Killer Keepsakes (22 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

T

he next morning, first thing, I checked out the online edition of the
Seacoast Star
. The headline wasn’t too bad.

BROCK & NADLEIN ARRESTED

BAIL DENIED, EXTRADITION POSSIBLE

At least it doesn’t imply they were killers
, I thought.

Wes’s article summarized the current status of the investigation and bullet-pointed the facts about Amelia Bartlett’s murder in a sidebar. Another sidebar posed the question: “How Did Josie Prescott Know?” and described how my research led me to the original photo showing Lina and how I discovered Gretchen’s whereabouts.

He quoted me as saying, “I can’t imagine that either Lina—Iris Gibbons—or Gretchen—Marie Boulanger—possesses criminal knowledge of
anything
. Back in Denver, they were young and afraid and they ran for their lives.”

I looked out over the meadow. It was a sparkling sunny day, great for my spirits but bad for business at the tag sale. According to the thermometer Ty had mounted outside the kitchen window it was already 58 degrees.
Nice
, I thought. We might approach 70 by afternoon if we were lucky. The woods gleamed with a faint red glow, a sure sign of spring—red buds illuminated by morning sun.

I walked Ty to the door. He was off for another long day of mock emergency training, this time in Augusta, Maine, the need urgent enough to justify working on a Saturday.

“See you tonight,” he said, touching my cheek.

I listened until the sound of his SUV faded away.

I poured coffee into my thermos and headed to my own house before going into work. I didn’t feel like wearing my usual attire—jeans and a work shirt. This fine spring day demanded khakis.

As I drove home, an idea occurred to me.
It worked once
, I thought. I dashed upstairs to change, then stepped into the kitchen to check the time. According to the mahogany and rosewood clock mounted above the refrigerator, it was eight thirty. I smiled every time I looked at that clock. It had been one of my first “grown-up” purchases, a genuine Dan Chessman original, and it was one of my favorite possessions.

Eight thirty. Early
, I thought,
but not too early
. I called Mandy, who agreed to meet me for coffee.

I retrieved the see-through sleeve containing Gretchen’s and Peter Boulanger’s pictures, the one I’d shown to Brice. I slid Gretchen’s photo out and set it aside. Using a soft cloth, I carefully rubbed the plastic until it was smudge-free, then slipped the sleeve into a folder for safekeeping.

Mandy sat sipping from a heavy white mug. She looked just about done in.

“I’m so glad you suggested meeting,” she said as I slid into the banquette. “I’m hoping you can fill me in.” Her hands trembled as she placed the mug on the table.

“And I’m glad you were able to meet me,” I replied. Her eyes were rimmed in red. “I’ll tell you everything I can—but first, how are you doing? You look like you haven’t slept much.”

She looked down for a moment, then said, “I’m pretty upset. Have you—” She stopped speaking as the waitress approached to take my order, then finished her thought. “Have you spoken to Gretchen or Lina?”

“Gretchen, briefly. You know that they’ve both been arrested and that bail’s been denied?”

“I heard that on the news, but why?”

I explained their connection with the ongoing Denver investigation and said, “Gretchen’s lawyer thinks they’ll be able to get bail soon—maybe even today. What about Vince?”

The waitress placed a mug in front of me. The coffee smelled good, rich and strong.

“His lawyer thinks he’ll be released today, too. I’m expecting a call anytime.”

She was frowning as if she were fighting a bad headache. “How are you feeling about him and the situation?” I asked, concerned for her. “Have you done any more thinking?”

She shrugged. “All I do is think, but that doesn’t seem to get me any closer to knowing what’s best to do.”

I nodded. “I hate that feeling—you don’t even know what to think about, am I right?”

“Or how to weigh things. I want to make decisions with my heart, but then I think that’s stupid and I should use my head and ignore my heart. Then I decide I want to follow my heart, to be a trusting person. Then I end up exhausted and all mixed up.”

Poor Mandy
, I thought. “Have you spoken to the police again?”

She nodded, looking as if she might cry. “They asked me about Wednesday all over again. Whether Vince went to Gretchen’s to put in the light fixture. Whether I was there, too. They wanted to fingerprint me.” She paused. “It was a nightmare. They asked about the break-in at your place, too, and the attempted one at Lina’s.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Nothing. Vince told me to refuse to answer questions and not to let them take my fingerprints.”

