“A rattler.”
I gasped. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. The snake handler has never seen a rattler in this urban an area, nor has he any idea how it got into the duct. He assures me the snake will live a long and happy life in a distant part of the state.”
“I thought you were going to tell me it was a baby’s rattle that somehow got into the a/c system and every time a certain gizmo moved, it rattled.”
“The lesson is that often things are just what they seem to be.”
“Like Cal just seems to be a young man who stepped into a sinkhole his sister dug and covered up with Astroturf. What’s going to happen to Diane?”
“Off the record?”
“Of course. Everything we discuss is off the record.”
“I think she’s going to be convicted of capital murder, and I think she’ll get the death penalty.”
“I’m completely conflicted about Ava.”
“So is Babs. Men aren’t. Women see her as a kind of Madonna trying to protect her child. Men see her as a manipulative gold digger.”
“That’s funny.”
“That’s what makes the world go round.”
“Ellis did a great job on this case.”
“Ellis is maybe the best police chief ever.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He follows the Siren call of justice.”
I smiled. “I like that allusion.”
“I like you, Josie.”
“I like you, too, Max.”
* * *
After catching up with e-mails, and voice mails, and my staff, I decided I needed a good dose of hard work, so I headed to the warehouse to help Fred with his preliminary assessment of the Towson household goods. As I entered the warehouse, Eric was leaving it, carrying the printer’s case.
“The printer’s case,” I said. “It’s going to the tag sale this week after all.”
“Nope. I’m bringing it to Gretchen to ring up. Grace likes country rustic a lot.”
“You two have a lot in common.”
His cheeks turned a rosy pink. “I know.”
“Are you giving it to her now?”
“I’m going to save it for Christmas. As a gift for our new house.”
“What? You’re moving in together?”
His flush reddened. “No. Not yet. She’s still in school and all. But we talk about the future sometimes. We talk about getting married.”
“And this will be for your shared future. I think that’s incredibly romantic.”
He looked down, then up. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
I drew an X on my heart and raised my right hand. “True blue and never stain.”
Angela came running over and tried to climb my leg. I picked her up and kissed her cheek.
Eric smiled awkwardly, thanked me, and pushed through into the office.
I carried Angela to the cordoned-off Towson area.
“Do you want to keep me company, little girl?” I asked her. She mewed and licked my neck. “Thank you, little one.”
Fred wasn’t around. I figured he was in the office. I placed Angela on my shoulder and used one hand to check the computer record so I’d know where Fred left off. He’d recorded boxes 1 through 18. Still working with only one hand, I set a video recorder on a tripod and opened the clear plastic tub labeled BOX 19, AVA TOWSON DESK. I flicked the camera on.
I started with a set of heavy bookends. I placed them side by side on a closed tub.
“This is a set of heavy bookends,” I said to the camera, creating an annotated video recording, as per Prescott’s protocol. We would do it for every object. I talked as I recorded all sides and angles. “The design is reminiscent of Greek columns. The set is probably made of copper alloy. No marks. In excellent condition. Not worth appraising.” I set them aside. “The rest of this box contains books.” I hit PAUSE.
“Angela, I’m sorry darling, but I’m going to be bending over a lot, and I need both hands. I’ll give you a proper cuddle later, I promise.” I lowered her to the floor, and she scampered off as if she’d just recalled an urgent errand.
I extracted a set of four brown leather-bound duodecimo volumes. I examined the title and copyright pages, recording them one at a time, in numerical order, for the camera. “This is a four-volume set of The Farmer’s Tour Through the East of England, published in 1771 in London by W. Strahan. Marbled paper-covered boards, numerous folding copper-engraved plates throughout. At first glance, the set appears to be a reading copy, and as such, it is in only fair to good condition. The boards are scuffed, rubbed, and edge-worn. The joints are worn and beginning to crack, although the boards are firmly attached. We should appraise it to confirm it’s the complete set, that all illustrations are in place, and determine value.”
I lowered the books into the tub.
The next book on the pile was The Lantern. “Oh, wow,” I whispered. “Ava’s copy of the book club selection.” I opened it. It was a contemporary copy of the recently published book, a first edition. I was turning to the title page when two sheets of paper spilled out. I stared at them for a moment before picking them up.
One sheet showed a Grey Gull Condo Association–issued floor plan. A hand-drawn star was in the upper corner along with the words IT’S AVAILABLE! handwritten in all caps. Evidently Ava had been considering moving into her sister’s condo complex.
The other was a handwritten draft of a Dear John letter.
* * *
Dear Edwin,
I love you. I hope you know how much I’ve loved you, but I can’t stay with a man who is so insensitive to my needs. You ignore my wishes, insisting you know what’s best, not listening to me at all. You’ve never believed me when I’ve told you how much I want a baby, that it’s almost like a phantom limb. I told you a long time ago that I wasn’t interested in children, but you know that’s no longer the case. Now it’s in my mind all the time. Now when I think of having a baby, it’s almost like a phantom limb, present and vital.
I’ve always honored my vows. I’ve suffered in silence, determined to honor my vows, and I did so until I ran into my high-school boyfriend, Phil Wilcox. Phil is married, too, and neither of us has any interest in a long-term relationship. I simply succumbed to a tidal wave of desire, and my sin turned into a blessing because I got pregnant.
