by Joy Avon
Callie cringed. “That’s terrible.”
She chewed in silence while Iphy poured coffee for her and encouragingly moved the bowl with blueberry jelly closer to her.
Inhaling its sweet scent, Callie spread the jelly thick across her second pancake. Nobody made blueberry jelly quite like Iphy, and the taste was even better on something warm. “So we’re not just talking about a woman who went missing, but about her fortune that went missing as well. I hadn’t realized, although it makes perfect sense to assume she had put money aside to use once she had run away. How else would she live?”
“And stay undercover,” Iphy added. She sipped her own coffee from her favorite daisy-spattered mug. “Very clever, but not so clever when you share your plan with a killer.”
“Right. Quinn gave me the list last night of men Monica had been involved with, as far as he could find any. He emphasized again that the men she might have dated before she got famous are, of course, not on it, as there was no interest from the media in her life then. I was wondering if maybe after her last relationship ended in heartbreak, she turned to one of her old lovers for support. Let’s have a look.”
She produced the list and smoothed it on the table, running a finger down the names and the brief notes Quinn had put after them. “Okay, this one was only a short relationship and a long time before Monica vanished. I doubt she’d turn to that man for support. Hmm … here’s someone she was with for four years. That could create a bond of confidence even after it ended, right? And here … Wait—what?” Callie stared at the last name on the list. “Her last relationship was with a man named Roger.”
“So?” Iphy asked, refilling her coffee mug.
“The flowers she got and didn’t want to accept came from an ‘R.’ ‘You are my life,’ signed ‘R.’ What if they came from this Roger? Not a fan stalking her, but her ex. Making her feel so insecure and threatened that she wanted to vanish.”
Iphy nodded. “Possible. You hear a lot of cases where exes can get quite obsessed.”
“And more often than not those cases end in violence.” Callie leaned back against the chair. “We need to know if this guy Roger had been sending her flowers before, which she refused to accept. Maybe somebody who worked with her on Magnates’ Wives would know about unwanted deliveries arriving for Monica?”
Iphy nodded again. “That would make sense. But how can you trace that person? The series ended years ago. How would you even know who handled such things as deliveries for the stars at that time?”
“Yes, that’s a problem.” Callie ate her third pancake, turning the question over in her head. How to contact someone relevant, how to find someone who would actually want to cooperate now that the story was getting hot again? Not all publicity was good publicity, she supposed, and former employees on Magnates’ Wives who still worked in the business might be reluctant to touch anything potentially damaging.
Iphy leaned against the sink. “Mr. Bates was going to ask around the Cliff Hotel, you said last night before turning in. Did he get back to you yet?”
“No, but I suppose it’s too soon. He needs some time to gather information, I’d say.” Callie used the last of her pancake to wipe the remaining jelly off her plate. “Delicious breakfast—thanks for cooking. You know what? I think I’ll look up Dave Riggs. He met Monica. He might know something about this Roger. I wanted to go see my cottage anyway. I need some measurements to order curtains for the various rooms. I’ll also get wallpaper and paint. I think Quinn needs to do something physical to take his mind off the case.”
“Great idea. But I don’t see what Dave Riggs could contribute. Even if he met Monica, she wouldn’t have shared her relationship troubles with him.”
Callie wanted to protest that sometimes it was easier to confide in a stranger, but Iphy said, “She was a public figure. She couldn’t trust someone she’d just met.”
That seemed right. Still, Monica had told Dave she was going to do a new series. Something she might not even have been supposed to mention. Weren’t such things usually kept a secret until the last instant?
Odd.
Callie called Daisy, who had just finished her own breakfast and was eager to come along. Waving goodbye to Iphy, Callie smiled down on the dog. “Let’s go see our new home, girl.”
* * *
“That should be it.” Callie stared at the scribbled notes of measurements for curtains, calculations for enough paint to cover all the wooden surfaces and for wallpaper for the bedroom and living room walls. Her shoulders ached from reaching up to run the tape measure along the top of the windows or get it into a far corner. But at least she had now tackled this necessary chore and could focus on actually choosing colors. Seeing Peggy’s home had inspired her. That blue was gorgeous. Maybe combined with some sunny yellow and touches of lime green?
Or pink?
She did also love gray and purple. Dark purple or lilac. Wouldn’t that look great in the bedroom, combined with wallpaper with some botanical pattern?
Her cell phone beeped, and Callie almost dropped her note paper. She reached into her pocket for the phone. It was an unknown number. “Hello?”
“Callie Aspen? It’s me, Kay Tucker. I’m in Vienna with the group.”
It took Callie a moment to work out that this was her replacement at Travel the Past who was presently in Austria’s capital showing a group of senior citizens the famous architecture, parks, and white horses. “Yes? What’s the matter?”
“I lost someone!” Kay’s voice was panicky. “Last time I looked, everyone was still here. But now we’re short a group member.”
“Have you asked the others whether they’ve seen him or her?”
“It’s a she. She was snapping some pics. Now she’s gone!”
“People don’t just vanish. She must have wandered off. Is there something interesting to see nearby? A landmark she might have wanted to photograph?”
“I don’t know. It’s full of old buildings here.”
