6. Ozzie
CHAPTER 6
Ozzie
M y breath fogged, sweeping past my face as I ran through the darkened streets of Parker’s Landing. Icy fire seared my lungs as I inhaled deep breaths of the cold air, but I didn’t mind. It helped to clear my head.
I’d lain awake for hours last night, mulling over details of the Hammond case. I couldn’t find the husband. Every phone number I called either went to voicemail or there was no one at that location by that name. I’d called both hotels in Boston that Claire Holmes mentioned in her message. Neither had a guest registered under Hammond’s name. There wasn’t even a booking for the couple.
To cover my bases, I emailed a picture of Warren Hammond to the heads of security for both places. They said they’d keep an eye out, but I didn’t hold out much hope he was there.
If Hammond didn’t murder his wife and then run, he was dead somewhere. Or running from someone who wanted him dead.
I sucked in another lungful of icy air, willing the returning thoughts away and forcing my mind onto something else.
I cycled through my morning to-do list. Number one was making sure Marie Hammond’s body left the county morgue and headed to Anchorage for autopsy. After that, I planned to book a flight there for a couple of days from now so I could observe the procedure. Once I had my travel squared away, I would file requests for the Hammonds’ financial information and phone records. If the warrants were ready. I filed for them yesterday afternoon, and they should be through. Then I needed to go to the school where Marie Hammond taught and interview her colleagues.
Or that might happen before I put in the records request. It all depended on those warrants. Things moved more slowly here than in North Carolina. It wasn’t because of less urgency. There just weren’t the personnel to get things done any faster. As a special detachment of the state police, I was the only detective on the small police force here. Most of the legwork for this case I would do alone. Though the chief said I could borrow an officer when needed. If I needed more expertise, I could call Juneau’s police department or bring in the big guns from the other state offices in Juneau or Anchorage. It was a much different way of policing than I was used to.
My jogging route carried me around the corner toward Claire Holmes’s house. Her windows were still dark, which didn’t surprise me. I’d set out a little earlier this morning since I’d been unable to sleep.
I still couldn’t believe the put-together professional I’d met at the Hammonds’ was the same hot-pink slippered, bathrobed woman I encountered running down the sidewalk after her little Yorkie in the dark yesterday. The two images just didn’t jive.
Both were appealing, though.
Claire Holmes was a beautiful woman, no matter what she wore.
But she’s a witness , my internal voice reminded me.
I rolled my eyes at myself.
Like I was really looking for a relationship.
I’d been in town a month. And I hadn’t moved here to find a woman. There had been plenty of those in North Carolina. I was here to build a deeper adult relationship with my brother. We were the only family each other had left after our Mom died last year. Ellis had another couple of months until his stint in the U.S. Coast Guard was over, then he planned to take over a commercial fishing vessel from a friend.
I couldn’t imagine him as a full-time fisherman. Right now, he was a machinery technician and spent his days repairing ship engines and hydraulics. It would be interesting to see him go from that to catching fish.
Jogging past Ms. Holmes’s house, I continued around the block to the path that took me along the water through a local park.
It sure was beautiful here.
At this hour, there wasn’t much to see. Some lights glistening off the rippled water of the bay. But once the sun came up, I knew the sea would be alive with fishing vessels of all colors and sizes. That eagles and gulls would swoop overhead, looking for an easy meal. I loved the salty smell that permeated the air and the sound of the birds squawking. I’d been a mountain boy all my life, but living on the ocean felt right.
It helped that I hadn’t sacrificed the mountains for my new home. They ringed the entire region, so close I felt like I could step out my door and hike up one.
Maybe in the summer I would.
Meandering through the park, I turned toward home, ready to get back where it was warm. My nose felt like a popsicle. The rest of me was fine. It was just my nose. I needed to invest in a treadmill before next winter. When I first arrived, I’d been too busy to do more than lift weights and maybe take a quick sprint on the treadmill at the police gym. Once the weather warmed some, I started running outside.
