by Millie Mack
“But, Hugh, if it’s not accidental, you’re saying you think it could be murder? That part of downtown tends to be very safe. It’s well patrolled by the police because of all the tourists. Although I guess it could have been a simple mugging that went bad.”
“Look, I did want to ask you something else,” said the taller man. “As long as I can remember, James was always writing. Was he working…”
“Oh, there you are.” Joel returned.
The two men, sensing people nearby, moved further away. Carrie turned to face Joel. His timing couldn’t have been worse, but she smiled. “I felt a little chilled, so I’m just warming up here at the fire. Joel, who are the two men chatting over by the window?”
Joel looked over. “I see only one, but he’s someone I want you to meet.” Joel motioned for the shorter of the two men Carrie just overheard to join them.
“Carrie, this is Jonathan Stone. He’s the general manager and the man who sees that every issue of News World hits the streets each month. Jonathan, this is Carrie Kingsford.”
“I’m a loyal reader and a longtime subscriber of your magazine,” Carrie said as she shook his hand. She noticed that his bushy eyebrows offset his smooth, round face. Although he was balding, the hair on each side of his head was thick and perfectly clipped. His face lit up at her words.
“That’s truly a compliment, coming from a professional photographer like you. I’m very much aware of your work and your reputation.” He smiled as he acknowledged her.
Before Carrie could answer, Joel said, “I see someone I need to greet. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you two to chat.”
He grabbed a treat of caviar from a passing tray and then darted off to the other side of the room. There was an awkward pause as the two strangers were left to carry on the conversation.
Then Carrie said, “It must be difficult to lose a journalistic talent like Jamie.”
“Yes, such a sad occurrence.” Jonathan paused for a moment as if he was remembering a special memory and then continued. “He was an editor’s dream. Jamie wrote the pieces, could also capture a good photo when needed, and had the mobility to go anywhere in the world at a moment’s notice. Of course, I also lost a personal friend, but I understand he was a personal friend of yours, too.” Stone accepted a drink from one of the trays being passed by a waiter. Then he set the drink on the fireplace mantle as he straightened the sleeves of his cuff-linked shirt.
“Jamie and I were friends in college, but lost touch over the years.”
“Oh, really? Then I wonder why he selected you for this mysterious letter of his.” Jonathan realized the implication of what he said and then gently added, “I mean, after all this time.”
“Does everyone know about this letter?” Carrie asked trying not to sound annoyed.
“I’m afraid we were all a little curious when your name was mentioned by Simpson. You’ve no idea why Jamie would write you a letter?”
“Sorry, I don’t know. Believe me, his death was a tremendous shock, but his letter is even more of a shock. I’m just beginning to catch up on the details of Jamie’s life, and now I’m in the middle of his death. I understand from Joel that his wife also died under unusual circumstances?”
“In light of Jamie’s death, I guess people would react that way. The actual truth is Emma, that was his wife’s name, was the victim of an accidental hit and run on a London street. That was over two years ago. After Emma’s death, Jamie found himself with the sole responsibility of a ten-year-old. He refused to put Christopher in a boarding school and took him on all his assignments. But I think, as the boy got older, Jamie realized he needed the stability of regular schooling and wanted to come back to TriCity.”
“And Jamie had been back in TriCity for…?”
“I guess about three months. By the time Christopher finished the current school year, Jamie finished his assignments and I arranged for other reporters to replace him, it took me a while to get him home.” Jonathan stopped the waiter carrying a tray of caviar. “Have you sampled this caviar, my dear? It seems to be the snack food of choice in TriCity at the moment, and this brand is quite good.” Jonathan took a moment and carefully fixed the treat and quickly consumed it. He then took his napkin and wiped the corners of his mouth. “Quite tasty, are you sure you won’t have some?”
“I tried some, it’s delicious, but I’m good for right now.” Carrie shook her head no, and the waiter moved away.
“The world does seem to be getting smaller, just based on all the different foods we are able to enjoy,” added Stone.
“Mr. Stone, you mentioned Jamie’s assignments, was Jamie working on a story at the time of his death?”
“Please, call me Jonathan. ‘Mr. Stone’ is too formal. No, he wasn’t writing anything for me. As I mentioned, he was just getting settled, and I hadn’t given him any assignments.”
“He was to working on a story!” announced a young voice from behind Carrie and Jonathan.
6
Carrie and Jonathan Stone turned to face Christopher Faraday.
“Hello, Christopher. Have you meet Carrie Kingsford? She was a friend of your father’s from his college days.”
“Hello. I saw you at the funeral, but I didn’t get to introduce myself because Grandmother made me go right to the car.” Christopher held out his hand. “I wanted to talk to you about the letter my dad left you.”
Carrie looked into the young eyes of Christopher and saw someone she once knew. She ignored these thoughts and said, “Nice to meet you,” as she shook his hand. “You said your father was working on a story at the time of his…” She stopped.
“You can say it…death. I’m not a two-year-old. I understand what happened and, I know a lot about my dad’s work.”
“Was he working for someone else?” Stone asked sarcastically, “Because he had no assignments from me.”
