Grave Lies: A Psychic Investigator Mystery (Mercury Mediums Book 1), page 21
Zandra walked over to him. The ground was streaked with rust-colored salt. “We were at Heather’s.” She could tell from his aura that he’d already heard the news about Adelaide. “It’s been rough.”
“Such a terrible shame. Please tell me somebody knows what happened to that poor woman.”
“A lot of us are working on it.”
“Well, at least come in from the cold. Mother’s making breakfast. We extended the hours today because of the storm—and the bad news. Food’s the best remedy we’ve got at moments like this.”
The dining room was packed, yet subdued. Zandra, Penny, and Heather gathered around a table in the corner. Lester came over to join them. “Mother and I saw the coroner’s van driving down Lincoln.”
Heather nodded, saying nothing.
“And Reverend Berman was discovered at the church, too?” Lester whispered. “Nearly forty years in hiding? Talk about shocking. Could Adelaide’s death be connected to the Reverend’s reappearance, you think?”
Penny and Zandra shared a glance. Heather said, “The investigation’s ongoing.”
Lester harrumphed. “After a tragedy happens, a little gossip can be cathartic. But I do have to admire your convictions. Anybody else want a Bloody Mary disguised as tomato juice? I could sure use one.”
The women politely declined. He got up to make his drink.
The other guests at the motel were out-of-towners, but everybody seemed to have heard about the body found the day before. Zandra kept her senses open, trying to catch any hint that someone here had unusual knowledge of Adelaide’s death, but she was grasping for anything at this point.
She had to have missed something.
All over Coldwater, she’d met people who were hiding things. The residents of the church, the Rainier family. Penny had mentioned her awkward interaction with Jason and Officer Krauss last night. The revelation about Krauss’s ties to the church.
But plenty of people kept, or tried to keep, secrets. Zandra herself was a private person and didn’t like her inner thoughts exposed, as Gwendolyn Kwan’s reading on that stage had proved.
Heather was private about her illness. Even Chief Novak didn’t realize his feelings for Heather were so obvious. That wasn’t unusual, in Zandra’s experience. These were all trivial omissions compared to a murder, though.
Whoever had killed Adelaide would be holding a monumental secret right at the surface of their mind. Zandra would surely pick up on it if she came near enough to the person, or persons.
Wouldn’t she?
Mentally, Zandra listed everything they knew so far about Adelaide’s death.
She’d had a fight with Lena and, by all accounts, left the house voluntarily during the last storm.
She’d probably suspected or known of the Reverend’s presence on the church property.
Adelaide had also believed her mother was Tabitha Daily, whose killers—a man and woman—had taken Tabitha’s child. But Adelaide had been wrong. Tabitha hadn’t been her mother at all.
Did Adelaide’s killer know that truth as well?
Then there was the fact that Adelaide’s killer left her on the Davenport property, in the same cabin where Tabitha and Wes were found in 1988. So the murders, though decades apart, could be connected.
Could Tabitha and Wes’s killers have murdered Adelaide, too?
It was possible. They could still be alive. But why do it? Lena and the Reverend, at least, had a motive to silence Adelaide. But as far as Zandra knew, Adelaide hadn’t known the identities of the bride and groom’s killers. Had she found out? But then why not contact Heather or Donovan or someone else with that information?
Zandra couldn’t rule out Lena and Reverend Berman as suspects in any of the killings, yet she’d seen little in Lena’s mind to indicate guilt.
Penny set down her fork. “I was thinking we could bring in another Mercury agent or two. Three ghosts is a lot to handle all at once, especially with Tabitha turning polt on us now. We’re lucky she didn’t knock around any of the searchers or the police who responded yesterday.”
Heather looked up. She’d been having deep thoughts of her own. “‘Turning polt’? Does this have something to do with what Novak said? His officers getting the willies?”
“Yep,” Zandra said. “Nobody should go near that cabin until we get the haunting cleared.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.” Heather shivered. “If you think more agents would help, I’m open to it. I’m open to anything. It’s either that or give up, and I already tried that last night. It didn’t take.”
