Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
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RAE LEE
“Hey!” I chirp happily after pressing the speakerphone button to answer Anson’s call. “I didn’t expect to hear from you today.”
Forensic analysis concluded the remains found in the park were Pearl’s. I attended the funeral at Susan Turner’s behest. She’s messaged me several times since, wanting to contact Pearl. As Anson is still working the case, I’ve put her off. She’s certain if we connect I’ll provide additional leads.
It’s been a hard-won argument. But I say no because I learned the hard way I have to consider my health. Right now putting me first includes spending as much time as humanly possible with a certain Brighton Police detective.
“I wasn’t going to call, but—” The sound on Anson’s side of the line gets muffled. “Listen, I’m outside. Can I come up?”
“Sure. The back door’s open.” I hear him growl. I understand the guy who has escorted me to the rear entrance after every single date we’ve had is concerned for my safety, but… “Nobody’s getting in who shouldn’t, grumpy pants. Layla and Julian are in the yard trying to fix a lawn mower.”
“I can’t stay long. I have to swing by the Turners’.” I hear a car door slam.
“Fine by me.” I knew as much.
Anson huffs, approaching the house. “Hanging up now.”
I’ve gotten used to the modicum of efficiency Anson uses communicating. Due to the odd hours he finds himself on-duty, his schedule winds up all over the place. Coincidentally, that peculiarity fits perfectly with the wild swings my sleep schedule often takes.
The nicest part is Anson is considerate when I’m having a rough day. He’s as happy to grab takeout on his way over, and nap next to me after we’ve gorged ourselves on them, as I am to create at three in the morning while he’s in dreamland, making up for lost sleep.
For our first double date, Anson and I met Chaim and his wife for beers at Mark-39. We shared trays of loaded fries and talked for hours. With Julian’s help, we scored pre-sale tickets to an amazing show at Sweet Caroline’s next week. I’m so excited for the performance. Julian’s even taking the night off so Layla has someone to dance with.
Last night, Paisley’s Boutique had an open house. I’d thought the engraved invitation I received was because the shop stocks my jewelry. Nope! Layla wanted to introduce me to her friends. They were so nice—and when Layla encouraged me to share how Anson and I wound up together, not one of them asked me to channel their long-lost relative. Meanwhile, Anson went to watch Grant’s baseball game and stayed at Angeline’s mother’s for dinner.
Which is to say, so far so good! We’re not rushing things and have made the best of the time we’ve had together so far.
I also kinda like it that Anson pretends my earbuds are in when we’re in public and I murmur, “Sorry, can’t talk now.” I feel… a little less like people think I’m the weird girl.
The knob to my apartment jiggles moments later. He kicks the door with his toe, holding a liquor box from the ABC store with two hands.
“Whatcha got there?” I ask. It’s too early to drink, but curiosity has the best of me.
Anson blows out a deep breath. “A present. Maybe. If you want to keep it.”
My mouth forms an “o”. I didn’t realize that there was an appropriate anniversary gift for dating—
I stop and use my fingers to tick off the weeks, giving up after what counted as Anson’s third weekend off. We’ve done enough together that it doesn’t seem to matter how long we’ve been seeing one another. Well, that and I’m over the moon that there’s a hot cop here with a present for me.
Can life get any better than that? I don’t think so.
I slide my supplies to the side, and he slides the box on the table. I stand up to peer into the box, but Anson beats me to it, reaching in.
My fingertips fly to my mouth when the box makes a tiny meow.
“Grant and I found this poor slob in the crawl space under his grandmother’s house.” My boyfriend holds up an itty-bitty orange kitten with big blue eyes. It cries out, opening its tiny mouth and stretching its limbs.
“For me?” I gently take him from Anson, snuggle his little body over my breasts, and rub my chin against his soft fur.
Anson’s lips tip up. He pets the cat and curls his palm behind my ear, moving the hair that’s fallen forward.
“If you want him. If not, I’ll drop him off at the shelter. I’ve already made a vet appointment. The receptionist asked his name. I said I’d get back to them about it. ‘Cat’ seemed unimaginative.”