The first week or so, I kept the runs short. It was just too chilly for my southeastern U.S. blood. But I gradually acclimated and the weather had warmed enough I could go more than a mile or two. I was up to five, which is what I typically ran back home.
My nose still froze, though.
Reaching my house, I let myself inside, savoring the heat that enveloped me. In my living room, I did some stretches, then went to the kitchen, guzzling a bottle of water before heading upstairs to shower.
Clean and dressed in the department’s standard uniform, I made breakfast, then headed out to my car for the short trip to our small police station.
The engine of my gray four-by-four, heavy-duty truck roared to life. Cold air blasted from the vents, but I knew it would soon warm up. This car had been a great purchase. Before I left North Carolina, I sold the small SUV I had, knowing that one, the cost to ship a vehicle was ridiculous, and two, I would need something more robust up here. Something I could put a kayak in or a load of wood. This truck was a few years old, but the mileage was low, and it ran like a dream.
Making my way along Glacier Highway, I drove the two miles to work. I could have run, making it part of my morning exercise routine, but there was one shower at the station, and the water never got past lukewarm. Plus, the weather here could be unpredictable. Not to mention the risk of stumbling over wildlife. Animal encounters weren’t unusual even near people’s homes, but I had to pass through about a mile of vacant land to get to the station. I preferred to stick to the neighborhoods near my house, where I was less likely to encounter a moose.
Water splashed under my tires as I drove through a puddle turning into the station’s parking lot. I found a space near the backdoor, then headed inside.
The scent of cinnamon and coffee hit me the moment I walked in. Even though I’d eaten, my stomach rumbled. Riggs’s wife liked to bake. At least once a week—usually more—she sent him in with a pan of something.
I followed my nose to the small break room. Gabe Turner stood near the coffeemaker, a paper bowl in one hand and a plastic spoon in the other.
“What is that?” I moved closer, eyes locked on the crock pot on the counter. “It smells divine.”
“Apple cobbler.”
“Yum.” Knowing I wouldn’t get any later if I didn’t take some now, I reached for the stack of bowls beside the slow cooker.
“Not yum. Yummy. Divine. Earth-shakingly good.” Gabe shoveled another bite into his mouth.
A smile tilted one side of my mouth as I picked up the spoon and lifted the lid off the pot. A wave of cinnamon-appley goodness smacked me in the face.
I scooped up a healthy spoonful and plopped it into my bowl. Picking up a plastic utensil, I took a bite.
Flavors burst over my tongue. “Holy cow.”
“Right? Divine.” Gabe scraped the bottom of his bowl, getting every last morsel.
I didn’t blame him. I planned to do the same.
“You need any help on the Hammond case?” Stepping over to the trash can, Gabe dropped his bowl in.
“Not yet. But I probably will once I get their financial and phone records.” I scooped up as many apples as the plastic spoon would hold. It was a good thing I ate a hearty breakfast before I came in. Otherwise, I’d be eating a second helping of this.
“When you get to that point, give me a call. I’m happy to help.”
My head bobbed as I finished the last of my treat. Turner was a good cop with a level head and an eye for detail. I would be glad to have his assistance. “Sounds good. Hey, do you know who I contact to arrange travel?”
“Riggs is the one who approves it, but his admin, Nina, will help you book it.” He grinned backing toward the door. “I hope you like small planes.”
I didn’t, but I would survive.
Turner left, and I finished my cobbler, then headed for my desk. After checking with the morgue that Marie Hammond’s body was scheduled to fly out to Anchorage for autopsy, and the state medical examiner’s office to find out when she would be on their schedule, I made my way to Riggs’s office to see Nina.
She looked up from her computer and gave me a sunny smile when I walked in. “Well, good morning. Do you need to talk with Danny?”
“Actually, I came to see you.” I returned her smile.
“Oh?” Her smile turned sassy. “Go on.”
Chuckling, I motioned to the chair in front of her desk, silently asking if I could sit.
She nodded.
I perched on the gray cushion. “I need to go to Anchorage for Marie Hammond’s autopsy. I’m told you’re the person to help me with that.”
“I am. Did you clear it with the chief?”