“That must have been hard—to not answer, I mean. I know you want to help with the investigation.”

She nodded. “Everything is hard—but Vince said that facts can be twisted, so I shouldn’t talk to them at all.”

“Would you tell me one thing?” I asked, knowing that I was treading on dangerous ground. Neither the police nor Vince would approve of my questioning Mandy, but I was revealing no secrets since Wes had already published that Vince’s fingerprints were on the light fixture. “I’m curious about something. The police know that Vince installed the light fixture. His fingerprints are all over it. I’m wondering why—why did you give it to her?”

She shrugged. “I only had room for one of them, and Gretchen loved the design, so we decided to give the other one to her.”

“That was really nice of you—of both of you,” I said softly.

“Thanks.”

Her eyes were guileless. It was almost as if she were under Vince’s spell. She seemed able to think independently, yet when push came to shove, she did as she was told.

I placed the folder on the table next to her mug and opened it up so Peter’s photograph was visible. “Do you know this man?”

She picked up the sleeve and held it out in front of her. “No,” she said. “Who is he?”

“His name is Peter Boulanger, but he’s been using the name Chip Davidson. He’s the dead man’s brother. Does either of those names ring a bell?”

She shook her head. “No. Should they?”

I finished my coffee and signaled the waitress for the check. “He’s involved somehow. I’m not sure how,” I said. “I’m not sure about a lot of things.”

“I know that feeling,” she said with mordant humor, then added, “If you see Gretchen or Lina again, will you tell them I asked after them?”

Mandy was such a sweet girl, spiraling down instead of rising up. Part of me wanted to shake her and ask if she couldn’t see how bad Vince was for her. The rest of me just wanted to hug her and wish her luck.

“Sure,” I said.

_____

From the parking lot I called Cara to tell her I’d be late, then Wes who agreed to meet me at our dune in ten minutes.

I waited in my car, and when he pulled in behind me with a jerk, I got out. We scrambled up the shifting sand. Once at the summit, I surveyed the beach ten feet below, but I saw no one. Spewed-up wet black-green seaweed littered the shore. A few pieces of sun-bleached driftwood were lodged, half hidden, under the tall grass that separated the dunes from the beach. The ocean was calm, the tide gently ebbing.

“I need you to check something out, but it’s a tricky situation.” I met his eyes. “No joke, Wes. If it gets out in the wrong way, people may run. People may destroy evidence. People may kill. You’ve got to promise.”

“Okay,” Wes said.

“It’s Mandy.”

“What about her?”

I faced the ocean. Far out, I spotted a tanker heading south. “Gretchen told me something. You can’t write about it. It was told to me in confidence.”

“No prob.”

“I’m trusting you, Wes.”

“I got it, Josie. Jeez. I heard you the first time.”

“Okay. Here’s the thing. Except for the property manager, only Mandy and Lina had keys to Gretchen’s apartment. Lina was fingerprinted when she was charged as a material witness, so I’m assuming that the police checked whether her prints matched the one on the milk, am I right?”

“Yup. According to my source, there’s no match.”

I nodded. “So by process of elimination, it has to be Mandy’s fingerprint.” I handed him the folder containing the plastic sleeve. I’d removed Peter’s photograph. “Don’t touch the plastic. Mandy’s prints are all over it.”

“Tell me,” Wes said.

I explained my alternate theories of the crime, then said, “We can worry about the details of their alibis later.” I pointed to the plastic sleeve. “First we need to know if it’s Mandy’s fingerprint.”

Wes nodded, his brain running full-tilt. “Gotcha. Good stuff, Josie.” He started off, then looked back at me. “You know my word is good, Josie—but if the print matches, it’s out of my hands.”

“The police will pick her up.”

“So quick your head’ll spin.”

“Fair enough.” I paused, then asked, “Do you think it will match?”

He grinned. “Oh, yeah.”

My next stop was Shirl Sheriden’s office to drop off a check for Lina’s retainer. Her receptionist, a short, white-haired woman, offered me a cappuccino.

