"A crime of passion or just criminal all around?"
Reviewed by Bharti C
Posted April 4, 2023
Mystery
WHEN LAST SEEN by Brenda Chapman is the second book in the detective/reporter Hunter Tate mystery series. While I haven't read the first book, the context of the characters is made clear, save a few specific details about how they first met. I was able to understand the rapport they share throughout this well-written novel.
WHEN LAST SEEN follows Ginger and David, a couple expecting their second child, after the disappearance of their firstborn, 3-year-old Charlie, from their home. Everyone guesses that Charlie either wandered towards the river near home or someone took him. As the search intensifies and the case gets tied to a previous missing university student, the family's life disrupts and emotions heighten.
The case progresses as David's daughter from his first marriage reluctantly shares her undercover amateur PI findings with Ella Tate, the reporter working closely with Detective Hunter, handling Charlie's case. The police and reporters find no clues about Charlie's disappearance and soon turn their focus toward his family members...
Brenda Champman is a new-to-me author, and the plot of WHEN LAST SEEN is suspenseful, and the reveal of the mystery is kept under wraps until the end. I am not a regular mystery reader, however, I am sure that the mystery-thriller readers would've guessed the criminal sooner than I did. That said, it is always a satisfying and enjoyable reading experience to find clues along the way and try to solve the puzzle on the go. And for that, I enjoyed this book. If you are in the mood of reading a family drama with some high tension and low key rage in the characters do pick up WHEN LAST SEEN.
SUMMARY
The hardest part is not knowing…
Ottawa is baking under a July heatwave when the Homicide and Major Crimes Unit is called to help track down missing three-year-old Charlie McGowan. This is the second missing person case in nine months — a university exchange student never made it back to her Carleton University residence from a downtown party in November.
At first, the two disappearances appear unrelated, but as true crime podcaster Ella Tate and Detective Liam Hunter dig deeper into both files, unsettling relationships begin to emerge. Evidence, however, remains frustratingly out of reach as the clock keeps ticking and concern for both missing victims takes on a heightened urgency.
And then Liam Hunter gets a call that a body’s been found on the Ottawa River Parkway …
ExcerptThe air was steamy in the mid-morning heat. July in Ottawa could be brutally humid, but Ginger didn’t mind, since the stretch of days like this one never lasted long — well not long in summers past. Climate change had made the heat waves unpredictable and more frequent the last few years. She brushed damp wisps of hair off her forehead as she walked around the corner of the house. “Charlie,” she called. “Come have a drink of juice.” She’d fill the wading pool afterward and let him cool down while she pulled over a lawn chair and soaked her feet. The idea made her weak with anticipation, the physical longing for relief close to unbearable.
The scent of roses, blowsy with faded petals, wafted toward her from the bed lining the fence. She had checked out the names of the flowers when they first began blooming: astilbe with the feathery pink plumes, purple Russian sage, coneflower, black-eyed Susans, and blood-red bee balm. She wasn’t sure how to keep this garden alive and thriving and reminded herself to check out websites when she had more energy. She glanced toward the spot where she’d watched Charlie and the cat from the dining room window, but they were nowhere to be seen. She cupped a hand over her eyes to cut the sun’s glare, remembering too late that she’d left her sunglasses on the kitchen counter. Her voice rose several notches as she searched both sides of the walkway, looking through flowers and greenery for a glimpse of his blond hair and red shorts. “Charlie, where are you? Come here right now, darling. I’m too hot to play hide-and-seek.”
Uneasy, she spun back the way she’d come and walked toward the open space of grass in front of the deck. The lot was wide and deep, with trees and bushes toward the back of the fenced-in property. She closed her eyes and pictured the shoreline beyond the fence. Three steps cut into the breaker wall led to a strip of rocky, sand beach that grew and shrank depending on the time of year and the water levels. At the moment, the shoreline was several feet wide lining this part of the Ottawa River called Crystal Bay. Britannia Beach jutted on a piece of land far to her right, while Shirleys Bay was visible farther upriver, the bookends to Rocky Point, the name of this affluent neighbourhood where David had moved them two months earlier after his business reaped a banner year.
A gate in the middle of the back fence swung closed automatically with a latch too high for Charlie to reach. Even so, she ran across the lawn to peer around the trees and shrubs and make certain the gate was properly shut. She unhooked the latch and pushed it open, stepping outside the fence to scan up and down the beach, but Charlie was nowhere to be seen. She mopped her forehead with the bottom of her shirt and took a deep breath to calm herself. Charlie hadn’t gotten to the water. He wasn’t in imminent danger of drowning. Three sailboats drew her eye to the distant Gatineau Hills on the Quebec side directly across the wide expanse of water. Even the hills seemed to shimmer in the baking July heat. She stepped inside the yard, spun back toward the house, and called his name, her voice now cross from anxiety. “Charlie, this isn’t a game. Come to me now!”
