The Truth About Comfort Cove (24 page)

It didn’t affect the work, though. As long as she wasn’t moving.
Ramsey was on his computer, logged in to the Comfort Cove P.D. when he saw a message come through.
“Hey,” he said. “We got an answer back on one of the numbers in Colton’s phone records. It’s one of those prepaid cells.”
“Which makes it untraceable. Why would someone be calling him on a number that can’t be traced?”
“Could be someone who can’t afford a regular cell phone, but it’s curious, isn’t it?” He went back to the phone records to check when the first call came in from the number in question. “He received his first call from that number last Tuesday, at 2:55 p.m.”
“Right after we were at UC asking about him.”
His blood was racing in a way that was familiar to him. He was on to something big. The break in the case was coming.
“Someone we talked to notified Jack.”
“And that could explain why he was so calm and prepared when you interviewed him last weekend. My money is on the professor,” she said. “That Beck woman.”
“I was thinking Chester Brown.”
“Then we go back to both of them.”
He agreed. “Unfortunately, we’re in Comfort Cove. With a wedding to attend tomorrow.” Maybe she’d suggest that they miss the wedding. Emma would rather they find Claire than watch her get married. And Ramsey would rather be working than anything else.
Especially now. He was teetering on the brink of something disastrous, now that he knew Lucy in a personal sense, and the only way to circumvent the inevitable, to protect himself and everyone else, was to bury himself in work.
“You could try calling the number,” Lucy said, Amelia’s book open in front of her. But her attention was on Ramsey. “See if someone answers.”
“We risk tipping them off to the fact that we’re on to them if we do that.”
Colton didn’t yet know that Ramsey had warrants for his personal belongings. He only knew about the financials.
“So we phone Professor Beck and Chester Brown and tell them we’re doing a follow-up call.”
She wasn’t letting him off the wedding hook.
“Wait a minute, Ramsey, look at this.” Lucy slid Amelia’s book over beside his laptop, which he moved to make room so he could see where her finger was pointing.
“Amelia says she got an extra preemie blanket made for the church’s blanket drive for the neonatal intensive-care unit at Boston General because she’d been woken by Jack’s raised voice,” she said. “She thought she’d heard him say something about a baby. Later she’d asked him about it and he’d said that he’d said
maybe.
He apologized for waking her up. He’d been talking to someone he worked with who’d been out drinking and wanted to know if Jack would come pick him up and give him a ride home. She made the note because when she heard the word
baby
and couldn’t sleep for loneliness creeping in, she calmed her heart by making the blanket. She finishes the entry by saying that God always takes care of those who take care of others.”
He was reading as she was speaking.
“I’ll bet Jack did say
baby,
Ramsey.”
Ramsey was sure of it. Calling the station, he put out an APB on the man. And when he hung up, Lucy was just ending a call, as well.
“That was Lori Givens,” she said slowly, frowning.
“From the DNA lab in Cincinnati?”
“Yeah. She says she found something. It sounds really important.”
“She didn’t tell you what it was?”
“No.” Lucy shook her head, her blond hair more tousled than usual. “She said that it’s going to be pertinent to your case, and since you’re the lead, she feels that you would want to make sure that all protocols are properly followed. She’s sending the results to your work fax number. It must have to do with Frank Whittier, Ramsey. And that sample you sent her.”
He picked up his keys. “Then let’s go.”

W
_{aiting impatiently while}
Bill greeted Lucy effusively, Ramsey tried not to notice the other man’s admiring glances toward his pseudo partner, or to care. Bill was crazy in love with Mary, and Lucy was not Ramsey’s to claim.

He’d slept with her. Past tense. And they’d agreed, going in, that it wouldn’t mean anything more than it had in the moment.
But instead of having her wait at his desk while he grabbed the fax off the machine on the other side of the room, he sat her with a cup of coffee she didn’t ask for in the break room that doubled as an interrogation room, closing the door behind her.
No telling who might walk into the squad room. Kim. One of the other, younger detectives on the squad. He didn’t need Lucy distracted right now. They were getting ready to close a twenty-five-year-old cold case.
Or at least close in on it.
Finding the perp didn’t automatically mean that they’d find out what happened to little Claire Sanderson.
After shutting the door behind Lucy, he went straight for the fax. With proof that Frank Whittier was Claire Sanderson’s biological father, he could prove motive for him taking her. With the new, previously undisclosed evidence, he could arrest the man on grounds of impeding a criminal investigation. And it just so happened that Frank was going to be in town later that day. Which meant that he wouldn’t have to extradite him.
Timing was everything.
He slid the fax cover sheet underneath the actual data page and briefly glanced at the headings, before going straight for the results.
Frowning, he then read the heading in full. It didn’t make sense. He pulled the cover letter back out, and read the message that Lori Givens had sent him.
And stood there.
Good God in heaven.

