Chapter 8
On Thursday, she woke to the early morning call of birds outside her window. She hadn’t had a great night, tossing and turning, wondering at what kind of a fool she was that she’d stood staring after Geir at the doorway. She put it down to shock, but, at the same time, she knew it was a lot more than that. She flung back the bedcovers and sat up. Her ankle was swollen slightly, but it wasn’t too bad, considering.
She got on her feet experimentally and walked slowly to the bathroom. The foot was functional, but the guys were right; she should stay off it as much as possible. She had an ace bandage that she wrapped around it for support. Then she did a quick wash up, got dressed, and, hopping on her good foot, she went down the back staircase to the kitchen. In the kitchen she put on coffee and thought about what she needed to do for breakfast. At the moment, she wasn’t feeling like putting in a grand effort.
But everybody had come to expect a certain level of food. She decided cream scones were fast and easy. She whipped up a batch and tossed them in the oven. She was afraid to sit down because she’d never want to get back up again. At the same time, if a task could be done sitting down, all the better.
She poured herself a cup of coffee, sitting, her foot on the pillow left from the night before, with the online edition of her local morning paper pulled up on her laptop, and perused the headlines. There was the usual mayhem going on in the world. She hated the crazy politics, the wars, and the whole confusion and backstabbing mess in politics. She shut her laptop and sipped her coffee.
Hearing a bright whistle coming in behind her, she spoke without looking behind her, “Good morning, Geir.”
“How did you know it was me?” he asked lightly as he walked toward the counter with the coffeepot, got a cup from the cabinet and poured himself a cup.
“Your voice is easy to distinguish,” she said with a smile.
“Interesting. Well, since you already know who I am, and you already recognize my voice, then we’re past being strangers now, aren’t we?”
She stared at him suspiciously. “We’re not exactly friends either.”
His eyes widened. “I’m hurt. I thought we were much closer than friends.”
She shook her head at his teasing tone. “I know guys like you. They dash into town and cause trouble, then disappear just as fast.”
“As long as we cause fun while we’re in town, and everybody is enjoying life, and nobody gets hurt …”
“True enough, but I’m not one of those women who’ll be part of your drop-into-town-and-have-fun saga.”
“Nope, you’re a forever kind of girl.”
She lifted her coffee cup and stared at him over the rim. “What do you mean by that?”
“It means, you’re not a one-night-stand kind of girl. When you let somebody into your bed, it’s because it’s something you want long term. It takes a lot for you to trust, and, when you do, you trust deeply.”
“People would say the opposite about me because I have a bed-and-breakfast. That I’m too trusting to let people into my home. Therefore, I trust easily.”
He studied her. “I think that’s the business side of you. I think you’re an extrovert and enjoy having people around. But, to let them into your inner world, I think that takes a lot of trust.”
She could feel heat crawling up her neck. “That’s very astute of you.” She hurriedly stood. As soon as she did, she winced, and he was at her side.
“Hey, remember? You need to stay off that foot. You’ve done enough just getting from the third floor to the first floor. How is the ankle this morning?”
“Fine, I just stepped wrong or too fast.” She motioned toward the stove. “I have scones in the oven. I need to take them out.”
“You sit down. I’ll take care of them.” He grabbed an oven mitt and opened the door. Instantly the smell of cream scones filled the kitchen. He pulled out the cookie sheet and took them to her. “Do they look done to you?”
She eyed the golden tops with just the barest rim of a darker golden color on the base and nodded. “They’re perfect.”
He put them on top of the stove, closed the oven door and turned the temperature knob to Off. He looked around. “Where are your racks?”
“In that drawer.”
He pulled out a rack and placed it on the center island and deftly transferred the scones to it. He put the cookie sheet by the sink and brought the coffeepot to her, filling her cup. “So we didn’t get much of a chance to see each other last evening. How did your evening go?”
She wanted the small talk. “It was fine. Other than realizing that previous guests had gotten into my father’s rooms when I hadn’t been watching and not being able to paint because I had no natural light and being too unsettled to sit down with a good book—but, otherwise, it was fine.”
He stared at her for a moment. “Somebody was in rooms you don’t allow people in?”
