“Just ring the bell and get it over with.”
“Hello, ladies.” Olivia opened the door with a wide, welcoming smile and held the screen door open for them.
After the introductions, she led them out to the back deck, where shrieks of laughter and splashing coming from the pool grew louder as they approached.
“We’re not intruding on anything, are we?” Ally asked.
“No. I’m spending my week off from work watching my grandkids while my son and his wife are on an Alaskan cruise. What’s wrong with that picture?” She laughed, clearly loving her assignment. “Hope you can join us for a little lunch.” She indicated a spread of a mammoth fruit salad and platter of finger sandwiches laid out on the umbrella table on the pool deck.
Belle couldn’t help staring at the woman, who was somewhere in her fifties. Her life seemed totally average, wholesome, and pleasant. If her late mother was the newborn’s mother, it would contradict the picture of Marjory’s life after her stint as an Ashford residence boarder to Stephen King level.
“Thank you,” Ally said. “But you really didn’t have to go to this trouble.”
“Honestly, it’s no trouble,” Olivia said. “After five days with these two, I’m starving for adult conversation. Have a seat.”
We’ll see how you feel about that after our chat, Belle thought.
They sat around the table on the deck as Olivia poured them glasses of lemon water.
“So tell me, what can I do for you, Deputy?”
“As I said on the phone, it’s about your mom.”
“Oh, yes. You mentioned someone’s writing a history of Danville, Connecticut.”
“This is Isabelle Ashford. She’s writing the historical piece, a human-interest story for the newspaper there.”
“Oh. I’d love to read it when it comes out.”
Belle simmered in a mild panic as Olivia’s eyes turned expectantly toward her.
“Yes,” Ally said. “We understand your mother was a young, single woman who briefly stayed in a rooming house when she took her first teaching job in Danville.”
“That’s one of my favorite stories of hers,” Olivia said with a smile. “That’s where she and my father met, in Danville, not the boarding house.”
“Well, Belle’s great-aunt, Marion Ashford, owned the house where she stayed.”
“Oh, how funny is that. My mom would’ve loved to meet you after all these years,” Olivia added with a somber smile.
“I’m so sorry about her loss,” Belle said. “It was somewhat recent, wasn’t it?”
“Eleven months ago. She and Dad are finally back together.” She was quiet for a moment, as if honoring their memory, and then her pep returned. “So what can I help you with?”
Olivia looked at Belle, but Ally intercepted the question.
“Uh, there’s actually one other thing you can help with besides your mom,” she said delicately. “This may sound weird, but I’m working a cold case related to the house, and I’m hoping you’d be willing to give a DNA sample.”
Olivia’s face bunched in surprise. “I don’t understand. Why would you need that from me for a story?”
Ally took on the air of an old friend, settling into her chair with a smile that suggested she was about to share a juicy bit of gossip. “It’s not for the story. Here’s where it gets even weirder. The remains of an infant were recently discovered buried on the Ashford property.”
“Nooo, that’s terrible,” Olivia said, reacting exactly how Ally had said she wanted her to. “But what does that have to do with me?”
“It’s just routine. We’re gathering DNA from the women who were in the home around that time period—to see if we can make an ID on the baby.”
“What does that have to do with my mother?”
“She lived at the house for a while,” Ally said.
“You’re not suggesting she could’ve been its mother?” Suddenly, Olivia’s tone was anything but conversational.
“No, no,” Ally said. “It’s to rule her out.”
Already tense from the awkward downshift in the conversation, Belle stared at Ally, who was casually spooning watermelon into a dish for herself while working over their hostess.
“We have a strong idea who it belonged to,” Ally said. “But before we go to the expense of exhuming souls from their final resting place, we’d like to administer a simple test—you know, a formal process of elimination.”
“Well, I can eliminate my mother right now by saying there’s no way in hell any baby of hers would’ve ended up buried in someone’s yard.”