I understand that leaving you now and under these circumstances means I won’t get any alimony money, but I would rather go back to work than give up this dream. This baby may not be reared in luxury affluence, but it will be reared with love and without rancor.
Do you think you can forgive me? Can you understand? Can you forgive me?
* * *
I stood for longer than a minute, thinking of loss and desire, of the hidden costs of finding what you yearn for. After I surfaced from my trancelike reverie, I wondered if Ava had ever really planned to go back to work. I doubted it. Her noble-sounding statement was just a cover story, a smoke screen intended to help hide her motive should the theft of the Tiffany lamp ever come to light.
I called Ellis to come get the documents, then took photos for Wes.
* * *
Timothy wrote back: The lawyers are happy.
Wait until I told him about Aunt Louise’s desk. He’d love it.
* * *
Fred didn’t come into work all day, but I wasn’t worried. After the stress and exhilaration of yesterday, I figured he’d collapsed and was still asleep.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
At ten Friday morning, Gretchen asked, “Has anyone spoken to Fred?”
No one had.
“I knew he needed a good night’s sleep, but this is pushing it!” I said, trying to make light of the situation.
At noon, I succumbed to worry and called him. His cell phone, his only phone, went straight to voice mail. I texted: Are you okay?
At two, with no reply, I called the Blue Dolphin to see if his girlfriend, Suzanne, knew where he was.
The longtime hostess, Frieda, answered with a welcoming “Blue Dolphin, how may I help you?”
“Frieda, it’s Josie, Josie Prescott.”
“Hi, Josie. Are you looking to come in tonight?”
“Actually, no. I’m calling for Suzanne. Is she there?”
After a too-long pause, she said, “No. I’m sorry, Josie. Would you like to leave a message?”
I thanked her, said no, and ended the call. I found Suzanne’s phone numbers—home and cell—in my contact list and dialed both. No answer.
Something was very wrong.
I couldn’t decide what to do, but I needed to do something. Fred was responsible, courteous, and professional. No way would he have simply vanished without a word unless he was in trouble. Or unless he had a compelling reason to do so. Remembered facts fell into place like dominoes.
Ellis had asked if the Tiffany studio mark could be falsified.
Fred knew how to work with stained glass.
Fred had accessed the walk-in safe after Eric had stored the lamp.
Fred knew enough about the antiques black market to use the system for his own benefit.
“No,” I said aloud.
I didn’t believe it.
Trust, I thought, silently repeating the familiar mantra, but verify.
I accessed my security company’s digital files, entered the date I wanted to view, clicked on the walk-in safe camera file, and entered the time range.
Fred opened the safe, looked at the lamp, and locked it back up.
“There,” I said, relaxing. “See? I knew it.”
I closed the files, then swiveled so I could see out the window. The sun tinted everything with a warm wash of color. I gazed into the forest, comparing the different shades of green, my mind racing, thinking ugly thoughts. I heard myself sigh.
Viewing the security tape hadn’t proved a thing. I’d confirmed that Fred hadn’t switched out the lamp during that visit to the safe, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t done it another time. Or perhaps he didn’t need to switch lamps here. He could have been working with Jean all along. He could have helped her locate the replica, then, later, during an examination of the genuine lamp, switched it for the one he manufactured using our appraisal as a design checklist. With skill and determination, he could have created a fake lamp that would appear to be identical to the original.
I simply couldn’t envision Fred in the role I was assigning him, but the fact remained that he could have acted as I’d laid out—and he was missing. If Fred didn’t surface soon, I would have to reveal my concerns to Ellis, but I didn’t have to do it now.
* * *
I forced myself to work.
While I caught up on accounting reports, with Hank sitting in my lap, happy-padding, and Angela crouching on the floor, swiping at his tail, I turned on Rocky Point’s local radio station. Hank ignored her, lashing his tail up when she touched it, then lowering it again. She was having a blast.
“Angela! Leave Hank’s tail alone or I’m going to rename you Devila.”
She ignored me.
The weekend weather was going to be perfect, eighty-five with low humidity. Our Little League team won against Newington, five to three. The Seacoast Garden Club was hosting a workshop called “Organic Gardening.” The Rocky Point Yacht Club was sponsoring a fund-raiser, also on Sunday, to raise money for college scholarships. It was open to the public. The highlight was an afternoon regatta among ten regional colleges, including Hitchens.
I reached around Hank for the phone and called the yacht club. I bought six tickets, certain that Ty, Zoë, Ellis, and the kids would like to come to the regatta, too.
At four, after trying Fred’s and Suzanne’s numbers again, I went downstairs. I’d put it off long enough. I was going to have to talk to Ellis.
Before I could tell Cara I was leaving, the door opened, setting the wind chimes jingling.
Fred walked in. For one moment, no one said anything; then everyone exploded into talk at once.
“Are you all right?” Cara asked.
“It’s so good to see you,” Gretchen said.
“You’re okay,” Eric said.
“Hi,” Sasha said.
Fred turned to me. “Sorry.”
