Page 30 of The Creekside Murder (Pacific Northwest Forensics #1)

Her brother smiled, and her heart skipped a beat at how similar it was to Tiffany’s smile. He said, “It’s funny. I feel the same way—like I’ve seen you before.”

“It’s more than that.” She shook her head. “It’s your voice…and your smile is so much like Tiffany’s.”

“I’m glad you see the resemblance.” He put his hand over his heart. “You can tell her you found me, but I’m not ready to meet everyone yet.”

Jessica swallowed and smiled too brightly. “I can understand that.

“So, tell me all about yourself.” She planted her elbows on top of the table, ignoring the menus, and sank her chin in her palm. “What does your email name, armybrat, mean? Was your adoptive father in the army? Did you move around a lot?”

“Whoa! Slow down.” Chuckling, he held up his hands and crossed one finger over the other.

“My father was in the army, retired now, so I followed in his footsteps like a dutiful son. Spent some years in the army myself. Honorable discharge, got my teaching credential, thanks to the GI Bill, and found a job in Seattle. The Pacific Northwest always called to me.”

“That’s good. I’m glad life worked out well for you. Our sister—” Jessica chewed on the side of her thumb, not ready to spill the beans about Tiffany yet “—she had some issues as an adult. Chaotic childhood.”

He dipped his head. “That’s sad, but you turned out okay.”

Jutting out her chin, she said, “Tiffany turned out okay, too.”

“Of course, I’m sure. Looking forward to meeting her.” He waved to the waitress. “Are you ready to order?”

“Oops, you go ahead. I haven’t even looked.” She scooped up one of the menus and ran her finger down the fish specials while David ordered.

When the waitress turned her attention toward Jessica, she ordered a platter with the fish of the day and a glass of pinot grigio.

The waitress asked David, “Something to drink, sir?”

“Water is fine.” He gave Jessica a tight smile when the waitress left. “I don’t drink alcohol.”

“Oh, that’s…good.” Now she felt guilty about her glass of wine.

Did he not drink because he had a problem with it?

Alcoholism ran in families, and both Mom and Tiffany had suffered from the disease.

As far as she could remember, David’s biological father was a hard-drinking navy seaman. Maybe that’s why David was dry.

When her wine came, she took tiny sips to make it last so she wouldn’t need to order another. She still had to drive home, anyway.

They exchanged life stories over dinner, and Jessica couldn’t shake the feeling that David’s recitation was memorized and rather sterile. Was he trying to present a picture of perfection? She didn’t need perfection from her brother, just a human connection, which she hadn’t felt yet.

When David finished another story about the lessons he taught, not the kids, just the lessons, Jessica excused herself to use the ladies’ room.

She dismissed her disappointment. They were strangers, hadn’t seen each other in over twenty-five years.

The last time she’d seen David, he was barely a toddler.

How would he even remember anything about her?

Maybe they wouldn’t be best buds, but she had a sibling and she’d try to forge a relationship with him.

By the time she returned to the table, David had paid their bill. “I think we should get out of here while it’s still light outside. I have a great idea.”

“Oh?” Jessica sat down and finished her wine. She’d need it to spend any more time with David. “What do you have in mind?”

“A surprise.” He clapped his hands together like a child.

“Maybe another time, David, and I hope there is another time, but you need to catch the ferry back to Edmonds and I need to drive back up the peninsula.”

“You should probably wait to drive, anyway, Jessica, after drinking that wine.” He tapped her glass.

“I have something in mind that I think will bring us a little closer. You feel it, too, right? That bond between us is missing, but I think this little road trip will give it a boost. What do you think?”

So, he’d felt it, too. Maybe it was her fault. And when she looked into his brown eyes, so similar to Tiffany’s, she decided she couldn’t refuse her little brother anything.

She grabbed her purse and said, “Why not? Let’s go make some new memories.”

* * *

F RANTIC, HIS FINGERS SHAKING , Finn searched his computer for Celine Jerome’s information. This couldn’t be happening. It was all some weird mistake.

He’d questioned Wilder, and Jessica’s boss admitted the DNA could be from any close male relative, even her father.

Finn dug his fingers into his hair. That wouldn’t work.

Jessica and Tiffany had different fathers.

The sample DNA from the red fiber wouldn’t have matched Tiffany’s DNA if it belonged to Jessica’s father.

