What she doesn’t know could cost her her life...

It’s upsetting enough to find a body walled up in the garage of her childhood home...but then Detective Tony Navarro suggests the remains might belong to her mother! Beth Marshall and her siblings thought their mom had abandoned the family years ago. If she hadn’t... If she was murdered... And now the sexy police detective believes their father is the killer. He enlists Beth to help him find clues he suspects are in her father’s garage. What neither of them realize is that the clues are really in Beth’s subconscious. They’re juggling family, loss and their growing attraction—but everything loses its importance when the killer gets Beth alone...

“I won’t hang around while you look through the garage. Unless you want me to, Ms. Marshall?”

She would have laughed, if her mood had been better. “You’d be here for the next two weeks.”

“Call if you need me,” the man said, then shook hands with Tony Navarro and strode to his car, undoubtedly relieved to have escaped.

Tony didn’t move. He wasn’t watching the attorney’s departure; he was looking at her.

“Do you need the key for the side door?” she asked. “Let me get my purse and I’ll give you mine.”

“No.” A hand on her arm stopped her. “Actually, yes, thank you, but there’s something else I’m hoping you’ll do for me.”

“That I’ll do for you?”

He rubbed his jaw. “Is there any chance you could take more time off work? I could use some help going through the stuff in the garage, and on the lawn.” When she gaped, he grimaced. “The truth is, you’d recognize something that doesn’t belong, or should be there and isn’t.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m supposed to use up my vacation days to help you go after my father?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’ll have a chance to point out evidence leading to someone else.”

And he was right—this offer would make her part of the investigation. What could she do but accept?

Dear Reader,

Writing a novel has a lot in common with putting a jigsaw puzzle together. Bits and pieces that have been floating unconnected in my brain suddenly fit. That’s never been truer than for this book.

I read a long time ago about a man who just wanted the neighbors to leave him alone, so they did. Years passed, and vines grew over the house. I suppose the neighbors assumed he’d moved. Eventually a kid decided to sneak into the house...and found the man, whose remains had mummified, sitting in his chair watching a TV that had presumably died many years before. Bet that poor kid never got over it!

I write often about family ties, and have pondered the difference between the increasingly modern American family, with kids who have moved far away from parents and see them only occasionally, and the extended families once more common, where lives are tangled, sometimes annoyingly, but no one in need goes without help. In this story, both hero and heroine are part of the second kind, for completely different reasons. Both love the closeness even as they chafe at the demands of their families.

Add in another theme that has always drawn me: what happens to the family and friends left behind when someone vanishes. The effect is more profound than if that same person had died, allowing everyone to grieve. What’s left behind instead is anger, grief, of course, fear and a lot of questions.

I had a moment of complete satisfaction when these and other pieces clicked together in my head and, hallelujah, there it was: a story.

Good reading,

Janice

Back Against the Wall

Janice Kay Johnson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

An author of more than ninety books for children and adults (more than seventy-five for Harlequin), JANICE KAY JOHNSON writes about love and family—about the way generations connect and the power our earliest experiences have on us throughout life. A USA TODAY bestselling author and an eight-time finalist for a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award, she won a RITA® Award in 2008 for her Harlequin Superromance novel Snowbound. A former librarian, Janice raised two daughters in a small town north of Seattle, Washington.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

FLANKED BY HER brother and sister, Beth Marshall stared at the pile of boxes blocking the side door into the detached garage. She hadn’t a clue whether she was looking at some of the oldest stuff jammed in here or the most recent. If there was such a thing as logical layering, say from front to back.

She almost snorted. This is Dad, she reminded herself. There would be no logic in how he stored anything.

Beside her, Matt groaned. “‘Give me a weekend,’ you said. This could take weeks.” He sounded so appalled, she was reminded that neither he nor Emily had so much as glanced inside the garage in, well, years. Beth had tried to prepare them, but obviously hadn’t succeeded.

Matt was not an enthusiastic volunteer. Or a volunteer at all, really. He might still love their father—she wasn’t sure—but Matt harbored a lot of anger, too. He made no effort to see Dad except for holidays, which he and his wife, Ashley, apparently considered obligatory. Or, at least, she did and had her ways of persuading him to show up and behave himself.

“Quit whining,” Beth ordered, refusing to let herself be annoyed by his attitude. So what if he hadn’t wanted to help? He was here. He’d contribute some muscle she felt sure they’d need.

“Do you promise Dad won’t come out?”

She rolled her eyes. “Can you imagine it crossing Dad’s mind that maybe he should help?”

He sighed heavily. “No. Okay. Why didn’t I see a Dumpster?”

“Because I wasn’t sure we’d need one. I’m hoping most of what’s in here is good for a thrift store, at the very least.”

He gave her a look she recognized from their childhoods.

Ten or fifteen feet separated the detached garage from the house where they’d all grown up. It would be way more practical to raise the street-facing garage door and gain a wash of daylight instead of depending on the two sixty-watt bulbs high on the ceiling, but none of them wanted neighbors to see the disaster inside. They’d debated parking their vehicles to block the sight line—but what was to stop a neighbor from strolling up the driveway to investigate what they were doing? Fortunately, a wood fence and gate that ran between the house and garage kept anyone from seeing what they were up to.

The truth was John Marshall had become a pack rat. Her word. Her brother called him a hoarder. Beth’s younger sister, Emily, just looked anxious.

The garage was only the beginning, although it was the most jam-packed space in the house. What Dad used to call his den was piled with things he didn’t know what to do with as well. The other rooms were just...cluttered.

“It’s not like it’s going to rain. I’ll order a Dumpster if we need one. What I was thinking was that we could hold a garage sale, too,” Beth said, trying for an upbeat note.

“We?” Matt leveled a look at her.

Of course, she would be the one borrowing tables, pricing and arranging. She could probably persuade Emily and some friends to help on the actual sale days.

“Let’s just get on with it,” she suggested.

They all went back to staring at the piles that nearly blocked the doorway.

“I guess we have to carry the boxes outside,” Emily said.

Like there was a choice. But Beth steered clear of sarcasm.

“Sure. I already labeled the empty ones I brought.” A blind person could see them—Keep, Thrift, Garage Sale?? Toss—but she hadn’t given up on the aren’t-we-going-to-have-fun vibe. Although, truthfully, even she felt daunted by the sheer quantity of stuff in the garage.

This being her idea, she stepped forward and grabbed a rubber tote, carrying it the few feet into the backyard, where they could make piles that wouldn’t get in the way. Her brother and sister followed suit. Beth had already peeled the lid off her tote. “Huh,” she said.

In the act of opening a cardboard box, Matt glanced over. “What?”

Beth wrinkled her nose. “I think these are student papers Dad graded. But wouldn’t he have handed them back?”

Silly question. Maybe, admiring the literary excellence, he’d asked the students to return them to him. So he could store them in his garage.

She almost wondered aloud whether they should consult Dad about something like this, until she saw the date on one of the papers on top. 1987. She dug through, finding graded tests, multiple copies of articles he must have photocopied for student use and either never handed out or requested back so he could use them again. It didn’t surprise her at all that he hadn’t remembered he had them. He could easily have photocopied the same article a year later with no memory of having done so before.

Yes, that was her father. Super smart, and completely vague. He’d been teaching philosophy at the community college for thirty-something years. He either had no ambition to teach at a four-year university, or he couldn’t take the possibility he would be rejected if he applied or... Yet another unanswerable question where Dad was concerned. He had this weird disconnect.

Beth sighed, hefted the box again and carried it around the corner of the garage to the recycling container parked in the narrow space between the wall and the six-foot fence. There was a thump as the heaps of paper hit the bottom.

One box down.

* * *

THEY HADN’T BEEN at it an hour when the first quarrel erupted. Beth didn’t count the usual low-level bickering.

“Ooh!” Emily breathed. “Christmas ornaments. Remember? We never found the ones—”

“Give me those.” Matt grabbed the box from her, stared into it with his face flushed dark, then carried it to where the garbage and garbage containers were parked. Both of his sisters raced after him.

“Don’t do that!” Emily cried.

“Matt, stop,” Beth snapped. “Just because you—”

He nudged the lid of the garbage can off with his elbow and turned the white cardboard box upside down before she could finish her sentence. Glass shattered.

Mouth open in outrage, Emily rushed forward to stare into the can. “I wanted those!” Swinging around, she punched Matt. Ineffectually, but still.

He only stared at his sister. “Why would you want anything that was hers?”

Then he stormed toward the backyard.

Emily’s big blue eyes filled with tears. “That was mean!”

