Buried (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 1) (15 page)

Wade pushed himself out of his chair, but before he could make his way to the hall to greet his old friend, Dougal was striding into his office, then shaking his hand.

“Good to see you, Wade. Thanks for making the time.”

Wade just nodded. This couldn’t be a personal call or Dougal would have suggested meeting at the bar. Besides, Dougal had an intense, focused expression that told Wade he was looking for information. Wade sat down and braced himself, not sure what to expect next.

“I just got back from Pendleton. Hell of a long drive.”

“What were you doing there?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure. Maybe doing research for a new book. Or maybe wasting my time.”

“That’s pretty vague.”

“I just don’t know enough about the situation yet.” Dougal dropped into the interview chair, placed his hands on Wade’s desk and leaned forward. “I’m looking into something that happened a long time ago. And I’m thinking Shirley Hammond might fit into the story.”

Wade’s protective instincts went on alert. “You mean Charlotte’s aunt?”

“I need to know the details of how she died. People thought it was suicide right?”

“It
was
suicide. My dad was a deputy back then. He’s the one who took the call. Shook him up badly.”

“How do you know this? We weren’t even born when Shirley died.”

“Dad always liked hashing over his old cases. Shirley’s death troubled him a lot. He couldn’t understand why a nice woman with brains and a good family would kill herself. Especially in such a violent way.”

“I have to agree with him there. It seems pretty strange. Especially since she didn’t leave a note. Plus, why the hanging? That’s not a choice many suicidal women make. And even more weird, why do it at the library when she lived alone in a forest filled with trees that would have served her purpose.”

“Those are all valid questions. But it’s been a long time. Why did it up now?”

Dougal paused for a second. Took a deep breath. “There were other librarians murdered around that time. In 1972 a librarian named Elva Mae Ayer was strangled with a red silk scarf in Roseburg. Another librarian, Mari Beamish, was killed the same way in Pendleton in ‘73.”

Wade jotted down the names, the dates. Writing helped him to think. “Shirley Hammond wasn’t strangled. So where’s the connection?”

“Maybe her suicide was motivated by guilt.”

That took a few seconds to sink in. “You’re suggesting Shirley might have had something to do with those deaths? That’s crazy, man.”

Dougal leaned back in his chair, as if considering what Wade had just said. He tented his hands under his chin and eyed Wade speculatively. “You just said suicide didn’t make sense. But it would if Shirley had been involved in those murders.”

“Christ. If you’re planning to write a book with that theory, it better be fiction.”

“I realize I haven’t got much to go on. Not yet, anyway. But I was wondering if you would check the police report for me. Might be some fact or detail that would help me know if I’m on the right trail.”

“Those records are over thirty years old.” God, Wade didn’t even know where they were stored. He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes.

“I know it won’t be easy. But I sure would appreciate the help.”

Wade wanted to say no. To tell Dougal to drop the whole thing. But he’d obviously put some time into this and Dougal could be pretty bull-headed. Maybe it would be best to give him the information he wanted so he could see for himself that his theory was a pile of crap. “I’ll try. Don’t expect instant results.”

“Thanks.”

Wade waited for Dougal to say something else. Maybe suggest they grab a beer, or something. But Dougal just got up from the chair and headed for the door.

Dougal had never been the most talkative guy around. But this was downright anti-social. “That’s it? You ask for my help, then leave?”

Dougal turned around. “Didn’t want to waste more of your time than was necessary.”

“Maybe it’s your time you’re not willing to waste. Me, I can always find an hour to have a beer with an old friend.”

“It’s been a lot of years. We don’t have much in common anymore. And I’m not one for reminiscing about the past.”

“Nah, I guess a big shot
New York Times
bestselling author has better things to do with his time.”

“You called me that before,” Dougal reminded him. “But I’m no big shot. Never thought of myself that way, never will. Hell, I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks, remember?”

What was he talking about? The fact that he’d lived in a trailer?

“As if that mattered in a town like this.”

“Oh, it mattered plenty. I never noticed you guys coming around my place after school.”

