When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(41)

“What’s her name again?” D.D. asked.

Dorothea blinked. “Why, I don’t recall. She’s very quiet and it’s not like you see her out and about.”

“She’s not allowed out?”

“I didn’t say that!” Dorothea frowned at D.D., clearly not liking her attitude. “Girl can’t talk. That’s not exactly who you send to run errands.”

“Of course,” D.D. conceded. “She reminds me of someone I once knew, that’s all. And you’re right, such a tragedy. When was the accident anyway?”

“Ten years ago, maybe?”

“The girl’s been living with the Counsels that long?”

“Well, when I first met her she was an itty-bitty thing. And Lord, the scar back then. Seemed to be half the poor girl’s head.” Dorothea eyed D.D. reproachfully. “They’ve done right by her.”

“Family protects family,” D.D. agreed.

“The Counsels take care of this whole town, always have. You’re here for the fall. That’s a good season for us. Lots of hikers, tourists, people eager to spend money. But December, January, February? Those are lean months. Not all families have the resources to make it through. The Counsels keep eyes and ears out. They don’t boast, but if they hear about anyone who needs a little extra help . . . Let’s just say, grocery bills have been known to be magically paid. Property taxes caught up. Even medical bills cleared. Around here, neighbors look out for neighbors. And Howard and Martha are good neighbors.”

“You ever meet Martha’s sister? The one who died in the accident.”

“Oh, Martha doesn’t have a sister.”

D.D. paused. “I thought the girl was her niece?”

“Well, that’s what she says. Martha was an only child. She means the girl’s mother was like a sister to her. Or don’t you have such things up North?” Dorothea smiled thinly.

One point to the older woman with the glittery lanyard, D.D. thought. Though it would explain the girl’s obviously Hispanic heritage, while Martha looked about as white bread as they came.

“Do the Counsels have children of their own?”

“No.” Dorothea’s voice dropped. “Though I know they tried very hard in the early days of their marriage. They just weren’t so blessed.”

“How sad for them. And how fortunate they were willing to take in an orphaned child.”

Dorothea beamed again, clearly pleased that D.D. was finally recognizing the Counsels’ sainthood.

“Are there other full-time staff at their B and B?” D.D. asked. “Just out of curiosity.”

“A cook. An assistant. You would have to ask them more.”

The sheriff cleared his throat. D.D. got the hint.

“Thank you so much for your help. And the property records,” D.D. said.

While the sheriff added, “A pleasure as always, Dorothea.”

“You’re going to figure this out, right, Sheriff? It breaks my heart to think of some poor souls buried in our own backyard.”

“We’re on this, Dorothea,” the sheriff assured her. “We’ll find the answers, get these girls some justice.”

“If you need any other help . . .”

“Of course.”

Dorothea turned to D.D. more sternly. “We’re a good community,” she said, as if daring D.D. to deny it. D.D. merely smiled, and starting to understand the rules of engagement, went for a point of her own.

“Of course. But bad things can happen everywhere. And the woods around here clearly aren’t as safe as they look.”





CHAPTER 19





KIMBERLY





TASKFORCES MUST BE FED. WHICH made Kimberly incredibly grateful to Franny, Sheriff Smithers’s receptionist, checklist operator, and all-round extremely tall den mother. By the time Kimberly and her crew had trudged back down the mountain, it was already nearly eight P.M. Kimberly took a much-needed shower, then headed straight to the Mosley County Sheriff’s Department for the evening debriefing, where she discovered her fellow investigators already camped out in the conference room enjoying what appeared to be an entire buffet of homemade casseroles.

“From the ladies of the First Congregational Church,” Franny said, appearing at Kimberly’s elbow. “They know how hard you people are working and wanted to show their appreciation. You must try the chocolate trifle. Patty makes it every year for the fall cook-off. It’s the best.”

Sure enough, across the room D.D. was standing over a giant glass bowl containing what appeared to be layers of chocolate pudding and whipped cream. The detective was licking a spoon, and wearing an expression that probably shouldn’t be viewed outside of a bedroom.

“Is there lasagna?” Kimberly asked. “I smell lasagna.” She’d been on her feet for fourteen hours and hiked up and down a mountain half a dozen times. If there was pasta in this room, she’d earned it.

“Third tray from the right. And don’t worry, we have more where that came from.”

Franny bustled off to shift more platters, distribute more plates. Kimberly decided this was already the best taskforce meeting she’d ever attended. Which was good, because they had a lot of ground to cover.