Yes, it was. Frustrated with Matt, Beth nevertheless understood how he felt. Their mother had walked out on them, not even bothering to stay in touch. Beth had been fifteen years old, Matt seventeen, Emily only twelve. Beth understood why Mom had left Dad. It was a miracle she hadn’t years sooner. She must have thought she was marrying a gentle, sensitive man, who instead was both helpless where daily life was concerned and weirdly oblivious to the real people who also lived in the house. Even Beth sometimes felt like his mother. Witness today. What was she doing but rescuing Dad again? Imagine being married to a man you started seeing that way?

But Emily had been especially close to their mother, and was still childish in many ways. Would it have been so bad to let her have the Christmas ornaments Mom had hung on the tree every year? The ones they’d later replaced with standard-issue red and gold balls?

Emily raced after Matt to yell at him. Beth peered into the garbage can, thinking she might be able to rescue a few ornaments, but eew. Dad had dumped some disgusting leftovers straight into the can without bagging them first.

She backed away, then made herself pick up the lid and put it on.

She marched up to Matt, poked him in the chest with her index finger and said, “That was not your decision. Nobody asked you to take those ornaments home and treasure them forever. If they meant something to Emily, she had the right to keep them. Smashing them in front of her was cruel.”

“I told you!” Emily cried.

His mouth tightened, and he glowered at Beth but after a minute nodded stiffly.

Are we having fun yet?

Behind her brother, the French door to the dining room opened, and Dad stepped out onto the patio, looking surprised to see them.

“Did I know you were going to be here today?”

Matt snarled and retreated out of sight.

“Yes, Dad.” Beth made herself smile, go to her father and kiss his cheek. “I told you we were going to unbury the garage. Just think, you might be able to park inside it.”

His forehead pleated, giving his narrow face a concerned look. “You won’t throw away anything important, will you?”

“Of course not.” She hugged him. “Anyway, how important can it be if you haven’t seen it in ten years or more?”

“Well...” A bright and charming smile grew on his face. “You have a point.” He greeted Emily absently, gazed at the open door and the shadow of his son inside with apparent perplexity, then said, “I’m working on something. If you need me...” He was already fading away. Beth had no doubt that five minutes from now, he’d have forgotten his children were here. If their voices caught his attention again, he’d probably remember, puzzle over why they’d want to waste time on such a tedious task and go back to his reading.

“Is he gone?” Matt hissed.

“It’s safe.”

Emily smirked. “Olly olly oxen free.”

Cautiously reappearing, Matt said, “Brat.”

“Jerk.”

Peace restored. Temporarily.

* * *

SUNDAY MORNING, Beth ripped tape off the top of a big cardboard box she’d dragged from beneath the long-forgotten workbench and folded back the flaps to see clothes inside. This wasn’t the first—they’d found countless boxes of children’s clothes, neatly folded and presumably saved by Mom for the next baby. Beth was beginning to think Mom had saved every scrap Matt had ever worn, certain she’d have another boy. There were girl clothes, too, but they’d been handed down once, and Emily had worn some of them out. Why hadn’t Mom realized at some point that, nope, she wasn’t having another kid, period, and maybe she ought to get rid of all the tough-boy toddler-size overalls and sweaters with tractors and rocket ships decorating the front?

Huh. Maybe this disaster wasn’t totally Dad’s fault. Maybe Mom had had her own pack rat tendencies. Beth remembered stories about how poor her mother’s family had been when she was growing up. Maybe that kind of upbringing ingrained in a person the belief that it was best to hold on to anything that might conceivably be useful later.

This box, though... The clothes had just been dumped in it. Beth poked a little and realized that not only were these adult-size but each garment was still hooked on a clothes hanger. She reached in and lifted out a blouse. Pale pink with subtle white stripes. Mom had loved pink. She wore a lot of it. Petite, blonde and blue-eyed, like Emily, Christine Marshall had embodied femininity.

Beth was vaguely aware that Matt was slowly turning to her. “I remember this blouse,” she whispered.

He swore and took a couple of steps to look into the box. He started to reach for a dress but pulled his hand back. “It’s the clothes she didn’t take. Dad must have wanted them out of sight.”

Beth’s stomach tightened. Even her father had emerged from his alternate world briefly when his wife disappeared. She’d left Word open on the computer with a note explaining that she was leaving him and she’d be in touch when she was settled. After that...nothing.

Dad had called the police, who hadn’t been interested. Christine had taken her purse, her birth control pills out of the medicine cabinet, some of her makeup and jewelry. Obviously, she’d left voluntarily.

Beth, Matt and Emily had refused to believe she would do that. Leave Dad, sure. She’d taken to yelling at him a lot. But she wouldn’t have abandoned her children. She, of all people, had known how inadequate he was as a parent. For a long time Beth, at least, had held on to the belief that Mom would fight for custody once she had a new job and someplace to live.

“She loved this blouse.” Beth could hardly take her eyes off it. “Why didn’t she take more of her clothes?”

“Because she left in a hurry?” Matt suggested, old anger roughening his voice. “Maybe she thought she’d try a new style for a new man.”

“Maybe.” Seeing her sister’s distress, she shook herself. “Well. This is sort of creepy, but I can see why Dad didn’t want to get rid of everything.”

“I’ll bet I’m the same size she was.” Emily stepped forward. “There might be clothes I’d like.”

Not even thinking it through, Beth dropped the blouse back into the box and slapped the flaps closed. “No.”

Looking indignant, her sister said, “What do you mean, no?”

Matt turned on her. “Don’t you speak English? She means no. N.O.”

“Don’t talk to me that way.”

Beth shut her eyes and sought her equilibrium. A couple deep breaths, and she was back. “Emily, I hate the idea of seeing you in some shirt I associate with her, and obviously Matt feels the same.”

“Dumpster,” he said, sounding hard.

Beth shook her head. “Can we just set this aside? Keep it for now?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just...don’t want to make that decision yet. Anyway...” She hesitated. “Her clothes were nice. When we do get rid of them, they should go to a thrift store or maybe a women’s shelter.” She didn’t include garage sale. What if she breathed in the faint scent of her mother while she was handling her mother’s clothes. Attaching little price tags. The idea made her shiver.

He frowned at her but gave an abrupt nod. “Up to you.” Matt went back to the box of books he’d been looking at one by one.

Logically enough—if anything about this was logical—Beth found half a dozen more boxes filled with her mother’s stuff in the same vicinity. Shoes, too, of course, but mostly clothes, including one that had lingerie on top. She closed that box really fast. Even the thrift store wouldn’t want old, used panties and bras. She was tempted to write Toss in big black letters on the side but knew she ought to dig deeper in the box before she did that.

Matt and even Emily stayed away from the section of the garage where Beth was working. Emily kept stealing wary glances at her, and no wonder. She was used to a calm, competent, I-can-solve-all-problems sister, not one who freaked at the sight of a pink blouse.

Beth uncovered Mom’s jewelry box and couldn’t resist peeking inside. Tangled chains were jumbled with earrings and bracelets. Mom had obviously taken some of her nicer pieces, except...was that a real diamond in a stud earring? Beth didn’t remember her mother wearing those. After a moment, she put the box back, setting it on top. She’d want to go through this later. Eventually. There might be something in here that Emily would like as a keepsake. The rest...well, anything that wasn’t too familiar or particularly valuable could go to the thrift store.

A wave of exhaustion and discouragement hit her. After a full day yesterday, her muscles ached, too. Her back to Matt and Emily, Beth leaned against the workbench. What happened to her plan to go through everything, make brisk decisions, be done with it?

Speed bump, she told herself. They’d been moving along pretty well. She’d been right that most of what they’d found would be useful to someone. Matt had agreed to ask his wife if she’d like to go through the boxes of children’s clothes before they passed them on. She was pregnant with their first baby.

The next box held things Beth didn’t really recognize but guessed to have been from Mom and Dad’s bedroom. She opened a stiff portfolio to find unframed art prints. Worth looking at later.

Finally, she shoved all the remaining boxes associated with Mom back under and on top of the built-in workbench, which her father would never use. Home repair was not on his list of skills. She’d left the window above the workbench unblocked, making a mental note to come back with some glass cleaner. Even so, the light falling through the window helped.

Pulling herself together, she decided to tackle the things piled against the wall beside the workbench next. An ancient Weedwacker. Could it have come with the house? Several fans on stands, wrapped in white plastic trash bags, must have been out here forever. A folded stepladder. More boxes.

Beth sighed.

Wallboard had covered the garage walls as long as she could remember, which meant it was discolored and battered. Nobody had ever taped or spackled or painted out here. She could just see wall-hung shelves on the other side of the garage. Probably that was where the oldest stuff was. Anybody would fill shelves before starting to pile junk on the floor, right?

