22
Noelle was on her way to inform Layla Holder’s parents of their daughter’s death.
After Noelle told Evan that the newly identified victim had worked at Sherman Plumbing, he’d decided to bring in Hayden Hall for questioning, and he’d promised to keep Layla’s name out of the media until they’d spoken with both Hayden and her parents.
Noelle didn’t like coincidences; no detective did.
And the fact that Hayden Hall had crossed paths with both Sydney Beason and Layla Holder made her feel she’d missed something during his interview.
As she drove to Layla’s parents’ home, she mentally reviewed and questioned everything Hall had told her.
He seemed like a nice guy.
She wouldn’t let that affect her investigation. Just because Hall had bought Clifford books for Belle Beason and called her Blue Belle didn’t mean he was incapable of murder.
He’d lied about—well, not mentioned—returning to Sydney’s neighborhood after she broke up with him. The fact bothered Noelle, but she knew people forgot to mention things when being interviewed by the police.
Or he didn’t want to shine a spotlight on himself because he’s guilty.
She sighed. The mental game was exhausting. The important thing now was to keep an open mind and consider all possibilities for the murders. Not get hung up on or sidetracked by something shiny.
At least her day hadn’t been filled with chasing empty leads like Max’s had been.
He’d sounded emotionally spent when he called her after retrieving a child-size doll—which he’d worried had been Belle—from the water.
Noelle assured him that the time wasn’t wasted since he’d eliminated possible tips.
“But I didn’t,” he’d told her. “The motel sighting can’t be crossed off yet. It could have been her. Same with seeing her at the diner. We just don’t know.” Frustration filled his tone.
“Layla Holder’s identification will open up new leads,” Noelle told him, knowing her words weren’t much comfort. Max wanted results. Now.
Noelle did too. Belle Beason had been missing for too long.
She took a final turn as guided by her GPS and paused in front of a long uphill driveway. She leaned over to look up at the house at the top of the hill.
Wow.
Noelle hadn’t read much about Layla’s parents except to get their address and discover they were both retired.
She hadn’t called ahead, planning to simply show up at their home with no warning that law enforcement wanted an interview.
And it wasn’t just an interview; it was also a death notification.
An important task. And a very difficult one.
The home on the hill was huge. It appeared to sit on several acres, putting plenty of space between it and its neighbors, which the house looked down upon.
As Noelle drove her SUV up the hill, her stomach started to hurt.
She parked in the circular driveway near the front entrance and studied the home, trying to calm her stomach and wondering if the turkey sandwich she’d eaten for lunch had been bad.
The home was a Victorian with elaborate gingerbread, lovely gables, and even a turret.
I haven’t seen a turret on a home since my ex-in-laws’ house.
A four-car garage was set apart from the home, but the covered walkway ensured no one would get wet or snowed on when going to the garage.
Everything was perfect. The lawn was manicured, and the intricate exterior paint didn’t show a single flake.
Noelle walked up the dozen steps to the large wraparound deck, feeling slightly lightheaded.
Maybe I should come back.
But the front door opened before she could make a decision, and a woman in black pants and a black blouse spoke to her. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Detective Marshall from the sheriff’s office. Are you Ms. Holder?”
“I’m Meg. I’ll see if Ms. Holder is available.” She gestured formally for Noelle to enter.
She’s the hired help.
Her stomach tightened, and she winced at the loud sound her heels made on the pristine tile. She immediately softened her steps.
“If you’ll wait in the study, Detective. I’ll be right back.” Meg indicated a room off the foyer.
Noelle stepped through the open double doors into a large, lovely space with floor-to-ceiling wood bookshelves covering two walls, a white marble fireplace, and an inviting window seat.
Comfy furniture was arranged as if for intimate discussions, and wingback chairs were tucked into the corners, along with lamps for quiet reading.
A large wood desk was positioned near the window seat, offering a stunning view for whoever sat there to work.
Many books filled the shelves, but they were carefully balanced by pieces of art, framed drawings and paintings, small sculptures, and stunning figurines tucked among the hardbacks.
Noelle held a hand against her stomach, confused at the fluttery feeling.
“May I help you, Detective?”
A petite woman stood in the doorway to the study. Noelle blinked at her summery knee-length dress trimmed in bright pink. Low-heeled sandals, perfect hair, and carefully chosen earrings, necklace, bracelets, and rings completed the image.
