Buried (Twisted Cedars Mysteries Book 1) (7 page)

She wondered how he’d felt after the scene in the Linger Longer. He’d looked so miserable when he’d left, like a dog that had been kicked in the head. But really, it was his own fault. Dropping out of his sister’s life the way he had, then appearing without so much as a warning phone call.

What could he have been thinking?

Wade had described Dougal as a tortured soul. The description was a good one. Yet, she’d felt an odd connection with him today at the library. She’d felt complimented that he’d trusted her with the content of those emails.

She wondered if he would be back. First thing tomorrow morning she’d put through that request to the
East Oregonian
, just in case he was.

It was kind of fun, helping an author—a New York Times Bestselling Author no less—with his research. And what a story—four librarians murdered back in the 70’s. Had her Aunt Shirley been aware of the crimes?

If so, had she been afraid?

Did people who were contemplating suicide worry about their safety? Because that was how her aunt had died. She’d taken her own life. It had been in 1975, so only a few years after the two murders Dougal had told her about.

Charlotte felt a sudden chill at the possibility her aunt’s death could be connected to the cases Dougal was investigating. No. The timing had to be coincidence.

A hunk of gnarled driftwood distracted her. She picked up the piece, brushed away the sand. Turning it this way, then the other, she thought she saw potential. This would look nice in the flower beds lining the driveway. Yes, she would keep this one.

She straightened, the piece of wood still in her hand, then froze. A moment ago she’d been alone. But now, about fifty yards ahead of her, she could see a man’s silhouette.

She felt a shock of adrenaline, combined with a vague sense of fear. At this time of night she rarely encountered anyone on the beach. Local teenagers tended to congregate on the beaches to the north. And most tourists were fast asleep by now.

But here was someone, moving in her direction. He was tall and broad shouldered, and after a quick glance back at the motel, she realized he could be only one person.

At just the moment that her fear left her, Dougal spotted her, too. He stopped, hands hanging lightly by his sides. For a long moment they stood that way, neither one of them giving any overt sign of acknowledgement.

Charlotte was reminded of Wuthering Heights, of the unforgettable Heathcliff. So much anger and so much pain, it fairly radiated off the man. Guessing that Dougal—like her—had come out here to be alone, she turned back, hurrying across the sand to the relative comfort of her home.

dougal had expected to
have the beach to himself, but when he saw Charlotte Hammond, he wasn’t surprised. He’d already figured she might be a woman who enjoyed her solitude. When she turned away from him, he did the same.

He walked for another hour in the opposite direction, and by the time he let himself into his room he was exhausted. It had been a long day. The drive from Roseburg. The second email from Librarianmomma. The confrontation at the Linger Longer, which he’d left without getting any dinner.

Despite his fatigue, he couldn’t fall sleep for a very long time. And when he did, he dreamed of the woman in the second email, Mari Beamish. In his dream, he was there, as it happened. He saw the slip of silk slide around her neck, felt it tighten… heard her gasp.

Right before she lost consciousness, she managed to look over her shoulder, toward her attacker, and he was shocked to see Charlotte Hammond’s features, tight with fear and panic. Her wide gray eyes looked accusingly...at him. Because he was the attacker, the one with the scarf, the man who had murdered both women.

* * *

No!

Dougal jerked up from the lumpy motel-room pillow. He could tell by the quantity of light in his room that he’d slept late.

He refused to think about the nightmare that had awoken him. Refused to speculate on what it might mean. He had to see his sister as soon as possible and try to right what had gone so terribly wrong.

Jamie would already be at work at Howard & Mason. It had surprised him that his dreamy sister had gone for a career as a CPA. Her success there proved she had a strong logical side to her personality. He hoped to appeal to that today when he tried to talk her out of the wedding.

He got up, brushed his teeth, and showered, but no amount of water could make his head stop pounding, or clear away the grit he could feel behind his eyes. As he dressed, he sipped at coffee he’d made in the machine provided in his unit, using the contents of a foil pouch that promised him a smooth Colombian roast, but fell short in the delivery.

