Текст книги "Crowned and Moldering"

Автор книги: Kate Carlisle

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“I tried,” Wade said. “It must be locked. But, look, if you really care about some ratty old sheets, we can check the basement. Maybe they tossed them down the chute.”

Mac nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”

I stared at him for a long moment. “Are you okay? This is kind of weird.”

He shrugged. “As long as whoever was crashing here is gone now, I’m fine. But we’ve got to get that mattress out of here. I don’t even want to think about what it might’ve been used for.”

I grimaced at the possibilities.

“Johnny and I’ll drag it downstairs before we leave today.” Sean looked at the mattress again and frowned. “As soon as I find a hazmat suit.”

“Thanks,” Mac said. “I’ll be glad to help.”

I made a note on my tablet about the mattress. And since we were up there anyway, I got my guys to open the windows and check the condition of the shingles on the third-floor exterior. I couldn’t see the gables clearly enough from the ground, so I would normally wait until the scaffolding was in place. But this was a quick and easy way to get a general idea of what, if any, damage would need repair. Also this window faced the front of the house and featured a decorative cutout wooden panel on a narrow overhang. Wade wanted to get a closer look at it.

Maneuvering to a sitting position on the window’s ledge, he leaned back to take a look. “It’ll have to be taken down,” he shouted over the crashing of waves. “The wood has a bunch of holes that’ll need to be filled, and the paint will have to be stripped off and then reapplied.”

It was a small detail that would make a difference once the entire exterior was finished and looking new.

“Okay,” I said, making notes. “Now come in off that ledge before you give me a heart attack.”

After Sean removed the demolished attic door from its hinges and leaned it against the wall, we moved downstairs to the second floor to explore the bedrooms and bathrooms in depth. Wade ran down to grab the blueprint sheet for this floor, and we checked it and made notes as we walked. The bay windows in the rooms facing west showed off the spectacular ocean and breakwater views and allowed the afternoon sunshine in to light up the rooms. The windows filled the walls and were beautiful—or they would be once we’d fully refurbished them.

Every bedroom contained old, dark, shabby wallpaper that would have to be stripped off, and the walls painted. I noted the places where the oak floor planks would have to be replaced. The upstairs bannister would need a complete overhaul. As in the downstairs rooms, many of the ceiling moldings and cornices upstairs were beginning to disintegrate.

Mac and I had discussed opening up the master bedroom, but a load-bearing wall presented a complication. My thought was to join the master bedroom with a smaller bedroom next door, opening the wall wide enough to allow a sizable passageway while maintaining the integrity of the wall. The smaller room would be a sitting room—or, as he called it, a high-tech playroom. Another small bedroom on the other side would become a walk-in closet.

“It’s not like I have a ton of clothes,” Mac explained, “but I’d like the space to walk around and see what I’ve got.”

Also, since each of the bedrooms had a maximum of two electrical outlets, I planned to add at least a dozen more on this floor alone.

And it went without saying that every bathroom in the house would be redone from top to bottom.

In the hallway, Mac stopped and studied what looked like another cupboard built into the wall around waist level. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

He pulled on the small handle and the cupboard opened. “Is that a laundry chute?”

“Yes. Isn’t it great? I love those kinds of features.”

He stuck his head up close to the opening. “I can’t see farther than a few feet.”

“I assume it goes to the basement,” I said, “but since it’s underground, it’ll be too dark to see anything.” I took a peek through the opening and ran my hand along the interior. “This one’s made of wood, so you’ll want to replace it with a galvanized-steel chute. We’ll add a self-closing door at the bottom to comply with the fire code.”

He grimaced. “The last thing I want to do is ignore any fire codes.”

An hour later, we had finished the second-floor walk-through and returned to the ground floor. The good news was that we didn’t find any clothing or sheets that might’ve been used by the person who had brought the mattress into the attic. But that just led to more unanswered questions that would have to be investigated at some point.

“Let’s take another look at the kitchen and the exterior,” I said. “And then I think we’ll be finished.”

“I’ve decided I’d like to redo the kitchen,” Mac admitted. “It’s too old and funky to deal with.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said. “And not that it matters to you, but the Historical Society won’t care about the kitchen.”

He chuckled. “You know I live to keep the Historical Society happy.”

Wade grinned. “Even though they’ve fought you every step of the way.”

“Not me,” Mac said, aiming his thumb in my direction. “Shannon. She’s the one who’s been dealing with all of their demands and requirements.”

