Holly Grove Homecoming (25 page)

He might be facing another dead end, but now that he was finally back in Holly Grove, he had no intention of giving up until he’d pursued every lead. He owed that much to all the people who’d been harmed by the man apparently known as “Pap.”

* * *

C
arly had tried
to settle down to writing after Trooper dropped her off that afternoon, but her mind refused to stop thinking about the possibilities of what Trooper might find in Tommy Underwood’s papers. If the suicide note was there, she was convinced she could help determine the age of the writer. After all, there would be a significant difference between the language of a teenaged boy convinced he was heroically deciding his own fate and that of a mature man trying to sound like a depressed teenager.

And since she couldn’t settle down to writing, she decided to devote some time to dinner. She’d promised Trooper bacon and tomato sandwiches, but she didn’t think he’d mind if she changed the menu to something more substantial. She’d brought some fresh cucumbers from Roy’s house, so she decided to make a cucumber and onion salad. After putting it in the refrigerator to chill, she got a tomato pie ready to stick in the oven and started marinating a couple of chicken breasts. It wouldn’t take long to get dinner ready after Trooper arrived.

Once that was all done, she climbed the stairs to her office to try a little more online research and to wait on Trooper. She’d just settled down at the computer when she heard him call out from the hallway below.

“Up here, Trooper,” she called back. She’d barely pushed away from her desk when he entered her office. She knew instantly that his news wasn’t good, but she motioned for him to take a seat in the chair beside her desk.

“What happened?” she asked as soon as he was seated, then winced when he described the mess Mr. Underwood had uncovered in Tommy’s boxes.

“And there was nothing salvageable?” she asked.

“Nothing. I felt bad for Mr. Underwood because he blamed himself for not looking in the boxes a number of years ago. I tried to ease his mind and I hope I succeeded.”

Carly sighed. “So what do we do now?”

“I plan on revisiting the sheriff’s office, probably tomorrow. I don’t hold out a lot of hope, but I at least have to try.”

“I really think…” Carly began, then paused.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She’d changed her mind.

“Obviously you have some sort of idea. I’d like to hear what it is.”

Carly grimaced, sorry she’d said anything, but she saw now that she needed to complete the sentence she’d started. “I just think you should talk to Mr. Graham again, even if it’s unpleasant for both of you. After all, from everything we know, he was first on the scene.”

A frown wrinkled Trooper’s forehead and he rubbed at the furrows with three fingers before dropping his hand to his side and sighing. “You obviously have a point. I just hope I can get him to agree to relive that afternoon.”

Carly wasn’t about to mention that she suspected Charles Graham of the crime. Instead she shrugged. “I would think he’d be willing. After all, he surely wants the truth to come out.”

“He probably thinks it already has. Most everyone does.”

“But we know it hasn’t, and he surely understands that you would have doubts considering your mother’s reputation is involved.”

“You’re right. I’ll see if I can buttonhole him sometime later this week.”

“I think that’s wise,” Carly said, then told herself to shut up. She couldn’t blame anyone for not wanting to relive such a traumatic afternoon, least of all Trooper. At the same time, with so few people still available to talk to, she couldn’t see leaving such a potentially important witness out.

But she could tell that Trooper was tired and probably suffering from a headache too considering the way he kept rubbing his forehead. She stood. “How about we go downstairs. I should tell you that I’ve changed the dinner menu to something more substantial than sandwiches. If you’ll join me in the kitchen, I’ll pour you a glass of wine and you can visit with me while I put the chicken breasts on the griddle.”

He also stood. “Sounds great.” But instead of heading for the door, he faced her and stepped close. “I hope you know how much I appreciate your help.” He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek. “But more than that, I hope you know how much you’ve come to mean to me in the short time we’ve known each other. However this return trip to Holly Grove turns out, I won’t want to leave you behind.”

Touched, Carly laid her hand over his. “You know I feel the same toward you, Trooper. But we probably shouldn’t talk about the future until after we’ve made some determination about the past.”