It was quarter to ten when he finally grabbed his laptop case and left the motel. The sky was clear blue again today, but a mist hung over the shore. But God, the air tasted good. Thick and salty. He crossed the highway, passed by the Ranger Station, then turned onto Driftwood Lane without seeing a soul. He’d pass the time before Jamie’s lunch break by doing a little research.

Charlotte was sitting at the front desk of the library when he walked in. He inhaled the comforting aroma of old books. Felt the muscles in his shoulders and neck relax.

“Hi, Dougal. I’ve just received a long fax from the Pendleton Library. They’ve sent a copy of Mari Beamish’s obituary for you and the main articles that were published about her murder.”

Right down to business. No mention of seeing him on the beach last night. Nor about the scene at the Linger Longer yesterday. He appreciated her discretion.

“Thank you.”

She wore another gray skirt and matching sweater, both cut so conservatively, she could have time-travelled from the fifties. Did she downplay her looks on purpose?

He found a table in the back corner and settled in to read. A few people came and went. Besides Charlotte, there was another woman working at the library. Older, almost retirement age, he would guess. Not very friendly.

At eleven o’clock, Charlotte asked him how things were going.

“It’s been interesting. The facts, and the lack of success with the investigation, are disturbingly similar to Elva Mae’s homicide. But I was wondering if I could take a look at the archives for the
Curry County Reporter
? While I’m here I might as well dig into those—see if they mention anything about the murders.”

“Current issues are on microfiche, but if you want to go back to the seventies, we’ll need to reference originals.” Charlotte caught the eye of the older woman, who was re-shelving books in a quiet, methodical manner.

“Abigail, I’m going to show Dougal the archives in the basement. Keep an eye on things, okay?”

“Of course.”

Dougal followed Charlotte downstairs into the windowless basement. The space was well lit, painted a gleaming cream color and filled with rows of shelving units.

“Smells like paint.”

“Amos just finished building us some extra shelving units. We figured we might as well have the place painted at the same time.” She peered at the labels on one of the bookcases. “Just around this corner.”

As he followed, he was suddenly reminded of his dream. The basement setting had been similar to this one, only darker. With sudden insight, it occurred to him that both Elva Mae and Mari could have been attacked from the rear while looking for reference materials, just as Charlotte was doing right now.

Dougal clenched his hands, relaxed, and then balled them again. What had the murderer been thinking as he lured the helpless women to their deaths? Had he been excited? Angry? Calm and collected?

“Here they are.” Charlotte indicated a shelving unit filled with back issues of the local paper. “Everything you need should be in this box.”

She wouldn’t sound so cheerful if she knew what he’d just been thinking. Dougal forced a smile. He scared himself sometimes with his crazy thoughts. “Great.” As he grabbed the cardboard container, he noticed another set of boxes on the adjacent shelving unit. “
Oregon Library Association
,” he read. “What’s in there?”

“Quarterly publications from our state library association. My Aunt was the president of the board for a number of years. Our collection of newsletters dates back to that time.”

“Hm. Mind if I take a look through these, as well?”

“Help yourself. But none of this reference material can leave the premises.”

He nodded, grabbed a second box and followed Charlotte up the stairs. On the way he asked, “So how long have you and Wade been seeing each other?”

She hesitated. “About six months.”

“Is it serious?”

She seemed surprised he would ask that. He was surprised, too.

“I-I’m not sure.”

He set the boxes on the table by his laptop. It was just past twelve. “Okay if I leave these here for an hour or so? I think it’s time I had a little talk with my sister.”

jamie stared at the
Excel spreadsheet on her computer screen. Two years ago she’d graduated to her own office at Howard & Mason and she loved it. She always worked best when it was quiet, but this morning, even with her door closed, she couldn’t concentrate. Damn that brother of hers. She’d never been able to understand him. Mom said Dougal took after their father, as if that explained everything. Maybe it did, but Jamie wouldn’t know since she’d never met her dad. According to her Mom, he had left before she was born, before he even knew his wife was pregnant again. Even though everyone was always telling her she was better off without him, she couldn’t help wondering if things would have worked out differently if he’d known about her. Maybe he would have tried harder to reform. Somehow won her mother back, and been a better man.