“Have you agreed on a rendezvous place where you’d go in case group members got separated from the rest?” Callie had always worked with such a rendezvous place, whether in a large museum or a city center, choosing a well-known spot that a lost tourist could easily ask for.
“No. I forgot.” Kay breathed hard. “Everything has been going wrong. In restaurants, they don’t speak English, and we get the wrong orders. Someone broke her heel stepping into a hole in the pavement. We couldn’t find a shoe shop so she could buy other shoes. And now this.”
“Kay, stay calm.” Callie wished fervently that she was in Vienna right now to take charge and solve this. “The wrong orders and the broken heel don’t matter. You have to find this missing woman. Now think hard. Where could she have gone to?”
“Someone else in the group is waving at me. Wait a moment. What? Where? Oh, I see.” Kay sounded relieved. “They spotted her. She’s on the other side of the street, snapping pics of some old banner on a building.”
“When you have everyone together again, tell them to notify at least one other group member if they’re going to wander off. And decide on rendezvous places wherever you go.”
“Yes, I will. This is just so much harder than I thought. I wanted a nice trip, having a drink here and there, chatting with fun people. They’re all asking questions I don’t know the answers to.”
Callie couldn’t remember feeling quite so lost on her first trip, but then it was a long time ago, and the routine had settled in so much she had been able to do things on autopilot. “It will be fine,” she said to Kay. “It’s just your first trip.”
“And maybe my last if it keeps going like this. I don’t need all this stress.” Kay hung up without even saying goodbye.
Callie stared at the phone in her hand. If Kay quit, would her former boss ask her to come back? Was she going to decorate a home she wouldn’t be living in at all if she moved back to Trenton to start in her old job again?
Right now that prospect seemed invitin
g. Heart’s Harbor was once more the scene of a murder case, whereas Vienna offered beautiful sights, wonderful meals—if you did get the right order of course—and the freedom Callie had always craved. What had she done moving here?
Confused, Callie left the cottage behind and walked with Daisy to the lighthouse. She was determined to talk to Dave about Monica Walker, something quite natural, she supposed, with the boat having been found, but at the same time she was sort of worried she’d run into Elvira instead of Dave and would have to make up some reason for her presence.
But, to her relief, the tall man was busy on a ladder leaning against the base of the lighthouse. He clambered down to greet her.
“Hi, Callie. I saw you at Haywood Hall yesterday, but I didn’t have time to come up and chat. Did you like what you saw? The dancing and all. Swing It! is really good.” He held his hand over his eyes to shade them against the sun. “Is there something you need for your cottage? I could lend a hand. This”—he gestured at his ladder—“isn’t urgent and can wait.”
“Monica Walker,” Callie merely said.
Dave flinched. “I didn’t tell you about my encounter with her to get more questions about it. I just want it to stop.” He rubbed his left hand over the paint stains on the right.
“That won’t be possible now that the boat has been found on which Monica allegedly left Heart’s Harbor. There might be remains on it.” She didn’t want to say for sure that there were. and assumed it was natural to speculate about it. “Monica Walker might be dead. Killed. Like Jamison.”
If Dave was shocked by these suggestions, he might be open to a conversation.
There was a moment’s hesitance in his features as if he was weighing the circumstances and coming to some kind of a decision. Then he nodded, more to himself than to her it seemed. “Let’s walk on the beach.”
He went on ahead of Callie and Daisy, his hands folded on his back. As she came to walk beside him, he was staring ahead in deep thought, a frown settling over his features. “What do you want to know exactly?”
“Was she afraid of someone? Did she feel … persecuted?”
“By the press, of course. What celebrity doesn’t?”
“And her previous boyfriend? Roger Aames?”
Dave scoffed. “Him? Yes, he kept sending her things. Also here at the hotel.”
“She told you that?” It seemed Monica had been very forthcoming to the keeper of a lighthouse she was just visiting for a taste of coastal life.
Dave shook his head. “No, I had heard about it from someone who worked there. It seems Monica was quite upset about all the gifts that kept arriving and had asked for them to be thrown away. That does tend to draw attention among the hotel staff.”
“Of course. You felt like she was eager to start fresh?”
“She was looking forward to this new series she was going to do. A clean break with the old, she called it.” He glanced at her. “I really can’t tell you much. I only met her once. And it was so long ago. With all the things I heard when she disappeared and the stories going around now, I’m not even sure that I remember what she actually said to me or if I’m changing what I remember because of what I’ve learned after the fact. If that makes sense.”
“Perfect sense.” Callie sighed. “Look, I don’t want to make this hard for you. You said you didn’t want Elvira to know a thing about it, and I want to respect that. But there’s been a murder, and now a boat has been found that might tie in to Monica’s disappearance. We can’t deny that something is going on here.”
Dave nodded. “I know.”
He fell silent when a figure came up to them from the dune path, waving cheerfully. It was Elvira, her hair drifting on the wind, her face relaxed, her eyes smiling. She put her arms around Dave and hugged him, then said to Callie, “So how is your cottage coming along?”