“Yes. Last night.” I hadn’t even asked. He told me to make sure I booked the flight and overnight accommodations.
“Alrighty, then.” She turned back to her computer. “When do you need to be there?”
“Thursday. She’s on the schedule for that afternoon.”
“Perfect. I can get you on an early flight that morning and then an early one home the next day. Does that work?” She glanced up from the screen.
“Yes.”
“Okay. I’ll get it taken care of and send you the itinerary.”
“Thanks, Nina. I appreciate it.”
She gave me another sunny smile. “You’re welcome. Now, shoo.” Making a quick flicking motion with her hand, she glanced at the door. “We both have work to do.”
Chuckling, I got up. “Yes, ma’am.”
Leaving her to it, I went back to my desk just off the main squad room. With a few strokes on the keyboard, I logged in and went straight to the warrant database. Fingers crossed, I searched for the ones I filed.
In seconds, they popped up, both showing an active status.
“Awesome,” I muttered. Saving the files to my computer, I went about requesting the Hammonds’ financial and phone records. It would be a day or so before those came back. But that was fine. I planned to interview her co-workers today. I needed to talk to Warren Hammond’s work colleagues as well. He was still missing.
Their house had yielded scant clues. Many of their belongings were already packed away and with a moving company, ready to be shipped to Boston. What was left in the house were everyday items, like clothing and just enough dishes to get them through. All the art on the walls was gone, and they had nothing stored in the house. It was like walking into the most basic model home you could find. If there were clues to her murder, it wouldn’t come from their house.
Picking up a legal pad, I clipped a pen to my collar and headed out.
The drive to the school wasn’t long. Within twenty minutes, I pulled off the main road and into the parking lot.
Parking near the main entrance, I got out and went into the vestibule. A camera and intercom system on the wall near the inner doors had a label underneath that read, “Press button for front desk.”
I pushed the button.
It rang, then a woman’s voice came over the speaker.
“Yes?”
I held up my badge to the camera lens. “I’m Detective Quartermaine from the state police. I need to speak to your principal.”
“Oh. Is this about Marie?”
“It is.” I wasn’t surprised she knew. We hadn’t notified the school, but it was a small town. The news was probably all over by lunch yesterday.
The door buzzed. “Come in.”
I pulled it open. Looking left, then right in the hallway, I spotted the office to the right. Through the glass-walled entrance, I saw a woman peering at me from behind a desk.
Letting myself in, I gave her my most charming smile, hoping to put her at ease. “Good morning.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Good morning. If you want to have a seat, I’ll let Pat know you’re here.” She picked up the phone on her desk.
I eyed the black, hard plastic chairs pushed against the far wall. “I’ll stand, but thank you.” I crossed my arms, notepad in hand, while she made the call.
A trill came from behind a closed door down the short hallway behind her. It stopped a moment before the secretary spoke.
“There’s a detective here to talk to you about Marie.” The woman kept her voice soft, but in the small space, there was no privacy.
“Okay.” She hung up and looked at me. “She’ll be out in a moment.”
“Thank you.”
True to her word, a blonde woman in her fifties emerged about twenty seconds later. Rounding the desk, she held out a hand with a polite smile. “I’m Pat Byron.”
“Oscar Quartermaine.” I shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, though I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances.”
Her expression turned pinched. “Me too. Let’s go in my office, shall we?” She motioned down the hall.
Following her down the short corridor, she led me into a well-appointed, though tight, space. I sat on the comfortable, upholstered brown chair in front of her desk and laid my notepad down.
She sat down in her black leather desk chair. “How can I help you, Detective? What happened to Marie is just dreadful. We’re all in shock.”
“Tell me about her.” I sat back, assuming a relaxed posture. Over the years, I’d learned that asking a broad, open-ended question often led to more information.
“Well, she was nice. Always willing to help out with things around the school. She liked to joke, but wasn’t mean about it, you know?”
I nodded but stayed silent.
“The kids liked her. So did the parents. She kept her class engaged and did well with problem students.” Her composed expression crumpled slightly. “I just don’t know why someone would do this.” She turned a frown on me. “I heard Warren’s missing .” She rolled her eyes.