I waved off the comment. “That’s what I’m here for.”

We walked into the kitchen and looked around at the dark-stained wood cabinets that had been there as long as the house had been standing. It would take an army of housecleaners to scrub off more than a hundred years’ worth of food spills and grime.

Mac might not want them, but those cabinets were real wood and too darn good to throw away. I was already making a mental list of where I might use them once they were stripped down to the bare wood and varnished to a high shine.

I mentioned this to Mac, then said, “So unless there’s something in the old kitchen you want to keep, we’ll do a complete demo of the room. I’ll give you some catalogs and magazines to look at that’ll give you some ideas of what materials and colors you might want to use. Meanwhile, you can think about all the fun stuff, like whether you’d like a bigger window over the sink, or if you want French doors instead of the single door that leads to the back area.”

“French doors might be nice,” Mac muttered, wandering around the room. “Hey, maybe a deck off the French doors.” He peered through the window screen to the outside and made a face. “Would a deck drive the Historical Society folks crazy?”

“If it can’t be seen from the road or the beach, I don’t see why they’d care. They’ve signed off on the project, so I’d say it’s ultimately your decision.” I stared at the cabinet built into the far wall. “Hey, I forgot about the dumbwaiter. Do you want to keep it?”

Dumbwaiters were another fascinating feature of many Victorian homes, and I couldn’t wait to see how this one operated. The last time Mac and I had been here, I’d had every intention of checking out the dumbwaiter, but that darn white rat had distracted me.

“Let’s check it out,” Mac said, and joined me in front of the cabinet. “Do you think I’ll ever use it?”

“They’re very practical in a two – or three-story house,” I said. “You’ll want to keep it if you decide to entertain abovestairs.”

“Abovestairs, huh?” He grinned at me. “I just might. Do they make them more modern-looking than this?”

“The outer frame can be anything you want it to be. You could get a sleek stainless-steel front or a nice blond Douglas fir to match the rest of the cabinetry. Whatever you decide, it’ll look fabulous.”

I unbolted the dumbwaiter’s vertical sliding door and lifted it. The old wood was stiff and heavy, but I managed to get it opened all the way. I stuck my head inside and looked up, but it was too dark to see anything, so I grabbed Wade’s flashlight and took another look. “I’m not sure the old pulley mechanism is still working. It looks like the platform is stuck upstairs somewhere.” I pulled my head out and glanced at Mac. “If you want to keep using it, I can install a new electric motor with an automatic control. The shaft runs from the attic all the way down to the basement, and it’s a good-sized space. At least two and a half feet square.”

He calculated the size with his hands. “That’s not bad.”

“I wonder if I can get it unjammed,” I said, and reached inside to tug at the pulley.

“Boss, wait,” Sean said. “Why don’t you let me take a look at that?”

I frowned at him. Did he think I was afraid of getting dirty? I gave the ropes another yank and felt them go slack just as a loud cracking, splintering sound erupted from above and echoed through the shaft. I yanked my hand out of there just in time; the entire dumbwaiter platform shattered and fell three stories and crashed onto the basement floor.

The strong whoosh of air and dust coming from the shaft knocked me back a foot. Mac pulled me farther away from the opening. “Are you all right? What the hell was that?”

“The platform must’ve rotted out.” I let out an unsteady breath. “The whole thing broke apart and dropped straight down to the basement.”

“You could’ve been killed,” he muttered, and rubbed my shoulders while I tried to calm my rapidly beating heart. I didn’t want to admit how close to the truth his words were.

Once the dust had settled, I ventured over to the shaft and leaned inside to see what damage had been done. Shining the flashlight’s powerful beam downward, I caught a glimpse of the pile of splintered wood—and something else.

“What the—” I jerked my head out of that dark, empty space as fast as I could move. The flashlight fell from my hand, hitting the floor with a bang. I stared at my empty hands and watched them tremble uncontrollably. I shook my head back and forth. “Oh my God.”

Mac grabbed my arms. “Shannon, what is it?”

“What’s wrong, boss?” Johnny demanded. “Did you see another rat?”

I couldn’t believe I was still shaking, unable to tell what I’d just seen. Could I have been mistaken?

Sean grabbed the flashlight off the floor and leaned inside the dumbwaiter to see for himself what I was freaking out about.

“Holy moly,” Sean said, backing away from the space.

“What is it?” Mac said. “What’s wrong with you guys?”