I accepted and sat down to wait. The cappuccino was good.

Ms. Sheriden was a tall, voluptuous brunette, and she was a sharp dresser. Today she wore a royal blue suit with a pale peach blouse.

“Come on in,” she said, smiling broadly, inviting me into her office. It was vast and modern. She favored blond wood and contemporary art. “Max called me,” she said, pointing to a chair, indicating that I should sit, “so I’m up to date.”

“Then you know that I’m paying for Lina—I mean Iris’s—defense.”

“Assuming she wants to retain me, yes.”

“Have you seen her?”

“No. I will soon. When I spoke to her, she asked me to call her Lina, by the way.”

“So many different names—it’s confusing. Here,” I said, handing her the retainer check. “Max told me that he hopes to arrange bail for Gretchen today. Do you think you’ll be able to get bail for Lina, too?”

She tapped the check on her desk, then looked at me and said, “This is awkward. You’re paying me, but you’re not my client, so I can’t comment on any aspect of either my strategic thinking or my tactical plans.”

I nodded, disconcerted. “Right. Sorry.” I stood up. “I should go. ’Bye.”

“Sit, sit. Just because I can’t talk to you doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me.”

She smiled again, and I found myself smiling back. She radiated warmth and sincerity. I bet she was a superb litigator.

“Assuming I take on Lina as a client, what can you tell me that will help me represent her well?’

I sipped the frothy drink as I considered her question. “She’s loyal to Gretchen. She’s a great actress.”

She wiggled her fingers. “Engaging opening,” she said, grinning. “Flesh it out.”

“Loyalty—that one’s easy. Lina hid Gretchen for a week despite obvious personal risk to herself. The actress one—that’s more complicated and more disturbing. She’s maintained a fictional identity in perfect harmony with Gretchen for years, but it was all a fabrication, and I never suspected it. As an antiques appraiser, I’m trained to recognize liars. It’s not a perfect science, but I’m pretty good at it, and I had no clue.”

Shirl shrugged. “Couldn’t the same be said about Gretchen?”

“Yes, sort of, but with Gretchen, it was obvious she was hiding something. To be fair, I know Gretchen way better than Lina. Still, with Lina, I never suspected a thing. Lina even created a back story about how they met in a Laundromat, for example, and I never doubted it for a minute. Gretchen, on the other hand, wouldn’t talk about her past at all—you just hit a stone wall.” I took a deep breath. “I admire Lina’s performance, and from where I sit, she did nothing wrong. Her motive was all about self-preservation—she wasn’t trying to put one over on people for some nefarious reason.” I paused, trying to find a way to clarify my point. “If you hate mushrooms but eat all of your mushroom omelet because you don’t want to offend or upset your hostess, is that a lie? If Lina pretended to know nothing about Gretchen in order to save her life, is that a lie?”

“Ah, semantics!” Shirl said with a big smile. “A lawyer’s favorite playground.” She stood up. “I’m sure I’ll have more questions later, but you’ve been enormously helpful. To answer your question, yes to the omelet, no to the saving a life.”

“You wouldn’t eat the omelet to avoid hurting your hostess’s feelings?”

“Hell, no. Why would it hurt
her
feelings to learn that
I
hate mushrooms?”

I’d never thought of it that way, but immediately, I could see that Shirl was right. “What would you say so that she didn’t get upset?”

“I’d tell her the truth. I’d say, ‘I can’t believe how gorgeous this omelet looks, but I’ve got to confess that I hate mushrooms. Isn’t that appalling in a guest? You go ahead and don’t think anything about it. I’m perfectly fine with bread and butter. In fact, pass that puppy over here. I
love
your bread.’ ” She shrugged again and smiled wide enough to wow a crowd. “Telling the truth is an undervalued tactic.” She winked. “I use it all the time.”

She reminded me of my mother: strong and kind and as honest as the day is long.
Good for Lina
, I thought. Maybe she couldn’t have Max as her lawyer, but she got herself a prize in Shirl Sheriden.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

I

got to the tag sale to find Sasha working in the instant appraisal booth and Fred manning the phones.

“Everything under control?” I asked.