Catherine, her former mother-in-law, had the same dress.
“Are you all right, Detective?” The older woman frowned.
Anxiety is turning my stomach, not bad food.
The huge house, the grand stairs, the hired help, and now the woman.
It was as if Noelle had stepped into the past and back into her in-laws’ life.
A life she’d been relieved to escape. She’d been insecure and anxious around that entire family—especially Catherine, who’d expected her to dress and act a certain way.
“I’m fine. I was admiring your room and hadn’t heard you come in.”
“I apologize.”
The woman’s expression was bland, the apology solely in her words.
Déjà vu. Catherine.
Is the universe messing with me?
“Are you Ms. Holder?” Noelle asked, already positive of the answer.
“Of course. Now what do you need?”
That tone of impatience. The implication that she doesn’t have time for a simple civil servant.
Catherine all the way.
Noelle lifted her chin and held out her hand. “Detective Marshall. I’d like to talk to you about Layla.”
The woman shook Noelle’s hand. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. What’s she done now?”
“Darlene? What’s going on?” A tall gray-haired man approached and set his hand at his wife’s back as he studied Noelle. “Meg said there’s a detective here.” Concern troubled his gaze.
“Detective Marshall. Sheriff’s office.” Again she shook hands.
“Jim Holder.” Layla’s father wore pastel plaid shorts and a white golf shirt. He and Darlene were both tan and fit. They would fit in perfectly at her ex-in-laws’ country club. Or one of their many elite fundraisers.
“Can we take a seat for a few minutes?” asked Noelle. She needed to sit.
“She says it’s about Layla,” said Darlene, turning to her husband. Her earlier annoyance had vanished, her tone softer with a touch of worry.
She’s already shown me her true attitude toward Layla.
“What’s happened?” asked Jim. “Is she okay?”
Since no one had taken up her offer to sit down, Noelle bit the bullet. “I’m very sorry, but Layla has passed away. We don’t have any answers yet, but it’s being investigated.”
Jim Holder paled and wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Are you sure it’s Layla? What happened? Did the Boise police ask you to inform us?”
“She was positively identified with her dental records,” said Noelle. “And—”
“Dental records?” Jim stiffened and his voice rose. “What the hell happened to her?”
“Jim. Shhh. Let her speak.” Darlene’s gaze sharpened. “Go on.”
“Layla died here in Deschutes County,” said Noelle gently.
“I’m very sorry to tell you this, but we believe she was murdered.
We will find who did this to her, but I need your help.
I know it’s a bad time, but I have several questions.
” She paused. “Please. Sit down.” She pointed at a love seat, pulled up a chair in front of it, and looked expectantly at the parents.
They sat.
They gripped each other’s hands, and Darlene stared silently at Noelle, looking shell-shocked, as Jim hung his head, slowly shaking it. “I knew we should have let her come back home,” he said with a moan. “Who did this? How? I didn’t even know she was here, did you?” he asked his wife.
“No.”
Noelle pressed her lips together, mentally organizing her words. “You are aware she was reported missing three months ago by a friend, correct?” She didn’t mention she’d read the Boise police report.
“Yes,” said Darlene. “An officer called us to see if she was here. But we haven’t seen or talked to her in years.”
“You didn’t hire anyone to look for her?”
“I assumed that was the police’s job,” said Darlene. “I wasn’t that worried. She was flighty. Used to take off for days at a time.”
“You didn’t ever check with the police to see if she’d turned up?”
“No. Our relationship was very rocky. It was best with no contact.”
Jim’s apprehensive expression told Noelle he didn’t quite agree with his wife’s assessment.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Noelle. She met Jim’s gaze. “You weren’t aware she was in the area?”
He shifted in his seat. “A while back she’d mentioned she might come to visit friends. But I never heard any more.”
Darlene whipped her head around to face him. “You spoke to her?”
He shrugged. “I get a text every few months.”
“You never told me that!”
“Because I knew how you’d react—like this! I figured it was best that you didn’t know.”
His wife’s mouth hung open the slightest bit as she stared at her husband. He didn’t meet her gaze.
“Why were you estranged, Darlene?” asked Noelle. “How many years has it been?”
“It’s been six years,” she said shortly. “Layla was always difficult. Always rebellious. Made the entire household feel stressed.”
They had no other children, so Noelle assumed that household meant the parents.