Strange, though—the one sheet of wallboard in front of her looked a little different from the rest. Not really clean, but cleaner, except for some gross but long-dry stains at the bottom. None of the dings, either. Maybe Mom and Dad had had it replaced at some point. If so, it had to have been put up shortly before the piles grew in front of it, protecting it. Except for a big hole bashed into it six or seven feet up. Something had probably smacked it. The extension ladder lying on a sheet of plywood suspended from the ceiling in the middle of the garage, right above the tracks and motor for the automatic garage door opener? Maybe. It would have been awkward to maneuver.

She doubted her father even knew he owned a tall ladder. He certainly wouldn’t have any use for it. Once upon a time, Mom had nagged him into occasional tasks like painting. Later, if something obviously needed doing, he hired someone. Well, Beth hired someone. He’d look surprised but pay the bill without complaining.

Back to work.

Fans—thrift store. Or garage sale, if she had one. Stepladder—who didn’t need one? If Dad didn’t want it, she’d take it. The Weedwacker? It could probably be recycled, even rusty.

For some reason, the gaping hole kept drawing her gaze. Matt and Emily had moved their squabbling outside. They wouldn’t see her give in to an inexplicable compulsion. She unfolded the stepladder and climbed up on it.

A flashlight would have helped, but at least the window was close. Beth angled her head to see down inside the wall. Her heart began to drum at the sight of something...

She screamed, lurched back and tumbled off the step stool.

* * *

TONY NAVARRO ADDED gas to his lawn mower, carried the can to the garage, wiped sweat from his face, then pulled the cord to start the damn thing again. Not too far to go, which was good. July in eastern Washington was hot. He should have gotten the mowing done during an evening this week, when it was cooler. Keeping up with his own yard and his mother’s and often one or even a couple of his sisters’, though, that got time-consuming.

A vibration in the pocket of his jeans had him sighing. Please, not work. He needed the day off. Bad enough he’d already caught shit from his mother for not going to church.

He let the mower die and pulled out his phone. Unfortunately, he knew the number all too well.

“Navarro. Isn’t there anyone else who can take this?”

“I’m afraid not, Detective.” The dispatcher sounded genuinely regretful. “Detective Troyer is on vacation, and—”

“Beck isn’t back to work yet. I know.” With a broken leg, David Beck wouldn’t have to mow lawns, either. Jack Moore...no, he was caught up in a messy investigation. Tony sighed again. “What do you got?”

“This is a strange one,” she said. “Somebody noticed a hole in the wallboard in their garage and took a look in it. He says they can see a human hand. Kind of...withered. His words.”

Tony swore. “It didn’t occur to this guy it’s probably some discarded Halloween decoration?”

“I don’t know. He was pretty shaken up.”

Thus, she hadn’t sent a uniform to check it out. She’d called him. What could he do but commit the address to memory?

Glad he’d been mowing his own lawn and not another family member’s, he was able to go inside for a quick shower and change of clothes. Badge and weapon. Out the door.

The address he’d been given wasn’t half a mile from his house. Homeowner was listed as John Marshall. Caller had been a Matt Marshall.

He could get in, he calculated, look, soothe the homeowners and be home firing up his lawn mower again in forty-five minutes, tops.

To his dismay, in that half mile, he passed from the neighborhoods made up of ranch-style homes, mostly built from the 1960s to the ’70s, to those with older houses. These weren’t as fancy as the ones close to Wakefield College, a private, very expensive, liberal arts school. Those had been handsomely restored. The bungalows on this block weren’t rundown, but homeowners hadn’t done much but keep up the painting and neatly mow the lawns. Still, they were constructed differently than newer homes. A two-by-four really was two inches by four inches, for example, rather than the current, abbreviated size still called by the misleading dimensions. Walls might be even deeper than that, the supports farther apart than in modern construction, too. He’d been counting on the fact that stuffing a body in a typical wall of a house like his was next to impossible, unless it was child-size. Here...he couldn’t say impossible.

He spotted the right number on a white house accented with a bland beige. 1940s, at a guess. The lawn in front was brown—no one here had bothered watering. The detached garage was set back a little farther from the street than the house. Tony had expected the garage door to be open, but it wasn’t. Two vehicles filled the driveway, and two more were parked at the curb in front of the house. A six-foot fence and gate blocked his view into the backyard.

Tony parked in front of a neighbor’s home, grabbed his flashlight and walked up the driveway. Before he could veer toward the front door, the gate swung open and a young woman appeared from between the house and garage. Brown hair was starting to straggle out of a ponytail. Dirt streaked one of her gently rounded cheeks. Her nose, too—no, those were freckles. Maybe her hair was more chestnut, with a hint of red?

“Oh! You’re not...” She spotted the badge and holstered gun at his hip and faltered, “Are you?” She blushed. “I mean, are you a police officer?”

“I’m Detective Tony Navarro, Frenchman Lake P.D. And you are?”

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I’m rattled, and—” Breaking off again, she shook her head. “I’m Bethany Marshall. Beth. This is my dad’s house. He teaches at the community college.”

Tony nodded, still at sea but figuring she’d get to the point soon.

“Dad...well, he’s a typical absent-minded professor. It had gotten so the garage was so crammed full of stuff, you could hardly set foot in it. So my brother and sister and I are spending the weekend sorting and getting rid of things. You know.”

It had to have been the brother who’d called, then. “Where’s your father?”

She looked surprised. “He’s in the house. He’s not much good at this kind of thing.”

Okay.

“You see, we found...” She visibly stumbled over what they’d found. “Well, I guess I should just show you.”

Now, there was an idea.

“Let’s do that, Ms. Marshall,” he agreed and followed her lead through the gate and alongside the house, past a garbage can and a recycling container.

He let himself get a little distracted by Beth Marshall, who had a truly womanly body. No matchstick arms here. He wouldn’t describe her as plump, though, just curvy. He happened to like his women curvaceous instead of the currently fashionable stick-thin, so he savored the sight of her while he could.

Two people waited anxiously in the backyard, along with mountains of packed boxes that had been labeled Thrift, Keep and the like. The man said, “Beth?” and then saw Tony behind her. “Somebody came.” He sounded stressed. Tall, lean and handsome in a way that might be polished if he weren’t also sweaty, dirty and disheveled, this had to be the brother. His arm sheltered a young woman, a cute blonde with blue eyes that were puffy and a scattering of freckles across her nose. The youngest of the three, Tony guessed, and probably considered prettier than Beth by most people.

He introduced himself again and got their names. Matt Marshall and Emily Marshall. Were neither of the sisters married? He let his gaze slide to Beth’s left hand. No ring. Did any of them still live at home?

“Okay, let me take a look,” he said.

Matt started to move, but Beth shook her head. “I’ll show him.”

“You should sit down.”

“I’m okay.” She gave an unconvincing smile. “Just bruises. Really.”

“Bruises?” Tony asked, once again following her, this time through a side door into the shadowy confines of the garage.

Glancing over her shoulder, she wrinkled her nose. “I fell off the stepladder.”

“Ah.” He hated to envision her creamy skin blotched with the ugly colors of bruises.

Concentrate. He looked around. The siblings had cleared close to two-thirds of the garage, assuming it had been completely full to start with. Boxes and what looked like a lot of crap were still packed against the far wall. Tony mentally transferred the piles out in the backyard into here and thought, Holy shit. Beth had been understating the problem. Which made him wonder what the interior of the house was like.

Not his problem.

He saw the stepladder right away, and took in the single sheet of wallboard that subtly didn’t match the rest. Stains at the bottom, where bodily fluids would have pooled. Instantly snapping into cop mode, he had a bad feeling he wasn’t wasting his time after all. Didn’t look like he’d finish mowing his lawn today.

Beth hovered behind him as he mounted the ladder. He was careful not to touch the wallboard and snapped on the military-grade flashlight he carried in his left hand. It lit a slice of the interior between two-by-fours.

Despite what he’d seen in his years as a cop, the mummified human hand made his skin crawl. He could see some of the wrist—and the top of a head, the hair blond, stringy, dull but still attached. The size of the hand and arm bone and the length of hair made him believe he was looking at a woman.

How long had she been walled up in the garage of this house? And who was she?

Chapter Two

BETH SAW THE detective go utterly still. When he finally stepped down and faced her, his expression had been wiped clean, but she could feel his tension.

“I need to make a call or two,” he said. “I’d appreciate it if you’d wait outside, Ms. Marshall.”

However pleasantly phrased, it was an order. She nodded and hurried out into the sunlight.

“What?” her brother demanded.

“I don’t know. He looked, said he has to make calls and asked that we wait out here.”

“Damn, it’s hot,” Matt muttered.

