exposed (Twisted Cedar Mysteries Book 3) Read online

  She supposed she could randomly drive up and down the main streets of town in the hopes of spotting him or his bike.

  Then inspiration struck. Maybe Chester had gone to see his grandfather, Jim Quinpool. For a few years Jim and Muriel had lived with Kyle and the twins. If Chester was upset, his grandfather was an obvious person to run to.

  As she hurried back to her car, she called Jim. The phone rang and rang on the other end, but there was no answer. That didn’t mean Jim wasn’t home. He’d wanted custody of the twins after his son went to prison, and he’d been ticked off when the court appointed her, instead. Possibly he’d seen her name on call display and had refused to answer out of spite.

  So she’d just have to go flush him out. On the drive to Jim’s place—he now lived in an apartment above the realtor business he’d once run with Kyle—she tried Wade McKay, the Curry County Sheriff and a personal friend.

  The 911 call would be routed through his office. But she wanted to speak to him personally.

  Wade answered after the first ring.

  “Charlotte. We just got the call from Gabrielle Hodges. Where are you?”

  “In my car, on my way to J-Jim’s house.” She swallowed. At the first sound of Wade’s voice, she’d had a sudden urge to cry.

  But she couldn’t break down now. She had to be strong and hope for the best. That she would find Chester soon and he’d be fine.

  “I’ve already checked the park across from the school and the beach. Chester’s teacher is calling everyone in his class and the rest of the staff are searching the school.”

  “That’s good. Drive carefully Charlotte. Try to stay calm. I’m sending out every available vehicle to comb this town. Chances are good we’ll find him in the next half an hour or so.”

  Even as he said that, Charlotte passed a black and white SUV with “Sheriff Curry County” stenciled on the side panel. The driver, Deputy Dunne, gave her a wave and a nod, as if to say, “Don’t worry ma’am. We’re on this.”

  Before Dougal moved back to Twisted Cedars, she and Wade had dated. He’d even asked her to marry him once—though she was pretty sure he hadn’t loved her at the time. For sure he didn’t love her now. But she was grateful he wasn’t the sort of man to hold a grudge.

  “Thanks Wade. I just—thank you.”

  “Of course. We’ll be in touch.”

  Charlotte ended the call, but kept a tight hold on her phone. Please ring. Please be Nola, reporting that Chester had finally shown up. Or Olivia, saying Chester was fine, he’d gone home with a school friend...

  But her phone remained silent.

  She wished desperately that she had a way to reach Chester directly. The twins owned iPads which they weren’t allowed to bring to school. But they didn’t have phones. Their father had said they had to wait until they turned thirteen—a rule that had seemed reasonable to Charlotte, once.

  Now she swore that as soon as they found Chester, she would go out and get them, not just phones, but possibly GPS tracking devices she’d strap to their ankles.

  Charlotte turned onto Driftwood Lane, the town’s main drag, grateful that August was over and there was plenty of available parking. She was able to pull into a space right outside Quinpool Realty. The business was closed. It had been since Kyle’s arrest.

  She rushed out of her car, glancing around, hoping to see, if not Chester, then at least his bike. But neither one was in sight. She opened the door to the left of the glass door to Quinpool Realty, and then climbed a narrow, steep flight of stairs to the upper apartment.

  With each step her heart thumped harder. Sweat rose on her hands, filming against the phone and keys she was carrying. She put both into her pockets, then rubbed her palms on the light wool blend of her skirt.

  At the top of the stairs was a small landing and a wooden door with a peep hole and a slot for mail. She listened, straining for the sound of Chester’s voice within, but all she could hear was the faint drone of a television.

  She rapped on the door, waiting less than ten seconds before repeating.

  “Jim?” she called out. “It’s Charlotte. I’m looking for Chester.”

  Finally he opened. Behind him was a dimly lit room with a sofa and television. The room had a foul, stale, alcoholic odor. And so did Jim.

