Chapter 12

". . . I tried telling them I was his cousin again, but it didn't work beyond them mentioning I should talk to Dr. Clemmons. I'm taking that as no change in Gavin's status," Mac told Taft, who'd brought a pizza from Pizza Joe's for a late lunch. "I did get groceries today. I'm getting up and around quite well," she said, biting into a piece thick with curling slices of pepperoni. God, it was good.

"Groceries. Good for you."

"Really stepped outside of myself today."

He smiled around a big bite. They were both standing in Mackenzie's kitchen, in front of the window, though Taft held a paper plate under his piece as he moved to Mac's tiny table. Mac had taken a bite as soon as she picked up her slice and glanced out the window as she reached for a paper plate from the stack she'd set on the counter. In the parking lot one floor below, she saw her Toyota RAV in its designated spot and now there was Taft's Rubicon taking up a visitor's space. A blue car she didn't recognize—it looked like a Honda Accord—was turning around and leaving the way it had entered and Mac's neighbor was climbing out of his Ford Escape and squinting up at the sky. No rain was currently falling but the dark gray clouds were threatening.

"I'm going to text Haynes in a minute. Maybe he'll give us an update on Knowles's accident and condition." Taft finished his slice and she watched him press his lips together, checking for leftover oil. Seeing him, she slid her tongue over her lips.

His gaze dropped to her mouth for a moment and she felt that pull. "How was Lacey's?" she asked quickly. He'd told her that Haynes had suggested that's where he should start in checking into Tim's homicide.

"Have you been?" he questioned.

"You'd think I would've when I was on the force, but I never did."

"I'll call it Waystation Plus. Not a full grade up. Just a plus."

"Our kind of place." Her eyes had traveled back to the pizza while she considered another slice; she brought them forward again, looking at Taft. His hair was slightly mussed from the wind, she guessed, and it gave him an appealing raffish look.

"I got some background from Jerry, one of the bartenders. Sally Colville, the woman whose house was burglarized by Dale Kingman, is a semi-regular at Lacey's. According to Jerry, she's good people, but her boyfriend, Ham, is not. He acts like a cop, but isn't one."

"You gonna talk to him?" She forewent another piece and took the wooden chair across from him.

"Them, I hope, but they've had a lot of cops over the last week or so. Don't know how receptive they'll be. Also, with Tim's brother in the hospital now, they might be rolling down the blinds and closing their doors, wanting to shut out all of it."

"I would," Mac admitted.

"I'd really like to talk to the daughter, Gena, but I think that's going to be a hard sell."

"I'm going to Riversong Church tomorrow to see the Stanhopes."

His brows lifted. "Church, huh?"

She then filled him in on what she'd learned about the Stanhopes turning deeper into their faith after the deaths of their son and daughter. She finished with, "I've got a call into Leigh. I wasn't sure I was going to help her, so I didn't dig deep enough at first."

"I'm going back to Lacey's tonight, check some more on what people thought about Tim. I've got a call into a couple of family members for some background on Kingman."

"Good."

He left a few moments later and Mac was lost in thought about Ethan Stanhope and Gavin's comments about The Sorority when Leigh finally called back.

"Sorry," she said. "The morning got away from me. What do you need?"

To Mac's ears, she sounded kind of down. "Can you remember exactly the last time you heard from Mia?"

"A few months ago. She changed her cell phone number, so I went to her parents. I was hoping you'd get further with ‘Tiger Mom' than I did. She told me to stop calling. Ordered me, actually."

"Do you have anything on Ben? What's his last name?"

"I asked her and asked, but she never told me. I don't think she wanted me to know."

Mac had checked Mia's social media accounts but though they were still up, they were clearly fallow. No recent posts. And no pictures. "Got any idea why she'd want to keep him a secret? She's not posting anymore."

"I know. And no, I don't know why she kept him a secret, but I can guess. I mean his family's in the marijuana business. It might be legal now, but it's all cash and there's probably more to it. Mia's parents were not happy about it."

"They said she accused them of . . . abuse, of some kind."

"I don't know what that's about. If anyone's being abused, it's her. That note I gave you? That was a direct call for help."

Mac had dismissed the note. Something about it hadn't rung true, but maybe she was wrong about that. "You're sure the note was from Mia?" she asked.

Leigh's voice tightened. "You think I'm lying?"

"No."

"What, then?" she demanded.

"Maybe mistaken?"

She asked coolly, "Why don't you believe me?"