Beth saw how pink Emily’s face was. Her own face felt too warm. They should have long since renewed their sunscreen. After putting it on first thing this morning, she’d dropped it in her tote bag, currently sitting on the workbench. “We could go inside, get something to drink,” she suggested.

“Make conversation with Dad?”

“Would that be the worst thing in the world?”

His mouth tightened. “Let’s just sit in the shade.”

“I’ll get the cooler. We can at least have drinks.”

While a police detective decided what to do about the dead woman encased in the wall of the house, she thought, semi-hysterically. Whoever she was, she might have been there the whole time Beth and the others had lived here. As a kid, she’d never have noticed that the wallboard looked a little different. Although...didn’t she used to leave her bike there? Often letting it tip over and bash the wall?

When she went into the garage, she saw the detective’s broad back and his phone at his ear. Somehow he heard her, though, because he swung around, his dark eyes locking onto her.

Until now, she hadn’t fully let herself notice how handsome he was. Coppery-brown skin stretched over some impressive cheekbones and a strong jaw. A lot of the Hispanic farmworkers she saw in town were stocky and on the short side. The detective had to be close to six feet tall and athletic in a broad-shouldered, lean way. As his name suggested, he had black hair and the darkest eyes she’d ever seen.

He also carried an alarmingly large gun at his hip.

Trying to hide her shiver, she scurried to the small cooler, lifted it for his inspection, and waited for his nod before retreating outside with it. Matt and Emily had pulled folding lawn chairs against the back wall of the house, where the sun, high in the sky, granted them a meager two feet of shade. Since there wasn’t a third chair—they’d come across these in the garage yesterday—Beth sank cross-legged onto the stiff, brown grass and opened the cooler.

“Who wants what?”

Emily peered over her shoulder. “Diet cola.”

Matt took an energy drink, Beth water. Her body sighed in relief to be sitting, but she became more aware of the painful spot on her butt where she’d landed on the concrete floor, and one almost as bad on her shoulder. Plus, her nerves felt as if they were being stretched on a medieval rack. What was the detective saying? When would he come out to talk to them? Meantime, she prayed her father hadn’t noticed the new arrival, wouldn’t emerge to see what was going on. It was bad enough to imagine Detective Navarro interviewing Dad, but Beth didn’t need the stress of dealing with him right now.

Matt stared straight ahead. Beyond him, Emily curled forward, clutching her drink and seemingly studying the grass, or maybe her feet. Beth’s gaze darted from her sister and brother to the corner of the house that hid the side door into the garage, to the brick patio, then back to start all over again. What probably wasn’t more than a couple minutes felt like an eternity.

Detective Navarro appeared, even more intimidating than he’d been when she first saw him. Beth wished he had a more expressive face.

Emily straightened and stared at him.

Matt stood. “So?”

“I’m confident enough those are human remains that I have a CSI team on the way. I don’t want to touch anything until they photograph and fingerprint the section of wall that will have to be torn out.”

On a shudder, Beth hugged her knees. She’d known but still hoped he would say, “I don’t know what we’re looking at, but it’s not human.”

“I’d like to talk to you individually, but first, let me ask a few general questions.”

Nobody said anything.

“How long has your family been in this house?”

It was Beth who said, “Something like thirty years.”

“Do any of you still live here?”

Matt shook his head. “Of course not. We’re adults. I work in the Admissions Department at Wakefield. I’m married and own my own home.”

“I work for the county agency dealing with long-term care and aging,” Beth said. “I rent a townhouse a few blocks from downtown.”

His gaze shifted to Emily.

“What difference does it make what we do for a living?” she burst out.

“It probably doesn’t. I’m trying to get a picture of your family, that’s all.”

She sniffed and, looking remarkably childlike, swiped the back of her hand beneath her nose. “I work at a chiropractor’s office. Dr. Findley. I’m a massage therapist. And I have an apartment near the community college with some friends.”

His eyes met Beth’s. “I gathered from you that your father lives in the house. What about your mother?”

* * *

THE SEEMINGLY INNOCUOUS question froze all three people, who suddenly had a deer-in-the-headlights look that sharpened Tony’s interest.

Beth and the brother glanced at each other. She was apparently elected to answer.

“Our mother left Dad when I was fifteen, so...thirteen years ago. Obviously, we stayed with him.”

A man she’d described as a typical absent-minded professor. Apparently, a man incapable of keeping his own home organized in any minimal way, who was, in fact, indoors at the moment, not even lending a hand. Because—how had she put it?—he’s not much good at this kind of thing. Yeah, that was it.

“Did you maintain visitation with her?” he asked.

“No,” Beth said, so softly he just heard her. Horror showed in her eyes before she looked down at her hands. She knew what he was thinking. “Mom just...went. When she didn’t call or anything, Dad reported her missing. The police thought it was clear she’d chosen to leave.”

“On what basis?”

Matt answered, his tone curt and edged with old anger. “She left a note on the computer. Took her purse, some of her jewelry and I guess some clothes.”

“Birth control pills and toiletries,” Beth added.

“Car?”

They all shook their heads at once.

“Was a suitcase gone?”

Matt and Beth looked at each other again, leaving Emily out. With reason, Tony realized. She’d have been eleven or twelve, maybe, when their mother had run away.

“I don’t know,” Matt said. “I don’t remember anyone saying. I mean, why wouldn’t she have used one when she packed?”

Did he really not get it? “I presume your father can tell us,” he said.

He was beginning to find those silent exchanges irritating. He should have separated the siblings from the beginning.

“I sort of doubt he’ll remember,” Beth said. “He’s...kind of vague about details. You’ll see.”

Mentally ill? If he was still teaching at the college level, could he be? Tony’s curiosity about the man grew.

“I should speak to him next,” he said.

Beth jumped up. “Let me get him for you.”

He moved fast, staying right behind her when she dashed for the French doors. She cast him a startled glance when she realized how close he was, but damned if he’d let her warn her father in any way.

She pushed open the door, letting cool air spill out, and called, “Dad?”

“Beth?” A pleasant tenor voice preceded the man. “That you?”

“Yes, there’s someone here to see you.”

As soon as he saw her father, Tony had to discard preconceptions he hadn’t realized he’d formed. The guy didn’t have a receding hairline, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose or narrow, stooped shoulders. No sweater vest or corduroy jacket with leather patches on the elbows, either. If he smoked a pipe, Tony couldn’t smell it.

Instead, the man was tall, thin, handsome, his brown hair graying at the temples. He hadn’t shaved today, and his stubble was clearly gray. Tony saw a resemblance to Matt, in particular, and perhaps to Beth in the bone structure and shape of the eyes. Only Matt’s coloring—blond and blue-eyed, like his younger sister—kept him from being the spitting image of his father.

Tony couldn’t help recalling the straw-yellow hair he’d glimpsed inside the garage wall.

“Bethie?” Perplexity had her father looking from his daughter to Tony. “Who’s this?”

Tony stepped into a comfortable family room with aging carpet and furnishings. Floor-to-ceiling, built-in bookcases covered one wall.

“Mr. Marshall? I’m Detective Navarro with the Frenchman Lake Police Department.”

“Police department? Are you a friend of Beth’s?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. I need to talk to you about something your son and daughters found in the garage. Perhaps we could sit down.”

Appearing bewildered, he sank onto a well-worn recliner that faced a television. “Certainly, but... I don’t understand.”

“Dad, we found something upsetting—”

Tony laid a hand on her arm, silencing her with a shake of his head. “Ms. Marshall, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to speak to your father alone.”

Alarm flashed in her hazel eyes, but she subdued it enough to nod and say, “I understand.”

Her father watched her go outside with a concerned expression he transferred to Tony. “Is something wrong?”

How was it possible that not one of his three adult children had gone into the house to say, Hey, Dad, we found something strange? Especially given that this was his house. His garage.

Tony went for blunt. “We’ve found what appears to be a human body behind wallboard in your garage.”

John Marshall only stared at him. “Did you say a body?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But...who found it? How?”

“There was an old hole in one sheet of wallboard. Beth took a look in it and called us. I agree that it does appear to be human remains. Crime scene investigators will be here shortly.” Undoubtedly as thrilled as he was to lose their Sunday off. “In the meantime, I need to ask you some questions.”

“I don’t understand. Nobody has gone into the garage in years. How could someone have gotten in, or—” Even he boggled at the unlikelihood of a killer getting around decades’ worth of accumulated belongings to stash a body.

“I suspect the remains have been there for many years, Mr. Marshall. The body appears to be at least partially mummified, which can happen under some circumstances in a dry climate like ours.” Insect-free circumstances, as this would have been until the damage opened the hole, likely much later. He paused. “Because you reported your wife missing, I need to ask about her.”