Penny gave her a smile and patted her hand.
“Yeah, yeah, you both were right. I’m going to walk over to the station after this. Make some calls to my FBI contacts. See what I can do. We’ll wait out the storm, and the minute the town’s dug itself out, we’ll be back in action.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Penny said.
“Not really. But it’s the start of one.”
They parted ways—Heather to the station, Penny to her motel room, and Zandra to hers. A shower and a change of clothes beckoned.
Snow was trickling down from the sky, and gray clouds were closing in.
After she’d cleaned up, Zandra sat on the edge of her bed, combing out her wet hair. Water dripped onto the shoulders of her sweater. She figured she owed Dari a heads-up that they wouldn’t make it to Denver this afternoon. Sorry, not sorry. Though she was going to keep the sarcasm to herself. She would make her apologies sound nice and sincere.
And she had a few Mercury agents in mind to call for help with the Davenport haunting—probably not Ben. Too many complications there for the moment.
But when she grabbed her coat and dug into the pocket for her phone, it wasn’t there.
Zandra searched the room, then went out to the car and did the same. Nothing. Nor had anyone turned in the device at the front desk. Dang it.
She knocked on Penny’s door, but there was no answer. The shower was running.
Could Penny have her phone? That didn’t make much sense.
Zandra looked up at the pale gray sky. A fat snowflake landed on her nose.
If she’d left her phone at Heather’s place, then she had to go back for it now. This storm was just starting and would only get worse. Within a few hours, the roads would be dangerous, and by tonight, they’d be nearly impassable. Whiteout conditions, the radio had warned this morning on their drive back from Heather’s.
Muttering curses, Zandra went back to her room. As a last-ditch effort, she used the motel phone to call her cell number. Her phone had the sound on, but she didn’t hear it ringing, not even when she put her ear to the wall she shared with Penny.
She grabbed her keys. If she was quick, she’d get back here before the snow started to pile up or visibility worsened.
Her first stop was the police station. The moment Zandra walked in, she saw the aura of the officer on reception duty darken with alarm. Apparently, the scene she’d caused while questioning Lena was common knowledge around the station.
“I’m just here to see Heather Davenport.” She spotted the woman in the hallway and walked over, ignoring the officer’s protests.
“Zandra? What is it?” asked Heather.
“Hey, I need to run to the ranch. Left my phone there. Could I borrow your keys?”
“Sure, but you’d better hurry back. And drive safely.” Heather fished out her key ring from her pocket.
“I intend to do both.”
“Want to take my truck?” Heather offered.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll swing by to drop off your keys on the way back.”
Before Zandra could leave, Heather stopped her with a hand to her elbow. “Have you seen Officer Krauss this morning, by any chance? People have been asking around here. Apparently, he didn’t show up for work.”
“I haven’t. Penny said she saw him last night.”
“Yeah, she told me, too.” Heather’s eyebrows barely lifted, but they were both thinking of Penny’s account. How Officer Krauss had been angry and eager to spread the blame. “Well, if you happen to spot him, tell him to check in. This office doesn’t need another missing person.” She was kidding, but Zandra felt the woman’s unease beneath the joke.
Snow flew at the windshield as Zandra drove. Nothing was sticking to the roads yet, but the air was turning white. She pulled up to Heather’s home and dashed to the front door. Inside, Zandra found her phone between the couch cushions. She couldn’t believe she’d failed to notice its absence when they left. Just showed how distracted she’d been that morning.
As she walked to the door, she glanced over her messages. Nothing of note.
Zandra texted Penny to let her know where she’d gone. Had to go to Davenport Ranch to get my phone. Leaving Heather’s now. Back in a few.
Next, she sent off a text to Dari’s number, letting the handler know the weather in Wyoming would prevent their return today. We’ll get there as soon as we can, she wrote. My apologies.
