Consider the Crows Page 18

  The porch light blinked on and David opened the door. “Susan,” he said with surprise. “Looking for a port in a storm?”

  “Something like that. May I come in?”

  “Of course.” He took her coat and hung it in a closet, then led her into the living room.

  “You’ve been eating salami,” she said. The garlic smelled wonderful after what she’d just left.

  “Leftover pizza. Marvelous things, microwaves. Would you like some?”

  She hesitated only a moment. The last solid food she’d eaten was the cheeseburger six hours ago. When she nodded, he set off for the kitchen and she settled on the couch, long and low, of a deep blue color, new since the last time she’d been here. For months there’d been only a card table and two folding chairs, as though he were camping out. Now the place looked like somebody had moved in. It was warm and pleasant with polished wood floors and oriental rugs in ivory and blues, Impressionist prints on the walls, silver candlesticks on a dining room table.

  He set a plate on the oak coffee table in front of her, two generous slices of pizza, piled with salami and dripping cheese.

  “Beer?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Business then, and not pleasure.”

  “Don’t be so smart.”

  “Designer water? Coffee?”

  “Instant will do. You don’t need to grind exotic beans and brew up excellence.”

  “Your education has been sadly lacking in some areas.”

  “Hey, I’m only a dumb cop.”

  The coffee appeared, boiling hot. He fetched a bottle of beer, took a long swallow and sprawled in the easy chair, which gave a soft sigh. She felt like sighing too. The adrenaline jazzing through her system ever since they’d opened the well ran out, leaving her with all the energy of a large rock. Ridiculous thoughts skated across the surface of her mind. He looked good, even in faded jeans and old gray sweatshirt. Why not hurl herself in his lap and run her fingers through his blond curls?

  The thought startled her. Not since Daniel died had a thought like that come to her. She wrapped both hands around the cup and took a sip. Too hot. Risk ruining a good friendship? Get a grip on yourself. And remember you’re here on business.

  Carefully, she approached a slice of pizza, trying to keep control over long strings of cheese. She chewed and swallowed. “Dr. Egersund came to see you,” she said.

  “She did.”

  “She tell you she was Lynnelle’s mother?”

  He smiled. “Is that what this is about? You know I can’t tell you what she said.”

  “Good old privileged information. Just thought I’d give it a try.”

  “Now that’s out of the way, would you like a beer? No? So why have you come?” His tone more than the words hinted at cozy possibilities.

  Didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Must be unused hormones. She picked out a disk of salami and poked it in her mouth. Getting involved was too open to pain. Never again.

  She could hear her father’s approval—just the kind of man you should be with. That was enough right there to make her turn away. Stupid leftover from childhood, this perverse instinct to mutiny.

  Her father was an attorney, had wanted her to be one. She graduated from law school and passed the bar exam, all according to his plan; then became a cop because she was afraid she’d never be good enough, never measure up to his standards.

  “We found Audrey Kalazar’s body,” she said.

  “Body? She was killed?”

  “She was indeed.”

  “Where?”

  “Where killed? I don’t know yet. Where found? Abandoned well. On your property. Did Lynnelle ever mention it?”

  “A well? Of course not. Why would she?”

  “We also found something else in the well.” She watched him for a reaction; if he gave any, she couldn’t see it.

  He waited, enquiring look on his face, took a swallow of beer. “You going to tell me?”

  Why not? She was too tired to set little verbal traps and pounce when he fell in. It had been a long day, the room was too warm and her mind was too soggy. He was too sharp for traps anyway. “Bonds.”

  “Bonds?” He plunked the bottle down and stared at her.

  “When did you get this annoying habit of repeating what you’re told? Bearer bonds. Sealed in mortar between bricks in that well. Several packets, apparently. We don’t know yet how many. More thorough investigation in the morning.”

  “Bonds,” he said as though they were something he’d never heard of before.

  “There you go again.”

  “I’ll be damned. You found old Uncle Howie’s fortune.”

