Chapter 26

 

 

WHEN SKY invited me over, I rationalized that at least I could work after dinner. And after a dinner of something that she managed to both undercook and burn at the same damn time, I did just that. Since she didn’t stand on ceremony much, she didn’t mind when I propped my striped, sock-clad feet on the coffee table. Listening to the sounds of their household settling, going about their nightly routine, made me feel like I was home.

I glanced on either side of me, where the twins had invaded my space on the couch. They both copied my lead with their feet crossed on the table, but their legs were barely long enough to reach. Jeopardy was on, and frankly I’d heard enough wrong answers from my nieces to last me a lifetime.

Kari tried to glance over my shoulder, and I moved the file away. She pouted. “I can’t see it now.”

“You’re not supposed to,” I said and ruffled her hair. “Don’t you have something else you’d rather be doing than bugging me?”

“Not really, no.” She scowled. “Besides, there’s no telling when you might have to leave again.”

Startled, I looked at her full-on. “Who told you that?”

“No one told her anything,” Kassi informed me. “She listened in on a private conversation between Mom and Dad.”

I tried to come up with a proper response, but I had nothing. Guess I was gone all the time. My job kept me busy and kept me traveling. I swallowed hard. Sometimes I forgot that I was needed here as well.

It wouldn’t be easy to leave. There was nothing like being absent from their lives to understand how much family meant. How much I wanted to see the girls grow up, and not through FaceTime and text-messaged pictures. I wanted to be able to mosey over on the weekends and have dinner with my family… even if the food was vegan.

And then there was Danny.

Just the thought of leaving him again made my stomach tight and queasy. But what choice did I have? It wasn’t like he was asking me to stay. And I didn’t know if I had it in me to live in the same town with him, watching him eventually live with and love someone else.

“What is Anne Boleyn?” Kassi yelled.

“What is you’ve never been more wrong,” I said without looking up. “Catherine of Aragon.”

“What is Catherine of Aragon?” a contestant confirmed.

“So what’re you doing?” Kari tried to read my file again. “Like, reading or something?”

“Yeah.” I had to grin. “Reading or something. You should try it.”

“I think reading is an acquired taste. Like liver.” She pulled a face. “So, like, do you guys catch murderers and stuff?”

“That’s the idea.”

“You ever shot anyone?”

“Nope.” I shook my head. “I like to use my brain more than my weapon, if I can.”

“But you have one.”

“Yeah? So?” I lifted a brow. “Why’re you so interested in my gun all of sudden? Should I be worried?”

“My friend Becca said that she bet you used a gun sometimes. That you probably shot somebody. She thinks that’s kind of badass.”

“Tell Becca’s parents that I wish them good luck.”

“What is Peru?” Kassi bellowed.

“What is loud and wrong?” I tried not to grin. “It’s Pakistan.”

“What is Pakistan?” a contestant with a twitchy eye confirmed.

Kassi sent me a narrow look and grabbed the remote. “It’s more fun playing with Mom and Dad.”

I shrugged.

“Mom doesn’t like me hanging out with Becca.” Kari made another face and then flopped back on the couch. She jiggled her leg impatiently in a way that jiggled mine by proximity. “She’s always complaining that Becca is a bad influence. That she doesn’t apply herself. That she’s too boy crazy.”

“That’s quite a list.”

“She’s not that bad,” Kari insisted. “Ugh. It’s like no matter how old I get, I still seem like a baby to her. It’s like I’m frozen in time.”

“She wouldn’t treat you like a kid if you didn’t act like one,” Kassi said, still scrolling through the channel guide. “You act and dress like Morticia.”

“Shut up, Skipper. I was talking to Uncle Rain.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. As the adult I probably wasn’t supposed to find those things funny. But damned if they didn’t have one another pegged. Kari, with her pitiful attempts at being goth and different, and Kassi, with her high, blonde ponytail and well-manicured… well, everything, was a close match to a Mattel doll.

