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“Do you have the names of the ladies she cleaned for?” Ellie asked.
Sergeant Benton shuffled the papers again. “Four of them. Susie White, Ina Dickerson and Gayle Farley still live around here. Hilary Hagan was another but she passed about a year ago.”
“We’ll need their addresses,” Ellie said. “And if you have contact information for the ones who reported Amy missing, I’d appreciate it.”
“We’d also like a copy of your notes,” Derrick added.
“Sure. Be right back.” He stood and walked from the room to make the copy. A few minutes later, he returned and handed it to Derrick. “When you ID the man in the car, let me know.” He checked his watch. “The women Amy cleaned for call their group the Ladies of the Lake. I think they meet every week about this time at the Sip and Paint. You might catch them there.”
“Thank you. We’ll do that,” Ellie said.
As Derrick took the report, they left the office. “What’s the Sip and Paint?” he asked.
“A shop where you drink wine and paint. Apparently, they’re going to open one in Crooked Creek.”
Derrick frowned. “I can’t imagine a bunch of drunk women painting my house.”
Ellie laughed. “They aren’t painting houses. The shop has ceramics, pottery, figurines and canvases to choose from. It’s a popular bridal and baby shower activity. They even host birthday parties for kids, although they’re served lemonade instead of wine.”
Derrick chuckled.
Outside, the heat had already climbed to the high nineties with no relief in sight. White puffy clouds hung in the sky as if they were stagnant in the dead humid air. A few cars passed, many loaded down with canoes, a truck pulling a fishing boat, RVs and vans and SUVs filled with families.
Her phone rang. Ellie answered as they walked across the street. “Deputy Landrum?”
“Yeah, lab results came in for that car in the lake. Water destroyed any prints inside along with the pages in that children’s book. Found pieces of a small child’s blanket, pink fibers.”
Probably belonged to Amy’s daughter… “What about the car seat?”
“Nothing. Sorry. Divers did collect a pocketknife about two hundred feet from the car, covered in mud. They’re working on it now.”
She thanked him and hung up, then noticed a sign for the upcoming class reunion boasting,Welcome Class of 2013!
2013 was the year Amy disappeared. Some of her classmates would probably be here this week. Although Sergeant Benton had learned nothing concrete from them, after all this time one of them might have remembered something.
THIRTY-EIGHT
WIDOW LAKE
“While you talk to the ladies, I’ll wait in the diner next door and research Amy. Maybe the Bureau’s database will turn up a paper trail on her.”
Derrick ducked into the diner next to the art shop and Ellie glanced through the hand-painted glass door. Three women sat around a circular table, sipping wine and laughing as they painted clay flowerpots. The ladies ranged in age between forty and fifty and were dressed for a country club luncheon.
Colorful pieces of art adorned the wall, and shelves held assorted paints and projects to select from along with jars of sequins and ribbons, beads and glitter.
A young woman with a bright red braid and feather earrings dangling to her shoulders roamed among the group, assisting. She fluttered a hand in greeting then introduced herself as Ruby, the owner.
Ellie identified herself and suddenly the women’s conversation died, brushes paused mid-air.
“You’re here about that body they found in the lake, aren’t you?” a perky brunette asked.
“I’m sorry to say but yes,” Ellie said. “The car the body was found in belonged to Amy Dean. Sergeant Benton, the officer who investigated her disappearance, suggested I speak with you.” An awkward silence followed.
“Amy Dean worked for you?” Ellie continued.
The women exchanged a look. “Yes, I’m Gayle Farley,” the brunette said.
The woman with wavy brown hair and pensive eyes laid her brush down. “Ina Dickenson.”