“Coming along might be an overstatement.” Callie forced a laugh. “I still have to buy so many things for it, you know. I was just over there making a list. I can’t really decide what color scheme I want. I had hoped to be organized sooner, but …”
“You don’t need many things to be happy.” Elvira leaned down to pat Daisy. “You’ve got this cutie.”
“Well, I do want some wallpaper on the walls. I’d better go and shop for some. Thanks for telling me all about lighthouse history,” she added to Dave, to give some reason for her presence. “I can use it for the Fourth of July party. Dorothea will be very pleased with all the local tidbits we’ve managed to include.”
“Sure, no problem. Give my regards to Mrs. Finster when you see her.”
“Will do.”
Callie turned and walked away from the couple. As she looked back to call Daisy to follow her, she saw the two of them standing a foot apart, Dave looking down, Elvira studying him as if she didn’t believe for one moment that her husband’s conversation with Callie had been about the lighthouse and the upcoming Fourth of July party.
Callie bit her lip. If Dave Riggs wasn’t very careful, his wife would start to suspect him of something. And when she found out about his meeting with Monica Walker, even if it was just a one-time occurrence like he claimed, there would be even more trouble.
Why had he not simply told her that he had once met the TV star?
Was Elvira so jealous that she would get upset about a simple meeting so long ago?
Or was there more to it? Something that Callie couldn’t quite fathom?
* * *
Quinn straightened up and pushed the upper half of the wallpaper piece against the wall while Callie used both of her hands to flatten it top to bottom so it would stick without bubbles. After having bought wallpaper, paint, and other supplies, she had called Quinn to come and help her at the cottage. He had been eager to accept, arriving looking rather worn and explaining he had taken a long run on the beach to clear his mind. The exercise had left Biscuit calm and sleepy, so he was snoring away on the porch, with Daisy by his side, while Quinn and Callie dove into the chore of getting the wallpaper on straight.
It was harder than Callie had thought, mainly because the wallpaper’s pattern had to be matched up, and the long sections were difficult to handle.
And as she watched row by row of purple irises take their place along the walls, she wasn’t even sure if a room full of those flowers wouldn’t be a bit much in the end. Maybe she should have picked something more neutral?
“Now I remember,” she huffed to Quinn, “why I rented an apartment that was all ready to move in to.”
Quinn grinned. “But this will all be your own effort.”
“Yes, my own less-than-straight-and-smooth effort.” Callie squatted quickly, to run her hands with enough pressure across the lower section. “Don’t let go yet.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
She pushed her flat palm hard on a particularly uncooperative spot. “There. Stay put, you silly paper. I hope when the glue dries it won’t all come down again. I’m not even sure these walls are straight. They seem to be crooked in places.” Hoping it might be easier to talk about while they were not face to face, she asked softly, “Did Falk tell you when he would have results from the DNA test?”
“Well, normally it takes some time, but since this is part of a criminal case involving two deaths, they promised him to do it as fast as possible.”
She tried to read the tone of his voice. “Are you nervous about it?”
“I’m not sure. On the one hand, I would love to know for certain who my mother is. On the other hand, if those remains were once my mother, it doesn’t help me much. I can’t ask her anything anymore. About my father or why she gave me up.”
“Hmm.” Callie took her time using a sharp tool to cut off the surplus at the bottom and throw it into a bin. “When you came here to look into Monica’s disappearance, did you really hope you could find her alive?”
“Of course. Otherwise, I would have thought twice about what I was starting.”
“But if you believed she was ali
ve, weren’t you starting something as well? She ran to escape, to build another life. Could you just have walked into it, saying, ‘Hi, I’m your son’?”
“Of course not.” Quinn stepped away from the wall and swung his arms. “I only wanted to know why she had run away and how her life was now. If I had discovered she was happy, I wouldn’t have barged in to tell her who I was. What for?”
Callie stood up and looked at the table, stacked with more wallpaper that seemed to smirk at her. She sighed. “Can we call it quits for the day?”
“I’ll keep going by myself. I feel like working all night. I don’t want to think about what might happen when the results of that test come in.”
“Maybe the remains they found didn’t belong to Monica Walker.”
Quinn scoffed. “I don’t believe that. And you don’t believe it either. Too coincidental.”
He started to put glue on another section of wallpaper. His movements were so wild that glue splattered on the floor. Fortunately, they’d be putting in new flooring later. Callie hadn’t decided what it would be yet.
Choices, choices. So much left to do.
Callie’s phone beeped. She dug it out of her pocket and answered it. “Hello?”
“Good afternoon. Mr. Bates here, bringing your fresh results.”
The pet painter’s brisk tone made Callie snap to attention. “Yes, Mr. Bates? I’m listening.”
“An old crew member of Magnates’ Wives has a cottage here in Heart’s Harbor. He stays there every summer. He has to be there now too. He dined at the Cliff Hotel a few nights ago. His name is Otto Ralston. I think he can tell you much more about Monica Walker than I ever could.”
“Thanks so much. Can you also give me the address of his cottage?”
She scribbled it down on a paper napkin left over from their break earlier and thanked Mr. Bates again.
Quinn eyed her. “News?”
“Just that an old crew member of Magnates’ Wives has a cottage here in town. Seems to be his favorite holiday hideout.”
