Trouble at High Tide (11 page)

I hurried forward, not stopping to think how I would get on the ferry without a ticket and where it would leave me if I were successful in boarding. But I was too late. The lines were released, the ramp pulled back, and the ferry backed out of the dock and began its trip along Bermuda’s north shore toward Hamilton, the capital.

A
dam answered my knock at the Betterton house when I returned from St. George’s. “Two people were here from Scotland Yard today, and they asked about you,” he said.

“Did they leave their names and how I can reach them?”

“Yes. The judge has their cards in the library. He wants to see you.” He hesitated. “Mrs. Fletcher, I want to apologize for my behavior this morning. I know I upset you. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Why don’t we forget about this morning,” I said. “No harm done.”

“Thanks.” He looked relieved. “I was out of line.”

“Tell me about the people from Scotland Yard. You say that there were two?”

“Yes. A woman inspector, a real doll. I never met a cop that good-looking before. I’d sure remember if I did. And a guy. I didn’t get their names. The judge spoke with them.”

“Did they question you?”

“Not today. The police asked me a lot of questions the night Alicia was killed, but I had nothing to offer,” he said, as he led me toward the library. “I’m not important enough to be grilled again.”

“You sound disappointed. Do you want to speak with them again?”

“No way! I’m just the PA. I’m not a member of the family. Anyway, how would I know anything about this Jack the Ripper guy?”

I stopped in front of the closed door to the library and turned to him. “But you certainly knew Alicia,” I said.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know her well.”

“You knew her well enough to dislike her.”

Adam’s head snapped up. “Why do you say that?”

“Just a feeling,” I said. “You didn’t acknowledge her when we came in the other day. In fact, it appeared to me that you were deliberately ignoring her.”

“Not any more than she ignored me all the time,” he said, sounding annoyed.

“Why would she do that?”

“I was just the hired help to her—that’s why. She considered me a servant. She never had a good word to say to me. Did I say
good
word? She never had a word of any kind to say to me. She was nicer to Norlene than she was to me.”

“Norlene is also ‘hired help,’ as you put it, so I doubt that was Alicia’s reasoning. Perhaps Norlene was nicer to her than you were.”

“I was always nice to her. When I first came, I tried to do everything for her, but she wouldn’t give me the time of day.
She could flirt and laugh with every man around, but not me. I couldn’t even get a smile.”

“Maybe she was sensitive to your working relationship with her uncle and didn’t want to create the wrong impression.”

“You can make all the excuses for her you want, but the reality is, she was just a nasty b—”

Tom’s booming voice interrupted our conversation as he opened the door from inside the library. “I thought I heard you come in, Jessica,” he said, stepping into the hall. “Would you like some tea or a cocktail?” He looked at his watch. “The sun is officially over the yardarm. Adam’s going to bring me something. Right, Adam? Can he get you some refreshments to tide you over until dinner?”

“Actually, I had tea less than an hour ago, but thank you all the same,” I said, realizing that I was not going to get out of dinner as easily as I had gotten out of lunch.

“Adam, please let Norlene know that Jessica will join us for dinner.”

“Sure,” Adam said sourly.

“I invited the Reynoldses,” Tom said. “Wasn’t sure if they could make it, but they accepted. They’ve been so busy since they came. Don’t know how they managed to meet so many people on the island in such a short time.”

“You introduced them to all your friends at the party,” I said, deciding Tom’s publisher had probably not yet found a hotel to move to.

“Yes, you’re right, of course. Would you mind coming into the library for a moment? I won’t keep you long.”

“I’m not in a hurry,” I said and followed him into the room.

The library looked as it had the first time I’d been there, the night Alicia was killed, the furniture grouped around the fireplace, the flowering plant in front of the hearth. But Tom’s desk at the far end painted a different picture. Instead of the perfect still life it had been with pads and pens lined up just so, it was now covered with stacks of papers and files. More papers littered the floor around it, and the top drawer of a filing cabinet hung open, folders spilling out as if someone had roughly gone through its contents. I noticed several books had been removed from the shelves and put back but not in the perfectly neat alignment they had been in before.

“Excuse the mess,” Tom said, waving me into a seat. “I’ve lost some important papers, probably left them home in Jersey, but I was sure I’d brought them here. They’ll turn up. It’s just that my mind is all a jumble since Alicia. I can’t remember things…” He trailed off.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” I said. “You’ve had a great loss. And it’s been such a short time.”

“Yes, but—Did I tell you I received a condolence call from the White House?”

“No! When?”

“Today. The president was a classmate of mine in law school, but we haven’t really been close since then. He was very gracious, very gracious indeed. His wife, too. She got on the phone to express her condolences. Just amazing! I don’t know whether you’re aware that I’m being considered for a higher office.”

“I didn’t know. That’s wonderful. What position are you up for?”

“The truth is, Jessica, there’s a possibility—and I stress that it’s only a possibility—that the president will nominate me to fill a vacancy on the Court of Appeals for the Third Circuit.” He crossed his fingers. “From there, the next step could be the U.S. Supreme Court. What an opportunity!”

“That’s—that’s big news indeed, Tom. Congratulations!”

“Don’t congratulate me yet. It’s not a given,” he said. “It’s been pretty hush-hush. There are others under consideration, obvious choices, but the president’s staff responsible for vetting candidates recently contacted me.” He laughed. “Of course, moving up from the appellate court to the Supreme Court is just a pipe dream. Too many things working against me, I think, starting with the fact that I’ve had four wives and been divorced three times. But hell, you never know. Reagan was divorced and he became the president.”

But only divorced once
, I thought.

“Like I said, it’s not a sure thing. I’m not counting on it happening, but I’d be less than honest to say that I’m not flattered by the possibility.”

