“You earned it.”
“Thank you,” she repeated, her cheeks pink with pleasure.
“But you shouldn’t be working here today.”
“I like to garden.”
“You’re not being paid.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, Julie, it’s not.”
“I just want to help.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but you can’t.”
Tom appeared from the back, grinning. “Hey, Josie! I thought I heard your voice. Monte tells me the engineer has finished his inspection and they’re working on the demolition plan. Progress!”
Julie stood up, brushed the dirt from her knees with her gloved hand, and walked toward the front without speaking another word.
Tom’s eyes followed her until she rounded the corner, his brow wrinkling. “What’s up with her?”
“I told her she couldn’t work here anymore.”
“And she said she just wants to help.”
“Which I know is true, and it’s not personal in any way, but between the ethics of letting someone work without paying them and the potential liability if she were to get hurt … I just can’t allow it. I really am sorry. I didn’t realize she’d be so upset.”
Tom continued to stare at the place he’d last seen Julie. “I’ll take care of it.”
He strode off toward the front, and I headed to the backyard. Tom had prepped some handsome raised beds near the stone wall separating our property from the beach, so the irises would be out of harm’s way.
Monte came around the corner a few minutes later, and I handed over the set of new keys. I confirmed that his list of the architectural features we wanted to retain was accurate and complete, then got an update on the engineer’s findings: He hadn’t discovered any additional problems, so they expected the demolition to be fairly straightforward—or as straightforward as this kind of partial demolition could be.
Before I left, I told Monte about Tom’s plan to safeguard the bulbs, and he said there was plenty of time, that they wouldn’t be in any danger for at least a week. I thanked him and left.
Tom and Julie were standing by the front of his pickup talking. His hand was on her shoulder, and she was nodding at something he was saying.
I kept my eyes on the road, not so much pretending that I didn’t see them as signaling that they shouldn’t feel obliged to talk to me.
Tom called my name. I looked up, making it a point to smile. Tom nudged Julie.
“I understand about the work thing,” she said. “Sorry.”
“I hope you know it’s not personal.”
“Tom explained.”
“Good.”
I continued to my car, and as I slid behind the steering wheel, I peeked over the dashboard. Tom caught my eye and gave me a thumbs-up. I nodded in his direction and left it at that. I was relieved that he’d smoothed the situation over, but I didn’t feel like celebrating. I hated that Julie felt unappreciated. I pulled away from the shoulder and lifted my hand in a friendly good-bye.
* * *
I’d never seen Timothy wear anything but black, and today was no exception. He was an inch over six feet and lean, sinewy like a runner. He had a finely manicured three-day growth of reddish-brown beard and brown eyes that seemed to see everything and know everything and judge nothing. I thanked my lucky stars every day that he was my producer and director.
By the time we ordered lunch, we had a solid list of location options. I recommended we check out the tugboats running along the Piscataqua River, the gazebo on the village green where bands played familiar tunes on warm summer nights, the consignment shops that filled Prescott’s Antiques Barn, and the dunes that dotted the eighteen miles of New Hampshire shoreline.
My phone vibrated, alerting me to a text from Cara. Maudie Wilson had called and left a message asking if I would call or visit. She had another question about the appraisal process.
“I need to touch base with a potential client,” I told Timothy, “but first I want to show you something.” I scrolled through the video I’d taken of the trunk a few days before on my phone, froze the image on the jewel-embedded presentation box, and held it up so he could see it.
His eyes widened. “Oh, my.”
I hit PLAY, pausing on the cat.
“I like the box better,” he said.
“You like the bling.”
“Shouldn’t I?”
“Bling is okay in its place, but in this case, it’s the cat that caught my eye. It reminds me of the Gayer-Anderson Cat, a famous example of an ancient Egyptian cat statue. It’s in the British Museum. It seems that jewels were often placed inside the cats as a tribute to the goddess Bastet. Don’t tell anyone, but this cat was heavier than warranted by the materials, ergo…”
“Get out of town,” Timothy said, ready to share what he assumed was a joke.
