“M-Murder?” he said, his smirk returning. “You’re mistaken, Mrs. Hewitt. It was ruled a suicide.”
“It’s Miss, and I know that, but I think that judgement was made in error.”
He crossed his arms over his chest as he looked back at her, and she saw his expression go from shock to calculation.
“May I remind you that a ruling of that nature is best reserved for professionals?”
“Yes,” she said, dipping her head. “I understand that.”
“So…” He waited for her to give him more information, but if he wasn’t going to ask her for it, she wasn’t going to volunteer anything. At least not yet, while she didn’t have the hard evidence Ralph said they needed.
“Miss Hewitt,” he said, affecting an air of superiority. “Just so you know, it was a suicide. And I’m not sure how things were run here in the past, but I’ve stepped in now and, with the full cooperation of the chief, I’m changing things. Making things better. You’ll see.”
It sounded more like he was convincing himself, but she merely smiled back at him. He might be changing things, and she had no doubt that there would be improvements, but she hoped that the rest of the town wouldn’t have to suffer. If not, everything he did was beneficial.
She’d found that humility in leaders went much further than arrogant confidence.
“I’m sure I will,” she said.
He nodded curtly. “But,” now he flashed a smile. “If you find some hard evidence to prove otherwise about Gerald—which I know you won’t—feel free to share it. I’m not too proud to say I was wrong.” He said the words confidently, but she wasn’t certain he believed they were true.
“Yes, well.” She nodded to him and moved to step around him. “Until then.”
She didn’t miss the surprised eyebrow raise he gave her as she moved on toward the opposite side of the lighthouse. She wasn’t really interested in what he would say back to her. While she didn’t have the aversion that Ralph did to a new way of doing things, she wasn’t sure she wanted to engage further with the young detective. She had a feeling that, overall, he would be a good addition to Hearts Grove, but that his adjustment time could be a little longer than he thought it would be.
Henrietta took the small, railed fence that led out to the tip of the rocks overlooking the water. The wind was merciless, blowing her hood up and over her knit cap, but she stood out there for a few minutes, lost in thought.
When she turned to look up at the lighthouse in front of her, she was lost in the idea of Gerald spending his days working to restore and preserve the historic value of the old lighthouse. She could see the beauty that he had, in the same way she saw it in the antiques she acquired. Most she chose because they’d already been restored, but there was occasion for her to purchase things that had to be redone. Those were some of her favorite projects—either doing the work herself, or having someone else who specialized in restoration take over the task.
“Who would want you dead, Gerald?” she asked to the stillness around her.
Not receiving any answers, though she didn’t expect any, Henrietta walked back up the path. She trailed her finger along the greens next to the path, lost in thought. When she crested the small rise that gave way to flat land back to the small parking lot, she saw a car pulling out.
Her brow wrinkled in confusion. She hadn’t seen anyone there, nor had she seen the detective’s car, so she doubted it was his. Then again, he could have waited around to see what she was doing. That seemed a little too far-fetched, though.
The person driving the car was mostly hidden by the visor, but as they turned to get back on the freeway, she could see that it was a man with gray hair. Much more than that was impossible to tell, but it at least told her one thing. Whoever it was, it hadn’t been Abe Paige.
Henrietta tried to reason with herself that it wasn’t unheard of for someone to use the lighthouse parking lot to turn around. Then again, the main road that ran next to the lighthouse wasn’t a very popular highway. Mostly residents, or those getting to destinations not serviced by the larger highway further inland, took this route.
While the car’s presence had felt ominous, Henrietta reminded herself that she was reading into the situation. There was no reason for anyone to know that she and Ralph were investigating the true cause of Gerald’s death. Well, except for the preservation committee, and now the detective.
Frowning, Henrietta climbed into her Mini Cooper. She was being very paranoid, something she didn’t often allow herself to do. She forcibly pushed the thoughts from her mind and pulled out onto the highway. It was time to get back to her job and her antiques.
8
Henrietta was almost to the shop when she remembered that she hadn’t yet told Ralph about what she’d learned from the preservation committee. She pulled out her phone while at a stop sign and saw that Olivia had said things were going well, even more quiet than normal, so Henrietta took that as a sign to stop by and see Ralph.
Rather than park in the back as she usually did, Henrietta found a spot out front and parked. She knew she wouldn’t be there for more than fifteen minutes, so she wouldn’t run the risk of maxing out the hour parking limit.
Shoving her purse under the seat, she jumped out and locked the car before pushing open the front door of the Gershwin Private Investigators office.
“Hey, Henrietta,” Scott said, looking up from his bank of three computer screens. She couldn’t imagine focusing with three screens in front of her, but she was sure they were helpful when it was your full-time job. He pulled off his large over-the-ear headphones and grinned up at her. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to chat with your father really quickly about the case. I think we may have some more work for you.”
He rolled his eyes in mock frustration. “Between you and the police department, I’m going to be working ninety hours a week in the off season.”
“It’s good for ya,” Ralph said, coming out into the front room. “Hey ya, Henri.”
“Hi.”
“What’s up?”