“We were worried.”
“I have no excuse about not calling. I just forgot.”
I laughed. “You forgot to call your job to say you weren’t coming in for two days? Did I hear you right?”
“I had other things on my mind.” He held up his left hand and pointed with his right index finger to a shiny gold band. “Suzanne and I eloped.”
I stood, disbelieving, amid the cacophony of oohs and aahs and best wishes and congratulations and where and when and why from Cara, Gretchen, Eric, and Sasha.
“After the kind of life-and-death experience we went through during that sting,” Fred said, his eyes still on mine, “I realized that life is short. As soon as I left the police station, I drove straight to the Blue Dolphin and asked Suzanne to marry me.” He grinned. “She said yes. We made an eight o’clock flight to Vegas, got in around eleven, found an all-night chapel, and were married by one.” He turned his wrist to check the time. “Today. This morning.” He chuckled. “We had a helluva champagne breakfast to celebrate and caught a five A.M. flight back.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t stay for the weekend!” Gretchen exclaimed.
“We thought about it … but we didn’t want to. We’ll take a proper honeymoon later. All we wanted to do was get married, and we did.”
“Sounds like we better start planning a party,” I said.
“I really am sorry, Josie.”
“You’re forgiven. Any time you elope, you should feel free to blow off work.”
Cara clapped her hands. Gretchen giggled. Eric looked thoughtful. Sasha smiled.
I walked toward Fred, my arms open. He hugged me, and I hugged him back, and then I hugged him again, relief weakening my knees and making me smile so broadly, it hurt.
* * *
On the ride home after a relaxing hour sitting on a blanket listening to Academy Brass play an array of familiar patriotic tunes, Ty surprised me by telling me he was going to grill me a steak. He made the turn that led to my house and away from the grocery store.
“Aren’t we stopping at the store?” I asked.
“I have everything packed in a cooler in the back. This is a surprise I’ve had planned on a theoretical basis for a few weeks now.”
“You don’t say.”
“It’s a celebration.”
“I love celebrations.”
“I know you do.”
“What are we celebrating?”
“The successful completion of my D.C. assignment.”
“Completion? As in, it’s done?”
“My boss texted me this morning. I’m done. While you were in the shower, I hotfooted it to the grocery store.”
“You devil, you.”
“Crafty like a fox, that’s me.”
I reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. “You don’t have to leave tomorrow! I’m so excited!”
Ty stopped at a light and turned toward me. Our eyes locked, and for that moment, we were alone in the world.
He smiled, the one that no one but me ever gets to see, and said, “Me, too.”
Once he passed through the intersection, I said, “Now that it’s over, can you tell me about your investigation?”
“What investigation?”
I laughed, then he laughed, and we didn’t stop until he rolled to a stop in the driveway.
* * *
“Watch the grill for a minute, okay?” Ty said.
He handed me the tongs, and I used them to stir the mushrooms Ty had simmering on one side of the grill. The orange light cast by the Japanese lanterns added a magical sheen to the soy-marinated mushrooms. I listened to nature’s music, focusing on the familiar, “Who-who-WHO-whooo, who-who-WHO-whooo” from the barred owl who lived in the for
est on the far side of the meadow.
“Look this way.”
I turned toward Ty’s voice. He was holding up a dirt-smeared gray plastic flower pot containing a three-foot-tall tomato plant. I laid the tongs down on the side counter.
“You bought me a tomato plant.”
“Two. The other one is still in the truck. This one is called Fourth of July because it has an early harvest. See? Some of the tomatoes are already turning red. The other one is a Big Boy. It’ll take us into fall.”
“Sylvia grows Fourth of July tomatoes. They’re incredible. I’m going to plant them now.”
While Ty went back to the truck for the other plant, I grabbed my gardening gloves and a small shovel from the mudroom and started digging in a small patch of dirt under the kitchen window. I had the first plant in the ground and was pressing down the dirt by the time Ty got back from his third trip to his SUV, this time carrying stakes and chicken wire. Ty removed the mushrooms from the grill while I dug the second hole. I got the twine from my everything drawer in the kitchen. Ten minutes later the tomatoes were staked, fenced in, and well watered. I leaned back on my haunches to admire my handiwork.
“Done!” I said, standing. “Yay!”
“You’re a model of efficiency.”
“And cute as a bug.”
“Cuter.”
Ty laid the steak on the grill and set the timer. In four minutes, he turned it, and four minutes after that, he set it aside to rest.
As he worked, I poured myself a Rouge Martini and told him about Fred and Suzanne and Eric and Grace.
“I love Fred’s spontaneity,” I said, “and I think it’s so completely sweet that Eric bought Grace a decorative piece for their someday-home. It’s kind of like those promise rings they used to have.”
“I think I saw one of those in an old Sandra Dee movie. Did Sandra Dee ever make a movie set in New Orleans?”
“I don’t think so.”
Ty took my hand. “When do you want to go to New Orleans?”
“The first weekend in November.”
He laughed. “That’s very specific. Why?”
“It’s before we get busy for the holidays, but after October, which is maybe my favorite time of year in New Hampshire.”
The Glow of Death Page 29
