The Drake House (30 page)

“A baseball bat?” Kit queried. “Like the end of a bat?”

Annie shook her head. “No, too long. Shape doesn’t fit.”

“The butt of a handgun,” Nick supplied, his voice flat.

Annie nodded. “Very possible. Could be anything from a hardcover book to a candlestick. She was hit once. The fractures emanate in a spider web-like effect. The strike was most likely a downward motion. The suspect would have to be at least six inches taller, or Miss Drake would have been on her knees. With a blow like this, there would have been very little blood. She died from the head injury, but it could’ve taken minutes to hours.”

Trisha sucked in a breath. Nick resisted the urge to take her hand.

This was beginning to look even worse for Wayne Radcliff. If there was very little blood, no one would have known she was struck in the head. Not until autopsy, but Wayne’s very good buddy, Doc Wilson, took care of that.

“Hours doesn’t fit the police report,” Kit interjected. “Could she have suffocated by hanging after the injury? Since she wouldn’t have woken up?”

Annie and Gantry exchanged a look. “Probably not,” Gantry said. “But her lungs were too degraded to examine after all this time.”

Lafferty took a drink of his coffee before speaking. “Well, folks. Looks like we have another open murder investigation.”

Nick pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re heading over to the state building to meet with Trisha’s old caseworker. Seems like a wasted trip now.”

“Nothing’s wasted in this one, Mackey,” Lafferty muttered and rose. “Keep us updated.”

****

They opted to walk to Karen Fox’s office since it was only two blocks away from the police station. Nick said he thought it would give her a few minutes to adjust and clear her head. She pulled her jacket tighter to her chest. The only thing that would clear her head was to make all of this go away.

She felt sick. Back at the police station, seeing those X-rays and hearing what was done to her former neighbor had bile rising in her throat. The feeling hadn’t passed with fresh air and a walk. She wasn’t going to feel normal again.

“You okay?” Nick asked from beside her.

She looked up to realize he was holding open the door to the office building and waiting on her. “No, but let’s go.”

Nick checked them in while she sat in one of the reception chairs. When he came back to sit beside her, she looked up. “I swear, Nick, if we find out my biological family did…”

He quieted her by gripping her hand, but saying nothing. She didn’t know what she’d do without him here. That scared her too.

A woman in her late fifties approached them. Her hair was salt and pepper and pixie-short. Her gait was more of a waddle than a walk because she was a very heavy woman. “I’m Karen Fox. You must be Detective Mackey and Miss Eaton.”

“Yes,” Nick answered. “Thank you for seeing us.”

The caseworker motioned for them to follow. After weaving through a series of cubicles, they sat in a cramped space on the other side of Miss Fox’s desk near the window.

She cleared her throat. “Detective, as I told you on the phone, closed adoptions are done for a reason. You would need a court order to obtain information, and no judge would grant that unless under extreme circumstances.” She raised her hand to cut off his protest. “However, after you called, I located the file and reviewed it. The only reason I will share some information with you is because of a note in your file. Your grandmother told me if you should ever come looking for your birth mother, I was to give you this information and nothing else. No names, no numbers. Just this. She does not want contact.”

Trisha looked at her, waiting for more. “Do I want to hear this? Do you have anything useful?”

The caseworker paused, the scrutiny in her gaze telling Trisha she was weighing her words. “Your biological mother was a drug addict. Heroine and cocaine mostly. She lived on the streets and in halfway houses. The county didn’t even know you existed until she was found dead of an overdose. You were found with her. We located her family, which was just her mother—your grandmother—but she hadn’t seen your mother in years. She didn’t want custody or any parental rights. At that time, you were placed with the Eatons and the adoption followed.”

“What about the father?” Nick asked, his voice hoarse.

“No one knows. There wasn’t one listed. I doubt even your mother knew.”

“I had new clothes when you brought me to the Eatons,” Trisha said, wondering who was kind enough to help her even that much.

Karen nodded. “Your grandmother. She didn’t want to see you, but she bought you a few things when you entered foster care.”

“Is there any other family who knew about her?” Nick asked. “A brother? Anyone?”

“I don’t know, and I couldn’t tell you if I did.”

