The Inn at Holiday Bay Books 7 - 9 Read online

  Lacy offered the woman a gentle smile. “We know what happened on Christmas Eve the year you wrote the letter. We were hesitant to contact you for fear of stirring up painful memories, but in the end, we decided you might want to know about the letter. Now, I’m glad we followed through.”

  The woman’s hands were shaking as she looked down at the letter. I couldn’t begin to imagine the images the reminder of that particular Christmas must have conjured up.

  “When I called and spoke to you earlier, it seemed as if there was something you wanted to speak to us about,” Lacy said, thereby breaking the silence.

  Pamela didn’t answer right away, but eventually, looked directly at Lacy and spoke. “Yes. I will admit to being shocked when we first spoke, but after I had a minute to think things through, I realized that you must be the miracle I’ve been waiting for.”

  I raised a brow. “Miracle?”

  The woman stared at something off in the distance. She appeared to be deep in thought, so I sat quietly and waited for her to continue. After a few moments, she looked back in our direction. “I need help with something and have been praying for God to send me someone with the skills needed to find the answer I seek.”

  “And what is it you need help with?” I asked.

  “I want to know who killed my mother.”

  I glanced at Lacy. She looked as stricken as I felt. I turned back toward Pamela. “I thought your father killed your mother.”

  She vigorously shook her head. “He would never have done that. The man who investigated my mother’s death made a case that others bought into, and my father was arrested, but he would never have killed her. Yes, they fought, quite a lot actually, and yes, when they came home from South America, it did seem like something odd was going on, but you have to believe me when I say that he was not the person to end my mother’s life.”

  I inhaled deeply before responding. “Do you have any idea at all who would kill your mother if it wasn’t your father?”

  “No,” she admitted. “I have toyed with some ideas, but I never could find the evidence I needed to prove that someone other than my father killed my mother. I understand why the detective suspected my father. There was circumstantial evidence to support his theory, but my father told me he was innocent, and I believed him. I really wanted to help him when he was arrested, but I was just a kid. By the time I was old enough to hire someone to look into things, he’d died in prison. The fact that he died as a convicted killer when I know in my heart that he was innocent is the greatest regret of my life.”

  “I can understand how you feel, but why have you decided to look into this now?” I asked.

  The woman began folding and unfolding the napkin in her lap. “I guess that in the past, the timing was never right, but now it is. As I’ve already mentioned, when the murder occurred, I was much too young to do anything to help my father, and by the time I turned eighteen, my father had died. I guess knowing that it was too late to help him allowed me to let go and get on with my life as Nanny Emmy suggested I should. I went to college, met my husband, had three children, and basically lived my life.”

  “But something changed,” Lacy said.

  She nodded. “Eleven years ago, a man came to talk to me. He was writing a story on the fiftieth anniversary of the murder. It was just a small article for the local paper, but it started me thinking about things that I hadn’t thought about since I was a child. At the time, I really didn’t do much with these resurfacing memories, but then my husband passed away last year, and his passing left me with nothing but my memories. My children are the light of my life, but they have all moved away to pursue their own dreams, which, as I just mentioned, has left me with time on my hands. At some point, I decided to use this time to write down my thoughts in a memoir of sorts. I’m afraid that once I opened the door to these long-suppressed memories, they began flooding back, but not in any sort of context that I could organize or do anything with.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “My memories came as flashes, but the flashes existed outside of the context of a timeline. I hoped if I just wrote everything down, those images would begin to make sense. And I suppose in some ways writing down the flashes of memory has helped. I still have gaps, but I am beginning to dig enough out of my subconscious that these random images are becoming associated with emotions. Powerful emotions that I haven’t allowed myself to feel for years.”

  “I’m sure that must be difficult for you,” Lacy said.

  “It has been difficult, but wonderful as well.”

  Lacy looked confused. “Wonderful?”