Was he serious? “If we did or we didn’t, I don’t see that it mattered. We hung out together, played football, had good times.”

Dougal smiled. “I like the way you see the world, Wade.”

“That’s the way it was.”

“Maybe we should grab a beer. When do you get off for the day?”

“Soon. But I can’t do it tonight.” He felt bad, putting him off, when he’d made such a big deal about it. “Charlotte’s making dinner for me. But next time you’re in town, let me know.”

* * *

From his window, Wade watched Dougal leave the building and head across the street. He was bothered by his friend’s request, and not too sure why he’d agreed to dig up the old report. Suddenly Charlotte came into view, carrying several sacks of groceries—probably the fixings for tonight’s dinner.

When she spotted Dougal, she hesitated. Then stiffened.

Something about the encounter seemed off.

Feeling voyeuristic, but unable to stop himself, Wade kept watching. Charlotte pushed her hair behind her ear—something she did when she was nervous. Then she took several small backward steps away from Dougal.

Dougal appeared uneasy, too...shuffling his feet, giving Charlotte several awkward sidelong glances. When they finally parted, each heading their separate ways, Dougal only took a few steps before turning around so he could watch Charlotte until she had disappeared from sight.

* * *

At six o’clock, Wade had to admit he wasn’t going to make it through all his paperwork before the weekend. He piled his papers neatly, locked his office, and on the way out said good night to the evening dispatcher.

This morning he’d had the foresight to put a bottle of wine in the back of his truck, so he drove straight to Charlotte’s. She called for him to come in the unlocked door. He’d have to talk to her about that. This was a safe town, but there was no sense tempting fate.

“I’m in the kitchen.” Her voice came from the back of the house.

He found her chopping vegetables at the counter. She looked up, briefly, and smiled. She’d changed out of the outfit she’d worn to work and was in jeans and a pink T-shirt, pretty in her usual, understated way. His feelings for her were not the crazy, hot, feelings he’d once had for Jamie, but he did love her.

Her refusal of his proposal had shocked him. The possibility that she would say no had honestly not occurred to him. Not that he thought of himself as so irresistible.

Far from it. He wasn’t like Kyle—good looking, charming, athletic; nor was he smart like Dougal. He was the steady one. The plodder. He thought he made a good Sheriff. He loved this town and felt deeply responsible for every citizen who lived here.

He’d been lulled into a sense of security in his relationship with Charlotte based on the belief that they shared the same values. They both loved Twisted Cedars—that was the bedrock. And he knew she liked children. He’d seen her during reading hour at the library. Her face would light up, her voice turned all warm and maternal. And the little ones...they took to her, too. Toddlers would scramble over one another for the privilege of sitting on her lap.

He knew she cared about him. She’d never indicated any unhappiness with their relationship. So why didn’t she want to get married? He presumed that was why she’d invited him tonight—to talk about these things. But they would leave the heavy stuff until after dinner.

“Smells great, whatever you’re cooking.” He sat on a stool across the counter from where she was working.

“Ribs are simmering in the slow cooker. I put them on this morning. I’m just making a salad to go with them.”

He glanced around the kitchen. Aside from the salad ingredients on the counter, the place was spotless. “Can I help?”

“Maybe open that wine.” She glanced up from the cutting board. “The corkscrew is in—"

But he had already opened the drawer where it was kept. He knew this kitchen almost as well as his own. Not only from the times Charlotte had invited him here, but from the days when he, Wade and Kyle had hung out with Daisy. They’d been at the Hammond house a lot back then. His place, too.

Dougal’s comment about being trailer trash came to mind. Had they been too snobby to hang out in the trailer park? He didn’t think so, but maybe there had been some of that.

He pulled the cork out of the bottle, then filled two glasses and set one within Charlotte’s reach. “Dougal came to see me, today.”

“Oh?”

He sensed tension in that one word, reminding him of the scene he’d witnessed on the sidewalk. “You ran into him on his way out. I could see you both outside my window.”

“Right.”

