Henrietta almost rolled her eyes at his timing, but she took his appearance in stride. Perhaps now wasn’t the time, but she would keep her eyes open for when the time was right, for she cared too much for her friend to let her keep going with Nelson without someone pointing out the reality from the outside.
With Ralph’s help, they were able to make it through moving some of the heavier pieces around and into the right areas of the dance hall. He used a dolly for some, and Henrietta helped him with others, but by the end of two hours they had everything in place and ready to go.
The armoire was delivered as well, and Ralph and the man who was loaning it to them got it into place with ease. Henrietta felt so accomplished that she sent Olivia home early, saying to take the day off on her.
“You seem chipper,” Ralph commented, observing her over the last cup of thermos coffee.
“I’m just happy that things are coming together. Olivia asked me this morning if I thought we’d get it all done and, while I knew we would, I feel as if the end is in sight now. Yes, there is still a lot more to do before the dance, but I’m even more confident now.”
“Seems like most of the big furniture is in place.”
“Yes, that plus we have several more days where no one else needs to be in here. It’s a freeing thought. I doubt most decorators get this much time in their location.”
“They are also professionals,” he mused.
“True,” she agreed with a laugh. “I don’t want to take on yet another job. I think I’ll stick to antiquing and sleuthing.” She winked at him, and he nodded before his expression turned somber.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I’ve had some news.”
“And you waited until now to tell me?”
He shrugged. “I figured we’d talk after I did the heavy lifting for you.”
“I helped,” she pointed out.
“True. A little.” He grinned. “But I do have some news that is case-related and I wanted to share it with you. It may come as a bit of a surprise.”
“What is it?” she asked, leaning forward in the uncomfortable folding metal chair.
“I had Scott look into things for me. He’s still getting around some of the protections in place on Gerald’s accounts. But what he did uncover is shocking.”
“What?” she pressed.
“It turns out that Amelia Folsom is the beneficiary of a five hundred-thousand-dollar life insurance police, if his death is not labeled as a suicide.”
Henrietta gasped. “No.”
“Yes.” Ralph’s eyebrows emphasized his point. “It doesn’t look too good for her.”
“But still…she couldn’t have killed her father. There’s just no way.”
“Physically speaking, she certainly could have. Besides, she was able to have access to the lighthouse without forcing entry.”
“But would she really risk hiring us and trying to essentially re-open her father’s case, if she’d been the one to commit the murder?” she said.
“Perhaps, if she were overly confident in the fact that she covered up her involvement.”
“That’s very cocky. She doesn’t seem the type.”
“Don’t let your bias of her get in the way, Henri,” he said.
“I’m not,” she shot back. “I’m a better judge of character than you’re giving me credit for.”
“You’re a fine judge of character, that is for certain, but we have to consider the possibility. Even if we don’t think it could be true.”
“Let’s talk it through, then. We’ll have to establish an alibi—that won’t be fun to ask about.” She cringed.
“I know. Not the best thing to say to your client, but at the same time, the way she handles our questions will say a lot about her.”
He had a point, and she nodded. “Then we’ll have to see what her financial situation is.”
“I’m already on that. Or, I should say, Scott is on that. He’s looking deeper into her life. It could be that it’s just a coincidence and she doesn’t care about the money, but it’s hard to find anyone who doesn’t feel strongly about inheriting five hundred thousand dollars.”
“True.” Henrietta thought back to what Ralph had said about the crime scene. “Tell me again where the gun came from?”
“It was actually unregistered, and the number had been filed off. Virtually untraceable.”
“Isn’t that odd, though?”
“Very,” Ralph agreed.
“But the police didn’t look into it?”
“My buddy said that Mr. Detective,” Henrietta grimaced at Ralph’s nickname for the new detective, “claimed that getting guns isn’t as difficult as it should be—his words, not mine—and that having an untraceable gun just proves that there was more to Gerald Folsom than anyone knew.”
“That seems a bit of a stretch,” she agreed. “It would seem that having an untraceable gun would shed some inconsistencies on Gerald’s character more than it would on his means of committing suicide.”
“Perhaps Mr. Detective is still thinking like he’s in Chicago.”
“Now, Ralph, be nice.”
“I am. But anyway, we’ll be looking more into his background as well as hers,” he said. “There has to be some reason for a gun being used that is untraceable. Someone who is planning to commit suicide doesn’t think ahead like that—at least not in any cases that I’ve worked. Besides, who would care if he’d obtained it legally? Plenty of people have gun permits.”
“But if it came from someone else…” Henrietta trailed off, her mind going back to the initial question she’d had leaving the lighthouse the day before. Who would have done this?
She thought of the conversation she’d had with Olivia earlier that morning. Could the love letters be part of the whole mystery? And who was Dee? Was she still alive? Did she live in Hearts Grove? Did Henrietta know her?
“Henri?”
Henrietta jerked out of her thoughts. “Sorry, I got distracted.”
“Does it have anything to do with those letters?”