Sean’s cheeks puffed out and he exhaled heavily. “In the basement. There’s, like, bones down there.”

“Jeez, you guys, relax,” Wade said cynically. “It’s probably a dead raccoon.”

“No,” I said, my voice sounding scratchy and far away. “It’s more like a dead human.”

Chapter Two

“Why am I not surprised to see you here?” Police Chief Eric Jensen said at the sight of me standing on the porch with the others.

I wasn’t sure how to respond. Just because I’d been on the scene of two previous murders didn’t mean I had something to do with any of them. But didn’t it just figure I’d be the one to spot the bones in the basement first? Which probably made me the number-one person the Chief would want to interrogate.

“Hello, Chief Jensen,” I said, deciding to keep the conversation as cordial as possible—and trying not to feel insulted or hurt that I was automatically seen as a suspect.

And it was too bad, because we’d been getting along so well lately. I liked Chief Jensen—Eric—a lot. He was gorgeous, for one thing. Like, Nordic-superhero gorgeous. Tall, blond, muscular, beautiful clear blue eyes. In my mind, I’d called him Thor since the first time I’d ever seen him. Which was, admittedly, at the scene of a grisly murder awhile back. One that he’d suspected me of committing. Not the best start to a friendship, but I thought we’d come a long way since then.

He’d gotten over his suspicions—or so I thought. On a good day, he was nice and friendly to me. He had a dry sense of humor that I found appealing. He cared about people. I sort of thought he liked me—not that we’d ever been out on a date or anything. And we never would if I kept showing up at crime scenes like this.

But, then, who was to say this was a crime scene? A skeleton didn’t necessarily mean someone had been murdered, right? Maybe whoever those bones belonged to had died of natural causes. Heck, maybe it was a suicide.

And maybe I’d win the lottery tomorrow. On both fronts I was living in a fantasy world. Because, seriously? There was a human skeleton in Mac’s basement! And until it could be determined that someone had lived a good, long life and had passed away peacefully in his sleep—while stuffed inside the dumbwaiter of Mac’s remote, empty mansion—this was very much a crime scene.

That hideous thought brought a whole new round of chills, and my shoulders commenced shaking again.

Eric glanced at Mac. The two men had become friends, so Eric knew that Mac was about to start the rehab on the house. “You know we’ll have to halt any renovations you were planning until we clear this up.”

“No problem,” Mac said, sounding strangely buoyant. Of course Mac would be happy. Could life get any better for a thriller writer than to find an actual skeleton in his new home? It had to be the coolest thing on earth. For him, anyway.

“Where are these bones?” Eric asked.

“In the basement,” Mac said. “You want me to show you how to get down there?”

“Yeah.” Eric glanced at the four of us. “Who found them?”

Mac gave me a contrite smile. “Shannon spotted them first.”

Eric let loose a sigh of sheer aggravation. I knew that sound. I’d heard him make it more than once.

“I found them when I looked through the dumbwaiter,” I explained. “None of us has actually been down to the basement.”

“Well, that’s something,” Eric muttered.

Another dark SUV bounded around the curve and came to a bouncing stop at the edge of the lawn. It was Tommy Gallagher, assistant chief of police and my old high school boyfriend. Tommy had been happily married for many years to my worst enemy, but I didn’t hold that against him most of the time. We were still good friends, although I couldn’t say the same for me and his wife, Whitney.

“Hey, guys,” Tommy shouted from the car before he slammed the door shut and jogged over to the house. With a broad grin, he said, “Hey, Shannon.”

“Hi, Tommy.” No one had ever looked more jovial at a crime scene than Tommy Gallagher. He’d always been that way, cheerful and even-tempered, even after the times he was clobbered on the football field in high school. He was like an adorable golden retriever—always happy and friendly. The guy had a wonderful attitude, especially for a cop.

“Hey, Chief, I heard from the sheriff on my way over.” Tommy jogged up the stairs. “It’ll be at least two hours before one of his guys can get out here.”

In our area, the Mendocino County sheriff served as coroner and could declare somebody officially dead. But if the death was suspicious and necessitated a more elaborate CSI facility, our police chief would call on the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Office, about a hundred miles away in Santa Rosa. And if he required even more detailed forensic or pathology services or other autopsy-related services, he would call the forensic medical group located in Fairfield over in Solano County, more than 150 miles southeast of Lighthouse Cove.

Unfortunately, I was pretty sure the chief would be needing all of those services, along with the forensic odontology expert attached to the group, who would, with luck, be able to match the dental records.