  He looked rough. Unshaven, clothes rumpled as if he’d slept in them—for more than one night—hair that had gone too long without a wash, or a cut. Considering he’d been one of the better dressed men in town once, it was a long fall.

  The man obviously needed help, but she couldn’t worry about that right now.

  “Is Chester here?” She scanned the room as she asked this. When she tried to step forward, Jim blocked her.

  “No, he isn’t. What the hell is going on?”

  Charlotte wished she had an answer for him. She would have given anything to see her nephew sitting on that disgusting couch, eating junk food and watching sit-com reruns with his grandfather.

  But he wasn’t here.

  He wasn’t at Nola’s, or at home, or the school or the park or any of the normal places he liked to hang out.

  So where was he?

  Charlotte’s mind went blank as a terrible fear took grip of her body and soul.

  Dougal had warned her that the horror that had gripped their town the past few months wasn’t over. Kyle Quinpool may have been arrested. Her sister’s death was being avenged. But there was a bigger evil lurking in Twisted Cedars.

  She didn’t want to believe it. But it seemed there was a very good chance Chester’s disappearance was linked to that.

  chapter two

  “Are you sure this is the right place?”

  Jamie Lachlan didn’t answer her brother’s question. Instead, she slid out of the passenger side of his SUV into tall wild grass that tickled the backs of her calves exposed by her capris cut jeans.

  They were at the far end of a gravel road that followed the Elk River into the Grassy Knob Wilderness. All around were giant trees, wild grasses and tangles of vine maples. The last sign of civilization, a rundown cabin, had been a few miles back. Even cell phone coverage didn’t reach this far.

  “Jamie? Is this the place?”

  She heard the driver side door slam shut and the sound of his footsteps swishing through the grass. But she couldn’t stop staring at the two story home in front of her.

  About a month ago she’d met a man here. Brian Greenway had contacted the CPA firm where she worked looking for tax advice for his extensive investment portfolio. The amount of money involved had been significant enough that her bosses had sent her out here to meet him—and get his signature on a letter of engagement.

  She’d been so excited at the time. Being sent to sign up a new client—especially an important new client like Brian Greenway seemed to be—had felt like a vote of confidence in her work. Not to mention an indicator that one day she would be invited to be a partner at Howard and Mason.

  But shortly after she’d obtained Greenway’s John Henry, he’d disappeared.

  According to the property management firm that handled this place, rent was paid up for six months. They had no idea Greenway wasn’t using the place anymore.

  But he so obviously wasn’t.

  Hard to believe that in just one month a property could come to look so neglected. But this one, with the overgrown lawn and curtained windows, did. All the patio furniture, including the stuff from the adjacent gazebo, was gone. As was the black pick-up truck that had been parked here last time.

  Only when Dougal put a hand on her shoulder, did Jamie come out of her trance and remember his question.

  “Yes. This is the place where I met with Brian Greenway.”

  Dougal’s dark eyes narrowed. At thirty-four her brother had six years on her, and the gap had always been a distancing one. The years he’d spent working as a true crime author in New York City hadn’t made them any closer. Nor had his almost violent opposition to her marriage to Kyle Quinpool last June.


  Time had proven Dougal right on that one, since Kyle was now in prison and their marriage was in the process of being annulled.

  But that didn’t mean he was right about everything.

  Even as she had the thought, Jamie recognized the petulance behind it.

  “Tell me what happened that day. Walk me through it.”

  She sighed, annoyed that he’d insisted on driving all this way, when she’d already told him every detail three times over. Training her eyes on the front door, she recalled the heat of the July day when she’d been here last. A chickadee had been singing when she stepped out of her car. “I parked just about where you did now. Greenway came to the door a moment later.”

  “Describe him.”

  Since Dougal was walking toward the house, she followed so she wouldn’t have to shout.

  “He was an inch or two shorter than you. Slender. He looked about sixty, I’d say. His hair was gray and short. Oh, he had a beard—it looked freshly trimmed.”

