A Denial of Death

by Gin Jones

  "I'm looking for Samantha Zacharias."

  "That's me," the redhead said with what appeared to be a genuine smile. She approached the counter. "What can we do for you today?"

  It dawned on Helen belatedly that she should have prepared a cover story. The police had it so much easier when it came to interviewing suspects. All they had to do was identify themselves and start right in on the interrogation, demanding answers under threat of being dragged down to the station. She supposed there was a great deal more psychology than shining lights and physical coercion these days, but at least the police didn't need to have a credible and sympathetic reason for asking questions. They could just ask, and even if the person refused to answer, that in itself provided a certain amount of information.

  Ralph and Charlene hadn't needed much of an incentive to answer Helen's questions, since they were naturally concerned about Angie's whereabouts. It was different with Samantha. Helen couldn't exactly say, Excuse me, but I think you might have killed Angie Decker in order to claim her husband for yourself. Would you mind answering a few questions for me, or perhaps even confessing to murder? At least she couldn't say that without getting herself arrested for interfering with a police investigation and proving Tate right. Helen refused to give him the satisfaction.

  She needed a reason to be here that had nothing to do with Angie. From what little she knew about private investigators, they generally ran some sort of con in order to get information. She couldn't do anything that complicated, which was probably just as well. She'd never been good at prevaricating beyond little white social lies, even in her political career, where truthfulness had been more of a handicap than the effects of her lupus.

  "I'm looking into getting some insurance," Helen finally said, hoping she didn't have to go so far as to actually buy an expensive and totally unnecessary policy that Lily would, quite understandably, berate her about. Unlike a real detective, Helen couldn't pass on the expenses of her investigation to her clients, Betty and Josie.

  Samantha glanced past Helen and through the front windows at the car with the dealer's plates. "For your new car?"

  "Oh, that's just a loaner. If I do buy a car, I'll need insurance on it, but right now I'm just thinking about changing my homeowners' insurance to a local agency. I met Ralph Decker recently, and he said you could help me while he was on vacation. He obviously trusts you."

  Samantha's smile widened, and her green eyes sparkled, but Helen couldn't tell if she was pleased by the compliment itself or by the fact that it was Ralph who'd uttered it. "Did you bring a copy of your current policy?"

  "I'm not quite ready to make the switch," Helen said. "The policy doesn't expire for a few months. I just wanted to find out what you'd need in order to do it."

  "All I need is a copy of the declaration page that describes your coverage," Samantha said. "We can keep track of the expiration date and handle everything for you. Is there anything else you need today?"

  That had been too easy. She needed to keep Samantha talking. As long as Helen was here she might as well check out what Ralph had said about Angie not having a life insurance policy with her sister as the beneficiary. She didn't think he'd lied, but there was a lot he didn't know about Angie. "I'm also thinking about getting a life insurance policy. Do you have any information on that? A brochure, perhaps?"

  "Ralph usually handles the life insurance policies personally."

  "He told me I could get the same kind of policy his wife has for the benefit of her sister. Except mine would be for the benefit of my nieces, of course."

  Samantha's forehead furrowed. "I'm not sure what he meant. The only life insurance policy Angie has, as far as I know, is the joint one with Ralph."

  "Nothing for her sister?"

  "Charlene? But Angie would never—" Samantha cut herself off, apparently realizing she shouldn't be gossiping about her boss's wife. "You'd have to ask Ralph. Or Angie."

  Helen pounced on the opening. "I'm looking forward to meeting Angie. I'm new to town, you know. I heard Angie left on a sudden vacation a few weeks ago, and no one's seen her since."

  "You should ask Charlene about that," Samantha said. "She always knows where her sister is."

  "Not this time," Helen said. "Or if she knows, she's not telling Ralph. I don't understand why she hates Ralph so much. He seems like such a nice guy."

  "No one hates Ralph." Samantha's face glowed with her admiration of him, but it wasn't clear whether the emotion was personal or professional. "Certainly not Charlene."

  "Now I'm confused," Helen said. "Ralph explicitly told me that Charlene hates him."

  The blonde at the desk behind Samantha had abandoned her typing and was listening intently.

  Samantha shook her head sadly. "Poor Ralph. He's so blinded by his love for Angie that he can't see when she's lying through her teeth. Charlene doesn't hate Ralph. She rather likes him, in fact, or she never would have let Angie marry him. She scared away several other men who were interested in Angie who Charlene thought weren't good enough for her."

  "Then why did Angie let Ralph think Charlene hated him?"

  Samantha shook her head and pursed her lips. There was no ambiguity in reading the source of her emotion now: her disgust was personal. "That's just Angie. She needs to be the center of attention at all costs. She's afraid she won't get all their attention if Ralph and Charlene are friends. This way she doesn't have to share Ralph with Charlene or share Charlene with Ralph. Instead, they have to sort of compete to spend time with Angie."

  The blonde at the desk spoke up. "Samantha is too nice to say it, but I will. Angie is a jerk, and everyone hates her. She makes our life hell the one day a month she comes in to collect the financial reports."