My heart swells that Anson intends to take care of him and not leave the responsibility of caring for a cat that hasn’t had its shots to the overburdened shelter. But my tummy also bumps over the hump of a roller coaster and bottoms out. I don’t want this defenseless animal left alone.
“What about Grant? Won’t his grandmother let him keep the kitten?”
“Grant kept his sister.” He scratches the tabby boy kitten’s head and back. “She’s black and white and, boy, can she vocalize. Grant named her Harper.”
“Then we give Fred a good home.”
“Fred?”
“Yes, because he bears a striking resemblance to Paul… Don’t you. Don’t you. ” I baby-talk, holding Fred up to my nose and wiggle.
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t expect you would. Chalk it up as another one of life’s great mysteries.” I peck Anson on the lips and thank him for the kitten. “Fred makes my heart happy. You make my heart happy,” I say. It’s too soon for I love you, but that’s what I mean.
“You make my heart happy, too, Rae Lee.”
My heart skips a beat and my lips part, startled at his words. Anson’s unabashed grin tells me we’re on the same page about where this relationship is headed.
He leans in to kiss me goodbye and his velvety tongue swipes against mine. I wrap an arm around his neck, cautious not to crush the ball of fur cradled between us. He pulls my lower body flush to his and his arousal presses at my belly. My inner thighs warm.
Anson picks up on my legs shifting. I wiggle, trying to satisfy the ache until we’re in bed together again.
“You have a problem there, Rae?”
“Not one I can’t solve on my own.” I wink.
His eyes shift toward my dresser, then back to mine. A woman doesn’t have to be clairvoyant to know what Anson is thinking. I was a single gal for a while. There are more items in the top drawer than lingerie and a new box of condoms.
“Don’t.” Kiss. “You.” Kiss. “Dare.”
ANSON
The single most part of this job I despise is being responsible for informing a family that they’ve lost a loved one. Though Brighton P.D.’s crime scene investigation unit trucks parked away from prying eyes, a reporter got wind of our presence at the park. So when Chaim brought in the county coroner’s office to assess our findings, and the local news immediately picked up the story and ran with it for the four o’clock news, I felt the ticking time bomb of impending doom.
Despite my hunch being correct and being proud of Rae Lee’s because the new leads she provided panned out, there’s no glory in solving this case. A little girl still died. A mother still grieves.
Using dental records and DNA, the state’s forensic pathologist identified the teeth and skull as belonging to Pearl Tatton. It was a fluke we had any remains at all. Though her assailant wrapped her small body in a tarp, time was unkind and nature ran its course. A few years from now, there’d hardly be a shred of evidence left. The things Pearl showed Rae Lee wouldn’t tie together with what I saw with my own two eyes. The hard proof I need to go on as a cop would be non-existent. As would the confidence I have in my girlfriend’s experiences with the afterlife.
In retrospect, Mrs. Turner’s insistence that we bring Rae Lee in on the case wasn’t a great deal of comfort to her the day I sat Susan down to share the news that we finally found her daughter. I was glad the department had something to return to her at all. However, seeing her child, holding Pearl’s whole healthy and living body is something I regret not being able to do. As was Susan’s ability to have an open casket at Pearl’s memorial, which Rae Lee and I attended.
I was hardly out of the police academy at the time of Pearl’s disappearance. Yet—akin to the days after Angeline’s fatal shooting—the feeling like I hadn’t done enough persists. Not knowing what prompted Pearl to open the door the evening she disappeared haunts me. I hope the answers come soon.
Driving across town, the closer I get to the Turners’ the more obvious it is that I need to get my wits about me. Although the maudlin thoughts have crept in, I’m happy to have left Rae Lee’s on a positive note. Grant was worried about separating the cats, but when he chose the black one my gut trusted the other belonged with Rae Lee.
By naming the kitten Fred, Rae Lee dangled a mystery in front of me. It’s a puzzle I intend to solve. Saint Rita hasn’t led me astray so far.
Susan greets me at the door. She looks happy to see me. My insides churn. The latest update is sure to break apart whatever pieces of her heart she’s mended.
