19

Amelia didn’t have much else to add, but that little tidbit she had discovered was exciting enough. She didn’t have a name for Christine’s real father, nor did she have any solid evidence to support her theory that we could take to the police; yet, if what she said was true, we might now have a motive for both Christine’s disappearance and Joe’s death. Amelia promised to keep me informed if she or Maya came up with anything new, and then disconnected.

The house felt painfully empty now that everyone was gone and I wasn’t talking to anyone. I tried to turn my attention to Sheamus’s needs, yet every time I considered calling someone about him, I found I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

What if they had deep, dark secrets that could cause them to end up like Joe? What if they were like Terrance Hildebrand and were lukewarm to animals at best? I knew I shouldn’t be worried—I hadn’t had an issue finding the right home for an animal before Joe—but it was hard. I didn’t trust myself to make rational decisions.

So, I decided I might as well be irrational.

I picked up my phone, checked the number Chester had given me, and dialed.

“Hello?”

“Hi, my name is Liz Denton. I’m looking to speak to Penelope Pringle, if she’s in.”

There was a pause. “I’m Penelope. What is this about?”

It was my turn to hesitate. I had no official authority to be asking her questions about Christine. There was nothing wrong with a couple of women chatting about the past, but would she want to talk to me about someone she’d likely thought dead for the past thirty years? Penelope had already told the police everything she knew, and our conversation would bring back all the painful memories she might wish buried.

Could I do that to her?

“Are you still there?” Penelope asked. She had a kind, gentle voice.

Go easy on her. Chester’s words drifted through my mind.

“I would like to talk to you about Christine Danvers,” I said. “I have some news you might like to hear. I’ve met her son.”

Her gasp was audible through the phone. “Her son?”

“Please, if I could have a few minutes of your time, I’ll happily explain everything.”

“Yes. All right.” She took a shuddering breath. “Do you know a place called Sophie’s Coffeehouse?”

“I do.”

“Would you mind meeting me there? I think I need the comforts of a good cup of coffee if we’re going to talk about this.”

We agreed to meet within the hour. I made sure the cats had water, gave each a good scratch behind the ears, and then I was on the way.

Sophie’s was once an old Victorian house that was converted into a business, much like every other building on the street, including Chester’s office. Many of the buildings were once mansions, but Sophie’s was smaller, more personal. Honestly, I preferred it that way.

I parked in the small lot out back and then made my way in through the front door. Penelope promised she’d meet me just inside, and she didn’t disappoint.

“Liz?” she asked, clutching a handbag like she feared I might try to snatch it from her. She was wearing a floor-length dress, and had her hair pulled up tight to her head in a bun. When she spoke, she didn’t look directly at me. “Liz Denton?”

“I am. How’d you know?” I asked her.

She nodded to my shirt, which had the name of my rescue on it. “I checked you out after your call. You do good work.”

“Thank you.” Hopefully, that meant Courtney’s plan to ruin Furever Pets’s name had failed. “Shall we?”

Penelope led the way to a table in the corner. I could see the statue of Grey Falls’s founder, Sebastian Grey, down the street. Penelope made sure to sit so she was facing the windows and took the time to check them carefully before sitting.

Paranoid? I wondered. Or was she socially awkward. I had my answer immediately.

“I like coming here, but I’m not much of a people person,” she said. “Never have been. Christine and I were good friends, mind you. She kind of took me under her wing when we were young because I couldn’t make any other friends. You know how kids can be.” Her eyes flickered to me briefly, before returning to the window.

“I have two kids of my own,” I said. “They both had their moments when they were younger.”

Penelope flashed me a quick smile and nodded. “I was surprised you called, honestly. I think of Christine every day, yet I feared everyone else had forgotten her. She was such a good person. I miss her.”

I started to speak when a waiter named Roman appeared to take our orders. He was young and good-looking. From the way he smiled, and the confident tone he used to address us, he knew it too.

As soon as he was gone, I spoke. “I didn’t know Christine while she was . . .” I paused, wondering what Penelope knew of the investigation, and what she’d merely speculated at. “While she was living in Grey Falls.”

“She was truly a fantastic person.” She glanced at me before looking down at the table. “She never would have hurt anyone, which makes me wonder how anyone could have ever thought to harm her. You said she had a son?”

“I believe so.” I hated not knowing for sure. I mean, I felt Erik was honest with me, but as Duke said, you can’t always take someone at their word. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh?” The hopeful look on Penelope’s face gave me no choice but to tell her everything I knew.

I did the best I could to explain in the gentlest way possible. I told her about Erik first, how he was the one who told me about Christine’s flight from town, how she changed her name, but still cared for Joe. I told her about Christine’s illness, how she’d hoped to find her husband again, but failed. And I told her about my conversation with Ida Priestly, but I did keep mention of Harry Davis to a minimum.

During my monologue, Roman returned with our coffees. I didn’t stop talking, and he briefly stopped to listen before wandering off to wait on another table. Once I finished speaking, Penelope and I both sipped our coffees quietly. There were tears in Penelope’s eyes and I was afraid that if I said the wrong thing, she’d completely lose it.

It took a good five minutes before she was able to speak. “I never knew.” It came out as a whisper. “She was my friend and she never said a thing to me about any of this.”

“She was trying to protect those she loved,” I said. “I don’t know what happened, but I do know it was hard on her.” I leaned forward. “Do you have any idea why she would run away like she did?”

Penelope shook her head. “Christine never even hinted that something was going on. She loved her family, her friends. None of this makes sense to me.”

Speaking of her family... “Did she ever talk about her birth parents to you?” I asked.

