Find Me (13 page)

Conner shook his head, Sarah declined the offer of refreshments as they accepted the invitation to sit, an entire sofa cushion between them.

"Are you making progress in your investigation?" Pope asked as he settled into a silk-encased wing chair.

Nice. Someone else who liked to cut to the chase. "I'm still getting a feel for the community."

Pope relaxed more deeply into his chair. "How may I assist your endeavor?"

Sarah liked this guy already. Straight to the point. "Last night I noticed you have a perfect view of the chapel. That's a very nice telescope you have, by the way."

Pope smiled knowingly. "Indeed. That was you up at the chapel last night, was it?"

"It was." Tension rippled through Sarah as she considered that someone had stolen up behind her and given her what could have been a fatal shove. "Did you notice anyone else there last night?"

Pope moved his head side to side. "Only you. And I probably wouldn't have noticed your presence there if not for your flashlight. I considered reporting the activity, but then you were gone and I let it go."

She'd concluded as much. "Do you view the comings and goings at the chapel often?"

"Not until recently." He gestured to the soaring windows across the room. "When my wife and I commissioned this home we wanted to take in as much of the views as possible, the ocean as well as the mountains. The windows accommodate us quite well. The telescope is for watching the stars with my daughter."

"I'm sure the police have asked you this question already," Sarah ventured, "but I wondered if you saw anything or anyone the night Valerie Gerard was murdered?"

Regret etched across Pope's face. "Unfortunately not. I wish I had been watching that night. Perhaps I could have helped. Since that tragedy struck…"—he closed his eyes, drew in a heavy breath—"I try to keep an eye on the chapel." He blinked twice. "That's why I saw you last night."

"But then"—Sarah searched his face, his eyes, gauged the sincerity there—"you can't watch every minute."

He held her gaze, something like defeat in his. "So true."

Conner cleared his throat, whether to let her know it was time to go or from the emotional impact of the moment Sarah couldn't say.

"I'm sure the chief appreciates your efforts," Conner offered.

"It's the least I can do."

Sarah had other names on her list. She'd gotten all she was going to get here… for now. She stood, giving Conner a cue to do the same. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Pope."

He rose. "Please." Pope smiled. "Call me Jerald."

"Jerald. If I think of other questions…"

"Stop by any time," he offered. "I'm completely at your disposal."

"I appreciate that." Sarah surveyed the room before moving toward the hall. "Your home is magnificent."

"We enjoy it." He paused at the front entry. "You'll have to visit again when my wife and daughter are home. Perhaps you'll join us for dinner one evening."

"Absolutely." Sarah hesitated when he opened the door "Your daughter," she said to Pope, "was she close to either of the victims?" Unnecessary question actually. As Conner had pointed out repeatedly, everyone here knew everyone else.

"Not really." Pope seemed to weigh his words before continuing. "She attended school here in Youngstown with Valerie, but they were never close friends." He shook his head. "Such a tragedy."

Definitely a tragedy.

In the Jeep, Conner braked at the end of the cobblestone driveway. "Where to now?"

His enthusiasm was underwhelming. "The next name on the list. Marta Hanover."

Without comment, he pointed the Jeep in the direction of town.

Sarah found it quite abnormal that he didn't ask why she wanted to speak with the Hanover woman. Maybe he didn't want to open himself up to questioning. He'd been noticeably quiet since she'd questioned him about his personal life.

"In case you didn't know," he said abruptly, as if to defy any negative conclusions she might have reached, "Jerald Pope paid for Valerie's funeral. Paid off the mortgage on her family's home, too, so her father wouldn't have to rush back to work. The Popes are good people," Conner added without even a glance in her direction, "just like the rest of the folks around here."

"Interesting." Rich, powerful, and generous. A complex man. Sarah would keep that in mind as she assessed the people on her list. Each name was there as a result of having met one or more of the Big Three criteria.

Access to the victims was the primary reason Pope had made Sarah's list. He lived closer than anyone else to the crime scene. He had a daughter near the same age as both Valerie Gerard and Alicia Appleton.

Motive, means, opportunity. The Big Three.

No one committed a murder for anything less than one or all.

Hanover's Mercantile
, 10:00 A.M.

"Ms. Hanover?"

Marta Hanover was busy restocking the produce in her general store when Sarah and Conner approached. She had decided that his presence might actually gain her more cooperation than if she'd showed up on her own. The tactic had worked reasonably well with Jerald Pope.

Folks in small towns didn't take too well to strangers.

She had learned that the hard way, too.

"Kale, morning. How's Mr. C?"

"He's hanging in there. Thank you for asking."

