Meg continued, “Hank wrote it. Hilary stole it and then married this publisher, Stone, and claimed it as her own. Hank told us—”
Elias interrupted her, “When are you lot going to talk to Nate?” Lucky could hear a note of anger in his voice.
Lucky looked at Sophie and Sage. “I guess tonight we will. If he’s on his way here.”
“Nate’s ready to issue a warrant for Hank’s arrest,” Meg said. “That’s why we’ve been trying to help.”
“You’re withholding information from the police in a murder investigation.” Elias looked at all of them. “Are you all crazy?”
“Elias, listen,” Lucky said. “Hank swore Barry and me to secrecy. He just wasn’t up to coming back to Snowflake to cope with this. I forgot to tell you the most important thing. The reason Hank was at the Drake House that night was because Hilary asked him to meet with her. She wanted him to agree to write a second book for her. She promised to pay him but she would take the credit. Needless to say, he became very angry and refused,” Lucky said.
“Well, it’s unfortunate that Hank was on the scene and had an argument with this woman, but none of you have any business sticking your nose in this.” His statement was greeted with dead silence.
Meg rubbed her forehead. “I almost forgot.” She reached into her pocket and retrieved the doctor’s card she had found. “Look what I found in Phoebe’s room.”
“What is that?” Lucky asked. She took the card from Meg’s hand and gasped. “Dr. Cranleigh’s card!’ She looked at Meg. “And you found this in Phoebe’s room?”
“Yes.” Meg nodded.
Lucky turned to the others. “How could Phoebe possibly have this card?”
Elias sighed. “I think it’s high time you shared these little tidbits of information with Nate.” He waited for a response, and when none came, he shook his head. “I give up.”
“Hey,” Sage said. He peeked out into the hallway. “Someone’s at the front door.” He looked around the room. “It’s Nate. I better let him in.”
“Go ahead,” Elias said. “I think every one of you needs to tell Nate everything you know. It’s high time the Murder Investigation Club was disbanded.” He glared at Lucky. “Before somebody really gets hurt.”
Sage reentered the room with Nate in his wake. Nate’s face was grim. “Okay, let’s all sit down someplace and have a nice talk.”
Chapter 44
AFTER LUCKY AND Barry had confessed their part in the cover-up to Nate, with Meg filling in the rest of the details, Nate sat in gloomy silence. “And Hank claims he wrote this book, the one that Ms. Stone claims for her own?” Meg nodded. “Does he have any proof?”
“No,” Lucky answered. “Hilary Stone stole his only manuscript. And then Hank destroyed all the drafts.”
“Interesting.” Nate looked around the room at all their expectant faces. “Thank you for that. That I did not know. Not sure if it changes anything, but in case you’re interested, none of you have fooled me one bit. I’ll say this once. I know where Hank is staying. I really don’t have time to drive over to Bournmouth again this week. I can do so if he still refuses to come in voluntarily to answer some questions, but if I have to, I’ll go over there with sirens and handcuffs if that will bring him to his senses. Do I make myself clear?” This last was said with great volume.
Barry cringed. “I’ll call him tomorrow.”
“Make sure you do.” Nate looked around the room. Meg, Nate and Lucky occupied the few available chairs in Elias’s office. Sage leaned against the windowsill while Sophie sat on the arm of Meg’s chair, her arm around the young girl’s shoulder.
“Now, Meg. I want a promise from you that you won’t go back to the Drake House. This was no joke. I’m going to have to go over there now and question those people. You have no idea how lucky you are that Barbara followed you out. And for your information, I know about Hilary Stone’s estranged daughter.”
“How do you know?” Sophie asked.
Nate opened his mouth to reply and then firmly shut it. “None of your damn business.”
“Have you been able to trace her?” Lucky asked.
“No,” Nate grumbled. “But it’s in the works. I am checking out all those people staying at the Drake House. I don’t think some random stranger killed the psychiatrist or Ms. Stone. It was one of the people who are there right now. That’s why they’re not leaving town until I figure out which one of them killed those women.”
“We think Phoebe is Hilary Stone’s daughter,” Sophie said.
“On what basis?”
Lucky passed the doctor’s card to Nate. Nate stared at it for a long moment but didn’t reply. He tucked it into his pocket.
“And what about the private investigator who went to the Salisbury Retreat?” Sophie asked.
“I know who he is and who he’s working for,” Nate replied.
“You do?” Meg asked. “Who?”
“That’s none of your business either, little lady. You have your orders. You are not to go near that place. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” Meg said. Her face was bright red with humiliation.
“I’ll have the information I need very soon to make an arrest and I would really like all of you”—he paused and sighed—“to stay the hell out of my investigation!” Nate rose and turned back. “Can I make that any clearer?” Everyone shook their heads negatively but remained silent. Nate slammed Elias’s office door behind him.
Sophie sighed heavily, “I’m glad that’s over with.”
Elias stared at Lucky. “Uh-oh. I know that look.”
“What?” she replied. “I was just thinking.”
“Better you don’t. Better you listen to Nate.”
“Who do you think hired a private investigator? And why?” she asked the room in general.
