Page 79 of Echoes at Driftwood Cottage

“It’s worth a shot. Get the lab on it,” Brent instructed. “I doubt there’s anything in the bed after all this time that’ll help, but the upholstery inside the pickup is another matter. It could give up traces of blood.”

He angled toward Theo. “I want you to use your expertise and go through every missing persons’ report on file from November 1999 to the beginning of 2000, including British Columbia.”

Theo’s eyebrows shot up. “British Columbia?”

“You’re the one who mentioned Vancouver,” Brent fired back.

“You do realize we’re talking possibly thousands of people who disappeared during that time period.”

“Not if you narrow it down to couples. Start with couples first. That should cull the herd quite a bit. Any more questions?” When no one said anything, Brent motioned them all out the door. “Then get out of here and get to work. Keep me updated by the hour.”

Back at Daniel’s house, Rowan paced one side of the kitchen in front of Mamie and Will. “If I was the child Tamsin Southwick tried to save, it would prove I was at the party.”

“If the story’s true, it would prove that the kid was on the premises when the young couple showed up trying to get their little girl back,” Daniel provided. “What kind of monsters hijack someone else’s kid?” He glanced over at Rowan, realizing what he’d said. “Sorry. But that’s low in anyone’s book.”

“No, it’s okay. Little things are beginning to click with me about Gran or rather Lynette. And to find out that Gwynn was a victim, too, is unsettling. How did I miss that? Why didn’t I suspect anything?”

“You had a preconceived opinion about Gwynn’s parenting skills from your earliest childhood memories,” Mamie proffered. “Think about it. She wasn’t the best role model for a mother. You felt deep down that there was no connection. Therefore, when Lynette decided on this solution—the overdose—it seemed the natural progression a drug user might take. Lynette must’ve put some thought into her decision. Unfortunately, an overdose isn’t uncommon. You trusted the woman you thought always looked out for you to tell you the truth. That’s also very normal. At the time, you had no reason to question her motives.”

Rowan stopped pacing. “But it brings up an entirely separate set of questions. Where did Jim and Lynette get Gwynn? The obvious answer would be from someone at the commune back in the earliest days.”

“There’s no birth record with Gwynn’s date of birth that ties James or Jim Dewhurst to ever being named as a father,” Will provided. “At least not in California or Arizona where we think Lynette met Jim. I could try hunting down that name in more states.”

Daniel nodded. “Maybe we should. But is that the critical piece of information we need right now? Isn’t it better to try and track down who’s been sending Will the messages? After all, they might hold key information. It has to be a neighbor, right?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Who else would be peeking through their curtains in the middle of the night to catch something happening at the house that didn’t look right back in 1999?”

“Or was never explained to their satisfaction?” Rowan countered.

“Exactly. Who still lives in the neighborhood?”

“Mrs. Dimsdale and Mr. Kercher, both are next-door neighbors,” Rowan answered. “Both have lived here since I was a kid. Well, Mrs. Dimsdale has. Mr. Kercher moved in around 2002. But neither one owns a computer.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, no. But I remember back in December when I was here Mrs. Dimsdale asked if I could recommend a desktop brand. I told her that I use a Mac but there were less expensive options out there. And I mentioned how the library has three PCs to use for free. I don’t even think Enid Dimsdale or Alvin Kercher own a cell phone.”

“We should probably go talk to both of them.”

“And ask what? Have they been sending messages anonymously to a blog?”

Daniel scratched his chin. “Yeah. Pretty much. It’s time to be direct. Unless you have a better idea.”

Mamie went to the freezer and pulled out two cartons of ice cream, handed them off to Daniel. “Offer one a pint of chocolate chip, and the other a pint of strawberry. Start off by telling them you’d like to have their opinion about the quality. Keep in mind, that it’s possible there’s nothing sinister going on. Doing it this way, they won’t feel like it’s an interrogation and should be more willing to talk.”

“She has a point,” Rowan said. “I’ve known them both since I was a kid. I can’t imagine either of them cruising the internet and landing on a blog to send messages. But hey, they’ll appreciate the ice cream.”

Enid Dimsdale loved her flower gardens, her two cats—Chewy and Tabby—and chocolate chip ice cream. But she didn’t know anything about sending emails, text messages, or computers in general.

“I only asked that question back at Christmas because my niece moved overseas and wanted me to email her. I decided on my budget that I should go back to writing letters like in the old days.”

“Did you ever notice anything odd going on next door?” Daniel asked her.

Enid had taken her time to think. “Other than Jim staying up late? No. There’s nothing that comes to mind. I’ve missed Lynette. She and I used to swap recipes and vegetables. She’d grow cucumbers that I could pickle, and I’d grow the tastiest tomatoes. I’ll have a basketful to share before June’s out. You wait and see.”

“Thanks,” Rowan said. “I’d like that. Give me a chance next year and I’ll try my hand at the cucumbers.”

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