by Nora LeDuc
“Are you okay?” Detective Lennox stepped forward and guided her away from the glass with a gentle, but firm grip and then released her. “Do you want me to call a friend or relative?”
Who would she call in Ledgeview? Besides the police, she’d only spoken to Dahlia’s landlord, and he barely knew her. She gulped in air and the dizziness eased. “No, sorry, I needed a moment. I tried to prepare myself, but staring at my sister on the metal tray like a specimen was worse than I expected.” She turned to the six-foot-plus detective in washed out jeans and scuffed leather jacket.
He stared at her with intense, blue eyes he most likely used to intimidate his suspects. A few days’ growth of blonde whiskers marked his lean jaw. He hovered at her elbow as though he expected her to faint. His mouth softened, and she swore she heard a touch of sympathy in his voice a moment ago.
“Are you confirming it’s your sister, Dahlia Blue?”
“It is.” She tugged out her chain from inside her white button down shirt. She held up the silver butterfly pendant with a ruby on each wing. “My sister created identical necklaces for our birthdays with our birthstone. The jewelry’s not worth much. But it meant a lot to her, and I’d appreciate it if you passed the jewelry on to me.”
“No necklace was found. My men recovered two personal items, a torn blouse and a bra. You’re sure she was wearing the butterfly when she disappeared?”
“She never took it off.” Rose remembered the day her sister had given the chain and pendant to her.
Dahlia grinned her lopsided smile. “Happy Birthday, twin of mine. Wait until you open your present. You’ll love it. I know because I do.”
“I apologize in advance for bringing up the subject,” he said, returning her to the present, “but your sister was awaiting a court hearing on a shoplifting charge.”
She flinched and tilted her head to reassess him. Why did he bring that incident up now? Was he fishing for some flaw in Dahlia? “You mean the engagement ring from her ex, A.J. Edwards. Her lawyer worked out the legal matters, and the theft charge was dismissed. The incident was a mistake in the first place. She’s not a thief.”
“She rented a place in Ledgeview. I’m trying to understand why she left home and moved to a new city. Was she running to avoid court?”
“My sister didn’t really move. Most of her belongings are still in Vermont, and she wouldn’t take off because of a false charge. She believed her lawyer would prove her innocence. Besides, when Dahlia was upset, she’d lay low, but she’d never leave town. My Gram instilled in us the belief we should never run away from our problems. She was very strong in her convictions, and Dahlia and I loved our hometown. So to answer your question, I’ve no idea why she came to New Hampshire.”
“Did your sister own a cell phone or laptop? I’d like to look at her phone records and emails.”
“She was using a prepaid one, temporarily, until our boutique earned out and freed up her money. I don’t know what happened to her laptop. She must have taken it to New Hampshire with her, but she was much more a phone person. It was faster and she liked fast.”
“I’d guess her laptop is in a landfill in New Jersey or some other unsearchable site. We can look into her ISP, but sometimes their storage is brief.”
Rose darted a glance at her sister’s body. Her stomach dropped with a sickening wave. “I’d like to leave now.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Blue.” Lennox escorted her toward the exit. “Are you registered in a hotel or driving back to Vermont?”
“I’m staying in New Hampshire until you arrest her killer. I drove over from Dahlia’s apartment.”
His stare bored into her. “Are you sure you want to stay at her building? You’re lucky if your sister’s rental provides any security. It’s an old structure without the safety updates offered in modern apartments.”
“I don’t need a five star hotel. I’ll be fine.” Keep moving through the door. Don’t picture Dahlia lying on the table in the morgue. Block the image.
Outside, she pointed at her vehicle. “My car’s the green compact parked at the curb.”
He walked her to the edge of the sidewalk and paused. “Miss Blue, I have to ask you a favor. Keep the fact your sister’s necklace is missing to yourself.”
She nodded. At any minute, she’d break into tears or collapse. She wanted to get away before either happened.
He held out his card. “Here’s my number. Call me night or day.”