Marta Hanover wiped her hands on her apron, arrowed a brief glance at Sarah. "You let your mama know that I'm bringing some special goodies by this evening."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll do that." Conner gestured to Sarah. "This is Sarah Newton. She's here to look into Valerie's murder and Alicia's disappearance."

Judging by the pained expression on his face, Sarah estimated that he wasn't anticipating a favorable reaction from the seemingly pleasant lady.

As Ms. Hanover's scrutiny swung to Sarah, she jumped in with both feet. "I sincerely appreciate your time, Ms. Hanover." Sarah thrust her hand in the woman's direction. "I'm here to help." Marta accepted the offered hand and gave it a rather limp shake. "I have ten years' experience working cases very much like this."

The older lady's eyes tapered with suspicion. "You're the one from that magazine."

"Yes." Sarah nodded. "
Truth Magazine
is an investigative journal. We work particularly hard to find answers in tragic cases like this one."

Marta's hands settled on her hips. Not a good sign. "The problem here is simple," she said frankly. "That Enfinger fellow has barged in with his big plans and walked all over our history. Mark my word, things won't be right until he's gone for good."

"That may certainly be the case," Sarah placated. "I was hoping you might be able to help me confirm some of the facts."

The pleasant-looking, loose-tongued lady had been quoted in several newspapers. That was why her name was at the top of Sarah's interview list. The woman loved to talk.

Marta glanced around the store. A gentleman, probably her husband, was at the counter running the register. A couple of stock boys were filling the shelves. Five, maybe six customers milled about. No one appeared to be paying attention to the quiet conversation going on in produce.

"Let's go in the back," Marta said with another quick assessment of the man behind the counter.

"Of course." Sarah followed the lady through the double doors marked Employees Only; Conner was right behind her.

Marta went over to a large commercial sink and washed her hands. She pulled off a couple of paper towels and leaned against the counter. "Valerie Gerard was a good girl," she began. "I'm sure Kale told you that."

Sarah nodded to keep her talking. She had reviewed the history on the girl, as well as her MySpace and Facebook pages. She appeared to have been a great girl. Not the typical rebellious teenager.

"Her family's just devastated. She was their only child and they'd poured everything they had into that girl. They had high hopes for her future. There was talk of Harvard."

As any good parent would. Not that Sarah would know.

"She worked here during Christmas vacation," Marta offered. "She was a hard worker and always kind to our customers. We didn't have one complaint. She was never late and never missed a single day."

"She sounds like the ideal teenager," Sarah commented. She had this part already. What she wanted to learn was the flip side. Everybody had one. "Did she have a boyfriend?"

Marta moved her head side to side. "She was too focused on her studies to be fooling with boys. She didn't even date as far as I know."

"That's right," Conner cut in. "She went to her senior prom single." He said to Sarah, "Her friends have confirmed there was no boyfriend, then or now."

"What about her friends?" Sarah looked from Conner to Ms. Hanover. "Did she have a lot of friends?"

"Not that many." Marta pursed her lips a moment. "All you had to do was look at the
Youngstown Sun
to know that Valerie Gerard didn't bother much with a social life. She was always involved in activities that would further her education or that supported the community."

"How would you compare Valerie to Alicia, the girl who's missing?"

Marta tossed the wadded-up paper towel into the closest trash receptacle. "No comparison."

"Can you be more specific?"

"Alicia has herself lots and lots of boyfriends. Parties. Big social life." Marta threw up her hands. "Not that I'm talking bad about the girl. She's a pretty good kid. Just a little wild. But no one"—her gaze locked with Sarah's—"deserves this."

"You're so right. I certainly hope I can help find her."
Before
it's too late.

"Alicia's always in the paper, too," Marta went on. "She's won all kinds of beauty pageants and her grandparents have her in every kind of dance and theater activity around here. They take her to New York shopping about once a month. They've spoiled that child. Maybe a little too much."

"Do you know the name of Alicia's most recent boyfriend?"

"Brady Harvey," Conner cut in. "His family owns the inn where you're staying."

Sarah hadn't met the innkeeper's family. She'd have to make it a point to do that. Brady definitely went on her list.

"Thank you, Ms. Hanover." Sarah reached into the front pocket of her shoulder bag for a business card. "I hope you'll call me if you think of anything you believe might be useful."

Marta took the card, considered it, then set her attention on Sarah. "It's the curse."

Sarah started to let it go, but something in the woman's eyes made her rethink that strategy. There was something more there than idle speculation. "Why do you say that?"

"I saw the roses."

Conner and Sarah exchanged a look. "What roses?" he asked.

