Buried [Completed]

Chapter six

Dougal had expected to have the beach to himself, but when he saw Charlotte Hammond, he wasn't surprised. He'd already figured she might be a woman who enjoyed her solitude. When she turned away from him, he did the same. He walked for another hour in the opposite direction, and by the time he let himself into his room he was exhausted.

It had been a long day. The drive from Roseburg. The second email from Librarianmomma. The confrontation at the Linger Longer, which he'd left without getting any dinner. Despite his fatigue, he couldn't fall sleep for a very long time.

And when he did, he dreamed of the woman in the second email, Mari Beamish. In his dream, he was there, as it happened. He saw the slip of silk slide around her neck, felt it tighten... heard her gasp. Right before she lost consciousness, she managed to look over her shoulder, toward her attacker, and he was shocked to see Charlotte Hammond's features, tight with fear and panic. Her wide gray eyes looked accusingly... at him. Because he was the attacker, the one with the scarf, the man who had murdered both women.

* * *

No! Dougal jerked up from the lumpy motel-room pillow. He could tell by the quantity of light in his room that he'd slept late. He refused to think about the nightmare that had awoken him. Refused to speculate on what it might mean.

He had to see his sister as soon as possible and try to right what had gone so terribly wrong. Jamie would already be at work at Howard & Mason. It had surprised him that his dreamy sister had gone for a career as a CPA.

Her success there proved she had a strong logical side to her personality. He hoped to appeal to that today when he tried to talk her out of the wedding.

He got up, brushed his teeth, and showered, but no amount of water could make his head stop pounding, or clear away the grit he could feel behind his eyes. As he dressed, he sipped at coffee he'd made in the machine provided in his unit, using the contents of a foil pouch that promised him a smooth Colombian roast, but fell short in the delivery.

It was quarter to ten when he finally grabbed his laptop case and left the motel. The sky was clear blue again today, but a mist hung over the shore. But God, the air tasted good. Thick and salty. He crossed the highway, passed by the Ranger Station, then turned onto Driftwood Lane without seeing a soul.

He'd pass the time before Jamie's lunch break by doing a little research. Charlotte was sitting at the front desk of the library when he walked in. He inhaled the comforting aroma of old books. Felt the muscles in his shoulders and neck relax.

"Hi, Dougal. I've just received a long fax from the Pendleton Library. They've sent a copy of Mari Beamish's obituary for you and the main articles that were published about her murder."

Right down to business. No mention of seeing him on the beach last night. Nor about the scene at the Linger Longer yesterday. He appreciated her discretion.

"Thank you."

She wore another gray skirt and matching sweater, both cut so conservatively, she could have time-travelled from the fifties. Did she downplay her looks on purpose?

He found a table in the back corner and settled in to read. A few people came and went. Besides Charlotte, there was another woman working at the library. Older, almost retirement age, he would guess. Not very friendly. At eleven o'clock, Charlotte asked him how things were going.

"It's been interesting. The facts, and the lack of success with the investigation, are disturbingly similar to Elva Mae's homicide. But I was wondering if I could take a look at the archives for the Curry County Reporter? While I'm here I might as well dig into those— see if they mention anything about the murders."

"Current issues are on microfiche, but if you want to go back to the seventies, we'll need to reference originals."

Charlotte caught the eye of the older woman, who was re-shelving books in a quiet, methodical manner.

"Abigail, I'm going to show Dougal the archives in the basement. Keep an eye on things, okay?"

"Of course."

Dougal followed Charlotte downstairs into the windowless basement. The space was well lit, painted a gleaming cream color and filled with rows of shelving units.

"Smells like paint."

"Amos just finished building us some extra shelving units. We figured we might as well have the place painted at the same time." She peered at the labels on one of the bookcases.

"Just around this corner." 

As he followed, he was suddenly reminded of his dream. The basement setting had been similar to this one, only darker. With sudden insight, it occurred to him that both Elva Mae and Mari could have been attacked from the rear while looking for reference materials, just as Charlotte was doing right now.

Dougal clenched his hands, relaxed, and then balled them again. What had the murderer been thinking as he lured the helpless women to their deaths? Had he been excited? Angry? Calm and collected?

"Here they are." Charlotte indicated a shelving unit filled with back issues of the local paper.

"Everything you need should be in this box." 

She wouldn't sound so cheerful if she knew what he'd just been thinking. Dougal forced a smile. He scared himself sometimes with his crazy thoughts.

"Great." As he grabbed the cardboard container, he noticed another set of boxes on the adjacent shelving unit.

"Oregon Library Association," he read. "What's in there?"

"Quarterly publications from our state library association. My Aunt was the president of the board for a number of years. Our collection of newsletters dates back to that time."

"Hm. Mind if I take a look through these, as well?"

"Help yourself. But none of this reference material can leave the premises." He nodded, grabbed a second box and followed Charlotte up the stairs. On the way he asked,

"So how long have you and Wade been seeing each other?" She hesitated.

"About six months."

"Is it serious?" She seemed surprised he would ask that. He was surprised, too.

"I-I'm not sure."

He set the boxes on the table by his laptop. It was just past twelve.

"Okay if I leave these here for an hour or so? I think it's time I had a little talk with my sister."