“It’s true.”
“Tell me we can feature it.”
“I wish I could, but I don’t know yet.”
“You’re killing me, Josie.”
“Maybe I’ll let you scout those locations on your own while I go see the owner.”
“Go. Go now. You can eat later.”
I laughed. “Let me try calling her. I’ll be right back.”
I walked outside, both to ensure my conversation wasn’t overheard and to avoid annoying other diners. Maudie’s phone went directly to voicemail, and when I called the facility, the receptionist, Lainy, whispered that Maudie was out to lunch with Julie.
“No luck,” I told Timothy as I slid back into my seat. “I’ll try again after we eat.”
We were halfway through lunch when Cara texted again, this time writing that Celia had called. Maudie had decided to sell everything and to let me handle it all. Celia asked me to call ASAP.
“Hold that thought,” I said, awed. “I’ll be right back.”
Back outside, I dialed Celia’s cell phone and got her.
“Thank you for calling back so quickly,” she said. “Aunt Maudie has always been decisive, and today is no exception. She was impressed with your professionalism. She hopes you can email whatever documents she needs to sign to me so I can review them, then pick everything up later today.”
Having a lawyer or relative review our consignment forms was common, and I was always okay with it. The more transparent the process, the better.
“Needless to say, I’m proud to work with her and touched by her confidence. I won’t let her down. I can email the forms now and come by anytime this afternoon. You tell me.”
We agreed to meet at two forty-five. I forced myself to walk calmly back to the table, but Timothy wasn’t fooled.
“I can feel the heat at the back of my neck—my hair is on fire for real. Take a look.” He turned his head.
“You’re right, I see the flames. Oh, Timothy, Maudie wants to sell the cat and box. I’ll add a paragraph to the contract authorizing us to feature it on the show. I’m sure she’ll agree, since the more buzz I can create, the higher the price she’ll get.” I exhaled loudly, exhilaration and anticipation sending my pulse sky-high.
“When would you plan on selling it?”
“For an object of this quality, nine months to a year is realistic. Marketing well takes time.” I smiled. “I can’t believe it! Even if the cat and box are replicas, taking people through the process of discovery … I’m so excited! This is one for the ages.”
* * *
Eric and I arrived at Belle Vista at two forty-five, and as before, I left him with the van.
Inside, while I signed the guest book, Lainy called Maudie’s room, but there was no answer.
“Maudie got back from lunch nearly an hour ago,” Lainy said, “and I haven’t seen her go out again. Is she expecting you?”
“Yes. Celia made the arrangements.”
Lainy tried calling again, without luck. This time, she left a message saying I was waiting in the lobby.
I thanked her and reconciled myself to th
e delay. I sat on the bench. A few minutes later, impatient and bored, I turned my back to the window and looked around. A server in the café was clearing a table. Lainy was watching a YouTube video on her tablet. By squinting, I could just make out text running along the bottom of the screen: The Stanislavski Method. A middle-aged man in a suit walked alongside an older woman in a turquoise muumuu. When they reached the facility’s front door, he kissed her on the cheek. She squeezed his arm affectionately, and he left. Other people came and went.
At three, I called Maudie myself, then Celia. Neither woman answered. I left voicemails saying I was here. A few minutes later, I texted them, thinking that some people pay more attention to texts than calls. I texted Eric, too, to explain the delay. After another ten minutes, I tried Maudie’s cell and landline again, then Celia’s cell, still without reaching either of them.
I walked back to the desk. Lainy turned her iPad over with faux casualness, and I pretended not to notice.
“I tried calling both Maudie and Celia again.” I eyeballed the café. “I wonder where they are … We had a two-forty-five appointment.”
“Maybe Maudie forgot she was supposed to meet you.”
“Celia wouldn’t have forgotten.”
“True.”
