A Photographic Death (22 page)

Chapter Forty-Nine

C
OLIN CALLED V
ERY
early the next morning. “Guess where I was last night?”

Not here, thank God.
“Where?”

“Providence.” He sounded pleased with himself.

“Really? You saw Ethan? What did
he say
?”

“I went to the college first. I figured they wouldn’t tell me anything over the phone, but they know who I am.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

He ignored my teasing. “They told me Ethan had had to take an emergency leave of absence. They wouldn’t say why or when he’d be back. John Eliot—you remember him?—gave me his home address.”

“Did you see him?”

“So I drove to the house. It was locked up tighter than—anyway, there was obviously no one there. I talked to a neighbor. He thought they’d left for somewhere yesterday morning. They have a home in the Caribbean somewhere.”

“Oh, my God. Do you think they took Caitlin with them?”

“Isn’t she supposed to be in college? Whatever you said to Sheila must have scared the hell out of her. When you wouldn’t agree to drop it yesterday, they apparently decided it was dangerous to stick around. They may never come back.”

“We’ll never see Caitlin again!” It was close to a wail. “What was all this for then?”

“Easy, Del. She’s not eight years old. She wouldn’t drop out of college now. That’s not something Ethan would want her to do anyway.”

“If Ethan had been there, what would you have done?”

“You don’t want to know.”

I
T WAS TIME
to focus on the books again. The next morning I was heading out to the barn, thinking about the ones I had bought at the temple sale in Queens, when I remembered something Paul Pevney had said to me. If I hadn’t been distracted, I might have thought about it earlier. As soon as I unlocked the Book Barn, I headed for the phone on the table.

“Delhi?” Susie sounded groggy though it was after eight o’clock.

“I need to see you.”

“Now? I can meet you at the bookstore later.”

“No, I’ll come there.”

“Delhi, what’s happened?”

“Are you still in the same house?”

“Of course. It’s ours. Our humble home. But tell me what’s going on.”

“I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

T
HE
P
EVNEYS LIVED
in a converted bungalow in a beach community that had flourished in the 1940s. Most of the modest cottages had been winterized and a few expanded, though not Paul and Susie’s dark green box.

“Hi, Delhi. Sorry for the mess.” Susie indicated a Dumpster explosion of books and newspapers, and a computer set up in one corner of the small living room. “But I do have coffee.”

“Great.” I followed her into the kitchen and sat down at a Formica-topped table. The kitchen looked as if it had been purchased furnished from the original owner. Patterned oilcloth on the shelves, dented silver canisters, even a yellow metal bread box.

“I just have skim milk,” she apologized.

“That’s fine.”

Then I looked at Susie again. Her wholesome face looked rounder than usual and her skin had a glow I hadn’t noticed before. “You’re pregnant!”

She beamed. “Just. Even Paul doesn’t know yet. How could you tell?”

“Women know.”

It made me even more reluctant to tell her what I had to. “Did you tell Paul which books were missing from the shop?”

She sat down opposite me. “No. He doesn’t like to hear about the store.”

Interesting.
“Do you have a basement?”

“No. This is built on a slab.”

“Okay. I need you to do something. Where would Paul hide stuff?”

“Hide stuff? Paul? Why would he hide anything? He wouldn’t keep anything from me.”

“Just think where a good hiding place would be.”

“I don’t know, but—Delhi, wait. Are you thinking
Paul
stole Marty’s books? Paul wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Just look.”

“No!” Her cheeks were burning. It was the first time she had ever refused to do something I asked. “Why would you even think that?”

“When I saw Paul a few days ago at the sale in Queens, he made reference to not finding a Hemingway there. That’s one of the missing books.”

“So? He’s not exactly an obscure writer. It’s like making jokes about the Gutenberg Bible.”

I stood up. “Okay. It was just an idea.”

She pushed up from the table as well and I had a vision of how pregnant she would look in a few months. “His dresser’s the only place. I never go in there.”

She didn’t invite me to come with her, and was back several minutes later, her face glowing with relief. “I didn’t find anything anywhere!”

