Legacy of Lies

“When he was cruelly kidnapped from his own bed, don’t you mean?” Hannah’s gaze turned fierce. “He was in his fuzzy red sleeper with an adorable sheep embroidered on the right shoulder. It was fall, you know, and the air had a nip so we dressed him warmly.”

Rich wrote in his book. “And was anything taken with him?”

Hannah cocked her head then nodded. “We never did see his favorite toy again. The kidnappers must have bundled it off with him.”

“A toy?” Rich cocked a brow. “Can you describe it?”

“It was a blue-and-white rattle on a stick.” Hannah disengaged her arm from Nicole’s and made a shaking motion as if she held the toy. “Such a simple plaything made him laugh and coo. The sides were flat, so he liked to bite it while he teethed. Simon and Fern spent loads of money on fancy toys that squeaked or played music or danced or—”

“We get the idea, Hannah.” Simon’s tone dripped contempt. “Stop rambling and answer the police chief’s questions.”

Hannah blinked, and her gaze went vague. She squinted toward Rich. “Chief? You? Aren’t you some kind of deputy? What happened to Chief Wilson?”

Rich sent her a gentle smile. “He retired six years ago.”

“Oh, that’s right.” She gave an airy wave. “Time has a way of flying, doesn’t it?”

“Thank you, Hannah.” Rich shut his notebook. “You’ve been very helpful.”

“Is it Sammy?” The older woman twisted her fingers together.

Nicole touched her arm. “Chief Hendricks won’t be able to say yet. They have to run DNA tests.”

Rich smiled toward Nicole. The gesture brought no thaw in her wary expression. He couldn’t fault her for being defensive about the investigation, but maybe he’d get a chance later to tell her how much he appreciated her discretion in not blurting that the infant’s remains had been clothed in red and that a blue-and-white rattle was buried with the body.

“I’d like to get a DNA sample from you, Simon.” He nodded toward the older man. “And one from Fern as soon as possible.”

Simon rose and set his snifter on the desk. “So basically you’re here to question us, collect evidence and offer next to no information in return.”

“I’m afraid that’s the way it works at this point.” And why wasn’t Simon falling all over himself to cooperate? Was it simply a power trip? His puzzling behavior nagged at Rich.

Simon crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll have to discuss this testing thing with Fern. We’ll get back to you.”

Rich’s mouth opened then he clamped his teeth together. He wasn’t surprised that the frail Mrs. Elling was indisposed, but this was the first time he ever heard of Simon needing to consult his wife about anything.

“I’ll do the test,” Hannah singsonged. “I’d love to give some DNA. Give generously. Isn’t that what they say at the blood drives?”

Simon whirled on his sister-in-law. “DNA testing isn’t like giving blood, you ninny.”

“Actually, it’s simpler.” Nicole glared at Simon. “Nothing to be squeamish about.”

Rich clicked his pen and swallowed a grin at the spunky woman’s implication that the town patriarch had a yellow streak. Simon’s eyes popped wide, and his color darkened. Rich opened his mouth to intervene.

“Then let’s do it!” Hannah stuck out her tongue at her brother-in-law like an overgrown toddler.

Nicole’s gaze met Rich’s. Amusement flickered between them, and his insides warmed. Maybe there was still a chance that they could be friends…or something more.

“I’m sorry.” Rich looked toward Hannah. “We need DNA from the mother and father for legal certainty of the child’s identity.”

Hannah’s shoulders wilted.

Simon waved her away. “Go polish your nails or something.”

Hannah shuffled to the door, Nicole in her wake. On the threshold, Nicole glanced back and their gazes collided. What did he see in her eyes? Pity toward Hannah? Anger toward Simon? Fear of the police investigation? Yes, all of those. Rich was pretty sure if there was any more information to be gleaned from Hannah, Nicole would get it.

But would she share it with him?

Nicole’s hands bunched into fists as she trailed Hannah up a dim hallway. The older woman’s head hung as if her scarf were a mantle of sorrow. Nicole didn’t blame Hannah for chronic depression. If human kindness had ever warmed these rooms, all trace had long since leached away. In Hannah’s place, she would have popped Simon one in the snoot—at least in her imagination—and packed her bags. Why did the woman stay around? Of course, at her age, the most likely move was an assisted-living facility, and those cost a lot of money that Hannah likely didn’t have. The poor woman was trapped.