“A little.” A man strode in our direction, causing Penelope to tense. He didn’t so much as glance at us as he turned and headed back to the bathrooms. Penelope’s eyes never left him until he vanished through the men’s-room door. “She never liked talking about that time in her life. It was hard, you know?”

I nodded. “Was it a good relationship?”

“I got the impression that it was. She never said anything bad about them to me, anyway. I know she wished they hadn’t died. She told me once that she had so many questions to ask them, and that she hated the fact she’d never get a chance to do it, but I never really put it all together. They were murdered?”

“Yeah. And it’s believed she saw who did it, but she was never able to ID them.”

Penelope closed her eyes briefly. “That’s terrible. She told me they’d passed, but never said how.”

“What about Joe? Did Christine have a good relationship with her husband?”

A smile lit the corners of Penelope’s mouth. “Joe and Christine were a perfect couple. I envied them for the longest time. She adored him and talked incessantly about how they were going to raise a family together.” The smile slipped away. “They never did get that chance, did they?”

“She had Erik,” I reminded her. “Joe might not have known about him, but Christine did tell her son about his father.”

“It hurts my heart to know they didn’t get to spend time together as a family,” she said. “After everything the both of them went through, they should have been given that kindness.”

I couldn’t say I disagreed. “I take it there’s no chance Christine would have stepped out on Joe, then?”

Penelope’s eyes took on a heat that I didn’t expect out of her. “Never! Christine was faithful, as was Joe. If you’d known the two of them, you wouldn’t even consider it a possibility.” She frowned. “Although . . .”

I waited her out. Roman started our way, but I covertly waved him off. I didn’t want Penelope to lose her train of thought.

She sipped her coffee, the frown growing ever deeper. When she met my eyes again, there was a concern there that hadn’t been there before.

“There was one man,” she said. “Christine never spoke of him, and I don’t believe she wanted anyone to know about him at all. I know I didn’t ask; it wasn’t my place.”

“A man her age?”

Penelope started to shake her head, then nod, then ended up shrugging. “I can’t say for sure. I only saw him a couple of times, and it was always from a distance. Christine would see him first and would excuse herself and hurry off to talk to him.”

“What did he look like?” I asked.

“It was a long time ago,” Penelope said with an apologetic tone. “He’s just a blur in my mind. I’d guess he was of average height, average build. Nothing that stood out.” She brightened. “When I did see him, he was always wearing a suit. It was a nice one.” She pointed out the window. “Just like that.”

I turned in my seat to look.

Across the street, wearing a suit that looked brand-new, was Chester Chudzinski.

* * *

I didn’t know what to think as I drove home a little while later. Chester became Joe’s PI after Christine had come up missing. Could he have known Christine before she vanished? Was that why he agreed to work for Joe?

And was Chester’s involvement the reason why what truly happened to Christine never came to light?

I hated to think it, especially with Amelia working with the private investigator, but it was hard not to. I’d heard from more than one person that a man in a suit had been hanging around Christine, and Chester always wore a suit, though not always a nice one. He was involved in the case from the start. And he knew Joe was getting closer to finding out what had happened to his wife.

Could Chester Chudzinski have killed him for it?

I just couldn’t see it, not with what I knew of the man.

But I couldn’t dismiss the idea out of hand either.

Fortunately for Chester, I doubted he was the only man who ran around in a suit all the time. Detective Hastings could have worn one back when he was on the job, as many detectives did. Could Christine have been meeting with him? Had she gotten involved with something and was working with the detective to take down a criminal of some sort? If so, why wouldn’t he have told me when I talked to him about her disappearance?

I supposed the case could have been—and still might be—sensitive, but he could have told me something. If nothing nefarious was going on between them, why would he cover it up?

The answer was obvious, though I didn’t much care for it. I hated to think that anyone in law enforcement could be a bad person. It was their job to protect the innocent, not chase them out of town and then kill anyone who looked into their disappearance.

The last thought didn’t sit well with me as I pulled up in front of my house. Maybe it wasn’t Martin Castor I should be worried about, but rather Wayne Hastings. Of course, I knew nothing about Martin either. That was something I needed to remedy.

I went straight to my laptop and brought up the browser. I debated on how to go about it, and then chose just to type in his name to see if there were any hits. It didn’t take long to find a Martin Castor who currently lived in Grey Falls. It was the website that surprised me.

I clicked the link and went to the staff listing. Sure enough, Martin Castor stared back at me with a wide smile.

He was old enough to have been around when Christine vanished, but he didn’t appear to be old enough to have been her mysterious real father. He had to be close to retirement age, but from the look in his eye in his photo, I had a feeling he planned on working until he was in his eighties.

I clicked another link, still not quite sure I had the right man. I mean, the Martin Castor Detective Hastings described was a horrible, vicious person. I was having a hard time seeing a man in this Martin’s career being a killer.

I skimmed the next page, unease growing. Below a brief bio that spoke glowingly of Martin’s academic career was another photograph. This time he was holding a small plaque bearing his name.

“He’s a doctor,” I said out loud, causing both Wheels and Sheamus to look up at me. The cats had been playing pretty hard while I’d searched, and looked ready for a break.

I couldn’t fathom how a doctor could be tied to a man like Harry Davis. Wayne did say that Martin hadn’t been in much trouble lately, and I supposed his profession was the reason why.

But still . . . Could a doctor of all people have killed Joe Danvers? Like police officers, I thought of doctors as people who helped others, not hurt them.

It took me a good couple of minutes of staring, of trying to rationalize how a man like Martin could be involved with a murder, when I realized one important feature about all the photographs that stood out. Normally, it wouldn’t have mattered, but after my conversation with Penelope, it was seared into my mind.

In every single photo, Martin Castor was wearing a suit.