Zonked in the Zucchinis (Lovely Lethal Gardens Rewind #1)

Chapter 5

Doreen woke the next morning, rolled over with a yawn, and cuddled up close to Mugs, who was stretched out beside her. He grunted ever-so-slightly and shifted but not so much to show he intended to get up.

“I feel you, bud,” she muttered, snuggling in. As she opened her eyes a few minutes later and stared outside, she saw snow falling gently. She laughed. “Look at that. Snow .” She knew that most people wouldn’t share her happy reaction, but she hadn’t ever spent enough time in the snow to worry about all its disadvantages. Neither did she consider plowing her driveway much of a chore. However, maybe a few years of it would become something she didn’t want to do. But, right now, the snow was still a novelty that she enjoyed.

She dragged Mugs out of bed and went downstairs, where she put on coffee, opened up the back door, and stepped outside. Mugs stepped out too, his nose quivering, as he lifted his head to sniff the fresh air and, of course, that lovely snow smell. Then he turned, looked at her, and walked back inside. She burst out laughing but followed Mugs back into the kitchen. “Okay, I guess you’re not impressed with the snow.”

She grinned as Thaddeus squawked in the living room, where he’d been sleeping on his perch. She walked over to him, picked him up, placed him on her shoulder, and asked, “What about you?” As she carried him outside, he burrowed deeper into her neck, and she agreed, as the wind was picking up. Stepping back inside, she closed the door and poured herself a cup of coffee, then sat down at her laptop to do some research. Her mind was now obsessed with her new case.

Were there any missing persons from that far back? Would the police still have open files on missing persons from over twenty years ago? Mack hadn’t gotten back to her on that issue or on the DNA either, which probably would take a lot longer. When he phoned about an hour later, his first question surprised her.

“Have you eaten yet?” he asked.

“Wow, not exactly the first thing I thought you would say.”

“I just figured that you’d probably gotten up and gone straight to work and forgotten to eat.”

She winced, as she stared down at her coffee cup. “I haven’t really eaten yet,” she muttered. “I’m still enjoying my coffee.”

“Are you on the computer?” he asked, with a note of amusement.

“Maybe”—she frowned at her phone—“but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“No, it just means that you haven’t had breakfast,” he stated pointedly.

She sighed, not needing to confirm that. “Did you find out if a case was opened on Milford’s bloody garden bed?”

“Haven’t found anything as a case,” he replied, “and I don’t have anything logged in anywhere to say that Milford called or that officers went there.”

“So, do we even know if anybody did?”

“That is a good question,” he noted cheerfully. “I did talk to the captain, and he was at least in a good mood this morning. So, while he didn’t exactly say it was a good idea to check out our soil sample, he did say it would likely be it would be too old for any blood to be identified within the sample.”

“That’s good,” she replied, “and, if it’s nothing, then it’s nothing. I appreciate him being open minded about it.”

“That’s what we’re hoping,” he said, with a laugh. “Anyway I’ve got to go.” And, with that, he disconnected.

She stared down at her phone suspiciously, then called him back. When he answered, he was already distracted. “What?” he asked. “What did you forget??

“You just seemed way too cheerful.”

He stopped and asked, “What? I need an excuse to be cheerful?”

“No, but I worried that you have a case.”

After a moment of silence, he chuckled. “Even if I did have a current case, it would be my case.”

“Right,” she conceded, “but not if it connects to my case.”

“ You don’t have a case yet,” he countered, “so nothing can connect. Plus, I don’t think anything I have on my plate will connect to any cold case.”

“You could at least tell me what’s on your plate.”

“Nope,” he stated, his amusement leaking through the phone. “I’m about to head into a meeting. Bye.” And, with that, he was gone again.

Frustrated at the lack of information from Mack, she dove back into the internet, checking out the local news to see if anything new had happened overnight. She scrolled through the pages, until she found a reference to a shooting up in Glenmore.

“A shooting,” she muttered. She looked at the little bit of information that had been offered to the public but not a whole lot was there. The report noted that the police felt the shooting had been targeted and that the public was not in any danger.

“You guys always say that stuff,” she muttered, as she stared at the newspaper story on her laptop screen. Still, any shooting should make citizens wary. Yet Doreen understood those public statements were a tactic used to avoid causing people to panic. She got up to put on some toast, going over Mack’s comments. As she was adding butter, her phone rang, and it was Nan.

“Did you hear about the shooting?” Nan asked.

“I saw something about it, but it didn’t seem to be fatal.”

“Nobody died,” Nan stated, “so that’s good. At least not yet, they’re in the hospital.”

“And how do you know so much?”

“Ha. One of the women here has friends who are neighbors. They phoned her this morning with the news.”

“And who got shot?”

“A young woman named Lynda Mahoney.”

“Oh dear,” Doreen muttered. “Is it a domestic violence case?”

“We’re not sure. We thought maybe you could find out.”

“I can’t find out because Mack’s not talking to me about anything current right now.” She couldn’t stop the grumble in her tone.

Nan laughed. “But he will soon,” she suggested, “and, when he does, just remember that we’re here, waiting for an update.” And, with that, she ended the call.

Doreen groaned. The last thing she needed was to have any more people waiting for her or expecting her to get news from Mack. As the day went on, no new updates were forthcoming on that recent shooting case, and she found nothing about anybody going missing up in the Joe Rich area for years. She went back as far as she could, then wondered about the possibility of a visitor or a traveler, maybe stopping overnight in Kelowna.

She shook her head as she considered the location of Milford’s property in relation to anybody traveling. If the visitor stuck to the main highways, they would totally bypass that area. Surely nobody would have gone to the Joe Rich area accidentally. Now, going to Big White made more sense, especially for a ski nut. So she headed back to the online news columns to see if anybody had gone missing from up there, even some fifty years back. She found a few, but they had been found over time, often within a few days if not the same day—usually at something called a tree well. So Mack was correct on that point.

She didn’t even know why she felt the need to check it, but something niggled at her about that whole Joe Rich area. Milford was way out from the city proper, so it wasn’t long before her mind locked on to another idea. What if Milford wasn’t telling the truth? What if this old farmer knew more than he was talking about?

“But if he’s lying, withholding information, why would he call me? Why would he want the police to do something about it now?” she queried out loud. Mugs woofed at her, and she looked down at him and smiled. “You’re right. It makes no sense, unless his guilt was preying on him all these years. If he withheld info way back when, why would he give us more information now?” She frowned at that and realized she hadn’t asked enough questions. She was contemplating going back up there, except for it was snowing here. With the roads up there, the weather could be even worse.

Maybe she could phone him. She quickly picked up a notepad, wrote down a few questions that she wanted answered, and called him. The call went straight to voice mail. She wasn’t sure if he would even check his voice mail but figured it was worth a try. So, she left a message, asking him to call her back, saying she had a few more questions, leaving her number for him.

With snow on the roads here she didn’t want to go all the way to Joe Rich area, but the local library archives beckoned her out of her home. She told her animals that she would be back soon and put on her coat and grabbed her keys and purse.

She snuck into the microfiche area without a librarian seeing her. She was glad, as she had nothing to share. She decided to start fifty years ago and move forward, searching for any missing persons. Just two hours later, her back was aching to get out of the hardwood chair. And Doreen was frustrated, wishing for a designated Missing Persons section in all newspapers. With a sigh, she muttered, “No such luck.”

She vowed to return again. She had a least covered ten years, starting with fifty years ago and working her way up to forty years ago. She would start there the next time.