Obviously perturbed, Marshall said, “The police were convinced she’d left on her own.”

“I understand you found a note.”

“Yes, when I sat down at the computer that evening and moved the mouse, I found that Word was open to a document she must have created. It was brief.”

“Do you still have it?”

He shook his head. “We’ve replaced that computer several times since. I’m sure I printed it for that police officer, but I didn’t need to for myself.” Old pain parted the curtain of vagueness. “I could tell you what it said word for word.”

Tony preferred to locate the printout in a file at the station. On an investigation, he rarely trusted anyone.

“Did the police fingerprint the computer mouse?” he asked.

“It was only one officer, and he didn’t suggest anything like that. He really wasn’t here very long.”

Tony understood. People went missing all the time. Law enforcement response was quite different when a child disappeared, but adults most often did turn up later.

“We thought she’d call.”

“Had you quarreled right before she disappeared?”

“Right before?” he said in apparent surprise. “Well, I don’t know. That was a long time ago. She’d been annoyed with me, but I hoped whatever was bothering her would pass.”

Tony barely refrained from shaking his head. How could this guy fail to grasp the implications here? Well, sure, she and I weren’t getting along. Save the note on the computer? Why would I do that?

“Did you hear from her?” It was conceivable he wouldn’t have told his kids, depending on what was said. Or that he’d choose to lie now.

“Never a word.” He sounded puzzled. “Didn’t seem like Christine, but... Bethie was old enough to take over helping her sister and making meals, so nothing changed all that much.”

Unbelievable. His wife vanished into thin air, but in his view, nothing much changed because, hey, his fifteen-year-old daughter stepped up and kept the family running. Either John Marshall was the most self-centered human being Tony had ever encountered, or he was guilty as hell. Maybe both.

The conglomeration of stuff in the garage made sense now. Tony was willing to bet a pile of boxes had started growing at that exact spot in the garage shortly after Christine Marshall had run away from home. There was a good chance, in fact, that her husband had immediately made sure the one stretch of wall wasn’t visible, in case the police actually troubled to do a walk-through of the house.

Tony rose to his feet. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Marshall. I need to ask you to stay out of the garage. We’ll block both doors with yellow tape.”

A look of glazed bewilderment was all the response he received.

As he went out the French door, he heard a spate of voices. The department’s two crime scene investigators must have just come around the side of the house, both suited up in white Tyvek and carrying a toolbox, camera and more. Matt and Beth had obviously hopped right up, while the baby sister didn’t bother. Arms wrapped around herself, she had summoned an expression that was a cross between pouty and distressed. Was self-centeredness hereditary?

“Jess,” Tony said, nodding. “Larry.”

They both appeared grateful to see him. Their job didn’t usually include a lot of interaction with victims’ families.

He looked at the Marshall siblings. “You might want to wait inside with your father.”

“Can’t we go home?” Emily blurted. “Do we have to sit here?”

“Do you all have your own cars?”

Nodded heads.

“That’s fine, then. Let me get phone numbers and addresses first.”

Beth’s chin jutted out. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Neither am I,” her brother said, suddenly belligerent.

Tony raised his eyebrows but only said mildly, “That’s up to you.”

He jotted down Emily’s contact info. She fervently hugged Matt and Beth, then fled.

No loss.

Tony stepped into the garage to join his team. Individual interviews with the siblings could wait until he knew what he was dealing with.

* * *

BETH WENT TO check on her father, to find him sitting in his recliner, staring into space. He must not have moved.

“Dad? Are you all right?”

He turned his head. “How could this happen?”

“You mean, us noticing something was off and checking it out?”

“No, that the detective asked questions about your mother.” His fingers bit into the arms of the recliner. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t, either,” she admitted, going to perch on the upholstered arm of his chair, where she could give him a quick hug.

More agitated than she’d ever seen him, he didn’t even seem to notice her embrace. “Are they sure?”

“I don’t think so, yet.” Although, Detective Navarro wouldn’t have called a CSI team if he wasn’t reasonably sure.

CSI. In our house. The idea was unreal. In those white getups, they actually looked like the swarm of investigators in the background on TV shows like NCIS.

“I guess we’ll find out,” she added. “Can I get you anything?”

He shook his head and, after waiting for a minute, Beth went outside to join Matt, once more planted in a lawn chair. She picked up her drink, which already felt warm, and sat in the other chair.

“I freaking can’t believe this,” he muttered.

“Me either.”

He turned a look of pure hostility on her. “You and your bright ideas.”

Beth’s mouth dropped open. “This is my fault?” Except, she thought guiltily, it kind of was. Her idea to clean out the garage, her curiosity that led her to look inside the hole.

“What if they open the garage door?”

Surprised, she said, “They haven’t?”

“One of them went out and got a couple of portable lamps.” He snorted. “Like everyone on the block and everyone driving by hasn’t noticed two police vehicles out in front of Dad’s house.”

She frowned. “I don’t actually think the detective came in a police car. He was driving a pickup truck.”

“Oh, that means no one will ever hear about this,” Matt said sarcastically.

“That’s what you’re most worried about?” Although why she was surprised she couldn’t have said. Appearances had always mattered more to Matt than to her. Still. “What if that’s Mom? What if she’s been dead all these years, and we thought she’d left us?”

“What if our father gets tried for murder?”

The air left her lungs in a rush. “That’s ridiculous! How can you think for a minute—”

“Who else, Beth? Use your head, for once.”

“For once? What are you talking about?”

“You live in your own damn dream world, just like he does. Everybody is nice. Well-meaning.”

Her mouth fell open. Did she know this brother, mocking her so cruelly?

“Nobody ever abuses a frail old man, do they?” His voice rose. “Nobody steals, beats her kid, cooks meth and sells it. And nobody ever murders his wife!”

Matt was yelling by the end. Beth wasn’t at all surprised to see Detective Navarro stepping into sight. Eavesdropping, of course, but he couldn’t help but have heard.

“You shut up,” she said fiercely to her brother. “You’ve never been fair to Dad. Do you think he can help being...being...”

Her brother’s lip curled. “Out to lunch?”

“Don’t say that!” Even though, God, it was true.

He made a scoffing sound and looked away, which meant he, too, noticed the detective. “What?”

Navarro’s dark eyebrows twitched. “You’ve lost your shade.”

No wonder she was roasting. She should retreat to the house—but she couldn’t stand her father’s company right now.

“Ms. Marshall.” His voice was unexpectedly gentle. “You’re getting sunburned.”

Of all moments to realize how attracted she was to this man. Noticing his looks wasn’t anything like this intense awareness of his body, and hers, too. Her cheeks burned even hotter at the even remote possibility he might see what she was thinking. And...how could she feel anything like that now?

“I...my tote bag is in the garage. I have sunscreen in it.”

“I’ll get it for you.” He disappeared for barely a minute, returning with the waterproof bag she usually used for her swimsuit and towel.

She started to push herself to her feet, but the detective came right to her, handing over the bag. Almost touching her. He studied her with those deep brown eyes. “You really should get out of the sun.”

“I know. It’s just...” Beth trailed off.

“You want to stay in case your father needs you.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “But—” She couldn’t continue. That doesn’t mean I can sit in the silence of the house and pretend nothing is wrong. She sighed.

He nodded, the understanding on his face enough to make her want to crumple. Which she didn’t do. She was the strong one in this family. She’d never minded being a prop for the rest of them.

“There’s some shade under the tree,” he pointed out.

“We’ll move.” She summoned a smile for his kindness, lifting the tote bag a little. “Thank you for this.”

His hardening gaze moved to Matt. Which Matt totally deserved.

She watched Detective Navarro go into the garage, then stood. Without a word, she slung the tote bag over her shoulder, grabbed the chair and the cooler, and marched across the crunchy lawn to the huge old crab apple tree. Beneath its branches she sat down. She looked up from digging in the bag for the lotion and saw Matt carrying his own chair over to join her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low. “I shouldn’t have said any of that. This is just...” His gesture was meant to encompass this completely terrible day.

“I understand.” She squirted a white glob on her hand and offered the tube of lotion to him.

Quiet now, they both rubbed lotion into their faces, necks, arms and hands. Beth dabbed some on the tips of her ears. They hadn’t been outside that much, but the day was really hot, and she burned easily. Matt had more of a tan. He and Ashley were both runners and liked to hike and backpack, too. He also had yard work to do.

“Did you call Ashley?” she asked.

He thrust his fingers into his hair. “I should, but... Man, I keep thinking this will all go away.”

“Maybe it won’t turn out to be a body.”

