“Hello, Ms. Callahan. Al Manzorella speaking.” The detective’s voice diverted Grace from her thoughts.
“Oh, yes, Detective. I wanted to get back to you with something that I thought you should know. Something that Zoe Quigley told me just last night.”
“What’s that?”
“Zoe told me that she was jogging near The Breakers Sunday night and a car sped by her, almost running her down.”
“What kind of car was it?”
“She wasn’t sure. Zoe was from England, you know. She said she wasn’t familiar with most American models. But she did see a partial license tag. Zoe said she saw the letters S-E-A.”
“A vanity plate?” the detective asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, Ms. Callahan. Thank you very much.”
Grace didn’t want to get off the phone. “Do you think that will be helpful in finding out what happened to Zoe and even to Sam Watkins? Maybe the driver of the car was the one who attacked Sam. The time frame would seem to fit.”
“We’ll look into it, Ms. Callahan, I promise. And keep this to yourself, will you? This could be crucial evidence. If it is, it’s important that the suspect doesn’t know we have it.”
Grace hurried on. “You know, they could be connected. Like falling dominoes, one crashing against another. None of these events seems isolated. Maybe Zoe’s hit-and-run wasn’t an accident. Maybe she was run down because the killer thought Zoe could place him at The Breakers when Sam was attacked. Maybe Sam was attacked because he had seen the killer push Madeleine down the Forty Steps. Maybe Madeleine was killed because she was getting too close to discovering who had killed her mother.”
“That’s a lot of maybes, Ms. Callahan. But don’t worry, we are checking every lead we get. Let us do our jobs. Thank you very much.”
Grace heard the click at the end of the phone line and was frustrated. But perhaps it was all for the best that the detective had cut her short. It wouldn’t be fair to implicate Rusty on the basis of a design in a tattoo sketchbook. She needed more before she could go to the police with that.
CHAPTER
111
Grace poked her head into the ballroom. Neither B.J. nor Joss was anywhere to be seen. But Beth Terry was sitting at the assignment desk, her brow furrowed. Grace walked over.
“Can I do anything for you, Beth?” she asked.
“Not unless you want to make arrangements to have a body shipped back to England.”
“Oh, man.” Grace shook her head. “Did someone call Zoe’s parents?”
“Yours truly.” Beth’s expression was solemn. “I’ve never had to break news like that before. I hope I never have to do it again.”
“I’m so sorry, Beth.” Grace searched for some way to be helpful. “Can I get you something? A cup of tea? Something to eat?”
“No, thanks,” Beth said glumly. “For once, I don’t have any appetite.”
“What’s the latest on Sam?” Grace asked.
“The same. Nothing’s changed.”
Grace turned to walk away.
“Grace, wait,” said Beth.
“Yes?”
“Just be careful, will you?”
Grace looked at her quizzically.
“I don’t know, Grace. Just be careful. I’m not superstitious, but you’re the last intern standing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you heard?”
“What? Did something happen to Joss?” Grace’s heartbeat quickened.
“Joss quit, Grace. You’re the only working intern left.”
There were still two hours before she had to meet B.J. to go to The Elms. Grace called upstairs to talk to Lucy, but there was no answer. She was actually happy that her daughter was out somewhere with Frank and Jan, safe and having a good time.
With nothing to do in the newsroom, Grace couldn’t stand around and wait. Though there was no love lost between the two of them, Grace was shaken by Joss’s resignation. She was about to call the Vickerses’ house but thought better of it. What was there really to say?
It looked like she was going to win the job competition by default, and there was little joy in the victory. Grace didn’t feel she had done much to distinguish herself from the other interns.
But if she could figure out the strand that connected Charlotte’s, Madeleine’s, and Zoe’s deaths, and Sam’s attack, that would make her feel she’d earned the job. More important, she wanted to do her part, if she could, to end the senseless violence and the heartbreak for all the people connected to the victims. This killer had to be stopped.
Of course, it would be foolhardy to take any unnecessary risks—and it would be irresponsible as a parent. Beth was right. She had to be careful.
But how dangerous would it be to go see Rusty at the tattoo parlor while the sun was still shining?
The first falling domino was Charlotte Sloane.
Grace theorized that from Charlotte’s death came all the others.
She could see the police station up the block as she stood on the sidewalk in front of Broadway Tattoos. It was broad daylight, and she could run up the street to safety if she had to. Grace opened the door to the shop and walked inside.
Rusty was talking to a teenager at the counter, giving instructions on how to care for his freshly engraved tattoo. Grace stood back near the entrance and waited for the customer to pay and leave. Rusty came from behind the counter and approached her. Grace eyed the fine spattering of blood on his T-shirt.
“Don’t mind this,” Rusty said, pinching at the cotton and pulling it away from his chest. “Sometimes there can be a little blood spray. It’s no big deal though. You ready to get that tattoo now?”
“No,” said Grace. “I’m going to think about it a little more.”
“Oh,” Rusty looked disappointed. “Well, what can I do for you then?”
“I wanted to talk with you about the design we saw in your book last night.”
