Chapter 44
Chapter
Forty-Four
As Nash watched everything play out, tension spread through his shoulders.
He’d known from the start that this house held secrets. He just wasn’t sure what kind. But now he wondered if they went even deeper than he ever expected.
Luke narrowed his eyes. “What’s a treaty box?”
Marlowe finally looked up, something haggard in her gaze. “Christian and I watched a pirate movie once that mentioned them. We decided to make our own and bury it—just him and me. We made a promise not to tell anyone else what we were doing.”
“But what is it?” Nora asked.
“It’s where you put your treasure,” Marlowe said. “Christian and I didn’t have much treasure, of course. So we put in some pictures we’d drawn, Christian’s favorite marble, and some fake gold coins someone gave us. Things like that.”
“I can’t believe we’ve never heard about this,” Wren said.
“We buried it probably six months before he disappeared.” Marlowe’s voice cracked with emotion. “I remembered it, but I just left it there. I thought that maybe one day I would dig it back up, but I’ve never been able to bring myself to do it.”
Nash glanced into the hole. If what Marlowe was saying was true . . . then this guy must really be Christian.
“Except . . .” Marlowe squinted. “It wasn’t buried right there. It was about twelve feet to the left.”
“We’ll see what we can find.” Luke put his hands on his hips. “Mrs. Loveless, let’s get Christian inside where it’s warm. All three of you go with him. I have some follow-up questions for Nash and Wren.”
“What about the box?” Marlowe glanced at the hole.
“We’ll retrieve it.”
Marlowe nodded, clearly hesitant to leave.
“I’ll look at Christian’s hand,” Nora said. “I’ve got everything I need inside.”
Mom, Christian, Nora, and Marlowe all started toward the house, and a moment later, the screen door slammed shut behind them.
Luke waited until the kitchen light came on before he turned to Nash and Wren. “There was someone in your house?”
Wren nodded and told him what happened.
Luke scowled when she finished. “I don’t like the sound of that. I’ll see if we can find any prints. Nothing was taken?”
“Not that I’ve noticed. Not yet, at least.”
Luke slowly nodded. “Okay. I’ll look into that, and I want to talk more about this treaty box. Right now, I’ve got some news. I was going to sit on it until morning. But you’re both standing here, so . . .”
“Is this about Roy?” Nash’s pulse ticked faster.
They could use some answers right now.
“It’s about Roy. A woman came into my office and asked to speak to the detective working Roy Callahan’s death.”
Wren’s eyes widened. “Who was she?”
“Her name is Faye Loudermilk. She’s sixty-one and lives off Route 9 about eight miles.” Luke looked at Wren then Nash. “She and Roy have been seeing each other going on six years.”
“What?” Wren’s voice came out breathless.
“That’s what she said. Said there’s no power on the property. Roy came out every Thursday, brought her gas for the generator, ate lunch, and drove home.”
Wren ran those facts through her mind and the picture that had already formed there. This new information didn’t match.
“You believe her?” Nash asked.
“At first, I wasn’t sure,” Luke said. “She said we could go see her place. So we did. There’s nothing out there but a woman and a dog and about forty years of junk.”
“So Roy’s clear?” Wren muttered.
“Roy’s clear.” Luke’s voice sounded professional. “Which means we’re back to square one.”
Wren gave up on sleep a little before six.
Her mother had been in the kitchen since before five, trying to be quiet but failing.
It wasn’t the sound of her cooking that got to Wren. It was the humming.
“Softly and Tenderly.” Their mother had hummed the song doing dishes for as long as Wren could remember, and the girls had sung it at more funerals than Wren could count. She hadn’t heard it in years.
Hearing the song brought back a flood of memories.
Finally, she threw the blanket off and sat up.
Nash had left a little after five. She’d heard him go out the door.
Her mother stood at the stove with a dish towel over her shoulder. She’d already done the dishes from last night. She’d already wiped the counters. The coffee was made. She was making muffins now.
“You didn’t sleep,” Wren said.
“I slept fine.” Her mother didn’t turn around. “Sit down. I’ll fix you something.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Sit down anyway.”
Wren sat at the breakfast bar. Her mother put a cup of coffee in front of her, and Wren thanked her.
“I want to talk to you about this afternoon,” her mother said.
“Okay.”
“I’d like you to call that FBI agent and ask her to come Thursday.”
Wren set the fork down. “What?”
“Or Friday. Friday would be better. Christian has been through so much. I don’t want to put him through more than he can handle.”
“But she needs to talk to him.”
“She needs to wait.” Her mother’s chin came up. “He’s not ready to answer the FBI’s questions.”
“He’s never going to be ready. There’s no day where he wakes up ready.” Wren kept her voice even, though her apprehension flared. “Waiting doesn’t make it easier. It just makes it later.”
Her mom’s stubborn expression remained. “He just needs a few more days.”
“It isn’t our decision to make. Luke called the FBI. The agent is coming.”
Her mother turned back to the stove, clearly not happy.
More guilt flooded Wren—it was her go-to emotion. But she ignored it. Her emotions were not going to call the shots right now. The decision had already been made.
She cleared her throat before saying, “I have to be at the shop at eight.”
“On a day like this?” Her mom turned back to her, judgment in her gaze.
“I’ve got seven clients on the book. If I move one, I move all seven. Nora has to work until four, and Marlowe’s got the lunch rush. We all talked about it last night. Remember?”
Her mother’s memory hadn’t been that great in recent years.
“So it’s me here with Christian and the FBI agent? You’re all leaving me?”
Wren wanted to bring up the fact that their mom had emotionally and mentally left Wren and her sisters all alone to deal with life after Christian disappeared. She wanted to remind her mom that she’d had to navigate single motherhood with only her sisters’ help.
But she didn’t bring those facts up. Not now. They wouldn’t help the situation.
“It’s you and Dad. He said he’d come out first thing.” Wren waited to see how her mother would react. “You won’t be by yourself.”
Wren had responsibilities. She had bills to pay and a son to take care of.
She only hoped she was doing the right thing.