Deadly Echoes (22 page)

John Smith.

I waited until after lunch to call Paul. He sounded rushed and promised to call me back when he could. Finally, a little after three o'clock, the phone rang. Janet answered it, and I told her I'd talk to Paul from the upstairs phone. After picking up the phone in my room, I waited until Janet hung up. Then I quickly ran through my findings.

“Wow. You really did make some progress,” Paul said.

“So what do we do now?”

“Don't do anything. Let me think about this for a bit. Did you call Claire by any chance?”

“No. I planned to do that, but I got sidetracked with this new discovery.”

“Why don't you call her and see what she knows. Specifically ask about John Smith. And mention the other names too. See if she can add anything that might be helpful.”

“Paul, are you sure you shouldn't just turn this info in to the police?”

Paul hesitated. “Possibly, but I'd like to give them a little more
evidence. Let's go as far as we can first. Then we'll contact them. Asking them to reopen a closed case won't be easy.”

“Okay,” I said. “I still haven't heard from Mike. Should I phone him?”

“I'm actually on my way to see him now. He's staying at the Fredericktown Lodge. I called my friend Tim, who works there, and he confirmed that Mike is a guest.”

“You're not going to call him first?”

“No. I want to meet him face-to-face. I realize there's no real reason to think he's not on the level, but I want to be sure, Sarah.”

“I understand. Just don't offend him. We need his help.”

“Trust me, I'm not going to be confrontational. I just want to make up my own mind.” He paused for a moment. “What is that clicking noise?”

“It's a problem on the line,” I said. “It's been going on for quite a while.”

Paul was silent for a moment. “When did it start?”

“I'm not sure. Janet already talked to the phone company about it. It should be cleared up soon.”

“Okay,” he said slowly.

“Is something wrong?”

“No. As long as Janet actually talked to someone from the telephone company.”

I chuckled. “You don't think someone's listening in, do you?”

“Sorry. I guess I'm being paranoid. The more we look into Hannah's murder, the more concerns I have.”

“Which makes it even harder for me to understand why the police in Kansas City don't take what I told them more seriously.”

Paul sighed. “Unfortunately, it happens, Sarah. Big-city police departments get busy. Sometimes it's easier to close a case so you can move on to the next one.”

“I hope it doesn't take much longer for us to get the evidence we need.”

“I feel the same way, but the last thing I want is for them to dismiss us. We'd be back to square one.” He grunted. “I've got to go. About Mike, don't worry. I'll be very careful.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. I trusted Paul, but sometimes people make mistakes. Even though I had faith in his law-enforcement instincts, he didn't have connections at the Kansas City Police Department. Mike did. I hadn't forgotten about Anson Bentley, but if the police were still calling Hannah's murder a burglary, it was a good chance he was in agreement with it.

“I'll call you back after I talk to Mike,” Paul said. “In the meantime, why don't you see if you can get in contact with Claire?”

I told him I would and hung up. I hunted for the number in Hannah's phone book and dialed it. After the second ring, a woman answered the phone. “Kennedy, Worthington, Klemm, and Sparlin.”

“May I speak to Claire Freeman?” I said.

“Yes, one moment.”

A few seconds later, a different woman's voice came on the line. “This is Claire Freeman.”

“Claire, this is Sarah Miller. Hannah's sister.”

“Sarah. I'm so glad to hear from you. How are you? How is Cicely?”

After answering this question so often, my response had been whittled down to, “We're holding our own. Cicely is in school and doing well. We both miss Hannah.”

“I miss her too, but I'm glad to hear you and Cicely are okay,” she replied. “What can I do for you?”

“Claire, can you tell me anything about my sister that I might not know? I mean, was she afraid of anyone? Concerned about
anything before her death? I'm looking into the possibility that her death wasn't the result of a burglary.”

“The police already asked these questions,” she said slowly. “You know that, right?”

“I'm sure they did.”

“You think they may have missed something?”

“I don't know. Hannah's death is eerily similar to the way our parents died. It makes me wonder.”

Claire was silent for a moment. “Can I call you back in a few minutes?” she said, her voice low and soft.

“Sure.”

She didn't even say good-bye. The line just suddenly went dead. About six minutes later the phone rang, and I said, “Hello?”

“It's Claire. I'm calling you on my cell phone. I didn't want anyone to overhear me. It's not that they would care that I'm talking to you. It just feels . . . personal. I don't want Hannah's business turned into office gossip.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I don't know. It's just that Hannah was acting strange for about a week before she was killed. I asked her several times if she was okay, but she wouldn't talk to me about it. And then the day she died, something really weird happened.”

“Can you tell me what it was?”

“Yes. Someone sent her flowers and she freaked out. Her face went white and she looked like she was about to pass out. She told our boss, Mr. Kennedy, that she was sick and needed to go home. I asked her what was wrong, but she wouldn't tell me. I felt like she wanted to, but she was just too afraid. That was the last time I ever saw her. She was killed that night.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “Claire, were the flowers white orchids?”

Another pause. “How did you know that? Does it mean something to you?”

I felt as if the air had been sucked out of my lungs. “Yes, it does. Did you tell the police about the flowers?”

“Yes. I told them twice.”

“What do you mean . . . twice?”

She cleared her throat. I could tell she was nervous. “The first time was when the police came here not long after the murder. The second time was a couple of weeks later. A detective came by asking questions.”

“Do you remember his name?”