“Do you recognize this man, Susan?” I show her a printout with two pictures of the suspect we’ve identified. Side-by-side, the first image was taken over a decade ago.
Susan’s eyes track to the recent photo. The man’s hair is grayed. His cheeks gaunt. The drab jumpsuit he’s wearing adds years to his age. She’s about to give a clipped nod and say no, when she shifts her gaze and focuses on the suspect as a younger man.
“Alan.” Susan’s face pinches. Tears fill her eyes and her chin wobbles.
It’s evident when it clicks for Pearl’s mother the way it had for me.
What Susan and I heard the day of Rae Lee’s walk-through was Pearl left on a dare. That was even Rae Lee’s initial interpretation.
But Pearl was emphatic and Rae Lee repeated over and over It was a dare .
The email I hadn’t opened during the excavation at the park was the Town of Brighton Parks and Recreation entire employment records going back to the department’s inception.
At the top of the list was a short-term hire.
Alan Adair.
A name so clearly visible that I hadn’t noticed it at first glance.
Shocked, Susan turns to Harvey. Her lip trembles as she regards her husband. “Pearl. She was unhappy we were seeing each other after her father died. I broke things off and dated Alan. But it was impossible not to see Harvey at work. So I called it off with Alan,” she explains for my benefit.
“How long were you involved with Mr. Adair?”
She places the paper on the coffee table. “A few months.”
“Was it serious?”
“No. Not on my part. Between the business and Harvey helping out around the house, I’d been torn.”
“What was Adair’s reaction to you deciding not to date him any longer?”
Susan’s shoulder’s hit her ears. “Alan was upset. He said he wasted a lot of time trying to make things work with me.”
“Do you think he was resentful?”
“I—I don’t know. He told me he was leaving town after I broke it off. I didn’t see him afterwards.”
“You have a timeframe between the last time you spoke with Alan Adair and the evening Pearl went missing?”
“I’d been back with Harvey for four weeks. Maybe more? I haven’t even thought of Alan since,” Susan says, bewildered. As if she should have thought harder, racked her overwhelmed brain at a time when the primary emotion a parent feels is sheer terror.
“What was Adair’s relationship with Pearl like?”
“Good. He went out of his way to include her when…”
“When?” I prompt after Susan’s pregnant pause.
“When I told Alan that Pearl seemed resentful of Harvey taking her father’s place. Oh God, did I?” Susan takes a choking gasp. “Pearl went with Alan didn’t she? Was it my fault?”
I lean in, taking Susan’s hands in mine. “The person responsible was the one who took your child. Remember that. Always.”
“Where is he? Where is Alan now?” Pearl’s mother sounds panicked.
“Alan Adair has been incarcerated in Texas. He was found guilty of trying to murder his second wife after a kidnapping.”
If Susan Turner needs the rest of the story, she can search it out. It’s ugly. Adair intended to ransom the baby he’d stolen.
Along with a victim statement calling to light the safety of another child in the same family, Brighton P.D.’s quiet interest in Adair recently swayed the parole board from releasing him.
And while his lawyer argues that it’s neither here nor there, since Adair knew Susan Tatton, the penitentiary’s search of his personal effects has found articles pertaining to the Pruitt murders and Pearl Tatton’s disappearance. The lawyer also takes exception to the partial fingerprints found at the scene. Years ago, investigators hadn’t been able to match those prints because Adair’s weren’t entered into the system until he was booked for his arrest.
We’re slowly building a case that Adair—a grifter—ingratiated himself to Pearl. That he came to the Tattons’ that night in an attempt to reconcile with Susan, who had inherited a sizable amount upon her husband’s death. And that sometime after Pearl opened the door, Adair hit her on the head with her softball bat. Trace metal fragments were embedded in the bone. He cleaned the bat with the hand towel and hid it under Pearl’s bed. Then the park maintenance worker brought her body, wrapped in the tarp, to the park and buried her next to the wishing well where he knew the town was putting the sidewalk because he was on the crew.
Except the following day, Adair failed to show up for work. He’d moved to Texas and moved on to bilk another unsuspecting widow.