“It wasn’t exactly an assignment. He was working on a book.” Christopher rushed his second sentence so much it was hard to understand him.
“Did you say a book? What was this book about? A memoir of his years abroad?” asked Stone smiling at the boy.
An annoyed look momentarily showed on Christopher’s face, and then he continued directing his comments to Carrie. “It was going to be sort of a mystery. A true mystery, based on stuff he discovered in Europe.”
Carrie looked at Stone. “And what stuff did your father discover?”
“I’m not really sure. He just told me that he discovered stuff he thought would make a good book, but he needed to check things out in TriCity. Plus, TriCity would be a good place for me to go to school, and Grandma’s home would be a good place to live.”
“This seems like a very serious business discussion,” Charles said as he and Joel approached. “Are we interrupting?”
“Hello, Charles. Christopher was just telling us that his father was working on a crime book,” summarized Stone.
“Christopher, your grandmother wants you to meet some folks,” Charles said. “They’re in the living room.”
Christopher’s face changed to disappointment, and he looked to Carrie for support. He clearly wanted to stay the center of the current conversation.
“We’ll have plenty of time to talk later,” Carrie said as she gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “Your grandmother has invited me to stay here in the house.”
Christopher brightened at this news and headed to the other room.
“We have to give Christopher a little leeway,” Charles said. “Since he’s been home, his stories about his adventures with his father are growing by leaps and bounds.”
“Isn’t there a possibility Jamie did return home to work on a book?” Carrie asked Stone.
“This is the first I’ve heard of a book,” Stone said. “But I’m sure if Jamie was going to write a book, it would center on his experiences during his years in London. As I suggested, more of a memoir about politics, people, and places. Somehow I can’t imagine true crime as t
he subject. It just wasn’t Jamie’s field.”
“Christopher mentioned that Jamie needed to come home ‘to check things out.’ That sounds like whatever he was writing had a TriCity connection,” suggested Carrie.
“Of course anything is possible, but the subject never came up with me. Jamie had barely unpacked his papers and put his studio in working order before he died. Speaking of papers, here’s Hugh Simpson. Hugh, over here.” Stone waved to a man who entered the study from the hallway. Carrie recognized him as the man with Stone earlier.
“Hugh, this is Carrie Kingsford,” introduced Charles.
“Hello, my dear. Such a sad time, but it is a pleasure to meet you.” He took her hand and gently squeezed it. There was something warm and genuine about Hugh Simpson that Carrie liked immediately.
“Has anyone mentioned the letter that Jamie left?” Simpson asked seriously.
They all looked from one to the other, and Carrie giggled.
“I think everyone attending this gathering has mentioned Jamie’s letter,” she answered.
Simpson smiled, too. “I’m afraid in my efforts to find out who you were and how to contact you, I did mention the letter to several people.”
“Do you know what the letter is about?” asked Carrie.
“Haven’t a clue! Jamie gave me an envelope about a month ago. It wasn’t a legal document, or at least not one that I prepared. It was a gentleman’s agreement that if something happened to him, I would open the envelope. After his death, I opened it and discovered another envelope and a note inside. The note said I should deliver the envelope personally to you, Ms. Kingsford. That’s the first I knew what was in the envelope and what I was to do with the contents.”
Hugh Simpson removed a business-size envelope from his pocket and handed it to Carrie. Carrie felt as if time was in slow motion and all eyes in the room were watching the transfer of the letter from Simpson’s hand to hers.
“Perhaps you would prefer to have the letter kept in a safe place until you have the time to review it. I’ll be glad to keep it in my office safe until tomorrow,” Joel offered quickly.
“I think Carrie will have plenty of time to review the letter here in the privacy of the house,” Charles answered. “If she’s worried about the letter’s safety, I’ll be glad to lock it in the safe in my study.”
Carrie was sure Stone was about to offer another suggestion, but she interrupted. “Mr. Simpson, you’ve kept the letter safe since Jamie gave it to you. Would you mind holding it for me until tomorrow? I’m not sure I want to deal with the letter tonight.”
“I’ll be delighted to do that for you.” Simpson slipped the letter back in his pocket.
7
As the last guests were leaving, Carrie slipped away to her room. She still felt uncomfortable about staying in the Faraday home, but the thought of having a bed nearby was comforting.
She found herself sitting on the edge of a queen-sized bed in a beautifully decorated room. The colors were a soft teal shade, with one wall papered in a tiny splash pattern of teal and peach that matched the fluffy bedspread. The room wasn’t masculine or feminine, just comfortable, and she found herself fighting the urge to sleep. Her luggage was in the room, and her belongings were neatly folded and stored in the antique walnut furniture.
As alluring as the bed was to Carrie, she needed to do one more task before she slept. She held Jamie’s letter in her hand. As much as she liked Simpson, at the last minute, she decided to keep the letter with her. She caught him in the hallway as he was about to leave. She thought Simpson looked relieved as he willingly returned the document. Now, she needed to find a safe hiding place.
She looked around the room. The banker’s desk in the corner was too obvious, and her clothing drawers could easily be searched. There were several paintings and framed photos around the room. She looked at one photograph that showed Jamie and a group of people. She recognized Jonathan Stone and Charles holding a copy of the magazine, along with Joel and Simpson. The caption underneath the photo read: “First Issue—News World.”