Nick rose, patting Trisha’s shoulder to direct her to do the same. “Thank you, Miss Fox. We appreciate the help.”

****

“What do you mean…
he’s gone missing
?” Nick barked into the phone. If Trisha weren’t in the car, he’d bang his head against the steering wheel.

“Like I said, boss,” Steve said, “I went to pick up Wayne at his place to go fishing. He wasn’t there. No one’s seen him for days.”

“Is his car in the garage?”

“No. The front door was unlocked, but I didn’t go in. I just called for him with no answer.”

Nick merged the car onto I-94. “It’ll be an hour before we’re back. Go interview the Eatons and the Hernandezs. Find out if they’ve seen him and when.” He closed his phone and glanced at Trisha. “Wayne’s missing.”

She didn’t respond. In fact, she had been mute since Karen Fox’s office appointment.

As he drove them back to Small Rapids, Nick wondered what the hell Wayne was thinking. As far as he knew, Wayne had spent most of his life in that town. He never spoke of family. Wayne hadn’t left his house much since Lafferty took his badge and gun. There was no way to tell just how long he’d been gone.

Nick dialed Lafferty. “Wayne Radcliff is missing. Put out an APB on his car. I don’t know the plate number off hand, but the car is a white Oldsmobile Cutlass. Mid- 90s, I think. I need a warrant to search his house, too.”

“Got it. You won’t need a warrant, though, if he’s a missing person.”

“I’m covering my bases. Can you have it within the hour?”

“I’ll try.”

Nick hung up and immediately dialed one of the deputies, ordering him to meet him at the orchard to watch Trish so he could search Wayne’s place.

Finally.
Maybe they’d get some answers. But if Wayne Radcliff was their guy, there was no telling what he’d do or where he went.

Yet, the caller made no illusion as to who he’d go after next. Nick glanced at Trisha, then back to the road. He’d get to her over his dead damn body.

****

Nick donned a pair of latex gloves in Wayne Radcliff’s driveway, handing the other pair to his deputy, Troy. “Remember, don’t touch anything, and walk a straight line. If you find something, come get me.”

Troy nodded, and they entered Wayne’s house through the unlocked front door, just as Steve had said. The shades were all drawn in the small, two-bedroom ranch. No odor. Nick glanced around the living room just off of the entryway. Nothing looked amiss.

Nick told Troy, “Go check the kitchen and bath. I’ll get the bedrooms. We’ll meet back here to search the basement.”

As they separated, Nick entered the first bedroom. Trophy deer heads and large-mouth bass were displayed on the walls. A computer and printer sat on a desk in the corner. Nick moved the mouse to see if it was in sleep mode, but it was shut down. He’d let the Madison guys look at it when they arrived, which would be soon. They were on their way when they called with the warrant. He opened the desk drawer, finding nothing more useful than a few pens and tape.

Straightening, he glanced around once more before leaving to check the other room. A small cat bed and scratching post lay in the corner. No cat.

He poked his head out the doorway. “Troy, you see the cat anywhere?”

Emerging from the bathroom, the deputy shook his head. “No, and the shower is dry. So are the towels. Nothing else in here.”

Nick entered Wayne’s bedroom. Paneling circa 1970 was the only thing on the walls. The bed was made. He’d let Madison check the sheets. The dresser drawers were filled with clothes. No signs of a struggle, no rope. A suitcase and what could pass for dress clothes were the only things in the closet.

“Troy, were there any toiletries in the bathroom?”

The deputy emerged from the hallway. “Yeah. Deodorant, that kind of thing.”

Nick put his hands on his hips. “All his clothes are here. So is a suitcase. If he took off, he took nothing with him.”

“The fridge has beer and a few staples. There’s a T.V. dinner in the microwave. Cold.”

That’s when Nick knew. Wayne wasn’t their guy. No one takes off running with no clothes, no bags, and a dinner heating in the microwave. He was probably lying dead somewhere with a rope around his throat. Nick wasn’t taking any chances though. Wayne could’ve staged this knowing they’d think that very thing.

“Let’s check out the basement,” he said, leading Troy through the kitchen to the door.