Or possibly just Mom.
“She dropped out of college, but she hadn’t tried very hard, and when she came back—”
“My God, Darlene!” roared her husband. “She just told us that Layla’s been murdered!”
Darlene froze.
Jim leaned toward Noelle. “Tell me what happened. All of it.”
“Layla’s body was found with four other victims on Sunday,” said Noelle in a soft tone. “She wasn’t identified until this morning. It appears she’d been shot.”
“Oh my God.” Jim pushed to his feet and paced the room. “Four other people? Wait—” He spun toward Noelle. “Was she found in the national forest?”
Noelle nodded.
“I read about that. I never dreamed . . .” After a long moment he turned away and stared out the large window, his arms crossed on his chest. His shoulders shook, and Noelle knew he was silently crying. She looked back at Darlene. The woman had deflated, her formal posture gone, her mouth drooping.
“Can you tell me who Layla’s friends were? Who she might have been coming to visit?” Noelle glanced from Darlene to Jim, wondering if either would have an answer. “Old boyfriends? Close girlfriends?”
“She was engaged at one time,” Darlene said slowly. “But that was twelve years ago. I believe they didn’t communicate any more after she broke it off.”
Twelve years ago she would have been only twenty.
“His name?”
“He comes from a good family,” said Darlene. “I know he wouldn’t be involved in this.”
“I need to speak with him. He might be able to give me other contacts.”
“Logan Byers,” said Jim, still facing the window.
“She wasn’t ready to settle down,” said Darlene. “He would have been a perfect husband. Good career prospects. Both his mother and I were crushed, but once Layla dropped out of college, I saw it wouldn’t have worked anyway.”
“Why not?” asked Noelle.
Darlene’s lips twitched, and she studied the floor as if she’d find the answer there.
“Go ahead and tell her,” Jim said in a flat voice.
“Drugs,” Darlene whispered. “And the alcohol. All she wanted to do was go out and get drunk and high.”
“High? What sort of drugs?”
“Marijuana.”
Noelle waited for her to expand the drug list, but it appeared Darlene was done. Noelle did some quick math in her head. “I believe at that time pot was legal here.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Darlene. “It’s still drugs.” She nodded firmly. “After a few years of her working cheap jobs and refusing to go back to school or even help me with my charities, we asked her to leave.”
“You said you hadn’t seen her in about six years. So she was around twenty-six at that time, correct?”
“Yes. Old enough to live responsibly.”
Noelle didn’t disagree. “I’d like any names of her friends that you can recall.”
Darlene rubbed her hands anxiously. “I know there was a Kimberly. Can’t recall—”
“Adams,” said Jim.
“That sounds right. Who else, Jim?” asked Darlene.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I’ll think about it. Look at some pictures. Maybe that will prompt my memory, and then I’ll let you know, Detective.”
“Does the name Hayden ring a bell?”
Darlene looked thoughtful. “I don’t recall any girlfriends with that name.” Jim shook his head.
Noelle didn’t correct them on Hayden Hall’s sex or offer his last name. She didn’t want to lead their answers and had been hesitant to mention Hayden at all.
“Where is she?” asked Jim. “Can we see her?”
Noelle sucked in a breath. “She’s with the medical examiner. I understand your need to see her, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.” She looked to each of them, wanting the parents to understand. “The ME is estimating she died a month or two ago. Maybe more,” she said carefully.
Understanding flashed, and Darlene’s face crumpled. Jim immediately rejoined her on the love seat, wrapping his arms around her, pressing his forehead against hers. “It’s okay. We’ll get through this,” he whispered.
Noelle sat back in her chair.
I don’t want to press them more.
She’d check back after they’d had time to absorb their loss. Since they’d been estranged for six years—even though Jim had sort of kept in touch—she didn’t think they knew much about Layla’s recent life or how she could have ended up in a shallow grave in the woods next to four other victims.
Noelle stood and set a business card on an end table. “Here’s my number if you think of anything that could help us find her murderer.” Jim glanced up and gave a brief nod. “I can let myself out. I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
She strode toward the double doors, but a figurine on a shelf caught her eye. Her stomach churned as she paused to look at the small glass elephant, and bad memories overwhelmed her. This house and Layla’s parents had dug up too much.
Noelle continued out into the hall, where her heels clacked on the marble tile. The sound was strong, authoritative.
I’m not that insecure woman anymore.