“Could Hilary have hired an investigator herself? But why?” Sophie asked.
“Maybe she had a change of heart?” Lucky offered.
“About her daughter?”
“Maybe. Yes. Maybe she finally became curious as to what happened to her.”
Sophie said, “Do you think Derek could have hired him?”
“Why would he do that?” Lucky answered. “Besides we don’t even know that Derek knows he has a sister . . . half sister.”
“That’s true,” Sophie mumbled. “Maybe Hilary confided in Hank years ago because it wasn’t that far back in her past. But after all these years . . . why would she bother to tell her current husband and she might not want to tell her son in any case. Especially if Derek was curious and would like to contact his half sister and Hilary didn’t want to raise that specter, to have all that come back to haunt her. Or maybe Hilary’s husband got wind of the child and wanted to find out more because Hilary wouldn’t tell him the truth.”
“We could speculate forever,” Lucky said. “We just don’t have any facts.”
“I’m glad you’ve all finally come to that brilliant conclusion,” Elias commented. “However, it’s now after eleven o’clock. I have an early morning and I’d really like to get some sleep.” He stood and opened the door. Sage, Sophie and Meg filed out of his office.
“We’ll give Meg a ride home,” Sage said. “I want to make sure she gets there safely.”
“Thanks, Sage,” Lucky replied.
Elias grasped Lucky by the arm and pulled her back into the office. He held her close. “I worry about you, you know.”
“I know you do, but you shouldn’t. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah, right.” He heaved a sigh. “I’m really sorry our romantic evening flopped.”
“Me too. It was absolutely lovely. Thank you, Elias.”
“Well, we’ll try again another night,” he said, remembering the ring in his pocket. This certainly wasn’t the right time, he thought. O
nce again, the romantic moment he had been hoping for would just have to wait.
Chapter 45
LUCKY HAD CONSIDERED trying to gather information over the phone, but finally decided her best course of action was to speak to someone directly at the Adoption Registry. If she showed up in person, they’d have to talk to her. It was a last-ditch effort to see if there was some route through which she could firmly identify Hilary Stone’s daughter. She agreed with the others that Phoebe could be the person they were trying to identify. Otherwise, why would Phoebe have Dr. Cranleigh’s card? But she still wanted to do everything she could to be sure.
Her face burned, remembering Nate’s reaction to their attempts at investigation the previous evening. She rationalized her actions to herself. Her visit here had nothing to do with investigating the murders. She had her own personal reasons for wanting to locate this woman. Was it possible Hilary’s daughter was criminally insane? Was it possible she had murdered her psychiatrist and her mother? Lucky shivered, envisioning the possibility. If that were the case, then all the more reason to discover her identity. On the other hand, perhaps too many people over the years had stood in judgment. Perhaps she played no part in the fire that killed her adoptive parents. Dr. Cranleigh may have been worried about what Georgina might be capable of, but perhaps she was merely concerned about emotional trauma to her patient. Georgina Ellers, or whatever her current name was now, might possibly only be guilty of wanting to connect with her mother.
She found a parking space half a block away from the Vermont Adoption Registry and climbed out of the car. The Registry maintained a branch office in Bournmouth equipped with databases containing all the state’s information available in their main office at the state capital. She hurried down the street and entered through a heavy oak door. She found herself in a small waiting room. A young woman sat behind a long wooden counter, tapping at a keyboard and staring at her monitor. She looked up as Lucky approached.
“Hi. Can I help you?” She smiled.
“I hope so. I’m trying to locate an adoptee who would be approximately forty years old now. I know adoption records are confidential but this is a rather unusual situation.”
“I see. Are you an adoptee or a relative?”
“No. Just a friend.”
“Well, maybe you should talk to Steve. Steve Lambert is my supervisor. I’ll buzz him and let him know you’re waiting.” She rolled her chair back and reached for the phone, pressing a button. “We do maintain a voluntary registry where adoptees and birth parents can post whatever information they might have . . .”
“What sort of information?”
“Oh, it could be anything. Sometimes an adoptee may actually have a birth certificate, but it could be any information they’ve been given about the birth family. The thing is you must be what we call a birth family member, an adoptee yourself, or a guardian of an adoptee . . . or even a descendant of a deceased adoptee, and eighteen years old to request identifying information.” A buzzer sounded and she picked up her phone.
“There’s someone who’s asking for information. Can you see her?” The young woman waited, then said, “Okay.” She hung the phone up and turned to Lucky. “Steve will be with you in a sec.”
“Thanks. I appreciate your time.” Lucky turned away to take a seat, but before she could sit, a door opened at the rear of the room and a bespectacled young man came into the waiting area.
He approached and offered his hand. “Hi, I’m Steve. What can we do for you?”
“I was hoping for some information or at the very least I have some information that perhaps you could post on your registry for adoptees.” Lucky decided to give her original reason for wanting to locate Hilary’s daughter. “I’ve recently learned that a woman who died in Snowflake this past week had a daughter whom she put up for adoption. I . . . was trying to find this woman because I thought she might want to know that her mother is deceased.”
