Chapter 39

  

Penelope was surprised to see Regina sitting in Sheriff Bryson’s office, a sweatshirt hood pulled up over her dark red hair. Her magenta lipstick was freshly applied, but the rest of her face looked oily and unwashed, her usual dark eyeliner faded. She still sported her standard bored sneer. Penelope sat down in the chair next to her in front of the sheriff’s desk.

“Regina,” Penelope said. “What are you doing here? Everyone’s been looking for you.”

“I don’t know what for.” Regina sniffed, rolling her eyes. “I’m allowed to go off if I want to.”

“Your mother was worried. You still live under her roof,” Sheriff Bryson said. “The right thing to do is to call.”

“So you weren’t missing, just…hiding?” Penelope asked.

“She was up at Bailey’s campsite.”

Penelope leaned forward in her chair. “I told you I saw someone else.”

“Yes, you did,” the sheriff said. “The forensic investigators from Quincy came across a lot of interesting things up there, Regina included.”

“What else did they find?” Penelope asked.

“Food, a couple of bottles of liquor from the restaurant. At least that’s where I assume they’re from.”

“I’m glad you found Regina,” Penelope said. “But why are you telling me? I’m not involved with the restaurant anymore.”

He pulled a small manila envelope from his desk drawer and handed it to Penelope.

She pulled open the flap and slid one of her necklaces out, rubbing her thumb over the pendant and her etched initials. A wave of emotion passed over her and she decided then to make a trip down to Florida to see her parents the next time she had a break. Getting her necklace back reminded her how much she missed them.

“You made the first complaint, brought all of this to my attention,” Sheriff Bryson said.

Penelope nodded, keeping her emotions in check. “Why did you break into my room?” she asked the girl.

Regina shrugged, but Penelope saw what looked like regret behind her defiant mask. “I know where they keep the room keys. I used to be one of the part-time maids, before I finally got a better position at the restaurant. At least I thought it was better. I was just getting back at you for firing me. I only wanted to scare you, but…”

“Old habits kicked in,” Sheriff Bryson said.

“Old habits?” Penelope asked.

He nodded. “Regina here has a knack for palming personal items. This isn’t her first arrest for theft. Her mother is on the way to get her, sign her out.” He ducked his head and looked up at the girl, his fingers interlaced on the desk in front of him. Regina stared back and slid down in her seat, her hands stuffed firmly in her sweatshirt pockets.

“Tell her what you told me earlier,” he said sternly.

Regina sighed dramatically. “Fine. I never should have opened my mouth. If I’d known I’d be stuck here all day, I never would have.”

“Right, I know,” the sheriff said. “Now talk.”

“It’s no big secret we’re up in the woods at night,” Regina said. “Everyone knows about it at the restaurant.”

“It’s your hangout. Big deal,” Penelope said, looking at the sheriff.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Regina said, picking at some lint on her sleeve.

“No, there’s more,” the sheriff said.

After a long pause, Regina began again. “Ava knows we take stuff sometimes,” Regina said. “She’ll tell you she doesn’t, but she gives me food, liquor, stuff we can take over to the campsite.”

Penelope looked at the sheriff again, frustration beginning to build. “What does that have to do with anything that’s happened?”

“Because,” Regina said, sitting up straight for the first time. “She’s acting like she didn’t know, trying to make people think Bailey’s the one who killed Jordan.”

Penelope looked at the sheriff. “Can I talk to you alone for a minute?”

Sheriff Bryson escorted Regina to a room across the hall and closed her inside. Leaving his office door open, he sat back down. “She’s saying it wasn’t Bailey.”

“You’re going to take the word of a troubled young girl who spends her time hanging at a campsite in the woods as evidence? And you’re telling me she has a record already?”

“At the very least, I can get Ava for supplying alcohol to a minor,” Sheriff Bryson said.

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Penelope said, standing up. “Ava is an adult, a business owner in your community. What is it with you and Bailey that you need to protect him all the time?”

Sheriff Bryson’s expression faltered. “Bailey hasn’t gotten a fair shake in life. I’ll admit, our department hasn’t been fair to him in the past. He’s easily talked into things, then he gets left behind when his friends run away or think of better stories to get themselves out of trouble.”

“You’ve arrested him before when he shouldn’t have been?” Penelope asked. “If that’s true, then drop the charges or throw out the case.”

“That’s not how it works. Once you go through the system, that stays with you,” he said. For the first time, Penelope sensed real regret from the sheriff.

“The article I read made him out to be the ringleader,” Penelope said. “He didn’t talk those other boys into vandalism, malicious destruction of property?”

“That’s how it was reported, but after getting to know the kid better, I don’t think that’s what actually happened. But all of that is in the past; we can’t undo it. I can, however, not send him up because someone more savvy knows how to position him into the spotlight.”

“That may be true, but you can’t discount evidence because of personal feelings or to make up for some mistake from your past,” Penelope said. She wished there was more room in the cramped office to pace. “Can you separate the two or are you set on protecting him?”

When he didn’t answer right away Penelope said, “I should go. Thanks for finding my things.”

“Wait,” Sheriff Bryson said, standing up from his desk.

