Hope for Christmas Page 6

  Morton was a pretty little town at the mouth of the Coeur d’Alene River, filled with tree-lined streets and historic buildings, decked out in holiday decorations. She got the impression that it was larger than Nugget, maybe the same size as Glory Junction. Emily had only been to Idaho once before on a road trip with Drew. The most she remembered about the state was how clean the rest stops were.

  They pulled up to a nondescript, single-story building and Officer Wilson parked the van next to a row of police cars. Paige needed a diaper change and she hoped there was a place where she could quickly do it. She didn’t know where Maureen lived but she wanted to get there as soon as possible. Clay grabbed the travel carrier and helped Emily out of the van. Wilson ushered them through the entrance of the police department where a few people sitting at desks stared at them with a mixture of pity and curiosity. The police officer continued to escort them through a short corridor where a receptionist sat. A gray-haired lady in black-framed glasses, looked up from her desk and gave them a quick perusal. “He’s in a meeting right now. You can take a seat until he’s done.”

  Clay ignored her and headed toward the door with the chief’s name engraved on it. Two men in dark suits came out of the office before Clay could barge in. One of the men gave a slight nod and his gaze landed on Emily. “Ms. McCreedy?”

  “Yes.” She blinked up at him.

  “Special Agent Sylvester Luckett.” He motioned at the other man. “This is Special Agent Rick Rossi. Chief Dorsey is going to lend us a conference room. Your flight okay?”

  “My husband flew us; he’s a pilot.”

  “Right,” Luckett said. “Fighter pilot.” Clay had received a Silver Star for his bravery in Iraq. It had been well publicized in the newspapers.

  Clay stuck out his hand and introduced himself.

  “I need to change Paige.” Suddenly she wasn’t so anxious to hear what these dour agents had to say. Though she expected the worst, she could never fully prepare for it. “Is there a bathroom or a place I can go?”

  The receptionist pointed her to the ladies room.

  “You want me to do it?” Clay asked, and she shook her head vigorously. “Okay.” He gave her a faint, reassuring smile. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Thank you.” A sense of relief flowed through her. She and Drew had been put through the ringer by law enforcement after Hope’s disappearance. The parents of a missing child were always the first suspects. But Clay wasn’t going to let anyone push her around.

  The bathroom was spotless, like the rest of the building and she made fast work of Paige’s diaper. When she returned to the corridor, the receptionist showed her to a small room where the men were already seated around a conference table. Clay took the carrier from her and placed it on the seat next to him. Paige had nodded off, her face filled with a drowsy serenity. Emily hoped it wasn’t a mistake to have brought her and that her first few weeks on earth wouldn’t be surrounded by pain and bleakness. But the alternative would’ve been too difficult for Emily, who would probably always be overprotective.

  “The agents still haven’t been able to talk to her yet,” Clay said as Emily took off her jacket and hung it on the back of her chair.

  Agent Luckett nodded sympathetically. He had a kind face. Deep-set brown eyes that had probably seen too much and warm brown skin that made it impossible to tell his age. Denzel Washington he was not. But there was something appealing about him just the same. A gold band hugged his ring finger and she wondered if he had children. Rossi had an Ivy League look and Emily suspected that he still got carded when ordering a beer.

  “I sincerely hope this trip wasn’t for nothing,” Luckett said. “But unfortunately there’s no way to know at this point. Neither she nor her late husband show up on any of our suspect lists, which isn’t to say she doesn’t know anything. Right now, though, she’s in no condition to be interviewed.”

  “What about Palo Alto?” Emily asked. “They had some people of interest. Does Maureen Lane show up on any of their lists?”

  “Nope,” Rossi said. “Nor does the husband . . . Duke Lane.”

  “The husband died?” Clay asked.

  “Two years ago, in a car accident. Drunk driver. He was a local mechanic.”

  Dorsey, the chief, was conspicuously quiet, although he had nothing to do with the case other than the fact that Maureen lived in his jurisdiction. From the looks of him, he could’ve been a member of the Nugget Mafia. Thinning gray hair, ruddy complexion, and a bit of a paunch hanging over his Wrangler jeans.