  “You knew nothing about them?”

  “Come on, Susan. Do I look like the kind of man who’d leave bonds in a well?”

  No, he didn’t.

  “Howie went sort of nutty after Lowell died.”

  “Lowell?” Now she was doing it.

  “Howie’s son. Committed suicide.”

  Oh, yeah. George had told her about that.

  “Well, well. Small wonder nobody ever found anything.”

  “Lynnelle ever give any indication she had found them?”

  He shook his head. “She couldn’t have. What would she be doing in the well?”

  Stealing bonds. Though how she’d know they were there to steal was a good question. How many people examine abandoned wells just on the off chance? Someone killed her to get greedy hands on them? They were legally David’s, although he might have a hard time proving it if someone else had possession.

  “Whoever killed Lynnelle killed Audrey Kalazar?” he asked.

  “Anything you can tell me to help?”

  “I wish I could,” he said.

  What did that mean? He wished he had information? Or he wished he could tell her information he did have?

  She sipped coffee that was finally cool enough and tore off a bite of pizza. She chewed slowly and swallowed. “You called me this afternoon. What did you want?”

  For a moment, he looked blank. “Oh that. Dr. Egersund started me thinking.”

  He paused long enough that she prodded him. “About what?”

  “That old house.” His eyes seemed focused inward.

  “Why did talking with Egersund make you think of that?”

  Slowly, he shook his head. “Just remembering stuff from years ago.”

  “What stuff?” she prodded again. The warmth and the food and the comfortable couch were making her drowsy; her mind wanted to drift, not ask questions.

  “I worked for Howie a summer when I was a kid.”

  Her mind snapped alert. “When would that have been?”

  “Twenty years, maybe more.”

  “Did you know Carena Egersund then?”

  “No.” He shook his head, started to say something, then changed his mind. “No, nothing like that and now I think about it, it’s probably not important. You probably already know about the kitchen cabinet.”

  “What about it?”

  “Tall narrow cabinet by the stove. The floor boards lift out and there’s a space underneath. Secret compartment,” he added with a smile.

  “How do you know this?”

  His smile grew broader. “Do I assume from your tart tone that you didn’t find it? I happened to see Lowell replacing the boards one time. He was such a funny kid, and it was obviously something he didn’t want anybody to know about that I never mentioned it. I forgot all about it until this afternoon.”

  “Funny in what way?”

  He thought for a moment. “Troubled. I don’t really know. I was only a kid myself and I just thought he was weird. I didn’t know how to talk to him so I left him alone.”

  Buried treasure, secret compartments. What next?

  18

  “ANY OTHER LITTLE items of interest you can tell me?” she asked.

  “Nope. No more pizza either.” He wiped his hands on a paper napkin, balled it up and tossed it on the fi
re. “More coffee?”

  She looked at her watch. After eleven. “May I use your phone?”

  “It’s in the kitchen.”

  The bright overhead light gleamed on white ceramic tiles and white porcelain appliances. Either he was very tidy or he had some efficient person keeping things clean. Maybe she should ask him; her own kitchen could use this kind of attention. The phone sat on the corner of a cabinet and she picked up the receiver and punched in a number.

  “Yeah,” Parkhurst said, sounding irritated. Eleven o’clock on Thursday night. Had she interrupted something?

  “It’s Susan. I’m headed for the Creighton place. I’ll come by and pick you up in ten minutes.”

  “Why?”

  David came in with a stack of dirty dishes and put them in the sink.

  “I’ll explain later,” she said to Parkhurst and hung up.

  “I don’t suppose I can convince you to stay awhile,” David said.

  “Sorry,” she said, mind back on track, the investigation taking over.

  “Always the cop.” He got her coat and held it while she slid her arms in the sleeves.

  * * *

  Parkhurst lived on Walnut Street in a neat brick Tudor tucked in behind two large bare-limbed trees. He stood on the curb, breathing steam, and he yanked open the door as she pulled up. “What’s going on?” he said as he slid in.

