Page 41 of Last Seen

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Halley forces her jaw closed. Things are going from bad to worse. First Kater, now Chowdhury?

“How? How did she die?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t kill her,” she says with impatience. “I have exactly zero reasons to want the woman dead. On the contrary, her death hampers my investigation.”

“Oh yeah, your investigation. Early warned me you’d style yourself as some sort of law enforcement investigator because of your limited background in crime scene forensics.

But you don’t have a job at all, so I hear.

You certainly don’t have a badge. You have no protection, you’re carrying a weapon illegally, and two women you had contact with in the past forty-eight hours are dead.

You tell me what I’m supposed to think.”

Noah sits heavily in the second chair. “Hey,” he says to her, the gentleness in his tone a total contrast to his brother’s bluster.

“Why are you here?” she asks him.

“Because you’re asking about your sister, and I was the last person to see—”

“Enough!” Cameron roars. “Stop right there. Leave, Noah. I have this covered. Unless you’d like to spend a night in a cell, too?”

Noah hesitates, then meets her eyes. “I’ll be waiting right outside.” Then, to his brother, “Stop fucking with her, Cameron. Tell her the truth.”

Halley is more and more confused. Noah, true to his word, seethes out the door, slamming it behind him.

“You can explain all that to me later,” Halley says to the sheriff. “How did Chowdhury die?”

He sits on the edge of his desk, arms crossed.

“Stabbed. Just like your friend. Early found the car pulled to the side of the road and the doctor lying across the seat. She’d been dead for a few hours, Me said.”

She covers her mouth with her hand. What in the hell is going on? Kater. Chowdhury. All because Halley started asking questions about her sister? Everyone she’s talked to ...

“Was there a note or anything?”

“Like what was tacked to your friend’s chest? No. Nothing like that. Early said it was messy and violent. Less controlled. The doctor fought back.”

“You need to call the Boston PD and do a welfare check on a woman named Alison Everlane. She was my sister’s best friend, and she was the one who gave me Chowdhury’s name.”

He assesses her for a moment, then puts a hand on his phone. “You talk to anyone else?”

“Just Cat’s ex-husband, Tyler Armstrong.”

“What the hell you think you’re doing? You planning to be a PI or something?”

“Check on Alison, and I’ll explain.”

“You have a phone number for her?”

“In my bag.”

He nods and leaves for a second, then comes back with her bag, dumps it in her lap.

It is missing the gun, but the letter Chowdhury gave her is in there, along with the spiral-bound she’d been taking notes in.

A flash in her mind of the notebook paper tacked to Kater’s chest .

.. Yes, whoever is behind these deaths must have looked in her notebook. Which means someone was in the house.

The cat, locked in the basement. It wasn’t an accident. Whoever it was must have come in that way.

She flips through the pages and reads off the number. He taps on the computer for a few minutes, then dials his phone. The phone rings several times, then goes to voicemail.

He dials another number. This one is answered. The conversation is one sided but she can follow easily.

“This is Sheriff Brockton from Brockville, Tennessee. I need a welfare check on a woman named Alison Everlane, on Massachusetts Avenue in Cambridge. Yes. Right, that’s the one.

I’ve tried calling but there’s no answer.

I don’t have a cellular number for her. Great.

Yes, of course. My number is 555-423-9009. Appreciate it.”

He hangs up and cocks a brow. “Your turn.”

“All right. I spent my whole life thinking my mother and sister died together in a car accident when I was six. But earlier this week, I found out my father had lied to me. My mother was murdered. Stabbed to death. By my sister.”

“Cat killed your mom?” This comes from the other side of the door. Noah has been eavesdropping.

“Oh, for God’s sake ... get in here,” Cameron commands, and Noah opens the door and enters sheepishly. The blurt was so shocking, so familiar, so intimate, that it is Halley’s turn to raise a brow.

“Sounds like you know my sister.”

Noah looks at Cameron, who throws up his hands in disgust. “Fine. On your head be it.”

Noah sits again. He is earnest, and clearly concerned. “We met on the river path. We had a lovely conversation, and she was heading back to her cabin to rework a story. She was cool. I don’t know that I can believe what you’ve just told us.”

“But it’s true. Sheriff? Look it up. ‘Susannah Handon Murder Nashville.’ It will all be there.”

“I thought her last name was Armstrong,” Noah says.

“That’s her married name. Her maiden name is Handon. Trust me. I think I’d know.”

Cameron taps away, reading the screen, his eyes going wider, then his face collapses.

The printer whirs to life, startling her.

Noah puts a calming hand on her arm. It’s big, and warm, and rough from the kitchens, but in this moment, when all things are confused and bewildering, she takes comfort, and doesn’t push it away.

She has to say, though, all this touching by strangers is making her jumpy. The Brocktons are handsy men.

Cameron gets the paper off the printer and hands it to Noah, who reads it. Halley can see the headline: it’s the same article she looked at. Noah’s gone pale as a ghost.

“I know. It’s shocking as hell. Believe me, I’ve had a hard time wrapping my own head around it.”

“And now people are dying,” Cameron says. “Your friend. Cat’s doctor.”

“Yes. I told Kater, and I called Dr. Chowdhury to ask for information. I talked to Tammy for a while tonight, too. And, of course, called Alison and Tyler.” She calculates, then draws out the letter.