“What about your family? I don’t want to intrude.”
“You won’t bother anyone. Call.”
At his last clipped word, she looked closer. An air of authority that breathed confidence rolled off his broad shoulders. She wished it would land on her.
“I’d like to discuss the progress of the case when I’m more on top of everything.”
“I’ll keep you up to date,” he promised, gentling his voice. His blue eyes met hers. “Don’t worry. We’ll arrest the person who did this to your sister. She won’t be forgotten.”
The forceful, steady light of certainty shone through his gaze, and the strong line of his whiskered jaw tightened. She believed him. A sense of relief and assurance poured through her. Palming his card, she slid inside the front seat. She’d meet with Detective Lennox again soon. She keyed the engine of her vehicle and merged into the traffic.
“I won’t forget, Gram,” she whispered, blinking away tears. “I’ll keep my promise to find Dahlia’s killer.” Her hand went to the weapon’s bulge in her pocket.
Chapter 2
Monday, Dahlia was buried with her First Communion rosary next to Mom and Gram in Brattleboro’s Village Cemetery. Father Mark bent his balding head and said the final prayers in the shadow of the mountain, just beyond the moss covered markers. Several church members, a handful of neighbors and Gram’s co-workers from the diner listened to the pastor’s words. With the murmur of one final rest in peace, they disbanded for refreshments in the church’s basement.
As children, Rose and Dahlia had always whined about attending Sunday Mass, and as they grew independent, they skipped the weekly ritual. Today, the familiar faces added a sense of support and consolation.
Rose accepted condolences and answered the discreet inquires about the investigation into Dahlia’s death. Time seemed to drag, and Rose longed to escape. When the last mourner left, she swallowed the lump in her throat and caught up with her friend, Cassie, to discuss arrangements for keeping her store open. A friend since kindergarten, Cassie accepted the job of holding down the boutique until Rose returned.
The next day Rose drove to Ledgeview to follow through on her promise to Gram. She locked herself away in Dahlia’s apartment and pulled out the photo album she’d brought back. The pictures always gave her the feeling that she belonged to a real family.
She opened the worn cover and flipped to the first photo of her always sober, gray-haired grandmother. If only her sister paid attention to Gram’s favorite warning: “Always work hard and remember the only free lunch sits in the mousetrap.”
It was advice Dahlia ignored and her mother botched by giving birth to them at age seventeen. On the next page, Dahlia had inserted a magazine picture of George Clooney with the label “Father” printed underneath.
Rose shook her head and turned to the photo of her mother who could now pass for her sister. The camera’s eye preserved her mom’s youth at age twenty-five. In her short life, her mother had several boyfriends but never met a man who cared for her beyond a month or two.
Maybe the Blue women weren’t born for love. None of them had found it. Not that it mattered. Tomorrow she’d meet with Detective Lennox. She prayed he was about to make an arrest. His intense stare and sharp questions left her on edge, yet his decisiveness drew her to him. She liked the fact a strong man was working her sister’s case. He’d find Dahlia’s killer.
The memory of Dahlia lying in the morgue hung in her mind. Her lifeless eyes stared forever upward. Her blue lips frozen ope
n in a last gasp.
Rose tossed the album aside, threw on her winter wear and fled the apartment and the painful memory. The cold soon invaded her boots and gloves, but she welcomed the fresh air. She wandered the well‒lit sidewalks of the clapboard homes reminiscent of houses from the turn of the century. Their carriage houses now used as garages or altered into small apartments stood a short distance from the main buildings. A variety store and a Laundromat occupied the corners of the next two blocks. As she walked, her mind retraced the last couple of weeks until she stopped.
Where was she, a park? To her left was a fenced-in tennis court without a net and, most likely, abandoned for the season. Ahead a sign stapled to a stake announced the skating hours and rules for the ice.