F
_rank
W
_hittier
’
_{s plane}
should have landed. Lucy waited impatiently for Ramsey to get back with the official word from Lori regarding Frank’s sample. Fully confident that all things happened as they were meant to, she knew there was no mistake that Lori’s call had come in on the very day that Frank would be in Massachusetts. They wouldn’t have to wait to have him extradited. They could bring him right in.

This one couldn’t wait until after Emma’s wedding. Lucy had faith that Emma would agree with her. If Frank had taken Claire, Emma would most definitely not want the man at her wedding.

Tapping her finger on the table in time with her foot on the floor, she wondered what was taking Ramsey so long. She didn’t want the coffee he’d poured. A little juice would be nice, though.

There were paper cups on the counter by the refrigerator. If Comfort Cove was anything like Aurora, there’d be juice in the refrigerator to go with those cups. And a place to drop change to help replenish the juice when the supply was depleted.

She waited another couple of minutes, eyeing the cups and the refrigerator and then got up to help herself. She’d just poured the juice into the cup—cranberry, not the orange she’d been expecting—and still hadn’t had the sip she’d been craving when Ramsey opened the door.

Cup halfway to her mouth, Lucy froze. “Ramsey? What is it?”
He was haggard-looking. His cheeks were drawn and his color wasn’t good. Heart pounding, she didn’t move.
“Sit down, Lucy.”
“Tell me what’s happened.” It wasn’t the fax. No matter how badly they wanted Frank Whittier, a case wouldn’t make Ramsey look as if he’d seen a ghost. He’d been gone too long.
“You need to sit down.”
It was Sandy. She’d left Ramsey’s number with Marie as a backup. Her mother had found out about Allie. She’d killed herself. She… “Tell me,” she said, her voice too loud. “Tell me, now.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Tell me!” The shrill tone couldn’t be her. But there was no one else there. Just the two of them. In a little room with a closed door blocking out the rest of the world. Her juice sluiced over the sides of her paper cup.
“Did Lori Givens show you how DNA matching works?”
She didn’t give a damn about Lori right now. “Yes,” she bit out. “When we were working on the Buckley case. I asked her to explain it to me.”
“And you gave her a sample of your DNA to use for the lesson.”
“Yes!” So what? Who the hell cared. “Tell me what’s going on, Ramsey!”
She had to know. Couldn’t take any more. Her limbs felt weak, but she wasn’t going to take this sitting down.
They kept their station too hot.
She couldn’t lose Sandy.
“We found Claire, Luce.” The elation that should have accompanied his statement wasn’t there. He sounded…lost.
Claire was dead, too. The knowledge settled on Lucy with a certainty that weighted her to her spot. They were going to have to tell Emma that her little sister hadn’t made it.
And by the look on Ramsey’s face, the little girl had suffered.
A lot.
“Where was she?” she asked. Still standing. Still holding her juice. There was no room in the moment for movement. Of any kind. Claire took everything they had.
“She’s here.” His eyes were warm. Settled on her. And vacant, too. As if he was seeing something she couldn’t see.
“Here? In Comfort Cove?” She’d been here all along? Buried not far from her home?
It wasn’t the statistic they’d been hoping for. Poor Emma.
As Ramsey nodded, Lucy felt the loss for her friend just as she had for herself earlier in the week. The loss of hope.
“Where?”
“Right here.”
He wasn’t making any sense.
“Where is she buried, Ramsey? Did she at least get a proper grave? Tell me she wasn’t thrown in a hole in the ground like Allie was!” She wasn’t in control.
“She’s not buried. She’s alive.”
Her chest burned. And hurt. “She’s alive.”
“Yes.” His stare was intent. He was telling her something. And she wasn’t getting it.
“Here.”
“Yes.”
“Where, here?”
“In this room, here.”
She looked around. There were only the two of them standing there. He was losing it.
“Where, Ramsey? I don’t see anyone else in here with us.”
“You’re her, Luce. You’re Claire Sanderson.”
Her glass of cranberry juice fell to the floor.

S
he was sitting on a chair
, bent over, with her head facedown in her knees. How she’d gotten there, how long she’d been there, Lucy didn’t know. A hand rested at the back of her neck, holding her. Activity flurried quietly around her.

