“So what do you think happened to them?” I wasn’t sure why I was asking. I had yet to talk to anyone who wasn’t positive that either Archie or Mrs. Van der Lynden had had the jewels. Still, it would be interesting to see if Lettice was on Team Archie or Team Mommie Dearest.
“Well, I don’t think Mrs. Van der Lynden buried them in her backyard.” She smiled. “No matter what Lacey Shiffley thought, rest her soul. I’d bet they were never stolen to begin with. Mrs. Van der Lynden hid them. Of course, she wouldn’t have ever been able to wear them in public again, but for some people, just owning them would be enough. She always struck me that way.”
“You knew her?”
“I saw her in the shop plenty of times. I used to help out Dad here after school and over the summer. She was one of the ones he warned me to keep an eye on. A time or two she’d been about to leave still wearing rings or earrings she’d been trying on. And claimed it was just absentmindedness, of course. Getting back to the robbery—I can well imagine her sitting in her pink satin bedroom, wearing all the jewels that were supposed to have been stolen, and gloating about the big check the insurance company was going to send her.”
“Like Gollum brooding over his precious,” I suggested. “You don’t think having her only child go to prison dampened her enthusiasm a little?”
“From what I hear, she expected him to get off with a slap on the wrist. In fact, considering that two people died as a result of his silly plan, I think his getting out after five years or so pretty much was a slap on the wrist. And yeah, his going to prison upset her, but if you ask me she minded the insurance company’s balking more.”
“You’re not the only one who thinks Mrs. Van der Lynden was behind it all,” I said. “But what if her plan backfired on her?”
“Backfired how?”
“What if she hid the jewelry only to have someone come along and steal it from her hiding place,” I said. “Which wouldn’t have mattered so much if she’d at least got the insurance money.”
“Oh, God, she’d go ballistic.” Lettice clapped her hand over her mouth as if to smother a surprisingly girlish giggle.
“And she’d be stuck with her original story,” I went on. “No way she could say, ‘excuse me, I was lying before, but now someone’s stolen my jewelry for real.’ Can you imagine?”
Lettice’s face sudden grew serious.
“You know,” she said. “I can. Before the robbery she’d come in occasionally—to our shop and any others in town that sold jewelry or antiques. Mostly window-shopping from what I remember—which made sense when I heard later on that she’d lost all her money. But after the robbery she was in here all the time. Never asked about her jewelry, but she’d study everything in the case. Since Dad and I both thought she was behind the robbery, we used to laugh about it—here she was again, pretending to be looking for her jewels. But what if she really was looking?”
“Maybe she ended up losing her money, her jewelry, and her son,” I said. “She died while he was in prison.”
Lettice nodded.
“I went to her estate sale,” she said. “Didn’t find a thing worth putting in the shop—anything of value she’d already sold off. So yes, she did come to a sad end.”
We stood for a few moments, gazing at the box containing the reproduction ginger jar that would soon become Mrs. Van der Lynden’s last resting place.
“Well, you’d better take that over to Maudie,” Lettice said. “Be careful out there.”
“I will.”
I hauled the box out and stowed it carefully in the back of the Twinmobile. Lettice peered out as if keeping watch until I was safely on my way. I wasn’t sure why she was so nervous—it was broad daylight, for heavens’ sake—but I hoped her jumpy mood wouldn’t rub off on me. Not the right mood for visiting a funeral home.
Chapter 32
As I pulled into Morton’s parking lot, I reminded myself that there was nothing intrinsically creepy about the place. The thought didn’t improve my mood.
Once again the parking lot was nearly empty. Was it unneighborly of me to be glad their business was slow this week?
Maudie very much approved of the ginger jar—both its obvious beauty and the fact that it wasn’t a priceless antique.
“The things people want to bury with their loved ones sometimes…” She shook her head. “What part of ‘you can’t take it with you’ do they not get? It’s worse, I think, the times when the family wants to make a sentimental gesture and you just know their loved one would rather they had the money to take care of themselves. Which reminds me—have you had a chance to talk to young Mr. Hagley again?”