"If the note's from her, why did she leave it on your car? Why not just call you? Or text you? If she doesn't have a phone, why not wait by your car for you to show up?"

"Maybe she couldn't," she argued. "Maybe she was hiding it from someone who was scaring her."

"If that's the case, maybe this is a task for the police."

"Fuck, Mackenzie. You just don't want to help me!"

Mac didn't answer. She couldn't rightly say why she was resisting, but there was something so . . . contrived . . . about the note. "All right. If the note's real, you think she's here in River Glen and in trouble."

"I didn't say that."

"The note , left on your car, here in River Glen says, Help me . Where was your car?"

"I was . . . um . . . Jesus, you've got me so flustered!" She heaved a frustrated sigh. "I was by the arts center. I take classes there. I just finished. It was about seven at night. I looked around for her, but she wasn't anywhere that I could see."

"You knew it was her writing right away."

"Yes."

"What day did this happen?"

"Um . . . Thursday . . . two weeks ago?"

"You think she followed you to the art center and left the note?"

"She must have," Leigh said. "Why are you interrogating me?"

"I'm not interrogating you. You want me to find Mia, I need to know where to start. You don't think she's in River Glen? You think she just dropped the note off and left."

"I think he took her away."

"The boyfriend. Ben."

"Yes," she stated flatly.

"When you got the note, what did you do?" Mac asked, switching gears.

"I came to you!" Her voice was tight.

"I'm not trying to piss you off, Leigh."

"Well, you're doing a bang-up job!"

"I meant, what did you do immediately? Once you found the note," Mac clarified.

She inhaled and exhaled, as if trying to pull herself back from the brink of fury. "Like I said, I looked around to see if she was still in the area, but I didn't see her, so I just went home and . . . I didn't tell Parker. I just don't want him to know any of this."

"I'm clear on that," Mac assured her.

"I just want you to find her. Her parents were really strict and she just got sick of dealing with them, and that's why she went to Stanford anyway. To get away from them. But they love her. She's their shining star, no matter what they say about disowning her. Mason's the disappointment. And I don't know who this Ben is, but I think he made her disappear."

"Was she in California the last time you talked?"

"Yes. With Ben. She said they were just hanging out but she was tense. I think he was right there listening. I don't think he lets her out of his sight."

"You think he brought her to River Glen, then? That's how she left the note, maybe visiting her parents? They didn't act like they'd seen her for a while."

"That's why I want you to find her! Are you going to do it? It doesn't sound like it."

"I'm trying," Mac said a bit testily. She, too, was holding onto her patience with an effort.

"Sorry," muttered Leigh.

"Did she join a sorority at Stanford? I remember she wanted to."

"No. She changed her mind. After Ethan died, everything just kind of changed. You know that."

"I do," admitted Mac. "Do you have the names of any other friends from Stanford?"

"No. Are you giving up? Or are you still going to try to find her?"

"Getting background is the first step," Mac tried to explain, but Leigh cut her off.

"Oh, I know. I'm just . . . pissed that Mia's gone dark."

Mac switched gears. "How did The Sorority act when you mentioned that I was looking for Mia?"

"Oh. Well, they weren't happy about it. They . . . don't trust anybody but themselves." She paused. "You know, I really wanted you to be a part of our group back in high school. You were in drama with me, and so I asked Natalie, but she kind of brushed me off. I'm sorry, I—"

"It's okay," Mac cut in dryly.

"—just wanted you to know."

"Well . . . thanks." Mac shook her head, momentarily derailed that Leigh would still worry about that. "I have a question for you. It's off point, but I'm curious. What exactly happened between Mia and Ethan Stanhope back in high school? Do you know?"

"Ethan and Mia?" Her voice rose. "What does that have to do—" She broke off and stated firmly, "Well, Roxie happened. That ended everything for Mia. And by the way, Roxie's not in The Sorority anymore. We haven't seen her since high school and that's just fine."

"But Mia and Ethan didn't immediately break up after the supposed Roxie incident. They still were together."

"Supposed?"

"There were a lot of rumors at the time. But, as I recall, people talked about how Mia was still with Ethan even after he and Roxie were seen coming out of the pool house together."

"Mia wanted to break up with him. She just didn't!"

"How long was it before Mia got with Ben?"

"Couple years. Why?"

"Do you know anyone besides yourself who's had contact with her?"

"No. Mia and I were besties. Nobody else."

"Okay. I'm just trying to find a place to begin," she explained. "Mia left Stanford about eight years ago, apparently with Ben. You've never heard his last name, but I imagine her parents have, or Mason. I have to find a way to shake that information loose."