  “I’ve been talking with David McKinnon.” She told him about the false floor in the kitchen cabinet.

  Snow sparkled under the headlights when they left Hampstead behind and rolled along the unmarked country road, snow tires biting in with a solid grip.

  Parkhurst snugged up the seat belt. “Why didn’t he tell us this earlier?”

  “He only just remembered.”

  “What’s his motive for telling us now?”

  “He only just remembered.”

  “Ha.”

  “You think he had some ulterior motive?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What?”

  White teeth flashed in a quick smile. “Not apparent. Anything else he just remembered?”

  Like he fathered a child twenty-one years ago? “No.” She gave a brief recap of their conversation.

  Arms folded, he glared through the windshield. She darted a glance at him. He seemed angry, fogging up the windows with it. She pushed on the defroster. The pickup plowed through virgin snow at what she felt was reasonable speed given the darkness and road conditions, but it did slide once or twice on the curves. Each time he tensed and caught his breath. At the long driveway up to the house, she made the turn too tight and the pickup skidded. She overcorrected, then straightened and got it under control and plowed on.

  “Stop!”

  Automatically, her foot hit the brake, the pickup slewed in a half-circle. “What the hell—”

  He hit the door handle and took off.

  “Parkhurst—”

  For a moment, she sat stupidly staring through the open door at the falling snow. Goddamn it. He just teetered over the edge? He’s trying to say something about my driving?

  Reaching across the seat, she punched open the glove box and retrieved the flashlight, then got out. Cold wind pinched her face and she tucked her chin in her collar, cinched her trenchcoat and plowed through snow, flicking the light back and forth over his footprints, rapidly filling with snow, leading across the open field toward the woods. She floundered, sliding on hidden weeds and uneven areas. At the edge of the trees, she hesitated. Somehow she’d lost the trail. She cast the light around. Under the trees, the snow was less dense, but if there were prints she couldn’t spot them. Hearing the crunch of a foot against snow, she switched off the light and stood motionless.

  “You don’t need to stand there in the dark.”

  She flicked on the light and shined it in Parkhurst’s face. “You mind telling me what that was all about?”

  “I saw someone.”

  “Who?”

  “Thought I saw someone.”

  “You can see in the dark through a blizzard?”

  “No.” His teeth flashed white in a wolfish grin. “But whoever I was chasing could. Disappeared in a wink. Didn’t make any noise either.”

  “Police! Stay where you are! Put your hands up!”

  “Chief Wren,” she said and briefly held the light pointed up to illuminate her face.

  “Oh geez, Chief, ma’am. I’m sorry.” Officer White, dressed like an Eskimo, holstered his gun with a rather shaky hand. “I heard somebody running and then I heard voices.”

  “Anything been happening out here?” Parkhurst asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “You hear anything earlier?”

  “Uh—no, sir. A time or two I thought I did. But just the wind, you know.”

  “You didn’t see anybody?”

  “No, sir. Just you.”

  “Where were you a couple minutes ago?”

  “Right there stuck to the well.”

  Parkhurst nodded. “Get back to it. We’re going to take a look around.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Susan and Parkhurst tromped through the woods, shining flashlights around and found nothing.

  “Apparently didn’t leave any footprints either,” she said dryly as they mushed back to the house.

  “It’s snowing,” he said.

  “You imagined it,” she said.

  “Yeah, maybe. I saw a shadow and then it was gone.” He unlocked the door, reached in for the light, then waited for her to go in ahead of him. Leaping around after shadows seemed to improve his mood.

  It was colder inside the house than outside. The cabinet, built into the wall beside the ancient gas stove, was five feet high, two feet wide and two feet deep. It had three shelves with a few cans, mostly dog food and a twenty-five-pound bag of dry dog food on the floor.

  They scooped up the cans, removed the shelves and knelt to peer at the floorboards. She held the light while Parkhurst tapped the boards and, leaning on a palm, put pressure on various spots. The boards seemed solid.

