Grave Doubts (A Paranormal Mystery Novel) Read online

  “You can’t talk about your own sister’s death?”

  “No.” Carey turned a saddened face in Lee’s direction. “He says Diane was a loser. That she was always a loser. She got divorced and then in desperation dated a married man. To Vern, suicide was just the logical result of an already failed life.”

  Tears suddenly filled her eyes and she restrained a sob. Lee got up to put a sympathetic hand on Carey’s shoulder.

  “You don’t think of her that way, do you?”

  “Of course not.” Carey gulped.

  “Carey, do you know of anyone who would want to hurt Diane?”

  This close, Lee saw that Carey wore heavier than normal face make-up, especially around her eyes where it was a shade lighter than her skin tone. It made her skin almost translucent. Lee thought it was meant to cover her grief…or something else.

  “Let’s face it,” Carey began, “Diane didn’t have a lot of friends, but those she did have were very close, like you.” She smiled and the corners of her mouth creased into thin folds. “But I don’t know anyone that would want to…”

  “Kill her?”

  Carey just nodded and looked at the floor. When she looked up again, her face looked stricken. “My God, Lee, who would kill my sister? It’s really unthinkable. I mean, women like Diane aren’t murdered.”

  “I know. I can’t think of a reason why anyone would kill her.”

  Lee silently wished she hadn’t used those words.

  “Yet, I can’t think of a reason why she would kill herself,” Carey almost pleaded. “I just don’t know what to think.”

  Lee dropped her eyes as a feeling of remorse washed over her. The fact that she and Diane had argued about her new boyfriend only hours before her death was something she hadn’t shared with anyone. Although she had reasoned away any real responsibility for Diane’s suicide, the guilt still lay across her shoulders like a suffocating blanket. The repeating nightmare only punctuated her self-imposed torture.

  Carey looked up, her brows knit with deep suspicion. “What do you know about her boyfriend, Bud?”

  Lee looked up as if Carey had read her thoughts. “Not much. I mean other than he’s married and seems like he’s naturally oily all over.”

  Even though the thought of Bud Maddox made her feel as if someone had just walked across her grave, Lee was glad to throw attention on someone else.

  “He gives me the creeps,” Carey agreed. “I never could understand what Diane saw in him. Vern wouldn’t even allow him in our home. It’s been hard these last few months. It drove a wedge between us, and I…” she choked back tears again and went to sit in the chair.

  As Carey leaned sideways to wipe her eyes, Lee got another glimpse of the bruise on her neck. When she looked up, Lee looked away.

  “I just keep thinking that I never had the chance to say goodbye,” Carey sniffled. “It was like I lost the last few months with my sister.”

  Lee sat down again, considering Carey’s loss and feeling very selfish for having focused only on herself these past few days.

  “Do you know anything about his wife?” she asked.

  Lee shook her head. “No. No one’s ever seen her that I know of. Had Diane ever met her?”

  “No,” Carey said. “Definitely not. In fact, she mentioned once that Bud had never shown her a picture of his wife, so she didn’t even know what she looked like. I think Diane was very conscious of the fact Bud was still married and didn’t feel right about it. But she said he’d told her he would be getting a divorce. She was convinced that Bud was in love with her. I can’t think of any reason why he would harm her, can you?”

  “No,” Lee replied with reluctance. “I guess you can’t accuse a guy of murder just because he comes off as insincere.”

  “If someone did kill Diane though, I want to know who it was. I want them to pay for it.” Carey’s eyes lit up as she spoke. “I’ve looked through the house. I probably don’t know what to look for, but I looked through some of her personal papers wondering if I’d find something…I don’t know… unusual. Like if she was working on something suspicious, or if she was investing in something risky, or…” she shrugged her shoulders. “But all I found was normal bills and receipts.”

  “What about life insurance? Did she have any?”

  “Yes. I thought of that. I thought maybe she’d taken out a large policy recently and made Bud the beneficiary.” Carey laughed as if the thought had been stupid.