Then I thought about where I left the books I wasn’t thrilled about. Sometimes they stayed in the back of my van for weeks.

“Does he take his car to work?”

“Well, we only have one. When I have to take it to the bookshop, he gets a ride. Unless he has somewhere special to go, then he drops me off.”

I couldn’t imagine Susie not noticing rare books in her car, but I said, “The car’s outside?”

She chewed at her bottom lip. “We never lock it.”

At first look, the trunk of the old Plymouth seemed to hold only the usual detritus of ice scrapers, a red gas can, a carton of books worth very little. Feeling foolish, I pulled back the fuzzy gray covering that hid the spare tire. Only, where the tire should have been was a package wrapped in a black plastic garbage bag.

I looked at Susie and she stared back helplessly at me.

I reached for the package and pulled it out.
Heavy.
Exactly the way a collection of books should feel.

“Let’s take it inside,” I said.

“Why? Put it back and I’ll talk to Paul when he gets home.”

“Susie.” I hadn’t planned the way it would sound, but it was the voice my father had used when he was trying to bring me back to reality. It was a voice that you didn’t argue with.

“Yes, all right. Whatever.”

She followed me unwillingly into the house.

I
OPENED THE
bag on the kitchen table. Pulling out the books was as shocking as uncovering a cache of stolen jewelry.

Susie sank onto a kitchen chair and burst into anguished tears. “I can’t believe it. How could he do this to me? Even if he hates my working at the shop. He was trying to get me fired!”

“At least he didn’t sell the books.”

“How could he? I’m the only one who knows how to do that.”

I looked at her. It was the bitterest I had ever heard her sound.

Finally she wiped at her eyes. “I thought when we changed the locks it would stop, and it did. But Paul must have made a new key without my knowing. He sometimes takes my keys when he can’t find his. Having a key made at Home Depot isn’t exactly hard. Delhi, what am I going to do?”

I thought. “I’ll tell you what I would do. I’d take the books back to the shop and put them on the counter and say I found them there. And then kill Paul.”

She laughed at that. “Done. But what was he thinking?”

“I don’t know.” I didn’t want to tell her how crazy I thought her husband was. To do such a thing over and over again in the hopes your wife would be fired and be forced to work at home to build the business you were dreaming about? I remembered the destroyed Christmas windows. What kind of a creep would do that?

“Oh, gee, I can’t kill him, we’re having a baby.” Susie gave me a damp smile. “But I’ll tell him if he ever touches another book, I’ll be on the next plane home to my folks.”

Sitting in her tiny vintage kitchen, I realized that going home was what she secretly wanted. I wondered if that was what would happen.

Chapter Fifty

T
H
E LAST WEEK
in March was Hannah’s spring break and she decided to come home, getting a ride with friends and arriving about 8 p.m. I had kept her posted on what was happening with Caitlin, but she didn’t seem very interested. I tried to put myself in her place and imagine what she was feeling. She had gotten past the idea that we were trying to replace her, but was still concerned with the impact it would have on her life.

In fact, she wanted us all to be there to talk about what she called “my sister problem.”

Jane took the Long Island Rail Road to Stony Brook and Colin met her train. They got to the house just before seven. I had a pot of vegetarian chili on the stove and I’d made a quick version of cornbread and a green salad. This way we could eat whenever Hannah arrived.

“You’re going to be so happy,” I told Raj when I fed the cats their dinner. When Hannah was home he was constantly curled up with her or butting his head against he chin to be petted.

“What do you think?” Jane asked as she hugged me. Perhaps because of the time we had spent together and what we’d been through, she seemed softer, closer to me.

“I don’t know what to think about anything,” I told Jane. “What do you think Hannah has to say?”

“Hard to tell with her.”

When Colin kissed me I held on to him for several moments. He was still tracking Ethan and Sheila and had learned from a colleague that Dr. Crosley was out on “emergency medical leave” and had gone to his home in Barbados to recover.

“He has to come back sometime,” Colin growled to me. “And I’ll be waiting. John Eliot promised to let me know when he comes sneaking back into the country.”