Still cupping her cheek in his hand, he leaned toward her, pausing with his lips just inches from hers. “What about the present, then? Do you have any objection to talking about that?”

“No objections at all. But you know what they say—actions speak louder than words. So instead of talking about the present, how about we engage in some action, Mr. Myers?” She smiled, then wrapped her arms around his waist as their lips met and she surrendered to the joys of living in the moment.

T
rooper awoke
the next morning with Carly curled up at his side. It was early yet, and he didn’t want to wake her, so he slowly slid out of bed, pulled his trousers on, and crept out of the room to go downstairs and start a pot of coffee.

He’d called Myrna the night before to tell her he would be spending the night across the street. Then he and Carly had pretended that their only priority was to have a relaxing dinner followed by a TV movie and another bout of lovemaking.

But of course in the back of their minds was the knowledge that this morning they would be plunged back into the real world where they’d be wracking their brains trying to come up with new ideas for investigating an old crime.

Obviously he needed to reschedule the trip to Knoxville to look at the newspaper reports as well as talking to Charles Graham about interviewing him. He was beginning to think Carly had been right in thinking that Charles might have omitted a vital piece of information. Sometimes people who had witnessed traumatic events simply shut disturbing details out of their minds until a later date when they could more easily cope with the recollections.

Encouraged by having decided on positive steps to take, Trooper started the coffee, then opened the refrigerator to search for breakfast fixings. Creaking sounds coming from the stairs alerted him that Carly was up. He turned with a smile on his face to wait for her to join him.

She shuffled into the room. “Morning,” she muttered. “Do I smell coffee? Please tell me I smell coffee.”

He grinned. “If you can hold on for just a couple more minutes, it will be ready.”

Carly regarded him with sleepy eyes before walking over to wrap her arms around his waist and rest her head against his chest. “I can survive that long. Thanks for starting it.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I hope I didn’t wake you when I got up.”

“No.” She pulled back. “I woke on my own. I’ve got a lot to do today.”

He winched. “Me too. What do you want for breakfast?”

“Just coffee for the moment. Can I fix something for you? Eggs? French toast?”

“No thanks.” He pulled a container of sliced melon from the refrigerator. “I’ll just have some fruit right now.”

Carly nodded, then walked over to the coffee maker, which was now beeping out the news that the brew was ready. She pulled the carafe out and poured herself a cup. “Can I pour one for you?” she asked.

“That sounds great. So what’s on your agenda for today?”

“Writing, of course. And later in the morning I want to do a little outside work.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

“I’m going to water and fertilize my impatiens, but that’s pretty much a one-person job. Thanks anyway. What about you? What’s your first order of business?”

By this time Trooper had filled a plate with melon. He pulled a chair out and sat down across from Carly. “I plan to visit the sheriff’s office and ask if I can look at the files myself.”

“Do you think he’ll object?”

“I don’t think so. When I met him before, he seemed pretty open to any investigating I might want to do.”

“Great. Then…”

Carly’s voice trailed off when Trooper’s cell phone sounded. He picked it up, glanced at the number, and winced. “I’m going to let this one go into voice mail.”

“Work calling?” Carly asked.

“No. My ex-partner’s widow. She worries about me.”

Carly set her coffee cup down with a thump. “So you don’t answer the phone and allow her to continue to worry?”

“She doesn’t understand that every time I talk to her, I feel worse about what happened to Hank.”

Carly’s expression softened. She reached across the table and rested her hand on top of his. “Still, it’s nice of her to be concerned. You know, after Marge Abbott interrupted us, you never did tell me what happened when you and Hank located the kidnapper and were waiting on backup to arrive. We don’t have to talk about it, of course, but…”

He flipped his hand over and grasped hers tightly. “I want to finish the story. You have a right to know what happened, and it will ease my mind to know that you know.”