“She just wants to protect you,” I said as I stilled her jittery thigh. “Your mom loves you very much. She’d do anything to keep you safe.”

“Safe?” Kari squawked. “She’s crazy. She followed us to the mall. She had a hat on and everything.”

“Well, wanting to protect your children can make people do crazy things.”

Anything to keep you safe. I frowned as I stared at the picture of the locket we found in Amy’s purse. Jenna’s half. The clasp was broken. Like someone had ripped it off. She just wants to protect you.

Protect you from someone trying to take you away for good? Halfway across the country? That would be one hell of a motivator. If there was no Amy, there was no reason for Jenna to leave. I tuned out the two girls good-naturedly ribbing one another while I looked over my notes.

It was entirely possible that Jenna’s mother had been following Amy that night. Certainly Amy would get out of the car for her girlfriend’s mother. Maybe they had a confrontation. Maybe Amy tried to leave and Margaret restrained her. Fought with her. Hit her on the back of the head with a tire iron?

I scrambled off the couch. “I’ll be back girls. I’ve got to make a phone call.”

I headed outside and sat on the porch steps. Danny answered on the second ring. “You headed back?”

“Not yet.” I didn’t dither. “I think I know who Amy met with.”

“Who?”

“Margaret.” At Danny’s silence I made an impatient noise. “It just fits. It all fits.”

“Yeah? And this epiphany came to you while eating beet chips on your sister’s sofa?”

“I do my best work eating beet chips.”

“Margaret?” Danny asked skeptically. “Margaret Ann Macmillan. Accountant. Part-time children’s-book writer. The Happy Panda’s New Coat? The same Margaret Macmillan who ran a charity drive for the humane society?”

“Because all killers wear Jason masks?”

“The accident theory was a good one, but we checked all the vehicles of our suspects. None of their cars were in an accident at that time.”

“Could be a rental. Or stolen.”

“So now Margaret Macmillan, volunteer Mrs. Claus at the mall, is a car thief and a murderess. Not the ex-boyfriend who abused Amy and had a fight with her the same day she disappeared. Or the daughter who’s been lying to us at every turn.”

“Well of course it sounds crazy when you put it like that.”

Danny sounded relieved. “Oh, so you do hear it, then.”

“To be fair it’s certainly not the craziest thing I’ve ever told you.”

“You’re not exactly helping your case.”

“It all fits.” Renewed with a sense of energy, I surged to my feet and paced the length of the porch. “She probably followed Jenna to their little meeting.”

“Then she would’ve known they were breaking it off.”

“Not if she was just watching them. Maybe she decided to end things once and for all. Maybe that’s why Jenna’s been lying to us—to protect her mother. The necklace is broken, right?”

“Right,” he said slowly.

“So maybe Margaret gets into a confrontation with Jenna and rips it off. Then goes after Amy. Think about it. She waits for her after work, trying to build up her nerve, but she can’t quite manage it. But when she sees Amy going over to Brock’s house behind her daughter’s back? Well, that’s enough to push her those last few inches over the edge.”

“But—”

“Exactly. Then she taps Amy’s bumper somewhere down the road and gets her to stop. Maybe Margaret confronts her with what she knows. Things turn ugly fast. She kills Amy in the ensuing struggle, drives Amy’s car to the Everglades, and dumps it. Then she hoofs it back to her car and gets it fixed on the sly. Amy’s dead, Jenna has no reason to leave, and Margaret’s happy. Everyone thinks Amy just ran off. And if anyone looks too closely, that douche Brock takes the fall.”

“Rain.”

“I mean, really, who are you going to believe? Perfectly stable pillar of the community? Or abusive, jilted ex-boyfriend who was spurned yet again on the night of her disappearance? And pawned her violin?”

“Rain.”

“It all makes perfect sense.” I slapped the porch railing so hard, my hand stung. “Amy had her whole life ahead of her. Who does this woman think she is to just—”

“Rain.”

