CHAPTER 31
Tracy knocked on the door and stepped back, letting the screen door slap shut. When no one answered, she cupped her hands to the window and tried to look through white lace curtains. Seeing no one, she walked along the covered porch to the side of the house and leaned over the railing. A late-model Honda Civic sat parked in the driveway in front of a freestanding garage.
She called out, got no answer, and walked back toward the porch steps, about to descend when she saw a figure through the window crossing the living room. The front door pulled open.
“Tracy.”
“Hello, Mrs. Holt.”
“I thought I heard someone knock. I was in the back doing some needlepoint. Well, this is certainly a surprise, hearing from you. What are you doing back in Cedar Grove?”
“I needed to take care of a few matters involving my parents’ estate.”
“I thought you’d already sold the house?”
“A few loose ends,” she said.
“That must have been heart wrenching. Harley and I had such wonderful memories of our times there, especially the Christmas parties. Well, come in, come in. Don’t stand out in the cold.”
Tracy wiped her feet on a welcome mat and stepped inside. The furnishings were simple but neat. Framed photographs lined the mantel and rested on doilies on the dining room credenza. A china cabinet was filled with porcelain figurines, a collection of some kind. Carol Holt closed the door behind her. Tracy estimated her to be in her midsixties, heavyset with short silver hair and matching glasses. She still apparently favored stretch pants, long sweaters, and colorful beaded necklaces. When Sarah had disappeared, Carol Holt had made sandwiches at the American Legion building for the volunteers searching the hillsides.
“What are you doing now?” Mrs. Holt asked. “I heard you live in Seattle.”
“I’m a police officer.”
“A police officer,” she said. “Wow. I’ll bet that’s exciting.”
“It has its moments.”
“Sit down and visit for a bit. Can I get you anything? A glass of water or coffee?”
“No, Mrs. Holt, thank you. I’m fine.”
“Please, dear, I think you’re old enough to call me Carol now.”
They sat in the living room, Tracy on a maroon couch with crocheted throw pillows. One said “Home Sweet Home” with a picture of the front of the house. Carol Holt sat in a nearby chair.
“So what brought you by to visit?” she asked.
“I was on my way back to Seattle, and I drove by the service station to talk to Harley, but it looks like it’s closed.” That wasn’t exactly true. Tracy had planned the visit to Cedar Grove, but not to settle her parents’ estate. She’d hunted down Ryan Hagen’s former employer a month earlier and had found some interesting documents. She’d hoped Harley Holt had additional documents that would further enlighten her.
“I’m sorry, Tracy. I lost Harley a little over six months ago.”
Tracy felt suddenly deflated. “I didn’t know, Carol. I’m so sorry. How did he die?”
“Pancreatic cancer. It got in his lymph nodes and they just couldn’t stop it. At least he didn’t suffer long.”
Tracy couldn’t recall a time when she’d dropped a car off at Harley’s station for servicing and Harley hadn’t been there to greet her with a cigarette in his mouth. “I apologize.”
“Nothing to apologize for.” Carol Holt smiled, close-lipped, but her eyes had filled with tears.
“Are you doing okay?” Tracy asked.
Carol gave a resigned shrug and twisted her necklace. “Well, it’s hard, but I’m trying to stay active and make the best of it. What else are you going to do, right? Oh Lord, why am I telling you something like that. You’ve certainly had more than your fair share of tragedy.”
“It’s okay.”
“My kids visit with the grandkids and that helps.” She slapped her thighs with both hands. “So tell me, what is it you wanted to discuss with Harley after all these years?”
“Actually, I was hoping to talk a little shop with him. Harley worked on just about everyone’s car in Cedar Grove, didn’t he?”
“He sure did. Your father was a regular customer. Harley appreciated that about him. Such a shame what happened. Your father was such a good man.”
“Do you know who Harley bought his car parts from, Carol?”
Carol Holt made a face like she’d been asked a question on quantum physics. “No. I didn’t get too involved in any of that, dear. I imagine he bought them from any number of places.”
“I remember he had all those cabinets in his office,” Tracy said, getting to the reason for her visit.
Carol Holt threw up her hands. “That office was an abomination, but Harley didn’t have a problem with it. He had his own way of doing things.”
“How long ago did he close the station?”
“It was when he retired. He was hoping our son Greg might take it over, but Greg had different plans. Three, four years ago, I suppose.”
“Would you happen to still have a key to the building?”
Her eyebrows arched. “I wouldn’t know. I suppose it’s somewhere around here. What is it you’re looking for?”
“I’m curious about something, Carol. I know it sounds crazy, but I was hoping I could just take a look through Harley’s records to satisfy my curiosity.”
“I’d be happy to help, honey, but I’m afraid you won’t find anything at the service station. Harley cleared it out when he closed it.”
“I was afraid of that when I went by earlier and looked through the windows, but I thought, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Well, I better let you get back to your needlepoint, and I better get started back to Seattle.”
“What about the records?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You said you wanted to go through his records.”
“I thought you said he threw them out?”
“Harley? You saw his office. That man never threw out a scrap of paper in his life. You’ll have to dig a bit to reach them, though.”
“You have the records here?”
“Why do you think I park in the driveway? Harley brought everything from the station here and put it in the garage. He kept telling me he was going to go through them, but then he got sick and, to be honest, I haven’t given them a second thought until you brought them up.”