Consider the Crows (11 page)

Could that be what Lynnelle was running from? It might explain why there was nothing of her background in that grim house; she covered her tracks.

“On the other hand,” Parkhurst said, “she might have it simply because she knew the author.”

Susan opened the book cover. No inscription.

Momma, Where Are You,
was the story of an adopted child looking for her biological mother. Well now, was this the past Lynnelle came here looking for? “Biological mother,” she said aloud.

“I did wonder if that might not be what we have in Dr. Egersund.”

“That's quite a jump.” Susan thought about it. “A child given up for adoption who returns years later.”

“It happens.”

“Yes, but does anybody care?”

He gave her an enquiring look.

“Care to the point of keeping it secret in a murder investigation. Or care to the point of killing.”

“This is not San Francisco.”

She was getting a little tired of hearing that.

“This is a small town, conservative, most folks go to church on Sunday. Even now they don't take lightly living together without benefit of matrimony. It's gossiped about and snickered about, fingers pointed.”

“Egersund is an educated woman. Intelligent, accomplished. Why would she get all exercised and threatened by something long in the past?”

“She grew up here,” he said. “Understand the circumstances. Twenty-some years ago, the whole thing would have been all wrapped around with secrecy and shame. Father a minister. We're talking serious, heavy-duty sin here.”

“I can't believe it.”

“Believe it. It's true.”

Susan lit a cigarette and eyed him through the smoke. “Are her parents still alive?”

He nodded, got out his notebook and flipped pages. “Osey's still digging. Parents reside in Kirkwood, Missouri. The lady graduated with honors from the University of Oklahoma. Married, one son. Taught at Boulder.”

“Any murdered clerk-typists while she was there?”

“No criminal record, very law-abiding citizen. Divorced. Started teaching at Emerson last fall.”

Susan frowned, edged the books up evenly and shook her head dubiously. “That's building an awful lot on one paperback book.”

“Yeah.” He slid even lower and crossed his feet at the ankles. “Egersund is guilty of something. She was out at the Creighton place just before I got there. I saw her leaving and I even wondered for a minute or two if she'd been in the house. I also ran into Nick Salvatierra.” He related his conversation with the kid. “Now just what was Egersund doing there?”

“You think she went there to meet him?”

“She didn't strike me as dumb and there are dozens of better places that wouldn't rouse suspicion. I'm inclined to believe him when he said he didn't speak with her. I definitely believe he saw her pick something up.”

“Something incriminating she went back to find?”

“Well,” Parkhurst said. “She didn't sprint right down here to show us what she found.”

No, she didn't do that. “What was Nick doing there?”

“Yeah, Nick.” Parkhurst shook his head. “I don't know about him, but I'll find out. Streetwise. All his defenses went up when he saw me. Set bells clanging in my head. He had the hidden caution that means he's not squeaky clean. And that one's hungry. He
wants.
”

“You saying he might be our killer? What's the motive?”

“I don't know.” Parkhurst stood up, paced to the doorway and then turned. “One other thing.”

“What?”

“If that book means anything and the girl was an adopted child, there might be another important figure in all this. The kid probably had a father.”

“Anyone in mind?”

“No,” Parkhurst said. “Except David McKinnon was handy on the scene.”

He was gone before she could respond. She frowned, picked up the books, glanced briefly at each one and then stuck them in her shoulder bag. Quite possibly, they had nothing to do with Lynnelle's death, but it wouldn't hurt to ask Egersund another question or two. It was almost seven. She'd left the little cat alone for a long time again and wondered what kind of havoc it was wreaking. Put up a little higher on her list, find Sophie and get that cat back.

*   *   *

Receiver at her ear, Carena listened to the phone ringing in Topeka. Come on, Caitlin, answer. Where are you? Why haven't you called back? Carena twisted her fingers through the cord and stared unseeing at Alexa lying on the kitchen floor.