“When did Celia sign in?” I asked.
Lainy dragged the big guest book toward her and ran her finger down the entries. “Two twenty.”
“About half an hour after Julie and Maudie got back from lunch.”
“I don’t know exactly, but about that.”
“Did Julie come in with Maudie?”
“Yes.”
“But she didn’t sign in again?”
“No. She’d already signed in when she first got here.” Lainy consulted the book. “See? Eleven twenty-seven.”
As Lainy pushed the guest book back into position, I asked, “Did Celia wait in the lobby?”
“No, she went straight to Maudie’s room. Maudie signed an authorization form allowing both her nieces to enter her apartment anytime. They have their own keys.”
I scanned the lobby, looking for inspiration, then brought my gaze back to Lainy’s face. “To tell you the truth, I’m a little worried.”
Lainy’s eyes moved to the brass clock near her phone. It was eight minutes after three. “It hasn’t even been half an hour.”
“You found me out.” I smiled. “I’m known for my impatience. I guess I’ll give them another few minutes.”
I returned to the bench and caught up on some work emails. Time dragged. At twenty past, I texted Eric again, telling him I planned to wait until three thirty, then consider my options.
At three twenty-nine, just as I decided to leave a message for Maudie and head back to the office, Tom and Julie arrived.
“Tom!” I exclaimed. “Julie!”
“Hey, Josie,” Tom said, smiling. “Sorry we’re late. Julie got her wires crossed.”
“I think I’m going crazy!” Julie said, laughing a bit. “I went to work at the diner … God … I’m such a ditz! I completely forgot that I was supposed to pick up Tom.” She tapped her head and made a funny face, raising her brows and screwing up her mouth. “Today is a nanny day. Tomorrow is a diner day. Duh.”
“It’s better to show up when you’re not scheduled,” I said, “than not show up when you are.”
“That’s true, but I hate being a space cadet.”
“You’re not a space cadet. Your brain is full.”
“You’ve got that right. Luckily there was no traffic on Travis, so even though school was just getting out, I was able to zip home and get him. Otherwise we’d be way later than we already are.” She patted Tom’s arm and glanced around. “Did they give up on us? Tom was supposed to be here at three.”
I turned toward Tom. “Did Maudie tell you about her plans to sell the presentation box and cat?”
“No. Celia did. She asked me to come by to help load the trunk into your car. I saw your van outside—I guess she didn’t know you’d bring your own help.” He surveyed the lobby. “Where are they?”
“I haven’t seen them. To tell you the truth, I’m a little concerned. When did Celia call you, Tom?”
“One ten, one fifteen, something like that. She said you guys were going to meet here at a quarter to three. She asked me to come at three.”
Everything lined up, except it didn’t, like when a friend says all the right things and everything seems fine until you figure out she’s been dating your boyfriend on the sly.
I walked to Lainy’s desk. “I think you ought to call security.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lainy called the café, the fitness center, and the wellness center asking if they’d seen Maudie. After receiving a litany of noes, she asked Harry, the security guard, to walk the grounds, explaining to me that they hated to intrude on residents’ privacy. Maudie, Lainy said in the lowered tone I’d come to associate with her harmless gossip, loved sitting in the garden.
At ten to four, as Tom, Julie, and I stood around doing nothing, a man in a khaki-colored collared shirt and matching slacks crossed the lobby from a side corridor heading straight for Lainy. He looked old enough to be a resident himself. He was short for a man and slender, with a thick gray mustache and long sideburns. I could see his name embroidered on his shirt pocket: HARRY.
Harry hitched up his pants and said, “She’s not outside, and no one I asked has seen her.”
“Let me call Mr. Hannigan.” To me, she added, “The executive director.”
Mr. Hannigan’s assistant said he was at a conference and she didn’t think he’d be back in the office today. The assistant told Lainy that Carmen Acosta, the director of the wellness center, was the supervisor on duty. Lainy called Ms. Acosta and asked her to come to the front.