  Dougal tried the main door, which was locked, then attempted to peer into the windows, but the curtains effectively blocked his view. “How about his eyes? Are you sure you didn’t see them?”

  “He wore sunglasses the entire time.”

  “You didn’t get even a quick glance?”

  “I’ve told you all of this already. Why do you insist on going over it and over it?”

  Earlier that week Dougal had helped her settle into the new house she’d purchased on Horizon Hill Road. He’d moved her sofa from one wall to the other until she figured out where it looked best. He’d helped her connect her TV and Internet and had shown her how to program the fancy thermostat for the gas furnace.

  It was only because he’d been so nice that she’d finally given in to his demand to show her this place and to go over—yet again—her encounter with Brian Greenway last month.

  “I’m hoping you’ll remember something—a detail, a sentence, a word—that will help me prove my theory.” Dougal paused to look back at her. “I didn’t complain when you made me move that heavy sofa six different places before we pushed it back to the original spot did I?”

  “Fine. No, I didn’t get even a glance at his eyes. He claimed he was very sensitive to the sun. He had his sunglasses on the whole time.”

  “What about his voice? Did it sound familiar?”

  She paused. A breeze rippled through the grass, over her skin, through her hair. It had been dead calm the last time she was here. In her mind a voice echoed. “Call me Brian...Hope you didn’t mind the drive.”

  “I did have the feeling I’d heard his before. Which was strange because our meeting had been set up by Colin.”

  Dougal looked at her sharply. “Did it—sound like mine?”

  She could feel the pain behind the question. Dougal begrudged any resemblance between himself and their father. And that’s who he believed Brian Greenway really was. Their dad, Edward Lachlan, a man Jamie had never met—unless Dougal was correct and she’d spoken to him a month ago, in this very spot.

  “Maybe. I’m not sure.” When Dougal turned away in disappointment, she felt compelled to apologize. “I’m sorry. It was a while ago, okay?”

  “I didn’t mean to pressure you. What happened next?”

  “He suggested we talk in the gazebo.” She glanced at the cedar structure, about thirty feet from the house.

  “Let’s check it out.”

  Again Jamie followed her brother, pausing as he opened the screen door. When the hinges screeched in protest, she couldn’t remember if it had done so before. Inside cobwebs festooned the rafters like holiday garland, and a layer of grit had settled on the plank flooring.

  “There was a table here, before. And cushioned chairs. He’d set out lemonade and snacks.”

  But now the space was empty. She traced a circle with her steps, while Dougal stood and watched.

  “What did you talk about?”

  “He told me he’d been living here about a month and then he asked a bunch of questions about my background, including where I’d gone to college. I thought he was vetting me to see if I was qualified to handle his tax returns.”

  Was it possible she’d been talking to her father that day, without realizing it? Jamie found it almost impossible to believe she wouldn’t have felt some sort of connection if it were true.

  All her life people had been protecting her from Edward Lachlan. They told her he was a man with a dangerous temper, capable of great violence. It was why her mother, Katie, had kicked him out when she did, not even telling him she was pregnant with Jamie.

  The idea was that he would never even know he had a daughter.

  Years later, when Edward was imprisoned for killing his second wife, Katie’s caution was vindicated.

  Not exactly daddy of the year material.

  And, according to Dougal, he’d done worse. Much worse.

  “Did this Greenway actually show you his portfolio?”

  She nodded.

  “And is he wealthy?”

  Again she nodded, wondering if by so doing she was breaking client confidentiality, if indeed Greenway could still be considered one. He’d paid a significant retainer, but he’d also stopped answering phone calls and emails shortly after her visit. If Dougal’s theory was correct, his only purpose in approaching Howard and Mason had been to meet her. Now that he had, they’d never hear from him again.

  Despite the warm air, she shivered. “We talked about some of his tax issues, and then he asked if I’d like to walk down to the river.”

  “And you said yes,” Dougal continued, moving the script forward. “Show me where you went.”