Nicole moved up alongside her forlorn hostess. “I should be going now. I hadn’t intended to stay this long.”

“It’s all right.” Hannah patted Nicole’s shoulder. The ghost of a spark lit the older woman’s gaze.

Rebellion still lived in the wrinkled old heart, and Nicole silently rejoiced. “Can you show me to the door?”

“I have something I need to give you first.” Hannah crooked a finger and entered a small sitting room toward the back of the house “This is my little apartment.” She continued through the outer room and into a bedroom done in pale pink chintz. More like a child’s room than an adult’s with the frilly canopy over a twin bed and a ballerina theme.

Hannah stood on tiptoe and twirled, full skirt billowing. “You can see what I once dreamed of doing.”

Nicole nodded, mute. She understood squashed dreams. She and Glen had wanted children in the worst way, but—Nicole stuffed the pain back into its hidey-hole. Too raw to deal with at this inconvenient moment. But when would the convenient time come?

“This way.” Hannah waved her over to a gaily painted trunk at the foot of the bed. She rummaged inside and came out with a blue satin drawstring bag. “Here.” She held it out.

“Oh, I couldn’t—”

Hannah placed a pudgy finger over Nicole’s lips. “This was Sammy’s. My keepsake of him. Give it to Chief Wilson.”

Nicole swallowed the urge to correct her on the chief’s identity. What was the point? She peeped inside the bag. It contained an infant’s hair brush.

Her heart rate sprang into a jog-trot. “I’ll pass this along.”

“Good.” Hannah winked. “The back door is up the hall and to the left.” The woman stretched and yawned. “I’m very tired now. I think I’ll turn in.”

Nicole carried her small treasure toward the exit. Hannah must be sharper than anyone gave her credit for if she realized the hairs in the brush might positively identify her precious nephew, with or without parental DNA.

Nicole passed through a pristine, stainless-steel kitchen and shivered. Clean, cold and efficient. Like the people who lived here. Except she got the feeling that beneath the polish of prestige the filth ran deep. Sort of like the Pharisees Jesus called “white-washed tombs.” Maybe she’d found baby Samuel Elling’s remains beneath her grandparents’ rose garden, but what if the truth behind the death was buried within these brick walls?

Simon inhaled his last gulp of brandy. “Why don’t you come back another time, and we’ll see about that DNA.” The man’s eyes flashed a message that the interview was over.

Rich’s fingers itched to snatch the glass out of Simon’s hand. That item would do very nicely for DNA, but he had no choice except to leave. For now.

He jerked his chin toward the Elling patriarch. “I’ll stay in touch.”

“Be sure you do. Maybe I’ll give Judge Becker a call. Let him know you’re on top of a hot case and need your docket cleared.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll visit with the D.A. in the morning.” If Simon Elling could play the old-buddy card with his lifelong pal, Judge Becker, Rich could remind him that the prosecuting attorney was from a different era and not in his pocket. And it was the D.A. he’d report developments to, not to either of the judges that served the county, especially not Becker.

Rich saw himself to the door, footsteps echoing in the empty foyer. He’d known this family was strange, but why would Simon balk at the surest way to prove his son had been found? He needed to look at the case file from the time of the kidnapping and see how closely family had been looked at as suspects. The personal touches in the clandestine burial indicated some level of caring. Of course, he hadn’t seen any such thing in the hard eyes of Simon Elling.

Dusk had gripped the land when Rich stepped outside. He deeply inhaled the cooling air, relieved to be out of that house’s oppressive atmosphere. He went down the stairs and up the walk toward his vehicle. At the curb, Rich did a one-eighty observation of the property. As he turned toward the house, a curtain moved in a lit room upstairs. Fern or Melody?

The roar of a motor drew his attention. Headlights barreled up the driveway toward him, and a low-slung sports car rumbled to a halt behind his SUV. A male figure climbed out of the passenger side. Mason Wright. Now the gang’s all here. Rich hooked a thumb in his front jeans pocket and watched the young man move toward him, swaying as if he were a sailor at sea. Three sheets to the wind all right, and it wasn’t even 10:00 p.m.

If Mason had been behind the wheel, Rich could have arrested him. Maybe this third time would have been the charm, and the D.U.I. would stick. Or maybe not, if Judge Becker heard the case. The Elling fortunes might be in the tank, but their influence still loomed large.