He pulled in a deep breath before beginning. “Hank and I were keeping low, waiting at the bottom of this man’s driveway in a patch of rhododendron, when all of a sudden the kidnapper stepped out onto his front stoop carrying little Aubrey in his left arm with a pistol in his right hand pointed toward her head. He knew we were there, and he must have been getting antsy, wondering why we hadn’t made a move. The fellow—his name was Maynard—yelled at us, wanting to know what the hold-up was.”

Trooper paused, swallowed, then continued. “Hank stepped out into the driveway, his hands up, hoping to calm the man down. Hank assured him that the money was on the way, that it had just taken time to get unmarked bills the way he’d specified. And then—God help us—an emergency vehicle with its siren going full blast, rounded a curve a few feet behind us. We learned later that it was only an ambulance on the way to pick up a heart attack victim, but it was enough to spook Maynard.

“I honestly don’t think he intended to shoot that little girl, but his finger was on the trigger and he was strung out on meth. When the siren startled him, he squeezed. The muzzle was against her temple. She would have died instantly. Hank had left his gun in the bushes, and as soon as I heard Maynard shoot, I jumped out into the driveway and fired at him but missed. He shot me in the left shoulder and Hank once in the chest before I could get another shot off. My second shot got him, but I was too late. Hank’s chest wound was fatal.”

“Oh my,” Carly murmured. “How terrible for everyone involved.”

Trooper was thankful she didn’t try to smooth it over and assure him he was not at fault. Whether he was at fault or not, the results were the same: three dead and him with a relatively minor wound.

But that was old ground and he’d covered it in his thoughts and in his nightmares more times than he could count. He sighed and stared down at the tabletop. “Anyway, that’s the story. I’ll call Suzanne after while and assure her that I’m doing fine. But before I do that, I’ll check emails and see if the office is trying to reach me.”

He loosened his grasp on Carly’s hand and would have pulled away completely, but she held on until he looked up and met her gaze.

“Thanks for telling me,” she said. “Some things, whether they’re our fault or not, will always lurk in the backwaters of our consciences. We can’t suppress them, we can’t outrun them, we can’t defeat them. We can only continue to live in spite of them.”

Trooper gave her hand a long squeeze and then released her. “You’re right. I know you’re right. That doesn’t make it any easier, but you’re right. So I’m going to give Suzanne a call and then go talk to the sheriff. I know you need to get some writing done, so I won’t call you unless I have some news. I’ll stop back by here sometime this afternoon though.”

“Sounds good,” Carly responded, standing. “Good luck at the sheriff’s office.”

“Thanks. I plan to give him a call and make sure he won’t object to me looking through the files myself. I’m not expecting much, but you never know. See you later.”

T
wo hours later
, Trooper walked into the sheriff’s office. Mike pushed back from his desk, stood, and hurried around to greet Trooper with an outstretched hand. “Good morning. Good to see you again. I was planning to call you. I might have been able to save you a trip.”

“Oh?” Trooper shook hands, then dropped into the chair the sheriff had motioned toward. “What’s up?”

“After you called this morning about the missing note, I remembered hearing that one of the deputies from twenty years ago had recently moved back to the county. He left shortly after your parents’ murders, got a job with the police department in Charlotte, and just retired about six months ago. I never knew him so the news didn’t mean much to me at the time, but I decided to give him a call this morning. He remembers the case well, and when I asked him about the suicide note, he said it was the strangest thing.”

“Strange?” Trooper’s heart rate quickened. Here was a possible source he hadn’t heard about before.

“Right. He said the note disappeared from the files almost immediately. They looked and looked for it, but it was plain old gone. They thought maybe one of the people they called in to question might have slipped it out of the file folder, which the sheriff just left out on top of his desk.”

Trooper frowned. “A friend of mine claims to have seen a copy of the note twenty years ago. Supposedly there were copies floating around town.”

Mike shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised. It sounds to me as though the authorities at that time did a poor job of securing the evidence. Silas Mace, the former deputy, might have some idea.”