  “When do you think we’ll be able to talk to her?” Emily asked.

  “Her caretaker is supposed to call us as soon as she’s feeling better.” Rossi glanced at his watch.

  “Which could be never,” Clay said.

  Luckett nodded. “We’re working on getting a warrant to search her house in the meantime. It’ll be a little tricky, since we have no evidence that she was in any way responsible for what happened to Ms. McCreedy’s little girl. But we’re working on it.”

  “Evidence?” Clay said. “She herself said she had information. Isn’t that enough?”

  “That’s what we’re banking on, Mr. McCreedy.”

  “Can we at least go to her house and wait?” Emily thought if Maureen knew they were there she might rally.

  Both agents looked at Dorsey, who responded, “I’d have to ask her caretaker.”

  “Well then ask—”

  Emily put her hand on top of Clay’s. “We would appreciate it, Chief Dorsey. You could imagine how anxious we are to hear what she has to say.”

  “I have two children of my own . . . grown . . . but I understand.” He rose and left the room.

  “Things move a little slower in Morton,” Rossi said.

  She could feel Clay bristle. “We live in a small town, too, Agent Rossi. But we came a long way and are frankly afraid that Mrs. Lane may die before we have a chance to talk to her.” Emily wished the original agents were here or the detectives from the Palo Alto Police Department. They knew the case inside out and might push harder.

  Dorsey returned a short time later. “The caretaker says it’s okay as long as you don’t disturb Maureen.”

  “We won’t,” she said and instantly got up. Clay helped her shrug back into her jacket and made sure Paige was wrapped securely in her blanket.

  “I’ll take you out there myself,” Dorsey said.

  The agents followed in a separate car. They passed the river on their way and crossed a set of railroad tracks to the outskirts of town where the homes were small and shabby with broken-down porches and unkempt lawns. Some had large blow-up Santas, snowmen, and angels in their yards and colored lights strung across the rooftop eaves.

  Clay, who sat up front with Dorsey, turned around to give her a pep-talk smile. “How you holding up?”

  “I’m okay. No word from Drew yet.” She’d checked her phone for a text or missed call.

  “It probably took him a while to get out of San Francisco.”

  “Your ex-husband?” Dorsey asked.

  “Yes. We were having a downpour in Northern California this morning.”

  “We’ll get him over to the house just as soon as he gets here.” Dorsey turned down a tree-lined road with more modest houses. These were on bigger lots and some had storm doors. No one used them in Nugget.

  “Has she lived here long?” Clay asked.

  “She and Duke bought the house five years ago. Before that they rented in town.”

  “You know ’em well?”

  “Not well. But we’re relatively small here, everyone knows their neighbors.”

  “Upstanding citizen?”

  “She and Duke have never been in trouble. At least not in this town.”

  Emily got the feeling that he was holding something back. Maybe she was just jumpy, looking for signs that didn’t exist. But Dorsey seemed reticent, like he wanted to say more but didn’t think it was wise. Clay kept throwing questions at the chief, s
o perhaps he thought it too.

  Dorsey pulled up in front of a clapboard bungalow. The white paint on the exterior of the house was peeling and the trim had faded to the point where Emily could see raw wood. A tidy green holiday wreath hung on the front door, a stark contrast to the dishevelment of the home. An older model SUV sat in the driveway in front of a one-car detached garage.

  Clay got out, opened the door for Emily, and collected Paige. Dorsey went up to the door, knocked and talked with a middle-aged woman in a turtleneck and jeans. A few minutes later he returned.

  “She’s awake and can talk to you now. She wants to do it before Jenna leaves and Harper gets here.”

  “Okay,” Emily said as Luckett and Rossi came up behind them.

  “I’ll watch the baby if you’d like.”

  She started to panic, not wanting Paige out of her sight for even a second.

  Clay came to the rescue. “We need to keep Paige with us. If she disturbs Mrs. Lane, I’ll take her out of the room.”