“Haven’t seen him all day,” I said. “Is he back in town?”
“If he is, he hasn’t come by here. I was just wondering whether to offer him the employee discount on his father’s arrangements.”
“That would be nice,” I said. “And—wait. Employee discount? I didn’t know Mr. Hagley worked here. I thought he’d been in banking.”
“This was after he retired,” Maudie said. “He’s been one of our gentlemen for quite a few years now.”
“Gentlemen?” Somehow this called to mind the professional mourners who occasionally appeared in the pages of Dickens’ novels, dressed entirely in black, marching gravely ahead of the horse-drawn hearses. Mr. Hagley, with his gloomy air and perpetual scowl would actually have been rather good at this. But I had yet to see professional mourners as a feature of any local funerals—so what in the world did the gentlemen do?
“We pride ourselves on our strong customer service.” Apparently Maudie guessed my question. “Only way a family-owned business can compete against the chains these days. So we let everyone know that you can call us any time, day or night, to start making whatever arrangements you need.”
“I can see that would be a good customer service feature,” I said. “But where do these gentlemen fit in?”
“People used to know they could just call the house if there was no one here,” Maudie said. “But after Daddy got so sick, we didn’t want him awakened all the time—he’d be like an old fire horse, charging down here in the middle of the night. So we decided there should always be someone here to answer the calls. Or the doorbell, occasionally. We have a little bedroom in the back where the gentleman on duty can sleep. We used to have one of our … less skilled employees on night duty, but after a few unfortunate incidents we realized we need someone with more social graces.”
“I’m trying to imagine someone with fewer social graces than Mr. Hagley,” I said.
“Well, he could be brusque at times, but at least he maintained a certain level of dignity,” Maudie said. “Unlike our former watchman, who once told a grieving relative not to get her panties in a twist because someone would come out to pick up the stiff in the morning.”
“Okay, I see what you mean.” I hoped Maudie wasn’t upset that I chuckled. “Even Mr. Hagley wouldn’t say that. So you replaced the uncouth night watchman with Mr. Hagley and all was well.”
“Actually, we replaced the night watchman with Jim Washington,” Maudie said. “Alternating with Reggie Thistlethwaite. And then after Jim died, his widow recommended her brother-in-law for the job.”
“Brother-in-law? Junius Hagley was Jim Washington’s brother-in-law?”
“Yes—they married sisters,” Maudie said. “Dolores and Mary Margaret Kelly. Though I never got the impression the two sisters were all that close. Of course, that could be because they led such very different lives—the Hagleys moved in rather affluent circles, at least while he was an officer at the bank, and even before Mrs. Van der Lynden fired him, Mr. Washington was never that successful in a worldly, financial sense. The Hagleys were definitely there to support Mrs. Washington when her husband died, no doubt about that, but their manner was always a little…” She looked slightly uncomfortable, as if suddenly realizing she was overstepping the bounds of her usual discretion.
“A little condescending, maybe?” I a
sked.
“Possibly.” Her expression said “exactly!”—though just for a moment. “I have to admit, that given the circumstances, I was rather surprised that Mrs. Washington recommended Mr. Hagley to me.”
“Maybe it pleased her to see her brother-in-law taking her husband’s hand-me-down job,” I said. “Because, no offense to your business, which is probably a wonderful place for a retired gentleman to work—but you’d think a successful banker could afford not to work anywhere.”
“Yes,” Maudie said. “Of course, he always insisted that he only did it because he liked to keep busy. Still. At any rate, he did work for us, albeit part time, for nearly a decade, so we really should give him the employee discount. But do you think his son will be insulted if we offer it? You talked to him more than I did.”
“I have no idea,” I said. “But don’t offer it. Just tell him that since his father was a valued employee for so many years, you will of course be charging the discounted employee rates for all of your services. And if he protests, just say you insist.”