She clattered down the receiver. Phil probably neglected to pass on my message. Gingerly she rubbed her forehead, ignoring the low-pitched whirr of alarm in her mind. Aspirin, more aspirin. Taking a bottle from the cabinet, she shook two tablets into her palm, ran water in a glass and swallowed them. Alexa anxiously watched all her movements.

Right. Dinner. She hauled out a sack of kibble, dumped a goodly amount in a bowl, perked it up with some canned food and set it on the floor. Food, that's what she needed too, it might help the headache. Opening the refrigerator door, she stood gazing in, something she used to yell at Michael for doing.

Alexa finished off her meal, licked the bowl several times to make sure, then squeezed past chairs and stretched out under the table with a heavy sigh. Her eyes fixed on Carena with mute appeal. Carena's mind flashed on Caitlin, huddled under her desk, staring out from behind the chair legs with the same sort of imploring look in her eyes.

Carena had been seventeen, awakened in the middle of the night by singing coming from Caitlin's room. Frightened, Carena listened to the thin, high cadence of her sister's voice. She got up, tiptoed across the hall and knocked softly on Caitlin's door. There was no answer. She opened the door and went in.

A full moon shone through the window and spread a wide rectangle of eerie light on the floor. The bed was empty. Caitlin in her nightgown crouched in the kneehole of the desk, drawn in tight with her arms around bent legs.

“I'm tired,” she said to something invisible across the room. “I want to go to bed.”

She didn't appear to see Carena, even when Carena pulled away the chair and squatted in front of her. Caitlin's mouth was trembling and saliva dribbled down one corner.

“I already sang ‘Abide with Me' and ‘It Is Not Death to Die' and ‘Just As I Am without One Plea.'”

“Caitlin.” Carena took both her sister's hands and shook them. “What's the matter?”

“They're here again.”

“Who?”

“They're singing and I have to sing with them.”

“Who are they, Caitlin?”

“The dark angels.”

“Where? Where are they?”

Caitlin pointed. “By the wall. Can't you hear them?”

“There's nothing there. Just the bookcase. You're having a dream.”

Caitlin shook her head violently. “They want me to sing. I have to do what they want. If I don't, the crows will get mad.”

“What crows?”

“On the windowsill. When I don't sing, they come and they scream at me. And sometimes they laugh, mean. They say terrible things.”

“When did you start seeing things, Caitlin? You used to only hear voices. Are you sure you see them?”

“They'll hurt me.”

“No, Caitlin, they can't hurt you. They're not real. Only in your mind.”

Caitlin started shaking her head again. Carena, a hand on each side of Caitlin's face to stop the shaking, leaned close and looked directly into her eyes. “Caitlin, listen to me. Listen. I won't let them hurt you. We'll both sing, all right? But first you have to get back in bed. Come on.”

She led Caitlin to the bed, fluffed the pillows behind her head and smoothed the blankets over her, then lay beside her and they both sang hymns to appease Caitlin's dark angels and the terrifying crows.

For some time, Carena had tried to tell her mother something was wrong with Caitlin. Her mother got angry. There's nothing wrong with Caitlin, she said. Caitlin just has too much imagination. She's always been that way. Even when she was little. She always had conversations with imaginary playmates and her dolls. Her mother clung to that belief until the first time Caitlin had hurt herself.

The dog barked and Carena jumped. Alexa scrambled up and trotted to the living room. A second or two later the doorbell rang. Now what?

Some of the tension eased when she opened the door and saw Chief Wren. There was nothing scary about this woman with her thick dark hair, blue eyes, fine cheekbones and small straight nose. She had a haughty look, like an ad for expensive perfume. Her soft gray skirt and blazer beneath the trench coat made Carena feel grubby in old tan pants and baggy green sweater. She fastened a hand on the dog's collar and kneed her back to let the police chief in.

“I won't keep you long,” Susan said and thought, she's relieved it was me at the door. Susan sat on the couch and dropped her shoulder bag at her feet. Maybe I should have sent Parkhurst. “There are one or two things I need to clarify.”

Egersund releaed the dog and eased into an old wooden rocker.