She decided it was too much work to select a picture and then properly tape the letter in place. No, she had only one choice. She slipped off her jacket and dress and put on a robe. She tore open the envelope, removed the letter, and dropped the envelope in the trash can by the desk. She folded the letter several times and placed it securely in her bra. She pulled back the comforter and sandwiched herself between it and the cool sheet.
Carrie slept soundly for two hours. Toward the end of the sleep, she began to dream about her unfinished book.
***
Ascot was stretched out on a bed in his hotel room, resting. He thought he heard a slight sound outside his door and was on his feet in a split second. In his socks, he bounded to the locked door of his room and held his gun against his chest. The doorknob turned. He placed his finger securely on the trigger. Nothing happened. There was a slight swishing sound, and he looked down and saw a note slide under the door. He wouldn’t be fooled by the old trick of bending down to retrieve a note just as a bullet crashes through the wood door. He waited. He heard nothing. He unlocked the door. He opened it slowly and carefully looked out. He saw no one. He moved cautiously into the hallway. No one was there. The mysterious postman had come and gone. He shut and locked the door. He picked up the envelope and felt around the edges. It was flat with no signs it contained anything dangerous. He used his penknife to slit the envelope on the short end and took out a single sheet of paper. Written on the paper was, “I know who did it, and he’s closer than you think.”
***
Carrie woke up and sensed a presence in her room. Was it the dream, or had someone also come to her room? She looked around but nothing appeared to be out of
place. She thought of her character, Ascot, and wondered how he escaped from the two agents in the alley. She would work on that problem later. She thought of the note Ascot received, and she reached into her bra. Her letter was still there. Ascot’s note didn’t say much. She hoped her letter from Jamie held more answers.
She moved over to the desk and smoothed out the creases of the letter. As she was about to read it, there was a knock at the door. She quickly returned the letter to its hiding place.
“Come in,” she called.
“Good evening, miss. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
The young woman who entered was a member of the Faraday household staff. She was in her late twenties, thin with auburn hair piled loosely on top of her head. Her glasses sat precariously perched on the end of her nose. It made her look somewhat bookish as she stared over the top of the frames.
“The family asked me to inform you that a light supper will be served in a half-hour. They are currently in the study, if you would care to join them for cocktails.”
“Thank you…and you are…?”
"Oh, I'm Mary, Miss. Shall I announce that you will be joining them?"
"Well, I'm not quite ready yet, Mary, perhaps in a few minutes. Mary, did you put my clothes away?
“Yes, I did. Oh, was anything wrong?” Mary’s face showed concern.
“No, no not at all. It was quite nice and a pleasant surprise. I was tired after my trip, and it was nice not to worry about unpacking. I just wanted to thank you.”
Mary looked pleased. “I appreciate you saying something. Mr. Jamie was the same way. He always thanked me, too, when I kept this room for him.”
“This was Jamie’s room?” Carrie asked, somewhat surprised.
“This was…is one of the guest rooms. But Mr. Jamie used it when he came home. He wanted his son to have his old room.”
“I see. Well, thank you, Mary. I’ll be down in just a little while. Does the family dress for dinner?”
“Oops, glad you asked. I was supposed to tell you to dress casual.” She smiled sheepishly as she closed the door behind her.
Carrie knew that dress casual in the Faraday house didn’t mean jeans and a T-shirt. Instead she put on na
vy slacks and a matching turtleneck with small snowflakes along the neckline and around the sleeves. She brushed her hair and removed a new lipstick from its packaging. As she tossed the package into the trash can, she realized the can was empty. Someone had been in her room! But why take the empty envelope? She wondered about the empty trash can as she left her room to join the family for dinner. Maybe Mary had emptied it while she napped.
When she arrived on the first floor, she could hear voices coming from the study. She couldn’t make out the words, but the discussion sounded lively among Charles, Suzanne, and Mrs. Faraday.
She quietly approached the study door. The words coming from inside were clearer now.
“I don’t see why you invited her to stay here in the first place. After all, what does a photographer know about…” Suzanne stopped.
“Were you about to say ‘murder’?” Charles asked.
“I was about to say Jamie’s work,” Suzanne defended. “His death has not been ruled a murder. His death will probably turn out to be an unfortunate accident, but I think this mysterious letter has stirred up all these thoughts about murder,” added Suzanne.
“I wonder…” Mrs. Faraday’s voice sounded weak.
“Mother, what are you thinking?” Charles asked gently.
“I was also wondering why Carrie. Jamie hadn’t seen her in many years, and from all indications they didn’t keep in touch,” she added.
“Maybe Jamie’s death has something to do with the past,” Charles suggested. “Someone they both knew or some story they both worked on for the college newspaper.”
“Charles, if you’re right, then Jamie’s letter must contain clues. I think we should insist that Carrie show us that letter!” Suzanne stated firmly.
“See, Suzanne, you do understand why we invited Carrie to stay with us. The best way to learn what Carrie knows is to have her under this roof,” Mrs. Faraday said, and then added, “So, children, no more bickering.”
