Page 85 of Echoes at Driftwood Cottage

“We need to understand this case so we can explain it to Rowan,” Brent began. “I’ll let Theo start us off by detailing what he found about Atticus Eaton.”

“Henry Atticus Eaton,” Theo corrected. “He went by Henry. My approach was simple really. I ran the name Atticus Eaton into the US missing persons database that we got off Rowan’s birth certificate. I found nothing. When I expanded into Canada, though, I got a hit on a Henry Atticus Eaton from Port Alberni, Vancouver Island, British Columbia. I did a deep dive into the name and boom, there he was. I discovered that Henry Eaton never renewed his Canadian driver’s license after 1999. Nor did he ever obtain a driver’s license in the US. It took me awhile to find current phone numbers for the Eaton family that worked but I eventually talked to his older brother, Holden. Their parents are no longer alive. But Holden took me through the story about Henry’s life prior to 1999. The Eaton family ran a fishing boat business, very big in the area, very well-known. At nineteen, Henry married his childhood sweetheart, Olive Anne Avery. They had a daughter born on August 31st, 1995, in Port Alberni’s only hospital. I found birth records for a baby girl they named Rowan Avery Eaton.”

“Wow,” Colt exclaimed, giving Theo a high-five. “Nice work.”

“Thanks. But it really was Brent’s suggestion to include Canada in the search.”

“Avery being the mother’s maiden name,” Eastlyn muttered. “Initials on the wedding rings line up with HAE and OAE. What else did you learn?”

“That the two families lived around the corner from one another in this idyllic little coastal town. These kids grew up together.”

“If it was so idyllic then why did they leave?” Brent wanted to know.

“That’s the kicker. Sometime during July of 1999, Henry became disillusioned with fishing. He’d been a fisherman since he was a kid. I guess by that summer, he wanted to spread his wings and try something new. So this twenty-three-year-old father and husband decided to make a change. According to the brother, Henry packed up his SUV and took his wife and daughter on what they described as a vacation getaway to California. They planned to camp out along the way to make their money last longer.”

Eastlyn scowled down at her pasta. “A vacation that lasts four months? Sounds like there’s more to the story than that.”

“Not if they crossed paths with Jim and Lynette or Dodge Nichols,” Theo suggested. “Holden said that at first, Henry and Olive stayed in touch with people back home. They sent postcards and letters, even photos of Rowan. But then the families stopped hearing from either of them after November 1999. Communications stopped altogether. They never heard from Henry or Olive after that. When they didn’t show up back in Canada for Christmas, both sets of parents filed missing persons reports.”

“But if they knew they were headed to California, why didn’t they contact the authorities here?” Brent asked.

“The last letter they received was from Half Moon Bay. Holden says he tried to contact the county sheriff’s office several times but couldn’t get anyone to take him seriously,” Theo explained. “The brother claims he even made two trips down to that area after Christmas. This would’ve been several months after the murders. He wasn’t sure what to do at that time, so he alerted the Canadian authorities. But they misunderstood and sent out an alert for British Columbia only, pre-9/11. If you ask me, it was a sad series of screw-ups. This couple literally fell off the radar and their case fell through the cracks.”

Theo paused long enough to sip his soda. “There is one thing that bothers me, though. Why would Jim and Lynette let Rowan keep her name? That part doesn’t make sense to me.”

“You don’t have kids, do you?” Colt countered. “Kids are stubborn little creatures. Maybe this particular four-year-old refused to budge off her name.” He glanced around the table until his eyes landed on Brent. “You and I are the only ones here with kids. You know how immovable they are at that age. Maybe they had to fit everything to Rowan after the fact.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Brent said. “My four-year-old once spent an entire summer insisting we call him Mason. But Theo does have a point. The mistake on the headstone is problematic.”

“After hearing what Jasper described as the big blow up, to me, it sounds like Lynette was shaken by the murders,” Eastlyn proffered. “So much that she inadvertently ordered a headstone with the girl’s birth name on it.”

