Page 55 of The Secret of Emerald Cottage

Chapter Thirty-One

“Well, looks like our cold case just heated up.” Sloan Kennedy’s heavy exhale drifted loudly in Miss Lilly’s dining room, where he, Miss Lilly, Brec, Chase, and Molly silently sat around the wooden table. At the door, a stone-faced police officer looked on, as if standing guard. Wearing latex gloves, Sloan slipped the rawhide cross into an evidence bag and sealed it, sending a shiver down Molly’s spine. When he picked up the waterlogged leather belt to study it more closely, all Molly could do was close her eyes with a shudder, seeing the boy from her nightmare, struggling in the lake. “Because if my gut is right,” he continued, this may have just gone from a 1984 missing-person case to a homicide.”

“A homicide?” Miss Lilly said with a duck of her throat, “but … but don’t you need a body to prove a murder?”

Sloan glanced up. “No, ma’am, not anymore. The ‘no body, no murder’ rule was effectively overturned in 1954.” He exhaled a weary sigh. “True, no question the absence of a body makes it more difficult, but not impossible.” He held the belt up. “Circumstantial evidence such as this and the cross go a long way in a case, Miss Lilly, especially given the fact both were still buckled and clasped. And sudden disruptions in the missing person’s normal routine that have no plausible explanation—such as in Greg’s case, disappearing into thin air with no contact of family or friends or financial activity—well, investigators can prove the negative. That the victim did not plan the departure, and, consequently, the disappearance may be the result of a criminal act or other endangerment.”

“But Greg could have just lost the necklace in the lake, right?” Miss Lilly asked, delicate facial wrinkles creasing into a pained expression.

“Unlikely, ma’am.” Sympathy shone in Sloan’s eyes as he placed the belt in a larger evidence plastic bag, sealing it before marking the contents. “Not with the clasp intact and the belt as evidence too, still buckled.”

Miss Lilly’s sweet face fell. “I suppose not,” she whispered, all hope fading from her eyes as she watched Sloan carefully package the evidence bags in a larger brown-paper envelope, her voice little more than a pained rasp as she stared aimlessly. “To think that all this time, that poor boy has been—” Her voice broke, and Molly instantly circled an arm around her frail shoulders.

Reaching to give Miss Lilly’s hand a gentle squeeze, Brec glanced up at Sloan. “It seems a bit odd that the body was never found, isn’t it, Detective?”

Sloan exhaled loudly. “Yes, it does. The missing person report was filed on October 7th of ’84, so the body should have floated to the surface soon after. Unfortunately, due to rapid decomposition in water, nothing much remains after thirty-five years except for leather and metals, so there’s no DNA to speak of.” He held the plastic bag with the cross up for Miss Lilly to identify one more time. “Now, you’re 100% certain this belonged to Greg Schulte?” he asked quietly, and she nodded.

Eyes moist, she lapsed into a lost stare, throat muscles constricting. “I gave it to him when he was twelve or so, the year his mother died. He was so broken and distraught back then that I reached out to try and help him through it and we became close. So I’m not likely to forget it”—her paper-thin eyelids flickered in pain—“or him.” She shook her head, still in a daze. “He was such a good boy …”

Sloan waited while Miss Lilly blew her nose with her handkerchief, then leaned in, gaze intense despite his calm air of professionalism. “I’m sorry, ma’am, because I know this isn’t easy, but I need to ask you some questions.”

Dabbing her nose with the cloth, she gave a jerky nod before elevating her chin with a look of determination despite the moisture in her eyes. “Certainly. Anything that can help bring justice for that boy.”

Placing both evidence bags in a larger brown-paper envelope, Sloan recorded information about each item on the outside, then signed and dated it before glancing up at the officer at the door. “Tom, would you mind taking this back to the station for me and filling the chief in? Then we’ll need to set up a dive team as soon as possible. I’ll be right behind you once I secure a few more details from Mrs. McGill.”

“Sure thing, Detective.” The officer took the envelope and with a quick nod at everyone, headed out while Sloan took a pen and small notebook from the chest pocket of his khaki uniform.

Flipping it open, he pinned Miss Lilly with a somber gaze. “Can you tell me about Greg, Miss Lilly? Who his friends were? The last time you saw him? Anything related to just before his disappearance on October 16, 1984.”

“The last time I saw him …” she said quietly, eyes in a squint as if trying to remember, “I … believe was the week before he started school at Armstrong State College in Savannah. He came to see Harold and me from time to time, you see, and I remember how excited he was to get a four-year scholarship.”

