Page 36 of Echoes at Driftwood Cottage

“Will do,” Eastlyn promised as she got to her feet, opened the door, and ran smack into Theo’s chest. “Hey, you’re here early. What’s up?”

But she quickly sized up the situation because Theo had showered, shaved, and put on his full uniform. And the chief wasn’t exactly pleased about seeing him.

“Got a call from the boss,” Theo replied. “Thought I’d better get in here and tamp down any fires I’ve started.”

“Close the door on your way out, Eastlyn,” Brent commanded, settling into his chair. When the door banged shut, he cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming in early. I wanted to have a heart-to-heart about last night’s call on Cape Geneva.”

Theo hadn’t slept well, and it showed. The dark circles under his eyes meant he wasn’t adjusting well to the night shift, maybe not even adjusting to the move he’d made. “Okay. What about it?”

“I know you're new to the department. I don’t want to come down too hard on you, but why didn’t you mention that there was a second attempt made to gain entry to another house one street over at Daniel Cardiff’s place? Two attempted break-ins in one neighborhood are significant. It’s information the day shift needs to know.”

“I thought I did mention it in the report.”

Brent pushed the paperwork across the desk that proved otherwise. “Where is that information? Show me.”

Theo squirmed and shifted his feet. “Did Rowan Eaton make a formal complaint?”

Brent frowned. The question told him a lot more about Theo’s interaction with the homeowner. “Ms. Eaton did not file a complaint. We do follow-ups here, Theo. Those usually fall to me, especially on a Monday after a weekend. If it’s something simple like a noise complaint or a stolen bike, a phone call will suffice. But when it concerns a break-in, a burglary, a robbery, a theft of any kind, or a domestic disturbance, I usually follow up with an in-person house call. That’s why I read every single report myself. Personal contact is part of the job. As the chief of police, I want to know what’s going on in my backyard. It’s my job to make sure you understand how important it is to communicate with your fellow officers. Your report is crucial in doing that. You’re an experienced police officer, a big-city detective. You should already know that. I realize you might consider working here a demotion, a step backward. But everyone here works the night shift. No exceptions. When we do the next rotation, you’ll move up to days and—Eastlyn or Colt, I forget which—will replace you on nights. Because we’re a small outfit, I expect everybody to pull their weight. I went over all this when you expressed interest in the job.”

Fighting off a headache, Theo rubbed his forehead.

“Is there something else going on here that I should know about?” Brent asked, his demeanor shifting into concern. “Are you settling in okay?”

Theo ran a hand through his dark hair. “It’s an adjustment. The whole divorce thing, starting over in a new place, has me second-guessing myself. I’m not as familiar with the residents as you are. If I implied Ms. Eaton came across as intoxicated, I’ll apologize.”

“She was half asleep, Theo. Daniel had gotten her out of bed on a hunch that the same person who tried to break in at his place had already been to her house. Turns out he was right. So it wasn’t that hare-brained. There’s also this headstone photo she showed me.” Brent took Theo, step by step, through the same scenario he’d taken Eastlyn, catching him up on Rowan’s story. “I’m not trying to come across as harsh or condescending, but you need to listen to people when they tell you something. No matter how ridiculous it might sound, you need to at least write it down in your report. Make a notation of the absurd or outrageous. It’s the only way for the team to know how the call went down. Being unfamiliar with the townspeople is not an excuse. These people are now your people whether you’re feeling that warm and fuzzy yet or not. You need to convey to them that you care about their problems. I don’t expect you to become a social worker. Just take down what they say and write up your report to reflect their statements. Take the job seriously, even if we are small potatoes.”

Theo sighed in audible frustration. “I never meant to minimize what Rowan Eaton said to me. I’m sorry if it came across that way.”

“You’re apologizing to the wrong person. Maybe next time you see her, try expressing your heartfelt apology to her. The headstone thing might not be Seattle-homicide worthy, but we have a mystery to solve regardless. It could be nothing, or it could be something serious that happened decades ago. We won’t know that until we can explain why Rowan Eaton’s name is on that headstone.”

Chapter Nine

Rowan’s meeting with Eastlyn lasted an hour. This cop she liked. She even agreed to come into the police station where she handed over a box of stuff that she thought needed another pair of eyes.

Unlike Woodsong, Eastlyn seemed to grasp how odd the headstone was. She also seemed to have done a thorough background check on Gwynn. She knew the woman had a drug and alcohol problem that went back forty years or more. For law enforcement, that meant she might be fully capable of snatching a child in a drunken, addicted state.

As the two women chatted and bonded over coffee inside the conference room, Rowan relaxed, especially after Eastlyn provided insight into how they intended to approach the investigation.

“I’m already checking records at Eternal Gardens, looking into everything about the timing of the headstone. When did the caretaker get permission to put it there? When exactly did the funeral take place? The cemetery should keep meticulous logbooks of everyone buried there. Plus, the chief asked me to use November 20 as a starting date, looking for any child abductions within the state around that time. But I’ve decided to widen the search to Nevada and Arizona on the chance that Gwynn might’ve been that desperate. Anyway, rest assured that we’re hitting the ground running on this. And to make sure we follow every possible lead I’ll need to take your fingerprints before you walk out of here today—for the file—in case we need them down the road for identification purposes.”

Eastlyn laid a hand on Rowan’s arm before the woman could object. “We may have access to your thumbprint on your driver’s license, but we need a full set for matching purposes.”

“You’re talking about using my fingerprints if you discover a child was abducted during that time period, aren’t you?”

“Kids usually don’t have their fingerprints on file. But the weird thing about the 1990s in California is that lots of parents had their children fingerprinted as part of a big safety push, especially after several high-profile abductions made the papers. If you were snatched during late 1999 or early 2000, maybe your birth parents went that extra mile, too,” Eastlyn explained. “Let’s hope we get lucky.”

“Lucky,” Rowan repeated as she stared at the opposite wall. “Sure. It’s just that four days ago, nothing like this would have ever occurred to me.”

“I know this all feels like a lot to take in, but I promise we will do everything we can to get to the bottom of it. The Chief or I will keep you updated on any developments. In the meantime, don’t hesitate to reach out to me if you remember anything else about your childhood that might be relevant to our investigation. Anything at all.” She handed Rowan a business card with her contact information and smiled. “Or if you just want to talk, that works, too. Now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll get you fingerprinted and out of here.”

“How many people get to walk out of here after getting fingerprinted?” Rowan cracked as she pocketed the card. Grabbing her bag, she trailed after Eastlyn down the hallway to a booking room, where she went through the routine of getting each finger inked and then Eastlyn rolling the tip onto a print card.

Fascinated, she watched the cop work, impressed by the way the woman handled herself. “You have no idea how glad I am that you’re taking the headstone seriously.”

“Maybe by itself, it’s not that weird,” Eastlyn admitted. “But when you add in those newspaper clippings about a little girl drowning roughly five weeks after the date on the headstone without a body washing up, that’s more than an eerie coincidence. Then there’s you, sitting here with the same name on the gravesite. Good thing the boss’s radar went up right away.”

The process was quick, but for Rowan, it felt like it dragged on forever. She couldn’t wait to leave and put this whole ordeal behind her.

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