Chapter Twelve
Lance sat across the kitchen table from his mother, relieved that he and Morgan had arrived before the sheriff. Dark circles hung beneath his mom’s eyes, and her skin was papery, as if she was dehydrated.
He glanced up at Morgan. “Would you get her a glass of water?”
“Of course.” Morgan filled a glass at the tap and brought it to the table. She sat next to his mother. “Have you eaten lunch today, Jenny?”
His mother nodded. “Yes. I ate lunch at noon. Today is Tuesday. I had a tuna salad sandwich.”
“Sheriff King is on his way here to ask you some questions about dad. Before he gets here, I have some news for you.” Lance reached across the table and covered her hand. “The skeleton in dad’s trunk wasn’t him. It belongs to a young woman.”
Shock filled her face for a few seconds. “Why would a young woman be in your father’s trunk? And where is he?”
“That’s what we’re all trying to find out,” Lance said. “Do you remember a woman by the name of—”
The doorbell rang.
Leaving Morgan with his mother, Lance went to the door and opened it. Sheriff King stood on the front stoop. Lance went out onto the step and closed the door behind him.
“My mother suffers from acute anxiety and agoraphobia.” Lance cut straight to the bone. “She hasn’t had a stranger in her house in years.”
King nodded. “Noted.”
Lance led the way into the house and back to the kitchen.
“Mom, this is Sheriff King,” he said.
In a gallant, old western gesture, the sheriff swept his hat from his head and held it in front of his chest. “Thank you for seeing me, ma’am.”
The sheriff took the chair across from her.
She shifted backward, her shoulders curling in. She glanced at the sheriff from behind a curtain of her white hair. “You look familiar. Have I seen you on TV?”
The sheriff nodded. “I do press conferences now and then.”
“You’re here about Vic.” His mother clasped her hands together in her lap, her arms tight to her sides, as if she could physically hold herself together.
“Yes, ma’am.” The sheriff’s tone softened. Maybe he wasn’t a total hard-ass. “When was the last time you saw your husband, Victor Kruger?”
“August 10th, 1994,” she said.
“And you’ve had no contact with him since? No phone calls, no e-mails, no letters?”
His mother shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Does the name Mary Fox ring a bell?” the sheriff asked.
His mother frowned. “I don’t think so.”
“This would have been from twenty-three years ago,” the sheriff clarified.
“I can’t say for sure,” his mom said. “I’m sorry.”
The sheriff’s upper body leaned an inch closer to the table. “Mary worked as a waitress at PJ’s.”
Lance stiffened. He’d been right. The remains were Mary Fox.
His mother’s brows dropped. “We used to go to PJ’s for burgers. Vic went more often than I did. He’d stop to have a beer with Stan and Brian a few times a week.”
Lance’s brain whirled.
His father had known the dead girl. Although the fact that she worked at his favorite restaurant meant that their connection could have been entirely innocent.
The sheriff pulled a photo from his pocket and slid it across the table.
His mother reached forward, her fingers touching just the edges as she slid it in front of her. “She looks familiar. Is this Mary?”
“Yes,” the sheriff said. “We pulled your husband’s car from Grey Lake yesterday. I’m sorry I didn’t visit you then. Lance told me it would be better if he notified you. I also wanted to verify if the remains inside were his or not.”
“Lance told me.” Her fingers curled on the table.
Morgan took one of her hands and held it.
“But it was Mary’s skeleton that was found in the trunk of your husband’s car.” Despite his polite tone, the sheriff studied her face, waiting for a reaction.
But Lance’s mom just blinked. “I don’t understand. How did she get there? And where is Vic?” Her voice rose as confusion segued into distress.
“That’s what we want to find out, ma’am.” The sheriff tapped the photo. “The night your husband went missing, did he say anything about going to PJ’s?”
His mother shook her head. “No, he was going to the grocery store.”
“Did he have a cell phone?” the sheriff asked.
“No.” His mom’s fingers tightened on Morgan’s, the knuckles whitening. “They were expensive back then. The coverage out here was so poor, it wouldn’t have been worth the expense. But Vic would have called me from PJ’s if he was going to stop. He was good about not wanting me to worry.” She looked down and opened her grip, releasing Morgan’s hand. “I’ve always been a worrier.”
“So he was considerate,” the sheriff said.
“Vic was a good man.” A tear rolled down Jenny’s cheek.
“What did you do the night Vic went missing?” the sheriff asked.