“Ah, I see.” Steve grimaced. “I’d be happy to take whatever information you have, but if you’re not a family member, we can’t give you any information. The law was changed years ago to make it easier, but those records are still confidential.”
“I was afraid that was the case.”
“Hang on, let me grab a notepad.” The young man leaned over the counter and pulled up a yellow legal-sized pad of paper. Lucky spelled Hilary Stone’s name, and gave him the name “Hilary Means.” She also told him the approximate year of the birth, and the names of the deceased adoptive parents. “The name she was given at the time of the adoption was Georgina Ellers, but of course, that might have changed.”
“Sorry I can’t be of more help. But I’ll check our site and see if either of those two names appear, and if they do, I’ll request that they contact me. You know . . .” He trailed off. “In many cases, neither the parent nor the child ever gets curious enough to inquire. They never look back. Maybe fifty percent of the time.”
“That’s rather sad, don’t you think?”
“Who knows. It’s not for me to judge. If you like, you can check our site yourself. It’s adoptconnect.com and you can read some of the entries. You might find it helpful.” He pulled a second sheet of paper from the pad and jotted down the link.
Lucky slipped the paper into her purse. “I have heard of that before. I will have a look at it. Thanks for your time.”
“No problem.” The man smiled and held the door open as Lucky exited.
Lucky reached the sidewalk. The sky had grown dark. Spring rainstorms were usually pleasant sprinkles but these clouds looked threatening. She buttoned her jacket and hugged her purse tighter as a brisk wind assailed her and hurried back to her car. So far, this trip had been an exercise in futility. The best thing she could do would be to return to the Spoonful before the dinner rush and forget all about her search.
She pulled the car door shut and started the engine. She reached over and grabbed her purse. The newsletter she had taken from the table in the lobby of the Salisbury Retreat was still there. She hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that Fern may have known more than she was willing to share the day that she and Sophie had gone there. Perhaps if she spoke to the woman again, alone, she might learn more. It was only a short distance, a few blocks. Easy enough to stop there before returning home.
Chapter 46
LUCKY HURRIED THROUGH the lobby and took the elevator once more to the third floor. She stepped out onto the tiled corridor. The hallway was completely silent and empty. Would Fern still be here? Still working? The door to Suite 304 was closed. Lucky knocked. No answer. She wiggled the knob, but the door was locked. Leaning closer, she held her ear to the wooden panel, but heard no sound at all. Too late. Fern had undoubtedly completed her tasks and was well on her way to retirement.
Lucky retraced her steps and hit the DOWN button on the elevator console. The elevator dinged as it arrived. As the doors opened, she came face to face with the doctor’s assistant.
“Well, hello. You again! Were you looking for me?” Fern smiled.
“Yes! I was hoping you were still here.”
“Not for long. I’ll be finished packing everything by tomorrow, and then that’s it for me. You’ve just caught me. Come on back.”
Lucky dutifully followed Fern down the hallway. The woman walked with a pronounced limp that Lucky hadn’t noticed on her last visit. Fern turned around. As if she could read Lucky’s thoughts, she said, “Polio. When I was a kid. My mother didn’t believe in the vaccinations when they were first offered.” She shrugged. “I survived though.”
Lucky nodded in response. She waited patiently while Fern fished a ring of keys from her pocket and unlocked the office door. “I was just grabbing some lunch down in the cafeteria.” Fern dropped her purse on the desk and turned back. “Now what can I do for you?”
Lucky looked around the outer office. Stacked boxes, head high,
were lined along the walls, all taped and labeled. “You’ve done a lot. What’s going to happen with all this?”
“Well, the files have already been sent to the Records Department. This is all Cynthia’s books and personal stuff. It’s going into storage until her lawyer can figure out what to do with it. She might have had a will, that I don’t know. The rest of it belongs to the Salisbury.” Fern shot a sharp look in Lucky’s direction, waiting for her to get to the point.
“I came back to see you because . . . well . . .” Lucky pulled the newsletter from her purse. “I noticed this in the lobby the other day. It looks like the Salisbury Retreat hosts community events on occasion. You know, where some of the residents or patients work or volunteer.”
“That’s right. Sometimes they hold bake sales or rummage sales. Annual picnics in the summertime.” Fern smiled. “We still have those.” She indicated the newsletter, “It’s PR, you know. On the one hand, it’s good for the patients who are being treated here and it’s community outreach.” Fern chuckled. “Would you believe this place used to be called the Institute for the Criminally Insane?”
“Yes.” Lucky smiled. “I think I knew that. It’s a rather forbidding name.”
“You can say that again!” Fern exclaimed. “Who the hell would want to eat a cupcake from a place like that?” She laughed. “But what are you getting at?”
“Where could I find some of the older newsletters?”
“You’re thinking that this girl . . . this woman . . . Georgina might have been involved with the events?”
“Yes, and there may have been photos or group photos of the volunteers.”
“Oh, I’m sure there were.” Fern pulled her keys out of her pocket. “Come on, I’ll take you down to the administrative offices and introduce you to Helen. She’s the woman in charge of that. She’s got a file cabinet full of those newsletters.”
A Clue in the Stew Page 20