She shrugged. “My father has the set of rooms below mine. His sitting room, bathroom and bedroom were part of the annex out back. He owns half of this house.”
“And somebody was in there?” he prompted.
She shrugged. “Well, kids, at least. I found a stuffed animal on the bed,” she said with a smile. “The trouble was, it wasn’t like it was tossed on the bed—disturbed, as if kids had been climbing all over the place—but more like it had been placed very deliberately atop the covers where the pillows are.”
“What kind of a stuffed animal?”
She stared at him, her lips quirked. “A great big gray mouse.” She watched as a stillness came over him.
He slowly raised his eyes to look at her intently. “A mouse?”
She nodded. “A mouse with a big silly grin.”
He raised his hands and put them about a foot apart and said, “A mouse about this size?”
She frowned, leaning forward. “Yes. How did you know?”
“A mouse with shiny eyes and a big goofy grin?”
She nodded slowly. “Is it yours?”
He shook his head slowly. “Would you mind showing it to me please?”
She shrugged. “I put it in the hall closet, and then I locked the door to my father’s rooms.”
He hopped to his feet and said in a low voice, “It’s important.”
“So much for staying off my feet,” she muttered. But she led him to her father’s rooms down the hall in the back addition. “The house is a bit of a maze because of the way we built the addition,” she said by way of apology.
He didn’t say a word, just stayed with her.
She walked to the hall closet and pulled out the mouse, passing it to him. Then led him to her father’s door. She unlocked it and pushed it open. She walked to the bedroom door, opening it also. She motioned at the bed. “It was lying in the center at the pillows.” She ignored the mouse in his arms, too interested in the change that overcame his features. There was a stillness, an alertness, an almost predatory look on his face. “What does it mean to you?”
He slowly shook his head as he examined the stuffed animal from all angles.
She hadn’t considered there might be anything in it, but he was squeezing it as if thinking along that line.
Finally he lifted his head and said, “I’m not sure what it means or why it’s here, but we found an identical one in a house we were at last night.”
“The house where the guy was shot?”
He looked at her and nodded. “And where we found another dead body. We found the dead body first. Then the other man was shot afterward.”
She shook her head. “What does a gray mouse have to do with murdered men?”
“The dead man was found in the master bedroom, but the mouse was found in the children’s room. The room had been painted in bright cheerful colors, but it showed signs of age. Yet in the corner was a new stuffed mouse.”
She stared straight at him. “Okay. Now that’s bizarre.”
“No, it’s more than that,” he said quietly.
“You can have the mouse,” she said. “I sure as hell don’t want it. Especially now that you’re thinking those kinds of thoughts.”
He turned and glanced at her. “I don’t think it’s the same mouse, … just for clarity here.”
She winced. “Neither do I. But now that you put that thought in my head …”
He smiled. “No, it’s definitely identical to the one I saw in that dilapidated old bedroom, just not the same one.”
“How did the man in the master bedroom die?”
He turned, looked at her briefly, and said, “He was stabbed. The thing is, he died a few weeks ago. Who knows how long it would have been left there if we hadn’t gone in.”
Not a concept she wanted to contemplate.
“Let’s put it back in the hall closet,” he said quietly. “At least for the moment.”
She shuddered but nodded. She locked up her father’s rooms and pointed to where she’d stored the mouse earlier. As she closed the door, she asked, “Who lived in the house?”
“It was obviously deserted. We thought it might belong to one of the teachers at Midlands High School.”
“Hang on a minute. I’m confused. You’re saying this house—that had one murdered man in it and then another man was shot in it—belongs to one of the teachers who works at the same school where Nancy sometimes works?” Morning stared at Geir in bewilderment. “Who owns the house?”
“Well, we looked up the owner’s name. We’re not sure he’s a teacher at Midlands High School, but the owner name is a match for one of the teachers’ names—not that there couldn’t be more than one person with this particular name. And we’re not 100 percent sure that he’s the person we’re looking for. The guy we need to find consistently uses a nickname, although his fake names seem to change.”
“What nickname?”
“Poppy?”
Instantly she felt the color drain from her cheeks. “Poppy?”
He spun in a slow circle and looked at her. Then walked close to her, reaching out to grab her hands. “Do you know him?”
She stared up at him and nodded her head. “He was pretty famous way back when.”