A crow launched itself from the top bough of a pine next to her and cawed on its flight path above her head into the cottonwood trees on the other side of the fence. Crows had left her apprehensive ever since she read Macbeth in high school. She couldn’t remember the words but knew that a crow or a raven sitting atop one’s house was a very bad omen, a foretelling of death. She gazed at the blueness of the sky for a moment, wishing for clouds to filter the unrelenting sunlight that left her drained and lethargic. Her eyes dropped, and she scanned both sides of the yard again, more methodically now as she checked behind every bush and tree, calling Charlie’s name at increasingly louder volumes and shorter intervals.
She reached the deck and hurried up the steps. Charlie liked to play hide-and-seek, but he had never lasted this long before jumping out giggling into her arms. She had no idea how he’d have slipped past her into the house, but she entered by the sliding glass door and went through each room regardless, returning breathless to the backyard five minutes later.
The worry had burgeoned into a nauseous panic. She jogged down the steps and arrived back at the place where she’d last seen him petting the cat. Her mind struggled to grasp that he was missing. A woman shouted her name from the other side of the gate. “Ginger, is everything okay? I heard you calling for Charlie when I was working in the garden a few minutes ago.”
Ginger hurried up the path. The wire gate looked shut, but it wasn’t latched and swung open at her touch. Her stomach flip-flopped, and a stronger wave of anxiety rippled through her. Ainslie Harvey stood a few feet away, still wearing her gardening gloves caked in dirt. The cat that had been with Charlie moments before meowed as it rubbed itself against her legs.
“Charlie’s gone missing. It’s not like him to stay out of sight so long.” Ginger touched the gate’s latch, the lump in her throat making her voice hoarse. “I think this was left open. He must have gotten out while I was pouring him a glass of juice. He was right there petting your cat when I looked out the window.” She didn’t mention waiting for the kettle to boil or dashing to the washroom. She didn’t want to appear a careless mother. “I looked at the beach already. I’ll need to search up and down the street now.”
She’d never made any effort to befriend Ainslie or to respond to her overtures. She’d been tired and depressed by the move to Loch Isle Road, and making friends had been beyond her. Thankfully, Ainslie didn’t appear to hold a grudge.
“I’ll put the word out, and we’ll all help with the search. Don’t worry, we’ll find him. You don’t look in any condition to be running the streets.” She looked meaningfully at Ginger’s belly. “How far along…?”
“Eight months. Thanks so, so much for your help. I really am frantic.”
“I know, but it’s best not to panic. He can’t have gotten far. You should stay home in case Charlie pops out of wherever he’s hiding. When my boys were young, they got into all kinds of mischief. He might be playing and not realize how worried he’s made you.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I’m sure that I am.”
Ginger watched from the end of her driveway as Ainslie rounded up three neighbours from the closest houses. They began the search on both sides of the street, calling Charlie’s name every few steps. Most of the wide front yards weren’t fenced with tall cedar trees and bushes providing privacy. Scanning the length of Loch Isle, pine, balsam and elm trees formed a canopy with long, droopy branches swooping high above the road. Ginger lowered her gaze and squinted toward the untended patch of woods across the road at the far end that pressed in on the cleared spaces and gardens as if waiting to reclaim its stolen territory. She shivered, not wanting to give credence to the ominous presence she’d sensed on evening walks as the sun began its descent behind the tree line.
Fifteen minutes in, watching her neighbours scour the bushes and yards, the worried feeling inside her chest had blossomed again to panic. They gathered mid-street ten minutes after that, and Ginger started toward them. Ainslie met her partway while the other women stared at her with concerned faces. Ginger waved her phone and tried to keep from falling apart. “I’m calling 911. We need more help.”
Ainslie was out of breath, a sheen of perspiration glistening on her forehead. She nodded. “I agree. Wherever Charlie’s gotten to, we can’t seem to find him. Let’s bring in the professionals.” Her fake cheery voice scared Ginger even more. Ainslie had put up no resistance to bringing in the cavalry. The other three women exchanged sombre looks, their eyes signalling grim messages that they dared not say in front of her.
What do you think about this review?
Comments
No comments posted.
Registered users may leave comments.
Log in or register now!
|
© 2003-2024 off-the-edge.net
all rights reserved Privacy Policy