“I like that,” she said. “Good thinking. I’m going to call him now to give him an update on what’s going on in town, and I’ll work it into the conversation.”
She glided off. Was her swift, silent, yet graceful and unhurried gait natural, or something she’d picked up wherever funeral home staff learned their trade?
I drifted back out to the parking lot and over to the Twinmobile without paying much attention to my surroundings. My brain was racing, turning over what Maudie had told me.
I started the car and pulled out of the funeral home’s parking lot almost on autopilot. Except that when I pulled out into the street, I turned left instead of right.
Right would take me to Trinity, where I still had to pick up Mother’s stray belongings. Left?
Left would take me past the police station. I decided maybe the left turn was my subconscious telling me I needed to tell Chief Burke what I’d just found out. Or if he’d already gone home, I could leave a note for him at the station instead of calling and interrupting his dinner.
But his car was in the station parking lot. Along with several other cars. Aida Butler was sitting behind the desk in the reception area. From way she came to attention when I pushed the door open, I deduced she was waiting for something or someone. Someone other than me.
“Please tell me you’re not here to report another crime,” she said. “Because that would be three days in a row.”
“I only wanted to give the chief some information I just came across,” I said. “If he’s not busy.”
Aida was already punching the intercom button.
“Chief? Meg Langslow wants to see you.”
“Just for a moment,” I said.
“Send her back.”
The chief was keyed up, too. He did a better job of hiding it, but I noticed he had to stop himself from drumming his fingers on his desk.
“If I’m interrupting anything,” I began.
“If you were, I’d tell you,” he said. “At some point, you will be, but I’ll let you know. What’s up?”
“I’m not trying to horn in on your investigation,” I said. “So feel free to tell me to go away and let you get on with it, but—”
“I gather you have some information for me?”
“Maybe. Did you know that Mrs. Washington and Mrs. Hagley were sisters?”
“Sisters?” He frowned and cocked his head slightly. “Are you sure?”
“According to Maudie Morton. Who has seen them in action as a family at two funerals, so I think she’d know.”
“Interesting.”
“You mean because now all six niches that were disturbed have some connection to the Van der Lynden robbery? Or because now Mr. Hagley has a connection?”
“Interesting on both counts,” the chief said. “But I’m not sure what it has to do with the case.” Although I noticed he’d taken out his notebook and was scribbling in it.
“Did you also know that both Mr. Hagley and Mr. Washington worked at the funeral home?”
I explained what Maudie had told me about her gentlemen.
“You’re suggesting that one or both of them could have had access to the urns of people whose remains are destined to be interred at Trinity,” the chief said when I finished. “And could have hidden the missing jewels in them.”
“Yes. In the urns or in the niches.”
“And where does that get us?”
“I don’t know. But it’s suspicious, isn’t it? Or am I just being paranoid? It doesn’t sound very logical when I say it out loud.”
“It’s worth considering,” the chief said. “Jim Washington could have had access to four of the urns—Mrs. Van der Lynden, James Blair, Lacey Shiffley, and the John Doe. Mr. Hagley would have had access to his wife’s urn, and possibly Washington’s, if he started working at Morton’s almost immediately upon Washington’s death. Though I’d think it would take him a while to learn the ropes well enough to pull off a stunt like that.”
“Or maybe once he learned the ropes he figured out what Washington could have done,” I suggested. “Or maybe it was Mrs. Washington who hid the jewels—she’d have had access to her husband’s urn and niche. And Hagley could have figured that out once he went to work at Morton’s. Or maybe after his wife died.”
“Why would either Mr. or Mrs. Washington hide the jewels in the first place?” The chief had on his skeptical face. “They struggled financially after Mrs. Van der Lynden fired him. You’d think they could have used the money.”
“Maybe they had no idea how to fence stolen jewelry and didn’t want to get caught,” I suggested. “Or maybe they were overcome with guilt and wanted to make sure the loot was never found. And maybe Mr. Hagley had always suspected them but only recently figured out their hiding place.”