"I thought you might go to California, or something."

"California's a pretty big state to start looking when I don't know what area to search," Mac pointed out.

"It sounds like you're starting to believe Gavin. And he's such a liar! Don't listen to him."

"Well, he's in the hospital, fighting for his life," Mac reminded her carefully.

"I'm just saying, he's got that all wrong. His brother's death has really messed him up and he wasn't good before that."

Noted.

They hung up a few minutes later and Mac got the distinct impression Leigh was rethinking hiring her. She wanted immediate results, yet didn't seem to want to help much in giving Mac information. Maybe she thought investigative work was more glamorous than it really was. In any case, Mac recognized her most efficient way to proceed would be to get Mason on her side, a task that was going to take some doing.

Also, she didn't think Gavin Knowles was lying about The Sorority. He might be mistaken, but she wasn't going to stop asking questions.

* * *

". . . well, you were right. White paint on Knowles's car was transferred from another vehicle," said Verbena on the phone to Cooper.

Cooper was standing on the back porch and looking over the flattened, wet grass from the light rain that kept coming in fits and starts. Humph had already told him about the white paint, but he appreciated Verbena keeping him informed. Knowles's accident was a confirmed two-car accident, and from what Cooper had learned from Taft, Knowles felt he'd been run off the road on purpose.

"Thanks," said Cooper.

" De nada. " Verbena was working this weekend while Cooper was off. "This is Laurelton's case," she reminded him.

"I know." Being outside River Glen P.D.'s jurisdiction, Gavin Knowles's hit-and-run wasn't his case.

"Oh, and a copy of that tox report you ordered came in. I can pull it up, or you want to wait till Monday?"

"Give it to me now." She did and Cooper's brow furrowed.

"Take care of that wife of yours and check in with me on Monday," Verbena signed off.

He pushed through the back door and into the warm interior of the house, walking down the hall, drawn to the kitchen by the scent of pumpkin spice. Harley was really taking this "taking care of Mom" thing to heart. She'd become the self-appointed household cook.

Duchess looked over at his approach and gave him a big doggy smile and wag of her plumed tail. Emma stood to one side of Harley, who was mixing up batter in a bowl. Emma glanced at Cooper and said, "Pumpkin spice is the flavor of the month."

"The flavor of last month," Harley corrected. Her phone dinged at her and she glanced down at the screen. "I'm making Greer cookies," she said. "He's on his way."

Harley's high school boyfriend, Greer Douglas, had transferred from another college and enrolled in Portland State this fall to be near her. They'd reconnected this past July at a summer camp that had turned into a nightmare of multiple injuries and deaths. Cooper's stepdaughter, Marissa, had been there as well, as had Jamie and Emma at a parent/alumni weekend. It had all come to a violent conclusion that Cooper hadn't learned about until it was basically over.

Another case outside your jurisdiction , Cooper thought, a cold finger of remembrance tracking down his spine. Feelings of anger, guilt, and impotence still reared up whenever he thought about how his whole family had suffered near life-ending trauma. All of them were lucky to have all escaped mostly unharmed.

"We're having ravioli for dinner later," pronounced Emma, and Duchess seconded this with a short arf.

Spaghetti last night, ravioli tonight. With Emma around, pasta was almost a nightly meal, though she tried to enjoy other dishes. It was just a quirk of her mental state that she rarely considered anything else.

"No bats and pumpkins this time," Harley added, setting the bowl aside and starting to spoon dough into little mounds on a greased baking sheet. She was referring to the ravioli they'd had before Halloween, black bats and orange pumpkins. "Guess they don't make turkey pasta."

"How many minutes till the cookies are done?" he asked. He'd been sitting around watching football before Verbena's call had taken him outside for privacy. Now he headed for the stairs. "I'll come back for some to take to Jamie."

"None for yourself?" Harley questioned with a smirk in her voice.

"I don't want to ruin my girlish figure," he responded.

Harley snorted and Emma said, "Jamie is eating for two."

"Where's the cat?" he asked as he looked down at them from the upper hallway.

"Around," said Harley, but Cooper knew Duchess would not be so sanguine if Twink was lurking outside the bedroom.

He tapped on the bedroom door, waited, then opened it a crack when he got no response. Twink was once again wrapped around the pillow above Jamie's head and turned bright amber eyes on Cooper, who lifted his arms as if he were a perp caught in a searchlight. Jamie was dozing, a book lying open beside her on the bed.