  Samantha shook her head at the blonde in an obvious warning to keep quiet. She turned back to Helen. "Forget we said anything about Angie. I'm sure she's a good person, or someone as special as Ralph would never have married her. We don't see her often enough to judge her properly, and you won't have to work with her. Angie does some of our bookkeeping, but she isn't an agent or customer service representative, so she doesn't meddle with the policies in any way."

  Helen wasn't going to get anything else useful from either Samantha or the blonde about Angie. If she dropped the subject, she might still be able to get a better reading of what she really wanted to know: Samantha's feelings about Ralph.

  "What about Ralph?" Helen said. "Is he actively involved in the agency? Does he supervise all the work himself, at least when he's not on vacation?"

  "Oh, yes," Samantha said, her radiant smile returning. "He's incredibly detail-oriented, and he knows his clients so well. He can glance at a dec page, and immediately tell you what additional coverage you might need or what coverage you have that's unnecessary."

  The blonde rolled her eyes, as if she'd heard this high praise too many times before, and then went back to her typing.

  "It must be hard to have a boss who's that good," Helen said. "He sets impossibly high standards for you and as a comparison for everyone else you meet."

  "Oh, no," Samantha said. "He's an excellent role model, something for me to aspire to."

  "What about your husband? Doesn't he get a bit jealous?"

  The blonde at the desk became interested in the conversation again.

  Samantha laughed. "My boyfriend doesn't have a jealous bone in his body."

  Helen was prepared to conclude that Samantha's crush on Ralph had ended, if it had ever existed, and had just been a figment of Betty's and Josie's mutual imagination, when Samantha added with underwhelming enthusiasm, "He's not Ralph, but he's great in his own way."

  Helen wondered if the boyfriend knew that was how Samantha thought of him and whether that might have been enough to make even the most laid-back man want to go out and throttle Ralph. Helen would certainly have considered the boyfriend a suspect if something had happened to Ralph, but it was hard to see how he could have benefitted from doing away with Angie. Although, tha
t did bring up another possibility: what if the boyfriend had targeted Ralph but had accidentally killed Angie instead?

  There were just too many possibilities, all of them far-fetched, without any concrete facts to work with. Helen didn't even know for sure that Angie was dead, although she couldn't help thinking the worst as time passed.

  Helen thanked Samantha for her time and promised to drop off the requested paperwork for switching her homeowner's insurance coverage the next time she was in town. She really did intend to do that when she had the time. Now that she was a year-round resident of Wharton, it seemed only right to support the local businesses. If she ever figured out what to do with her retirement, she might need the goodwill from other residents.

  Jack had the recalcitrant door open and waiting for her. She settled into the passenger seat and let Jack manhandle the door closed.

  Once he was behind the wheel again, he said, "Where to?"

  "Home first." She still needed to arrange to meet the Friends of the Library president. "Unless you've been able to arrange for me to meet the cabbie, Barry."

  "Not yet." Jack started the engine, which coughed and sputtered, threatening to quit without actually dying. "He didn't return my calls yesterday, so I asked around while you were in the insurance agency, and no one's seen him. I checked with his boss, and Barry missed his shift today. First time in ten years. I could swing by his apartment after I drop you off at the cottage if you wish."

  "I'd appreciate it," Helen said. "Just knock on his door and see if he's home. Tate will hold me responsible if you do anything more intrusive. But I'd really like to know he's okay. Too many people have disappeared already."

  "Should I return this piece-of-garbage car to Ed afterwards?"

  "Not quite yet," Helen said. "I'm hoping to have a chat with the president of the Friends of the Library later if you don't need to get back to your avatars."

  "They're not going anywhere today," Jack said. "I was planning to take you to Boston tonight anyway, to check on your nieces, so I didn't expect to get any other work done after I left home this morning."

  "I hope the trip into Boston won't be necessary," Helen said. Not just because she would prefer to find out sooner rather than later that her nieces were safe, but also because she wasn't entirely convinced the car would make it that far.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  While Jack went to search for Barry, Helen arranged to meet with the president of the Friends of the Library in an hour. Helen then texted her nieces and Tate's nephew, hoping to get a response from them so Jack wouldn't have to take her into Boston later.

  While she was eating a Greek yogurt for lunch, her phone rang. Finally, someone wasn't ignoring her.

  Her relief turned to irritation when the caller ID indicated the number was unknown. Probably a telemarketer or scammer. On the off chance it might be one of her nieces calling from a borrowed phone, she answered instead of letting it go to voicemail.

  "Ms. Binney?" The voice was female, but not one of Helen's nieces.

  "Yes."

  "It's Charlene Rice. Angie's sister."

  "Where are you? The police were here looking for you yesterday."

  "I went to the casino." Static from poor cell phone service garbled her words. "After you left, I started to worry, so I went to check on Angie. You were right—she'd been gone too long."

  "So where is she?"

  "I don't have an exact location. All they'd tell me at the casino was that she checked out after a week."