“Get them in here.” That was Ramsey’s voice. Right above her. She was glad he was there.
Dots of red stained her ankles between her dark slacks and shoes, and stained the floor, too.
“Okay, back up. I’m sorry, Detective, we’ll need you to move.”
Black bulky shoes appeared in her line of vision. With blue cotton pants on top of them. A leather satchel, big and with a medical marking on it, appeared next to the feet. Her arm was taken, a band wrapped around it, and Lucy closed her eyes again.
She wasn’t her problem right now. Someone else would take care of it.

W
hen
L
ucy opened her eyes
again she was lying flat, stretched out on something cold and leather. Looking around, she noticed the refrigerator where she’d helped herself to juice.

Her mouth was dry. Had she ever had that sip of juice? She’d been waiting on Ramsey. Where was he? “You’re awake.”
He was there, at the end of the sand-colored divan that had

been along the far wall of the break room in the precinct room of the Comfort Cove detective’s squad room.
“Yeah. What happened?”
“You fainted. But your vitals are fine. If you hadn’t woken

up in the next minute or two the EMTs were going to take you in. I asked them to wait. But they’re right outside if you want to go.”

“Go where?”
“The hospital.”
She shook her head. It felt fine. And so she sat up. “I’m

not sick. Am I?”
“No…” He drew the word out.
Lucy saw the cranberry juice spattered on the floor and

the cupboard behind which she’d stood. She looked up slowly. Through the squad window she recognized curious, though comfortingly concerned, faces. Two EMTs. Bill Mendholson. Kim Pershing. Captain Winston, Ramsey’s boss.

And she shuddered.
Ramsey scooted closer, wrapped one of his big strong arms around her shoulders. “It’s okay, sweetie.” His chin touched the top of her head.
“No, Ramsey,” she said, feeling dizzy again. “I don’t think it is.”
“We’ve called the department psychologist,” he said. “She’s on her way up.”
“I don’t want to see a shrink right now, Ramsey.” She had this huge wall in front of her. And behind her. She was trapped between the two of them. All that existed was this room. Her. And Ramsey.
“Okay. You’re the boss.”
She nodded. Yes. She was the boss. She liked that.
They sat there. Ramsey holding her. People watching. And she started to cry, hiding her face in his chest. “I don’t know what to do,” she said through her sobs. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do right now.”
“Just sit here a minute, sweetie. We’ll get you some juice and then see how you feel. One step at a time, okay? For now, let’s just sit a minute.”
She could do that. She could sit. As long as Ramsey was holding her. But…
She made herself stop crying.
She felt weak when she cried.
Sniffling, she said, “You keep calling me ‘sweetie.’” And started to cry again. “It’s because you don’t know what to call me, isn’t it? I’m not Lucy to you anymore.”
He didn’t say anything and the part of Lucy’s mind that was working guessed that he hadn’t been coached that far in the brief time he’d had with whoever was telling him how to handle her.
Beyond that, she couldn’t think. Couldn’t comprehend what Ramsey thought. What he’d said.
“I’m here for you.” The emotion in his voice touched her. She didn’t want to feel. And she couldn’t stop the feeling from coming, either.
“I’m scared.”
“I know, sweetie. But you aren’t alone. I’ll be here with you every step of the way.”
Pulling back, she looked at him. “Will you, Ramsey? Will you really? You’ll stick this out?”
He hesitated and then, looking her straight in the eye, said, “Yes. I give you my word.”
She believed him. Whether he believed himself or not.

“I don’t want to move.” Lucy said what she was thinking, but she knew she couldn’t stay wrapped in the safety of Ramsey’s embrace forever.

