“No. This is perfect. What happened in Chicago?”
“It was easy to get new IDs. We went to a cemetery and found names of two women who were born about when we were. The public library had microfiche birth records.” She shrugged. “It was easy. We stayed at a cheap motel and used that address to get replacement birth certificates. We had new driver’s licenses, jobs, and an apartment in ten days.”
From my call to the town clerk in my hometown, I knew that was completely realistic. All it took was a request and a rush fee.
“After about three years,” she said, “Gretchen decided that she wanted to move. She said she was always looking over her shoulder, that Chicago was the nearest big city to Denver and she couldn’t stop thinking that Morgan would come looking for us there. She said that when Morgan was a kid, his parents had sent him to stay with some cousins for the summer. They had a cottage on Lake Winnipesaukee here in New Hampshire. He hated it. He told her about how one of his older cousins used him as a football and drop-kicked him across the dock, into the lake. So she said, ‘Let’s go there. Let’s move to New Hampshire. He’ll never in a million years move there, and he’ll never think of looking for us there.’ ”
She looked up at me again and gave a small smile. Gretchen was smiling, too, just a little.
“So we did, and it was great. Everything was fine, until he found us.”
“You and Mandy discussed bringing some milk over to Gretchen’s on Wednesday, the day she was due back from vacation, right?”
“Right.”
“Why?”
“Gretchen’s a bear without her morning coffee, and she had to be at work the next day,” Lina said, smiling.
“Why didn’t you do it?”
“I had a manicure appointment that morning.”
“Except you changed it. You went at four that afternoon.”
Lina froze.
“At the Portsmouth Salon. Your manicurist is Toby.”
Lina didn’t speak. I glanced at Gretchen. She was watching me, uncertain of where I was heading.
“You went to Gretchen’s that morning, didn’t you?” I asked Lina. “You can tell me the truth, Lina. I promise I’ll never repeat it.”
“No,” Lina whispered, shaking her head. “I can’t.”
“Then I’ll tell you,” I said. “You’d planned on sneaking in a manicure before picking Gretchen up from the bus, but you changed your mind and made the appointment for four that afternoon, I don’t know why. Mandy brought the milk, but at the last minute you decided to go over to Gretchen’s just to make sure everything was okay. Am I right?”
Lina’s eyes were Ginevra de’ Benci big. “How did you know?”
I didn’t answer her question. Instead, I continued my story. “When you got there, you noticed the Chevy because it was so out of place. How could you not? I mean, Gretchen lives in a well-tended apartment, and the Chevy was a junker. Probably you were at her door when out of nowhere, Morgan jumped you from behind. I don’t know where he hid himself or whether he stormed up the stairs in back of you. Do you?”
Lina took a deep breath, then said, “No.”
“He ripped the keys from your hand and said . . . what did he say, Lina?”
She looked at me flat on. “He said, ‘Remember me, Iris?’
” Gretchen reached across the table and touched Lina’s elbow, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I nearly died. He shoved me into the apartment. ‘Where’s Marie? Where’s Marie?’ That’s all he said to me. He slapped at me and kept asking where she was. I told him I didn’t know, that she was away, that I was only here to water her plants. He didn’t believe me. He pulled a gun out of his jacket pocket. It was black. I don’t know anything about guns.” She gulped. “It was so black.” She paused, clenching and unclenching her fists. “I was petrified. I was sure he would kill her. I knew it.” She stopped talking.
“What happened next?” I asked.
“He pushed me toward the living room, shoving his gun in my face the whole time. As we passed the fireplace, without thinking, I reached down and somehow found the poker. I swung at him and missed.” She paused again and looked at me. “He roared. It was the same roar he gave just before he killed Mrs. Bartlett. I didn’t hesitate. I swung again. Thank God, I connected—he fell backward onto the couch, but I didn’t knock him out.” She shook her head, shaking off the memory. “I managed to get across the coffee table and knock the gun to the floor before he sat up. He tried to get it from me, but I shot him before he could. It’s the first time I’ve ever held a gun.” She met my eyes. “Can you believe that? The very first time I’ve ever held a gun.”
I shook my head empathetically. “Then what?” I asked.
“Then I cleaned up. I wiped everything down, including the milk carton. Except that I missed a fingerprint.”
“What about the gun?” I asked.
“What about it?”
“It was found at Mandy’s. Morgan bought it. You used it, and you took it with you. You put it in Mandy’s apartment, right? The night Vince hung the stained glass window.”