Whip-slender and inches shorter than Rich’s six feet one, Melody’s son halted in front of Rich and snapped a sloppy salute. “If it ain’t the chief. Come to harash me again? Shorry to dishappoint you.” The twenty-six-year-old delinquent burped in Rich’s face.

“I think you’ve disappointed yourself enough for the both of us.” Rich went to the sports car and knocked on the window.

The glass whooshed down, and Taylor Mead, Dr. Sharla’s daughter and Mason’s newest girlfriend, stared up at him. “Don’t mind me, Chief, I’m clean and sober.” Her gaze fell away.

Rich shook his head. She’d probably had a soft drink, that was the kind of girl she was. But how long would she maintain her standards if she hung around Mason and his crowd? The doctor’s family went to the same little community church that Rich did. He’d taught Taylor in youth group, and she was a classmate of his daughter Katrina’s, though not a close friend.

He leaned closer. “Does your mom know you’re rocketing around in this death trap with a drunken passenger?”

Taylor glared. “Hey, he called me up and asked me to drive him home from Sparky’s Bar. He knows you guys are waiting for him to slip up again. He’s not so bad, you know. Just needs someone to understand him.”

Right. He’d heard that same song from women with black eyes and busted jaws, courtesy of the poor, misunderstood dirtball they called boyfriend or husband. He didn’t want Taylor to end up another statistic. Mason was known to have the Elling temper.

“At least let me give you a lift back to your own car.” Rich offered a smile.

She tucked her lower lip between straight white teeth that must have cost her folks a hunk of change, and then shook her head. Her gaze was fixed on the young man who stood swaying on the entrance walk.

“I’ll probably hang out here awhile. Play video games. Whatever.” She opened the car door, and Rich stepped out of the way as she emerged. “I’m nineteen years old and headed for college in a few weeks. I appreciate your concern, but you and my parents will have to stop mother-henning me.” She flipped her blond hair over her shoulder and stomped off.

“If you think you need a ride,” he spoke after her, “call me no matter what time it is.”

Heart heavy, he got into his SUV. Something was seriously funky in that household, and a bright girl with a promising future like Taylor didn’t belong in all that darkness. But he couldn’t control her choices. Just like he couldn’t control Jan Keller’s choice not to tell him what she knew about the baby that was buried in her backyard.

He guided his vehicle out of the driveway and onto one of the torn-up city streets. Behind him a pair of headlights came up quickly, bouncing over the bumpy track. Whoever it was needed to slow down and keep their distance. Frowning, Rich’s hand moved toward the control for his bubble lights, then froze. The car behind flashed its headlights and signaled to pull over. Rich eased to the side of the road, and the other vehicle stopped behind him. The car’s door opened, and the dome light revealed Nicole climbing out. Rich met her between their vehicles. The headlights from her car outlined her figure but left her features in shadows.

“Hi.” He ventured a small wave. “Thanks for handling matters so well back there.”

She let out a small laugh. “Here, I thought you were going to scold me for horning in on the investigation.”

“I probably should, but I get the sense that you were caught up in the moment and ended up where you didn’t expect.”

Her shoulders slumped. “The whole day has been like that. More like the past year.”

Was something heavy going on in Nicole’s life even before her husband was killed? Rich stopped the question from popping out of his mouth. He didn’t have the right to ask anything like that yet.

“What have you got there?” He motioned toward a bag she cupped in a palm as if it were fragile and precious.

“I was waiting at the intersection up the street for you to leave the Ellings so I could give you this. It’s from Hannah. Baby Samuel’s hairbrush. Maybe there’s still usable DNA on it.” Nicole held the bag out to him.

Rich let out a low whistle and took the offering. “Thanks. I knew you’d handle Hannah like a pro.”

“No handling necessary.” She crossed her arms. “She volunteered. At least one person in that house wants the poor child identified.”

Rich nodded. “We need an ID to have any hope of finding out who might have buried the infant on your grandparents’ property.”

“You’re giving them the benefit of the doubt?”

Her breathless hope sent a shaft through Rich’s heart. He steeled his emotions. “No more than I would any other citizen in good standing. Innocent until proven guilty, remember?”

She cleared her throat. “Well, thanks for that anyway.”

An awkward silence stretched between them.