And how weird was it that I knew all this stuff? After being involved with a few homicide cases up close, I’d become sort of an expert myself. And by expert I mean I just knew who to call to take care of things.

Eric frowned and rubbed his neck. “I don’t suppose we’re in a huge hurry, since those bones have probably been there for a while. But keep in touch with him, Tom.”

“You got it, Chief.”

“We’d better go take a look.”

Mac led the way back into the house, and Eric and Tommy followed. I looked at my guys and, without saying a word, the three of us walked quietly behind them. When Mac reached the hallway, he stopped. Shaking his head, he admitted, “You know, I’m not quite sure how to get to the basement. I’ve never been down there.” He looked back at me. “Shannon?”

Since I’d spent a lot of time staring at the blueprints, I pointed the way. “Through the kitchen and out to the service porch.”

He jerked his head in that direction. “You lead the way.”

I got to the service porch and found the basement door. It was unlocked, so I opened it and stared down into blackness. I knew Mac had arranged weeks ago to have water and electricity restored to the place, so I searched the closest walls, found a light switch, and flipped it on. I looked back at Eric. “Here we go.”

“Wait.” He glanced at the others. “I’ll go first. Tom, Mac, you’re with me. The rest of you wait up here.”

Relief rushed through me. I didn’t mind staying upstairs at all. I’d had too many weird things happen in basements, the worst of which was stumbling over a dead body in one a few months ago. So I would’ve just as soon avoided getting any closer to that skeleton than I had to.

Sean, Wade, Johnny, and I returned to the front porch. Knowing that the work on Mac’s house would have to be postponed for a few days at least, Wade and I got on the phone with my second foreman, Carla Harrison. The three of us held an impromptu meeting to rearrange schedules, crew members, and equipment. Sean and Johnny offered a few suggestions but mostly kibitzed in the background.

Once the call with Carla ended, the four of us chatted for a few minutes about work in general and then settled down with our own thoughts. I sat on the steps and scanned my notes on the lighthouse mansion, then started prioritizing the jobs that would have to be done once the house was available to my crew and me. Inevitably, as it did so often these days, my mind circled back around to the subject of the new men in my life, Mac and Eric.

Eric was a newcomer to Lighthouse Cove, having moved to town four months ago to take over the job of police chief when Chief Ray retired after thirty years. I had a feeling there was something in Eric’s past that made him reticent to get involved with anyone too quickly. But that didn’t stop my girlfriend Lizzie from asking him on a regular basis if he’d like to go out on a date with one of her friends. So far he’d refused her attempts.

In Lizzie’s defense, she simply wanted all of her friends to be as happily married and settled down as she was. And we continually assured her that we wanted that, too. But not if it involved a blind date. I’d learned that lesson the hard way.

Mac had moved to town only about two months ago and he was already enveloped in the social life. It helped that he was handsome as sin, charming, and very wealthy. But he was also the sweetest guy in the world and so much fun and easy to talk to, and he loved animals.

I hadn’t needed Lizzie to set me up with Mac because we’d met by accident when I wrecked my bike out on Old Cove Highway between the lighthouse and town. He’d been driving by and saw me go flying over the handlebars. He stopped to help and ended up driving me home and carrying me up the stairs to my door. Shortly after that, he decided to rent one of my two garage apartments until his house was ready, and we’d been growing friendlier every day. Well, until that blond supermodel showed up. Mac had tried to explain about her, but I’d cut him off before he could say more than a word or two. I really didn’t want to hear about her.

I mean, come on. A supermodel? What was there to explain? She’s gorgeous. He’s a guy. End of story.

Looking around, I was struck by sudden guilt. Here I was, thinking about handsome men and my own feelings and petty jealousies in connection with them, while all this time someone was lying dead in the basement of the lighthouse mansion. How long had the body been there? Whose was it? Did I know him or her? Maybe it was a stranger, a drifter. An old sailor, perhaps, who’d climbed off his boat and found shelter in the house, hiding in the attic and somehow, some way, eventually dying in the dumbwaiter. The image made me feel queasy. What in the world had happened out here?

I checked my watch. Eric and the others had been downstairs for about a half hour. I couldn’t sit around a minute longer, so I pushed myself up from the steps and said, “I’m going to go find out if the chief needs us all to wait. If not, you guys can go off to another job site and get a good day’s work in.”