“Yup,” Fred said.

“Great. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

As soon as I was settled behind my desk, I called Gretchen’s new flame, Jack, and got his voice mail. “I told Gretchen about the rain check. She said yes.”

I forced myself to work. There was nothing I could do until I heard from Max or Wes. I made an impressive dent in the pile of project updates, catalogue drafts, and consignment contracts awaiting attention, and took a stint in the instant appraisal booth. Just after noon, Fred buzzed up.

“It’s Wes Smith for you on line one. He says it’s urgent.”

“I got hot news,” he said, breathless with excitement. “We’ve got to meet. I’m around the corner. Outside your place in three minutes, okay?”

I agreed, told Fred I’d be back in a few, and dashed outside just as Wes was pulling into the lot. He jumped out of his car and ran to meet me. He looked tickled pink.

“I handed over the plastic sleeve before ten, and they ID’d the fingerprint within minutes. Mandy’s already in custody.”

“Oh, my God, Wes! That’s awful. Poor Mandy.”

“Poor Mandy? What if she’s the killer?”

I nodded, shaken. “You’re right, of course. It’s just such a shock.”

“Yeah, I guess. “Mandy’s clammed up again, but before she realized what she was saying, she told the police officer who picked her up—in front of everyone in the store—that she brought the milk over to Gretchen’s on her way into work, then lied about it because she thought it didn’t have anything to do with anything, and she didn’t want to get involved. What do you think? Does that have the ring of truth?”

I shook my head. “Not really. It’s more likely she lied because Vince told her to.”

Wes nodded. “That’s what I think, too. She said the Chevy with the Tennessee plates wasn’t there when she got there, that she went into the apartment, put the milk in the refrigerator, and left. She won’t confirm or deny that Vince was with her. She insists she knows nothing else.”

“Why did she wipe the milk carton down?”

Wes’s eyes sparkled. “She says she didn’t.”

“So either she’s lying about that part or someone else wiped it down to protect her—that must be Vince.” I nodded. “He’d know how to clean up a crime scene.”

“Vince,” Wes said, enthused, then shook his head. “It can’t be Vince. We already checked him out, remember? You said we’d worry about their alibis later, but the fact remains that Mandy got to her store by a quarter to ten the day Morgan was killed and was with customers or co-workers until she left at six. Vince was at work all day, too—except when he was off selling those architectural remnants, and then the timing was just too tight.”

“The timing could have been off,” I said, explaining how easily Ty introduced reasonable doubt to Vince’s minute-by-minute alibi. “Plus, if his employees lied for him about the architectural remnants, what’s to say they wouldn’t cover for him about when he actually showed up for that one o’clock meeting?”

“So how do we prove it?”

I thought about it, then shook my head. I was out of ideas. “Have the police finished searching his place?”

“Yes. Also the houses due to be demolished. And his Jeep. Why?”

“I was hoping they might locate Gretchen’s vase.”

“You think he stole it?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s Peter. Sometimes I think it’s Vince. Sometimes I think it’s someone else I haven’t thought of.” I sighed. “You said you had hot news.”

Wes grinned again. “Yeah.
Very
hot. According to my police source, they think there’s a better than even chance that Peter’s fled the country. Along with his entire family.”

“What?”

Wes nodded, his eyes feverishly bright. “Can you believe it? The Denver police went to talk to him in his hometown—Evergreen—and his wife and two kids have vamoosed. Gone. One neighbor said she saw them drive off over the weekend, their car loaded down with suitcases. They found the car parked at Denver International Airport and traced the family’s movements. Are you ready? They’ve gone to China!”

“So? Maybe they’re on vacation.”

“They withdrew their kids from school. They said they were moving overseas.”

I stared at him for several seconds. “China,” I said. “No extradition.”

“Right. The police think Peter’s probably already joined them. They can’t find any record of his flight, but they know that he carried faked papers once—Chip Davidson, right?—so they figure he might have another set of false documents, too.”

“What about his plane?” I asked.

“The police think he’s abandoned it. Same with his rental car.”

“Did they find his car at the airport?

Wes shook his head. “Nope. Not Logan. Not anywhere that they can find. As of about an hour ago, they issued a nationwide BOLO.”