“Dr. Chowdhury brought me this. This is why she came to Marchburg after I called her. She couldn’t share anything about Cat’s treatment, of course, but she’s been holding on to this letter for years, just waiting to give it to me. ”

She hands it to Cameron, who flips through the pages. “Sounds like she got into a program and was working the steps.”

“Maybe. Asking for forgiveness is a big part.”

Noah is still staring at the article printout.

“She wasn’t very nice to me when I was growing up. I’m glad you had a different experience with her. I don’t have the best memories.”

“Run, Halley Bear. Run.”

“That’s why you’re digging into this now?” the sheriff asks. “Because you’ve just discovered the truth?”

“Yes. I haven’t thought through what’s next. And with people dying, it seemed smart to get away from town.”

“We’ll protect you,” Noah says, and Cameron snorts.

“No, we won’t. She’s going back to Marchburg in the morning. This is not our problem, and I can’t take the chance—”

“It most certainly is your problem,” Halley says. “My sister disappeared from your town, Sheriff. It’s high time you do a proper investigation and help me figure out why.”

“Oh it is, is it?”

“Yes,” Halley answers. “And I’ll assist. But I need to find out why people are dying now . I have to find out what can of worms I’ve opened. I want to know who the stranger is, why he pilfered my mom’s file. And Cat—”

He puts up a hand. “You can do that back in your hometown, with your police chief. We will put you up tonight and get you on the road in the morning.”

“She won’t be safe, Cam. She needs a guard. An escort. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking this is exactly the kind of drama we don’t need here. That’s my final word.” And to Halley, “You may stay the night at the Inn, or you can stay the night in the jail, I don’t care which. And then you are leaving Brockville. For good.”

There is no more arguing, she can see that.

Noah leaves, frowning. He knows more than he’s letting on, for sure.

This whole situation is bizarre, and Halley is torn between wanting to figure it out and wanting to get as far away as possible.

Someone is trying to either send her a message or taunt her, and for the first time, she admits to herself that she is in way over her head.

There is no question where she is staying—the Inn.

She tells him that, and he gives her a curt nod.

She follows the sheriff from his office out to the parking lot.

The Escalade is waiting. He puts her in the back seat again, but thankfully without the handcuffs this time.

The drive to the Inn is quick. Her Jeep sits in the parking lot, and Brockton unlocks it and hands out her overnight bag.

She has no idea how the Jeep got there, nor when the sheriff got the keys.

She hasn’t seen any other law enforcement officials.

Magic, maybe. At this point, she doesn’t care.

She just wants to sleep, though she doubts that will come easily.

The lot is still empty, the windows shuttered, but the sheriff has a key to the front door.

Soft lights burn on the desk, the space lined with cedar paneling and well-worn brown leather sofas and chairs set on a plush red-and-brown kilim batik rug, a huge stone fireplace with a reclaimed wood mantel topped by a massive stag’s head with more antler points than she’s ever seen, its eyes black and knowing, and blackout curtains drawn.

That’s why it looks dark and closed from the outside.

The room is permeated by a scent she recognizes from her time in the dorms at school, a heady incense the kids used to burn in order to cover up when they smoked weed.

Nag Champa, it was called. Stylish and strange, this is unlike any hotel she’s ever been in before.

A woman comes bustling out from the back.

She is dressed in pleated tan slacks and an ivory cable-knit sweater, wearing thick-rimmed glasses.

Her graying blond hair is in a bun on the top of her head, and she seems alert and awake considering the hour.

“Hello there? Oh, Cameron. Nice to see you. Do we have a visitor?”

“Hi, Emma. Yes, we do. Could you put Miss James up for the night? Didn’t want her trying the roads at this late hour.”

“Of course. Of course. It’s not safe out there at night. We have plenty of rooms.”

Except the kids at the General Store said there weren’t any available. Were they trying to make her leave town? Showing her how unwelcome she was? Or did the sheriff’s command merit a room? And why was it so unsafe?

With a tip of his ridiculous performative hat, the sheriff leaves her to it. “Out of here first thing in the morning, Miss James. Your keys will be waiting for you when you get up.”

“Can’t I have them now?”

He ignores her, and she realizes that she’s in jail regardless of where she stays. Why would he do this? What is the endgame for the sheriff? Her mind is spinning with questions, but she bites her tongue. He’s not going to answer her, so why bother?

“I have a meeting in the morning. With Tammy Boone.”

“Consider it canceled,” he says.

“You can’t do that. I have the right to talk to whomever I want.”

He smiles, a quirking of the lips. “Of course you do. You can phone her any time you want once you are out of Brockville.”

The woman called Emma locks up after the sheriff, then goes behind the desk to a set of cubbyholes.

She pauses, looking back over her shoulder at Halley, considering, then pulls down an old-fashioned key attached to a thick crimson tassel.

Closer inspection shows each tasseled key to each room is a different color, and the woman confirms Halley’s suspicions moments later.

“Let’s get you settled in the Red Room. You should feel right at home there.”

“Why red?” Halley asks. “If you don’t mind my asking. Why not green, or blue, or gold?”

The woman smiles warmly. “Your aura, dear. Red as blood.”