That was interesting. She liked Marie but not the husband.
I stayed silent several beats, hoping she’d continue, and was quickly rewarded for my patience.
“I don’t know what she saw in that man. His money, probably. He didn’t treat her well.”
“Oh?” The single word prompted her to continue that line of thought.
She nodded, grimacing. “I don’t know as if he hit her. But I guess if he stabbed her, he probably worked his way up from beatings. I know he belittled her, though. I’ve heard him do it. And he drinks a lot.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“We do the standard holiday get-togethers, you know? At this year’s Christmas party, we played some party games, like the candy cane run and pin the star on the tree. Silly stuff. She kept dropping candy canes, and he told her she was worthless and said how he couldn’t believe she wasn’t doing it on purpose. That no one was that bad at the game.” She shook her head, clearly disgusted.
“You said he drinks a lot. Was he drunk then?”
“Yes. We held the party at a restaurant with a banquet room. He was several drinks in by that point, and was slurring his words some.”
“What did Mrs. Hammond do?”
“She finished the game, then left the room.”
“But not the party?”
Mrs. Byron shook her head. “No. She was gone about fifteen minutes. When she came back, she sat at a table with another teacher from the high school and ignored her husband until they left.”
I pulled the pen off my collar. “What’s the teacher’s name?”
“Grace Alonso.”
Sliding my notepad forward, I wrote her name down. “Is she here today?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to speak with her before I leave. Tell me about Mrs. Hammond’s relationship with the rest of the staff.”
“It was good. She never created waves. Everyone liked her.”
“Was she particularly close to anyone? Other than Ms. Alonso.”
“Kaya Strand. She’s another high school teacher.”
I wrote her name down as well. “Tell me about Mrs. Hammond’s attitude lately.”
Mrs. Byron frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Has she seemed… off?”
She glanced away, thinking. “Not really. I mean, she might have been a little quieter than usual, but nothing drastic.”
“And no problems with any students or their parents?”
“No—” She stopped, frowning. “Well, there’s been one.” Sitting forward and folding her hands on the desktop, she rolled her bottom lip in, running her tongue over it as she stared at a point over my shoulder. “She’s had a student skipping class. Just hers.”
“What does she teach?”
“History.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“It’s strange. It’s just been her class. The student goes to every other class without incident. We contacted the parents, and they’ve refused to do anything about it, going so far as to tell us they’ll be ignoring all messages on the subject. That their child has a reason and it’s none of our business.” Her mouth pursed. “We’ve taken action and issued the student detention more than once. They’re verging on suspension if the behavior continues.”
My eye twitched. Obviously, there was a reason this student felt the need to skip class. But no one wanted to truly dig to get the answer, preferring to punish first and ask questions later. “Has anyone tried following the student?”
“We don’t have the resources for that.”
“Really? This kid is gone for what? Forty-five minutes to an hour?”
She nodded.
“I’m sure you could take that much time out of your day to tail the kid and find out what’s going on.”
She bristled. “I have quite the busy schedule, I assure you.”
I hummed and decided to drop it for now. I wasn’t here to get involved in school problems. “I need to talk to this student and their parents.”
“If the parents agree, sure.”
I motioned to her phone.
She frowned. “You want me to call them? Now?”
“I’d prefer it, yes. And put the call on speaker.”
Her gaze hardened. “I would prefer to call and ask first.”
“Ma’am, this is a murder investigation. And I am not interested in why the child is cutting class. I want to know if they had anything to do with Marie Hammond’s death.”
She huffed, some of the obstinance leaving her features. “All right.” Reaching for her computer mouse, she clicked through a couple of screens, then picked up the phone. “I’m not sure they’ll answer. They’ve been letting school calls go to voicemail.”
“Do they know your number?”
“I’ve called a couple of times, yes. But most of the calls have been from Mrs. Hammond.” She dialed, then pushed the speaker button and set the phone in the cradle. A soft, electronic whir filled the room as it rang.
“Hello?” A woman answered.
