Justice (Angel Calling, #1)

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

I closed the laptop and decided to go out for a bite to eat. It was early, but hunger gnawed at me. I spied an Italian restaurant across the road. ‘Gnocchi on Heaven’s Door.’

I snickered. Appropriate.

Even through the heavy downpour, I could see into the windows. Little round tables covered by the requisite red check tablecloths and small glass bowls with glowing candles beckoned me. It looked warm, cozy, and inviting. I imagined the delicious aromas that would greet me when I walked through the door; garlic bread or some rich tomato Bolognaise sauce. As if on cue my stomach rumbled.

I made it a point on each earthly assignment to try and eat some Italian food, which has become my all-time favorite cuisine. When on earth as a human living in Australia, the closest place to indulge in Italian food was Italy, hence my greedy penchant.

I pulled on my boots and coat before grabbing my wallet and keys from the table on the way out. The wind and rain collided with me in an airborne tsunami, snatching the door from my fingers and sending it flying inward. I dragged it closed against the gusts and pressed the unlock button on the Jeep before climbing in behind the wheel. The brutal weather made it necessary to drive across the road.

On entering the restaurant, I glanced around, noting one other occupant at the table furthest from the door.

I don’t blame you buddy.

The wind whipped in with me, causing a couple of serviettes to swirl wildly to the floor. I bent to pick them up just as a woman approached me with a menu in her hand. Her long brown hair tied up into a high ponytail looked glossy, her dark eyes crinkled when she smiled a welcome. Her front teeth had a gap between them and she spoke with a heavy Italian accent, asking if I would be dining alone.

I smiled in acknowledgment and she led me toward the back of the room. I chose a booth that allowed me an unobstructed view of the entire restaurant. After handing me the menu, she righted the upturned glass to fill it with cold water from a carafe on the table and removed the place setting opposite me.

The waitress gave me a few moments before returning. As predicted, the place smelled wonderful and I ordered a small beer while I studied the list of meal options.

I did the same thing that most people do when they go to a restaurant hungry. They read the entire menu from cover to cover... entree, main, dessert, even the children’s meals, and then make their choices based on the same old things they always ordered.

After placing my order, I glanced around the small restaurant. The other diner, a middle-aged man in his early fifties, around the same age Christine Conroy would have been had she still been living today, peered at his phone. If a local, I wondered if he knew her or about her disappearance back in the day.

His hair, a light brown turning to gray and thinning on top, was enough to drag into a dated comb-over. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and carried more than a few extra pounds. He glanced at me and we nodded in acknowledgment as strangers do.

It wouldn’t hurt to find out if he knew anything. I made my way to the restroom conveniently located behind where he sat. Winding around tables, I made an offhand comment as an ice breaker when passing him.

“Got the place to ourselves. We must be the only crazy fools to go out in this.” My laugh was loud and echoed in the near empty restaurant.

After using the bathroom, I washed my hands and returned to the main room. The waitress had put down a drink for the other guy and walked away.

“I suppose you’re used to this weather up here?” I asked, glancing out of the nearest window, noting how dark it had turned in the few minutes since I had arrived at the restaurant. “I’m from down South. Only arrived in town this afternoon, and I swear it hasn’t stopped raining since.”

“Yeah, buddy. I grew up here and if you don’t get used to it, you might as well leave town since this is pretty much standard issue for this time of year.” He took a sip from his glass and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his plaid flannel shirt. “You in town on business?”

He looked at me curiously, trying to discern what I intended doing here... perfect.

“As a matter of fact, I am.” I smiled at him. “Maybe you can help me? I’m investigating the disappearance of a little girl, Christine Conroy, some forty years earlier. Were you living here at the time? I’m guessing you’d have been a kid yourself, maybe ten or so?”

His eyes widened with glee at the gossip. “Oh, yeah. That was a big deal in these parts then. It made national news when she disappeared. Vanished right out of her backyard - poof, like magic. Scared the s**t out of all us kids. We thought it might happen to us.”

