Death in Dark Blue

by Julia Buckley

  I accelerated onto the rutted road that led up the bluff, hoping a reporter didn’t jump in front of my car. In my mood at that moment, though, I couldn’t have predicted the results if one of them did.

  14

  One could fall into complacency, Joe had warned her, and that was the time that danger could strike. Danger, he said, was the snake in the high grass. Danger was the cold dark water beneath the seemingly solid ice.

  —From Death on the Danube

  SAM’S PARTY HAPPENED the following Saturday. Doug had put the barricade back in place with an increased police presence, so Sam’s guests would be free from media harassment. Sam’s place looked beautiful; the wood floors gleamed, a fire crackled in his large stone hearth, and some artfully placed Italian lights added a festive air. The smell of Rhonda’s cooking permeated the house, and every time a guest walked in I saw a visible reaction as they sniffed the air and smiled. Sam seemed calm on the outside, but I could tell he was a bit anxious about letting people back into his life, his home, after so long an enforced solitude.

  I hadn’t spoken to Doug since our conversation with Grace, nor had Camilla, but he had promised to show up, and to bring Belinda Frailey with him. This had bothered me at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized they would be a perfect couple, if in fact that was what they were becoming.

  I looked around the living room as it began to fill up, and my heart warmed for Sam. Camilla was there with her Adam, looking radiant in a pale pink sweater and gray slacks. Allison and John were there, too, holding hands and studying Sam’s wall of pictures. Allison had brought a peach pie, which Sam had immediately hidden in his pantry. This simple gesture won him Allison’s heart forever.

  Jake Elliott was there because Sam felt grateful about his article. I tried to avoid his eye, which seemed to amuse him. Marge and Horace Bick were there; it had been brilliant of Sam to invite them, because even though Marge was a terrible gossip, she was also surprisingly loyal, and if she considered Sam a friend he would never need to worry about being the topic of the day again.

  There were other townspeople there; Frank Attenborough, who owned Willoughby’s Café, had been kind to Sam, and he was there with his wife Deana. Some of the architects who had helped with the renovation of Sam’s house were there, talking about weatherproofing and knocking on wood panels. I had asked Sam to invite Lane Waldrop and her husband Clayton. Lane and I had struck up a friendship when I first came to town, and though it had been briefly strained by what I felt was a conflict of interest, we had patched things up, and met for lunch now and then. She and her husband were inspecting the hors d’oeuvres with great enthusiasm. She caught my eye and said, “You know I’m always hungry, Lena.”

  “And yet you stay so slim,” I said, smiling.

  Her husband nodded and slid a possessive arm around her waist. I hadn’t really ever spoken to him, but I wasn’t entirely sure how he had won Lane’s heart. I tucked this uncharitable thought away and vowed inwardly to make a point of talking with Clay Waldrop before the day was out.

  Doug arrived, looking handsome in his Viking way. Belinda Frailey arrived one minute later, making me wonder if they had come together but were pretending that they hadn’t. Belinda made a beeline for me. She wore jeans and a black sweater, and her blonde hair was gathered into an elegant twist. “Hi, Lena.”

  “Hey, Belinda. You look pretty. Those glasses really accentuate your eyes. You actually look kind of sexy with the specs.”

  She giggled. “People keep complimenting me, which is weird, because before this month I was really just a wallflower.”

  “You’re no wallflower. You were just hidden away in that moldy library where no one could see you.”

  She blinked at me. “We don’t have any mold in the library. It’s quite dry, and our patronage has actually risen this year.”

  “I was not being literal, Belinda.”

  “Oh, I get it. Sorry. I think I’m a little nervous to be here. You’re really the only person I know. I mean, I met some of the others last week, but that was a solemn occasion, and—”

  I nodded. “Let’s get you a drink, and you can say hi to Sam.”

  “He looks surrounded.”

  “He has been, yeah. I’m so glad. These people should have surrounded him with support a long time ago, and they know it. But better late than never.”