“When Vic didn’t come home, I drove around looking for him. I called everyone I could think of, but no one had seen him.” She wiped the tear away. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know yet, but I’m going to find out,” the sheriff assured her. “You can help me by giving me as much information as possible. Did Vic go anywhere regularly except for PJ’s?”
“I don’t know.” His mother’s hands shook harder. She started picking at the skin around her fingernails.
“This is going to be a difficult question, and I’m very sorry for having to ask it,” the sheriff said, his voice gentle, even apologetic. “To your knowledge, did your husband ever have an affair?”
Anger boiled in Lance’s gut. At the same time, he understood the necessity of asking the question. So instead of punching the sheriff in the face, he gripped the table edge.
His mother’s head shook hard. “No. He would never have . . .”
The sheriff rested his forearms on the edge of the table. “Did you receive any odd phone calls or hang-ups?”
“No,” Jenny whispered.
“How much time did he spend at PJ’s?” the sheriff asked.
Jenny ripped a piece of skin from her finger. Blood welled. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.” She repeated the phrase in a monotone, almost under her breath.
The sheriff leaned back. His eyes flickered to Lance in question.
“That’s enough, Sheriff. My mother has had a great shock.” Lance stepped forward, but Morgan already had her arms wrapped around his mother’s shoulders, and his mom was leaning into her.
The sheriff got up, and Lance led him toward the door. They stepped out onto the front stoop.
“Thank you for being considerate with her.” Lance pulled the door closed behind them.
King nodded. “It wasn’t something I wanted to do at all.”
“Since you gave us Mary’s name, I assume you’ve notified her family?”
“This morning.” The sheriff nodded and blinked away. For a second—no longer—regret crossed King’s face. Lance had done death notifications in his years on the police force, mostly after car accidents. Telling someone their loved one had died was one of the worst duties a police officer performed.
But the lapse in iron control only last a moment. The sheriff’s jaw tightened, and all traces of vulnerability disappeared. “I’ll need to talk with your mother again.”
“If she’s up to it.” Lance’s mother came first, the investigation second. “As much as I want to find out what happened to my dad, I won’t sacrifice my mother for answers to something that was over more than twenty years ago.”
Every secret exposed required sacrifice. The only question was who was doing the sacrificing. Unless his mother was under arrest, she had no legal requirement to speak to King, though she would cooperate. She wanted answers. But could she afford to pay the price?
“I understand your concern.” The sheriff jammed his hat on his head. “But this is a murder investigation. Mary Fox and her family deserve just as much respect as yours.”
Lance had nothing to say. The sheriff was right.
Sheriff King got into his vehicle and backed out of the driveway.
Lance closed the door and returned to the kitchen. Mom was still in Morgan’s arms. He crouched in front of them. “Mom? Are you OK?”
She drew in a quivering breath, then straightened. “Don’t blame the sheriff. He’s doing his job, asking questions that need to be asked.” His mother swiped a hand beneath her eye to catch a tear. “I can’t believe Vic would have cheated on me.” His mother’s gaze shifted to the kitchen window, but her focus was inward. “He loved me.”
But Lance had already discovered his memories were less than accurate. Were his mother’s equally faulty?
If his mother had already begun her mental spiral in 1994, she might not have noticed if his father strayed. Her illness consumed her. It ate away at her interest in the outside world, taking giant bites and devouring them. Maybe his father had been lonely.
“I’m going to call Kevin.” His mother stood. Her gaze landed on Morgan, then Lance. “Please find out what happened. Don’t try and cover it up. I need to face the truth, no matter how difficult it might be.”
She walked out of the kitchen, her gait slow, almost painful, as if she’d aged twenty years since the sheriff had arrived. Her office door closed with a soft click.
“So far, I’m impressed with the way she’s handling all this.” Lance stared at the empty doorway.
“She certainly seems determined,” Morgan said. “What now?”
“Now we find out everything we can about Mary Fox.”
“I’ll call Sharp.” Morgan pulled out her phone as they walked out of the house. She made the call while Lance locked the house. They climbed into the Jeep, and Lance started the engine.
Morgan ended the call. “Sharp wants us to talk to Stan Adams and Brian Leed, but he wants to be in on the interview with Mary’s mother. He says he’ll meet us there later.”
“OK.” Lance drove away from his mother’s house, but he couldn’t escape the uneasy feeling in his chest as he left her behind.