She swallowed. Looked nervous. When she didn’t offer any more, he decided to ask. “Are you still helping him with his new project?”

“A little.”

“Because that was what he wanted to talk to me about.” Wade took a sip of the wine. “He had a lot of questions about what happened to your Aunt Shirley.”

Charlotte set down her knife. “Did he say why he wanted to know?”

He could sense her tension and he felt guilty about upsetting her. He certainly wasn’t going to share the information that Dougal suspected her aunt of some involvement in those old murders. But maybe she already knew that. “Seems like there were other librarians who died around that time.”

“Murdered,” Charlotte surprised him by saying. “Yes.”

She glanced at a framed photo on a shelving unit next to the table. It was a photo of three women, taken decades ago when color photography was a new thing. “Is this your mother?”

“Yes. And that’s Aunt Shirley to her left.”

Wade frowned as he noted that she wore a red scarf tied around her neck. Hadn’t Dougal said those women were murdered with a red scarf?

* * *

The ribs were tender enough to slide off the bones, the barbecue sauce just the right mix of spicy and sweet, but Charlotte could barely choke down any of the dinner and she noticed Wade didn’t seem to have much of an appetite, either. It hurt to look at him, to see his unhappiness, and to know she was the cause.

If she had said yes to his proposal how different this meal would have been. They would be talking about wedding dates and honeymoons and happy future plans.

And a part of her—a large part—longed for all of that.

Until recently her life had been predictable and safe…each day following a set routine, no surprises and certainly no unpleasant moral dilemmas.

How quickly that had changed. In the space of a few days, she’d turned down a marriage proposal, had a one-night stand, and cheated on her boyfriend.

If that’s what Wade was.

After fifteen minutes of polite chat about work, the food, and the weather, he pushed his plate to the side.

“How about we sit on the porch and talk?”

Not her first choice of location, but she couldn’t think of a reasonable objection, not on such a fine evening. Wade refilled their wine glasses. She settled into a cushioned wicker chair, leaving the loveseat with the clear view of the beach for him. He didn’t pat the cushion beside him and ask her to move, like he once might have done.

Another subtle indication of the changed status of their relationship.

“I guess we’d better discuss what happened on Saturday night.” His tone was serious. He sighed. “My timing was bad. I should never have asked you that way.”

“But there was a reason behind your timing, wasn’t there?”

“The fact that we were at a wedding, you mean?”

“The fact that we were at
Jamie’s
wedding.”

He looked at her a few second before dropping his gaze. “I care about you very much, Charlotte. I think I would make a good husband. I know you like kids, and so do I. Nothing would make me happier than to have them with you.”

“Wade, I saw your face when you were trying to avoid watching Jamie walk down the aisle.”

“I promise I would be devoted and faithful to you, Charlotte.” His warm brown eyes promised her comfort, love and, most of all, safety.

The urge to say yes was almost overpowering. She could easily imagine them as a couple. They got along so well. And he would be a wonderful father.

But he must realize he didn’t love her. At least not in the right way.

“I’m afraid I have to say no, Wade.”

“You sound pretty sure about that.”

“I am.”

“Well...I guess that’s it, isn’t it? I’m going to miss our evenings together.”

“Me, too.” But at least she’d be free for Dougal…

As if that was going to happen. She needed to get a grip on her imagination.

He got up slowly. Went to the railing and looked out to the sea. “Too bad I spoiled everything with that stupid proposal, huh?”

“We could have continued to date for a few more months, or maybe longer. But we would have ended up in the same predicament, eventually.”

He pushed away from the railing, gave her a weak smile. “Guess I’d better be going.”

She walked him to his truck. Kept standing there several minutes after he was gone. Told herself she had no reason to feel guilty that she hadn’t come clean about what happened with Dougal. They were both free agents now.

dougal dropped his groceries
on the kitchen counter—a steak and some corn he’d picked up at Sam’s Market. He was looking forward to the simple meal, along with a bottle of Pinot Noir from a case he’d bought during a detour to the Bishop Creek Winery on his drive home from Pendleton.