Chapter Twenty #2
“You never know. Some officers are by the book.” But Olivia hoped Nicki was right.
She called the number Zoe had listed for Deputy Arnold and left a message asking him to call her back.
If he refused, Olivia would do what she hated doing: She’d ask Lincoln to intervene.
As much as she preferred to do her own work, as a former cop, Lincoln would have a much better chance of getting information from Arnold.
Nicki’s head cocked. “This is sus.”
“What?”
“There’s an obituary stuffed in with the Evan Brown reports.” Nicki held up the paper. “Clarice Martingale, died in May at the age of seventy-eight.”
Olivia froze, her veins suddenly cold. “Did you say her name was Clarice?”
“Yes.”
It can’t be.
“You know her?” Nicki asked.
Olivia shook her head. “Did you know Zoe was in foster care?”
“No.”
“Her parents died when she was a teenager. She spent a couple of years in the system. Her foster mother’s name was Clarice. I don’t know her last name. But Zoe told me her foster parents were dead. She told me this when we first met fifteen years ago.”
“Could be a different person named Clarice,” Nicki said. “It’s not the most common name, but it’s not the most unusual either.”
“Where did this Clarice live?” Olivia asked.
Nicki glanced at the paper. “Summerton, New York.”
“When did she die?”
“May sixteenth. The funeral was on May twentieth.”
The date and location rang several bells in Olivia’s memory.
“Dylan told the police that Zoe was on a work trip to research a case from May nineteenth to May twenty-second. She stayed at a B and B in Summerton, New York, which can’t be a coincidence.
Evan Brown disappeared in Summerton. So I assume that’s the case. ”
“Seems logical, but what does it mean?” Nicki’s forehead wrinkled. “Is this Clarice related to the Evan Brown case?”
Olivia’s mind whirled. “As Lincoln said, there’s only one way to find out.” Yet she knew in her gut that they’d just uncovered another of Zoe’s secrets. Was her friend’s entire past a lie? “Does the obituary list any family members?”
Nicki read aloud. “Clarice is survived by her loving husband of fifty-five years, Harold Martingale, age eighty.”
“We need to talk to Harold.”
“We go to Summerton tomorrow?” Nicki looked excited.
“We?”
“I’m going with you.”
“Because you’re bored?”
Nicki gave her an emphatic nod. “Yes.”
Olivia thought about saying no, but Lincoln hadn’t found the person who’d drugged her niece yet.
Until the suspect was apprehended, maybe it was better that Nicki stay with her.
How much danger could an eighty-year-old widower pose?
“I’ll appreciate the extra eyes and ears. Plus, you can take notes.”
Nicki made a face, then grinned. “Fine. What other leads do we have?” she asked in a TV show detective tone.
“We’re not TV detectives,” Olivia said dryly.
“Says you,” Nicki quipped, but then turned sad eyes on her. “I don’t really want to be home alone.”
Olivia’s heart sank. She understood her niece’s sense of vulnerability all too well, and she hated to think that Nicki’s experience would make her struggle with independence the same way that Olivia had since her abduction.
She’d give her a few days to decompress.
If Nicki was still anxious, Olivia would recommend she get a therapist.
“Can I stay with you for a couple of days?” Nicki asked.
“Of course.”
“Can we run over to my apartment so I can get some clothes and stuff?”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
“Cool. Thanks.” Nicki relaxed. “I’ll hang out with you for a while. I could use a distraction.”
“You’re always welcome here. I’ll keep you busy,” Olivia said.
“We also have the Jennifer Hamilton murder case to review, which is the one Wendy said Zoe had chosen next.” She shuffled her notes.
“Jennifer’s body was dumped behind a truck stop near Scranton.
” She summed up the case for Nicki. “Jennifer’s father, Conway Hamilton, was the prime suspect, but he was never arrested for the murder.
He served time for selling drugs instead and was recently released from prison. ”
“Ooooh, a criminal. That sounds promising.”
“According to Wendy, Zoe wanted to interview Conway. She left messages for him.”
“She left messages for a drug dealer who just got out of prison, asking about the murder of his daughter, for which he was a suspect?” Nicki asked in a dry voice.
“Yep.” Olivia pulled her laptop closer and accessed Zoe’s files. “She has a phone number listed for him.”
“So you’re calling a killer?” Nicki sat back.
“A possible killer,” Olivia corrected.
“Cool, I guess?” Sarcasm laced Nicki’s voice. “Have you done this before?”
“I have. It’s part of the job.” Olivia didn’t tell Nicki about the more dangerous calls and meetings she’d had with gang members and killers.
As a journalist, her job had been to shed light on the truth.
As a true crime writer, she did the same.
She’d never shied away from risk. Her stubborn determination had almost gotten her and Lincoln killed once.
She didn’t mention that either. She put a finger to her lips to ask Nicki to be quiet.
Then Olivia entered the numbers and pressed the green button.
The call rang three times and bounced to voicemail. Olivia left a vague message that she was following up for Zoe March’s podcast.
“What if he doesn’t call back?” Nicki asked.
“We’ll address that possibility after we’ve played out the other leads.
” Olivia almost hoped he didn’t, which made her angry.
Years ago, she would have jumped at any chance to solve a cold case without hesitation.
But now, her friend was missing, and she was worried about herself?
Her kidnapping had changed her. She didn’t relish the idea of solving a mystery and interviewing a potential murderer.