“I thought John was his good friend.”

“Not as much as he is mine.”

We waited in the living room with wine, olives, and several kinds of cheese. Jane pulled out her phone and began texting. Colin picked up the
New York Times
. I reached for
TransAtlantic
, Colum McCann’s latest book, but it sat untouched on my lap like one of the cats waiting to be petted. Why couldn’t I be happy with the children I had raised, the family I loved so much? Why was I yearning for a young woman who didn’t even want a connection with us?

Because she
is
one of us, no matter what. Because we have important gifts for her that she can get from no one else.

I had replayed the scene of her visit often, mostly with regret. If I had only been able to convince her, if I had only been able to find the right words. Still, Caitlin had listened intently to the story of her abduction and seemed intrigued that she had a twin. Even when I refused to promise amnesty for Sheila and Ethan, she hadn’t stormed out. But she had closed the door with a finality that made me sure I wouldn’t see her again.

Just before eight o’clock, there was the sound of tires on the gravel driveway, a flash of headlights into the room.

“She’s here!” I was surprised. Usually Hannah called en route, when she was about an hour away. I wasn’t sure what that meant.
Just be happy she’s coming home at all.

The car continued around to the back and I thought I heard several doors slam. If her friends wanted to stay for dinner, that was fine.

The kitchen door opened. “Hello?”

“We’re in here.” I jumped up and went to meet her, but saw two girls through the entryway.

I looked again and put my hand to my mouth.

Colin and Jane rose as if jerked by puppet strings.

Caitlin spoke finally. “Well, I couldn’t have a twin without meeting her! I’d always wonder what she was like. After I came here and saw her photo again, I had to go to Cornell to find her.”

My brave girl.

Hannah, only a little fuller-faced than her sister, couldn’t stop smiling. “As soon as I saw her, I
knew
. It was only last week, but it’s so cool. I didn’t know it would be so cool. We wanted to surprise you. So did he.”

Jason stepped around her and winked at me. “I was curious too. When Hannah called me, I had to see.”

I stared at them and then was reaching to hold all three.

“Get your camera,” Jane murmured behind me. “It’s time.”

I nodded. We might never be so happy again. The path would be tortuous ahead. But just for this moment, for right now, we were safely under the dome.

Epilogue

C
AITLIN STAYED TWO
nights in Hannah’s room, then flew to Barbados to be with the Crosleys. The morning she left I sat at the old kitchen table, devastated, as Colin tried to console me.

“She let me know that her visit didn’t change anything,” I said bitterly. “All she wants is for them to be able to come back into the country without being arrested.”

“What did you tell her?”

I shrugged. “Not that all is forgiven.” I looked into his deep blue eyes, lined from too many hours in desert suns. “Colin, I couldn’t! Even apart from what they stole from us, they
killed
somebody. They’re murderers. When they set everything in motion, they may not have meant that to happen, but it did. I don’t think Caitlin will ever accept it as the truth though. If we could get someone to write the story, to publicize what they did, it would—”

“No. We said we wouldn’t do that.” He stood up and put a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I told you, I’ll take care of this. I will.”

Years ago I would have believed that he could rearrange the world. Now that I was as old as he had been, I knew it couldn’t be true.

There was nothing he could do about the barrier between Caitlin and me. We eyed each other over the wall of mixed purposes with challenge and longing, longing at least on my part. But there was no barrier between Caitlin and Hannah. Ironic that Hannah, the one who had been most opposed to finding Caitlin, was her gateway back into the family. They planned to spend alternate weekends at each other’s colleges. I was sure that would die down as the amazement of it wore off, but I hoped Hannah wouldn’t get hurt.
Magic or tragic.

I
T WAS
S
UNDAY
morning, the first weekend in May, and Caitlin was visiting Hannah at Cornell when I clicked on the
Newsday
website to see what was happening on the Island. The main story was about a fire in a vacation home on Main Street in Southampton. The fire had burned hot and fast, evidently too rapacious for the couple who owned the house to be able to escape. Dr. and Mrs. Ethan Crosley had just returned two days earlier from Barbados for their daughter’s college graduation.