“I was afraid of that.” Rusty sighed deeply. “I could tell that friend of yours recognized it the moment she saw it.”
Grace thought back to the night before.
Of course, Joss had asked about the design, but until this moment Grace hadn’t thought to question that. She had only focused on the fact that the design was the same as the sundial at Shepherd’s Point. Why had Joss been so curious about it?
“So you didn’t come up with the design all by yourself?” Grace asked.
“I have the feeling you already know I didn’t or you wouldn’t be asking me about it. Look, I don’t want no trouble. Can’t you just leave it alone?”
The anxiety Grace was feeling lessened as she saw the defeated expression on Rusty’s face. “Why don’t you tell me?” she urged. “If you don’t, I can go to the police and they’ll come and ask you about it themselves.” She took another step back toward the door.
“I have an explanation, but you have to promise you won’t go to the police.”
“That depends.”
Rusty was in a bad position, and he knew it. But telling this woman and hoping she’d be satisfied was far better than having the cops traipsing in here. The police wouldn’t believe him, but she might. He’d have to take the chance.
As Grace and Rusty stood near the doorway, he recounted his story of working as a driver for the admiral.
“I was outside that night, waiting for my boss, who was partying it up with all the other swells at that country club bash. I was staying to myself, sneaking a few cigarettes and thinking it must be nice to have the kind of dough that made it possible to donate wads of money to make sure that some birds kept flying, when I was having no success in saving anything out of my measly navy pay.”
Grace nodded in sympathy.
“Anyway,” Rusty continued, “Charlotte Sloane came out of the club, real worked up. She saw me and asked me if I could give her a ride. I knew I wasn’t supposed to leave, but I couldn’t say no. She was so beautiful in that shiny,
gold gown. Like Cinderella at the ball.
“She had a photo in her hand, and I think it upset her very much. I kept looking in the rearview mirror and watching her in the backseat. She had flipped on the overhead light and was staring at the picture and mumbling something about someone lying and cheating. I asked her what happened, but she wouldn’t tell me. She said she just wanted to get to her little girl.
“It wasn’t far to Shepherd’s Point. I dropped her off at the foot of the driveway and drove back to the country club. The admiral never even knew I left.”
“But what about the design, Rusty?” Grace asked.
“When I was cleaning out the car the next morning, I found an earring on the floor. I was going to return it—honest, I was. But then I heard that Charlotte Sloane was missing. I couldn’t give the earring back then. I couldn’t take the chance that everyone would think I had something to do with her disappearance.”
“So that’s why you never went to the police,” Grace mused aloud.
“Look at me,” Rusty implored, holding out his hands. “I’m the sort of guy the cops love to pin things on. I’m an easy mark. I thought of telling them what had happened, many times. But I was afraid they’d turn it around to make me out to be the guilty one. They’d say I was the last person to see her alive.”
“But you weren’t the last one, Rusty,” said Grace. “Charlotte’s murderer was.”
CHAPTER
112
Why had Joss been so curious about the earring design? Grace wondered again as she walked out of the tattoo parlor, hoping a cab would come her way. What did Joss know?
Determined now to find out, Grace gave the Vickerses’ address to the taxi driver who picked her up at the curb.
A bikini-clad Joss answered the door.
“Grace. What are you doing here?” she asked, her face registering her surprise.
“I was hoping that we could talk about something, Joss.”
“What? Did you come to gloat?” Joss sneered. “Well, I wouldn’t if I were you. I walked away from the internship, Grace. You’re not exactly winning fair and square, are you? The rest of your competition’s been eliminated, too. How convenient for you.”
Grace had a good mind to turn and walk away, but she held herself in check. Swallow it. Find out what you want to know.
“Who wins the competition isn’t the important thing anymore, Joss,” she said. “It’s really scary what’s been happening this week. Madeleine. Sam. And now, Zoe. I think that if we can do anything to help figure out what’s going on, Joss, we have to do it.”
Joss looked at Grace with skepticism. “Yeah, and score one for yourself and KEY News.”
“No, Joss,” Grace insisted. “Score one for being decent citizens.”
Joss stared down at her bare feet, wriggling her pretty toes on the entry hall’s ceramic tiles. When she looked up again at Grace, Joss invited her former competitor inside.
Grace chose the same seat that she had taken when she had been in this living room the night she came to the clambake. But Joss didn’t sit beside her on the sofa as Madeleine had. She positioned herself in a wing chair across the living room. “All right, Grace. What did you want to talk about?” “I just came from Broadway Tattoos.” “And?”
“Rusty told me how he came to make that design,” said Grace. “You know. The one you asked him about.” “What did he tell you?” Joss’s foot bounced.
Grace decided that she should give something to get something. “He said he copied it from an earring. An earring that Charlotte Sloane lost in his car the night she disappeared.”
“Jesus.” Joss uncrossed her bare legs and leaned forward in her chair. “He could be the one who killed Charlotte.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Joss. You were very interested in the design when you saw it in Rusty’s book last night. I’m wondering why.”
Grace could almost see the wheels spinning in the former intern’s mind.