  “Not only had I suppressed and forgotten the bad memories associated with my parents, but the good memories as well. I guess that is the way life works sometimes. You have to take the good with the bad. And at this point, I find I am willing to let myself remember. I think I have even found a way to find peace with at least most of what happened. Not that I would choose my childhood for anyone I loved, but I can see how my experiences have helped to mold me into the woman I’ve become.”

  “So, how exactly can we help you?” I asked.

  The woman leaned forward slightly. “When all is said and done, I realize that the biggest regret I have is that my father died in prison a convicted man. I know in my heart that he didn’t kill my mother, and while I couldn’t prove that in time to save him, I do feel the need to prove it before I die.”

  “And, are you dying?” I asked, not really wanting to know the answer if it should happen to be that the woman only had weeks or months to live.

  “We’re all dying, but no, my end is not imminent. But I am getting older and my mind, along with my memories, is beginning to fade. Most of the time, I’m fine, but I do have episodes where I can’t remember why I walked into a room or what I was saying. I struggle with remembering names, and I feel like a lot of things I know I should remember are just beyond my grasp. It is important to me to try to find the truth before I can no longer access the memories I do possess. As I mentioned, I began by trying to write everything down, but at some point, I realized I was going to need help. I’ve been praying for someone to help me to do what I’ve been unable to on my own.” She looked at Lacy. “And then out of the blue, here you are. Please, I really need to know the truth. Will you help me?”

  I glanced at Lacy. She shrugged. I wanted to say no to the woman’s request. I wanted to walk away, return to the inn, and celebrate the rest of the holiday with my guests and friends. But as much as I wished I’d never started this whole thing, I knew I couldn’t walk away. “You said earlier that the police had used circumstantial evidence to arrest your father. I’m assuming it was this same circumstantial evidence that convicted him. Do you happen to know what this evidence consisted of?”

  She nodded. “I don’t know everything, but I do know a few things. I know that the police determined that the house showed no signs of forced entry. Our house was equipped with an upgraded security system that my parents had installed to make sure that the antiques and ancient artifacts they housed at times were safe from theft. My father told the police that when we arrived home, it was locked up tight. He, of course, had a set of keys, which allowed us access, so the police made an argument that the person who killed my mother must have had the keys necessary to open the various locks. There were only a handful of people with access to the house, including my parents and the household staff.”

  “Were any of the staff considered to be suspects?”

  “Since the staff had been given time off for the holiday, the only other person in the house at the time my mother was murdered would have been the killer.

  “Okay, what else?” I asked.

  “The police received an anonymous tip from a man claiming that my father had removed some of the artifacts he had uncovered in South America from the inventory which was supposed to go to the sponsor funding the project. According to this anonymous source, the artifacts uncovered would have disproved a theory m
ade popular by my father about ancient migration patterns, so in order to protect his reputation in the academic society, he simply got rid of the evidence that would have proven him wrong.”

  “Do you think that is what happened?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I have no idea. I was just a kid. But I do remember Nanny Emmy telling me that my father was a proud man who very much valued his professional reputation. And it did seem that the prosecution used my father’s rather large ego to make an argument that my mother had somehow found out what my father was doing and had confronted him. This led to a situation where they argued, and the argument spiraled out of control. At some point, my father went into a rage, causing him to pick up a lamp and hit my mother over the head, thereby killing her. I guess after my father was arrested, an inventory was taken of the artifacts my parents and their team had uncovered, and the results of the inventory proved that items were missing. Although they never did prove that my father had been the one to take them. Still, combined with the fact that he was the only person other than my mother with access to the house and the artifacts, the prosecutor was able to tell a convincing story about a man who would do anything to protect his reputation, and the jury bought it.”

  I supposed the idea that Pamela’s father had killed to protect something that had great value to him was a good motive to jump on.

  “Was there anything else?” I asked.

  “Not that I’ve been able to find on my own. I really do need help. I need someone who knows how to dig for the truth.”

