by Tessa Wegert
A lot of women Camilla’s age talk to men as if they assume the guys are in charge. I guess that’s because in their day the guys usually were. I’d introduced myself to Camilla as a senior investigator, head of my unit, but she didn’t think to ask how I felt about her plan even though it involved me stripping down in a stranger’s bedroom in the middle of a case.
But Camilla was also a matriarch accustomed to taking charge, a woman who compelled people to obey. She was adamant that I go upstairs with her, so much so that Tim didn’t object. He tried not to stare at the gauze on my hand. Tim knew better than to ask what happened in front of our witnesses.
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” I told her, “but I’m fine.” Five minutes, if that. My window of opportunity with Jade’s phone was closing.
Camilla sighed, gripped her cane, and stood up.
Out of everyone in the room, only Norton came to her aid. The lines on his forehead deepened as he rushed to her. I noticed Abella studying the two of them with an inquisitive expression, but I was so focused on the phone I didn’t give it a thought. “I can get her something from your closet,” Norton offered, towering over the old woman.
“Helping a lady choose an outfit is my department, and I could use something to take my mind off of this . . . situation,” said Camilla. “Thank you, Philip, but I’m fine.” It was decided. Defeated, Norton helped her to her feet.
How long had it been? Two minutes? Three? In my pocket the phone felt like a bomb about to blow. Jade, Bebe, Flynn—all were watching. Camilla moved toward the door, her progress excruciatingly slow. What could I do? I followed.
On the staircase, she took caution with each step. At her age it was a miracle she could maneuver those stairs at all. I could hear her panting lightly as I walked behind her, close enough to deter her from pausing to rest. Her neat white bob, smooth as plastic, seemed frozen in space and time, and I realized for the first time that Camilla wore a wig.
On the third floor of the house, Camilla Sinclair’s massive bedroom smelled of some essential oil that made my nose itch. I hadn’t paid much attention to the decor during my search, but now I was struck by the sparseness of it. Every object, and its placement, was deliberate. It could have been a period room in a museum. Camilla would have had issues with my own grandmother’s disorderly, overly knickknacked house.
“I don’t suppose you’ll want something too casual.” She eased open the closet doors to reveal hundreds of options and tapped a finger against her thin lips. “Let’s see. What shall we choose?”
For the love of God, hurry up. “Honestly, anything is fine.”
Camilla selected her blandest ensemble, a white dress shirt and beige pants. “Go ahead, dear,” she said, crossing the room to sit down on the bed. She twisted a quarter turn away from me and folded her hands in her lap. “I’ll wait.”
It was the best chance I was likely to get. In the woman’s bedroom, just a few feet from where she sat, I quietly pulled out Jade’s phone. Holding my breath, I clicked the home button. No passcode screen. It hadn’t locked. I navigated to the phone’s settings, switched the auto-lock from five minutes to never, and sighed with relief. Five minutes. I must have had mere seconds to spare.
Placing Jade’s phone on the floor along with my notebook, belt, cuffs, flashlight, and gun, I struggled out of my wet clothes. I’d bought myself some time, and Bebe couldn’t be bothered to help Jade reclaim her device, but how long would it be before Jade told her dad I took it? I had no right to hold that phone. When Jade found that out it would be gone. I’d have to sneak away again before that happened.
“I have a confession,” Camilla said.
My head snapped up. “You do?”
“Yes. I have my own reasons for bringing you up here. I’d like you to tell me what you found out about Jasper’s disappearance. In private.”
“Oh.” Crap. “Well, Wellington and I are still—”
“Please. Don’t toe the line and tell me you can’t reveal what you’ve learned. My grandson was attacked. He’s been missing for hours. The time for decorum is done.”
“I’m not being evasive,” I said. “I need to speak with everyone in the house before I can draw any conclusions.” My wet clothes made a slapping sound when they hit the floor. “I will say, Mrs. Sinclair, that everyone I’ve interviewed so far has a different theory. I’d love to know yours.”