“All right. What the hell,” Joss said, her decision made. “Wait a minute.” She stood up and walked out of the living room. When she came back again, she was carrying her purse. She pulled a folded paper from it and handed it to Grace.
Unfolding the paper, Grace looked at the sketch. The sundial design.
“Rusty may have one of the earrings, Grace, but the police have its twin. It was found in the pocket of Charlotte’s evening gown. The cops haven’t made that information public though.”
“How do you know?” Grace asked, still looking at the paper.
“I have a good source,” Joss said in a tone that left no doubt she wouldn’t be telling Grace who it was. “But, trust me, I saw the earring myself.”
Grace was all for the principle of not revealing one’s sources, so she didn’t push Joss. But she was intrigued by the additional drawing at the bottom of the paper.
“What’s this?” she asked, pointing to the penciled square.
“Oh, that’s the other thing that was found in Charlotte’s dress,” Joss answered. “A lemon-yellow silk handkerchief.”
As she watched Grace walk down the driveway, Joss remembered Charlotte’s diary. She was about to call out to Grace but thought better of it. Joss worried she had already said too much.
CHAPTER
113
What a colossal break.
Madeleine’s autopsy results were another clear signal from the authorities that you really could get away with murder.
But the coast wasn’t clear yet. If Sam Watkins came to, that would be a major problem. Still, it was best to wait and see, and hope that heaven would provide another blessing, taking the young man home.
Zoe Quigley, thank God, would never be able to tell anyone what she saw.
But Grace Callahan was a wild card. Was Grace getting too close?
CHAPTER
114
Grace showered and shampooed her hair, spending extra time to blow-dry the honey-colored strands into soft, fluffy curls. She applied her makeup, paying special attention to her eyes, shadowing the lids in smoky blue-gray and applying a thin liner to the bottoms and tops. As she whisked the mascara wand across her lashes, she noticed her bare fingernails. It was too late to get a manicure, but at least her nails could be shaped and buffed.
She rummaged through her cosmetics kit, finding an emery board at the bottom. Pulling her robe on, she went out into the bedroom, sat down on the bed, and began to file. After a few minutes she was satisfied that, while not glamorous, her nails were presentable.
There was still fifteen minutes before she had to be ready for The Elms, and Grace didn’t want to put on her dress until the very last second. Linen wrinkled so easily. So she decided to put her feet up, lie back, and close her eyes, hoping a short rest would refresh her. But she couldn’t relax. Rusty’s story kept running through her mind, along with the information she had gotten from Joss.
Grace sat up anxiously and thought of calling Lucy again. As she reached for the phone, she spotted the scrimshaw paperweight, Oliver’s gift to her, sitting on the nightstand. She picked it up and ran her hand over the smooth, cool surface.
With the emery board right there, she decided, just out of curiosity, to try Kyle Seaton’s test. Grace picked a spot on the underside of the paperweight and briskly pulled the emery board back and forth across the surface, fully expecting to smell the odor of burning bone.
Instead, her nostrils picked up the scent of smoldering plastic.
Oliver’s paperweight was fakeshaw.
There was a knock at the door.
“Who’s there?” called Grace.
“It’s me. B.J.”
“Just a minute. I’ll be right there.”
She had thought she would be meeting him in the lobby. Grace hurried to zip up her dress as she walked, barefoot, to the door.
B.J. stood there, tanned and freshly showered, wearing a navy blazer, crisp white shirt, and pale blue tie, his beige slacks pressed, his shoes polished. He held out a small,
square, white box.
“For me? You brought flowers for me?” Grace was delighted. Not only had it been ages since she’d been given flowers, but it had been even longer since she had been given flowers by anyone who excited her.
B.J. grinned, pleased at her reaction. “I thought you might like them.”
“Like them? I love them.” Grace studied the soft blue blossoms. “They’re exquisite, B.J. Thank you.”
Carefully, she lifted the corsage from the box. “Where do you think I should wear them? On my dress or my wrist?”
B.J. reached out and pushed back a loose strand of Grace’s hair. “How about here, in your hair?”
“All right. Have a seat for a minute while I go do it.”
Grace went into the bathroom, where she stood before the mirror and gathered her hair up on one side, attaching the flowers with bobby pins.
“Nice scrimshaw,” B.J. called from the outer room, picking up the paperweight from the night table.
“It’s fake,” Grace said. “I tried the scrimshaw test on it.”
“You didn’t expect it to be the real thing, did you?”
“Actually, I did, considering where it came from. Oliver Sloane gave it to me this afternoon.”
“You’re kidding. How did that happen?” B.J. asked.
“I went to pay a condolence call and he was touched. He insisted I take the paperweight in memory of Madeleine.”
“Think Oliver knew it was a fake?”
Grace fastened the last bobby pin and stood back to observe the effect in the mirror. “I kind of doubt it,” she called. “The way his study looked, I wouldn’t think anything but the best is good enough for Oliver Sloane.”
“Are you gonna tell him?”
“Maybe I should. Kyle Seaton told me at the clambake that Oliver and Charlotte had been great customers. I wonder if Kyle sold Oliver that paperweight.”
Hide Yourself Away Page 20