He chuckled in remembrance, wet his lips, and continued. “Everyone searched for her, but to this day she ain’t never been found. Her poor mother went out of her mind. She door knocked and put up signs, even went on television, but it done no good.”

He shook his head and took another swallow of beer.

“Do you mind if we have a talk after dinner?” He raised his brows at my question. “I’ll buy you a drink and you can tell me about it. I need to clarify some details.”

He eagerly nodded his head in agreement. “Why are you investigating now? It’s been so many years. Have you found her body?” His eyes widened, his manner salacious.

“No, not at all. At least not yet,” I said, hopeful. “I’m a private investigator and I’m doing research for a book I’m writing. Bumping into you today is very timely for me.”

The waitress swung out of the kitchen with a plate of food. I moved to the side, allowing her to place it on his table.

“Here’s your meal now. We’ll catch up soon.” I excused myself turning away with a grin. I couldn’t believe my luck and mentally high-fived myself.

When it arrived my meal tasted as good as the aroma that preceded it. The chances of finding a genuine Italian Restaurant in a small country town like Maryville was huge. Add to that, the fact I’d run into a local familiar with the case – double slam-dunk.

Hmm, someone up there likes me.

Afterward, the man who I found out to be Tobias Johnston, came over to my booth. Three beers later, I learned Toby had gone to school with Christine. A year older than he, and although only thirteen at the time, she appeared a bit on the promiscuous side.

Interesting.

“You say she was a looker?” I questioned, curious to find out how her peers viewed her.

“Oh, yeah. Blond hair, blue eyes, little titties, great ass. One of them girls who’s thirteen going on eighteen.” He leaned forward, tapped a finger to the side of his nose and gave me a conspiring wink. "If you know what I mean? But stuck up like she thought her s**t don’t stink.”

“So, you never went out with her?”

“Are you kidding? I was a nobody.” His sarcastic tone echoed his dislike. “She had plans for a career. She wanted to be a ‘movie star’ and leave Maryville as soon as she could, head to Hollywood or New York. Nah... Christine and Melanie Anderson; best friends and bitches, both of ‘em. They wouldn’t look twice at someone like me.” He screwed up his face in annoyance.

Maryville was a small farming town in East Oregon with a population just under 1,500. It seasonally swelled with tourists, taking advantage of the outdoorsy lifestyle. The town’s main source of income came from agriculture – mostly apple and pear orchards, but these days the trendier businesses of micro-brewery and fish hatchery seemed on point. Years ago, it was considerably smaller, and I could imagine a young girl having dreams of leaving to make a name for herself.

“But she had a boyfriend, didn’t she?” I acted unsure of my details, fishing for information. “Her friends at the time stated that Christine appeared excited and had secret plans to meet up with her boyfriend at the Fair. A Bobby Cutler?”

Cutler was a much older boy, who Christine’s parents had no idea she had been seeing — and according to the Angelic Counsel, the murderer.

“Yeah, that’s him. Cops thought he done it. Christine’s mom remained adamant for years that he’d killed her. But surprise, surprise, he was screwing both of ‘em.” Toby confirmed my thoughts that Mrs. Conroy had a mother’s good instincts.

“Both of them?” I raised my eyebrows, needing clarification of his last statement.

The restaurant door opened distracting Toby. Two women came in with a couple of school age kids.

An attractive woman who looked in her thirties, stepped in first, her brown hair wild in disarray. She raked her hand through the tangles, trying unsuccessfully to bring some order to the wind tossed chaotic mane, her cheeks rosy from the cold.

The other woman, also in her thirties, was thin as a greyhound and worn-out looking. Obviously the mother of the children, they bombarded her with questions the moment the door closed.

“Mom, can we sit in a booth?”

“Mom, I want to have the cheesy garlic bread.”

The waitress approached and led them toward a booth on the opposite side of the room. The kids ran full speed to the table and fought over which seat they would occupy. Both women looked in our direction and said hello to Tobias. Small towns; everybody knew everybody.

“Marcy, Andi.” Toby nodded and smiled at the women.