He still marveled that she was pregnant. The doctors had labeled her uterus inhospitable, had said that becoming pregnant was almost out of the question, but she'd conceived anyway and the baby was apparently growing without any problems.

Jamie stretched and turned half-lidded eyes Cooper's way. "I called Mary Jo," she said.

"You did? What did she say?" asked Cooper.

"I didn't get her. I was going to leave a message for her to call me, but I haven't yet. I don't know. It's all good news, but I don't want to rock the boat." She shook her head. "So, they're making cookies down there?"

"Smells great, doesn't it?"

"Really great," she said enthusiastically, but he could see the little line of anxiety drawn between her brows. "How's your spy doing?" she asked, purposely changing the subject.

"Haven't heard from him today." He thought about the proposed ravioli and suggested, "How about I make dinner tonight?"

"Hardy-har-har."

"You malign my cooking skills?"

"I can't malign them if they're nonexistent."

"Then be prepared for more pasta."

"Okay," she sighed. She glanced at her cell, which was sitting on the nightstand, as if willing it to ring. He saw her tighten her lips in determination as she reached for it. "I think I'll call her again."

"I'll go see about a change of menu," he said.

She nodded, her mind already on the task at hand.

Cooper walked downstairs, texting as he went.

* * *

Taft stared at his phone, ignoring the rise and fall of voices in the bar around him, thinking hard. He debated on calling Mac but didn't want to be overheard so he just forwarded her the text he'd just received from Haynes.

He nursed his beer as he sat in the same seat at the bar he'd occupied the night before. Lacey's was growing crowded faster tonight. There were a number of off-duty cops, one Taft recognized from Portland P.D. He'd lasted a few years there, about the same amount of time as he'd lasted at River Glen P.D. He'd been gone from both of them long enough that only the long-timers would recognize him. This cop didn't give him much of a look, but then he was busy telling some long, involved story to a couple of guys whose eyes wandered around, lighting occasionally on some of the women who arrived in twos and threes, mostly. Bradley, Taft remembered. Officer Karl Bradley. Taft had been an officer as well, but had been on track for detective on a rapid course, which had pissed Bradley off as he'd been with the department longer. Taft had left before the promotion had happened and had bounced to River Glen, where Cooper Haynes was already one of the department's detectives.

The male bartender was younger than last night's Jerry. He had dark hair combed back and a thick black mustache that almost looked fake. He got Taft a beer without glancing at him directly. His focus was on the woman in the tight black dress and dark red hair who was studiously avoiding his gaze. Taft figured there was something between them, though she didn't seem to care about his attention, at least right now. He only caught a few words of her conversation but then he heard "Thursday's funeral" and his ears pricked up. She was talking about Tim Knowles.

The bartender could hardly turn his eyes Taft's way, so engrossed was he in overhearing the redhead who was talking to a couple other guys. The woman with the I DON'T THINK SO, F ** CKER T-shirt appeared from the back, clearly annoyed that she had to come out front again. Tonight she was wearing a plain white shirt with a button-down collar that stretched a little around her middle. She shrugged past the bartender, who someone called "Rob," pointed to Taft's glass, and asked, "Another?"

"Yep."

She walked over to the tap, gave it a tug while scowling at Rob. When she brought Taft his beer, she stayed at his end of the bar. "What are they talking about?" Taft asked, hitching his head toward the redhead and guys.

"Tim Knowles. You know him?"

"Some."

"That why you're here . . . Taft?"

"You know me," Taft said, brows lifting. He looked at her hard again, but didn't recognize her.

"Heard some of what you were talking about with Jerry last night."

"I didn't give my name."

A faint smile touched her lips. "Some of the other guys knew who you were. Said you were Mitch Mangella's fixer. No one's mourning your boss, by the way."

"Not my boss," Taft said. "But I do kind of mourn him."

"What do you want to know about Tim?"

Taft almost reiterated what Jerry had told him about Tim knowing Stacey Colville and her boyfriend, Ham, but decided on a different tactic. "Tim spent a lot of time at Lacey's?"

"Off and on." Her eyes drifted to the redhead.

"With her?" Taft guessed.

"She wishes. Looked like it was gonna happen, then no. Something about his brother, Rob said, but then Rob isn't reliable."

She was looking at the other bartender, not bothering to keep her voice down, but Rob was too focused on the redhead.

"His brother, Gavin," said Taft.