Colt shook his head. “Or maybe Lynette ordered the headstone thinking that they would eventually change Rowan’s name to something else down the road. The girl no one knew would be dead according to that headstone. But Jim and Lynette didn’t count on one thing—the girl wasn’t having it. Kids aren’t pushovers. I’m telling you this stubborn four-year-old probably dug in her heels and refused to answer to any other name they tried. Now, the Dewhursts are looking at a thousand dollars to replace the headstone. So they take the cheapest, easiest way out and leave it the way it is. Six years later, Jim drops dead of a heart attack. At that point, Lynette doesn’t see the need to change anything because nobody’s noticed. They’ve gotten away with a double murder. They’ve passed off Rowan as their granddaughter. No one seems to care about details like the fact that the kid is running around town with a headstone that bears her own name.”

Theo nodded. “When you put it like that it actually makes sense. The kid won’t cooperate with a name change, so Lynette and Jim have to improvise. In addition to that, I tracked down the funeral director who verified the death certificate. He claims he doesn’t remember a four-year-old coming into his mortuary back in November 1999. Of course, he wouldn’t because they faked the girl’s death. But Jim and Lynette needed a death certificate to arrange the fake funeral. This guy let me make copies of his records from that time period. There’s no mention of a kid at all. I think Jim or Lynette used the funeral director’s name to forge the death certificate.”

“Nothing would surprise me at this point,” Brent asserted. “Did you find anything unusual about the jewelry in the grave? We could email pictures to Holden Eaton and see if he recognizes any of the items.”

“I traced that sterling silver necklace back to a First Nations’ artist in Canada, which makes sense if Olive was from British Columbia,” Eastlyn noted. “Muriel says she should have the DNA results back by the end of the week. But if what Theo turned up checks out, we may not need to wait that long before updating Rowan.”

“No one’s saying anything to Rowan until the DNA comes back for confirmation,” Brent ordered. “That means you follow up with Holden Eaton anyway. Get the local RCMP there to swab his mouth, then verify if any of these items belonged to his sister-in-law or his brother.” Brent checked that off his list. “Anything on the Roberto and Luis Diaz hit and run?”

Colt put down his pizza and got to his feet. He brought over a box containing the files and removed the lid. “After going through the evidence, I’d reclassify this as a double murder. It wasn’t a hit and run because the car involved ran over these two men multiple times. They died at the scene from massive head trauma. A little too convenient for just a hit and run. Mind telling me what this has to do with Henry and Olive’s murder?”

Brent grinned. “On the day of the fake funeral for the child, two men stayed late to close up the grave after everyone else had gone home. Those two men, according to Jasper’s logbook, were Roberto and Luis Diaz, who just happen to be manning the fruit stand one day and get mowed down by a wayward car. How many witness statements are in that file?”

“Three. From three workers picking avocados in a nearby field.”

“And what kind of vehicle did they describe?” Brent prompted.

“The three people identified a four-door white SUV as the car that hit the two men.”

“What happens to your stuff when you join a cult or a commune?” Brent asked the group. When no one replied, he let out a groan. “Come on, guys. Keep up. It’s a simple question. Your stuff becomes public property. As a community at large your stuff is no longer yours. It’s shared by everyone else inside the commune. Everyone has access to the vehicle you were driving or anything else you brought with you. What make and model SUV did Henry own when he left Port Alberni that summer?”

Theo flipped through his notes. “I’ll be damned. They drove a 1996 white Ford SUV with British Columbia license plates.”

Brent leaned back in the chair, locked his fingers behind his head. “And by the time of the Diaz murders, we know for a fact that Henry and Olive were already dead and buried in Eternal Gardens in a grave with their daughter’s name on the headstone.”

Eastlyn picked at the food on her plate, her appetite gone. “It’s chilling when you think about it.”

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