The wind whistled for a second before dropping to a whisper and transformed into Dahlia’s voice calling to her, coaxing and pleading somewhere near the water. Rose hesitated then drew closer to the frozen pond. She peered downward where blond hair lighter than her own floated weightless toward the ice. Her sister’s face, a face like her own for twenty-seven years, tilted up, revealing the birthmark under her chin, their one difference. Her bound hands pressed against the invisible barrier. Her hazel eyes screamed for someone to listen. The duct tape over her mouth strangled the last plea for mercy, but the muffled desperate cry reached Rose.
“Help me!”
Oh my, God! “Dahl-ia? Dahl-ia!” Rose’s heart jumped into her throat, making her voice shake. She lunged toward her sister, and the crack of the thin ice under her feet warned her away. She retreated to the firm ground and shivered in the frosty air.
In the water, Dahlia’s form dissolved and disappeared.
This was how her sister’s life ended. Her mouth taped, her limbs bound, she’d been left to drown, to die without hope. Rose swept shaking hands over her face and tried to wipe away the terrifying vision.
“Dahlia, who did this to you?” Chills swept over her. She fumbled with the jacket zipper, pulling the tab up to her chin while a myriad of emotions, shock, terror, and grief left her frozen to the ground. “I’m sorry we fought. I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
She shoved her hands into the pockets of her gray parka, hunched her shoulders and struggled with the tears until someone shouting and whistling for a dog brought her back to the surroundings.
How late was it? She’d lost sense of time and place. Shuddering, she grabbed control of herself. Now, she craved traffic and noise, not the solitude of the park where she’d attempted to seize a few seconds of peace. She had to escape her twin’s ghost.
Near the plaque for a historic trolley stop, she emerged onto the empty sidewalk. Across the street, large houses with wraparound porches rested dark and silent. It must be close to eleven o’clock. She cut across the street, putting distance between her sister’s spirit and herself. Why had Dahlia appeared to her? Was she trying to tell her something, or did she think Rose didn’t care about her after their last big fight? How many times during their lives had she given Dahlia one more chance to change? Sharp regret bit into Rose. “I know you were a good person, Dahlia, but you sometimes seemed to lose your way. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
“I’ll make it right. If it takes everything I own, I’ll make sure the monster who killed you is found and punished. He’ll never hurt anyone again. I promise.”
Rose trotted down Main Street with its two and three story clapboard facades and mixed brick fronts. She passed the dark store windows and locked doors of Minicake Bakery and Joe’s Coffee. Above the shops, unlit apartments reminded her of the late hour. At least the city salted and sanded the main sidewalks, but no one else seemed inclined to enjoy a stroll in the late March night air. In their homes, people snuggled in their beds or wound down in front of the television. She was the only one foolish enough to wander out this late. The cold stung her fingers and toes, pushing her forward.
Suddenly the sound of footsteps prickled her skin. She peered over her shoulder. An unfamiliar figure dressed in black trailed less than a block behind. The figure’s height and stride suggested a man.
Two more blocks to her sister’s place. Throwing back covert glances, she picked up her pace. She’d learned basic self-defense moves but at a lean five feet, she was hardly a match if her might-be pursuer turned out to be a wrestler from a Friday Night Smackdown.
The sound of the shadowing footsteps increased. Was it a coincidence? She broke into a jog. The man’s steps pounded behind. Her jog changed to a flat out run. He mirrored her movements. Adrenaline shot through her body.
Across the street, Dahlia’s two story apartment bounced into sight. Hurry. Faster. She forced her legs to move at breakneck speed. The thud of boots told her the pursuer was closing in. No! Her lungs burned from the effort to breathe. Her gasps of breath shot out and trailed behind in the frigid air. She fingered the trigger of the pistol in her side pocket. A stolen glimpse over her shoulder confirmed he’d narrowed the distance between them. A ski mask concealed the pursuer’s face. He kept one hand inside his jacket. Was he carrying a weapon?
I’ll never make it. She yanked out her gun and peeked behind while swerving into the street to cross.
Brakes squealed. A vehicle’s horn blew. Her pistol tumbled to the ground. A black car squealed to a stop, its hood inches from her legs.