“Would Mr. Mace be willing to talk to me?”

“Sure thing. He said to tell you he’d be happy to get together early next week. I just caught him myself. He was on his way out the door headed to Charlotte where his daughter lives. He’ll be back on Monday. Here’s his name and phone number.”

Trooper took the slip of paper the sheriff held out to him. “Thanks, Mike. I appreciate this.”

“You’re still welcome to look through all the files if you want to.”

Trooper shook his head. “Maybe later. But based on what you’ve learned, I’d say that would be a waste of time. In the meantime, there’s someone else I really need to talk to.”

Trooper stood, shook hands again, and made his way out of the office. He sat in his car a few minutes, thinking, then sighed. Much as he dreaded having to do so, he was going to ask Charles Graham if he would agree to a formal interview.

* * *

C
arly looked
up from her keyboard when FluffBall jumped into her lap. She laughed, then stroked the cat’s arched back. “Are you bored with me?” she inquired of her purring friend. “I know I’ve been preoccupied this morning, but I really needed to get this writing done. You don’t care about that though, do you?”

As usual, the cat ignored her.

Carly quickly saved her work, then rolled her shoulders. After Trooper had left that morning, she’d been able to immerse herself in her writing and fortunately had more than met the goal she’d established so she could feel comfortable about meeting her upcoming deadline. Now she needed to get up and move around. She ran her hands under FluffBall’s belly, lifted her, and gently sat her on the floor. The cat looked up at her with narrowed eyes.

“Hey, lazybones. I’m going to go out and water the impatiens. Want to come along?”

FluffBall yawned, then jumped back into Carly’s desk chair and curled up, stretching a leg over her eyes.

“I’ll take that for a no,” Carly said, grinning. She made a quick trip to the bathroom, then hurried downstairs and out the back door to retrieve her water hose and fertilizer. Five minutes later she was happily spraying a mist onto the rather leggy impatiens. She wished she could get hers to look even half as good as Myrna’s.

A second later, she saw Myrna headed toward her flowerbeds, her watering can in hand.

Carly turned off the water and jogged across the street. “Good morning, Myrna,” she called.

Myrna looked up with a quick smile. “Good morning yourself, my dear. How are you today?”

“Good, thanks. How are you?”

“I’m okay. What did Trooper have on his agenda for today?”

“He was going to visit the sheriff’s office,” Carly replied, then quickly changed the subject. “I’ve been admiring your impatiens again.”

“That’s good, dear, but you don’t have to try to protect me from whatever Trooper is learning about his mother’s death. I’m not all that fragile. Did he not find anything of use in Tommy Underwood’s papers?”

“Unfortunately, no. There was nothing left of them because mice had made nests out of them. Mr. Underwood felt terrible about it, but it wasn’t his fault, of course. And he’s still looking for Tommy’s yearbook.”

“Yearbook?” Myrna inquired quickly.

“Yes. Well, that’s probably not going to hold any clues either, but at this point, we’re looking at everything.”

Myrna propped her hands on her hips. “Nelson should have said something to me about it. I brought his yearbook home with me after he left town. He’d told me to go into the house and take anything I wanted, so I gathered up all my sister’s picture albums, any papers of importance, and everything of Nelson’s I thought he might want someday. Eventually I stored all of them in a closet in the guest bedroom upstairs. I’ll see if I can’t find the yearbook. I’ll probably have better luck than Sam Underwood would.”

“That would be great, Myrna. I know Trooper would appreciate it.”

“In the meantime, why don’t you tell me what, if anything, Nelson has discovered about his parents’ deaths? I don’t like to ask him because he hates to talk about it to me, but I’ve got a right to know.”

Carly gulped. “Yes, I suppose you do. There’s not much, but I’ll tell you what I know.”

She’d barely opened her mouth when her cell phone sounded. She pulled it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. “It’s Trooper,” she told Myrna. “Let me see what he wants.”