“Before I get into that, is there anything you haven't told me you'd like to tell me now? No? In that case, maybe you could tell me what you were looking for at Lynnelle's house.”

“I've never been in her house.”

“Never? Not this afternoon?”

For a moment, Egersund looked blank, then there was an
oh
expression on her face. “I did go out there. Not the house, the woods.”

“Behind Lynnelle's house?”

“Yes,” Egersund said as though wondering where this was leading.

“What time?”

“Around four-thirty or so.”

“How long were you there?”

“About thirty minutes.”

“What were you looking for?”

“I was looking for the dog,” Egersund said sharply. “She got away and I went after her.”

“You found her in the woods?”

“Yes.”

“Then what?”

“I put her in the car and drove home.”

“Dr. Egersund, it would be wise to tell the truth.” She did not add, for a change, but allowed a hint of it in her voice.

“That is the truth.”

“What did you find out there?”

“Find? What do you mean?”

“It's a crime to withhold evidence in a police investigation.” She watched Egersund look down at her hands; they were holding onto each other as though for mutual support.

She looked up, met Susan's eyes and unclasped her hands. “I didn't find anything.”

“Dr. Egersund, we have a witness. You picked up something in the woods. What was it?”

“What would I pick up? Dead leaves? I chased after the damn dog, tripping all over—” She broke off.

“Yes?”

“It's nothing. Just part of an old key chain.” Egersund got her tweed coat from the closet, stuck her hand in the pocket and drew out the clump of damp blue feathers. “Is that what you mean?”

Susan held out her hand and the feathers were dropped into her palm. “If it's nothing, why did you lie about it?”

“I didn't lie,” Egersund said tartly, seemed to feel that needed a little embellishing and added, “I simply forgot.” She looked uneasy as though that sounded lame even to herself. She slid further back in the rocker and folded the coat across her lap.

“Where did you find this?”

“I didn't find it,” Egersund snapped. “The dog did.”

“Who does it belong to?”

“I have no idea. I've never seen it before.”

“It's not yours?”

“No.”

Susan gathered up her shoulder bag and got to her feet. Egersund rose also. At the door, Susan reached into the bag and took out the paperback books. “Are you familiar with these?”

Egersund took them, shook her head and tried to hand them back.

“Read the blurbs on the backs.”

She turned them over. Susan, watching carefully, saw the little start of fear. She felt her heart pick up a beat. “It's about an adopted child. Have you read it?”

“No.” The word came out flat and steady.

“They belonged to Lynnelle. We're wondering if perhaps Lynnelle, herself, was an adopted child. That would explain a few things that have puzzled us.”

“Lynnelle was not my child.”

Susan looked at her, letting the silence stretch. “Are you sure that's all you want to say?”

Carena withstood that hard knowing look and when Chief Wren left, poured a glass of red wine, found two more aspirins and gulped them down. I was wrong about this woman. In her own way, she's just as scary as Parkhurst. Carena rubbed fingertips against her throbbing temples. Chickens coming home to roost. Bad habit, in the face of adversity her mind scurried around for apt quotations. “Ye have sinned against the Lord and be sure your sins shall find you out.”

Her parents would find out. Her deeply religious father to whom so many things were a sin and her mother—also religious, as befitted a minister's wife, but more practical with it—would be shattered. “Trouble, thou wretch, that has within thee undivulged crimes.”

9

“I
DON'T BELIEVE
it,” Susan muttered as she pulled away. Kids are told from day one they're adopted; biological parents, adoptive parents all gather round in one big extended family.

She shook her head. Not true. Even now adoptions could be shrouded in secrecy. Her own family, for example. She had a cousin who was adopted. To this day, the kid didn't know, and he was in his twenties. Adoptees seemed driven to find their natural parents; struggled through all sorts of difficulties.

Susan nudged the heater up a notch. The weather had turned colder again, rain that had fallen earlier had turned to ice on the streets and glistened under her headlights. Every time the temperature dropped, she asked herself why she was still here and not in San Francisco, where she belonged. The radio crackled and she picked up the mike.