The white letters on the ocean-blue background leapt and bounced in front of me. For a moment I believed I was filling in the name I wanted to see. But the names did not change as I stared at them. What had Ethan and Sheila been doing on Long Island? He taught at Brown and their main home, I knew from Colin’s trip up there, was in Providence. They had fled from there to the estate in Barbados.

Vaguely I remembered that Ethan’s parents had owned a home in the Hamptons when he was growing up, that Colin may even have visited there when they were in grad school, years before I knew him. Could the house Ethan inherited be the one that had burnt down? All I knew about his parents was that the family had become wealthy from owning a farm machinery company in Pennsylvania.

I scrolled down. Arson was suspected. There had been another fire in the neighborhood earlier in the month, though that house had been vacant. Despite their grandeur, many of the homes were seasonal, lived in or rented out for the summer months. Police speculated that the arsonist may have believed that the owners were still away. The Crosleys had not been targets, just unlucky. The Arson Squad was focusing on finding individuals with a compulsion to set fires.

There was a photograph of the beautiful clapboard house, now a ruin. A long-established residence, the kind you see on South Main Street behind hedges. It was also secluded enough so that you might not notice the fire until too late. I shivered in the cool air of the barn. Had Ethan and Sheila known what was happening? In their last moments had they realized that everything they had plotted out was over, that there were some things that money couldn’t save you from?

Colin. I had to tell Colin. My hand moved toward my iPhone, then stopped. What would I say? I was suddenly dizzy, the room swimming as if I was seeing everything through wavy glass. Was this what a heart attack felt like? What if this had been Colin’s “way of taking care of this” as he’d promised? Did it mean the Arson Squad would soon be at our door? And yet, why would they? They would have no reason to connect us with the Crosleys of Southampton. Colin’s ban on publicity, his insistence that we tell no one, had ensured that.

Unless Caitlin  . . .

For the next hour I couldn’t do anything but sit in my desk chair, stunned, imagining what Colin might have done, how the tragedy would affect Caitlin. How would it be any different from actually losing your parents, if that’s who you believed they were? What would it do to her relationship with us? Would it pull us closer or set her on a path of independence away from the whole family, even Hannah?

Ironically, their deaths had resolved the sticking point between us. There would no point in pursuing criminal charges against Ethan and Sheila now. I would have to let DCI Sampson in his cozy office in Stratford know. He could go back to apprehending pickpockets and persecuting street performers dressed like Anne Hathaway and Romeo.

I was still staring at my computer screen which had gone dark from inattention, when the phone rang. Colin?

I grabbed it up. “Hello?”

“Mom? Something terrible’s happened. Elisa’s parents were in a fire!”

Hannah. “I know. I saw.”

“It was down on Long Island.” There was something accusatory in her voice, as if I had somehow lured them here.

“I know, the Hamptons. How did they find Cait—Elisa to tell her?”

Silence. “I think one of her dormmates told the police she was visiting me. Anyway, she wants to talk to you.”

I thought my heart would stop working. “Okay,” I said slowly.

After a moment I heard, “Hi, um—Delhi?”

“Yes. Elisa. I’m so sorry about—the Crosleys.” Even in death I could not call them her parents.

“I can’t believe it yet. I
don’t
believe it. They never should have come back if this was going to happen!”

“They came for your graduation?”

“They wouldn’t have missed that. They were staying at the beach house; they were afraid to go back home.” Another twin, a stronger accusation: If you hadn’t been hounding them, threatening them with arrest, this never would have happened. But then she said, “Anyway, I made a vow to them. I’m going to find out who did this and I won’t give up until I do!” Her voice was ragged, close to tears. “Whoever it was is going to pay! And—Hannah told me that you sometimes investigate murders, that you’re better than the police?”

Before I could agree or disagree, she added, “Would you help me?”

How could I say no to Caitlin, my long-lost child, when it was the first thing she had asked of me in nineteen years?

“Of course,” I said.