She heard the door open. “Detective, can I come in?” The voice was female. Even. Calm.
“Dr. Zimmerman.” Ramsey’s chest rumbled beneath her cheek as he spoke. He didn’t move.
The door closed, a chair scraped, and Lucy knew that if she didn’t want to be hauled off, she was going to have to pull herself together.
“Lucy?” The doctor’s voice wasn’t far from her. And Lucy pulled herself out of the last safe harbor she might ever know. Sitting up, she looked over at the doctor, expecting to see pity in the other woman’s eyes. Instead, she saw intelligence assessing intelligence.
“You’ve had a shock.”
“Yes.”
“You remember what Detective Miller told you just before you fainted?”
“Yes.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“No.” She took a deep breath. “But I guess I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” With a glance toward the window, Lucy noticed that everyone but the EMTs had faded away.
Dr. Zimmerman shook her head. Lucy figured the woman was old enough to be her mother. And then had the crazy thought that she’d have to stand in line if she wanted to apply for the job. The doctor had a little bit of gray showing through her dark hair, and she wore a dress that Marie might have worn.
“I’m not sure what to do.” She repeated what she’d told Ramsey. “I mean, practically speaking, do I just get up and walk out of here and change my driver’s license?” The damned tears started again on that last word.
“No.” Dr. Zimmerman smiled softly as she shook her head again. “I think the best thing is for us just to sit here and chat for a few minutes. Would you like Detective Miller to leave us alone?”
Ramsey was still sitting next to her, but he was no longer touching her.
“No.” Her answer was unequivocal. Ramsey was the one person she wanted around. No one else felt real to her. In any life.
“Okay, then let’s talk about this morning.”
Right. She’d already lived through that. “You know how the discovery came about?”
She shook her head.
“You gave a sample of your DNA to a woman named Lori Givens… .”
“My friend from the DNA lab in Cincinnati. Or rather, Lucy’s friend.”
“You are Lucy Hayes. Don’t for one second think that you are not.”
“But I’m not really, am I?”
“Yes.” Dr. Zimmerman’s nod was emphatic. “You are also, by birth, Claire Sanderson. Our job, or your job with someone else if you’d prefer another therapist, is to help you bring the two together.”
For the first time since she’d woken up, Lucy felt just a small bit of familiarity. Like she had something she could grasp.
She felt a smidgen of relief.
The horror wasn’t gone. Nor was the fear.
“You aren’t going to lose yourself,” Dr. Zimmerman said.
“I feel like I have. Like I’m nobody, dropped into this room from outer space or something.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Tired of feeling like a fly under a microscope, she turned to Ramsey. “Tell me what Lori told you.”
There could still be some mistake. Her first course of action was to find it. And then she’d think about the world that was pressing at her mind.
“She meant to run Claire’s DNA against Frank’s, but she’d put his in her private database, the same place she had yours. She set the machine to look for a match and got a phone call. When she turned around she saw that she had a match for the Claire Sanderson DNA sample we got from Emma. But it wasn’t Frank, which made no sense to her, and then she saw that she’d set the search for the entire private database, not just Frank’s sample. She ran a second match with just the two specimens—yours, which you donated for your DNA lesson, and Claire’s, which we sent to her. She got an identical match a second time.”
“She’s sure it’s my DNA and not a second sample of Claire’s?”
“Yeah, she’s positive. And this also explains the DNA from the Buckley mansion that we thought was Claire’s. It was yours. From when you went there undercover.”
“The match that came through after we got Claire’s DNA from Emma.”
“Right. The original sample of Claire’s DNA from the Buckley home was taken from a piece of hair found in the box of hair ribbons.”
“Not on a hair ribbon.” She could focus on the case. That felt normal.
“Right.”
“I spent a bit of time in Gladys’s home. Amber had coached me. She wanted me to use my time there to do an unofficial search of the place, to see if I could find anything. I looked through those hair ribbons.”
“Our best guess is that when you were there undercover you shed a hair that made it to Lori’s lab with the rest of the evidence that was later recovered from the scene.”
“What are the chances of that?”
“There’s always that one small thing that ends up being the key to the truth.” Ramsey was talking to her the same way he always did. As if they were equals. Professionals.
“So she didn’t test my DNA sample against the one we sent of Claire’s from the ribbons Emma brought in? She only tested it against the sample we found of Claire’s DNA at the Buckley mansion?” It was her job to look at all the angles. To find the holes in logic that the D.A. would look for. Because the defense attorney would be sure to find it, too.
“No. She ran them both.”
“So according to my DNA, I’m Claire Sanderson.” She could say the words. She couldn’t fathom what they meant.
“Yes.”
She looked at Dr. Zimmerman. “What are my chances of coming out of this with my mind intact?”
“That depends on you,” the woman said, her expression serious. “Right now you’re coming out of a state of shock. That’s normal. The future depends on your ability to accept all of the emotions that will be coming at you as you go forward.”
“Accept them.”
“Let yourself feel them, Detective. Experience them and they’ll lose, at least in part, their ability to harm you. Push them away and you risk the chance of being emotionally displaced for the rest of your life.”
She couldn’t feel anything.
“I’m not going to lie to you,” the doctor said. “You’ve got a tough road ahead of you.”
Her whole life had been a tough road.