The attractive woman’s eyes met and held mine. We didn’t smile, or nod, or do anything other than stare at each other for an extraordinarily long few seconds. I had the weirdest sensation. Almost like I was supposed to know her. I could feel my hands getting hot and my eyes burn. I shook myself free and returned my attention to Toby.

“You said he screwed both of them?” The question left my lips as soon as the women had moved out of earshot.

Toby’s face turned gleeful at this unknown gossip. He snickered, “Shh, I gotta whisper this... ‘cause that’s his daughter who just walked in.” He angled his head and nodded to the newly arrived patrons.

I looked up at them with renewed interest. They were both looking at the menu.

“His daughter? Which one?”

Toby looked over as well. He leaned over the table bringing his face close to mine and whispered again, his breath stinking of stale beer.

“Andrea Cutler. The pretty one on the left.”

I felt a droplet of saliva hit my cheek. I turned to look in their direction, discreetly wiping it off on my shoulder at the same time.

I caught her looking at me again, a mixture of confusion and curiosity sliding across her face. I wondered if she’d heard Toby with his not so quiet stage whisper. I out-stared her and she looked away to discuss the menu with the others.

Now Toby started talking hurriedly with delight, a chuckle in his voice. “He f****d Christine and Melanie at the same time.”

He took a swig of his beer and left some foam on his top lip, which he licked up before continuing. “There’s a rumor he killed Christine, but he couldn’t have, ‘cause he was cheatin’ on Christine with Melanie when she went missing.”

This wouldn’t have stopped him from killing Christine, but in Toby’s mind it was sufficient proof of innocence.

I remembered reading that Christine’s mother, Agnes Conroy, had questioned Christine’s friends to see if they had seen her or knew where she may have gone. Expected to spend the night at her friend’s place, Mrs. Conroy had been unable to locate Melanie Anderson. They assumed the girls were together. They were wrong.

A frantic hunt found Melanie Anderson with Bobby Cutler - minus Christine.

Toby laughed a little too loud as drunk people do, and drained his glass.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to allow him to get tipsy. Although he had provided a valuable insight into the crime, he was slowly turning rowdy and it felt unethical to let him drink further.

“Come on Toby, I’ll drop you home. You can’t drive,” I stated firmly. I had been drinking water after my one beer and felt guilty for not stopping Toby earlier. Although I was hardly twisting his arm.

“Oh... Oh, okay buddy. Maybe one for the road?” He lifted his empty glass and looked hopeful.

“Nope. I got an early morning start.” I stood up and shrugged into my coat. “If you’d rather drive yourself and risk an accident, or maybe even a DUI...?”

I let the question hang. It got him moving.

I paid for both our meals and the drinks at the counter. When I got back to the table, Toby had his coat on. He pulled out his wallet to pay but I put my hand over his and with the other hand on his shoulder, physically turned him toward the door.

“I got the tab. Come on, my car’s out the front. You’ll have to organize to pick your car up in the morning.”

I glanced over my shoulder on the way out. Andrea stared at me again and I felt inexplicably drawn to her for some reason. An undercurrent of tension ran between us, almost a physical thing, and I was hard-pressed to look away.

It became a night of surprises. That Bobby Cutler had been cheating on Christine Conroy with her best friend, I had read in the file the counsel provided on my laptop. However, I didn’t anticipate the murderer I expected to put away had a daughter I would feel a connection with.

Bobby Cutler’s daughter ...huh.

I’m guessing that must be the link. It seemed the only reasonable explanation I could think of for the vibes that came off her in waves. Something I hadn’t experienced on a mission before. And it bothered me.

Outside, the rain had finally stopped. The temperature had dropped, now close to forty degrees. I pulled my coat tighter as we both climbed into the Jeep and I cranked the heaters to full blast.

Toby struggled with the seat belt while I put the car into reverse.

“So, Andrea Cutler is Bobby Cutler’s daughter?” I confirmed tentatively.

Preoccupied with pushing the buckle into place he didn’t answer right away, but when he did, I slammed on the brakes, almost sending Toby into the dash, utterly surprised by his response.

“Yeah, Bobby Cutler’s and Melanie Anderson's daughter.”