  “You suppose McKinnon looked in here before he told us about it?”

  “Just figure out how to get in.”

  “If we don’t find anything, McKinnon got here first.”

  “What’s this prejudice you have against David?”

  Parkhurst took the light from her, squeezed his shoulders inside and stuck his nose inches from the baseboards. He grunted, backed out and straightened up on his knees to get a pocket knife. Carefully, he inserted the blade behind the baseboard and wiggled it gently, then applied more force. The baseboard popped out.

  “Not nailed in,” he said and pulled out the other three.

  The floorboards, fitted tightly together, lifted easily. They looked at each other with smug looks of congratulation and then practically slugged each other aside to see what they had.

  Notebook. Ordinary blue-gray three-ring binder. Lordy, Lordy, what have we here? She got her hands on it. The space, only about two feet square, also had bills, checkbook, letters from Shelley, canceled checks and a scattering of receipts for paid bills and purchases.

  “Why didn’t we find this before?” she said.

  “You want to kick me a few times? Then I’ll go kick Osey a few times.” He made neat little stacks, as he separated bills, letters, receipts. “Why’d she hide all this stuff away?”

  “I think she was secretive by nature. It probably appealed to her to have a secret hiding place. And maybe she didn’t want stepfather Herbert going through this.” Susan picked up the binder. “Let’s get out of here before we freeze to death.”

  They gathered everything up, placed it in a paper bag and left.

  * * *

  With Parkhurst right behind her, she trudged through snow toward her house.

  “You ought to leave a light on,” he said.

  “I didn’t plan on coming in this late.” She unlocked the door and flicked on the kitchen light. Mess, big mess. Dirty dishes, full ashtrays,
table littered with books and papers. No telling what kind of chaos the kitten had added.

  Parkhurst’s eyes held a glint of amusement as though he was aware of her discomfort. With a glance at the table, he said mildly, “Maybe the other room?”

  She led him through the dining room, turning on the light as she went, and was relieved to see the kitten hadn’t destroyed the living room in her absence. Lynnelle’s binder clutched to her bosom, she stood looking around, feeling like a hostess caught unaware and wanting to make apologetic noises. Shit, this isn’t a social call. So what, if he thinks I’m a slob.

  She dropped the notebook on the coffee table and switched on lamps at either end of the couch. “Drink?” she asked, slightly less than gracious.

  “Sure.” Shrugging off his jacket, he tossed it over the back of the easy chair and pushed up the sleeves of his white cable-knit sweater.

  In the kitchen, she shed her trenchcoat, clinked ice into two glasses and tipped scotch over it. She sipped from one and grimaced, dumped it in the sink and put water on for coffee. When the tea kettle shrieked, she spooned coffee crystals in a dirty mug and added hot water.

  Resting on his heels, Parkhurst crumpled newspaper under logs in the fireplace and struck a match. Great. Those were the papers she was saving to read when she got the chance. She handed him the scotch. He smiled tightly, lifted the glass in her direction and took a sip, then picked up the binder and settled cross-legged with his back to the fire.

  She joined him, legs also crossed Indian-style, fire warming her back and read over his shoulder.

  The first page, ordinary lined notebook paper, was dated June 13.

  TODAY I AM NOBODY

  Parkhurst looked at her, raised his eyebrows and turned the page. “My past is a shoebox,” he read aloud.

  An old shoebox covered with dust way at the back of my mother’s closet. Rose’s closet. From now on I’ll call her Rose. She lied to me. Everything was a lie. All those times she told me she loved me and I was so special. Lies! How could she do that to me! I’ll never trust anybody again!

  Looking over his shoulder, Susan could see that the handwriting had deteriorated as numbed bewilderment boiled over into rage. Adoption papers were clipped to the next page, followed by an old letter addressed to Rose. Lynnelle had underlined several sentences. Susan leaned closer to decipher the scrawl.