“Great idea, boss,” Sean said. I just noticed he’d been using a chisel to peel old paint from the window sills. Sean was someone who liked to keep busy, and I couldn’t ask for a better quality in an employee.

At that moment, I heard heavy footsteps approaching from inside the house. The front door swung open and Chief Jensen stepped outside, followed by Mac and Tommy. They looked somber, as anyone would who’d been staring at death for the past thirty minutes.

“Do you know who it is?” I asked.

“We might’ve found a clue,” Tommy said, earning a narrow look from Eric. Tommy was my best source of information and Eric probably knew it.

The chief seemed to argue with himself for a moment, then shook his head. “Might as well show you three since you all grew up around here, but I’d prefer you not spread the news all over town.”

“We won’t,” I assured him, and all three of my guys nodded in agreement.

Eric held something up in his gloved hand. “Did you ever know anyone who wore something like this?”

The three of us had to get close up to see the faded red letters stamped onto a thin silver band affixed to a cheap silver chain.

Sean gasped beside me.

Eric focused on him. “Do you recognize it?” His voice was steady, not accusatory, although I knew Sean would hate having the chief’s attention directed at him.

“I—I don’t know.”

“It’s one of those MedicAlert bracelets,” I said. “Did it belong to . . .” I hesitated before asking the next question, wondering what I was supposed to call those bones. A skeleton, yes, but was that what the police would call it? Or would they refer to it as a body? A human? A victim? Was it a man? A woman? “Did it belong to the . . . person in the basement?”

“That is yet to be determined,” Eric said, his tone turning official. He continued moving the metallic object this way and that so we could get a better look. “Look familiar?”

Wade squinted at the bracelet. “What’s it say on the back?”

Eric must have memorized the information and didn’t have to look to answer. “Bee allergy. Anaphylaxis.”

Sean gasped again, so abruptly I thought he might pass out.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Do you recognize it?” Eric repeated.

I scowled at the chief and grabbed Sean’s arm. “Come over here. Sit down.” Dragging him to the front steps, I practically pushed him to a sitting position, his elbows resting on his knees. “If you think you’re going to pass out, put your head between your knees and try to breathe.”

“Does he recognize the bracelet?” Mac asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” I sat down next to Sean and put my arm across his broad shoulders. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He took in a whopping gulp of air and let it out, but didn’t speak. Looking at the expression of shock and fear in his eyes, I wasn’t sure he could.

“Sean,” I whispered nervously. “You need to talk to Eric. If you recognize that bracelet . . .”

He groaned and fell backward slowly until he was sprawled on the porch. He laid his arm over his eyes.

Concerned, I glanced over and met Mac’s gaze, then Eric’s. “Just give him a minute.”

Looking down at Sean, I could see tears starting to leak and stream down the side of his face. I scrambled over to his side and knelt down. I’d known him most of my life but had no idea how to comfort him. He’d always been so big and strong, so easygoing. I’d never seen him this overwhelmed and upset before.

Except once.

Oh no. I was starting to feel sick myself.

I reached out and squeezed his arm. “Sean, honey, you can tell me what’s wrong.”

He sniffled, then whispered, “It was Lily’s.”

Oh God.

“What’d he say?” Eric asked.

“I didn’t know she was allergic,” I said, and mentally smacked myself. That had to be the dumbest thing I could’ve said. But having just received one of the biggest shocks of my life, a stupid comment like that was about all I was capable of uttering.

“Who’s Lily?” Eric demanded.

My heart was pounding wildly in my chest. I tried to swallow, but my throat was too dry. Lily Brogan had been a friend of mine back in high school. She was also Sean’s older sister. And fifteen years ago, Lily Brogan disappeared off the face of the earth, never to be seen or heard from again.

*   *   *

“I just want to talk to him.”

“Please give him a few more minutes,” I begged the chief as I watched Sean prowl the edges of the mansion property. “He’s not going anywhere.”

A few feet away, Mac leaned against the porch rail, silently observing us. Wade and Johnny had gone off to another job site to work for the rest of the day.

“If Sean’s innocent,” Eric argued in low tones, “he shouldn’t mind talking to me.”

“Innocent?” I argued. “Of course he’s innocent. Look, I know you’re the police chief, but people are not all divided up into suspects and victims. There are other slots to put us in. Like maybe hurting family member. How about a little compassion?”

“He should want answers, just like I do,” Eric countered, a stern, unyielding look on his face. “Look, I’m not going to arrest him, Shannon. Why wouldn’t he want to talk to me?”