Belle’s gaze darted between Olivia and Ally like they were competing in the Wimbledon finals.
“Once again, I didn’t mean to imply we think it was your mother’s. But now with such amazing advances in forensic science, we can add irrefutable proof to a case, if it ever goes to court, as easily as swabbing a cheek with a Q-tip.”
Olivia looked at both of them skeptically, then pointed to Belle. “Did you swab her cheeks yet?”
Belle had to stifle a giggle on that one, prompting a subtle kick from Ally’s boot into the side of her foot.
“Unfortunately, she’s related to Marion through marriage on her father’s side, so it wouldn’t provide us the information we need.”
“The maternal line carries the mitochondrial DNA necessary for identification,” Belle added with a proud smile.
“How come I haven’t heard about this case in the news? I live close enough to that part of Connecticut for it to be covered.”
“We haven’t reported it to the news yet. I’m following up all my leads first before we involve the public. Cold cases like this tend to flush all the nuts out of the woodwork, so that’ll be our last resort.”
Wow. Olivia’s steely-eyed demeanor of a POW against Ally’s agile powers of persuasion was impressive. What a showdown. Who was this woman? A retired spy for the CIA?
“I can certainly understand you feeling uncomfortable about this, Olivia, but it’s a matter of going through the proper investigative channels. And doing the moral thing. Exhumation.” She bowed her head for effect. “It’s just so unpleasant.”
Deuce! Advantage Ally.
“I’d never forgive myself if I had young Judy Ashford’s body dug up and her bones rummaged over without first exercising due diligence in following up every lead, no matter how remote.”
Olivia looked at both of them with lingering uncertainty. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm in giving my sample, especially if it will help lead to the infant’s real mother.”
Game, set, match!
Belle’s heart swelled with honor as she watched her woman finesse her way through one of the most challenging aspects of her job. She quivered at the outrageous appeal of a capable woman.
After obtaining the sample, Ally cut their luncheon short, much to Belle’s relief.
“Will you please let me know when you have the results back,” Olivia said as she walked them to the door. “I know in my heart that the child couldn’t have been hers, but I’ll feel better when you have scientific proof.”
As much of an aphrodisiac as it was watching Ally do her thing, Belle felt sorry for Olivia. They’d sowed the seed of impropriety about her late mother into her head, and now who knew what thoughts would haunt her mind as she awaited the results?
In the car on the way back to Connecticut, Belle’s mood was noticeably sullen. Ally squeezed her knee tenderly.
“You’re so quiet. Anything wrong?”
Belle shrugged. “I feel kind of bad for Olivia. She has her mother so high on a pedestal. What if the DNA comes back a match? Then she’ll have to deal with not only her loss but some terrible notion about a sordid past she was never supposed to learn.”
Ally sighed. “Look on the bright side—if she does come back a match, the baby will have a sibling and a long-overdue burial.”
“Still, not such a bright side for Olivia.”
“I doubt it was Marjory�
��s. I’m still banking on it being either Judy’s or Marion’s.”
“Were you serious about exhuming Judy’s body for testing?”
“I’m afraid it’s probably going to come to that, once we exhaust all the leads. Marion was cremated. But if, as her next of kin, you have an objection, we can call the child Judy’s, close the case, and you can bury it as an Ashford.”
“Ugh. My father is her next of kin, not me. I’ll pass that ball to him. Do we have time to stop for a drink?”
“Sure.” Ally grabbed her hand. “You’ve been a great sport, Belle.”
“Yeah, great sport,” Belle mumbled as she sifted through her purse for lip balm. She picked up her cell phone and noticed a message from Charlene.
Belle put the phone on speaker and played the message.
“Hi, Isabelle. This is Charlene Highland, Craig Wheeler’s sister. I wanted to let you know the other day my brother and I were talking about the Ashfords and the baby, and as we were jogging each other’s memory, we sort of remembered that boarder’s last name. It was either Rubinski or Ravinski, a B or a V. We weren’t sure. I hope this helps. Bye now.”