“I like that theory a little better than the notion that Mr. Hagley buried the jewels in his wife’s niche with the idea of reclaiming them a year or two later. But it doesn’t get us any closer to figuring out who killed Mr. Hagley.”
“Whoever he recruited to help him pry open the niches. He was on the frail side—I’m not sure he could have done it himself.”
“So unless you have some idea who he would have asked to help him, your new information doesn’t get me any closer to my killer.”
I shook my head.
“I’ll have to contact Maudie to see who would have had access to the various urns and niches.” The chief was scribbling in his notebook. “There were no family present for most of them—Lacey had Judge Jane, Blair had James Donovan. Not sure there was anyone other than Dr. Womble for the John Doe. Or for Mrs. Van der Lynden—Archie was still in prison at the time, and either didn’t get or didn’t ask for compassionate leave to attend the funeral.”
“Speaking of Archie—has he turned up?”
The chief shook his head.
“Weird,” I said. “You’d think by now that even if his lawyers haven’t been able to reach him, he’d have seen something about the case on the news.”
“Possibly.” The chief sounded pensive. “Frankly, I’m preparing myself for the possibility that we may never be able to talk to Mr. Archie van der Lynden. From what Dr. Womble said, it sounds as if he was already in very bad shape when he got out of prison. If even an unworldly man like Dr. Womble could tell that he was deep in the throes of addiction … and that was twenty-five years ago.”
“You think he could be dead?”
“Well, I did until you showed me that note to Dr. Womble. Though that was six months old—no proof that he’s still alive today. And the note doesn’t rule out the possibility that he’s institutionalized. Long-term drug abuse takes a toll.”
We fell silent. I realized with a pang of guilt that I’d probably find it a relief if it turned out that Archie had died. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see what thirty years had done to that handsome yet strangely repellent face. And I wasn’t sure it would be any better to find out he was instituti
onalized somewhere, hallucinating cigar smuggling scams and asking for handouts almost as a reflex.
“But let’s hope I’m wrong,” the chief said. “Maybe Archie’s out there doing some good in the world.”
He didn’t sound as if he thought it very likely.
“Getting back to the idea of someone stowing the jewels in an urn…,” I said. “Okay, maybe it’s not very likely. But I thought of it. What if whoever killed Mr. Hagley thought of it, too? What if someone was aware that both Mr. Washington and Mr. Hagley worked at Morton’s, and suspected them of complicity in the jewel robbery? And killed Mr. Hagley while trying to prove his suspicions.”
“In other words, Mr. Hagley was merely trying to reclaim his wife’s ashes, but whoever helped him had deeper suspicions,” the chief said. “And I’ll keep it in mind. At the moment—”
Just then the intercom buzzed.
“Chief? They’re arriving.”
Chapter 33
“Roger.” He turned back to me. “Sorry to cut this short, but something has come up.”
Something both he and Aida had been expecting.
“I’ll get out of your way,” I said. “Thanks for listening.”
“Thank you for keeping me informed,” he said as he held the door for me.
Out in the reception area, Horace had joined Aida, and they were both watching the front door with fierce, predatory expressions, like cats who’d seen a mouse disappear into a crevice. I paused.
“Is it okay to go outside now?” I asked.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Horace asked.
“Because both of you are staring through the door as if you expected Billy the Kid to come bursting in any second now.”
They both laughed at that, and relaxed a little.
“You’re not far off,” Aida said. “They picked up Bart Hempel early this morning down in Virginia Beach. The ringleader of the real jewel robbers,” she added, in case I’d forgotten who Hempel was. “The chief sent Vern down to pick him up, and he just let us know he’s a few blocks away.”
“If Vern was a few blocks away when you buzzed the chief, he and his prisoner are probably about to walk through the door now,” I said. “Maybe I should keep clear of the doorway until you’ve got Hempel safely stowed in the interrogation room.”
Toucan Keep a Secret Page 21