The curled-under ends of Camilla’s wig shivered as she breathed. “There was a man here yesterday. A trapper Philip hired. He thinks we have a problem with mink.”
I pulled on the pants, listening closely. “Norton—Philip—mentioned that. Do you think that man has something to do with this?”
“Philip’s convinced he does. I trust his judgment. I wish my family did as well.”
“You seem to think highly of him. Philip, I mean.”
“Oh, absolutely. Philip is a dear friend, I don’t know where I’d be without him.” She thought for a moment and shook her head. “But if he’s right and Jasper was kidnapped, shouldn’t there be a ransom note demanding money?”
“You’d think so, but it’s early. Could be a demand’s still coming.” I tried to sound convincing. Some years ago, I came across a public survey that showed four in ten Americans would murder someone for money. Forty fucking percent. Still, it was a struggle for me to resist offering my condolences on her grandson’s death. This didn’t feel like a ransom situation. “It’s true that where there’s money, there’s usually someone who wants to take it.”
Camilla sniffed. “They’re a little late.”
I fumbled with the buttons on my newly acquired dress shirt. Let my gaze travel over the sumptuous room. “I’m not sure I understand, ma’am.”
“I suppose it will come out eventually,” Camilla said, lifting her chin. “The business isn’t doing well. Not well at all.”
“Sinclair Fabrics? Is this a recent development?”
“I believe things started to go downhill two years ago.”
“When Flynn and Bebe took over?”
“When Baldwin and Rachel passed. It isn’t entirely Flynn and Bebe’s fault. The American textile market isn’t what it used to be,” Camilla said, though she didn’t sound entirely convinced.
My mind went back to the boathouse and Loophole, the conspicuously missing yacht. I hated to do it, but I had to ask. “Exactly how are your finances looking?”
She’d been expecting this question. “I have a little money set aside. And I still have my island.”
The way she said it, the multimillion-dollar estate might have been a crisp fifty pulled from a birthday card. “When your son and daughter-in-law passed away, what happened to their fortune?”
“It went to the children, of course.”
“Flynn, Bebe, and Jasper. So Jasper has some savings?”
“Oh, most certainly,” Camilla said. “He’s very careful about his finances. He’ll be absolutely fine.”
Of course he will, I thought. To you, Jasper’s perfect in every way. “Has he ever had to borrow money from anyone? An acquaintance, maybe?”
“Not Jasper. Jasper’s very responsible.”
“What about loaning money to someone else?”
“Not that I know of, no.”
“Earlier,” I said, “what did you mean when you said he deserves better?”
If Abella was sincere, I could guess Camilla’s answer. Jasper had a brute for a brother and his sister was a heartless shrew. Still, the noise of the storm dropped away as I waited for the woman’s response. “It hasn’t been easy for Jasper, growing up with Bebe and Flynn. The age difference has always been a problem. They side against him. Poor Jasper is never included. Oh, he doesn’t let that stop him from doing what he wants—he’s a very determined person—but it often leads to jealousy.”
“Sounds like a lot of siblings I know.”
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“It doesn’t help that he’s so accomplished,” she said. “Things come more easily to Jasper than the others, in everything. It puts a strain on their relationship, those three, especially now that they work together.”
“That’s fairly new, isn’t it? Jasper joining the business?”
“He came on to help them last year.”
I returned the phone and my things to my pockets and holstered my gun. Between the burn and the bulky gauze it wasn’t a painless task. “How’s that going?” I asked.
She hesitated. “It’s been a challenge. He has a lot of cleaning up to do. I’m as eager to see the business bounce back as anyone, but it isn’t Jasper’s duty to make things right when he had nothing to do with them going wrong.” Again Camilla paused thoughtfully. “Do you know how old I am? On my next birthday, I’ll be ninety-two. I’ve had a fair amount of life, wouldn’t you say?”
“We should all be so lucky.”