  “Don’t laugh. I think more people have been killed for life insurance than you realize.”

  “Yes, but she only had two policies. One our parents took out when we were babies. It’s only worth about $1,500. And another one when she worked for a time at the university. It was for $25,000.”

  “Who gets them?”

  Carey hesitated, her eyes studying the floor. “We do.”

  Lee blushed. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  She waved away Lee’s apology. “Don’t worry. I would’ve asked the same question. It’s not as if we can’t use the money, either. Vern’s business is suffering, and he’s too stubborn to branch out into anything else. We’ve been struggling for quite a while. I have to admit that $25,000 looks like a million to me right now, but I could never have hurt my sister. Not for anything.”

  A strained silence stretched between them.

  “Carey, I never asked you how you were notified. I should have called you myself that night.”

  Carey sat back with a forlorn expression. “I was home alone. The boys were out, and Vern bowls down at Willamette Lanes every Thursday. A Sergeant Davis came over to tell me. I didn’t want to disturb Vern, so I went over to my mother’s and stayed with her that night.”

  Lee was beginning to form a picture of Carey’s husband, and it wasn’t pleasant. She glanced up when the clock chimed six o’clock. Carey noticed and stood up.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Lee. You said you were going out. I’ve stayed too long.”

  “Not at all.” Lee got up. “I’m only going over to a friend’s for dinner.”

  Carey went into the entryway and reached for her coat. “I’d better go anyway. I was supposed to be out picking up pizza. Vern will wonder where I am. Thanks for your time, Lee. It was good talking to you.”

  “I’ll try to stop by this weekend. Amy will be down. I think she’d like to come over, too.”

  Carey hesitated for a moment as if she wanted to say something else, but turned to leave. Lee caught her as she reached the door.

  “Carey, do you happen to have the suicide note?”

  “Yes. The police let us have it.”

  “Could I look at it?”

  “I suppose so. Why do you want it?”

  “I don’t know. Just to answer some questions of my own. Would you mind?”

  “Not at all. I’ll drop it off.” She gave a brief smile and left.

  Lee watched Carey walk to her car, wondering why she had asked for the suicide note. What did she hope to learn? She had gone along with the initial ruling of suicide, convinced it was the right thing to do. Now, both Patrick and Carey had expressed the same belief Lee had secretly harbored − that Diane hadn’t killed herself. If Lee started asking questions, where could it lead? And how would she know if she found anything of value?

  There was one thing Lee did know. In the four short years she and Diane had worked together, two seemingly opposite personalities had become closer than most sisters. They had become two halves of a very imperfect whole. Now, half of the whole was gone, leaving something terribly wrong in its place. And Lee wanted to know why.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  By 6:15, Lee was ready to go. Light rain shrouded the streetlights, turning Alder Drive into something out of eighteenth-century London. Lee popped open an umbrella and hurried down the front steps and around the corner of the house towards the garage, avoiding the large bushes that crowded the walkway. Coming from California, Lee had often complained to Diane that everything in the Northwest was either sit
uated on a hill, wet, or both. Her cynicism only raised snide remarks from her friend.

  “At least we know when the seasons change up here,” Diane would reply in her deep Lauren Bacall voice. “In California, the only way anyone knows the season has changed is when Wal-Mart revamps its store display.”

  Despite Diane’s obsessive attention to detail, Lee missed her. She missed the quirky mannerisms that accentuated her extreme moods and the carefully chosen words delivered in carefully crafted phrases to make a point only Diane cared about. It was all the things others disliked about Diane that Lee had grown to understand and appreciate. Diane had been a pain in the ass − picky, obstinate, even small-minded at times. Yet, Lee had been able to ignore that. Underneath all of her obsessive and irritating traits, Diane had also been one of the most generous people Lee had ever known. More than that, Diane had found something worthy of friendship in Lee. “A glimmer of hope,” Diane used to call it. And for that, Lee would be forever grateful.