"The red ones. A big bouquet. Sandra Gerard got them the day before they found her girl's body."

Sarah noticed the new tension in Conner's posture. This was something he didn't know. "Who were they from?" Sarah inquired before he could.

"The card was unsigned. Just said,
Deepest regrets
!" Marta shrugged. "When I took that fruit basket to Sandra I asked her about them. I didn't say nothing, of course. I didn't want to upset her."

"Did you speak to Chief Willard about this?" Conner was visibly agitated now.

Sarah was mildly intrigued.

Marta frowned as she shook her head. "I didn't really think about it. I figured the chief would remember same as I did. You're too young," she said to Conner. "But the day before those two missing girls were found twenty years ago, each family received a big old bouquet of red roses. They never did know who sent them. Could've been anybody, I guess."

"No one thought the flowers were relevant?" Sarah asked.

"I guess I can see why they wouldn't," Marta explained. "When there's an illness or death or something like that, most folks take something to the family. It's the community's way of helping. I just thought it was an odd coincidence."

Sarah scarcely took the time to thank the lady before walking quickly to the parking lot. "Take me to the Gerards' home." He wouldn't like her request. If she hadn't let him talk her into riding along in his vehicle, she could just go. She wanted to see those flowers. To touch them. Her instincts were humming.

"That's probably not a good idea." He paused on the sidewalk. "The family's been through enough. They've—"

Frustration lashed through her. "Their daughter is dead. What the hell do they expect? To just close the book and forget the last chapter? There should be more questions!" She was pissed now. "The questions shouldn't stop until we have all the answers."

For five seconds he stared at her.

She was the first to blink. Damn. That almost never happened.

"Fine. We'll go over there." He stepped off the curb. "But it's a waste of time. Like I was trying to tell you, Valerie's parents have gone to Florida for a couple of months to stay with friends." He looked at Sarah across the top of the car. "You're right, the investigation has to continue, they just couldn't be a part of it anymore."

"If they're not home, what does it matter if I snoop around? They'll never know." These people had to get past the whole "let's not inconvenience anyone" or "hurt anybody's feelings." A girl was dead! What did it take to wake them up?

"You wouldn't understand." He shook his head. "There's this thing called respect—"

"That doesn't make sense." How was trying to find their daughter's killer being disrespectful?

"Just get in the Jeep, Newton."

Sarah kept her mouth shut during the drive along Main. He turned onto Central Street and she mentally braced. Going to the victim's home was one of the worst parts. Seeing things the way they used to be and knowing it would never be that way again. Looking into the eyes of those left behind… but there was nobody home here.

That felt wrong. Maybe she just couldn't understand the reaction. Bury your child and then take off?

But then, she was definitely no expert on the interactions between parents and their children.

Conner parked at the curb in front of 1118 Central. It wouldn't have mattered whether or not Sarah knew the address already. The evidence of loss was all over the place. Hundreds of bouquets. Cards and stuffed animals. Candles. The front of the house and the porch were lined with gifts.

"I don't know about you," Conner said, "but I would find it difficult to come home to this."

They emerged from the Jeep simultaneously. Sarah couldn't take her eyes off the house. The rest of the neighborhood didn't matter. The feeling of emptiness, despite the visible outpouring of gifts, was overpowering.

Maybe he had a point.

Sarah climbed the steps. She didn't knock or ring the bell, she tried the door. Locked.

"That would be trespassing," Conner warned.

She didn't care. The need to go inside—to see—was overwhelming. She had to do it.

Her feet had taken her down the steps and around the corner of the house by the time he'd caught up with her.

"Ms. Newton—Sarah—don't push it. I'm not about to let you break the law," he cautioned.

At the side of the house, farthest from the street, she crunched through the snow and pressed her face to the nearest window.

Kitchen. Vase after vase of flowers lined the counters.

Her heart skipped a beat, then started to pound frantically.

On the center of the island was the only vase of red roses. A full dozen, at least. Clear glass vase, water almost exhausted. Several of the velvety heads drooped with the passage of time, but others still stood tall and open. Petals had fallen on the white counter, their deep crimson color like drops of blood.

She faced Conner. "You have to call Chief Willard. There could be prints on the card… on the vase." The possibilities raced around in her head. "This may be the only break the investigation gets."

Conner held up his hands. "Just wait a minute. We don't know that this means anything."

But it did. She knew it. Urgency swam through her veins. "Never mind." She considered what she was about to suggest. Definitely the best strategy. "We can talk to the chief later." She leveled a take-no-prisoners look on Conner. "We need to go to the Appletons'. Now. If they've gotten the roses already…" She swallowed back the threat of defeat. "It may be too late."