Her mouth puckered as she sent the message, annoyed at her own show of submission. But it was one thing to act defiant in person, another to document it in writing. If Mercury intended to alter their deal with her, she’d make them justify it. No use pissing them off preemptively and forcing their hand.
Zandra stepped out onto the porch and reared back. Someone was standing there. The figure turned around, lowering the hood of her puffy coat.
It was Kathleen Rainier, Jason’s mother. Her hair was frizzed with static.
Kathleen smiled, though Zandra sensed the same frightened energy she’d gotten from the woman yesterday.
“I hope I didn’t startle you. I was on my way to speak to Ms. Davenport. Is she here?”
Zandra looked past Kathleen’s shoulder, but didn’t see any other car but her own. “Did you walk?
“I don’t mind the cold.” This wasn’t true. Zandra got a clear impression from the woman’s mind—Kathleen hadn’t wanted anyone else in her household to know where she was going. They would’ve asked why she’d taken the car.
“Heather isn’t here. Is there something I could do for you?” Under normal circumstances, Zandra would’ve assumed that a neighbor might ask for supplies or for help with the fence between their property, which Jason had mentioned was damaged. But she could already tell Kathleen’s visit wasn’t typical. She knew before Kathleen spoke what she would say.
“I was hoping for news about that poor woman who died. From the church. Have you found out what happened?”
This was the same question Lester had asked them just a short while ago. But Kathleen’s demeanor and energy were completely different. She feared the answer, though Zandra couldn’t tell why. Was it because she was afraid that a threat could be nearby? The fact that Adelaide had been murdered wasn’t common knowledge. Zandra didn’t think Chief Novak had released that information, though she couldn’t discount that others within the police department had talked.
Or was Kathleen afraid of the investigation itself?
“I don’t know much about it,” Zandra answered.
“Are you an FBI agent like Ms. Davenport?”
“No. I don’t work for the government.”
“I see.” Kathleen’s aura calmed, and her body visibly relaxed. She lingered, watching as Zandra locked the door and then pocketed Heather’s keys. The woman still wanted something, but whatever it was, she wasn’t ready to come out with it. She was kneading her gloved hands together. Her coat was oversized, dwarfing her skinny frame.
Zandra didn’t know what to think of Mrs. Rainier. One minute, the woman’s intentions came through. The next, her aura was nothing but confusion. Fear tended to cloud the mind, so Zandra wasn’t necessarily surprised. It made sense to be afraid when a body was found next door.
But she recalled that Kathleen had been afraid even yesterday, when Adelaide had still been missing. She’d asked about their investigation into the bride and groom as well.
“Had you met the woman who died?” Zandra asked. “Adelaide?”
“I may have seen her in town. Jason said she was a member of the church, and I stay away from them if I can help it.”
“Because you left the group?”
“That was a long time ago.” Her aura shrank with discomfort. “Jason told you about that?”
Zandra nodded.
“He’s a friend of yours?” There was a brief flash of jealousy, but it was more sad than angry. Kathleen wasn’t an angry person. She was afraid of losing Jason.
Zandra suspected that fearfulness was this woman’s usual state.
“Is there anything wrong, Mrs. Rainier? Maybe I can help.”
“I…no.”
This was definitely a lie. Kathleen feared her entire world would turn upside down from all the wrongness in it. Yet she was agonizing over what to do. Conflicting impulses warred within her.
“I need to head back home before anyone misses me,” Kathleen said. “They’ll be wanting lunch.”
“I could give you a ride. You shouldn’t walk all the way back with the storm coming.”
Kathleen wanted to accept, but still, she debated. Once again, Zandra felt her need to share something. She was frightened to tell it, and also frightened not to. It had to be a terrible way to live, surrounded by constant trepidation.
But this wasn’t the first time Zandra had encountered a woman like this. She had suspicions about the source of Kathleen’s anxiety. Maybe she could coax the truth out of her on the drive.
Zandra gave her an encouraging smile. “Really, it’s no trouble.”