She scooped up the handgun. The driver pulled to the side and slammed the door. Rose clutched her weapon with both hands and met the anger in the six-foot-plus driver’s familiar, sharp blue eyes and shadowed jaw.
“Detective Lennox, someone is chasing me.” She gestured toward her stalker without taking her gaze from the detective.
“Stay here.” Without another word, he took off down the street.
She watched his form grow smaller on the sidewalk. No signs remained of the pursuer. Her breathing evened out. She slid the gun into her jacket pocket, safe for the moment, but her tail could be hiding nearby.
Across the street, her building’s main entrance lured her with promises of security. No reason to stand around. She’d speak to the detective later. She headed for the front door and paused to jam the key into the keyhole.
“He’s gone.”
She whirled around at the voice and stared into the detective’s large chest. She backed a step, and her hand tightened on the butt of the gun in her jacket.
“I hope you’re familiar with that Thirty-Eight Special.” He nodded at her pocket.
“Of course, I legally bought it after my sister went missing and I was out searching for her.” Rose wasn’t about to admit she intended to wave the gun around and never take off the safety even though she’d taken a crash self-protection course. What are you doing here? You couldn’t have just happened by.”
“I finished a call and was on my way home. Who chased you?”
She stared up at the towering man in the leather jacket. He was dressed in jeans and running shoes. He watched her closely, and her heartbeat picked up. Was she lucky or unlucky? Had he really been driving past, or had he parked nearby to scope her out?
“Miss Blue?” He wagged a hand in front of her face.
“Sorry, I’ve no idea who followed me or if he was someone out for a jog.” Had she imagined the man pursued her?
“Has anyone tailed you before tonight?”
“Never.”
His grim façade fell away. “I’m relieved you’re well enough for a run, but exercising late at night isn’t anything I’d recommend. A young, pretty woman alone in the dark can attract attention she doesn’t want.”
“I wanted some fresh air. It usually helps my migraines. I can’t predict them, and emotional stress doesn’t help. Don’t worry, I won’t repeat my mistake.”
“Good to hear. Rest up and come down to the station tomorrow. I’ll take your statement then.” He stepped forward. “Let me escort you into your apartment.”
Without waiting for her answer, he pushed the entry door wide and walked across the threshold. Inside, he paced around th
e hall, examining the shadows in the corners, and finally yanked on the door leading to the vacant, first floor restaurant. It was locked. She shut the main door and turned the bolt. Safe.
“How long did the man follow you?” His voice held a tone of authority.
“A few blocks.” For once, she welcomed the familiar first floor mustiness.
“How often do you go for a run at night?” He seemed to watch her with a calculating expression as though he was judging her.
“The workout helps my insomnia. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go upstairs to my place. Like you said, we can talk tomorrow.”
“I’ll go with you.” He placed a foot on the first step and gestured upward.
He seemed overeager to accompany her. Did he want to poke around her apartment or had fear warped her perceptions? “I can manage the stairs by myself.”
“Humor me.” He peered at her like she was a convicted felon. “Migraines, insomnia, and the need for exercise, what else ails you, Miss Blue?”
Killers and ghosts. “You know me already, Detective Lennox,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’m ready.” She nodded upward.
The detective shadowed behind, never allowing her to get ahead. Their footsteps echoed in the empty vestibule. She stopped outside her apartment. A piece of newspaper was jammed inside the doorframe crack.
“Wait a minute. Don’t open up yet.” He wriggled the paper out of its spot.
“Really, I don’t care about an ad.”
He unfolded the clipping and held the piece of paper in his gloved hands.
She leaned forward. The picture of her murdered sister stared back from the newsprint. Underneath Dahlia’s photo, someone had altered the caption with a black marker. Her name, Rose Blue, replaced her dead twin’s.
Who’d done this? Was it the stranger who’d followed her tonight? If he left the clipping, he knew where she lived and how to get into her building. No!
