Nothing to Lose (J.P. Beaumont #25)(49)

A moment later he came back, carrying something that turned out of be a framed picture. As soon as he handed me the pencil drawing, I recognized Chris Danielson’s work. This sketch featured a light-haired, pleasant-featured woman who was most likely somewhere in her forties. The shape of her face and the set of her eyes, however, were a perfect match for those of her nephew, Bill Farmdale.

“It’s my late wife, Sonja,” Zig explained softly. “She was working the front of the house when Chris was here. She was terribly shy when it came to cameras, so whenever anyone took a photo of her, she always looked like death warmed over, but Chris caught her off guard. He drew this one night when we weren’t very busy, and she had no idea what he was doing. It’s the best picture I have of her. She passed away two years ago, and I keep this in the kitchen so I can have her with me while I’m working.”

Remembering Chris’s lifelike drawings of both his mother and Danitza, it was no wonder Ziggy hadn’t forgotten Chris Danielson.

“Clearly Chris was a talented kid,” I said, “and I really am trying to find him. Can you tell me anything about him?”

“Nothing much,” Zig said. “I always felt sorry for him. It turns out I knew the whole Danielson clan, including Richie, Chris’s asshole of a dad. His grandfather, Gary, was a helluva nice guy, but his grandmother?” Zig shook his head regretfully. “Linda Danielson was a piece of work, beginning to end. Too bad her son took after her instead of his old man. As long as Gary was around, everything was hunky-dory with Chris being here. Once the old guy was gone, Linda moved heaven and earth to boot Chris out of the house. She had all kinds of excuses, claiming he’d taken money from her and was giving her no end of grief.

“Chris and Billy, my nephew, were friends. Billy was the one who let me know what was going on, and that’s why I offered Chris a job. I worried that he’d be a problem, but turns out he wasn’t. He was dependable as all get-out, did his work, never gave anybody any lip or trouble. And then one day he didn’t turn up for his shift and didn’t call in either. As far as I know, that’s the last anyone ever saw him.”

“But no one bothered to report him as missing?” I asked.

“After Chris disappeared, Billy went to see Linda Danielson. She claimed Chris had gone back home to Ohio of his own accord. Since she hadn’t bothered reporting him missing, why should anyone else?”

An outside door slammed open, and a group of ravenous-looking teenagers surged into the room. “Oops,” Ziggy said. “The basketball game must be over. Duty calls. See you later.”

As soon as he walked away, I turned toward Twink. “How did you manage that?” I asked.

“Manage what?”

“Find me someone who knew the kid I’m looking for?”

Twink shrugged. “Wasn’t hard,” she said. “Places like this are so small that pretty much everybody knows everyone else.”

The room quickly filled to standing room only. As more kids entered, the din level rose until I could barely hear myself think. Carrying on a conversation was out of the question. Once our burgers came, they were every bit as good as advertised, but while Twink and I ate our meals, I couldn’t help thinking about Chris Danielson.

I had now seen three of his drawings, and if those were any indication, he’d had the potential to become a real artist. Instead both his life and his growing talent had been cut short. Something he had dashed off in a matter of minutes during a slow spot in a shift was now a treasure for Siegfried Norquist. Chris must have captured Sonja Norquist in the same subtle way he’d rendered both Danitza and his mother, embodying their personalities with a depth of feeling no intrusive camera lens could ever have delivered. And having seen those three examples of Chris’s extraordinary artwork made me that much more determined to learn exactly what had happened to him.

Twink had requested separate checks, but when our waitress dropped them off, I grabbed both before she had a chance to reach for hers. When I paid the bill, I added in a hefty tip. Having lunch at Zig’s Place would have been worth every penny at twice the price.





Chapter 18




“Sounds like Chris Danielson had a pretty rough go of it,” Twink commented once we were back in the Travelall and headed for Diamond Ridge Road.

There was no point in denying it. Twink had heard about the case fair and square as a result of her accidentally choosing Zig’s Place for lunch. Now that I had another side of Chris’s story, I owed Twink a piece of it.

I nodded. “He was just a kid when his father murdered his mother and then committed suicide. Chris and his older brother, Jared, went to live with their mom’s folks in Ohio. When that didn’t work out, he came to Homer to live with his other grandparents.”

“Which didn’t turn out to be a bed of roses?” Twink asked.

“Exactly.”

“How old was Chris when he went missing?”

“Seventeen.”

“Sounds like he had a tough life. You think he’s dead?”

I wasn’t ready to give Twink a straight answer on that one. “That’s what I’m trying to find out,” I told her.

The houses along Diamond Ridge Road were all set back from the street, but the address Todd had sent me took us to a large two-story timbered place that looked like a chalet that had escaped from somewhere in Switzerland. Twink rounded the circular driveway and pulled to a stop next to the front steps.