“Yes, I do. He gave me his card in case I remembered anything else that might help him. I've still got it on my desk. Detective Doug Sykes. Nice guy. Seemed very interested in the flowers.”

“Can you tell me what kind of questions he asked you? Is there anything about your conversation that sticks out in your memory?”

“He asked a lot of the same things the police asked originally, but his questions were more detailed. He wanted to know what happened to the flowers. And he asked whether there was anyone new in Hannah's life.”

“And was there?”

“Yes. I never saw his face, just his car. He picked her up for lunch a couple of times. She always seemed upset when she came back. I don't think she wanted anything to do with him.”

“Did she ever mention his name?”

“No, I'm sorry.”

“What kind of car was it?”

“I'm not sure, Sarah. Guess I'm not a car person. It was big and gray. Fancy. Like a Cadillac, but I don't think it was.”

“Would anyone else have noticed this car?”

“I doubt it. He picked her up across the street. Never came in. Never got out. I only looked because I was curious.”

“Claire, does the name John Smith mean anything to you?”

“No, but Hannah didn't share her life outside of work. I wish I could tell you more.”

“She called you a couple of times during the week she died. Can you tell me why?”

“Sure. One day she called in sick. She and Cicely both had the flu, and the other call came about an hour after she left work that last day. She apologized for running out, but she wouldn't tell me why she was so upset.”

“Thanks, Claire. You've really helped quite a bit. If I have more questions, is it okay if I call you?”

“Of course. Anytime. Hannah was really a sweet woman. I know how excited she was about finding you again.”

“She talked to you about me?”

“Yes. Even though she was a very private person, she told me how happy she was to have you in her life. We had lunch together a couple of weeks before she died. You were her hero, you know.”

“Wh-what? Did you say ‘hero'?”

“Yes. Hannah said she'd always wanted to be just like you. She not only loved you, Sarah, she admired you very much.”

I mumbled my thanks and hung up the phone.

“Hannah said
she'd always wanted to be just like you.”
Claire's voice echoed in my head. I'd spent most of my life wishing I were more like my sister, and she'd wanted to be more like me? I couldn't believe it. “I'm sorry, God,” I said softly. “No more comparing. I'm done.”

I felt as if a burden lifted from me, but I recognized it was up to me not to allow those kinds of thoughts to take root in
my mind again. I'd programmed my thinking in the wrong way for so long, it could take a while for me to head in a more positive direction.

I forced myself to redirect my thoughts toward Hannah and the flowers she received. Wasn't this proof that her murder was planned? There was nothing random about it. Someone had sent those flowers the day she died. Why hadn't the police picked up on this? It seemed obvious to me. Did this have anything to do with what Detective Sykes wanted to tell me?

There were so many thoughts and questions dancing in my head, I felt it would explode. I'd just decided to take an aspirin for the headache that began to tickle my temples when the phone rang. It was Paul.

“I'm here with Mike,” he said as soon as I said hello. “We're getting ready to head your way. We'll try to get there between six and seven. Sorry I can't nail down the time better. With the roads the way they are, we'll have to drive slower than normal. Is that okay?”

“Are you sure it's safe?”

“Mike and I are both used to snow and ice. We'll be fine.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “That sounds great. I have so much to tell you. I hit the jackpot today.”

Paul put his hand over the receiver and said something. I could hear another voice in the background. It was obviously Mike. The men seemed to have hit it off, and I felt relieved.

“Great,” Paul said suddenly. “We'll see you later.”

I said good-bye and put the phone down. Checking the time, I discovered it was already after four o'clock. I wanted to get everything written down and organized so I wouldn't leave out anything important. Would Paul be as excited as I was about the flowers?

After running downstairs and telling Janet and Cicely that Mike and Paul were definitely coming for dinner, I went to work compiling all the information on paper. I finished at about 5:45 and spent the next thirty minutes trying to look presentable. I finally decided on a tan skirt with a white pullover. I pinned my hair up but let several tendrils fall around my face. It was like a messy bun, but the look was soft and feminine. I applied some foundation, blush, mascara, and light lipstick. I'd just started to put my makeup away when I heard Cicely say, “You need some eyeliner too.”

She startled me, and I almost dropped my makeup bag. “You scared me,” I said, followed by a little nervous laughter.

Cicely smiled at me. “You're not doing anything wrong, Aunt Sarah. You shouldn't feel funny about wearing makeup.”

“I guess it seems . . . I don't know . . . vain somehow.”

She walked over to me and took the bag from my hand. “Do you think my mom was vain?”

I shook my head. “No, sweetheart. Not at all. But your mom and I were different.”

“You're not that different. Sometimes when you say or do something, it's just like Mom is standing right in front of me.”

I felt my eyes fill with tears.

“Don't cry or I won't be able to get the liner on.”

She opened the bag and looked through it. “Look, you have a pencil. Why don't you use it?”

I smiled at her. “Do you know where I got this makeup?”

She shook her head.

“Your mom gave it to me for my birthday.”

Cicely's eyes widened. “That's right. I remember now.”

“I haven't used it much, but I think I'm ready now.”

She nodded and told me to sit down. “Keep your eyes open and
look up.” I did as she requested and felt a little tickle under both eyes. “Now look down and don't move.” I could feel the pencil gliding across my upper lids. “Don't move yet.” She reached back into the bag and took out the mascara I'd used so sparingly. I started to protest, but she swiped my eyelashes several times before I had a chance to say anything. Then she put the liner and the mascara back in the bag. “Now look,” she said with a big smile on her face.