  Sam had been in the hallway between the main room and the kitchen, and we saw him greeting Doug Heller as we approached. The men did that hearty man-handshake and clapped each other on the shoulders, then disappeared into the kitchen. We followed them and found that Sam was bent on finding Doug just the right beer from his little fridge of foreign labels. They looked, I realized with a start, like friends, which I supposed they were these days. It was hard to believe they had once despised each other.

  By the time we reached them Doug had already taken a sip of his Carlsberg, and Sam was saying “. . . any updates at all?”

  Doug shook his head, looking irritated. “No, but I spoke personally to a representative at the Bureau, and I made my displeasure known. They assured me that it’s not on the back burner, and that they are actively on the case.” He spoke quietly, so that he was practically drowned out by party chatter. “I think our revelation of her pregnancy might light a fire under them.”

  Sam shook his head, then saw us and smiled. “Lena and Belinda will cheer us up. What’s the good news from the library?” he joked.

  Belinda blushed slightly; she was clearly an introvert who enjoyed attention but was perpetually surprised by it. “Oh, not much. We got some new shelving, and I’m a little busier because Janet took a leave of absence.”

  I turned to her. “She did? Why is that?”

  “She didn’t say. Something just came up, and she needed to take some personal time. I’m a little concerned, but it’s none of my business. I’ve sent her a couple of texts, but she hasn’t returned them.”

  I caught Sam’s eye. “She was there outside the Red Cottage when we saw Caden Brand. She seemed disturbed about something.”

  Doug leaned in so that he could be heard over the party’s hubbub. “Brand has been paying me regular visits, demanding that I charge someone in his sister’s death.”

  Sam sniffed. “Let me guess whose name he’s offering you as the prime suspect.”

  “Yeah. Methinks Caden Brand doth protest too much.” Doug studied his beer with a wise expression.

  “As I mentioned the other day, he and his sister fought all their lives. Not much love lost there,” Sam said, sipping his wine.

  “We’re looking into Brand. He’s not swaying me with his rhetoric.”

  Sam pointed at Belinda. “You don’t have anything to drink. What can I get you?”

  She blushed again. “That wine you have looks good.”

  Sam took her arm. “Come with me, Miss Frailey.” Belinda giggled as they walked away.

  I looked at Doug Heller; his brown-gold eyes were perceptive, as always. “She’s cute,” I said.

  “I think so,” he said, sipping his beer. “You have a problem with that?”

  “With the two of you? No, of course not.”

  His face said he didn’t believe me.

  “Okay, at first I was a little jealous. I guess because at one time I thought you and I were going somewhere.”

  “Me too.” He stepped a little closer. “You made your choice, Lena.”

  “I know. And it’s the only choice I could ever make. But I guess it’s still a little weird to see you with someone. Although if you hadn’t honed in on her, I probably would have tried to match you up with each other.”

  He smiled and nodded. “One way or the other. It’s early days yet, anyway. But I like her.”

  “And I’m guessing she more than likes you. When I met her she called you “Inspector Wonderful.”

&
nbsp; Doug threw his head back and laughed. “She didn’t even know me then.”

  “No, but she had seen you in the paper and on television. You’re photogenic.”

  “Huh.”

  “Anyway. I’m glad we talked about it; now it won’t be weird anymore.”

  “It might be. It’s still hard sometimes for me to see you with Sam. But we’ll both adapt. And it helps to know that Sam’s a good man.”

  I searched his eyes. “Will people say it’s a conflict of interest, you treating Sam as a friend?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. But he’s not currently a suspect, so there’s no reason not to come to his party.”

  “Do you—have a suspect?”

  “A few, but no evidence yet. We’re on it.”

  “I know you are—you always are. I really respect you, Doug. We all know how hard you work.”

  Sam and Belinda were back. She now sipped white wine out of a beautiful crystal glass with a dark blue stem. “Mmm, you’re right, Sam—a sweet and delicate aftertaste.”

  “Like you,” Doug said. “Sweet and delicate.”