  Helen should have told them she was Angie's sister. Then they'd have had the information two days ago, saving everyone else a great deal of worry. "Where'd she go after that?"

  "Somewhere in Mystic. She likes to test the historical interpreters and role-players at the museum. I checked the most likely places, but there are just too many possibilities for one person to search."

  "So she's still missing."

  "Not the way you mean it, and not in any way that the police need to be involved," Charlene said. "She just isn't ready to come home yet."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "Don't tell Ralph," Charlene said, "but there's a bank account just in Angie's name, for emergencies. She gave me the password for online access, in case anything ever happened to her. I printed out a recent-activity report. After one withdrawal at the casino, the rest were from ATMs in Mystic."

  At least now Helen knew where the seventy-five thousand dollars had gone, although it didn't explain where the money had come from. "I still don't understand why she hasn't checked in with you or told you she'd left the casino."

  "She only tells me what I need to know, like when she's going to need a ride, so I can take the time off from work."

  Charlene didn't sound bitter about it, but it was hard to tell over a low-quality cell phone connection. The only thing Helen could feel sure about was that Charlene didn't see any reason to keep looking for her sister. Either Charlene was in complete denial that something bad could have happened to her sister, or she actually knew where Angie was and was lying about the details. "Aren't you worried at all?"

  "Angie's fine," Charlene said. "If anything had happened to her, I'd know."

  "That's what Ralph said too."

  Her skepticism must have been obvious in her voice, even through the staticky phone line, because Charlene explained, "Angie has a heart defect that can cause her to pass out, so she wears an identification bracelet to alert medical personnel to her condition. It has contact numbers on it too, both Ralph's and mine. If she'd gone to a hospital or called an ambulance, we'd both have been notified."

  Helen could think of at least one other logical possibility: Angie could have been killed and her body dumped somewhere that no one would have found the bracelet. It would be cruel to suggest it, though.

  "I hope you're right," Helen said. "I'd still feel better if we knew someone had talked to her after she left the casino. Do you think she might have called her employer to let them know where she was?"

  There was a brief pause before Charlene said, "Angie didn't work outside the home."

  "I heard she'd been working for a company named SLP. Do you know anything about it?"

  "Never heard of it." A car horn honked, and Charlene said, "I'm sorry, but I've got to go. Angie will come back when she's ready. I'll be home in a couple hours if you have any more questions."

  Charlene hung up, leaving Helen with the feeling she'd been lied to, but without any real idea of why or about what. Was it her sister's whereabouts, or was it her claim not to know about SLP? Charlene had helped her sister hide a bank account from Ralph, so it wasn't unreasonable to think she might also have helped to hide the source of the money in the account.

  Not for the first time since leaving the governor's mansion, Helen wished she had more resources at her command. If she could do what the police should be doing, and track Charlene with her phone’s GPS, then Helen might have been able to get some straight answers about Angie, SLP, and the seventy-five thousand dollars.

  Instead, all she could do was interrogate a library volunteer. Still, it was better than spending her days crocheting caps for Josie to unravel.

  * * *

  The Wharton library building was a fairly new building, less than fifty years old, with a plain, box-like exterior. Inside, though, it was brightly lit and well maintained, with new carpeting and walls that had been freshly painted within the last few months.

  The librarian at the check-out desk sent Helen out of the main building to an annex where the Friends of the Library held its monthly book sales. Inside, a woman at least six feet tall and built like a wrestler was transferring boxes of books from a cart to a plywood-topped rectangular folding table for sorting. At first she appeared to be bald like the Clary clan, but she actually had thick blonde hair that had been buzz-cut into near invisibility. She wore a dusty pink twinset with a pair of tailored wool pants in a purple so dark as to be almost black. Around her solid neck was an artisan necklace made of dark
purple chunky stones that would have looked like boulders on Helen.

  A mixture of fear and anger raced through her at the sight of the necklace, which reminded her of the one she’d almost been choked to death with. She tamped down the urge to turn and limp at top speed back to where Jack was waiting for her. It wasn't the woman's fault that Helen had bad memories associated with that particular style of jewelry.

  Helen forced herself to step further into the room. "Are you Terri Greene?"

  "I am." The woman tossed another large box onto the table, which shuddered under the weight.

  If those hands had been the ones trying to kill her four months ago, Helen wouldn't have been here today. Still, it was hard to imagine an argument over a book sale as a motive for murder, even if Terri clearly had the physical ability to kill. If Helen had any other lead, no matter how unlikely, she'd never have bothered to come here today. Unfortunately, though, Jack still hadn't been able to find Barry, and Lily hadn't sent any information on SLP.

  "I'm Helen Binney. I heard you might be able to use some volunteers." Helen pointed her cane at the cart full of boxes. "Not that I could toss books around like you do, but maybe there's something else you need help with."

  "We can always use more help," Terri said. "Why did you think of volunteering here?"

  Helen was grateful she could tell the truth and not have to fumble for an explanation. "Ralph Decker mentioned you. His wife is apparently on the board of directors here, and he said she finds it very rewarding."