“Sure. That’s why they’ve been in there for—” he pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time “—almost forty-five minutes.”

Had it really been that long? Heartsick, Beth gazed at the garage and tried not to imagine what was happening in there. The ridiculous attraction she’d felt for the man who might this minute be examining her mother’s dead body? There could be any number of explanations. She latched onto heatstroke. That was as rational as anything else.

* * *

TONY WATCHED AS Jess and Larry eased the contorted remains away from the constricted space between the two-by-fours, wrapping as they went to keep it as intact as possible, using the open black body bag as a tarp to be sure they didn’t lose anything that fell out with the body—or off the body—some of which was down to bones. He couldn’t look away.

Like most cops, he’d seen his share of dead people. Vehicular accidents could do hideous things to a human being. Domestic violence, strangling, gunshots, he’d seen the effects of all of them. None compared to these remains that were more disturbing by a long shot than finding only bones.

He’d seen photographs of Egyptian mummies, unwrapped to display withered brown flesh. He’d even read about a couple of cases where deaths had gone unnoticed until someone found a mummified body sitting in front of a television.

None of that had prepared him for the reality.

Once they had begun cutting the wallboard to remove it, he’d locked the door and taped coverings over both the window and the pane of glass in the door. He hated the idea that any of this woman’s children would ever see so much as a photograph of what she looked like now.

That was assuming this was Christine Marshall, but he didn’t have a lot of doubt. Missing woman? Body found in the same house? As his own father used to say, it didn’t take a rocket scientist.

This woman was petite. If she’d been any bigger, she couldn’t have been squeezed into such a narrow space. Even so, the angle of the feet—skeletal except for some gristle—suggested the killer had broken her ankles to make her flat enough to cover with wallboard.

The blond hair was suggestive, too, as were her teeth. They didn’t look like a young woman’s, displaying a number of metal fillings on molars and at least one crown. She still wore a polyester blouse that was apparently indestructible, as were nylon panties. No trousers, shoes or socks. His guess was that she’d been killed as she started to get dressed, maybe after sex. She could have been surprised from behind.

Jess and Larry laid the bag and body on the cement floor. She stood, staring down in pity and the horrified fascination Tony suspected was on his own face.

Crouching beside the dead woman, Larry shook his head. “I don’t know whether the ME can deal with a body in this condition, or whether we’ll have to hunt down a forensic anthropologist.”

“Morgue van on the way?” Tony asked.

Jess glanced at him. “Yes. It’ll mean opening the big door, you know.”

He did. So far, they’d shuttled whatever they needed from the van to the side door, hoping to avoid awakening too much interest from neighbors. What they’d found wouldn’t stay a secret for any length of time, though.

“Once that’s done, I’ll go talk to the family again. Get her dentist’s name.”

“Bitch of a scene,” Jess said sympathetically.

“No shit.” And it was barely the beginning of the investigation.

Chapter Three

MATT DEPARTED FIRST, which didn’t surprise Tony. Figured he’d leave his sister holding the bag. It was clear he and his father didn’t get along—maybe didn’t even speak. Tony wondered how Beth had talked him into helping with the great garage cleanup.

Something else had occurred to Tony, too. Matt would have been nearly an adult when his mother disappeared. Seventeen or eighteen. He’d have towered over her. What if he’d come home unexpectedly and caught her with a lover, say? Words could have exploded into rage.

Leaning against the back wall of the house, Tony shook his head. He was being premature. Tomorrow, they’d know from dental records whether this was Christine Marshall. Until he had that confirmation, there was no use doing too much speculating.

Beth slipped out the French door, looking surprised to see him. “I thought you’d gone.”

“I was waiting for you.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Couple of things.” He’d been worried about her, but he couldn’t say that. Keeping an eye on her the way he had today, that had had nothing to do with his job. What he’d seen was a strong woman holding up under painful circumstances, still able to be supportive to the rest of her family. At this point, he couldn’t afford to like her too much. “I don’t want anyone touching the stuff you packed that’s out here. Can I depend on your father to keep his hands off?” He’d debated moving it all into the garage, but that wouldn’t protect it from his main suspect. At least in this climate, at this time of year, he didn’t have to worry about rain.

“Yes. Good heavens! Even if he wanted to find something, how would he be able to figure out where it is?” Beth’s laugh was sad. “I don’t think he cared what we did with anything in the garage. Why would he now?”

Because his dead wife’s body had been discovered?

“People panic.” He watched her. “He didn’t try to put you off tackling the garage? Or ask you to keep hands off anything?”

Her eyes briefly narrowed, but she answered with a no before hesitating. “The only thing he said when we got started was not to throw away anything important.”

Though tempted, he didn’t say, What about your brother? Did he try to put you off? Maybe agree to help so he could steer you away from that part of the garage?

If that’s what Matt had had in mind, he’d failed in a big way, hadn’t he?

Beth looked at the fruit of their weekend’s labor. A strip of yellow crime scene tape now wrapped the pile. “Will you have to go through it all?”

“Very possibly.” Considering how much was still in the garage, too, he almost groaned. “It depends what was out here, how you reorganized it.”

“We’ve already dumped some stuff in the garbage can,” she said suddenly. “And the recycling container, too.”

He sighed. “I’d better take a look in both before I go.”

“I was going to order a Dumpster tomorrow.”

“Hold off for now. I’ll let you know when it’s okay to go ahead.”

She nodded, looking more drained than upset, which was understandable. He’d been lucky today to have her cooperation, to have her answer questions. That didn’t excuse the way his body stirred at the sight of her.

“You ready to go?” he asked.

“Yes. I got Dad to eat a bite. I suggested he spend the night at my place, but he’s set in his ways.”

A spark of irritation reminded Tony of what her father had said earlier. Bethie was old enough to take over helping her sister and making meals, so nothing changed all that much. Maybe he shouldn’t admire her for enabling her father’s selfishness.

She’d probably say she loved him enough to overlook some flaws. Tony grimaced out of view. God knows, he kept performing chores for his mother that she could afford to pay to have done. Of all people, he should understand.

As they walked the narrow passage alongside the house, Beth slid a glance at the window, covered with sheets of newspaper, before she looked determinedly away. Tony touched her back.

“Try to think about something else.”

She gave a broken laugh. “I never drink, but I’m reconsidering that. I go right by the liquor store on my way home.”

He smiled at her. “Might help tonight, but you’d be guaranteed a hangover in the morning.”

She wrinkled her nose. “One reason I stay away from even beer and wine. My stomach doesn’t handle alcohol well.”

“Your father likely to drown his worries tonight?”

“I doubt he has so much as a beer in the house. He’s never been a drinker either.”

“Maybe you inherited the weak stomach from him,” Tony suggested.

He stopped long enough to take that look into the garbage can and the recycling container, verifying what she’d said, before following her to the front of the house.

Beth stopped at the white Civic parked in the driveway. He guessed it to be ten years old or so. The brother drove a shiny black Kia Sorento that looked new. The other car at the curb earlier was an older Volkswagen Golf. Emily’s, he presumed. Apparently Dad owned the Buick sedan, showing its years. Tony wasn’t much surprised that John Marshall didn’t bother to regularly upgrade what he drove.

Beth opened the driver-side door but, instead of getting in, gazed anxiously at Tony. “Will you be coming out right away in the morning?”

“Likely,” he said. “If this isn’t your mother...well, that leads to other problems, but it’s clear we’re looking at murder here.”

“Could you tell, um, what happened to her?”

“You mean, what killed her?”

Unhappy, she nodded.

“A depression at the back of the skull is a possibility, but it could have occurred post-mortem.” Somebody—say, her father—had had to haul the dead woman out to the garage, probably drop it on the concrete floor. Or it could have been dented when the body was forced into the narrow space. The rest of the scenario he was still playing with.

Could there have been construction materials handy out here? That was a question he’d have to ask but, for now, he held it in reserve. Otherwise, the killer would have to have driven to the nearest lumberyard and bought a single sheet. How had he unloaded it and gotten it into the garage without being noticed? After all these years, would anyone remember something so seemingly insignificant? Of course, anyone but the homeowner carrying the wallboard in would likely have drawn more attention from neighbors. Yet another reason to focus on John.

“The medical examiner might be able to spot something else,” he said. “After so long, it’s sometimes impossible to pinpoint cause of death. What we do know, though, is that she didn’t wall her own body up in that garage.”

“No. I...understand.” Beth smiled weakly. “You probably had things you’d rather have been doing today, huh?”

He gripped the top of her car door, smiling again. “I was mowing my lawn when the call came. Wondering why I hadn’t waited until it had cooled down.”