Her laugh was dark. “It isn’t luck that got me here. I worked hard for what I have, and I expect the same exertion from my family. But I’ve learned there’s more to life than padding your bank account. Money comes and money goes. Jasper knows that. It’s why I’m so happy to see him with Abella. She’s lovely, don’t you think?”
“I’m sure she is.”
“Let me tell you something I told Jasper,” she said. “Whatever happens in this life, you have to put your own needs first. There may come a day when you wake up and discover you’ve been pressed into a mold. You’re stuck.”
“Stuck how?”
“Stuck is stuck. And when something is stuck, Detective Merchant, what do you do? You apply force. Forge a path to your own destiny.” She gave a small shrug. “It’s really the only way.”
I had a million more questions for this woman with her sphinx-like riddles, but before I could ask them, Camilla turned. “All set? Ah. That looks like a fit to me.”
The fabric was uncomfortably tight over my hips, the pants several inches too short. On me, Camilla’s button-down shirt insisted on playing a game of peek-a-boob. “They’re perfect, thanks,” I said. “When you say you need to apply force—”
“You should get back downstairs. Would you mind,” she asked feebly, “if I stayed? I think I should lie down for a while. It’s been a day.”
I didn’t point out there was much more day to come. The woman looked worn to the bone. The idea of leaving her didn’t sit right, but neither did herding her back down those stairs. After Bram, Carson helped me learn to manage my emotions, but I’ve always worried I might be too ruthless and uncaring now. To do my job well I needed to feel. So I disregarded the voice in my head and reminded myself this was an elderly woman under a lot of stress.
“Of course. Stay,” I said.
“Thank you.” Camilla nodded at the wet clothes under my arm. “Give those to Philip. He’ll take care of them. Anything you need, just ask Philip.”
At the door, I looked back to see Camilla Sinclair sitting where I’d left her, staring at nothing at all.
FIFTEEN
When I finally got a chance to look at Jade’s phone again, this time in the privacy of the empty library, I was surprised by what I found. While Tim and I were getting to know her family, Jade had been getting to know us. A series of open browser windows showed she’d googled our names and the location of the A-Bay police station. She’d even pulled up contact info for the local sheriff. What did Jade want with McIntyre when she already had Tim and me?
I moved on to her photos next, navigating awkwardly with my left hand. I’ve got a teen niece, my brother’s kid, so I know the kind of nonsense girls get up to with their phones. Jade’s photos were different. There weren’t many images of her with friends. She didn’t use filters that turned her into an animated cat. Most of her camera roll captured Manhattan’s historic architecture, and there were some nature shots that weren’t half-bad. The girl had an eye for composition—and an audience. Her Instagram account, dedicated to her photography, showed two thousand followers.
I knew I wouldn’t be so lucky as to find an image of a bloody butcher’s knife, but I got the next best thing: pictures of Jasper with Jade. One shot showed them standing in front of a restaurant in the city. In another they were at a photography exhibit in the sort of sparse white space native to pop-up galleries. Both photos were selfies, and young Jade’s father was nowhere to be seen.
As I scrolled I found images of Jasper on his own, including a large collection that, according to the dates on the camera roll, were from July 4. Some were close-ups, but others had a creepy stalker quality. I felt sure Jasper didn’t know Jade was taking them.
The most recent photos had been snapped the previous day, and they were the only pictures of Jasper with Abella. Given the angle, I figured Jade took them from the house’s winding staircase. The couple stood face-to-face in the hall, between the library and the parlor. The first photo showed Norton in the background, moments after he passed by. I zoomed in to the second. By then Jasper and Abella were alone, and it was obvious from their expressions they were arguing.
When I asked Abella if she and Jasper had fought last night, she’d denied it. So what the hell was this? And why was Jade spying on them through the spindles of the stairs?
Jade and Jasper were twelve years apart, but Jasper was the youngest of the Sinclairs, and I could see them being friends. Flynn said the family didn’t get together much anymore, but Jade had been on Camilla’s island with Jasper for the Fourth of July weekend. Who else would she hang out with here if not him?