Penelope stopped, her hand resting on the doorknob.

“Those kids were going missing around the time Bailey was up to no good with those other boys,” he began. His face turned red and he struggled to find the right words. “Lots of people in town thought he had something to do with the disappearances.”

Penelope pulled out her phone and scrolled to the photos she’d taken of the missing persons flyers. “Which one?”

“The last one to go. The Foster girl. Bailey admitted he’d seen Kellie before she disappeared,” he said, shaking his head. “He told folks she went off on her own into the woods, wasn’t part of the messing around with cars or spray painting trees. She stayed for a while at the camp, then wanted to get back home. But she never made it. No one has seen her again. Still, suspicion has never left him. I know that kid. He wouldn’t hurt an innocent girl.”

“What about the other two boys?” Penelope asked.

“Both were seen in town, one at his job,” the sheriff said, deflating. “Bailey was the only one who didn’t have anyone to account for him.”

“Where are the files on these kids?” Penelope asked.

Sheriff Bryson gave her a cold stare. “I don’t know.”

“Then how do you know this?” Penelope asked.

“I’ve talked to Bailey, trying to rebuild the information.”

“Well, that’s not good enough,” Penelope said. “Who were the other officers? What else can you find?”

“It all disappeared with Helmsley,” the sheriff said.

Penelope considered his words. “Your answers lie with him, then.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“Why is Bailey always hanging around up in the forest?” Penelope asked, not sure what to think. A headache was beginning, right behind her eyes.

“His daddy’s been taking him up there since he was a boy. A lot of people around here spend time in the woods. His aunt has a cabin out on the edge.” The sheriff shrugged. “Bailey knows the area well, says he feels at home there. He’s not ready to live on his own, but it’s a place for him to go and be alone.”

“Did you investigate if he was connected to the rest of the Forrestville Five? Or are you giving him a pass on that also?” Penelope asked, slipping her phone back in her pocket.

Sheriff Bryson let her comment slide.

“We looked for the kids, of course we did,” he said. “As far as anyone knows, they just ran off. It happens, small town like this with not many opportunities.”

Penelope thought about the one-hundred-acre park and all the wildlife that lived just beyond the town. “What are the chances, if something did happen to one or more of the missing, they’d be found in those woods? If Bailey knows the area as well as he says, wouldn’t it be easy for him to dispose of a body without anyone ever finding it?”

“I won’t argue you there, he would have the skill for that,” Sheriff Bryson said. “But he’s not that kind of person.” He motioned to the closed door across the hall. “Big groups of kids, boys and girls, hang out up there without anything improper happening.”

“Except theft, and underage drinking, and who knows what else,” Penelope said, looking at the door also.

“Kids will be kids,” Sheriff Bryson said by way of explanation. “If Regina’s telling the truth and Ava was supplying them the stuff, you can take theft off the list.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Penelope asked, exasperated.

“Thought you’d want to know,” he said. “You’re the one with all the concerns. Ava hasn’t filed one complaint with my office, which makes me think this is all a big fuss over nothing.”

The front door opened and Sheriff Bryson stepped out into the hall. He waved Regina’s mother into the room where she waited, grabbing a folder from his desk.

“Thanks for coming in,” he said to Penelope before heading in behind Regina’s mom. He closed the door most of the way but left it slightly ajar. Penelope could hear their mumbled conversation, Regina’s defiance hanging strong and her mother’s weepy relief mixed with anger.

Penelope stuck her hand in her jacket pocket and rubbed the edge of the envelope containing her jewelry. Her eyes moved over the paperwork on the sheriff’s desk and a folder caught her attention. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw the sheriff had taken a seat, his back to the door, his broad shoulders hunched over the table as he went through the arrest paperwork for Regina.

Penelope inched closer to the desk so her thigh was touching and craned her neck to read the folder’s tab. Autopsy Results: Foster, Jordan.

Her heartbeat picked up as she leaned over and flipped the folder open, spinning it halfway around so she could read it better. She scanned the sheet, stopping at the entry for stomach contents. Listed were venison, steak, potatoes, cabbage, carrots, pineapple juice, wine, and brandy. The next line listed toxins found: Doxylamine.

Penelope thought about the combination of food and spirits, attempting to link them to menu items at Festa, but failing to place them. Chefs tasted all night long, so it wouldn’t necessarily have to be one specific dish.

At the bottom of the page was a drawing representing the back and front of a body. Someone had sketched two circles on the lower back of the figure and jotted the word “bruising.”

The phone trilled on the desk and Penelope’s heart leapt into her throat. She closed the folder and spun it back around just before Sheriff Bryson came back into the office.

“I thought you’d gone,” he mumbled before hooking the receiver with his thumb and stretching the phone to his ear.

Penelope made for the door, grateful he hadn’t caught her looking through his files. She spelled the name of the toxin over in her head once more so she wouldn’t forget it.

“Hold up,” he said in a low voice.

Penelope froze, thinking she’d been caught after all. She straightened her shoulders and turned around. The look of alarm on the sheriff’s face froze her in her tracks.

“Okay, be right there,” he said before hanging up. “The forensic team found human remains in the woods.”