Rock Harbor Series - 01 - Without a Trace (23 page)

He nodded, anticipation gleaming in his small face as if she’d offered him candy.

“Okay. First, you open the damper. See this thing? You move it so it’s straight up and down. Can you reach it?”

Sam came around to the side of the stove and reached up. “Like that?”

“Exactly right,” she said. “Then open the door to the stove. Take the poker and move the logs around until they are lying tightly against the coals.”

Gingerly, Sam took the poker in both hands and managed to prod the logs a bit. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. Rachel nodded. “Good. Now grab a log and put it on top of the others, laying it the same way. Do three of them that way.”

Sam laid down the poker and grabbed the first log. Puffing, he shoved it into the stove. He wasn’t strong enough to push it where it needed to go, and it rolled out onto the floor along with hot coals. Rachel grabbed the bucket of water she kept near the stove for that purpose and doused the coals.

“Sorry.” Sam looked as though he might cry.

“It’s okay, Sam. It’s my fault. You’re not quite big enough yet.” Rachel felt near tears herself as she finished loading the stove. Chewing on her lip, she knew she had no choice. She’d leave plenty of blankets. Sam would be warmer inside the cabin with blankets than he would be sleeping out in the open air with only his coat. And during the day, the temperature shouldn’t be too bad.

“I have to leave in the morning, Sam. I’ll be gone two days. I want you to stay in the cabin except to use the privy.”

Sam’s lips trembled. “Two whole days? Why can’t I come?”

“I have to find us a new place to live, a better place. You can come with me next time. But I don’t want you to bother the stove. I know it’s a little chilly, but just stay bundled in the bed with the blankets. I got you a new book to read too.” Sam liked nothing better than a new book, which was a good thing, for she knew he would need good reading skills to make it through med school. He would make her proud someday.

But her bribe did little to calm his agitation. “Who will take care of me?” He thrust out his lower lip, and tears pooled in his eyes.

“You’re a big boy, Sam. You can help Mother by feeding yourself, can’t you? I’ll leave you some nice boiled eggs, a few peanut butter sandwiches, and cereal. I even got you some cookies. See?” She opened the cookie jar and was gratified to see his eyes go round. Cookies were a rare treat.

Then his lips trembled again, and tears spilled down his small face. “I’m scared. I don’t like to be alone. What if the wolves come back?”

“They can’t get inside the cabin,” she said. “Besides, they won’t bother you. Winter hasn’t come yet, and they have plenty to eat.”

“A bear could get in.”

Rachel hid a smile. “You’ll be fine, Sam. When was the last time we saw a bear?”

His forehead wrinkled, and he bit his lip. “I don’t know.”

“Exactly. The bears will leave you alone. You can practice printing your letters all you want. There’s plenty of paper. I know it will be lonely, but I have to go, son.”

“Take me with you.” He began to cry in earnest, and Rachel wavered. She’d worry about him every minute anyway. If he were with her, at least she wouldn’t have that anxiety.

Then she shook her head. “I have to talk to a lady about a job, and you would just be in the way. It might make me lose the job, and I must have it.”

Sam threw himself against her and began to wail. Rachel gathered him against her and sat in the rocker with him in her lap. “Hush, Sam. I thought you were a big boy. These two days will fly by, you’ll see. Now be Mother’s big boy. We only have each other to depend on. I’m counting on you to be strong for me.”

He hiccuped and buried his face against her chest. Rachel began to sing all the nursery rhymes she could think of, from “Farmer in the Dell” to “Three Blind Mice.” Her gravelly voice would win no awards, but Sam seemed to like it. Soon his sobs changed to deep breathing. As he slept nestled against her, Rachel knew there was nothing like motherhood. Her life was so different with this little person in it. She cuddled him closer and dozed off herself.

Shadows darkened the room when she awoke. Though the fire had gone out, the warmth of Sam’s small body kept the chill away. She laid him on his cot then began to prepare the food he would need while she was away. If only there were some other way. But there was no use wailing over what couldn’t be changed.

Soon things would be different. It was only two days, she told herself. Two short days. She deserved to be happy after everything that had happened. And Sam too. Though he never talked about it, the nightmares in the beginning had been horrific. He’d hung in the seat belt beside his dead father for at least an hour before she rescued him. But those days were over, and the memories had already faded. His nightmare came less and less, and soon he’d have no memories of any life but the one he shared with her.