“It sure does help,” Ally said, trading smiles with Belle.
“This is awesome,” Belle shouted. “This completes the set. Thank you, Charlene!”
“Want to skip the drink and head to the station so I can start running the names?”
“Uh, yeah. I’ll start doing it now on my white-pages app.”
Ally glanced over at her. “You’re so stinking cute.”
***
By the next day, Ally had located a middle-aged man named Philip Rivansky Jr, living in central Connecticut. When she called him, the man informed her that his father was living in a convalescent home suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. He was not helpful beyond that.
As had become the custom, Belle rode shotgun monitoring the directions app as they drove down to the nursing facility a few days later.
“This is kind of exciting,” Belle said. “We’re actually gonna get to meet the legendary Three-fingers-Phil.”
“At least we’ll know we have the right guy.”
“So what kind of information do you think you’ll get out of someone with Alzheimer’s?”
“You’d be surprised. It works to our advantage that we’re looking for info from decades ago. If I needed to know something that happened last month, forget about it.”
“Is the son meeting us there?”
“I hope not. He wasn’t very cordial on the phone and has no idea I’m making this visit. That’s why we’re going in the middle of the day. Hopefully he’s at work now.”
“That’s not illegal?”
“I’m going to ask him a few questions, not kidnap him.”
“What if he can’t answer them? What if he refuses to give you his DNA?”
“Let’s not get carried off in what-ifs. With McKeenan’s sample coming back a negative match, it’s crucial that I get one from this guy. He’s the last known male connected to the premises.”
“If you do get it, and he does come back a match, what good will it do when the guy doesn’t even remember his own name?”
“Half the puzzle with be solved,” Ally said. “And if we exhume Judy and make a match there, then case closed.”
“Then what? Can you even charge him with anything?”
Ally sighed. “You’re stressing me out with all these questions, honey. Let’s put out positive vibes, okay?”
Despite Ally’s air of righteous authority as they checked in at the desk with a bouquet of store-bought flowers, Belle didn’t care for the persistent feeling that they were doing something sketchy as they strolled down the hall toward Mr. Rivansky’s room.
Ally knocked on the half-open door and entered without waiting for his verbal response.
“Hello? Mr. Rivansky?” She said it loudly enough, but he continued staring out the window from an upright recliner, his left hand shaking on the armrest.
“Mr. Rivansky?” she said again, crouching over him.
He finally turned and looked at her, his eyes vacant portholes.
“Hello, I’m Deputy Ally Yates from the Danville sheriff’s department.” Her hand was extended to him for a moment before he raised his right one to shake. “This is Isabelle Ashford.”
“How do you do?” Belle shook his hand, minus the two fingers, before he retracted it.
He looked at them both with sunken, glassy eyes but didn’t say a word.
“Can I ask you a few questions, sir?” Ally said.
His lips twitched, and then he returned his gaze to the gray morning.
“Dinner’s on me if you can get one word out of him,” Belle muttered.
Ally backhanded Belle’s upper arm at her irreverence. “Mr. Rivansky, do you remember living in Danville?” She began a slow, gentle line of questioning. “Danville, Connecticut? About forty or fifty years ago? The Ashford Place…over on Birch Hill Road?”
He coughed a little and patted at his mouth with a balled-up tissue from his lap.
“Do you remember the name Ashford? Marion Ashford?”
He turned to look at her.
“Do you remember Marion Ashford?” she repeated.
“Marion,” he said in a weak, raspy voice.
“Yes, Marion,” Ally said. “Do you remember her?”
“Marion,” he repeated and placed his hand to his heart.
“He remembers her all right,” Ally muttered to Belle.
“I’m about to ball my fucking eyes out,” Belle replied.
A perky nurse entered pushing her computer on a cart. “Good morning, Mr. Rivansky,” she said loudly. “Hello.” She acknowledged them with a chin jut. “Sorry to interrupt. I have to take a few vitals.”