He finally found Celine’s phone number and called her. “Celine Jerome, private investigations.”

“Celine, you don’t know me, but I’m friends with Jessica Eller. She told me all about how you located her half brother for her.”

“Whatever you say. Can’t discuss my work.”

Finn rubbed his eyes. “I understand that, I do, but this is a matter of life and death—Jessica’s. She could be in danger from her brother.”

Celine sucked in a breath. “What are you talking about? He’s a nice, normal guy. An army veteran, an accountant, a student.”

“Would a nice, normal guy have his DNA at a murder scene? Please, Celine. I need to know his name. Jessica called him David, but I need to know his last name. Jessica is with him now and is in danger.”

“Wait a minute. Who said his name was David?”

“Jessica. She told me he didn’t want to give her his last name, but he said his name was David, same as it was when he was a baby.”

“That may have been his name as a baby and maybe he decided to give that name to Jessica, but that’s not his legal name.”

“What is his legal name?”

Celine hissed on the other end of the line.

“I’ll turn this over to the police, anyway, Celine, and they’ll make you give up this information—only it might be too late for Jessica.”

“Oh, all right, but you didn’t hear it from me. His legal name is Dermott Webb.”

After the call, Finn sat stunned, the phone still held to his ear.

His student Dermott Webb was the Kitsap Killer?

Jessica’s half brother. Of course, it made sense.

He was on campus. He worked in that accounting office where those women had taken the register money.

Wasn’t the sheriff’s department supposed to be questioning and investigating anyone who’d worked with the women?

He’d call the police, but he wasn’t going to waste any more time. At least he knew that Jessica and Dermott were at a restaurant in Kingston. What was the name of it? Salty Ladies? Salty Girls?

If they were meeting for dinner, they could still be there.

At least it was a public place. He grabbed his keys and ran from his house.

As he sped down the 104, he got Detective Morse’s voicemail.

He told him about the DNA, advised that he call Wilder for a better explanation, and let the detective know that he was on his way to Kingston to interrupt Jessica’s dinner with her brother—the Kitsap Killer.

He made it down to Kingston in record time and asked his phone for directions to the Salty Girls restaurant. Turns out he was just two blocks away, and he swung an illegal U-turn in the middle of the street to find it.

As he passed the full parking lot, he released a sigh of relief when he spotted Jessica’s car.

Thank God they were still here. He’d decided not to rush in with guns blazing, accusing Dermott of being the Kitsap Killer.

He’d make up some other excuse for being there…

and then what? It was going to be awkward that his student, Dermott Webb, was sitting with Jessica, his sister.

The sister he’d never contacted while in Fairwood.

Hell, Dermott had even met Jessica once.

The first time she sought him out, Dermott had been in the lecture hall.

He parked in the red zone two doors down from the restaurant and burst inside. He must’ve looked like a madman, as several diners turned to stare at him. His gaze darted around the room, but he didn’t see them.

A hostess approached him. “Are you looking for your party, sir?”

“Yes, yeah. A couple, a tall blond woman and a man—average height, short, brown hair, maybe wearing glasses.” He put out his hand about chin height. “Tall woman, wavy blond hair.”

A waitress passing with two empty wineglasses slowed her gait.

“I remember them. They sat at my station. The dude paid the check when the woman went to the ladies’ and he stiffed me on the tip—not even ten percent.

It’s like he just rounded up, and I’m like, dude, this isn’t Europe. He gave me a dirty look.”

“Where are they?” Finn turned in a circle, hoping he’d just missed them the first time.

She shrugged. “They got out of here after he left me that crappy tip.”

“Left? Her car’s still here.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. They walked out together.” She swept past him to the bar while Finn felt like screaming.

Where did they go? Why would she go anywhere with him in a place not home to either of them? Maybe something happened to her car, and he offered to drive her back to Fairwood. It wasn’t that far.

He rushed from the restaurant and jogged to Jessica’s car in the parking lot. He checked the tires, tried the door, peered into the windows. Everything looked normal—but nothing was normal.

He went back to his own car and sat in the front seat, gripping his steering wheel. Where could they be? How did he get her out of that restaurant? Dessert? Ice cream somewhere? Murder?

His fingers closed around his phone in his jacket pocket. He had to do it. He’d grovel, if necessary. He cupped his phone in one hand and tapped the number for the Washington State Penitentiary.

“I need to speak to prisoner 562334, Avery Plank.”