15

B
ree’s enthusiasm was subdued when she entered The Coffee Place. Playing with Zorro had been a real treat, though Kade hadn’t said much as she gave him tips on training the puppy, and she knew he was still annoyed with her observations of how he was treating his sister.

Hilary was already seated in a booth by the window overlooking the water. She’d ordered two mochas and pushed one toward Bree. “I’ve talked to Mason,” Hilary said without preliminaries as soon as Bree sat down. “He saw that woman.”

“What? Where?” Bree half rose from her chair.

“At Lars’s store. She was getting groceries. He said she looked vaguely familiar, but he got busy and didn’t follow up on it until this morning. She was on a wanted poster.”

“She’s a criminal?”

“The police were looking for her in connection with the murders of twelve nursing home residents in Detroit. But when Mason called, the Detroit police said she’d been exonerated. The poster was an old one. Mason is over at Lars’s to see if she mentioned in what direction her cabin was located.”

That must be why she’d abandoned Emily and Timmy by the road. She wanted to avoid being seen. “So at least we know Rock Harbor is the closest town to the cabin,” Bree said slowly. “That narrows the search down some.”

“Not necessarily. Mason has no idea how she got here. She could be driving considerably out of her way just to stay hidden.”

Bree’s elation died, and she nodded. “Then we wait to hear what Mason has to say.”

“There he is now,” Hilary said.

Mason’s face was grim. He sat next to Hilary and nodded to Bree.

“Well?” Hilary demanded.

“Lars has seen her several times. She comes in with a knapsack and hiking shoes, so he thinks she walks in. But he has no idea where she comes from. She just shows up at the store, gets her provisions, and hurries out. He says he’s tried to engage her in conversation, but she never responds much. She comes in every couple of weeks, though she’s been in a little more frequently lately. She might be due to come in next week. We could stake out the store and watch for her.”

“I don’t want to wait that long.” Bree gave a heavy sigh. “She could be anywhere then—north, south, east.”

Mason nodded. “That about sums it up.”

“Then we’re back to Fay. I need to go through her things at her home and see if there are any clues there. Any new leads in your office?” Bree asked.

“We’re looking into the boyfriend, Eric Matthews.”

“Matthews?” Hilary questioned.

“He’s Kade’s cousin. Been in jail for three years for assault and battery and just got out on work release. As an interesting note, Fay was the one who pressed charges. He beat her up pretty badly. I’m surprised she had anything to do with him once he got out.”

“I saw them quarrel the night before Fay died,” Bree said.

Mason frowned. “And you’re just now telling me this?”

Bree hunched her shoulders. “It didn’t amount to much. I knew you’d be looking into him.”

“Good grief, Bree, you know better than to keep information like that to yourself.” Mason’s voice rose, and his glare grew more pronounced.

“Sorry, Mason; you’re right. He was just ticked she didn’t show up
when she was supposed to. She told him she’d be along and to go back and wait. That’s it.”

His frown faded. “Not much, like you said, but with his history, it’s likely he’s our killer.”

“He was angry that night. I gathered he thought she was stringing him along. He said something about not letting her call the shots this time.”

“You holding any other tidbits to yourself?” he asked.

Bree glanced at Hilary from the corner of her eye. There was no way she was going to tell Mason she suspected Hilary. “What about Steve and her uncle?”

“We’re looking at both of them. Lawrence had an argument with her over selling the mine, we know that much. And Steve could have killed her in a jealous rage when he found out the baby might not be his.”

“He didn’t seem to think the baby could be Eric’s,” Hilary put in.

“Yes, well, he’d say that now, wouldn’t he?” Mason said.

Was it her imagination, or was there some tension between Mason and Hilary? Bree studied them covertly. Hilary would barely look at her husband, and Mason didn’t have his arm around her as he usually did. Could Mason suspect his own wife?

“And Kade?” she asked in a small voice.

“He was out there on a call about poaching. I confirmed it with his office. The call came in about an hour before you saw him. That’s not to say he couldn’t have done it. He is Eric’s cousin, and there could be some connection. I’m checking into it.”

“I think I’ll stop by the bank and ask Steve if I can look through the house today,” Bree said, rising to her feet.