“Famous in what way?”
“Among the kids at school.”
He shook his head. “Can you give me more information please?”
“He hung around with a young boy for years. A couple of them. There was lots of talk about him at the time, but I don’t know how true any of it was.”
“Did you know him personally?”
“Not really.” She waved her hand. “Honestly I blocked most of it out.”
“But this”—Geir waved his hand around her house—“isn’t Poppy’s kind of neighborhood.”
She gave him a sad smile. “I didn’t always live here. I used to live with my mom, but she was a junkie. That lifestyle was her undoing. She died about eight years ago. When I was seven, I came to live with my dad. That’s when I moved in here.”
He still held her hands, lifting one close to his lips and kissed it gently. “Where did your mom live?” When she recited her childhood street address, he sighed. “Is that the same street the guy you know as Poppy lived on?”
“Yes. I lived across the street from his house.”
He nodded. “That was the house I was at last night.”
“And a murdered man was in there? And it wasn’t Poppy?”
“I don’t know. We’re waiting on the police for that. The house was registered to a Reginald Henderson.”
She stared at him mutely. “Is it wrong of me to be happy if that’s Poppy and that he’s dead?” She knew she should just be quiet, but Poppy was not a name or an individual she wanted to remember.
“How well did you know Poppy?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t know him very well at all. But we all knew about him. The kids all talked about him.”
“None of the adults did anything?”
“Poppy was Poppy for a reason,” she said drily. “He always had food, booze and drugs. Whatever you needed, Poppy would help you get it.”
“So he kept the talk down by making the children happy so nobody reported him.”
She shrugged. “I guess. I wasn’t of an age to have anything to do with that. But I do remember a couple boys not wanting to play on the block because it was Poppy’s block, and they didn’t want to meet him. He was kind of creepy.”
“We think that this Poppy might work at the school where Nancy was yesterday.”
She stared at him in horror. “That’s not good.”
“Could you identify him from a current photo?”
“I don’t know. It was a long time ago.”
She shook her head. “Honestly I don’t think he cared about girls. I think he was all about boys.” She watched as Geir nodded.
“That would be Poppy.”
“Do you have pictures of him?”
“We’d have to go to the school website and see if you recognize him.”
She turned and hobbled her way back to the kitchen. “Then let me take a look at it.”
Back in the kitchen, they sat at the table while he opened his laptop, then looked up the website with the staff directory for the school. “Take a look at these.”
She looked at the full page of photos and slowly studied each one, scanning down to the next row and the next row. On the last row she paused, reaching out a finger, placing it on a picture. “I’d say that’s him.”
He came around and stood behind her. “Are you sure?”
She shrugged. “As much as a seven-year-old can remember, yes.”
He nodded. “It’s not conclusive evidence, but it’s a big help.”
“Why? Is that the man whose house you were at?”
He smiled and nodded. “Absolutely. Reginald Henderson is the registered owner of the house across the street from your childhood home. That’s the house where we were at last night.”
She stared at the photograph and felt her stomach heave. “I figured, when I left that life with my mom and came to live with my dad, well, I was grateful to leave all that behind. At the same time, I always felt guilty because I got out and nobody else did.”
“You don’t know that,” he said quietly. “For all you know, other kids got out too.”
She looked up at him. “Poppy wasn’t always here, you know? He used to come and go to other places.”
“Any idea where those other places were?”
She grimly smiled and nodded. “Texas, I think. He used to go to Texas.”
Geir listened, hearing the word Texas again. He nodded. “He was in Texas for quite a while.”
She nodded again. “I think he was in a lot of places. But he had to have a reason for going from one state to the other.”
“Maybe things got too hot here?” he suggested.
She shrugged. “I think I heard something about Washington State in there too.”
Geir settled back. “Honestly I imagine a lot of states are involved.”
“Well, if he’s a pedophile and crossed state lines, can’t you get the FBI’s help?”
“I could if it was made official.”
“If there were a lot of victims, I would think they’d need justice. Not to mention closure.”
“Plus he needs to be stopped. He’s still playing his games.”
“If he’s in his early sixties now, chances are good he has been doing this for forty-plus years.”
