I don’t have time to take a closer look. I hurry toward the mall entrance and push open the large glass door like any other shopper on an errand. I see George and Katya walking together through the food court.
As they swing left into Barnes & Noble, I think, How weird that these two are meeting? After all, they’re competitors. And why drive all the way to Somerville to conduct business?
They walk into the fiction stacks inside the store, and I do the same but go the next aisle over. I pretend to peruse the titles as I listen.
“Did you bring it?” Katya asks.
“Yes,” George answers. “Why all the secrecy?”
“It’s time-sensitive, and I need to protect my client’s privacy. I don’t need the team at my store to know all the details. Or anyone else besides you and me.”
“Understood,” he says.
I hear some rustling of paper, and I dash further down the aisle so I can peek around the corner. I witness an exchange between the two.
He gives her a brown envelope that could contain, I’m guessing, a book, since they’re both dealers. She gives him an envelope that’s smaller but large enough to hold money. She opens hers and smiles. He opens his and flips through a wad of something, probably money.
“Looks good,” he says.
“Okay. I appreciate the professional courtesy. Thank you, George.”
I quickly cut over a couple of aisles and make my way between two shelves, hoping to time my chance at accidentally running into them. I burst into the open a moment after they pass by and feign surprise. “George! Katya!”
They swing around, both looking somewhat horrified to be caught together. “Uh, Ronnie—” George says.
“What are you two doing here?” I smile innocently. They both hold their packages a little more snugly.
“Oh, you know, professional colleagues talking business.” George tries to change the subject. “How’s the case coming along with the ASE Gatsby?”
“Oh, you know about that?”
“Come on, Ronnie. I talk to Win almost every day,” he says. “There’s not much that gets by me.”
Katya seems restless, as if she would like to get out of here.
“May I steal George away?” I ask her. “I really must speak with him.”
“It’s fine with me,” she answers. “I need to pick up something while I’m here.” She turns down a nearby aisle, and we do the same down a different one. I hear her footsteps close by, so I keep my voice low, but not too low. I want her to be able to eavesdrop.
“What did Win tell you?” I ask him, glancing around as we walk.
“Well, that the paperback may lead to some valuable coins,” he says. “And the coins, if they exist, may be in Lambertville.”
“That’s just one of the interesting clues we discovered,” I throw in. We turn down another aisle.
“You mean there’s more?” he asks.
“There’s plenty more,” I affirm.
“If there really are some coins and they’re actually recovered, who would get them?” George guides us in the direction of the exit.
“We’re still missing one piece of the book, and I think that section might lead us to the legal owner.”
“The whole thing sounds far-fetched, if you ask me.”
“Hey, crazier things have happened.” I laugh.
We come out of the stacks and catch a glimpse of Katya looking through the shelves close by. George gives me a suspicious look and says, “Do you think she’s been listening to our conversation the whole time?”
“I don’t know.” I look at my watch. “George, I’m running late. See you around.” After a quick hug, I head out the door, make a right turn, and walk away.
In the reflection of a store window, I see George leave one way, and Katya rush off in the other direction.
Chapter Thirty-One
A glass of wine in hand, I hunt around on the web: knife and coin. I’m bothered by the letter opener I found buried at Marilyn’s, and phrases like burying the hatchet come to mind as I come across different superstitions. My online search turns up everything from putting the knife under the bed for cutting the pain of childbirth to placing a knife with a black handle under your pillow to keep away nightmares.
Then I stumble on the one that practically makes me spit my merlot. There’s a Viking superstition that giving someone a knife means your relationship will be severed. To break the curse, you actually have to sell it for a copper coin or attach the coin to it. Between this gift and Katya’s intrusion into her life, no wonder my friend is going crazy and burying a letter opener in her garden. I consider whether the copper penny taped to the blade has any special meaning beyond a Norse legend.
It’s time to think about other things, like which shoes to wear tonight with a black-and-white knee-length flirty dress that I love. Jamie told me to put on my dancing shoes. What that has to do with him cooking me dinner, I don’t know, but I’m ready to find out. And I love to dance.
Once again, I drive up the mountain to Sheffield Hall and this time sing along to Linda Ronstadt’s “Just One Look.” As she belts out, “Just one look, that’s all it took, hah,” I arrive at the house.
As I drive along the spotlighted, sparkling fountains in the long pool, the massive front doors open and Jamie stands there, leaning against the door frame. My heart beats faster.
Before I can turn off the ignition, he’s opening my car door and sweeping me into his arms. He leans down and kisses me long and hard. I can’t help but notice how good he smells, like the outdoors. Time stops for me. I want this moment to go on forever.
But then Jamie takes my hand, and we walk up the steps and go inside. I follow as we continue through the foyer, where he removes my shawl. I start to say something, but he gently puts his index finger against my lips, signaling me to not say a word.
He stands back and slowly takes in my appearance, from my lips that he’s just kissed all the way down my body and my legs until he arrives at my shoes—my special red-soled Louboutins that Juliana gave me. Around the moment that I’m wondering if this man has a shoe fetish, he smiles.
