her bags.
Why
did
the woman stay around? Of course, at her age, the most likely move was an assisted-living facility, and those cost a lot of money that Hannah likely didn't have. The poor woman was trapped.

Nicole moved up alongside her forlorn hostess. “I should be going now. I hadn't intended to stay this long.”

“It's all right.” Hannah patted Nicole's shoulder. The ghost of a spark lit the older woman's gaze.

Rebellion still lived in the wrinkled old heart, and Nicole silently rejoiced. “Can you show me to the door?”

“I have something I need to give you first.” Hannah crooked a finger and entered a small sitting room toward the back of the house “This is my little apartment.” She continued through the outer room and into a bedroom done in pale pink chintz. More like a child's room than an adult's with the frilly canopy over a twin bed and a ballerina theme.

Hannah stood on tiptoe and twirled, full skirt billowing. “You can see what I once dreamed of doing.”

Nicole nodded, mute. She understood squashed dreams. She and Glen had wanted children in the worst way, but—Nicole stuffed the pain back into its hidey-hole. Too raw to deal with at this inconvenient moment. But when would the convenient time come?

“This way.” Hannah waved her over to a gaily painted trunk at the foot of the bed. She rummaged inside and came out with a blue satin drawstring bag. “Here.” She held it out.

“Oh, I couldn't—”

Hannah placed a pudgy finger over Nicole's lips. “This was Sammy's. My keepsake of him. Give it to Chief Wilson.”

Nicole swallowed the urge to correct her on the chief's identity. What was the point? She peeped inside the bag. It contained an infant's hair brush.

Her heart rate sprang into a jog-trot. “I'll pass this along.”

“Good.” Hannah winked. “The back door is up the hall and to the left.” The woman stretched and yawned. “I'm very tired now. I think I'll turn in.”

Nicole carried her small treasure toward the exit. Hannah must be sharper than anyone gave her credit for if she realized the hairs in the brush might positively identify her precious nephew, with or without parental DNA.

Nicole passed through a pristine, stainless-steel kitchen and shivered. Clean, cold and efficient. Like the people who lived here. Except she got the feeling that beneath the polish of prestige the filth ran deep. Sort of like the Pharisees Jesus called “white-washed tombs.” Maybe she'd found baby Samuel Elling's remains beneath her grandparents' rose garden, but what if the truth behind the death was buried within these brick walls?

 

Simon inhaled his last gulp of brandy. “Why don't you come back another time, and we'll see about that DNA.” The man's eyes flashed a message that the interview was over.

Rich's fingers itched to snatch the glass out of Simon's hand. That item would do very nicely for DNA, but he had no choice except to leave. For now.

He jerked his chin toward the Elling patriarch. “I'll stay in touch.”

“Be sure you do. Maybe I'll give Judge Becker a call. Let him know you're on top of a hot case and need your docket cleared.”

“That won't be necessary. I'll visit with the D.A. in the morning.” If Simon Elling could play the old-buddy card with his lifelong pal, Judge Becker, Rich could remind him that the prosecuting attorney was from a different era and
not in his pocket. And it was the D.A. he'd report developments to, not to either of the judges that served the county, especially not Becker.

Rich saw himself to the door, footsteps echoing in the empty foyer. He'd known this family was strange, but why would Simon balk at the surest way to prove his son had been found? He needed to look at the case file from the time of the kidnapping and see how closely family had been looked at as suspects. The personal touches in the clandestine burial indicated some level of caring. Of course, he hadn't seen any such thing in the hard eyes of Simon Elling.

Dusk had gripped the land when Rich stepped outside. He deeply inhaled the cooling air, relieved to be out of that house's oppressive atmosphere. He went down the stairs and up the walk toward his vehicle. At the curb, Rich did a one-eighty observation of the property. As he turned toward the house, a curtain moved in a lit room upstairs. Fern or Melody?

The roar of a motor drew his attention. Headlights barreled up the driveway toward him, and a low-slung sports car rumbled to a halt behind his SUV. A male figure climbed out of the passenger side. Mason Wright.
Now the gang's all here.
Rich hooked a thumb in his front jeans pocket and watched the young man move toward him, swaying as if he were a sailor at sea. Three sheets to the wind all right, and it wasn't even 10:00 p.m.