  Dorsey bobbed his head and turned to the agents. “She wants to say her piece first to the McCreedys, then she’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  The agents didn’t look pleased and started to object but Clay put his hand up. “Let’s just get this done, okay? I don’t know how much more my wife can take.”

  They backed off.

  “Come inside.” Dorsey led the way and the four of them followed.

  The house was in better shape in the inside. Cute actually, with country-toile wallpaper in the entryway and an antique hall tree. As Dorsey rushed them through the front of the house to Maureen’s bedroom, Emily noted that knickknacks and books lined the shelves and photographs dotted the walls in the living room. A small Christmas tree occupied a corner and stockings hung from the fireplace mantel. Nothing sinister, but the smell of sickness permeated the air.

  The woman . . . Jenna . . . opened a door off the hallway and ushered them inside. It was a small room with windows that faced a backyard with a rusted swing set that looked like it hadn’t gotten use in many years. A thin layer of frost covered the grass. A hospital bed and a small table cluttered with books and medical paraphernalia had been set up in the middle of the room.

  “They’re here,” Jenna said to the wan figure lying in the bed. Rhys had said Maureen was forty-seven. To Emily she looked more like she was in her sixties, gray, gaunt, and weathered. From the cancer or a hard life. Probably both. “Take a seat.”

  There were a few chairs near the bed, including a rocker. Clay rested the baby carrier on that. Hopefully the motion would lull Paige to sleep.

  “Hello,” Emily said, and Maureen fluttered her eyes open. “Were you sleeping?”

  “No. They’ll be plenty of time for that later.” Maureen sounded out of breath and scratchy. Emily had to pull the chair closer and bend down to hear her properly. It was the same voice she’d heard on the phone. Not distressed or disguised, but the voice of someone dying.

  Maureen peered over at Clay. “This the new husband?” The strange question came out like a whisper.

  “Clay’s my second husband. That’s our baby, Paige.”

  She strained her neck to get a look and a small smile appeared on her lips. “Is the first one coming? I’d like to only say this once.”

  “He hit bad weather and there were delays at the airport.” There was no telling when Drew would get here. Please don’t make us wait.

  Maureen must’ve read her mind or seen the desperation in her face because she blurted, “Duke took her. Duke took Hope.”

  Chapter 8

  Emily let out a gasp and Clay reached for her. He considered calling in the agents. They should hear this. If the woman dropped dead right this moment, they’d have no witnesses. Paige started crying and Clay didn’t know what to do first. Soothe Emily, pick up Paige, or demand answers?

  The caretaker opened the door and gave them a pointed look. No way in hell was he leaving Emily alone to hear the rest of this woman’s confession. Or lies. Who knew what her endgame was? He got up, lifted Paige out of her carrier and nestled her against his chest, rocking her back and forth. That seemed to do the trick. The baby nuzzled closer, closed her eyes, and drifted off.

  “I think the agents should hear this,” Clay said, and started to open the door.

  “Not yet,” Maureen croaked, and took Emily’s arm. Her hands were paper-thin and he could see a trail of blue veins. “Water, please.”

  Emily stood stock-still. Clay suspected she was still processing the words.

  Duke took her. Duke took Hope.

  He maneuvered Paige to one arm and poured the water from a tan plastic pitcher into a glass with a straw and held it for her. Honestly, he wanted to shove it down her throat.

  “You okay?” he asked Emily.

  “Yes. Please go on,” she told Maureen.

  Maureen sipped the water, trying to hold the glass with her own hands. To Clay she looked as if she was at death’s door and he fervently hoped she’d be able to finish. Then they could parse her story, investigate whether it was true.

  “I waited for you,” Maureen said. “Had to get this out.”

  “I understand.” Emily nodded her head in encouragement. It was a miracle she was keeping it together. Clay touched her back. She still had on her jacket even though the heat was cranked to full blast.

  “When that man . . . the one on death row . . . said he killed her and threw her down a well, I wanted to call you.” Maureen coughed hard until her entire body racked from it.