  I paused for a moment, considered the situation, and then spoke. “I have a friend. His name is Colt Wilder, and he’s the chief of police in Holiday Bay. He’s out of town right now, but I suppose I can give him a call and ask him if he can get his hands on the initial police report. I figure that will give us enough information to start. You don’t already have it do you?”

  She shook her head. “I tried to get it but was told it was archived and unavailable. To be honest, I felt that the woman I spoke to told me that because she didn’t want to be bothered.”

  “Okay. I’ll call Colt and see what he can dig up. It’s a place to start. Once I have the report, I’ll come back, and we can review it. Maybe we can find a way to meld the report with your memories. I’m willing to do what I can, but you do understand that proving your father was innocent will require figuring out who the killer actually was, and doing that is way beyond a long shot.”

  “I know. And if I try and fail, then at least I will know I tried.”

  “Are you sure that proving your father’s innocence is worth all the heartache?” Lacy asked.

  She nodded. “I want everyone to know that the man I remember was not a killer but a victim, as was my mother. I want my children to know that their grandfather wasn’t a monster. I want them to be open to my memories of the man he was before the incident. I’m the only person who believes in his innocence. His only chance to be proven innocent begins and ends with me.”

  Lacy and I spoke to the woman for a while longer. I promised to speak to Colt and call her the following day. Since I had guests to get back to and Lacy had a family that would be wondering where she was, we couldn’t any stay longer today, but I did consider the fact that maybe Lacy and I had seen the nutcracker in the antique store for a reason. Maybe it had been destined that I’d fall in love with it and she’d buy it for me. Maybe the fact that Mylie had found a note that had been hidden for more than sixty years actually had been an answer to a prayer.

  “If you decide to take this on, I really want to help,” Lacy said as we drove back toward Holiday Bay. “I know it’s almost Christmas, and I know I have six children and therefore have a lot to do before the big day, but Pamela’s story has touched my heart. If there is anything at all I can do to help her find her answer, I need to be there for her.”

  “Okay,” I slowly let out a breath. “Let me start by calling Colt. Since the kids will be out of school for two weeks after today, I’ll come to you first after I hear back from him so we can talk about it, and then I’ll go to talk to Pamela alone.”

  “Unless I can find someone to watch the kids that will have to be enough. Maybe Lonnie can watch them. I guess we’ll have to play it by ear.”

  After I dropped Lacy off at her home, I returned to the cottage and called Colt. I explained what I could about the note in the nutcracker and our conversation with the woman who was once the little girl who’d written it. I shared Pamela’s request, and the decision Lacy and I had come to. He wasn’t sure it was a good idea that we were digging around in a decades’ old homicide, but I can be very persuasive, and eventually, I was able to convince him that no harm would come to me or Lacy. He agreed to make some calls and see about getting the file we wanted. He, of course, made me promise to involve him every step of the way, which, of course, I was happy to do, since I knew I’d need his help beyond his ability to obtain the police report.

  After we settled that, we chatted about his trip, that I had to admit sounded like a dream come true. Colt had a way of describing the decorations and the energy of the resort at Christmas that had me picturing everything they’d seen or done. I really did want to visit the Magic Kingdom myself someday, but today, I had guests to entertain and a mystery to solve. After I hung up, I headed toward the inn to check in with the gang, who I was sure had enjoyed a much more festive afternoon than I had.

  “How’d it go?” Georgia asked me after I joined her in the kitchen where she was chopping vegetables.

  “It was intense,” I answered, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of water. “Where are the others?”

  “Jeremy, Annabelle, Nikki, and Mylie are playing a board game in the living room. Christy and Haley have gone to have dinner with her in-laws.”

  “That’s nice. I’m glad it’s working out for Christy to provide Haley access to her grandparents, while at the same time having some fun herself.”

  “She seemed really happy and relaxed when she left. She was a little nervous about dinner. She told me her in-laws have exotic tastes, and Haley is really more of a mac and cheese sort of person.”