“Good night,” she ventured first and turned away.

“Good night,” Rich called after her.

Good night? He climbed into his SUV. What a joke!

Nicole’s discovery could steamroll her whole family under the wheels of justice. Unfortunately, he was the guy that had to drive the steamroller whichever direction the investigation led. Neither of them was going to sleep well tonight.

Nicole tossed and turned in her upstairs bedroom. The last time she looked at the bedside clock, it was nearing midnight. There was no way that Grandpa Jan or Grandpa Frank had anything to do with her horrific discovery. They were so honest they’d go out of their way to return a dime if a checkout clerk gave them too much change. But then why was an infant buried beneath Grandpa Frank’s roses?

And what was the matter with her that she’d taken note of that police chief’s naked wedding ring finger? What a time to suddenly feel attraction for a man. The shock of her discovery must have affected her even worse than she thought if a square chin and a pair of vivid hazel eyes could jump-start her pulse.

Had he always been single? Or was he divorced like too many cops? Maybe widowed? That would be a switch, the spouse going before the cop, but it happened. His voice had been strong, yet gentle when examining the remains. He’d been firm when questioning her grandmother, though, but not bullying, like some behaved with suspects.

Suspects! Her grandmother was a suspect in the death of a baby. Unbelievable! Her grandfather, too. He might be dead and gone, but this discovery promised to assassinate the memory of his character. Unless he was clearly exonerated. Unless they both were.

Nicole caught her breath. Please, God, let this mystery be solved. But what if the case remained unsolved and suspicion clouded the rest of her grandmother’s days? And let my grandparents be innocent. But what if they weren’t?

Sighing, Nicole sat up and switched on the small table lamp. She might as well go downstairs and warm a cup of milk. The old-fashioned remedy had helped many nights when Glen was out on night duty, and she knew he had a particularly dangerous case on his docket.

Nicole threw on her robe and padded barefoot down the carpeted stairs, relying on the nightlights her grandmother had strategically placed along the route for vision. She stepped off the hallway carpet onto the cool kitchen linoleum, and the sound of stealthy footfalls on the porch froze her in her tracks. She’d read in the local newspaper about a rash of nighttime thefts in the county. Her heart did a somersault.

Had they forgotten to lock the door?

The door latch clicked, and the panel creaked slowly ajar.

FOUR

“Grandma!” Nicole blurted the word on a gust of pent-up breath.

The nightlight over the sink outlined the full figure who stepped inside. Grandma Jan let out a squeak and pressed a hand to her chest.

Nicole stepped farther into the kitchen. “What in the world are you doing outside in the middle of the night?” Had she been poking around in the crime scene? But no dirt showed on the woman’s robe, nightgown or slippers.

“Aw, honey, you nearly scared me out of my skin.”

Nicole gurgled a laugh. “You did the same for me, sneaking around like that.”

Grandma Jan’s posture stiffened. “I wasn’t sneaking. Couldn’t sleep so I went outside for some fresh air. What are you doing up this time of night?”

“I couldn’t sleep, either, so I thought maybe a glass of warm milk would help.” Nicole went to the refrigerator. “Would you like one?”

Her grandmother patted her on the shoulder. “No, thanks, dear. I think I’ll try to catch forty winks now.”

Nicole turned and watched her pad away. Was that a note of relief she’d caught on the other woman’s voice? Like she’d successfully accomplished a secret mission? Nicole shrugged. She was always second-guessing people’s reactions and motives. Hazard of being a cop’s daughter and a cop’s wife. She needed to get out of that habit. She wasn’t going to get caught up in that way of life anymore. Another reason to kick herself for checking out that fine-looking police chief. Available or not, he was off-limits as far as her wounded heart was concerned.

She thunked a mug onto the counter more briskly than she’d intended and winced at the noise. Then the milk came out of the jug faster than she’d anticipated and slopped over the edge of the cup. Nicole made an exasperated sound, wiped the counter with a paper towel and threw it in the wastebasket under the sink.

That’s funny. An empty trash bag lined the container. Last night before she went to bed, she’d made a mental note that the full garbage bag needed to be taken out to the large trash bin in the alley bright and early in the morning before the city truck came by to pick it up. Her grandmother must have taken the trash out as part of her midnight wanderings.