“Beautiful, all of you, so beautiful.” He takes my hand, turns, and continues leading me down the long hallway and through the large doors into the old ballroom.
The last time I saw this room, I was with Juliana and it was packed with partiers. This time it’s empty, and its grand expanse takes my breath away.
A ballroom is certainly irrelevant in today’s world except in fairy tales, but as I take in the soft ivory-gray walls decorated with tailored moldings in a slightly darker shade, I appreciate how peacefully beautiful the vast space is. There’s nothing fussy about this room. The lighting from the chandeliers and wall sconces is turned down low, giving the room a magical glow that reflects off the numerous multi-paned French doors throughout the room.
The music plays quietly in the background as Jamie lifts two glasses of champagne from a small table at the top of the stairs.
“To us,” he toasts, and we drink.
Then he takes a remote to turn up the volume of the music as a new piece starts. I hear “The Blue Danube,” and I can’t help but chuckle.
“What?” he asks.
“In less than five minutes, I’ve gone from Linda Ronstadt in my car to Johann Strauss in your ballroom.” He laughs. The sound of it is wonderful, and I laugh with him.
Jamie guides me down the stairs and into the middle of the room. We look into each other’s eyes as he puts his other hand around my waist. He gives me a hint of a smile, and I respond with the same.
On the count, we begin with the basic one-two-three and then add the turns. At Jamie’s party, I imagined dancing a waltz here. Now here we are, just the two of us in this ballroom with its magic light, floating from one end to the other. Around and around the room we waltz, and we do it well, as if we’ve always danced together. For the second time tonight, I wish this moment would also never end.
Several
waltzes later, we walk back upstairs, and Jamie shows me around Sheffield Hall. We quickly scoot through the more public rooms that were open to everyone the night of the party. It’s easier to enjoy them now without the crowd scattered throughout the house, and it’s fun. As we make the rounds, Jamie seems very detached from these professionally decorated rooms, as if he were walking through a hotel.
He even takes me upstairs to the top of the house through the unused servants’ quarters, into the attic filled with ancient trunks and boxes.
“This was all left behind when I bought the place, and I haven’t had the time to look through it to see if there’s anything worth keeping.”
“There are people who do this professionally—they’ll unpack and organize your things. You could save yourself a lot of time,” I say. “If you’re interested, I can email you a name and number.”
“I’ll take you up on that,” he says as we leave the attic.
We walk down the stairs and enter the second floor hall where he catches me glancing at the large double doors to the master bedroom.
“Come on.” He guides me toward them. “Admit it. You’re curious to see what’s behind those doors.” He laughs as he opens them and waits for me to enter first.
I step into the most wonderfully masculine olive and khaki cocoon with rich, dark fabrics for the duvet, shams, curtains, and chairs sitting atop Persian rugs with darker browns and chestnut-colored designs. It’s a large room with two halls leading to closets and a bathroom, and several shelved alcoves filled with books that are perfect for curling up and reading.
I walk to a set of glass-paned doors opposite the king-sized bed and look into the night. There’s almost a full moon out, so I can see a lot of the property even though it’s evening.
“There it is again, the moonlight in your hair.” He comes up behind me and puts his arms around me. I relax into his body and he kisses my neck, which sends a delightful shiver down all of me.
Jamie turns me around and sees me glance toward his books. “If you want to know more about who I am, then feel free to take a look around—” A loud chime interrupts him. “That’s the front door. I’ll be right back.”
He leaves, and I decide to do as he says. I find his bathroom, where I pick up a monstrous bar of soap and hold it up to my nose. It has a wonderful smell of pine, the same scent I noticed when I first arrived and he pulled me close and kissed me.
On my way back into the bedroom, I flip on the light to a spacious closet with everything perfectly organized, folded, and hung. I run my hand down the piles of soft cashmere sweaters in dreamy colors that must all look wonderful on him.
I head for one of the cozy alcoves with a huge chair and peruse the titles in this corner. There are many classic titles, but I also see that he enjoys bestsellers.
One corner of the room isn’t a corner because the wall is rounded with an old curved window. Next to another comfortable chair in the center of that space is a telescope. Does Jamie like to gaze at the stars? Or the neighbors? I chuckle, because there aren’t really many neighbors up here.
I look at the small built-in book case behind the chair, and my heart skips a beat. Among a handful of books is a silver-framed photograph of a woman sitting cross-legged in the grass with her arms around two children. I pick it up and look closely. It has to be his wife, son, and daughter—his family that died in a car accident. The kids look to be eight and ten and his wife in her early thirties. They’re all beautiful, and I can only imagine his sadness over this huge loss, but I’m sure it’s ongoing, as mine will always be over Tommy.
I glance around. This appears to be the only photograph in the room. I carefully put it back on the shelf. I glance at a couple of small stacks of books piled haphazardly on the bottom shelf, and something else catches my eye. An old black-and-white photograph sticks out of the side of one of the books, and something about the four sets of men’s legs in loose pants looks familiar.
I remove the picture and my heart stops. No. It can’t be. There are four World War II soldiers standing together. Doubt and wariness jolt through me, and I feel a curtain crash down on the happiness I’ve felt all evening.