Her smile was the most genuine he’d seen yet, adding a radiance to a face some might describe as plain despite translucent skin, a pretty mouth and eyes that were a soft gray-green with hints of gold.

“Still,” she said.

He grimaced, conceding the point. No, this wasn’t the way he’d have chosen to spend what was supposed to be a day off. On the other hand, he’d sought the promotion to detective because he liked puzzles.

If not for the call, he’d likely never have met her either.

The thought startled and dismayed him. She wasn’t a suspect, but she was part of this investigation and, therefore, taboo.

Tony let go of the door and took a step back. “You take care, Beth. I’ll let you know what we learn in the morning.”

Whatever she’d seen on his face drained her of that momentary vitality, letting exhaustion and anxiety take over again. He ignored his pang of regret, watching as she slid into the car, buckled her seatbelt and fired up the engine, all without looking at him again.

* * *

SHORTLY AFTER THE dental office opened the next morning, Tony was able to talk to Dr. Hugh Koster, a short, pudgy man who explained that his X-rays hadn’t been digital thirteen years ago. He’d have to send someone to search records stored in a back room.

Not an hour later, he called back.

“I’m looking at them right now. I received the X-rays from the medical examiner’s office, too. Do you want to see them side by side?”

Since he did, Tony drove right over.

He already knew from the heaviness in the dentist’s voice that they were a match. Once they stood in front of a light box where the last full-mouth X-rays from Christine Marshall were displayed right above a computer monitor showing the new ones. Even Tony could see that the fillings and crown were in the same places. The dentist also pointed out a crooked eyetooth and a hollow in a molar, which he’d noted should be filled to prevent inevitable decay.

“No question this is her,” he said, snapping off the light.

Tony leaned a hip against the counter in the exam room. “I’m not surprised. Do you remember Mrs. Marshall, Dr. Koster?”

“Yes, she was in here often,” he answered readily. Seeing Tony’s raised eyebrows, he said, “She had three children, also all patients. And her husband was, and is, a patient as well.”

“How did she strike you?”

“She was a lovely woman.” He smiled crookedly. “I’m happily married, but not blind. Her youngest looks a lot like her. Petite, blonde, a few freckles across the nose. My impression was that Christine had more force of personality, though.”

“She and her husband seem like an odd fit.”

Dr. Koster assumed a polite facade. “I don’t know him well enough to say. He’s a quiet man.”

Tony thanked him, accepted the X-rays and delivered them to the ME’s office.

Instead of starting his car right away, he rolled his head to loosen tight muscles and thought, Crap. There were reasons not to make this call—but he’d promised.

* * *

BETH’S LEGS GAVE OUT and she dropped onto the sofa, clutching her phone. “Oh, my God.” She shouldn’t be surprised but somehow was anyway. Or maybe the straightforward news had just offered a fresh injection of shock. “All those years...” Her throat clogged.

Over the phone, Detective Navarro’s velvet, deep voice sounded as sympathetic as it had in person. “I’m afraid so.”

“I need to let Matt and Emily know.” Her mind spun. “And Dad...or have you already called him?”

“Please don’t call him,” the detective said, the order thinly disguised. “I’m on my way over there now.”

“I’d like to be there when you talk to him.”

“I need to speak to him alone. I’m sure you understand.”

Of course she did. “Should I call an attorney for him?”

“I can’t advise you on that,” he said stiffly. “Surely he can make that decision for himself.”

It would never cross her father’s mind. Did he understand that he had to be considered a suspect? Beth knew he was incapable of an act of violence, and even more so of having the presence of mind and practicality it would have taken to hide the body.

Battling nausea, she thought, Not the body. Mom.

“I shouldn’t have called you,” Detective Navarro said, an odd note in his voice. “I need to ask you not to contact your brother either.”

“Matt? Why?”

The little silence that followed let her know how naive she sounded.

“He was the oldest, likely to remember the most,” he said finally.

That wasn’t it. What he meant was Your brother was nearly an adult. He lived in the home. I have to look at him.

And to think she’d let herself feel as if she and the sexy detective had formed some kind of bond. That he’d called her the minute he learned anything this morning because he liked her, thought of them as working together to find the truth.

Being nice under these circumstances was manipulative. And don’t forget it.

Matt could take care of himself. He’d ask for an attorney the second he sensed the detective’s real motives. Dad would not only remain clueless, he could easily be pressured into saying things he shouldn’t.

So much for the silly thoughts she’d allowed herself last night about Tony Navarro. Foolish for other reasons, too. She hadn’t seen a wedding ring, but he could be married, or at least involved with a woman. The way he’d looked at her could have been entirely in her imagination.

“Beth?”

How many times had he tried to recall her to the conversation?

“Thank you for calling,” she said and hung up.

She located her telephone directory, a year out of date, but this was Frenchman Lake. Change came slowly. In moments, she scanned the listings for attorneys in the yellow pages. DUI. Personal injury. Tax problems. She flipped the page back, at last seeing a category for criminal law. Her finger paused on William Schaaf, until she saw he was in practice with one of her parents’ friends. Even if Dad had never met this partner...no.

She picked another name at random.

A receptionist said she thought Mr. Ochoa might be available. He was and sounded interested in what she told him. “I’d like to help, but I’m due in court in fifteen minutes,” he said. “Can we put the interview off until one-thirty?”

Hoping for courage, she promised to tell the detective he had to wait until her father’s attorney could make it. Then, panicked, she tore out of the house and exceeded a few speed limits on the way to her father’s.

An unmarked police car was already parked at the curb. Beth ran across the lawn and let herself in, following voices coming from the family room, where she found the two men were already seated.

The flash in Detective Navarro’s dark eyes told her how unwelcome her intrusion was. He rose to his feet. “I thought I made clear that you can’t be here for this interview.”

She lifted her chin. “I don’t plan to be. However, my father’s attorney will be. Mr. Ochoa can’t make it until one-thirty, so you’ll need to come back then.”

Her father was gaping but didn’t intervene. He usually did what she told him to.

The knotted muscles in the detective’s jaw told her how mad he was. He looked at her father. “Mr. Marshall? Are you willing to speak to me without an attorney present?”

Dad looked at her. “Bethie? Do you think I need a lawyer?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Talking to an investigator at this point without an attorney present wouldn’t be smart.” She probably hadn’t been smart yesterday. She hesitated. “Did he tell you—”

“I did,” Detective Navarro said.

Tears formed in her father’s brown eyes. “I wondered why we never heard from her, but I never dreamed...” He swallowed. “To think she was here all this time.”

She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I know. Let me see the detective out, and then I’ll come back.”

His head bobbed. She stared a challenge at Detective Navarro, who gave a choppy nod and headed for the front door. He opened it but turned, looming over her.

“He only looks guiltier, insisting on an attorney instead of being willing to talk to me.”

Beth huffed. “Does that argument convince many people?”

“I’d think you would want to know who killed your mother.”

“I do.” She couldn’t falter, not now. Not in front of him. “But I know it wasn’t Dad, and I won’t let you bulldoze him.”

“Because that’s how I do my job.” His pissed gaze held hers long enough to sting before he shook his head. “Good day, Ms. Marshall.”

Feeling as if she’d lost something, she had a lump in her throat as she shut the door. Maybe...maybe this was the mistake.

But almost immediately, she shook her head. She’d done what was best for her father. Detective Navarro—she couldn’t think of him as Tony now—had been nice yesterday. He’d really seemed to feel protective where she was concerned. But even if he had been sincere, it wasn’t as if there was anything personal between them. With her mother’s identity confirmed, he had gone straight for the obvious, and convenient, suspect: Dad. With a side thought for Matt because he’d lived here, too.

Beth understood, but she knew her father.

She couldn’t believe a teenage Matt would have done anything that horrible either, but he wouldn’t appreciate his sister interfering. Maybe she should call to warn him...but the stuff he’d said yesterday still rankled, as did his willingness to believe the worst about his own father.

Who else, Beth? Use your head, for once. And not to forget his additional digs. You live in your own damn dream world, just like he does. Everybody is nice. Well-meaning.

As if not sharing his cynicism made her stupid.

She’d always sensed his underlying contempt. It had to be tied to the anger at Dad that she didn’t fully understand. Matt didn’t have much respect for Emily, either. Did he feel that way about all women? Beth had wondered, unable to tell despite watching him closely when he was with Ashley.

Most of the time, she tried to pretend their family was normal. What family didn’t have tensions? But she’d been kidding herself, of course. So maybe Matt was right.

You live in your own damn dream world, just like he does.

She blew out a breath then turned to go to Dad. It wasn’t in her to let him down when he needed her most. Even if he didn’t know he needed her.