I finally realized Danny was speaking and put a hand on my hip. “What?”

“We don’t know if any of that is true.”

“But… it all fits.”

“That’s just what we’ll tell the judge,” he sighed. “Your Honor, it just fits.”

“I bet we’ll find Margaret’s prints on the car.”

“The car that we can’t explain how you found?” He sighed. “Don’t think I didn’t get an earful about that from Tate. Besides, Margaret’s the mother of Amy’s best friend. It’s feasible her prints would be in and on Amy’s car.”

“On the steering wheel? The seat controls?”

“She could just say she borrowed Amy’s car at one point in time. It’s not like that would’ve been impossible.”

“You don’t believe that.”

Danny’s pause was like a punch to the gut. “We need a little something called evidence before we bust down her door. And right now all the evidence is pointing in the other direction.”

That kind of logic grated on my nerves and ruined my high. Mostly because it was all true. Suddenly deflated, I sank down on the porch steps. “And if I get your… evidence?”

“It bothers me that you sound like you’re using air quotes for that,” Danny said. “It really does. But yeah. Once we can prove it, we can go in and do what we do.”

“I’m assuming ‘do what we do’ is slang for getting a search warrant and ripping her place apart.”

“It is,” Danny admitted. “Although I don’t know what we expect to find after five years.”

I sighed. “You really know how to kill a buzz.”

A soft chuckle filled my ear. “Sorry to bother your high with the law and all.”

“S’okay.” I figured I could repay the favor. “Your grandfather rides with you in your car sometimes. He’s grouchy too, which must be a family trait.”

There was a moment of appalled silence, until Danny demanded, “Why would you tell me that?”

“I’m pissed,” I admitted. “But it’s still true.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” he said darkly.

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem.”

More silence. “Rain, I loved that car.”

“Well, it’s not like he’s attached to the car. He also goes with you in—”

“Do you ever want to get fucked again?”

As far as threats go, it was effective. I scowled, but hung up the phone.

I stood there a moment and wondered what my next move would be. What it should be. Something that wouldn’t ruffle anyone’s feathers. I could probably start with speaking to Margaret Macmillan again. Just a friendly talk. What harm could some small talk do?

 

 

MARGARET CAME back from the kitchen with a fully loaded tray. In her world apparently “don’t trouble yourself” equated to a silver tray with piping hot tea and fancy little tea cakes with scalloped edges. “Here we are.” She set the tray on the table and sat in one of the Queen Anne chairs. “Help yourself.”

I took a few of the cakes while she poured me some tea. Because I’d skipped breakfast and was running on two Cokes and a latte, I was hungry. She set a delicate cup of steaming-hot tea in front of me. “Thank you.”

We ate in relative silence—well, I ate while she sipped tea—and after seven tea cakes, I realized I should probably stop inhaling food and get to the point. “I thought we might have a discussion. Just to clear the air.”

“Clear the air?” She blinked. “I wasn’t aware BBPD had any other questions for me.”

“Well, several things have come up during the investigation that contradict some of our previous knowledge.”

“Speak plainly?”

I huffed out a breath. I did get a tad loquacious when I hedged. Mostly because I didn’t know a polite way to say, “You lied to us, and I’m trying to figure out whether you or your equally evasive daughter walloped Amy on the head and left her to die.” That kind of talk had a way of interrupting tea time.

“Were you aware that Jenna and Amy were in a relationship?”

“Of course. They were the best of friends.”

“I mean more than that. A romantic relationship.”

She blinked at me momentarily and then laughed. “No. You must be mistaken. My daughter was not… like that. Not that there’s anything wrong with it,” she added hurriedly when she saw my expression. “But Jenna was not a… a… like that.”

“We have evidence to the contrary.”

“Evidence that I’m sure has been misinterpreted.”

“Evidence Jenna has confirmed.”