  Lee swallowed to relieve the lump in her throat as she climbed into the car. She backed out of the driveway, making a crisp right turn onto Alder Drive. She noticed the tan sedan that had cut her off earlier that day was parked across the street with its motor running, the exhaust sending plumes of gray smoke into the cool night air. As she passed, Lee glanced into the driver’s side window and was startled when a pale, ghostly face floated into view staring at her, its identity obscured by water streaming down the glass. The disembodied image gave her a sudden chill, and she pressed down on the accelerator. The Pathfinder jumped ahead, and the sedan flicked on its headlights. A moment later, Lee saw it pull away from the curb, going in the opposite direction.

  Lee hit the freeway on-ramp now anxious to be with her friends. It took her only a few minutes to cross over the Willamette River into Springfield, a small neighboring community where her hospital was located. Red-tipped smokestacks from the Weyerhaeuser paper plant billowed drafts of white steam against the blue shadowed Cascade Mountains that rimmed the valley. Although many high tech companies had moved into the Willamette Valley, there was still plenty of evidence the timber industry owned this part of the Northwest.

  Lee exited the freeway and followed Marcola Road north to the open countryside. The rain was moving south, leaving behind patches of stars peeking out from behind a bank of clouds that threatened to overtake the moon. Lee sped on, crossing the Little Mohawk River before passing the golf course on her right.

  Alan and Robin lived on five acres where they kept two horses, a goat, and a few chickens. At well over six feet tall, Alan was a bear of a man and an imposing figure. He’d served on the Eugene police force for twelve years and earned a reputation for being a no-nonsense kind of guy. Yet, he also had a gentle side that Lee found intriguing. While Robin owned the horses and loved to trail ride up in the hills, Alan owned two rabbits, which lived in the garage and were often allowed into the house.

  Robin greeted Lee at the door dressed in black muslin pants and an Asian print tunic top. Her thick black hair was cut to her shoulders and bounced back and forth when she walked. She led Lee into the kitchen where Alan was just removing a Mexican casserole dish from the oven. The strong scent of cheese and onions made Lee realize she hadn’t eaten all day.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” he smiled. Dressed casually in brown pants and a long-sleeved brown shirt, he looked a little like a giant teddy bear.

  “I’m starving, and I brought the wine,” she announced, producing a bottle from her leather bag.

  “Terrific,” Robin exclaimed as she grabbed a corkscrew. She poured the wine and handed a glass and an envelope to Lee.

  “Happy birthday, Lee. I’d sing, but Alan said he’d divorce me if I did.”

  Alan turned from the counter where he had just placed the casserole. “You should thank me for that,” he grinned.

  Robin slapped her husband’s butt. Lee’s laugh was short of being lighthearted, but her smile was genuine.

  “Birthday celebrations aren’t high on my list of priorities right now.” She ripped open the card, read it quickly and looked up at Robin with a tearful smile. “Thanks.”

  Robin saved the moment by pouring a glass of wine for her husband, then grabbing a glass for herself before drawing Lee into the dining room.

  “Well, you deserve much more than a card. When this has all settled down, I’ll take you up to Portland for a day of shopping and lunch. How are you doing?”

  “It’s been tough,” Lee admitted, sitting in a high-backed chair across a walnut dining table.

  “I’ve been thinking of you all day,” Robin sympathized. “I’m sorry I had to miss the church service. How was it?”

  “Actually, it was good. Carey read a poem Diane wrote as a child. It was very touching.”

  “I saw Bud at the graveyard,” Robin grimaced. “Was he at the service, too?”

  Lee’s jaw clenched and she set her wine glass down with a rigid hand. Bud Maddox reminded her of something prehistoric, with his dark, penetrating eyes and heavy brows. She pondered everything she didn’t like about the man before realizing she hadn’t answered Robin’s question.

  “Yes. Bud was there,” she squeezed the words out, lifting her finger to the rim of the glass. “Although he never approached the family that I could see. I’m sure they wouldn’t have had much to say to him.”