“BOLO? Be on the lookout?” I confirmed. “Wow.”

Peter Boulanger is gone
, I thought. I nodded. It made sense. As much as he wanted to exact revenge on Gretchen, he didn’t want to get caught. He must have learned that his real name was known. How did he learn that?

“If he’s after Gretchen, why would he leave town just when she resurfaces?” I asked.

“He knows the police are onto him.”

“How?”

Wes whistled. “You think that maybe he didn’t leave, that he’s just gone to ground?”

“I don’t know. What if he got his family out now so he didn’t have to worry about them later? Meanwhile, he’s just lying low, waiting for his chance to strike.”

“So the first time Gretchen steps out in public, boom, you think he’ll try to get her?” Wes asked with morbid anticipation.

I looked into the woods, past the first lines of trees, over the thick tangle of Boston ferns, into the shadowy center.
So many of the trees are evergreens
, I thought,
that even in early spring before the leaves are out
, a
nyone could hide there and lie in wait
. “I don’t think he’s gone,” I whispered. “I think he’s here.” I looked around again and shivered.

Max called as I was talking to Eric about an important auction of nineteenth-century European chairs coming up in two weeks. We were in the early stages of furniture arranging.

“It looks good, Josie,” Max told me. “We’re on a break now, but the Denver police are almost done questioning Gretchen, and they’ve expressed gratitude for her cooperation. I’m confident that we’ll get bail. We’re scheduled to meet with the judge at three.”

“That’s fantastic!”

I had Eric and Cara come with me to the front office. I wanted us all to share the excitement.

“I have good news,” I announced. “Nothing is definite yet, but it looks as if Gretchen may get bailed out—today!”

Sasha leapt up in a completely uncharacteristically demonstrative expression of joy. She clasped her hands against her chest. “Oh, Josie!”

Fred leaned back, his laid-back demeanor undisturbed. “Cool,” he said.

Eric smiled and nodded and said, “Good.”

“Oh, Josie!” Cara said, her voice cracking.

All in all, it was a moment of elation in the midst of turmoil.

As I was about to return upstairs, Jack called.

“Thanks for your message,” he told me. “Any news about bail?”

“Yes. A hearing is scheduled today at three.”

“Terrific. I’ll be there.”

“You will?” I asked, startled.

“Yeah. No time like the present, right? I figure that after being in jail, she’ll be ready for a good square meal, so I’m calling in my rain check right away.”

Wow
, I thought.
Decisive. Masterful
.

I sat next to Jack Stene at the bail hearing. Wes sat on the other side of the room, furiously taking notes. Gretchen was led in by uniformed officers and sat next to Max. She was still wearing Ty’s sweatshirt. Her eyes stayed forward, and I couldn’t tell whether she was aware we were there. It was over in minutes. The ADA withdrew his objection to bail; Max stated that Gretchen was gainfully employed, with deep roots in the community, and that she would give up her passport.

“What about the passport in her other name, Marie Boulanger?” the judge asked.

“She never had a passport in that name.”

The judge turned to the ADA. “She’s not a suspect in any violent crime, is that right?”

“That’s correct, Your Honor. The charges of material witness relate to her fleeing the scene of a crime—twice, once in Denver and once here in Rocky Point. Both the Denver police and ours are satisfied that her actions resulted from a reasonable fear of reprisal. She’s been fully cooperative.”

“Give me a number,” the judge instructed.

“Twenty thousand.”

“Mr. Bixby?” he asked, turning to Max.

“No objection, Your Honor,” Max replied.

The judge issued a series of instructions. After he warned Gretchen that she couldn’t leave the jurisdiction, I stopped listening. My attention was on Wes. He slipped out of his seat and scooted out of the room.
A reporter on deadline reacting to breaking news
, I thought. The entire hearing lasted less than half an hour.

I signed a ream of documents guaranteeing that Gretchen wouldn’t skip town and stood by an unmarked door to wait. Jack stood next to me. Max had disappeared inside.

Before long he pushed open the door, smiling, and then, finally, Gretchen appeared. She saw me, and her lips quivered.

“Gretchen,” I said softly, opening my arms, offering a hug.