“I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

We stared at one another in charged silence, and undercurrents pinged the air like a thrumming tuning fork. She was just so hard to get a read on. Was I really thinking that this woman, with those soft, delicate hands that could pour tea so daintily, had actually hit a girl in the head with a tire iron? Her thumb twitched, and I realized I’d been staring at her hands as though they contained the answers of the universe.

She folded them and gave me a cold look. “I think it’s time you got to the point, Agent Christiansen. Why are you really here?”

I drummed my fingers on the table. She was sick of my softballs, I guess. Well, batter up, lady. “Let me be frank. You knew that Amy and Jenna were having a relationship, and you were afraid she was going to take Jenna away.”

“No.”

“They were both going to Pemberton in Arizona.”

“Jenna went to a school in state,” she said sharply. “You can check the records.”

“I already did. I spoke with the Dean of Admissions today. Five years ago, they had an application to Pemberton from Jennifer Ann Macmillan. They were putting together a financial aid package when she withdrew her application—one month after Amy disappeared.”

“I don’t see how one thing has anything to do with the other.”

“Well, the way I see it, Pemberton is a long way from Florida. And once Jenna got so far away from you, she might never come back.”

“Jenna loves me,” she said, her face flushed. “She would never leave me like that. And even if she did, she’d always come back.”

“Of course she loves you. But does she love the guilt? The blame you heap on her head daily for her brother’s death?”

She gave me a look so fiery I was glad I wasn’t wearing cheap fabric. “I think we’re done here. I was meeting with you as a courtesy. Not to be accused of such… such vile things.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything. We’re having a discussion, nothing more. I should think you’d want to help us solve the murder of your daughter’s girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Her throat worked. “My daughter… this is ridiculous. Amy and Jenna were so young. They didn’t know what they wanted.”

“So you did know they were together.”

“Of course I did. Jenna used my computer sometimes. She left her email open one day and I….” I waited for her to continue, but it became clear that was all she had to say on the subject. “It was just a phase. High school infatuation. I wasn’t threatened by it. Once she went off to college, I was sure she’d find a nice boy and this whole high school puppy love would be a thing of the past.”

“Off to Pemberton.”

“I told you I knew nothing about that.”

Fuck. If she was acting, Meryl Streep should hand over her Oscar. I wasn’t sure what I expected. A confession? A little slip of the tongue to let me know I was on the right track?

I tapped my fingers on the table as I thought. Just because she didn’t like the fact that her child was a lesbian—or at least bisexual—didn’t mean she’d been angry enough to off Jenna’s girlfriend. A lot of parents had trouble with their children’s sexuality. Danny’s foster mom included. Even if Danny seemed to think she was a saint.

The silence stretched. Her mouth pursed as though she’d decided something. She stood and gathered the tea tray. “Is there some reason your partner decided not to come with you today?”

Because he doesn’t think this is worth pursuing. And in his heart of hearts, he doesn’t trust my instincts. “It isn’t unusual for us to interview witnesses separately.”

“That really doesn’t answer my question.” She raised an eyebrow. “Does it?”

No, it didn’t. I guess it was folly to hope that rumors of my particular set of investigative skills hadn’t gotten around. “I’m not sure what you’re asking me,” I said carefully.

“Tell me, Agent Christiansen, are the rumors true?” She smiled, but there was nothing pleasant about it. “Do you really speak to the dead? Does Amy’s vengeful hand guide your quest?”

“You’re the one who said she was vengeful,” I said without thinking. “Not me.”

She gave a startled laugh and then said, a bit disbelievingly, “That’s not exactly a denial.”

My jaw tightened. “I don’t need to deny what’s patently untrue.”

She smiled. As if she could see all my secrets. Then she headed for the kitchen. I grimly watched her disappear through the double doors. “Would you like more tea?” Her voice floated in the dining room.

“I should probably get going. I’ll just let myself out.”

I headed for my car and tried not to let the irritation get under my skin. I’d better get used to such skepticism, especially with all the rumors that were apparently circulating. But life as the resident fruitcake was getting old. Fast.