She stared at me, then looked down at her hands. “I couldn’t leave it at Gretchen’s—I was afraid that it would implicate her somehow. Then when Gretchen came to stay with me, I couldn’t risk keeping the gun at my place either. I figured Mandy’s place was safe.”
“Why didn’t you just get rid of it?” I asked.
She looked up at me. She was breathing hard. “I didn’t know how.”
I glanced at Gretchen. Her eyes were fixed on Lina. “Why didn’t you tell the police the truth?” I asked.
She looked at me as if I were crazy. “As soon as I shot Morgan, the very next thought I had was that Peter, his brother, would come after us. I wanted to get away, to leave that day, but Gretchen said no. She said it would be all right, that Peter wouldn’t know where we were, that Morgan had come on his own. I thought it was wishful thinking, but I wanted it to be true, too, so I went along with her. But go to the police? I might as well put bull’s-eyes on us both. If Peter were still alive, I wouldn’t be talking to you now.”
I nodded. I had what I needed to help them find closure and move on. “You need to tell the police,” I said. “Rocky Point and Denver.”
Lina looked at me for a long time, then sighed. “I know.”
I looked at Gretchen. “I’ll call Max and Shirl. They’ll know what to do.”
Her radiant green eyes were moist. “Then it really will be over.”
EPILOGUE
TWO WEEKS LATER
W
es sipped Coke and scribbled notes as I spoke. He was writing a feature article called “Starting Over: From Murder in the Mountains to Life on the Beach.” He planned on pitching it to national women’s magazines. We’d been at the Portsmouth Diner for almost an hour.
The waitress came over and refilled my coffee cup. “Here you go, dear,” she said.
I glanced out the window. It was another gray day, misty but warm. Window boxes filled with daffodils gave mute promise to an abundant spring.
“So you’re saying that Max Bixby, Gretchen’s lawyer, and Shirl Sheriden, Lina’s lawyer, wrote a joint statement for them,” Wes asked, “but it only went up to the day Morgan Boulanger was killed? Then they issued separate statements covering the rest. Why?”
“Because their stories were no longer in alignment. Lina described killing Morgan in self-defense, then covering it up because she was terrified that his brother would do exactly what he did—come after them. All she could think of was staying safe and protecting her friend.”
“Gretchen’s story lends credence to the idea that Lina’s fear was warranted?”
“Does it ever. It isn’t just her word, either—remember, there were lots of domestic violence calls to the Denver police. Morgan was charged with assaulting Gretchen a couple of times. When Morgan realized Gretchen and Lina had deserted him after he killed Amel
ia Bartlett, he went straight to his brother, who helped him get the fake ID in the name of Sal Briscoe. He got himself one, too, as Chip Davidson, just in case. Morgan, as Sal, had settled in Tennessee, and that would have been that except that he happened to see the magazine Antiques Insights.”
Wes nodded. “Now both girls are getting off?”
“Wes, you have a way of putting the worst possible construction on things!” I protested. “They’re not ‘getting off!’ That implies that they’re getting away with something. They didn’t do anything they should be indicted for! There’s a difference!”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Gretchen and Lina say they’re happier in New Hampshire than they’ve ever been, and they both want to keep using their adopted names. Their lawyers are checking into it.” I paused. “Gretchen got a promotion, you know?”
“That’ll be great in the article,” Wes said, unfolding his paper and jotting another note. “What’s her new title?”
“Administrative manager. Cara’s going to stay on as receptionist.”
“Cool. What else?”
What else? I repeated silently, thinking back over the past two weeks. Gretchen spoke at length to Sam Bartlett, and they agreed to stay in close touch. When I told her that we estimated her vase’s value at more than six hundred thousand dollars, she glowed but said it didn’t really matter since she’d never in a million years sell it. Sasha was writing the text for an upcoming auction catalogue. Fred was still deep in half-dolls. I had approved a request from Eric for new shelving for the tag sale room. New track lighting had been installed in the auction venue and Gretchen couldn’t speak Jack’s name without glowing.
“Gretchen put her condo up for sale,” I said. “The management company was pretty decent about helping her get into a different complex.”
“Life goes on, huh? Did you hear about Vince and Mandy?” he asked, folding up his paper again. “Vince copped a plea. The property owner he worked for didn’t want the negative publicity, so he refused to press charges. The deal says that Vince makes restitution and gets an extra three years’ probation—and he gets permission to move to Vegas. They left yesterday.”