  Belinda blushed and pushed her glasses up on her nose.

  Sam cleared his throat. “I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned this to anyone here, but my dad was a cop.”

  Doug started, and if he had possessed antennae, they would have been vibrating. “A cop? Really? Was this in New York City?”

  “No, we lived upstate. But he loved being a police officer, and he was really into police history. I inherited some volumes he has about early police forces. I thought you might want to look at them, so I put them out in my library.” He turned to Belinda. “One of them is a first edition.”

  “Oooh,” she said, in the same way I would have responded if someone said that Rhonda had made chocolate cupcakes.

  “If you’d like to see them, the library is down that hall and on the right.”

  “Thanks,” Doug said. His eyes were alight with interest. “I think we’ll check it out.”

  He took a couple of Belinda’s fingers in his hand and began to lead her out of the room. She turned back to me and smiled a blissful smile. I gave her a thumbs-up.

  Sam slid an arm around me. “You’re jealous of your boyfriend’s new girl.”

  I pursed my lips. “You are my boyfriend, but yes, it did feel weird for a while. Doug and I just talked it out, and now it’s fine.”

  “Good.”

  I reached up to smooth his slightly disheveled hair. “What I’m jealous of now is that you never showed me the library. I didn’t even know you had one. And now Doug and Belinda are seeing it first.”

  “I will give you a thorough tour tonight. I intend to make out with you in every room.”

  “I support that plan.”

  He sipped his wine, looked out at his snowy backyard, and said, “Do you think it’s significant that the Baskin woman stopped coming to work?”

  “Yeah, kind of.”

  “Maybe we should pay her a visit.”

  “Would that be stepping on Doug’s toes?”

  “We can clear it with him first.”

  I was drinking a Diet Coke, but Sam’s wine was starting to look appealing. “Anything that feels like progress would help at this point. We’re spinning our wheels in a big ol’ Blue Lake snowdrift. Can I taste that?” Sam smiled and handed me his glass. I sipped it and was immediately warmed by the alcohol.

  He stared. “Your cheeks just turned pink!”

  “I don’t have much of a tolerance.”

  “We’ll build you up slowly,” Sam said, grinning at me. “Now give me that glass back.”

  Jake Elliott entered the room and studied the food on the buffet table. I narrowed my eyes at him and said, “He was in Bick’s yesterday with Ted Strayer. Did you know Strayer was out of jail?”

  “No,” Sam said. “That is not good news. In fact, I think I would like to speak to Doug about that.”

  “Me, too.”

  Sam waved and smiled at some people as we left the room and moved down a cool dim hallway to a doorway that opened into a sunny, wide-windowed room lined with books. At one window was a large oaken desk, and in the center, grouped around a dark blue rag rug, were three brown leather chairs and a little coffee table. Doug sat in one of the chairs, studying a book, and Belinda sat on the chair arm, reading with him.

  “Doug,” Sam said.

  Doug looked up, his face bright with interest. “This book is awesome! I may have to come over here a lot to drink your beer and study your dad’s collection.”

  “Always welcome,” Sam said. “But I have a question about Ted Strayer.”

  With a sigh, Doug put the book on the table and held up his hands. “His boss paid his bail. I’ve got a tail on him, though.”

  Sam moved closer and sat across from Doug; suddenly I didn’t want to hear any more about stupid Ted Strayer. Sam’s splendid desk was calling to me. I crossed the room and sat in front of it, running my hand across the smooth wood and looking at some notes Sam had made and stuck into his blotter. He had neat, masculine handwriting. It made me think of what he had written in his little book when he was eighteen and had just lost his whole family . . .

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Belinda asked, approaching me. “I would love a desk like this. What am I saying? I would love a house like this. This desk wouldn’t fit into my apartment.”

  “Yeah, it’s gorgeous.”

  We exchanged a glance that only lovers of books and stationery would understand. “I wonder if Sam would care if I opened a drawer. I just want to see how deep they are.”