It’s the same photograph as the one in Casey’s house. I’m sure of it. I drop into the chair and turn on a lamp for more light. There, staring me in the face, is proof of Jamie’s link to Casey.
Four GIs stand in the sunshine, all looking into the camera, all wearing fatigues and friendly smiles. I flip the photo over and read the back.
Luca, Joe, Felix, Mike
Tirrenia July 1944
The year chokes my breath in my throat. I look towards the door to make sure I’m still alone and pull my phone from my pocket. I click over to my photos and find Casey’s list of initials.
The Great Gatsby (ASE)
1944 J.W., L.A., M.G.
W. 8/8
S.,J. 10/12
I study the initials after 1944. Are they the men in the photo? But there are only three sets, and four guys in the picture.
I try out the name, Luca Alessandro, taking a random guess as I look at the initials L.A. and then the tall, olive-skinned GI on the left. That’s why Katya stole the picture, I think to myself. To get her hands on the names.
I glance back and forth between the photograph and Casey’s list, wondering how the ASE paperback fits.
The first one on the left is Luca…
J.W. The second one is Joe…Joe Watson, Win’s father.
There are no initials for Felix on Casey’s list. The man I see is small and wiry like Casey, so maybe Felix is Casey’s father.
But who is the fourth man, Mike?
M.G. Mike…oh my god…Mike Gordon.
“Hey you, sorry about that. UPS dropping something off.” Jamie says from the doorway. I look up at him and then back at the picture, studying the man on the right with one hand on his hip. And now I know why he looks so familiar.
“Is my bedroom that fascinating?” Jamie asks, smiling.
“You tell me, only if you’re a vampire.” I stand up and face him with the picture. “Because here you are in World War II.”
Silence. He doesn’t move.
“When were you planning to tell about this?”
More silence.
“One GI was Casey’s father, Felix.” I point to the shortest man in the group, second from the right in the picture. “And this man on the left with the cap may be Katya Alessandro’s father, more likely her grandfather. Luca, I think that’s his name. And I’m pretty sure this one is Win Watson’s father, Joe. But you already knew all of that, didn’t you?”
Jamie just stands there, looking at me.
“And this one’s Mike. I kept thinking he reminded me of someone, and now as I look at you and this picture, I can see there’s no mistaking that he’s probably your father. Otherwise, why would you even have this picture?”
“It’s a long story—”
“Don’t long story me. Casey had two parts of the ASE, and I believe he was looking for the third. I haven’t figured out the exact connection between that book and these men yet. But you are tied in somehow, and you could have told me that when I spotted the piece behind the bush at the Watsons’.”
“Please let me explain—”
I cut him off. “No need. Supper with Marilyn on Monday—that would have been the time to speak up.” I put the picture down and walk toward the door. “If not, then certainly after our skeet shooting a couple of days ago. So, do you have it?” He looks at me quizzically, and I spell it out. “The third part of the book?”
Jamie remains silent and stands in the way of me going through the door. “I thought I could trust you,” I say.
“You can,” he protests.
“Hardly. Please move out of my way. I’m going home.”
Jamie stares hard at me with those dark eyes. They look stormy, and he’s blocking me from leaving. I have a moment of fear. I remember his temper and also what a great shot he is. What do I really know about
this man?
Then the storminess in his eyes gives way to resignation, and he steps aside.
I sweep past him without a backward glance, and practically run down the stairs, grab my shawl, and dash out to my car. Adrenaline and shock carry me. I can’t get away from Sheffield Hall fast enough.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I get in my car, collapse against the steering wheel, and several hoarse sobs come from somewhere very deep inside. I hunt for the one piece of music that perhaps can soothe my bruised soul. I find it—Joan Baez’s achingly beautiful voice singing “Diamonds & Rust”—turn it on, and start down the steep road.
About the time she sings “…heading straight for a fall,” the tears flow and blur my vision, but I manage to make it down in one piece, and my thumping heart slowly settles back to its normal rate. I still can’t believe how deceived I feel, but the rational side of me is grateful that I found out before things moved forward between us.
Then I hear the sound and glance into my rearview mirror to see headlights come up behind me quickly. The vehicle is almost on my rear when it brakes a little. Then it speeds up again and taps my bumper. Son of a gun.
I try to pull away and put some space between us on this narrow twisty road. Feeling my tires lose the connection with the pavement on a couple of hairpin turns that I take too fast, I panic that I’ll slide over the edge in a fatal crash.
As I pull out ahead, I wonder if Jamie’s come after me and is trying to stop me. But that’s a strange way to do it, and there’s no way I’m halting for anybody on a dark and empty road.
Then the mystery car revs up, shoots toward me, and bashes into the back of my Mustang. As I grip the steering wheel to keep my car on the road, I hear several loud bangs, either gun shots or the engine backfiring.
I nearly freak out at the thought that it might be Casey’s shooter, who came after me at Whitmore’s house. I almost lose control when my phone rings suddenly, and that’s when the driver veers off for a left turn and disappears into the night.
Searching for Gatsby: A Ronnie Lake Murder Mystery (An Accidental Lady Detective, A Private Investigator Crime Series Book 3) Page 17