It would have made a big difference to have had a father. Not just for her, but especially for Dougal.

She sighed. She needed to focus on her work, not stew about her personal life, but it was difficult. Besides worrying about Dougal—and trying to figure out why he was such an idiot—there was the wedding. Her mother had brought home discarded magazines from the homes she cleaned, and Jamie had mooned over the occasional Bride issues that came her way. She loved the pretty dresses, the flowers, the lovely place settings. Of course what really mattered was becoming Kyle’s wife. But planning this wedding had been a thrill.

Tonight was the final fitting at Stella’s for her bridal gown and Cory’s flower girl dress. Then on Saturday, Stella and a few friends were taking her out on the town. Jamie grabbed her to-do list and added ‘phone florist’ to order a boutonniere for her brother. She also needed to let the caterer know they’d need an extra place setting for the dinner. Annoying to have to make these last minute adjustments. But even though she was currently pissed off with her brother, she was glad he’d be available to walk her down the aisle.

Jamie tried again to concentrate on the trial balance in front of her. Instead, her mind drifted, this time to Kyle’s suggestion she quit her job. It had been sweet of him to make the offer, but she loved her work. Not only that, she was used to earning her own money and couldn’t imagine being dependent on someone else in that way.

At noon, Jamie took the lunch she’d packed that morning, and decided to eat outside to enjoy the beautiful day. As she left her office, she waved at Bonny who was busy talking on the phone at the reception desk. Heading for the beach, she crossed the highway, then passed the Tourist Information Office. Several vehicles were parked in the lot today and she noted the different license plates as she walked by: Missouri, British Columbia, Washington.

Inside the bureau a map of the world was mounted on the wall—visitors were encouraged to stick pins on their home states or countries. Jamie loved the idea that her small town could draw visitors from all over the world, from as far away as the Middle East, and Australia. But she had little urge to travel. This was her place, and she’d always known it.

Jamie left the path, shoes now sinking into the dunes. The weather was perfect—she hoped it would hold until next weekend. So often spring and even summer days on the coast of Oregon were windy, cool and damp, but she still wouldn’t consider living anywhere else.

She stepped over a clump of bull kelp to reach a large chunk of driftwood, molded by water and time into the perfect perch for sitting and enjoying the view. Once settled she scanned the ocean, on the look-out for gray whales, even though it was too early in the season. A cormorant swooped past her, heading for the sea stacks that rose majestically through the water to her left.

“Jamie?”

Dougal’s voice. Her spine stiffened. She didn’t turn around, just waited for him to get closer. A few seconds later, her brother joined her on the log, stretching out his long legs and planting his heels in the sand.

He put a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

She let the apology sit between them for a while. It sounded good. And sincere. Finally, she sighed.

“I wish to hell I could understand you, Dougal.”

“I think you’re lucky you can’t.”

Dougal always said the most cryptic things. She knew better than to ask him what he meant. He never explained himself. Still, she found herself returning to the one thing she could never quite forgive him for.

“I can’t believe you’re here now when you wouldn’t come for Mom’s funeral.”

She glanced at him, saw his jaw grow firm.

“I wanted to remember her the way she was in Maui.”

That had been Dougal’s reaction to the news that their mother was dying. He’d sent the two of them tickets to Hawaii, where he’d joined them for a week in a luxury condo in Kaanapoli. It had been a lovely escape from reality, but in the end, it was Jamie who had returned to Twisted Cedars to look after their mother in the final stages of her disease, Jamie who had dealt with the doctor’s appointments and the respite center, Jamie who had arranged the funeral and settled the estate.

“Maybe I would have liked to remember her that way, too.”

Dougal lowered his head. “I—You’re right. It wasn’t fair. I guess I owe you an apology for that, too.”