“Hello,” Mrs. Byron said. “This is Pat Byron at PLA.”
The woman sighed and didn’t let her say more. “I’m sorry. I don’t have anything?—”
“This is Detective Quartermaine with the state police,” I interrupted.
The woman went silent.
“Mrs. Byron made me aware you and your student have had some issues with Marie Hammond.”
“You called the cops on us?” The woman’s incredulity came through the line loud and clear as her voice rose.
“She didn’t, ma’am. Mrs. Hammond was murdered yesterday. I’m investigating her death.”
More silence came over the line, then, “Why are you calling me? I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Ma’am, may I have your name, please? And before you say no, it would be in your best interest to cooperate.”
There was a short huff. “Bethany Cable.”
“Thank you.” I added her name to my notepad. “Why has your child been skipping Mrs. Hammond’s class?”
She stayed silent.
I held back a sigh. Some people needed some extra encouragement. “Ms. Cable, I am not here to get you or your child in trouble. I just want to rule your family out as suspects in her death.”
“Suspects? Because Misha skipped class a few times? He was just helping his nana.” The woman let out a soft groan of frustration. “My husband and I have had to pick up some extra work shifts lately. Grocery prices…” She trailed off, blowing out a breath before continuing. “Anyway, my mother isn’t in the best of health, and she can’t drive. Misha’s been leaving school to take her to her dialysis appointments.”
Mrs. Byron gasped. “Oh my. Why didn’t you say something? We have resources?—”
“Because it’s no one’s problem but ours. We don’t need or want your help.”
“It is our business, because Misha’s missing school,” Mrs. Byron said.
“He’s fine. It’s his senior year. And what’s he going to use history for? He’ll be a mechanic when he graduates. He only took the class because he needed an elective credit.”
Mrs. Byron opened her mouth to respond, but I cut her off. “Ms. Cable, Mrs. Byron tells me you’ve been refusing to respond to calls and messages about your son missing school. Has anything beyond that occurred?”
“Like what?”
“Contact with Mrs. Hammond in other ways.”
“Oh. No. I just delete all her emails as soon as I read them. And send her voicemails to the trash. We tried to tell her he had a good reason. She wouldn’t listen. So we stopped listening to her.”
I met Mrs. Byron’s gaze and shook my head. While I understood the family’s need to keep sensitive medical information private, a little explanation could have gone a long way.
But that was Mrs. Byron’s problem to deal with, not mine. “You haven’t talked to Mrs. Hammond beyond that?”
“No.”
“What about your son?”
“I doubt it.”
“Do I have your permission to speak to him?”
“No. He’s still a minor, so you need me or my husband there to interview him. Even if I wanted to do that, I’m not leaving work. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to that.” She hung up without waiting for a response.
I pressed my lips in a flat line. “Well, at least you got an answer to your problem.”
Features tight, she nodded.
“Could you call Ms. Alonso and Ms. Strand to the office so I can talk to them, please?”
“It’ll have to be one at a time. I’m the only one available to cover their classes.” She pushed away from the desk. “You can stay here. I’ll send Grace in momentarily.”
“Thank you.”
With a nod, she left.
While I waited, I sent a message to one of the county social workers, asking about transportation for elderly patients. The Cables might not accept help from the school, but maybe they’d take it from a different source.
A quiet knock on the open door had me looking over my shoulder. A dark-haired woman in her mid- to late thirties entered, offering me a soft smile.
I stood, greeting her. “Hello. I’m Detective Quartermaine. You must be Grace.”
She took the hand I offered. “Yes. What can I do for you? Pat said you wanted to speak to me about Marie.” The smile faded from her face as a sadness stole over her expression.
“I do. Have a seat.” Getting up, I pulled the principal’s now vacant chair around the desk, hoping to set a more informal tone than having us on opposite sides of it.
Grace sat, folding her hands in her lap.
I settled next to her. “Mrs. Byron said you and Marie were friends.”
“Yes. I wouldn’t call us besties or anything—well, I guess maybe we were work besties—but we did things together outside of school.”