“I found out some interesting information at the preservation committee today.”
“The what?”
“For historic houses,” Scott supplied.
“Exactly.” She nodded her head toward him. “Your son is right on. Gerald was a prominent member, and I discovered some potentially helpful information.”
“Such as?” Ralph prompted.
“The fact that Gerald, not the Historical Society, owned the Starlight Lighthouse.”
Ralph looked unimpressed. “Uh, that’s important how?”
“Scott?” she prompted to see if he knew the significance, but he looked just as dumfounded.
“I was operating under the assumption that Gerald worked for—or with—the Historical Society in order to preserve the lighthouse, but it was completely a private thing.”
“And…you gotta help us out here.”
“You two. Can’t you see?” She huffed out a breath, but they waited patiently for her to explain. “That’s a valuable piece of real estate. If it were to be accepted into the historic register, then no one would ever be able to purchase it. It would be protected.”
“You’re assuming there are people who would want that property, though.”
“True. I would concede that point, but I have a feeling this has something to do with his murder.”
“Scott?” Ralph said, looking over at his son.
“On it, but it’s going to take a bit.”
“He’ll look into property value and connect with some local real estate agents to see if anyone has an interest in that land, and therefore motive to stop Gerald from getting it registered,” Ralph explained.
“Sounds like a good idea. Thanks, Scott.”
“Of course, what’s one more thing?” He laughed, and his fingers attacked the keys with renewed fervor.
“Do you think this adds to Amelia’s motive?”
“
We actually don’t know if she has a motive yet, do we?”
“I’m still working on that. But I really don’t think she’s involved,” Scott said.
Both Henrietta and Ralph turned to look at him. “Why do you say that, son?”
“I knew her in school. She was just a few years older than me and, while I’ll admit I didn’t know her well, I know she had a good relationship with her father. I just don’t see her having something to do with this,” he said.
“Money can do funny things to people,” Ralph pointed out.
“Yeah. I know. I’ve worked enough cases to see that. But she’s not like those people.”
Henrietta knew that Scott’s gut feelings weren’t enough to go on, though he would do his best to dig fully into her financial background, but she was inclined to agree with him. Amelia didn’t seem the type. Her relationship with her father was too special, or so it had seemed.
“Did you ask her about her alibi?”
“I managed to do it without too much trouble,” Ralph said. “She says that she had a call with her fiancé, who was in Boston, and then went to bed around the time the murder was committed—or suicide, if you’re of that confused persuasion.”
Henrietta almost mentioned meeting the new detective, but she had a feeling it would only lead them down a rabbit trail best left unexplored in this moment.
“So, no real alibi,” she said.
“Nope. The best we could get would be cell phone records verifying her claim of the call. But that’s not accounting for the time of the crime.”
“Something will turn up,” she said, more confidently than she felt.
“I’ll let you know the minute I find something,” Scott added.
“I think we may get to the point where we need to have an honest conversation with her,” Henrietta added.
“Maybe. We’ll see what Scott can find out.”
“Sounds good. Well, boys,” Henrietta smiled at them, “I’d better get back to the shop. Real work—you know, all of that.”
“See ya,” Ralph and Scott said at the same time before they shared a laugh.
The next morning, Henrietta and Olivia spent two hours decorating before making their way back to the shop to open it late. Henrietta had taken to leaving the sign up stating that they wouldn’t be in until ten each morning. It gave them both some leeway, and she felt better knowing that they had a type of ‘change of hours’ notice for the time being.
“Do you really think that Amelia had something to do with her father’s death?” Olivia asked.
Henrietta unlocked the door and shook her head. She and Olivia had been discussing the case. Her assistant was one of the few people, aside from Ralph and Scott, who Henrietta felt she could talk about her investigations with.
“I’m not sure, but I’d like to think not. Something in my gut says she’s innocent.”
“I think you’re right to want to ask her about it,” Olivia said, untangling a scarf from around her neck.
Henrietta pulled off her coat and hat, utilizing the large antique coat tree. “I agree, but I have to convince Ralph.”
“I’m sure he’ll give in. Just smile at him and he’ll say yes to pretty much anything.”
Her employee’s observation shocked her. When she turned around, Olivia did a good job of avoiding her gaze as she went about preparing the next stack of books she would work on for the rest of the day while Henrietta manned the front desk.
The phone rang, saving Olivia from Henrietta’s questions. “Hello?” Henrietta answered.
“Henri, it’s Ralph. Can I have Amelia meet us at the shop?”
Her eyebrows rose. “Why here?”
“I’ve been taking you away from work too much. Besides, she may feel more comfortable meeting there. You can have Olivia watch the front for a few minutes, right?”
“Wait, are you going to ask her about her father’s death…here?”
“Yep, planning on it.”
Henrietta shook her head but couldn’t come up with an argument against it. She would support him in the questioning because she wanted to know the answers as well and, ultimately, at the end of the day that was what they were after. Not theories, but facts.
“Then yes, let’s do it. Have her come over.”
Olivia popped her head out. “What’s going on?”
Henrietta filled her in, and she agreed to watch the front during their meeting.