Carmen Acosta appeared five minutes later from a side corridor. She was a little older than me, medium height and weight, with short, wavy sandy-brown hair. She wore a white lab coat. A pink blouse with small brown polka dots showed at the top. Her pale pink pumps had little brown leather bows on the sides.
Tom and Julie inched their way toward the window, leaving me at the helm.
Carmen extended a hand for a shake. “I’m Carmen Acosta,” she said, her tone all business. “I understand you had an appointment with Mrs. Wilson?”
“And her niece, Celia Akins. It’s been more than an hour.”
She listened as Lainy and Harry took turns stating what they knew about Maudie’s schedule and what they’d already done to try to locate her.
Lainy turned to Julie, who was still standing next to the bench with Tom. “You and Maudie got back from lunch at two.”
“About ten of, I think. I don’t know exactly.”
“Did she mention any plans to go out again?”
“No. She didn’t tell me about Celia coming over, or selling the cat and box, or anything. We were eating when Tom’s text came in, at … I don’t know … maybe one fifteen or so. I think that’s right. He said he got a job and needed the truck. I didn’t know the job was here until later, when I picked him up.”
Carmen asked Lainy and Harry a few more questions: when they’d seen Maudie last, if she’d seemed normal, if there’d ever been any reports of her wandering away—pro forma, it seemed to me, for when an older person went missing.
“Harry,” she said, “will you please open Mrs. Wilson’s door for me? I’m going to conduct a wellness check. I’ll fill out the paperwork later.”
Harry hitched up his pants again and headed down the corridor that led to Maudie’s unit. Carmen followed. I joined the procession without asking permission, and Tom and Julie fell in line behind me.
Harry stopped at the third door down, Maudie’s unit, and knocked with his knuckles. “Mrs. Wilson? It’s Harry, security.” He waited a few seconds, then clapped the brass knocker half a dozen times. After ten seconds, he shouted into the sliver of light showing between the door and the jamb: “Mrs. Wilson? We’re coming in to check on you.�
�� He pressed his ear to the door, waited another few seconds, then selected a key from the oversized ring attached to his belt.
He opened the door a crack.
“Mrs. Wilson?” he called again.
He swung the door wide and took a step in. He inhaled sharply, gulped, and stopped short. Carmen, right on his tail, ran into him.
I went up on tiptoe to peer over their shoulders. Celia lay on the floor, on her back, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, her limbs splayed, her face drenched in blood.
Horrified, I staggered back a step, flailing at the wall for support.
Carmen stepped around Harry and crouched beside Celia, feeling her neck for a pulse, then her wrist.
Tom pushed past me and stepped over the threshold. He gasped. Julie shrieked and lurched backward into the hall, collapsed against the wall, covering her face with her hands, and began to whimper, then cry, wheezing, her chest heaving.
“Call 9-1-1,” Carmen instructed.
From the amount of blood pooling by Celia’s head and her stony gaze, I was almost certain she was dead. I steadied myself.
Harry extracted his phone from his back pocket and tapped in 9-1-1.
I heard Harry say he was calling from Belle Vista with an emergency, but I didn’t listen to the details. I didn’t listen to Tom, either, who was murmuring something to Julie, her gusty tears punctuated with high-pitched, soft moans. Instead, I forced myself to breathe deeply, and after a few seconds, I felt steady enough to look around, taking it in, knowing I’d soon be chased away.
Celia’s hair was soaked with blood. Red rivulets ran from the puddles surrounding her head and neck to the cabinets. Next to her left thigh was a blood-streaked wooden rolling pin. The coffee mug and plate I’d noticed earlier were still in the drying rack, but not the rolling pin. Evidently, Celia’s killer had simply grabbed it and swung. A tan leather handbag sat on the counter in front of the marigold glass candlesticks, next to a ballpoint pen.
Hidden Treasure Page 8