"Rob was banging her hard against the wall of the supply room a while back," she said, "so he was glad the brother said or did whatever it was that turned Tim off her. She comes in now and again, but she really wanted Tim. And it looked like he was going there, which drove Rob and a couple other guys crazy, but then Tim just wasn't interested anymore. Would slide away if she came in, find a booth, fill it with other friends. I think it really pissed her off, but she was crying her eyes out last week about him. Boo-hooing over everybody that he was gone."

"Who is she?" asked Taft.

"Kristl somebody. Seems to have a thing for cops." She shrugged. "Some do."

Kristl . . . Taft's gaze sharpened on her. Mac had said Gavin blamed someone named Kristl for Ethan Stanhope's death, one of the high school group that called themselves The Sorority.

He pulled out his phone, thinking of texting her, when Kristl stepped out of the group of men she was talking to and wiped the tears off her cheeks. "Thanks, guys," she said. "You made me feel better and that's hard to do right now." She gave them a watery smile and then she grabbed up her coat from where she'd hung it on a hook. A black slicker with red lining. Slipping it on, her gaze met Taft's. He tucked his phone away and gave her a smile.

Her eyes assessed him and she must've liked what she saw because she came over to him as she shrugged into her coat.

"I haven't seen you here before."

"Last night was my first night," said Taft.

"You aren't a cop . . . I know most of 'em. Why'd you pick Lacey's?"

"I knew Tim. I was a cop, a while ago."

She momentarily stilled, as if he'd said something momentous that needed processing. But then she shrugged it off. "I was a friend of Tim's," she said. "I miss him."

Taft could feel the female bartender's eyes practically boring holes into him, she was staring so hard. "He was a good guy," said Taft.

"He was a good guy," she repeated her lips quivering. She pressed them together.

"You're leaving? I could buy you a drink, if you feel like staying," he said.

She hesitated, looking at his beer. "I should go." He nodded understandingly but still she hesitated. "Maybe . . . wine, or a Cadillac Margarita . . . ?"

He signaled the female bartender, who said dryly, "I heard," before Taft even opened his mouth.

"I'm Kristl Cuddahy," the redhead introduced herself. "Who are you?" She perched one butt cheek on the stool next to him, apparently deciding whether to stay or run.

"Jesse Taft."

"That name's familiar. Why is it familiar?"

"I've been around."

"How did you know Tim?"

"I know his brother, Gavin. Did you know he's in the hospital?"

Her expression froze. "I heard that." The female bartender slid the drink across the bar and then Rob was hovering nearby, watching Taft and Kristl like the proverbial hawk.

"He says someone ran him off the road," said Taft, picking up his beer and taking a few swallows.

" He says. I thought . . . he was in a coma or something." She looked a bit panicked.

"He might be. I don't know. That's just what I heard."

"I feel bad for him. I really do. But honestly . . . well, never mind. You don't want to hear."

"No, go ahead." He spread out his palm to encourage her.

"Okay, well, he said some things about me that just weren't true and he made Tim believe them. It was really uncalled for. I just feel so bad and I never got a chance to explain it all to Tim. All of a sudden, he was just gone." More tears surfaced.

Taft didn't have anything to give her except for an extra cocktail napkin, which he handed to her.

"I was in love with Tim," she said in a tight voice, dabbing at her eyes, to which Rob made a disparaging sound and stomped to the other end of the bar.

"Were you with him the night he took the call?" asked Taft.

"No . . . no . . . I was here at the bar, if that's what you mean, but the damage was done by Gavin. Tim wasn't talking to me anymore."

"What did Gavin say about you? If you don't want to tell me, that's fine," he added, giving her an out.

She shook her head, then looked unseeingly across the room. "He said I killed one of his friends. Like I was a mastermind or something that made his friend go off the road! I can't believe Tim listened to him. And then Tim said he was a cop and couldn't be with me. Maybe he was right—if he believed in those kind of rumors, I couldn't be with him, either."

"That sounds like quite a leap," agreed Taft.

"Yeah . . . it was." Her expression grew stony, remembering, as she slid her whole butt onto the stool and picked up the margarita. "I don't know why I'm telling you this, Gavin being your friend."

"More like an acquaintance."

She slid her gaze over him, really looking at him. Taft was aware of female appraisals. He'd been looked at a lot over the years. And he sensed a sharklike intensity in Kristl that reminded him of Prudence Mangella and Anna DeMarcos.

The female bartender emitted a short bark of laughter and shook her finger at him. Taft knew it was because Kristl was examining him as if he were her next meal.