  The caretaker, Jenna, came back in. “It’s too much for her. You’ll have to leave.”

  Emily made a noise of distress and Clay said, “Not yet. My wife needs to hear this and Maureen needs to say it.”

  Maureen nodded and Jenna said, “Just a few more minutes. Anything more than that is too much.” She grabbed a wad of tissues and wiped Maureen’s mouth, put her water glass back on the table and with a remote control adjusted the bed to a near sitting position. “Harper will be here soon.”

  A tear rolled down Maureen’s face and she wiped it away with the back of her bony hand.

  “Ring if you need me,” Jenna said, and left. Clay noted the hand bell on the table.

  “You were saying you wanted to call me about the man in prison, the one who falsely confessed to taking Hope,” Emily reminded her.

  “He lied.” Maureen attempted to pull her covers higher. Emily did it for her, tucking it under her chin. “You cried on the news and I wanted to tell you . . .”

  “What?” Emily asked, her voice trembling.

  He placed Paige back in her carrier so he could hold Emily. Maureen watched him swaddle the baby in her blanket and something in her eyes softened.

  “What did you want to tell me?” Emily repeated.

  “That Duke did it.”

  “Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you call?” Clay tried to keep the anger from his voice but Emily had gone through hell back then. She was going through hell right now. If this woman had known she should’ve come clean a long time ago.

  “Afraid.” She coughed again and Emily handed her another wad of tissues.

  “You were afraid of Duke?” Emily asked.

  She shook her head. “Afraid that Duke would go to prison.”

  Damned straight, Clay wanted to say. Dying at the hands of a drunk driver was too good for the bastard. He raised his voice. “So, you protected the man who did this to an innocent child?”

  Emily pinched his leg. “Forgive him. He’s upset. Please go on. Tell us everything.”

  Good sense told him the agents should be in the room, but he worried that Jenna would call the meeting short and he didn’t know when they’d get another chance to talk to Maureen. Or if she’d even make it through the night.

  “Start from the beginning,” Emily said. “Please, this is . . .” She started to weep, then caught herself. “Go on.”

  Clay wrapped his arm around her and she leaned into him. She felt so light
and fragile that it was all he could do not to carry her out of the room, out of this town, away from this evil woman.

  “He saw her playing in your yard.” Maureen reached for the glass of water and sipped through the straw. “He was cleaning out his aunt’s house. Her yard backed up to yours.”

  Emily choked on a sob. “Mrs. Murphy? She died a week before Hope went missing.”

  Maureen gave a weak nod and Clay didn’t know how much longer she’d hold up for this or whether Jenna would burst through the door, calling a halt to their conversation.

  “Maureen?” He tried to modulate his voice, sound patient when he was burning with fury. How could she have she harbored that child-killing son-of-bitch? “Do you know where Hope is? My wife would very much like to bring her home.” And give her a proper burial.

  Again, she nodded. She was crying now, tears streaming down her face. “You seem like good people.”

  A mewling sound came from Emily and Clay knew she was a hair away from losing it. Her face had lost all its color and her shoulders sagged with sheer devastation. At least they knew now. All those years of searching. Clay wondered if the police were even aware that Mrs. Murphy had a nephew and that he’d been there the day Hope went missing. How could they have they overlooked such an important detail?

  He wanted Luckett and Rossi in the room when Maureen told them where Duke had left Hope’s body. Then the woman could rot in hell for all he cared.

  “Did she suffer?” Emily asked “Did my baby suffer?”

  “Em, honey.” Clay wanted her out of this place. “Let’s have the agents take it from here.” As far as he knew they were still in the living room, waiting. By now maybe the Palo Alto detectives had arrived. They could handle the rest.

  Maureen’s gray face turned white as if all the blood had drained out. Her body shook with silent sobs. “I’m sorry,” she said, and closed her eyes.

  The door creaked open and a young girl came in. “Mama?” She stood there for a moment, gazing at them with interest.

  Emily took one look at her, stumbled and let out a cry. Clay gaped at the girl because she looked exactly like his wife.