“No problem,” Ally said, and they both stepped back to give her room.
“Who are your visitors?” she asked him as she took his blood pressure. “Your nieces? Granddaughters?”
Belle chuckled. “I wish I was young enough to be his granddaughter.”
“Actually, we’re friends of the family.” Ally pointed to Belle. “Her aunt and Mr. Rivansky were good friends back in the day.”
“Oh,” the nurse said as she scanned for a temperature. “Well, he doesn’t say much, but I’m sure he appreciates your visit.”
“Is he able to communicate in full sentences?” Ally asked.
“No,” the nurse said. “He’ll say individual words occasionally, but he’s essentially nonverbal.”
“But he hears us, right?” Belle asked.
“He does,” the nurse said. “And he understands some simple, direct questions but can’t answer them with more than a nod or a word or two. Mostly, he stares out the window or at the television all day.”
Belle’s heart sank. What if this was her father someday? She couldn’t bear the thought. “Does his son visit?”
“I think he has two sons,” the nurse said. “They alternate visits once every week or two.”
“That’s it?” Belle asked.
“When the disease advances to this stage, sometimes children avoid regular visits. It’s devastating not to be recognized by your own parent.” She suddenly smiled. “I believe deep down inside he knows you’re here for him, and it makes him happy.”
Belle swallowed her emotions as her eyes stung with tears.
“Let’s have a cocktail now, Mr. Rivansky,” the nurse said. She poured him a fresh cup of water from his plastic pitcher and held the straw to his mouth. He took several sips, and then she placed the cup on the rolling tray table beside him. “It was nice meeting you, ladies.”
After the nurse towed her cart out, Belle and Ally looked at each other. Belle shrugged, wondering what came next.
“So, Mr. Rivansky,” Ally said softly into his ear. “Any chance you’ll consent to me taking a cotton swab of the inside of your cheek?”
Ally stood straight up, crossed her arms over her chest, and glanced at Belle as the old man maintain
ed his gaze out the window.
“Mr. Rivansky?” Belle said, then turned to Ally. “The only time he even acknowledged our presence is when you said ‘Marion.’ He can’t give you his consent.”
With her elbow resting on her forearm, Ally pressed her knuckles against her lips in contemplation. “No. It doesn’t appear that he can.”
Belle sulked with resignation. “Are we done here?”
“Yes, just about.” At that, Ally pulled a small brown evidence bag from her cargo-shorts pocket, plucked out Mr. Rivansky’s straw with a tissue, and placed it inside.
Belle was aghast. “What are you doing? What if they have cameras in here?”
Ally sealed the bag and stuffed it into her shorts. “Then we better get going.” She turned to the old man and gently squeezed his nearest hand. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Rivansky.”
As she followed Ally down the hall, Belle had trouble keeping up with the brisk strides of her long legs.
“Aren’t you the least bit concerned about the moral implications of this?” Belle scolded her through clenched teeth.
“Can we talk about this in the car?” Ally replied through a fake smile as they passed the front desk toward the entrance. “Ba-bye now,” she said with a wave to the receptionist.
Once in the car, Ally took the bag containing the straw out and placed it in the car’s console. She started the car and puckered her lips for a kiss.
“What are you waiting for? They probably have us on tape.” Belle turned toward the door, anticipating a small band of SWAT-team members to burst out into the parking lot after them.
Ally snorted in amusement. “They don’t have cameras in the rooms. That’s an invasion of privacy.”
“Sort of like stealing someone’s saliva?”
“Yeah. Sort of.”
“Ally, I feel like we took advantage of a helpless, sick old man.”
“Honey, don’t look at it that way. This will probably end up excluding him as a potential biological parent.”
“And what if it doesn’t?” Belle said, pressing at her heart thrumming against her rib cage.
“Then that helpless child will finally get some justice. Isn’t that what all this has been about?”
The Ashford Place Page 19