Oh, Mandy, I thought. Oh, no. I looked away, focusing on the daffodils, and swallowed hard.
“Thanks, Josie,” Wes said, buttoning his coat, preparing to leave.
I hoped his article sold.
“What do you think?” I asked Ty, spinning around so he could see the flare of my cotton skirt. I struck a pose and swept a hand toward my green alligator cowboy boots.
“You look great.”
“These are my favorite boots. My dancin’ boots.”
“You’re a dancing machine,” Ty said.
“Only when line dancing.”
“How does a city girl like you become a line-dancing fanatic?”
“Would you call me a fanatic?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe I’m not such a city girl.”
Ty approached me and used his index finger to raise my chin. He smiled down at me, a smile that radiated from his eyes. He hugged me and whispered, “Just so long as you’re my girl.”
I hugged him back, and hugged him again, and then I said, “Done.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
S
pecial thanks go to Leslie Hindman, who, with her team at Leslie Hindman Auctioneers, continues to appraise antiques for me to write about. Thanks also go to Kevin Berean for his answers to legal questions and Julie Pietsch for her information about Henrietta Howard. I’m also grateful to Colum McLoughlin who talked to me about liars in business. Please note that any errors are mine alone.
As the president of the Mystery Writers of America/New York Chapter and the chair of the Wolfe Pack’s literary awards, I’ve been fortunate to meet and work alongside dozens of talented writers and dedicated readers. Thank you all for your support. For my pals in the Wolfe Pack and fans of Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe stories everywhere, I’ve added my usual allotment of Wolfe trivia to this book.
Thank you to Jo-Ann Maude, Christine de los Reyes, and Carol Novak. Special thanks to Katie Longhurst, my eagle-eyed first reader. Thank you also to Dan and Linda Chessman, Marci and James Gleason, John and Mona Gleason, Linda and Ren Plastina, Rona and Ken Foster, Sandy Baggelaar, Karen Roy, and Liz Weiner.
Independent booksellers have been invaluable in helping me introduce Josie to their customers—thank you all. I want to acknowledge my special friends at these terrific Independent bookstores: The Poisoned Pen, Well Red Coyote, Mysteries to Die For, Book’em Mysteries, Mystery Bookstore, Legends, Book Carnival, Mysterious Galaxy, San Francisco Mystery Bookstore, M is for Mystery, Murder by the Book in Houston, Murder by the Book in Denver, and Murder by the Book in Portland, Remember the Alibi Mystery Bookstore, Centuries & Sleuths, Fox Tale Books, Kate’s Mystery Books, Mystery Lovers Bookshop, The Mystery Company, The Mysterious Bookshop, Partners & Crime, Booked for Murder, Aunt Agatha’s, Foul Play, Windows a bookshop, Uncle Edgar’s Mystery Bookstore, Seattle Mystery Bookstore, Centuries and Sleuths, and Once Upon a Crime. Thanks also to Janet Rudolph and Linda Landigran.
For the acknowledgment page of Antiques to Die For, I wrote that Manhattan’s Black Orchid Bookstore would be sorely missed; it is. I will always be grateful to Bonnie Claeson and Joe Guglielmelli.
Many chain bookstores have been incredibly supportive as well—thank you to those many booksellers who’ve gone out of their way to become familiar with Josie. Special thanks go to my friend Dianne Defonce at the Border’s in Fairfield, Connecticut.
Special thanks to my librarian friends Doris Ann Norris, Mary Callahan Boone, Kristi Calhoun Belesca, Frances Mendelsohn, Mary Russell, Denise van Zanten, Heidi Fowler, Deborah Hirsch, and Heather Caines.
I am deeply grateful for the unerring guidance and acumen provided by my literary agent emerita, Denise Marcil, and my superb new literary agent, Cristina Concepcion of Don Congdon Associates, Inc. Special thanks go to Michael Congdon, Katie Kotchman, and Katie Grimm.
My editor, St. Martin’s executive editor Hope Dellon, provided wise and discerning feedback about the manuscript, helping Josie grow as a character—and me mature as an author. I’m indebted to her, and to the entire St. Martin’s team. Thank you to those I work with most often, Andy Martin, Hector DeJean, Talia Ross, and Laura Bourgeois, as well as those behind the scenes, including my production editor, Robert Berkel, copy editor, India Cooper, and cover designer, David Baldeosingh Rotstein.
Killer KeepsakesCOVER
TITLE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
AUTHOR’S NOTE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Killer Keepsakes Page 28