  Belinda leaned in with a confidential expression. “The way he looks at you? You could set this desk on fire and he would probably say it was okay.”

  I accepted this with a warm little feeling in my midsection, but I shrugged. “I am not going to set his desk on fire, but I am going to just peek into one drawer. Okay, two.” I opened the top middle drawer to find an assortment of intriguing pens and pencils and highlighters, along with an attractive spicy scent. “Ooh. He’s got a sachet in here somewhere. I’ll bet his cleaning lady put it in.”

  “Nice,” Belinda said. “Hey, I want you to know that I’m still working on the London File. My top-secret, James Bond–lady assignment. It’s always on my mind, Lena.”

  “Join the club,” I said as I opened the bottom right drawer and saw Victoria West smiling at me. I jumped slightly, then pulled out the framed picture. It was one I had never seen before—a younger and more relaxed looking Victoria, with her reddish-brown hair tumbling on her shoulders. It was a summer shot, and she wore a sleeveless white button-down blouse and small silver earrings. Out-of-focus flowers added a touch of color in the background. It was a lovely photo, and the first picture I’d seen where Victoria West looked affectionate and warm—like someone’s friend.

  Sam had put it away, but not far. This thought pleased me rather than bothered me, because it seemed appropriate. He still cared about her and wanted her found. But she wasn’t his anymore. I set the picture on the desk. “This is the lady we’re working for,” I said. “And I don’t see in this face the sort of woman who would betray Sam the way it seems like she did.”

  Belinda nodded. “She’s so pretty. Sort of vulnerable, though.”

  Now we had Sam and Doug’s attention. “What’s going on over there?” Sam said.

  “I apologize, because I was being nosy and looking in your desk drawers while I sort of made love to your gorgeous desk. I found this picture of Victoria, and it’s so beautiful. It makes me wish all the harder that we could find her soon and make sure she’s all right.”

  The men stood up and moved toward us. Doug reached for the picture and I handed it to him. Sam said, “It’s my favorite shot of her. It was taken maybe three years after we were married. She’s probably about twenty-six.”
>
  We sat for a moment while Doug studied the picture. “The eyes are different here, Camilla’s right. These eyes belong to a serene woman.”

  Sam looked upward, as though at a memory. “The funny thing is, we were staying with Taylor for the weekend. Her dad had a summer house in Maine, and we had driven there and spent a few days swimming and eating lobster and goofing around. I remember—they had this old board game in the house, a crumbly old Password game that was probably from the seventies, and Taylor and Vic played against me and Taylor’s boyfriend. We were complaining because the women kept winning, and we were sure that they were cheating, because they would always guess on the first clue. No one can do that.

  “We guys got kind of mad about it. We accused them of looking at the words in advance, and they were insulted. Vic said that she and Taylor had always had kind of a psychic thing, and they could just read each other’s minds with very little encouragement. Like one signal word was all it took.”

  I sat up straight. “Like one signal word on a postcard?”

  Doug’s eyes widened. “What if the postcard had just one word on it?” He set the picture down on Sam’s desk. “What if it’s not ‘R.Acie,’ but ‘Racie’?”

  “But racy isn’t spelled that way,” Belinda said, her brows furrowed.

  Sam nodded. “And yet it seems that if the card was from Victoria—and now I really think that it was—then a word would have been enough. But Taylor thought Victoria was dead, so she didn’t pay enough attention. She probably thought it was a crank thing from a reader of her blog.”

  “But she finally brought it to you, and even tried to get Ted Strayer to use his investigative skills to help determine what her old friend was trying to say.”

  Doug sighed. “We tried to run it for prints, but there was nothing useable, except for Taylor’s own prints, and Ted Strayer’s.”

  “Knock knock,” said a voice at the door. We turned to see Jake Elliott, looking apologetic yet curious. “I just came to say thanks for the invitation, Sam. I have to get going. I got an assignment this morning and I need to hole myself up and write. Unless you would like to give me another interview?”