She stepped forward and allowed me to hug her. She was rippling with tension. “Thank you so much,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

“It’s okay,” I murmured.

She stepped back, her eyes moist, and noticed Jack. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

“Josie said you’d give me a rain check for dinner. I’m hungry. How about you?”

She burst into tears and melted into his arms. Max and I stood and watched Gretchen’s shoulders shake. Jack patted and stroked her back. His head was bowed and curled into her neck. He was whispering something I couldn’t hear.

She raised her head and tried to wipe away her tears, but they kept coming. I dug a packet of tissues out of my tote bag and handed it to her.

She thanked me and gulped. “I’m just a mess. How can you stand to look at me?” she said, mopping up her tears, turning her face away.

Gretchen looked gorgeous, as always. Her titian hair fell in stately waves below her shoulders. Her eyes were as dark a green as jade, and flecked with gold. Her skin was a rich ivory, the color of Devonshire cream. The stress and weepiness of her ghastly experience seemed to have taken no toll on her appearance. I opened my mouth to reassure her, but Jack spoke first.

“Now I know to expect you to look a little ragged when you get out of jail. Next time, I’ll be prepared.”

She chuckled. “There won’t be a next time.”

“Never say never,” he teased.

I grinned, enjoying his lighthearted approach.

Gretchen smiled up at him, then turned to Max. “Now what?” she asked.

“Now you go and do as you choose so long as you don’t leave the jurisdiction. There’s something else you need to be aware of, though—Peter Boulanger may be nearby.”

Her joy shifted to fear immediately. “Is that why the police were asking me about him?” she asked Max.

“Yes.”

“What does he want?”

“To talk to you, apparently.”

“I don’t want to see him,” she insisted.

“You don’t have to,” Max reassured her.

“Who’s Peter?” Jack asked.

“Morgan’s brother. My brother-in-law.” She turned to me and asked, “Have you seen him?”

“He’s stopped by Prescott’s several times asking for you,” I told her. “From what I hear, he may be with his family in China. No one knows.”

“I’ll take care of you—you’ll be safe at my place,” Jack said.

“You live in Maine, right?” Max asked.

“Yeah.”

“No way. Gretchen can’t leave the county, let alone the state.”

“You can stay at my house,” I offered. “He’ll never know you’re there.”

“I’m running out of ways to say thank you,” Gretchen said softly.

I smiled. “I’m glad to help, Gretchen. I’ll take you over now and get you situated.”

I eased my spare key from its nook in my tote bag and handed it to her.

She smiled and took in a bushel of air. “Any news about Lina?” she asked Max.

Max shook his head. “Josie? Have you heard anything?”

“I met her new lawyer this morning. Shirl Sheriden. As of then, she hadn’t decided whether to press for bail, but I think you can relax. I get the sense that Lina’s in really good legal hands. I was impressed.”

“Thank you,” Gretchen whispered.

Max said, “You’ll need this.” He handed Gretchen a slip of paper listing the police impound unit’s address and hours of operation. “The police are releasing your vehicle as we speak. They found nothing incriminating in it.”

She half-smiled. “That’s a relief.”

“I can take you now or in the morning,” I volunteered.

Gretchen smiled again. “Thank you. I vote for morning. What I want now is a shower.”

Max reminded her to bring ID, and we walked to the parking lot together.

“I’ll ride with Jack, if that’s right,” Gretchen said shyly.

“Sure,” I said. Max and I stood watching as they walked to his car. The last thing I heard Gretchen say was, “The only clothes I packed were vacation outfits, and there’s no way I’m going back to my place, even if the police would let me. I guess I need to go shopping.”

“After your shower, why don’t we go to the mall, then grab dinner?” Jack responded.

“He seems like a great guy,” I remarked to Max.

“About time she caught a break.”

We left Jack in the kitchen pouring himself some ginger ale while Gretchen and I went upstairs. I showed her where everything was, put out fresh sheets and towels, told her to raid the refrigerator and cupboards at will, and asked if there was anything else I could do at this point.

“I have everything I need, and then some.” She smiled as she spoke and hugged me again. It felt like she was relaxing in front of my eyes.