Back in the kitchen, when I demanded Jade’s phone, she insisted she hadn’t contacted anyone—and sure enough no e-mails, text messages, or calls had been made since our arrival. She’d been honest, but in a way that bothered me more than finding out she had lied. What kind of fourteen-year-old who finds herself in a situation like this doesn’t text her friends for sympathy and some attention? The kind who’s got a crush on an older guy, I thought grimly. Jade didn’t text her friends or spend time with them in the city because she was preoccupied with our missing man.
I looked down at my bandaged right hand. If Jade had intentionally burned me—and that was still a big if—the kid was seriously messed up. Did the photos mean she was obsessed with Jasper? Was Jade just a girl with a crush, or were she and Jasper having some kind of twisted affair?
“Detective Merchant?”
Abella approached the library’s open door. Right away I noticed her perfect manicure had taken a hit. The polish was flaking and her cuticles were red from where she’d nervously gnawed the skin. “Can I talk to you?”
I motioned for her to come in. “Jade’s phone,” I said when I caught her staring. “She and Jasper spend a lot of time together, huh?”
Her pillowy lips turned downward. “What do you mean?”
“Jade has pictures with him. Lots of Jasper alone, too.”
“Well yeah, he’s, like, her uncle.” Abella drew in a breath. “Oh my God. You’re not saying you think she and Jas . . .”
Jasper’s girlfriend looked shocked, but I couldn’t be sure the reaction was authentic. She’d omitted a key event from her account of the previous day. I pondered the possibility she and Jasper had argued about pretty little Jade. Was Jade trying to split them up? She knew Jasper planned to propose. Jade was the one who divulged it to Ned.
“Hey,” I said. “I need to clear something up. After you saw what you saw yesterday, did you and Jasper get in a—”
“Might I offer everyone some coffee?”
Norton’s presence behind Abella made her jump. “It’ll just take a minute to brew,” he said, looking from Abella to me, and back again. “I’d like to take some up to Mrs. Sinclair, too, in case she’s up from her nap.”
“Did someone say coffee?” Crossing the hall, Tim squeezed himself between Norton and Abella, and grinned.
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nbsp; “Go ahead,” I told Norton. As he peeled off toward the kitchen, Tim glanced down at my hand. I didn’t like that he’d left the others alone in the parlor, or that he was encroaching on my conversation. I had more questions for Abella, and she clearly had something she wanted to say.
“Can you give us a minute, Miss Beaudry?” Tim said.
“I was going to ask the same of you,” I said to Tim.
Back in the parlor Bebe let out a hearty laugh. The sound of Jasper’s sister enjoying herself on a day like today sent a bracing shiver down my spine. I glanced at Abella. Her eyes were round as plates.
“I just need a sec,” I said to Tim.
“Likewise,” said Tim, trying not to look baffled by my suggestion that he take a hike. He turned back to face Abella. “Merchant will be right in to get you.”
Abella took a step backward. “No,” I said quickly. “Stay.”
Tim put a hand on my witness’s shoulder. “We won’t be long. Okay?”
Abella’s gaze ping-ponged between us. Eventually, she nodded and walked away.
“What the hell?” I said when she was gone. “Have you forgotten who answers to who around here? She was about to tell me something! It might have been important!”
“It’ll keep. What happened to your hand?”
I dragged my fingers down my face. What was he thinking, interrupting when a witness was about to open up? Was this how village investigators operated? With no respect for the hierarchy of the agency and its people? “Jade happened,” I said, reconciling myself to revisiting Abella when Tim had whatever assurance he needed that I was fine. “She poured a pot of scalding water on me.”
“Poured, or spilled?”
I hesitated. Not deliberate, I reminded myself. I didn’t want to sound paranoid, but the time I’d spent with Jade left me leery. “I don’t know, but it hurts like hell. Why did you let her leave the parlor?”