“I wonder.” I laughed softly. “I mean, because you’re always so open-minded.”

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against one of the porch pillars. “That’s right.”

“Oh please.” I couldn’t help but smile at his defensive posture. “You thought I was guilty of murder the first time you ever laid eyes on me.”

His frown was expected. “You have to admit the evidence was compelling. And, besides, I didn’t even know you yet.”

I wanted to argue, but he was right. The murder weapon had been one of my favorite work tools. “Okay, I’ll give you that. But look. You need to cut Sean some slack. He’s just had a terrible shock.”

“I understand that.”

“I’m not sure you do.” I wanted to make him understand. Would it be so hard to bend a little? The people of Lighthouse Cove already liked him, especially after so many years of dealing with the incompetent Chief Ray. So how could I make it clear to Eric that he didn’t have to play the hard-nosed cop all the time?

“Here’s the thing,” I continued. “Sean has devoted the past fifteen years of his life to finding his sister. I mean, he’s never stopped searching. When Lily disappeared, we were all upset, but Sean was flattened. His way of dealing with the loss was to dedicate every spare minute he had to finding her, tracking her down. It consumed him. And now to find out she never left town after all? That she was here all along? Dead, shoved inside a dumbwaiter shaft in the lighthouse mansion?” I rubbed my arms from the sudden chill. “He’s got to be devastated. I mean, what was she doing out here? Who was she with? And how did she get inside that dumbwaiter?”

“That’s for the police to figure out,” Eric said.

My mind flashed on the image of those bones I’d seen through the dumbwaiter shaft. There was something wrong with that picture, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Do you think she was already dead when someone put her in the dumbwaiter? Or did she die once she got inside? Maybe she was hiding from someone. Could she have suffocated? Oh God.” I had to rub away more chills from my arms. The thought of poor Lily being treated that way . . .

“Stop it, Shannon,” Eric warned. “Don’t start painting scenarios. I don’t want you thinking you can investigate this crime. If that’s what it was. After all, you could be right about her hiding in there. Maybe she got stuck and couldn’t get out.”

“Oh, that’s horrible.”

He seemed to regret planting that image in my head. “Look, anything could’ve happened. The last thing I need is for you to be dreaming up theories and motives on your own.”

“All right, all right.” This wasn’t the first time I’d heard him lecture me on this point, obviously.

“Tell me more about Sean’s relationship with Lily,” Eric said.

“Okay.”

“Mind if I take notes?”

“Not at all.”

He pulled out a spiral notepad and pen and turned to a blank page.

“Okay, there are three Brogan kids. Lily and Sean and their younger sister, Amy. They were always really close. I think it’s because their father was such a bad guy. The three kids protected each other.”

“Where was their mother?”

I hesitated, then admitted, “She was a big drinker.”

Mac had been listening silently, but now he jumped into the conversation. “How old were you when all this was going on?”

“I was a sophomore in high school. Sean and I were in the same grade. I’ve known him since kindergarten. So, when we were sophomores, Lily was a senior and their little sister Amy was a freshman. Same grade as my sister, Chloe.”

Eric looked up from his notepad. “You said Sean’s been trying to find his sister all this time. Do you know how he’s gone about doing that?”

“He’s tried everything. He’s got a private eye that he contacts whenever he has any extra cash. And whenever any new technology comes out, Sean learns how to use it to do more in-depth searches.” My heart hurt for my friend and I threw a quick glance over my shoulder to check on him before turning back to Eric. “To this day, he’s constantly online, checking new sources, thinking she’s got to be out there somewhere. He’s lived in hope of finding her one day, so now it’s like he has nothing. I’m worried he’ll slip into a depression, or worse.”

Eric frowned. “Does he have a girlfriend?”

“No. And, believe me, Lizzie has tried to set him up a dozen times.”

Eric smiled briefly. “Does he socialize at all?”

“He’ll go out after work for a drink or dinner at the pub with the guys and me. And he plays on a softball team. But that’s about it.”

Mac nodded in understanding. “An obsession like that would put a damper on any personal relationships he tried to have.”

I sighed. “Most people in town thought Lily ran away because her father used to beat her.”

“Did he?” Eric asked. “Did he beat his children?”

I winced. I knew that giving information to a cop wasn’t the same as gossiping, but I really didn’t like talking about my friends. “Yeah. I mean, I think so. Everybody thought so. It was pretty obvious.”