“Such as?”
“Lunch on Saturdays sometimes, or maybe coffee. And we’d go shopping.”
“Tell me about her.”
“What she was like, you mean?”
I nodded.
“She was fun. Always joking and smiling. And smart. Man, was she smart. It made her a tough teacher, but the kids didn’t seem to mind. They liked her and her classes. She made learning interesting and fun, you know?”
I did. Several of my teachers through the years were like that. They’d been my favorite classes too. “Have you noticed any changes in her personality in the last few months? Or changes to her routine?”
Grace pursed her lips. Glancing down at her folded hands, she picked at the cuticle on one thumb with the nail from the other. “I wouldn’t call it a change, really.” She looked up. “She just seemed… down? I mean, she still joked around, still had the same enthusiasm in class with her students, but—” She stopped, looking away in thought. “I don’t know. Some of the sparkle was gone from her eyes.”
“Did that have something to do with her husband?”
She looked at me. “Pat told you about the Christmas party, didn’t she?”
Again, I nodded.
“He’s a jerk. I would not be surprised if he’s the one who murdered her. She planned to leave him, you know.”
I tipped my head. “Really?” That was news to me. There was nothing at the Hammond’s home to indicate they were on the outs.
“Yep. After they moved to Boston.”
“Why wait?”
“Because it’s expensive to move from here. Everything has to be shipped. Her family lives in Virginia. She wanted Warren to foot the bill to get back to the East Coast.”
I was well-acquainted with how pricey it was. The department had offered partial relocation assistance, but I’d still forked out over a thousand dollars to move up here. And that didn’t count my travel expenses.
“Do you know why they were moving?”
“Warren got promoted. That’s how they came here too. She said he called the move up here a stepping stone. I guess it was, because he’s supposed to be the new vice president of acquisitions at the firm’s office in Boston.”
I jotted that down, then returned to what really interested me about what she said. “Tell me more about the problems they were having.”
“Like I said, Warren is a jerk. He drank too much, but even when he wasn’t a drunk asshole, he wasn’t very nice to her. He liked to point out how she wouldn’t have such a comfortable life without him.” Grace snorted. “They lived on her salary. His all went into investments. ” She rolled her eyes.
“You don’t think they were investing his salary?”
“I’m sure they did some of it, but not all of it. He spent money on himself. But not on Marie.” She shook a finger. “Every time I saw him, he had on a fancy suit, a watch that cost more than my house payment, and his car was never more than a year or two old. And it was a BMW. Marie drove a ten-year-old Honda Pilot, and all her clothes came from the local department store.”
“Did you ever ask her about it?”
“No. It wasn’t my business. She seemed content. When she was away from him, anyway. He didn’t come to many school functions. I don’t know how or why she got him to come to the Christmas party.”
Nodding slightly, I shifted in my seat. “Tell me about that night.”
Grace blew out a breath, ruffling her bangs. “Warren, as per usual, had too much to drink. He said some rather rude things to Marie, so I hustled her into the corner and made sure her back was to him the rest of the night. Then I glared at him every time he thought about coming over. He stayed away until they left.”
“What did the two of you talk about while you sat together?”
“That’s when she told me she planned to leave him. She said she was done being treated like dirt. I asked her why she married him if he acted that way.”
“Let me guess, he didn’t use to?”
Grace nodded. “She said the money from his job changed him. And he resented her for not wanting to go back to school so she could be an administrator and make more money.”
I tipped my head as a thought occurred. “Was she the reason they lived on her salary alone? Did she not want to splurge?”
“That was part of it. I think she knew if they lived on both their incomes, or on his, they’d never save any money. Like I said, Warren liked to buy things.”
That reshaped the way I viewed the man’s spending habits. It could be Grace’s perception of the couple’s money issues were wrong, and it wasn’t that Warren didn’t want to spend money on his wife, but that Marie didn’t want him spending money on lavish things for her, so he didn’t. “Were there other reasons she planned to leave him? A mistress, perhaps?”