She was surprised that he’d all but read her thoughts. “Yes and no. I’m not finished with them so I think, before I fill you in, I need to read the rest of them to give you an accurate picture. But…there could be something there.”
He nodded solemnly. “I would assume they’d have something to do with it. It’s not often a man keeps that volume of letters.”
“They were obviously important to him.”
“Yes.” Ralph rubbed at his jaw. “And where there are important things, there are usually secrets.”
She smiled. “You sound like a fortune cookie.”
“Mmm. Want to get some Chinese food for lunch?”
Henrietta just rolled her eyes.
7
Henrietta walked up the creaking back steps to her outside, second-story entrance. The sun had just crested the mountains and shone brightly in front of her. She breathed in deeply, her brisk walk having invigorated her.
Sepia gave her a vocal welcome, demanding to be fed, and Henrietta gently pushed her away from her feet so as not to trip on the poor thing’s tail. The cat didn’t seem to understand the motion and flopped onto her back, ready to play with Henrietta’s shoelaces.
“You are quite the distraction this morning,” she said, obliging the desire for play by jiggling her foot and subsequent laces over the cat.
After a few playful swipes, Henrietta told the cat she was done and moved to put on the hot water to make French Press coffee. After feeding the fur-ball, she made her own breakfast and sat down to read the paper, and to enjoy her eggs and toast for a quiet moment before the day began.
She flipped through the first few pages and found an advertisement for a traveling house party. Smoothing out the page, she read through the article that depicted a time of ‘historic fun’ as the Hearts Grove Historical Society hosted a tour of historic houses. Each stop would boast a different type of dessert, based on the date that the ho
use was created.
Henrietta’s eyebrows rose, thinking of some of the unpleasant things they could offer. She hoped they chose some of the better recipes and perhaps did a few substitutions.
Something about the article drew her, though, and she leaned back, letting her gaze become unfocused as she thought about what had caught her attention. The Historical Society was always doing things like this to fund their small local museum in town and, while she thought it was a good idea, she wasn’t sure why it had captured her eye this morning in particular.
But as she looked back down, she realized what it was. It said the “Historical Society in conjunction with the Historic Preservation Committee.” That was it. It was the same committee that Gerald had been on.
She pulled her phone over and typed in the city’s webpage. She found their connecting page and saw that they tended to meet once a month. Unfortunately, she’d missed that meeting by a week. Rather than give up, she scrolled through her contacts and found Rosemary Halloway’s number. Checking to make sure it was at least a relatively decent hour, she put the call through.
The older woman picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Hello, Rosemary, this is Henrietta Hewitt. From H.H. Antiques.”
“Hello dear, you’re up bright and early.”
“Hope it’s not too early to call,” she said, feeling a pinch of worry.
“Not at all. I’ve been up since four. This old body doesn’t know what to do with too much sleep these days.” Her raspy laugh turned into a cough, but she recovered quickly. “What can I do for you, dear?”
“I have a question for you about the preservation committee.”
“What’s that?”
“When is your next meeting?” She asked the question, but knew immediately that she’d have to meet with the members individually. There was no way she could wait another month for their next meeting.
“Are you talking about our meeting today?’
Henrietta’s heart pounded in her chest. “Today? You didn’t meet last week?’
“Nope, we had that bit of snow, and most of us don’t like to drive in any kind of weather. We postponed it for today.”
Henrietta bit her lip to keep her excited shout from echoing in the empty kitchen and over the phone. “What a stroke of luck,” she said, barely containing her glee. “I’d love to stop by. I have a few questions for you all.”
“I’m sure you’d be more than welcome, dear. We’ll be meeting at the old church. Starts at eleven, and I’d get there on time if you want to get a word in edgewise,” she said with a chuckle.
“Sounds good, I’ll be there!”
Rosemary hung up and Henrietta leaned back, feeling much too self-satisfied. Now all she had to do was decide what she was going to say to this group who had known Gerald longer than most in town.
Henrietta walked up the steps to the old white church, the steeple jutting up into a brilliantly blue day. It was still cold, the wind whipping in off the water and making her pull her jacket tight about her neck, but at least the sun was out.
She felt as if she blew into the room as all eyes turned on her, but she flashed a smile and began to unbutton her coat. Thankfully, as she looked around the four tables placed in a square in the church’s recreation room, she noted that she’d met most of the people.
The majority were older, having lived in Hearts Grove since birth. They felt a keen connection to the town and a desire to see its history preserved. The other few were new arrivals, which usually meant they’d been here twenty years or less. She smiled at this, knowing that town pride ran deep in this community. But the new arrivals were no less passionate about preservation.
“Glad you could make it,” Rosemary said to Henrietta as she settled in a chair.
“Hope you all don’t mind me stepping in like this.”
“We like a bit of excitement,” one woman said. She sat next to Rosemary, and Henrietta hadn’t made her acquaintance yet.
“We’ll go around and introduce ourselves,” a man said. Henrietta knew him to be Paul Timmons, president of the preservation committee.