On one hand, finding something productive to do if she wasn’t able to sleep would be just like Grandma Jan. On the other, what had her grandmother been looking for in her bedroom right after the gruesome discovery? Some sort of evidence that had to do with the bones that were found? Did she dispose of the article in the trash? If so, why wait until the middle of the night? Grandma could have taken out the trash while Nicole was gadding around town in her car. But maybe Grandma couldn’t decide what to do with whatever it was she wanted to hide? Maybe it had taken her until the middle of the night to make up her mind to destroy it?

Nerves quivered beneath Nicole’s skin. Digging through a garbage bag in the wee hours was not an appealing prospect, but she needed to assure herself that her suspicions were baseless. But what if they weren’t? Then she needed to get at the truth. A baby was dead. Someone had to be held accountable. Her ingrained sense of justice wouldn’t allow any alternative.

Abandoning her milk on the counter, Nicole grabbed a flashlight from on top of the refrigerator and went to the back door. She glanced down at her bare feet. No help for that now. She wasn’t going back upstairs for her slippers. And even the flashlight was pushing it for a light source since Grandma’s room faced toward the garage and alley. Nicole didn’t want her grandmother to suspect she was checking up on her.

The outside air was still muggy after the warm summer day, but a breeze ruffled Nicole’s pajama pants as she soft-footed down the deck stairs. Grit on the sidewalk stuck to the bottoms of her feet as she hustled toward the alley. A three-quarter moon lit her way, so she didn’t bother with the flashlight. The single-car garage that housed her grandmother’s late-model Chevy loomed to her right, and beyond the building at the end of the short driveway squatted the large, plastic trash bin.

Nicole stopped at the bin and glanced around. The house across the alley lay in darkness. To her right, she made out the arced form of her compact car sitting on a cement pad. To her left, the wind rustled the leaves on a hedge of bushes that lined the Keller property on the alley side. The neighborhood lay quiet. Not even a dog barked at this time of night.

She eased open the lid of the garbage can, and a rush of foul smell attacked her nostrils from years of trash passing through its confines. Using the lid as a shield, she pointed her flashlight down into the container. Her eyes widened. The can was empty. Nicole’s gaze quickly scanned the area again. Nothing out of place. Certainly nothing that resembled a stray trash bag. What had her grandmother done with the garbage from the kitchen?

Nicole shifted her stance, and a pebble nipped her heel. She let out a grunt of pain. Why was she standing out here in the pitch dark in her pajamas and bare feet, hunting for a sack of refuse? Because she couldn’t stand a mystery unsolved, that was why. The only other place she could think to look was the garage. A few steps took her to the side garage door. She twisted the knob, but it didn’t budge.

Grandma told her she’d started locking the garage at night since the rash of petty thefts had resulted in people losing lawn mowers, leaf blowers, snowmobiles and even motorcycles.

Nicole blew out a breath that ruffled her bangs. So much for plan A. She’d just have to move on to plan B. Squaring her shoulders, she headed back to the house.

A few hours later, her fitful slumber was blasted by the shrill of her alarm clock. Moaning, Nicole groped for the shut-off switch…or maybe she should just press the snooze button. She forced herself to sit up straight. Dawn light filtered around the blinds on the bedroom window. As much as she could use a little more shut-eye, she needed to hunt for that garbage bag while her grandmother was still in bed.

Nicole threw on a blouse, denim capris, ankle socks and tennis shoes. Halfway down the stairs, she halted and groaned. Plan B was shot, too. A distinctive smell wafted from the kitchen. Bacon. And her grandmother’s tuneless hum accompanied the sound of frying. Nicole continued down the stairs.

Grandma’s humming ceased. “Pancakes or waffles?” her voice called before Nicole showed her face in the kitchen.

Shaking her head, Nicole leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb. “Worms.”

Her grandmother turned from the stove, brows lifted.

Nicole chuckled. “Isn’t that what the early bird is always after?”

Grandma laughed and turned a slice of bacon in the frying pan.

“Waffles, please. You know I love those.” Nicole headed for the brew in the carafe beside the automatic drip coffee-maker. One of the few gadgets of which her grand mother approved—other than the electric sewing machine.

“Waffles it is, then.”

Forty-five minutes later, they cleared the meal dishes from the table, and Nicole still hadn’t had a chance to go outside. Conversation had been sporadic small talk. The garbage truck was due any minute.