Chapter 16
“The cabin was built by my grandfather,” Violet said.
“He inherited the land from his father, and back then, part of it looked much like it still does today, I imagine. My grandfather loved those woods, and when he was a teenager, he built that cabin as a place to go when he wanted to be alone with his thoughts.”
Whitlock shook his head, staring at Violet in shock. “Why didn’t you tell me this when your daughter went missing?”
“I didn’t think it was relevant. The last time Anne was seen was at the Boathouse Diner in town, which, as you both know, is miles away from the cabin. At the time, I didn’t know about Anne’s interest in the cabin or that she’d been to it.”
“I feel like I’m missing a good deal of this story,” I said.
“I apologize,” Violet said. “Let me start from the beginning. When my grandfather was in his sixties, a developer approached him about buying the land to build a subdivision.”
“Are you talking about Harvest Creek?”
Violet nodded. “Those woods were just as much a part of him as the breath he drew. Still, he needed money. So, my grandfather agreed to sell part of the land to the developer and to preserve the other part for future generations, with a clause in his will that it would never be sold.”
“You said you didn’t know your daughter had any interest in the cabin, but when we were talking before you said you believed Anne had been there,” I said.
Violet crossed one leg over the other. “A few years ago, my sister Glinda came for a visit, and we got to talking about Anne and the last summer they spent together. That is when I learned about Anne’s fascination with our family history, and Glinda told her about the cabin, and why our grandfather built it. ”
“Why hadn’t Anne ever heard about the cabin before?”
“I was three years old when my grandfather died, and I have no memory of him. Glinda was much older and much more sentimental in nature. After she told Anne about the cabin, she warned her not to go inside, since it’s no longer, what you would call, ‘structurally sound.’”
“But you believe she went there anyway.”
“Anne was curious in nature. When you showed up here today, talking about the cabin and the locket Audrey may have found, I was in shock. I never would have considered the cabin a place to look for clues. How na?ve I’ve been all these years.”
“I wouldn’t say you’re na?ve,” Whitlock said. “You only became aware a few years ago that Anne knew of its existence.”
Eugene, who’d been quiet for some time, stood and refreshed his coffee. Then he returned to the table.
Whitlock cleared his throat. “I know we went over this a while ago, and I don’t know about you, but when I looked over all my notes, I have to say, some of them were confusing.
Guess what I’m saying is, we’d like to hear anything you can share about the summer Anne went missing.
Any detail. No matter how small it seems.”
Violet shifted in her chair, thinking. “Anne stayed with my sister Glinda that summer, as you know. They both shared a love for Cambria I never seemed to understand, and Glinda cherished the times they had together. She told me they often walked through the forest, hiked the trails, and explored as much of the outdoors as they could.”
“Did Anne ever mention anyone she hung around with during those summer visits?” I asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. I never heard about any friends she may have made.”
“Tell her about the man,” Eugene said.
“Oh, yes. One day when Glinda and Anne were out walking in the neighborhood, they passed by a man walking in the opposite direction. They waved, and he did the same. Glinda didn’t recognize him, and she thought he was new in town.”
Eugene cut in. “Glinda said they were coming out of their house one morning, and he was across the street, staring at her house,” Eugene said. “She thought something was off about him.”
Whitlock leaned forward. “It’s all coming back to me now. I remember talking to you about him.”
“Your partner brushed it off,” Eugene said.
“He may have, but I didn’t. The guy had a tattoo of a cross on his ankle, didn’t he?”
Violet nodded, and I thought about a man in town who had a tattoo just like the one she’d described.
“Does your sister still live in the same house?” I asked.
“No, she passed away a couple of years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” I said.
“It’s all right. She lived a long and happy life. She’s in a better place now.”
“Do you remember anything else unusual around that time?” Whitlock asked.
“Not about that time, but a few months after Anne went missing, Eugene and I went to Cambria. We stayed with my sister. One morning, I went out to get the paper, and a man was parked in a truck a couple of houses down, just staring at me. I thought he might have been the same man Anne and Glinda saw on their walk.”
Eugene stiffened. “Hun, we don’t know that he was the same man. You didn’t get a good look at him.”
“He was a mysterious man sitting in a dark truck for who knows what reason,” Violet said. “I told Glinda about him, and she thought it was suspicious too.”
“Did the man see you looking at him?” I asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “He stared at me for a minute and then started his truck and drove off.”
Whitlock let out a slow breath. “This is the first I’m hearing about it.”
“You were out of town when it happened,” Eugene said. “We talked to your partner. We assumed he told you.”
“Yeah, well, he should have, but he didn’t.”
“Do you remember anything about the man?” I asked. “Do you know his hair color, what he was wearing, or his build?”
Violet yawned, looking at Eugene. “I think I’ll take that cup of coffee now.”
He nodded and rose to get it for her.
Turning toward me, she said, “He was wearing a baseball cap the day I saw him, and he had a beard. It was rough, like he didn’t shave often. Glinda told me the man she saw also had a beard.”
“How old did he look?”
“Around the same age I was at the time.”
Whitlock removed a pen from his pocket and scribbled something on his notepad.
“The young man who sketched Anne’s locket,” Violet said. “What did he have to say about it?”
I looked at Whitlock, and he nodded, giving me the green light to share information about Logan.
“Logan is missing,” I said.
“Missing?” Eugene said, setting a coffee mug down in front of Violet. “What do you mean?”
“No one has seen him in several days. Believe me, if I could talk to him, I would. I believe finding him is the key to solving Audrey’s murder.”
“Seems like you need to do it sooner than later.”
“That we do.” Whitlock closed his notepad and stood. “We’ll leave you our numbers. If you remember anything else, any detail, call us.”
Violet nodded, blotting her eyes with a tissue she pulled from her pocket.
Eugene walked us to the door, shaking his head as he said, “It’s hard, you know? Thinking about the possibility of knowing what happened to Anne after all this time. I was resigned to the fact that we’d never know.”
“I think we’ll find answers,” I said. “At least, my gut tells me we will.”
Whitlock and I stepped onto the porch, and as the door closed behind us, Whitlock blew out a breath. “A truck. A man with a tattoo. A locket with Anne’s name on it. A scarf that may provide further evidence …”
“And two girls,” I said. “One dead. And one still missing, presumably dead.”
Whitlock opened the driver’s side door and paused. “I think we may be looking at the same killer. A man who waited twenty-five years to strike again.”
I nodded, because I believed he was right.
If both women had died by the same hand, then the killer had stepped out of the past and into the present, and there was no reason to believe they were finished killing yet.