As they introduced themselves, she caught a few of the new names, but knew she’d need more than just one quick introduction.
They came to her at the end, and she introduced herself and her shop.
“Always glad to have a fellow lover of history here,” one member said. She thought his name had been John, but she couldn’t be sure.
“How can we help you?” Paul asked.
She took a deep breath and jumped in. “I’m working with Ralph Gershwin—”
“That P.I.?” someone asked.
“Yes. Him,” she smiled. “And I’d just like to ask you a few questions about Gerald Folsom.”
A few murmured around the table, and Paul frowned. “It’s a bit of a sad subject for us here. We were well acquainted with Gerald, as he was one of our longest standing members.”
“Yes, I can imagine how hard it has been for you all.” She looked around the table at them all for a brief moment. “But I would appreciate any insight into Gerald and his life. You see, we’re working with his daughter.” She hesitated. She didn’t want to betray his daughter’s confidence, and yet she needed information from these people.
“He didn’t kill himself,” one woman said, shaking her head. “I know that for a fact.”
All eyes turned to her but many nodded their agreement.
“May I ask why you say that?”
“He wouldn’t.” Was this her opinion, Henrietta wondered? “He had so much going for him. So much he was looking forward to.” Many agreed, one mentioning Amelia’s wedding coming up, another a big project they’d been working on in the committee. As she listened, several more offered viable reasons that Gerald never would have harmed himself.
It was all adding leverage to her theory, and yet none of it was concrete. At least not in the way that Ralph wanted—needed. She had to have what she assumed they’d call a ‘smoking gun.’
“And don’t forget the lighthouse,” Rosemary added. All eyes turned to her, including Henrietta’s.
“What do you mean?” Henrietta asked.
“He said this was going to be the year that he finally restored it and got it on the historic register.”
“Wait, I thought it was on the register already?” Henrietta’s confusion was evident.
“Nope.” Rosemary shook her head. “He owns—er, owned it.”
Now it was Henrietta’s time for surprise. “He owned it? Not the city? Or the Historical Society?”
“It was privately owned by Gerald himself,” Rosemary said. “I suppose it goes to Amelia now. But still, he was so looking forward to getting it up and running again. He wanted to offer more interpretation tours during the summer and had already started working on a book about the lighthouse.”
“He put in hours of research,” Joanna said. Henrietta recognized her as the librarian for the local library.
“I didn’t know about any of this,” Henrietta admitted.
“If you ask me, someone did him in,” another man said. A few nodded in agreement.
Sensing that the topic would soon move into speculation, Henrietta thanked the committee for their information and took her leave. As she did, she considered what this might mean for a potential motive. Would someone have wanted to stop Gerald from redoing the lighthouse? But why?
On a whim, Henrietta made her way through town and out to the lighthouse. The drive was quick but beautiful, even in the midst of the winter coldness. As Henrietta turned down the two-lane highway that ran past the lighthouse, she saw it jutting up into the sky like a sentry standing guard.
She pulled into the small, graveled parking lot and sat in her car for a moment, looking out at the lighthouse. She could see why Gerald had been so adamant about preserving it. It was not only an historic piece of Hearts Grove history, it was beautiful and deserved to continue living for all to see.
Stepping from h
er car, she pulled on a knitted cap and made her way down the walkway. She wasn’t really sure what she was doing there or what she would look for, but she was interested in being in the same area that Gerald had been. Perhaps something would click, but at the very least, she could enjoy the exceptional day.
Pulling out her cell phone, she sent off a text to make sure that Olivia was still doing all right in the shop by herself, and then walked down the path. The wind whipped around the curve of the lighthouse and assaulted Henrietta with angry gusts. The sun was out, but that didn’t bring the temperature up any.
Henrietta kept her head down as she came closer to the front of the lighthouse that looked out over the water. She’d just stepped around the corner when she collided with a tall figure.
“Hey,” the person said, stepping back with hands out.
“Sorry, I—” Her words failed as she looked up into handsome but scowling features. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you coming.”
His bristling manner seemed to soften under her kindness. “Right. What are you doing out here?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met yet. My name is Henrietta Hewitt. I run H.H. Antiques in town.”
His eyes narrowed again, but he shook her hand. “I’m Abe Paige, the new detective on the force.”
So, this was the new detective. She appraised him more closely this time. He was tall and thin with dark hair. She saw the signs of fine lines near his eyes that indicated he was in his mid-thirties, but not much older. He also had the look of someone who took pride in his appearance. Hair neatly trimmed, sharply dressed, and his white sneakers were still white.
“Welcome to Hearts Grove, Detective Paige.” She inclined her head and he grinned.
“Thank you. But may I ask again what you’re doing here?”
“I’m investigating the murder of Gerald Folsom.” If Henrietta were one to do something for sheer shock value, she would have received satisfaction seeing the look that Detective Paige gave her, but she hadn’t been thinking in that vein. Mostly, she found the best course when dealing with law enforcement was to be straightforward and honest with them.
Lights Out at the Lighthouse Page 5