  “Since they raised a family, I’m sure they know that.” I took a deep breath enjoying the wonderful aroma coming from the oven. “Speaking of dinner, when will ours be ready?”

  “In about thirty minutes, forty tops. So, about your interview with Pamela. How did it go? How did she take it? Was she upset? Curious?”

  “I think the interview went well. She didn’t seem upset, but she was curious. Pamela seems to think that Lacy and I are the answer to a prayer. She wants to prove her father’s innocence and find out who killed her mother, and she thinks we were sent to help her with that.”

  “Really?” she raised a brow. “I guess that was surprising for you, but maybe you were sent to help her.” Georgia loaded the pots and pans she’d used earlier into the dishwasher. “You have helped others in the past.”

  “I have, and I really have a lot of compassion in my heart for Pamela. She has carried a great burden for most of her life. And I really want to help her find her answer, but I’m just not sure how I am going to do that. I’m a writer, not a detective.”

  Georgia poured soap in the dishwasher. “That’s true. You aren’t a detective, but you have helped Colt in the past. Very successfully, I might add.”

  I picked up a slice of cucumber and took a bite. “I have helped Colt on occasion, but he does the actual investigating,” I reminded her as I chewed slowly. “Still, Lacy and I did promise Pamela we would help her if we could, and Colt did agree to get a copy of the police report and to help out remotely from Florida, so I guess the least I can do, is take a look at the report and take it from there. I really do feel bad for the woman. Her husband is dead, and her children live out of the area. She lives all alone in this big old house. I couldn’t help but notice that she seemed lonely.”

  “I suppose that being alone is a situation a lot of seniors who outlive their spouses h
ave to deal with.”

  “It is. Pamela seemed like a survivor, but it is Christmas, and no one should be alone at Christmas. Maybe I’ll invite her to some of the events here at the inn. It might be fun for her to see others completing the list she once penned.”

  “You should ask her,” Georgia agreed. “If she doesn’t drive, Jeremy and I can transport her back and forth. You mentioned that she lived east of here.”

  I nodded. “It isn’t far. The next town over.”

  “You know we always have room at our table for anyone who needs a warm place to rest or a sympathetic shoulder to cry on. If we can bring some holiday cheer to the woman, all the better.”

  “I know you’re right, and I do suppose that proving her father’s innocence really would be the best Christmas gift of all.” Having made the decision to try, now all I needed to do was figure out a way to do that.

  Chapter 5

  Colt texted me the following morning and told me that he’d requested the file relating to the murder of Pamela’s mother and the subsequent arrest and conviction of her father, but he wasn’t expecting it until later in the day. I called Lacy and informed her about the updated status of the file. She suggested that if the file wasn’t going to come through until late in the day, I should just come over to her place for dinner so we could discuss what we’d found. She suggested that we arrange to meet with Pamela the following morning. She also mentioned that Lonnie would be home to watch the kids on Saturday morning, so she could come with me if we were able to set up a meeting with Pamela at that time. Being part of this whole thing seemed important to Lacy, so I agreed to her plan. Then I called Pamela and gave her an update on the status of the file, and she shared that Saturday morning would work fine for her as well.

  Once I completed my calls, I headed to the kitchen. Before I did anything else, I needed to grab a cup of coffee. Georgia wasn’t in the cottage by the time I emerged from my room, so I had to assume that she was serving breakfast at the inn. I pulled up my calendar as I sipped my coffee. Riley Camden, the travel blogger, was due to check in today. I was anxious to meet the man. Not only was I curious to find out if he was destined to be Mylie’s one true love, but having a travel blogger as a guest couldn’t be a bad thing. As Mylie had, I’d Googled him after I found out that he was going to be staying with us. The guy had an impressive resume. He’d started off working as a staff person for a travel magazine where he was eventually given a regular column, which he published monthly. From there, he began a blog on the side which had taken off to the point where he’d quit his staff job so he could commit all of his time to his own enterprise.