For the rest of the morning and into the early afternoon, Henrietta watched the front door anxiously. Ralph hadn’t given her a time, and that put her on edge. Not that she was so anxious about the meeting itself, but about how Amelia might react to their suggestion that she was potentially involved.
When the front door chime went off just after two-thirty, Henrietta looked up to see Amelia. She wore a long shirt and leggings tucked into fur-lined boots. Her coat was zipped up to the top, and she had a chunky knit scarf wrapped around her neck.
“It’s cold out there,” she observed.
“I’m sure,” Henrietta said, offering to take her coat. “Ralph’s not here yet, but I’m sure he’s—”
“Right here.”
She peered around Amelia to see him behind her, walking down the aisle from the front door.
“Perfect timing,” Henrietta said.
He merely smiled.
“This way,” Henrietta said. Olivia stepped out of the back room as they approached and nodded toward Ralph and Amelia. “Thanks again,” she said to the young woman.
“Of course.” Her eyes trailed over Amelia, and it was almost as if she was assessing whether the woman was guilty or not. Thankfully, Amelia didn’t seem to notice the appraisal.
“Have a seat,” Henrietta said, indicating the chairs surrounding the small table in the middle of their work room that also doubled as a break room.
“I appreciate you coming to meet us here,” Henrietta said as Amelia sat down.
“No problem. It’s as easy as your office, Ralph.”
“Good point,” he agreed.
“What’s the meeting for, if I may ask? Do you have news about the investigation?” Amelia asked.
While Henrietta hadn’t cleared it with Ralph, she had a feeling he would take over, and she was more than happy to let him.
“Amelia, we do have some things to discuss with you about the case.”
She nodded him on, but first Ralph looked to Henrietta, as if making sure she was on board for this. She inclined her head almost imperceptibly and he forged ahead.
“This may sound insensitive, but please know that is not our intention.” He took a breath. “We’ve discovered that your father had a life insurance policy that pays out at five hundred thousand dollars, as long as his death isn’t ruled a suicide.”
The news lay the air in front of them for a moment before Amelia spoke. “Are you saying…do you think I killed my father?”
“We’ve been looking for motive,” Ralph continued. “Money is always a motive. I can’t think of anything stronger than the pull of half a million dollars.”
Amelia took in a deep breath and blew it out as she leaned back. “I appreciate you being honest with me. In reality, I can see what you’re saying. I mean, it does sound like I’d have a motive then, but I can assure you I did not kill my father—for money, or any other reason.”
“But you can understand why we have to pursue that avenue?” Ralph asked.
“Of course. In reality, if you can believe it, I’d forgotten about his life insurance policy.” Henrietta watched the woman as she spoke, searching for any tells that she might be lying, but she saw only raw honesty on the woman’s pretty features. “And because I know you need more than just my word, I can tell you why I don’t care about the money.”
Henrietta felt Ralph’s gaze on her before he looked back at Amelia.
“My fiancé is Brock Webb.”
“Well then,” Ralph said. “That explains it.”
“I’m lost,” Henrietta admitt
ed. She looked between Ralph and Amelia for an explanation.
“Brock Webb of the St. Louis Cardinals.”
“I’m assuming that’s a sports team,” Henrietta mused.
Amelia laughed. “You sound like me before I started dating Brock.” She shrugged her shoulders. “We just happened to meet at a party for a friend of a friend. I went to college with her in St. Louis. I had no idea who he was, so I was myself, not worrying about what he thought because—hello, he’s just some guy. But he really appreciated the fact that I didn’t fall all over him.” Her features softened as she talked about their story. “The rest is history, isn’t that what they say? But yeah, I’ll be well taken care of by Brock’s career and wouldn’t need my father’s money.”
“No prenup?” Ralph pressed.
“Nope. We’re not planning for divorce—it’s not in our vocabulary for our marriage.”
“Good for you,” Henrietta said.
“Thanks for letting us be candid with you.”
“Of course.” She looked between them. “Honestly, I’m glad you asked. It means you’re after the truth, not just after pleasing me. I just want to know who would do this to my father.” She held the tears back, but Henrietta could see how her father’s death still affected her. It probably would for a long time.
“We’re doing our best,” Ralph said, standing when she did.
“Thank you again,” she said as she left the room.
“Well, that was a bust,” Ralph mused after she was gone.
“No, I think it just means we’re that much closer to the truth.”
“I’ll let you be the optimist in this. I’ll be the realist.”
9
Henrietta had spent the morning organizing a new shipment of knickknacks she’d purchased at an online auction. Most were worth a modest amount, but a few she selected to have Olivia list on their website. She had a feeling they would get her a good price.
Now she sat at the counter, head resting on her hand and staring out through the side window. She was thinking about her mystery novel. She’d finally had some free time the night before to work on it, but she’d come across a snag in the plotting. It was easy enough to kill someone off in a novel, but to plant just the right clues seemed nearly impossible. She went back and forth, wondering if her subtle hints were too obtuse for a reader to see, or too obvious.
Lights Out at the Lighthouse Page 6