“Yes. His brother committed suicide as a teen. So it could quite easily span forty to forty-five years, if his brother was a victim too.”
“What sends a man onto that path? It’s hard to think about.”
He nodded. “How does anyone know? Maybe he was abused as a child too, not that I would feel sorry for him at this point because he took that abuse and turned it against everyone else.”
She shuddered. “Well, at least the police have it now to handle.”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “They do, and they don’t.”
She stared at him and sighed. “Meaning, you haven’t shared all the information with them?”
“We did make an anonymous phone call so the two bodies from last night would be found. As we learn more over the next couple days, we can come forward with it all and approach the police but only to a handpicked officer chosen by Mason.”
“I wonder how long that poor man lay there.”
“It’s hard to say, but the man who was later shot knew about the dead body. I heard that much.”
“So he was shot to keep him quiet?”
“As far as we can figure.”
She got up and poured coffee for both of them. “So what do you do now?”
“Continue our research. If it was Poppy who shot this most recent guy last night, we did get the registration and license plate off the car he drove.”
“The car you were chasing?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head. “I need to be in my studio as much as I can. I must have several paintings ready for tomorrow.”
“Are you worried about it?”
“Yes. I think the gallery owner is hesitant about letting me have a spot. He’s very protective about the work hitting his quality level. And I’m very concerned about hitting it too.” She gave Geir a wry smile.
He nodded. “In that case, I hope you’ll have a good day painting.”
She nodded. “I think I also have one couple leaving today. And I’m not sure about Ken, the other gentleman.”
“I haven’t seen him yet.” Geir frowned. “I haven’t met the couple either.”
She chuckled. “They might be honeymooners,” she said. “Besides, not everyone is up at the crack of dawn, like I am.”
He grinned. “There are worse ways to spend the time.”
“In a lot of ways, there’s nothing better, if it’s with somebody you care about.”
He flashed her a bright smile. “Not into these current dating apps, hook-up apps?”
She shook her head and shuddered. “No. Nancy was explaining how, on an app she’s familiar with, everyone has casual sex, but kissing is considered too intimate and to be saved for lovers. How messed up is that? That is definitely not my style.”
“It certainly appears to be working for a lot of people.” Although privately he agreed with her, he couldn’t think of anything worse.
Just then Jager came in the kitchen. “Time to go.”
Something in his voice had Geir nodding agreeably. He stood, smiled at Morning and said, “See? We’re progressing nicely. We’ve already decided we don’t like dating apps, prefer kissing on a first date to having sex without thought or a connection. And both of us think you should go to the studio and have a great day.” He tossed her shocked face a bright smile and disappeared behind Jager.
He knew he’d shocked her. It wasn’t exactly hard to imagine what that look on her face meant. And he was okay with that. She was a sweetheart and way too trusting. But she was also fun to tease. He’d seen the color wash up her cheeks at his words. But now she’d have a chance to either cool off or calm down.
Jager shot him a look as they walked out the front door. “What was that all about?”
Geir chuckled. “We were discussing the merits or lack of merits of some of the dating apps and how society today is apparently okay with having sex but not kissing first or dating.”
Jager stopped and gave him a long look. “What?”
Geir patted him on the shoulder. “See? We’re just too old for this shit.”
Jager shook his head. “Speak for yourself. But I can’t say I’d want to skip on the kissing part. I really like kissing.”
“You and me both.”
As they headed to Geir’s truck, Geir turned to him. “Did the police ever make it to our double-homicide crime scene?”
Jager nodded. “I picked up chatter about it on the police band.”
“Where are we going now?”
“Levi found a second property under Poppy’s name. It was under both names but was transferred to Poppy several years ago.”
“Mouse owned the house?”
“Both his and Poppy’s names were on the title originally. As if they were family or business partners.”
Geir stared at Jager, and his stomach twisted in a crazy knot. “Are we thinking they might be related?”
“It would certainly explain how Poppy got close to Mouse. I doubt they shared a blood relationship, but family is a loose term in Mouse’s life, given his mother’s continuous stream of boyfriends, don’t forget. It would certainly explain how Poppy stayed close to Mouse. Opportunity is so much of the problem for these pedophiles, particularly if they’re not looking for a quick flash and then a death to the relationship. They want somebody to groom and to be close to them all the time.”