  They left the gazebo and as Jamie picked out the faint trail through the forest to the river, she remembered more trivia from that day. “He talked about the salmon spawning in the drainage of Dry Creek. I asked if he was a fisherman. He said he didn’t have the patience.”

  The sound of rushing water grew louder as she made her way through the trees, her sandals crunching over small twigs and scattered pine cones. When she pushed aside the branch of a thick spruce tree, a squirrel came rushing down the trunk to scold her, before dashing back to safety.

  Jamie stopped when she came to the river bank. What a beautiful, magical place. The river spanned about twenty-five feet, disappearing from view as it curved to the right. “There’s a big waterfall beyond that curve, but you have to walk along these rocks to see it.”

  The river was shallow on this bank, so clear you could see perfectly to the pebbled floor. As Jamie stepped cautiously from one big rock to the next, the chattering of the river became a dull roar. She stopped well back from the ledge where the land abruptly gave way to a twenty foot drop.

  Even as she was doing so, Dougal grabbed her arm.

  “Careful! You’re too close to the edge.”

  “Brian Greenway warned me to be careful that day,” she recalled. “I remember I leaned too far forward and almost lost my balance. But then he pulled me back.”

  That brief moment of physical contact between them—it had passed so quickly. She’d felt nothing, no special bond, to suggest she was being touched by her father.

  “Shit, Jamie. Are you sure he wasn’t the reason you almost fell?”

  She started to deny it, then stopped. Memory was a funny thing. Now that Dougal had planted the idea in her head, she almost believed that yes, it had happened that way.

  “You’re trembling. Let’s sit down for a bit.” Dougal pointed to a log a few yards back from the ledge.

  Jamie sank down gratefully, stretching out her legs, but folding her arms over her chest. Even from this distance she could feel a deliciously cool mist from the cascading river.

  “If Brian Greenway was our father, why would he have pulled a stunt like that?”

  “He meant it as a message for me.” Dougal sat beside her, staring out at the river, his expression stony. “He killed our half-sister Joelle and her baby for the same reason. He wants me to write a boo
k about his killing spree in the seventies.”

  “Or else what? He’ll kill me next?” She tried to sound incredulous. Because it was unbelievable. And yet so many awful things had happened the past four months.

  When Dougal didn’t respond, she had to concede. “Maybe you’re right. God knows you were right about Kyle.”

  * * *

  Dougal was thirty minutes into the drive back to Twisted Cedars with his sister when the phone he’d tossed into his cup holder let out a series of chirps.

  Jamie’s phone was doing the same thing.

  “Guess we’re back in cell phone range.” Jamie fished her phone out of her purse. A moment later she said, “Oh, crap. No. No way.”

  “What is it?” Foreboding, cold as a rogue wave in December, washed over him. The call could be about anything. Maybe she’d missed an important meeting at work. But his fear was confirmed with her next words.

  “It’s Chester. He’s missing.”

  Icy fear slid down Dougal’s spine. He tried to push it away with reason. Kids broke rules sometimes. Maybe that’s all this was. “How long? Fifteen minutes? Half an hour?”

  “No one’s seen him since school let out at three-thirty.”

  The dash on the car taunted them with the current time, which was two hours later.

  Dougal swore, then glanced at his sister, who was still hunched over her phone.

  “Charlotte’s left me about five text messages, asking if I’ve seen him. I’ve got three voice mails from her too. I’m going to—hang on, I think she’s calling me now.”

  Dougal pushed his speed to the brink of safety, calculating in his mind the distance to Twisted Cedars. Another hour and a half, at least.

  “Charlotte!” Jamie’s voice changed, grew louder and urgent. “I’m with Dou—”

  Her explanation was cut off by a torrent of words from the other end of the line. Dougal missed the first few seconds, while Jamie turned on the Bluetooth. And then Charlotte’s voice came through, clear, but frantic.

  “—been everywhere! The park, the school, the beach, all his friends! But we just can’t find him!”