She paused to look up with a sad smile. “He was a bright one, I can tell you that, easily the most studious of the Lads, which was a good thing since his folks didn’t have a lot of money for schoolin’ or anything else. Fortunately, Pastor Dave’s family always brought Greg along to the Lake during the summers”—she reached to pat Brec’s hand— “so David, Blaine, and Greg were best friends and close as brothers, especially after your dad and Greg both went to Armstrong State College in Savannah. Did he ever mention that?”

Brec shook his head, his expression grim.

“They were all close, of course,” Miss Lilly continued, “but each of ’em had a best friend in the group, as boys often do.”

“These friends—the Lads of Lake Loon—were they just lake friends?” Sloan asked.

Miss Lilly waved a hand. “Oh, heavens, no. They all went to grade school and high school together, so they were friends on and off the lake, even after most of ’em split up to go to college. They were only able to get together summers and holidays, then, but they were still pretty close”—a frown puckered her brow—“until Greg went missing, I guess. That seemed to change everything.”

“Do you know why?” Sloan studied her through crinkled eyes.

Miss Lilly shrugged. “No particular reason I can think of except distance and lack of time. Alan and David went off to Mercer Law School in Macon—”

“Law school?” Chase sat up. “But Pastor Dave told me he graduated from Mercer University's McAfee School of Theology.”

Miss Lilly gave a firm nod. “He shore enough did, but David started out in law school because his father was a lawyer and wanted him to be one, too, at Mercer, of course, which was his alma mater.” A faint smile shadowed Miss Lilly’s lips. “But David hated law school something fierce, he said, so he compromised by switching to Mercer University's McAfee School of Theology instead.” She sighed. “So with Alan and David gone away to college, Greg and Blaine attending college in Savannah, Roy working night and day at the Piggly-Wiggly to marry Esther, and Pete promoted to head mechanic at a dealership in Pooler, I guess there wasn’t a whole lot of time to get together. And then after Greg disappeared …”—her eyes misted—“well, that seemed to be the death knell for the group as a whole.”

Sloan was busy scribbling in his notebook. “Mmm … so all of the boys were close by when Greg went missing in October of ’84 except for Alan and David, who were about two and a half hours away at Mercer?”

“That’s right. Far as I know.” She paused to study him closely. “Surely you’re not suspectin’ any of those boys of foul play, are you, Detective? Why, they were devastated when Greg went missin’, each and every one of them. And the police dismissed the possibility back in ’84, don’t you know.”

Sloan discharged a noisy sigh. “Yes, I’ve read the file, Miss Lilly, but finding evidence in a private lake that suggests foul play shines a whole new light on the case, ma’am. All of those boys had knowledge of Lake Loon, so I’m going to have to interview each of them to cover my bases.”

Chase leaned in with a somber gaze. “You do know their class reunion is a week from this Saturday, Sloan, right? So that might be a good opportunity to talk to Alan, Pete, and Pastor Dave.”

Sloan glanced up. “No, I didn’t. How do you know that, Chase?”

His shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “Heard Pastor Dave and Alan talking about it at Miss Lilly’s anniversary party, and Pete’s supposed to be there, too, although he’s been under the weather lately.”

“Well, that reunion is real handy for sure, then,” Sloan said, “especially if I schedule a dive investigation tomorrow.” He offered Miss Lilly a faint smile. “Would 9:00 a.m. be all right with you, Miss Lilly? Tomorrow’s my day off, but I’d like to be onboard when they do it, so I’ll come here first thing if you don’t mind.”

“Why, absolutely, Detective. Whatever you need. And come for breakfast first or stay for lunch after, please.”

“Thanks, ma’am.” His gaze flicked to Molly, his business manner momentarily slipping as he gave her a warm smile. “I’d like that.”

Noting the scowl on Brec’s face, Molly battled a gulp with an awkward smile, pretty sure Soccer Boy wasn’t thrilled about cooking for Sloan Kennedy. She wasn’t exactly sure why since Sloan had gone above and beyond in investigating all the problems at Emerald Cottage so far, plus he, Sloan, and Chase had gotten together for guys’ nights a number of times.

But now she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—Brec might be a tiny bit jealous. After all, Sloan was a very handsome man who made no bones that he had an interest in Molly, which Cat had mentioned more than once before. Molly released a silent sigh as Sloan turned back for more questioning, wondering how she felt about that.

With everyone’s focus on Miss Lilly, she secretly studied the two men, utterly amazed that both had escaped marriage thus far. Both were great guys, fun to be around and certainly easy on the eyes. One was tall, dark, and pirate handsome, and the other was tall, blonde, and brawny, but only one shared her mutual faith while the other, merely mutual attraction.

She stared at Brec’s profile, noting the hard clamp of his jaw, darkly bristled with a late-day beard that actually fluttered her stomach, and reminded herself—once again—that they were just friends.

She swallowed a lump in her throat.

So, why didn’t she quite believe it?