Flipping the switch, they descended the stairs in silence. The dank smell of mildew was strong. Nick poked his head around the corner to the left, finding a utility room with a washer and dryer. The washer had clothes in it. The room held nothing else useful. The main room across from it was unfinished and stacked with damp boxes. They looked like they’d been there quite some time. Along the back wall was a tool bench.

“Nick, look at this.”

Nick turned and looked where Troy was pointing. Well, they’d found the cat. Dead. The smell of mildew overpowered the small feline's corpse. And if the spools of rope next to the litter box were any indication, they’d found Andrew and Chuck’s murder weapon.

Nick sent Troy back to the station while he waited on Lafferty’s people. After an hour, the detective exited the house and over to where Nick waited in the driveway.

“Annie doesn’t think the cat died of starvation. It was too fat. And the cat was stiff, so it’s only been there a couple days. The CSIs are taking some stuff to Gantry. Rope looks to be about the same size, but he’ll let us know.”

Nick nodded. “They find anything else?” Lafferty shook his head, so Nick straightened from where he was leaning against the SUV. “I’m heading over to Doc’s. See what he knows. Let me know when you hear something.”

****

Trisha curled her feet under her as she sat in a chair in her living room, mindful of the coffee she held. She was hoping it would warm her. She’d been so cold. Bone deep cold.

Her life was a nightmare. Though she had no recollection of those early years with her birth mother, hearing about her past from Karen Fox was jarring. Trisha glanced at her parents sitting on the couch. They had made mistakes, monumental ones, while raising her and keeping this secret. But she was loved. What they did was out of love. There was no doubt in her mind. They had nothing to do with Alexandra’s death.

But do they know who did?

Could Wayne have had anything to do with this?
He’d been like a second father to her. She couldn’t even remember him ever raising his voice. But he was missing. And as things stood, he was the most likely suspect. However she played this out in her head, someone she knew, probably someone she loved dearly, had killed their neighbor long ago and recently two of her good friends.

And wanted to kill her if she gave in to her demand for answers.

She’d always been curious by nature. About the house, Alexandra, life in general. But what made right now so important? After all these years, why was her sleepwalking and curiosity so dangerous now? Why not threaten her years ago? Why not just come after her? Her men, her friends, did nothing wrong.

Her chest ached. Tears threatened to come. Though she liked Andrew immensely, Chuck had been one of her best friends growing up. She missed him so damn much she choked on the memory of him. His humor, the laughter he could bring to any situation.

Her grief turned to anger.
No more.
This bastard would go after no one else. She spread the rumors around town about her owning the house. The only response was a couple of threatening calls. It was as disappointing as it was relieving. Nick was starting to ask what she was going to do with the Drake house. She knew almost from upon signing the deed what she wanted to do. And since the murderer didn’t bite the first time, this news would certainly have him coming.

Trisha looked over at her parents again. “I want to turn Alexandra Drake’s house into a bed and breakfast.”

Her father choked on his coffee. Her mother meticulously placed a bookmark in the book she’d been reading, closed it, and set it down on the table. “What?”

“Think about it,” she said calmly. “The house is too large for Small Rapids’ needs. Besides, the housing market is way down. I’m going to restore the house and turn it into a bed and breakfast. It will generate some jobs here and perhaps draw more tourism to the area. It’ll keep some of the small shops afloat, possibly even bring more business owners.”

Her mother didn’t even blink. Her father’s face drained of all color.

“I have a meeting with my men in an hour to discuss renovations. We can work on the interior during the winter months, the exterior in spring and summer around the orchard duties. Maybe open by October. The Halloween festivities at the orchard could be tied to the inn. We can open up that path and put down some running lights so guests can come and go from both properties with ease.”

Her mother sniffed, slowly stood, and left the room. Just like that. Without a single word. Her father watched the doorway long after her mother had gone. After several ticks from the wall clock, he returned his gaze to her. “Pumpkin, I love you. You know that. But I’m just not finding anything supportive to say right now. This is ludicrous. The town will never go for—”

Not wanting to hear another damn remark, she stood. “I love you too, Dad. But I’m not going to make any more excuses. What was done to that poor woman was monstrous. I’m going to set it right. I’m going to hold a town meeting next week after our Thanksgiving dinner. I’m going to tell everything.”