* * *

ANGRY AND FRUSTRATED, Tony drove straight to Wakefield College, taking for granted that Matt would be at work. Would he arrive to find Matt already lawyered up? Remembering Beth’s fierce glare, he thought it likely.

The college, on a semester system rather than quarters, didn’t hold a summer session, but the admissions department would be busy. Summer was the season for kids between their junior and senior years of high school to tour colleges with their parents.

He had to park a distance away, by the tennis courts, and walk to Memorial Hall, the granite-block edifice with a bell tower that housed the college administrative offices. Like everyone else in town, he’d become accustomed to hearing the hours tolled.

The campus was noticeably deserted, although he saw a cluster of people moving between buildings across the broad lawn that, in another six weeks, would be filled with students reading in the shade of leafy trees or playing Frisbee or soccer in the sunny center.

The daylight basement level of Memorial Hall housed some offices, but probably not Admissions, he decided. No reason for the parents, who wrote the tuition checks, to see the basement, right?

On the first floor, high ceilings and wide halls led in three directions. He immediately saw a sign pointing to the right to admissions and financial aid offices. Inside Admissions, a young woman sitting behind a desk beamed at him. “How may I help you?” Before he could answer, her gaze lowered to his badge and weapon. The smile dimmed.

“Is Matt Marshall in today? I’m Detective Navarro.” Tony smiled reassurance. “He knows me.”

“Yes, I’ll just—” She jumped up and scurried to one of several closed doors with glass insets. After knocking, she cracked it open and talked quickly.

A moment later, she returned to the desk, and Matt appeared in the doorway. “Detective? Come on in.”

He wore chinos with knife-sharp creases and a polo shirt the same shade of blue as his eyes. He smiled, undoubtedly for the benefit of the receptionist and an older, rumpled man who stepped out of a second office and raised his eyebrows when he saw Tony.

Matt closed the door behind him and went around to sit behind his desk. “Have a seat.”

No attorney.

Tony sat. “I’m sorry to interrupt your day, Mr. Marshall, but—”

“The body is my mother, isn’t it?”

Beth hadn’t called, then. Because he had asked her not to or because she was mad at her brother after yesterday?

“Yes. I’m sorry. None of this is pleasant.”

“Pleasant.” Matt cracked a laugh. “I assume you’ve already told my father.”

“And your sister.”

“Beth.”

“That’s right.” It was easy to forget about Emily, although he couldn’t let himself. “I plan to sit down this afternoon to talk to your father at length, but I’m hoping you can give me some time right now.”

“Why not?” Matt made every effort to look relaxed; he pushed back his chair and crossed his right ankle over his left knee.

Tony wasn’t fooled. “You were old enough to be observant about the state of your parents’ marriage,” he began. “Or anything else out of the ordinary happening in your home at the time.”

“Out of the ordinary?” Matt looked incredulous. “Like what? Dad and I being best buds? Beth throwing temper tantrums instead of trying to convince everyone we were happy, happy, happy?”

Huh. That was a lot of anger to hold onto for so long.

“Even that long ago, you and your father didn’t get along.”

“No, we didn’t. Although I’m not sure he noticed. He lives in his own little world.” Color streaked his cheeks as he apparently recalled that Tony had overheard him saying much the same to his sister. “I didn’t mean what I said to Beth. I get frustrated with her constant defense of Dad. She refuses to acknowledge how...lacking he is.”

“Lacking in what way?” Not that Tony couldn’t guess.

“In any way? I figure if he and Mom ever got it on in bed, the initiative had to have been hers. His body must have cooperated—hey, they had to have done it at least three times, right?—but he was probably thinking about some philosophical conundrum while he pumped away.” He muttered an obscenity, swiped a shaking hand over his face and gave up on the relaxed pose. Both feet on the floor, he rolled his chair close enough to the desk to allow him to brace his arms on the blotter. “That was crude. I’m sorry, but, you know, I wanted a father, sort of like my friends had. A guy who’d pitch a baseball, come to games, give me advice. Me, I had to depend on my mother.” Anger rolled off him in waves, but he managed a shrug. “And then she was gone.”

“Sounds like you were lucky to have her as long as you did,” Tony remarked mildly.

“Her leaving the way we thought she did was a shock.”

“I bet.” Tony studied him. A shock? A betrayal was what he really meant. Tony had to wonder again if she hadn’t betrayed her kids in a different way while she was still alive, and if Matt hadn’t been well aware. “Was there any more conflict in your home than usual right before she disappeared?”

“I’m not the best person to ask. That was my senior year. I tried to be gone as much as possible.” His expression was no longer as readable.

“Anything going on with friends of your parents...?” He hung that out there.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you recall the day she disappeared?”

Matt looked at him as if he was crazy. “You think?”

“Will you tell me what you recall?”

His mouth tightened, but after a minute he said, “It was a school day.”

Tony made a mental note to find out if high school attendance records still existed for that year.

“I had football practice after school. When I got home, nobody had started dinner. Beth had had something after school, too, and I think Emily had gone to a friend’s. Dad wandered out of his office—Emily and Beth were stuck sharing a bedroom so he could have his little sanctuary—and asked if dinner was about ready.” He shook his head, his disgust apparent. “He hadn’t even noticed Mom wasn’t home.”

“But her car must have been in the garage or parked out front.”

“She got the garage.” He winced at the unintentional meaning. “So I guess Dad might not have noticed. But, yeah, it was weird that she hadn’t taken her car.”

“Did she work?”

“Part time. Well, except during tax season. She was a CPA,” he said, seeing Tony’s surprise. “She worked—I don’t know—fifteen or twenty hours a week most of the year, filing for extensions for people, stuff like that. February through April were, like, time-and-a-half. Anyway, I thought maybe she hadn’t been able to get her car started or something, so I called the tax service she worked for to see if she was still there, but she hadn’t been scheduled to work that day. So then we took turns calling everyone we could think of, but no one had heard from her.”

I. We. The kids had obviously taken leading roles in trying to track down their mother. But then, their father had very likely known exactly where she was.

“Beth made dinner,” Matt continued tensely. These recollections were understandably vivid. “We kept thinking Mom would walk in the door and be surprised because we were all supposed to know where she’d been, but it didn’t happen. Dad waited until morning, then called the police.” A shrug said, You know the rest.

“When did someone think to check whether any of her possessions were missing?” Tony asked.

“The cop did, when he came to the house. He seemed to think we were idiots for not doing that sooner, but... I guess none of us really thought she’d just walk out. We worried she’d been in an accident or something.”

Except her husband had presumably brushed his teeth before going to bed after her inexplicable disappearance. Shaved in their bathroom the following morning, right before he’d called the cops. Under the circumstances, how could he not have noticed the gaps in the clutter on the counter and in the medicine cabinet?

“What was missing?” Tony asked, even though Beth had answered the same question yesterday.

“Her purse, I remember that. It wasn’t anywhere. Her cell phone, which would have been in it.”

And which, thirteen years ago, would not have had GPS.

“Beth and Dad thought maybe some clothes. Some of her makeup and some things from the medicine cabinet. You know.”

Birth control pills. Interesting he didn’t want to say that, given his earlier, scathing speculation on his parents’ sex life.

“So the responding officer said you’d probably be hearing from your mother.”

“Yeah, shows what he knew,” Matt said with understandable bitterness.

“You have to understand that most adults who disappear choose to do so. It puts police in a difficult position.”

Matt locked gazes with him in a challenge. “But when you’re wrong, you’re wrong.”

“I can’t deny it,” Tony admitted, then asked, “Did the officer follow up in the next days or weeks? Or did your father contact them when she didn’t reappear?”

“I...don’t really know.” It was the first time Matt had seemed uncertain.

Deciding he’d gotten enough for today, Tony stood. “I’ve taken up enough of your time in the middle of a working day. Needless to say, I’ll be in touch.”

Matt rose, too, his body language tense. “Do you know how she died?”

“I’m afraid not yet.”

“All right, then.” His expression hardened. “I hope you’ll go after my father. Who else could have killed her?”

“We do look first at family,” Tony conceded but saw no sign that it had occurred to Matt any investigation would look at him, too.

Still, when Tony stepped from the cool interior of Memorial Hall into the heat of the day, he couldn’t deny that Matt’s question—or was it an accusation?—echoed his own thinking. Indeed, who else could have killed Christine Marshall but her husband?

Matt’s vindictiveness disturbed him nonetheless. How could a vague, essentially absent father cause so much anger? Or had there been more to the relationship? Beth, determined to keep her family whole, could have refused to see what was happening.

More to the point, what if Matt’s mother had turned a blind eye to physical or sexual abuse by his father? Now, that could fuel rage aimed at both parents.

Something to think about.

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