“I would appreciate that, thank you.”
They got into Zandra’s car, and she pulled into a U-turn to head back to the road.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Heather sat in a conference room at the police station, flipping through the crime scene photos taken on her property yesterday. The clock on the wall ticked.
She’d worked in local stations across Wyoming and other states, too, and they all smelled and felt pretty much the same. There was an atmosphere of seriousness, of hard work paired with bureaucracy, yet also of camaraderie and levity in the face of darkness. As an FBI agent, she was used to being an outsider coming in on somebody else’s home turf.
Heather had texted Chief Novak last night, letting him know about Stacey’s call—and sharing the news that Adelaide was not actually Tabitha Daily’s child, which meant that child was still unaccounted for. Novak had given her just a cursory response, acknowledging the message.
That morning, when she’d arrived at the station, Chief Novak hadn’t seemed thrilled to see her, though he hadn’t turned her away. He’d been conspicuously busy since a brief greeting in the hall.
She was here purely in an unofficial capacity, and she knew she had to tread lightly, given her personal connection to this case. But she wanted to prove to the chief—and to herself—that she could be useful.
Once again, Heather flipped to the first of the photos, studying them for anything she might’ve missed.
The DCI forensics experts hadn’t completed the autopsy of Adelaide yet. That would probably happen sometime today, assuming the weather didn’t cause any delays. For now, the assessment of Adelaide’s injuries remained the same as yesterday, likely strangulation. There had been no signs of a struggle inside the cabin, so her body had probably been moved there postmortem.
The clock kept up its incessant ticking, and nothing was coming to her. She sat back in her chair, exhaling with frustration.
Heather glanced at her phone. It had been half an hour since Zandra stopped by to borrow her keys. She’d have expected the younger woman to have come back by now. But maybe Zandra was having more trouble locating her phone than she’d expected.
Heather thought about dialing Zandra’s number—it might help if she heard her missing phone ring—but then she saw a message from her jovial, video-gaming friend Joe in the Cheyenne field office.
Quickly, she tapped his name in her contacts. He picked up. “Joe here.”
“You asked me to call?”
“Hey, Heather. Wasn’t sure how your reception would be at the moment. This storm is brutal.”
“Did you find anything?” Heather had asked him to look into Wes Crenshaw, since they hadn’t been able to find any missing persons reports pertaining to him.
“Don’t worry, I’m not just calling to shoot the breeze about the weather. I found something, all right. You owe me a round of drinks when you’re back in Cheyenne.”
The man sounded downright smug. “Out with it.”
“Can’t even let me gloat a little? I feel particularly clever about this one. You know how finicky those databases can be, especially without a date of birth or middle name to narrow down the results. But brilliant investigator that I am, I tried out every variation of the name I could think of, and I got a match that I think is your guy. Weston Russell Crenshaw, born July 18, 1960. Convicted on a marijuana charge in 1978.”
“Here in Wyoming?”
“Idaho, actually. The drug conviction got me his home address. Also in Idaho. Coeur d’Alene. Took some more digging to figure out the past owners of the property, since we’re going back quite a few decades, here. I found his mother, a woman named Laura Crenshaw. No siblings, no father of record. Laura was a single mom. It looks like Wes continued to live in the house after his mother remarried and left town.”
“Anything about Weston after that date? We believe he was killed here in Coldwater in 1980.”
“He skipped out on his probation not long after the conviction. I’m guessing he might’ve headed to Wyoming then. But no indication that Wes got picked up on anything in our state. No arrests, which I confirmed after I had his details.”
Heather was nodding along. Arrest record searches required very specific data on the individual.
“This is helpful, Joe. Thanks.”
“Oh, I’m not done yet. I wouldn’t be so impressed with myself otherwise. Remember Wes’s mom? Laura Crenshaw? Found a Wyoming marriage license dating to 1977, which explains why she’d left Idaho. That’s how I knew she got remarried. I sneaked that one past you, didn’t I?”
