The Cottages On Silver Beach

“You heard what Bobby Sparks said after the game. That’s a tough cloud for a man to live under, all these years later,” Charlene said. “It must be so hard, not knowing what happened to her. There’s nothing worse for a family. I wish one of the departments that have handled the case could have been able to discover something—anything—that might have helped find her.”

“I can’t even begin to tell you the hours that have been devoted to the case, both by the police department and now the sheriff’s department. It’s still very much an open investigation,” Marshall said.

“With little progress, apparently,” Charlene said tartly.

“You know as well as anyone that there can be a lot going on behind the scenes that the public never knows about,” Marshall said.

“Meanwhile, Luke Hamilton has to live his life under a cloud of suspicion,” Charlene said.

The server brought their pizza just then, which effectively ended the conversation. Marshall should consider himself lucky Charlene was distracted by the children, Elliot thought. Their mother could be relentless.

Later, while the women were busy talking about details for Katrina’s upcoming reception, Elliot turned to his brother.

“What is the status of the investigation into Elizabeth’s disappearance?” he asked.

Marsh looked down the table at the women, busy chattering away with each other, before answering. “Cold as that lake out there in January,” he admitted, frustration shading his voice. “Not much has happened for years. Every six months or so I’ll send my investigators through the files to do a fresh read, but all we have are dead ends. We get a few leads here and there, a tip called in that goes nowhere and the occasional crank call, but that’s about it.”

“You must have a theory.”

Marshall’s mouth tightened. “Depends on the day. I’ve gone back and forth. We have no eyewitnesses who saw or heard from Elizabeth Sinclair Hamilton past about eight p.m. the night she vanished. According to Luke, she went to bed early. He took a phone call from a subcontractor—we have the phone records that place him at home—close to ten, then says he fell asleep on the sofa before the evening news. When he woke up, it was five a.m., the baby was crying, and his wife was gone. Her car was still there, so if she left on her own, she walked—something she apparently liked to do. They had been fighting the night before, so he says he thought she went somewhere to cool down or maybe teach him a lesson about how hard it was to be home with a couple of little kids all day.”

“Seriously?” Elliot couldn’t dispute that the burden of caring for a couple of tiny children might be tough on a relationship, but he had a hard time picturing Elizabeth being so petty.

Marshall shrugged. “Doesn’t make much sense to me either. But that’s Lucas’s explanation for why he didn’t call police until almost dark. The thing is, his alibi is solid all day, between the nanny who showed early and the crew and subcontractors who were with him all day.”

His brother paused. “There were rumors about trouble in the marriage before she disappeared but no actual facts to back that up.”

“Any domestic disturbance calls?”

“One,” Marshall acknowledged. “About a week before she disappeared, the neighbors went overseas for a month and had a couple of college students house-sitting for them. The house sitters called 911, said they heard shouting and crying coming from Luke and Elizabeth’s place and a woman in distress. Dad went to the house to check things out, talk to both of them, but didn’t end up making any arrests. He reported it as a misunderstanding.”

Elliot didn’t want to think his father might have downplayed an actual domestic disturbance report simply because Lucas had been a friend of the Bailey family. He couldn’t be completely sure, though, especially in his father’s last few years on the job.

“There were others who came forward after she disappeared and reported she seemed increasingly unhappy in the previous days,” Marshall went on. “There are also...certain indications she might have wanted to hurt herself. That’s one theory, anyway. Apparently she was suffering severe postpartum depression and was being medicated.”

He had heard those rumors, too, but couldn’t easily credit it. The girl he had known in high school had been mercurial, certainly, but he wouldn’t have ever thought her capable of self-harm. It was entirely possible he didn’t have the whole picture, however.

“Would you mind if I look over the files while I’m in town? Not that I don’t think your detectives are competent but maybe some fresh eyes could offer a new perspective.”

Marshall gave him a closer look and Elliot tried to keep his features expressionless. “Why would you want to do that? Don’t you have enough on your plate, trying to finish a book?”

More than enough, he had to admit. He would be working late every night to finish the revisions of his manuscript. But Elizabeth’s disappearance had haunted him for years and he hated unanswered questions.

“She was a friend. I’d like to find out what happened to her. More than likely, I won’t see anything your people haven’t already considered, but it wouldn’t hurt to look.”

“Sure. Why would I mind if the Bulldog takes a look?”

He frowned at the nickname his siblings still sometimes called him. At least that one was better than the other one he knew Megan and some of her friends had called him. He’d overheard them talking at Marshall’s wedding.

Mr. Roboto.

Yeah, he knew exactly what she thought of him.

“You’re welcome to take a look,” Marsh said. “Come over to the office tomorrow and you can see everything we have.”

“Thanks.”

He didn’t know if he would discover anything new, but the prospect of digging into an investigation filled him with anticipation. He would much rather focus on an intriguing case that had bothered him for years than the woman who lived next door to him, the woman he could never have—or the mess he had left behind in Denver.

* * *

“YOU NEED TO go home. Right now.”

Megan took in the pinched features of her head housekeeper. Verla looked as if she would fall over at any moment. The only spots of color on her otherwise pale features were the bright blue of her eye shadow and a bright splotch of rouge on each cheek.

“I’m okay.” Verla mustered a smile. “I’m almost done.”

“No. You’re done now. The last thing I need is for you to end up in the hospital. Go home, climb into bed, turn on some trash TV and stay there until you feel better.”

She didn’t miss the relief on the other woman’s features, though Verla did try to hide it. “We’re shorthanded,” the housekeeper protested. “Everybody else has left for the day and I don’t have anyone to clean the cabins, which are due for housekeeping services today. Cedarwood is actually overdue since Elliot put up a do-not-disturb sign all week.”

“I’ll take care of it. Only two of them are occupied right now, so it shouldn’t take me more than an hour.”

She didn’t want to think about who was staying in one of those cabins.

Elliot had been there for a week, and though she had seen him coming and going, she had somehow managed to avoid being face-to-face with him since the night of the girls’ softball game.

“I’m so sorry.” If anything, Verla’s voice sounded weaker than it had at the front end of their conversation.

She pushed away thoughts of her unwanted guest. “You have nothing to apologize for, honey. You didn’t ask to get the flu. Now, go home and rest and don’t worry about anything for the next several days. I can organize the housekeeping crew and make sure they step up to take care of the workload. I prescribe sleep, chicken noodle soup and daytime television. In that order.”

“Yes, Dr. Hamilton.”

“Do you think you’re okay to drive home? I can have someone on the staff take you.”

Verla rolled her eyes. “It’s three blocks. I think I’ll be fine.”

Megan didn’t doubt it. Verla was agile and strong as a mountain goat, tough enough that even with the flu, she could probably parkour all the way home.

“Take as long as you need. I’m not heading to Colorado for another week, and even if you’re still sick when it’s time for me to go, the rest of the staff can fill in.”

“I hate to leave you in the lurch, but I don’t think I’d be much good to anyone until I kick this.”

Megan ushered her out the door with all the assurances she could muster. As soon as she closed the office door behind Verla, her smile slipped away. Drat. She didn’t want to do this. Why did Verla’s remaining workload have to include the cottages?

One would be relatively easy. The occupants of Hummingbird Cottage were a couple in their sixties, both retired schoolteachers, who were spending the week bird-watching and hiking around the area. They were quiet and pleasant, both tidy as could be.

The other one, however, was the cottage next to hers, Cedarwood Cottage. Elliot Bailey’s temporary home.