  “I never did understand that relationship,” Robin said, echoing Lee’s thoughts.

  Lee got up to look over a short wall that set off the sunken living room. She watched what was left of the rain float past the flood lamps outside the sliding glass doors that led to the deck. She and Robin had spent many a weekend summer afternoon sipping Margaritas on that deck, but now nothing was visible past the railing.

  “God,” Lee finally sighed in exasperation, “I hope I never get that desperate.”

  “Do you think that’s what it was - desperation?”

  “Maybe she loved him,” Lee said, thinking the rain looked like fairy dust against the blackened backdrop of the night. “I’m sure she believed she did, although I can’t imagine why.” Lee grew silent as she turned inwards. Her final argument with Diane had been about this very subject.

  “You okay?” Robin asked.

  “Bud was at the funeral with another woman,” she said after a moment. “He was discreet. They didn’t hold hands or anything, but I’m sure other people noticed. It was rude, to say the least. I think she works in the Emergency Room.”

  “What a turd!”

  “I agree,” Lee whispered, staring at her hands.

  “I can’t imagine what it must have been like…I mean…to find her,” Robin commiserated. “I’ve never been around a dead body. It had to be awful.”

  The comment brought all movement in the room to a stop. Even the overhead fan seemed to pause. It was several long seconds before Lee turned. When she did, her voice was barely above a whisper.

  “It was awful. It was the most awful thing I’ve ever had to do. I sat on the floor next to her until the police arrived, wishing with all my might that she’d just open her eyes and be okay. But she didn’t. I stayed to answer questions and finally watched the police cover her up and search the house for any clues. They opened drawers and looked under pillows as she lay at their feet with a sheet over her head.” Lee took a deep sigh. “I had to watch one officer photograph her from every angle and then lift the syringe out of her hand and place it into an evidence bag. And when another officer found a note in the paper tray of the printer, they all converged into a tight little ball like a group of sixth graders with a dirty picture. And when they finally let Amy and me leave, all the neighbors stood gawking at us in the parking lot as they watched the coroner load her dead body into a van.” She paused, sucking air in through her teeth. “I watched it all. And it was awful.”

  Robin got up and put her arm around Lee’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Lee. I’m really, really sorry.”

  Lee realized she was trembling and clasped he
r hands into a ball in front of her. Just then, Alan called from the kitchen.

  “I think we’re ready. You girls want to help carry this stuff to the table?”

  Forty-five minutes later, Alan and Lee sat in front of an imposing stone fireplace that reached all the way into the beamed ceiling, while Robin prepared dessert. A blazing fire cast a warm glow across a silk embroidery that covered one full wall. Although Robin had been born in the United States and barely spoke any Chinese, her parents had emigrated from Hunan Province when she was very young. She kept her heritage alive through books and collectibles.

  Everyone had been polite during dinner and avoided the recent tragedy, focusing instead on Alan’s culinary talents. Now, waiting for dessert, Lee struggled with how to broach the subject with him.

  “What are you thinking, Lee? You look like you’re twisted in knots,” Alan interrupted her thoughts.

  As Lee sat slouched in a big pillow chair, she felt like a child waiting for Alan to read a story rather than someone about to suggest something that sounded like it came from a cheap crime novel. Alan shifted his weight on the stone ledge of the fireplace, crossing his huge arms on his knees while he waited for her to respond.

  “Let me guess,” he decided to answer his own question. “You don’t think Diane committed suicide.”

  Lee looked up with surprise. “I didn’t know I was that easy to read.”

  “Most people are when they’re grieving. You’ve probably been stewing about this all weekend.” He dropped his chin and looked at her under raised eyebrows. “So, what makes you think she didn’t kill herself?”

  Lee took her time in answering. She figured she had one chance to make an impression without sounding stupid.

  “Three things.”

  Alan’s eyebrows arched. “Three things? Okay, what are they?”

  “First, Diane would not, and I repeat NOT have left a suicide note with typographical errors in it. Second…”