“Oh, I almost forgot . . .” Hilary dug in her briefcase. “Here’s the notebook. Not much in it though.”

Bree nodded her thanks and headed out to see Steve. He was in his office, and after some reluctance he gave Bree permission to
check out the house. Within minutes she was on her way out of town.

The Asters home was about two miles out of town down Lamppa Lane. After parking at the end of the long driveway, she and Samson walked to the front door of the gracious two-story brick home. Steve had told her the door was unlocked, and the knob turned easily. She stepped inside onto a ceramic tile floor. The entry opened into the dining room to the left. Steve had spared no expense to turn his home into a showplace, according to Fay, and the Aubusson rug under the mahogany dining room table was ample testament to that. All the furnishings had the feel of elegant simplicity that costs the earth.

Where to start? “Let me know if you hear anything,” she told Samson. “Stay.” She left the dog in the dining room and went past a china cupboard filled with charming crystal figurines of every animal imaginable. Peeking into the kitchen, she saw cherry cabinets and a tumbled marble countertop. A kitchen desk ended the row of cabinets.

She froze. Was that a sound? The sound of her heart pounded in her ears, and she couldn’t tell. Then it came again, and her breath eased out. It was just Samson coughing. Why was she so on edge? Steve knew she was here.

She went to the desk and opened it. A hanging file folder held bills; another file held things like insurance policies. She opened the one marked “Life Insurance” and scanned it. Bree blinked at the figure, not sure if she was seeing all the zeros correctly. One million dollars. Steve would have a very good reason to kill Fay. She put the policy back in its folder and continued to look. Rent receipts on several properties they owned in town, old correspondence, Christmas cards.

Bree flipped through the contents of another folder. A letter from a firm called Brannon, Metz & Associates caught her eye. It threatened legal action if the past-due amount of two hundred fifty thousand dollars wasn’t repaid within thirty days. Fay had said Steve was out of money, and this proved it. But was that motive enough to kill his wife?
Besides, maybe selling the mine would have eased their financial woes. The money might be a good enough reason if he hated her for having an affair as well.

She closed the desk drawers and made sure everything looked in order before going down the hall to the bedrooms. The master bedroom was at the end of the corridor. It looked like something out of
Arabian Nights
. Opulent silk bed coverings in gold and purple and ornately carved furnishings dazzled Bree. She blinked then moved toward the walnut dresser. She opened a drawer.

Running her hands over Fay’s things made her ashamed. She should have waited for Steve; then she wouldn’t feel so intrusive. She started to close the drawer, but it wedged in the track. She yanked at it and heard a clunk as something fell out the back. Frowning, she knelt and reached a hand under the dresser. A leather-bound book lay on the floor. Bree took it and sat on her heels. The leather cover was embossed in gold: Fay Asters. She laid it on the bed and continued her search. An hour later, the leather diary was the only possible clue she’d uncovered. That and the insurance policy. She’d have to mention it to Mason, though he probably already knew.

She started toward the front of the house. Samson whined then growled low in his throat.

“Someone’s coming, boy?” She heard a noise from the front yard, the muffled sound of a car door slamming. Bree stepped out of the bedroom and glanced out the entry windows. A white van bearing the words MERRY MAIDS on the side sat in the driveway.

She was done here anyway. Taking the diary with her, she opened the door and told Samson to go to the Jeep. Waving at the maids, she got in the Jeep and drove toward town.

The red light on the answering machine was blinking when she walked in the door. Dropping her coat on the chair, she punched the play button and heard Steve’s voice: “Bree, this is Steve Asters. I got the autopsy report. Could you meet me at the Suomi at four? I’ll be there. I hope you get this message and can join me.”

The message ended. Bree glanced at her watch. Nearly 3:30. She would have to get moving if she was going to meet him. She looked at Fay’s diary longingly then perched on the edge of a chair in the hall and opened the book.

Fay’s distinctive writing slashed across the first page.
January 1
. Nearly eleven months ago. Bree flipped through the pages. They were all diary entries. It would take her awhile to read all of it. Fay’s writing was tiny and difficult to decipher. Bree closed the book and went to the living room, where she slipped the diary into the top drawer of the desk. She locked the drawer, something she never did, then pocketed the key.