Grace lifted a shoulder, her gaze turning away for a moment as she glanced toward the hallway. “Maybe. I’m not sure. She never mentioned one, but knowing him, it’s possible.”
I made a note to look closely at his credit card and bank statements for signs of a mistress. “Was Warren aware of her feelings?”
“I don’t know. But I would say probably not. I can’t see him paying to move her back to the mainland. He’d insist she do it herself.”
“Okay. Is there anything else you wish to tell me about either of them? Have there been any other strange occurrences in the last several months?”
She chewed on one corner of her mouth, looking away for several moments. “No.” She met my gaze again. “Not that I can think of.”
“One more question. Are there any places Warren would go to hide out or people he might feel comfortable contacting for help?”
“I can’t say. I didn’t know him well, and Marie never talked about his friends.”
I clicked my pen closed and set it and my notepad on the desk. “Okay.” Having gotten as much from her as I believed I could for now, I stood and reached into my pocket for a business card.
Grace rose from her seat.
“If you think of anything that might be pertinent, please call me. My email is on there, too, if you’d rather contact me that way.”
She took the white rectangle I held out. “I will, thank you.”
I nodded once. “Thank you, Ms. Alonso.”
With a tight smile, she turned toward the door. At the threshold, she glanced back. “Find who did this, Detective. My friend didn’t deserve to die.”
No one ever did. “I will do my best.”
Holding my gaze for another second, she left.
I returned to my chair, picking up my notepad and pen to summarize our conversation while I waited for Ms. Strand. Grace Alonso had given me some things to think about.
Several minutes later, movement in the hall drew my attention. I glanced up to see a woman close to my age appear in the doorway.
I stood, offering her a smile and my hand. “Ms. Strand?”
She shook my hand. “Yes. Mrs. Byron said you wanted to talk to me about Marie.”
“Yes. Please, have a seat.” I motioned to the chair Ms. Alonso had vacated.
The woman perched on the edge, clutching her skirt in her fingers. Her eyes were red-rimmed.
Knowing the conversation could be tough—and not wanting to make her cry—I relaxed in my chair, hoping to create a calm atmosphere. “Mrs. Byron said you and Mrs. Hammond were friends.”
Kaya pressed her lips together and nodded. “Yes.”
“Close friends?”
The woman lifted a shoulder. “Not terribly. We didn’t really do anything together outside of work.”
“But here you spent time together?”
Again, she nodded.
“Did Mrs. Hammond mention to you any of the problems she was having in her personal life?”
A frown formed between Kaya’s brows and a bit of the sadness faded from her face. “Problems? No. What sort of problems?”
“With her husband.”
“Oh.” The woman’s gaze turned hard. “You mean, the jerk ?”
I quirked an eyebrow up. This was becoming the theme of the day. “What makes you call him that?”
“Because he was.” She clutched her skirt again, then forced her hands open and smoothed the wrinkles she’d created. “All I know is what I saw at the functions he attended.”
“Like the Christmas party?”
“Yes. He was rude. Not just to her, but to everyone. He just seemed to think he was better than all of us.”
“Did she ever talk about his work or his friends?”
“No. She never talked about him, period.”
My other eyebrow rose. “Never?”
“Nope. Which is why it always surprised us when he showed up with her to work functions. It’s like they were trying to put on a normal front.” She scoffed. “They failed. Every time. He was condescending and drank too much, which turned him into an even bigger prick. She ignored him the entire time. Then they’d leave in silence.”
I wasn’t surprised Marie wanted a divorce after hearing Grace and Kaya’s takes on Warren, but I couldn’t help wondering why they were married in the first place. Was this attitude toward each other something that had grown over time? Or did they simply have a marriage of convenience? If the latter were true, why? Especially if they hated each other. Why would they marry if they couldn’t stand each other?
I asked Kaya several more questions about what Marie was like at school and if she’d noticed anything out of the ordinary, but much like Grace, she said everything appeared normal except Marie had seemed slightly depressed lately.
As I walked the woman to the door, my mind spun with the new information about the Hammonds’ relationship.
Maybe Warren Hammond wasn’t missing.
Maybe he was on the run.