“That’s just sick,” Geir said. He turned the key in the engine, pulling out into traffic. “So where is this second property?”
“Not very far away from the other property. Only about six blocks from where we were last night. On the more affluent side of life.”
“Poppy living on the better side of life?” Geir shook his head. “Is it just me, or is that some sick bastard who would do that to his own kin?”
“The question is what kin? We never could find any family related to Mouse.”
“I hate that we still don’t have enough information to figure this out,” Geir said.
“I know. But we’re getting there. Did you notice anything different about Morning?”
Geir took a corner that would lead him down the block to the house they’d been at last night, figuring that at least he’d go past that area before heading to the new location. He glanced at Jager and asked, “In what way?”
“Did you see how many times she looked out the window?”
“Looking for someone? Waiting for someone?” He told Jager about the stuffed mouse she’d found. “She’s got no idea how it got into her place.”
“She was almost struck by a hit-and-run driver. An intruder, a stupid stuffed mouse, … that’s an awful lot of circumstantial bits and pieces but nothing conclusive.”
As they approached Poppy’s first house, they saw the cops were still outside, and crime scene tape had been wrapped around the yard. Geir nodded with satisfaction. “Good. At least they’re still working here.”
He drove down the block, took the corners as per Jager’s instructions, pulled up beside a small brick rancher and parked just past it. Before he got out of the vehicle, he called Morning. When she answered, slightly breathless, he said, “Are you okay?” His voice was sharper than he’d intended.
There was an odd silence for a moment; then she said, “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because you’re out of breath, as if you were running.”
“I was going upstairs to my studio. It still takes effort with my ankle.” She laughed. “Why are you calling?”
“Jager brought up an interesting fact, and I hate to say it, but I didn’t notice because I was so focused on our conversation and on you,” he said in a light tone. “You kept looking out the windows, but it wasn’t a nice look-see, rather as if you’re worried. Have you had any intruders, any strangers in the backyard that I don’t know about?”
Silence.
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “When and how often?”
“Look. It was nothing. I just saw somebody in the backyard yesterday, that’s all.”
“What was he doing, and where was he?” He exchanged a cold glance with Jager.
“He was running away from the house toward the back fence, and he bolted over it at the corner.”
“Can you give me any identifying points?”
“No, just very tall and wiry.”
He sighed. “When?”
“It’s not like this was a crime or anything, and I’m not in trouble for not telling you,” she snapped. Immediately she sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. I know you’re calling because you’re worried about me.”
“When?”
She sighed. “Yesterday. Then I found the mouse.”
“Anything else?”
Reluctantly she said, “I thought I had locked the door to my studio, but, when I went up there yesterday, it was unlocked.”
“Shit,” he snapped. “I want the names of everybody staying there since we arrived because I presume that’s the only time you’ve had these incidences?”
“Are you saying you brought them into my world?” She tried to keep her voice light.
“Don’t evade the question.”
“It wasn’t a question. You gave an order. I’ll look it up when you get home.”
“You’ll look it up now, so I can run the names through a friend of ours.”
“But they’re my guests,” she cried out.
“And what if they’re not? What if they’ve moved in because we’re there?”
“And how would they know?”
“I don’t know yet, but I have to consider all avenues. I have to make sure you’re safe.”
“Someone running in my backyard is not an issue. And it does happen, you know?”
“Yeah? When was the last time it happened?”
He could almost hear the wheels of her mind churning as she tried to come up with an answer.
“So long ago you can’t remember.”
“Okay, fine. So it’s been a while. That doesn’t mean a whole lot,” she said in exasperation. “The man who is staying is Ken Wiley.”
“Did you know him before?”
“No.”
“And the couple?”
“They said they’ve been here before,” she said. “Although not for a few years.”
“Names?”
“Bruce and Brenda Carter,” she said. “I believe they’re from Texas.”
“Do they ever use airport shuttles or buses to come in? Do they take taxicabs? How do they get to your place from the airport?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” she cried out. “Do you hear yourself? I don’t investigate any of my guests. It’s not part of what I do.”
“I hear you, but maybe it’s something you should be doing.” With that he hung up, glanced at Jager, motioned to the house and said, “Let’s go.”