I knew that most of the members of the Supreme Court had served in an appellate court before being nominated to the higher seat. Since the Supreme Court only hears about a hundred cases a year, the judges of the thirteen U.S. Courts of Appeals have a powerful influence on the law, handing down decisions on the remainder of the ten thousand cases filed with them each year.

Were Tom nominated by the president and confirmed by the Senate, he would have a lifetime tenure on the Court of
Appeals. Obviously having been the president’s law school classmate played a role in his being considered for this spot, but having been a federal judge for many years also gave him the requisite legal background.

“I suppose the book I wrote caught people’s attention,” he mused. “It was controversial but still, it gave me a lot of good public relations, good exposure to those who don’t read the law journals but who make those kinds of decisions. At any rate, Jessica, I’ve decided that while I don’t want it made public knowledge, I do want to celebrate it with friends. That’s why I wanted you and Godfrey and his wife to join us tonight, to share in some good news, rather than focus on a tragedy. You know what I mean?”

It struck me as strange that Tom was ready to pause in mourning his niece to celebrate something that wasn’t a reality yet, but I’ve learned over the years never to pass judgment on how people respond to misfortune.

We’re all wired differently. When my husband, Frank, died, it was many months before I could lift my head from the pillow in the morning without a wave of grief sweeping over me. I went on. I never let my friends know how I grappled with those feelings daily, although those closest to me suspected my unhappiness. I’ve seen some people who bounce back immediately, and others who weep openly until people lose patience with them. There are no rules. Each of us has to find his or her way to deal with death. To have to deal with a violent end is even harder; so I gave Tom a pass. We would toast his possible good fortune.

“Adam told me that there were people here from Scotland Yard today,” I said, changing the topic.

“Oh yes. I knew I had something else to tell you.” He looked around. “I’ve got their cards here somewhere. Wait! I put them in the top drawer.”

As he went to his desk to find the business cards, Norlene knocked on the door and entered carrying a tray. She put it down on the table between the two love seats and offered me the cup of tea that I had declined. I took it from her anyway, placing the cup and saucer on the table, while she set out the glass of ice for Tom, and a decanter with a silver label that said SCOTCH. She poured some of the liquor into his glass, placed a dish of crackers and another of nuts on the table, and left.

“Here they are,” Tom said. “Thought I might have lost them.” He held up the business cards. “Thank you, Norlene,” he called out although she’d already exited the room.

He handed me the business cards and I looked at them. They contained color photographs of the inspectors. One was for Inspector Veronica Macdonald, Forensics Unit.

“You’ll find Macdonald’s picture doesn’t do her justice,” Tom said. “Beautiful woman.”

“So Adam said.”

I hadn’t told Tom about the press conference so there was no point in saying I’d already seen her at police headquarters.

“Adam’s eyes were nearly popping out of his head,” Tom said, chuckling. “I thought he would fall all over himself when he brought them in. The other one is Gill something.”

“Gilliam,” I filled in, looking at the card. “John Gilliam. He’s a criminal profiler.” He had a pleasant face, not one you’d pay particular attention to, but perhaps that worked in
his favor when he interviewed people in an attempt to ferret out the details that would inform his profile of the killer. He would want his witnesses to concentrate on the killer, not on him.

“Gilliam, that’s it. No one probably pays him any mind when she’s around. Anyway, they had a few questions, but they said that they didn’t think Alicia’s death was related to the Jack the Ripper killings.” He sighed. “I don’t know if they’re right, but I’m not the expert there. I told them I didn’t care if it was or it wasn’t. I wanted them to find the guy and string him up. They assured me they’re working on Alicia’s case as well as the other murders.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Yes. They want to talk to you, of course, since it was you who discovered her body. I told them that I would have you call as soon as you got in. Do you want to use my phone?”

“No, thank you,” I said. “It’s too late now to go to police headquarters or to have them come here again. I’ll call before I change for dinner and make an appointment for tomorrow.”

“Whatever you say.” He picked up his glass, took a long sip, looked at me over the rim, and smiled. “Here’s to you.”

I took a sip of my tea, wondering how long I’d have to sit with my host before I could go back to the cottage and make the call. As it happened, it wasn’t very long. Madeline came into the room and asked to speak with Tom privately, the perfect excuse for my departure.

I took a quick shower in the cottage and dressed for dinner. I left a voice mail message for the Scotland Yard inspectors, brought Alicia’s book outside, and sat in the swing. It
was an hour and a half before dinner would be served. I idly flipped through the pages. Alicia had only read halfway through. The spine wasn’t cracked for the second half of the book, nor were any sections underlined. She had, however, made a note inside the back cover. It said, “Fairy Fay, GD, 2, Tuesday.”

Why hadn’t I noticed that before? I was so busy reading the book that I hadn’t looked at it thoroughly. I riffled all the pages to see if any papers fell out. I checked inside the front cover and went through the entire book page by page to see if she had left any other notes in the margins. I tilted the book in the light in case there was an impression on the cover of something she might have written on paper, using the book to lean on. Nothing more.

I pondered the meaning of “Fairy Fay, GD, 2, Tuesday.” I assumed that the handwriting was Alicia’s. To my knowledge, other than Madeline and me, no one else had handled the book. It sounded like an appointment. But who was this lady with an unusual name and when was Alicia supposed to meet her? Today was Sunday. Was she referring to last Tuesday or the day after tomorrow? Why had Alicia made an appointment with her? And had she hidden this information on purpose, or simply used the book because it was the only available paper to write on?

I went back into the cottage to retrieve my new guidebook and opened the folded map of Bermuda contained inside. If Fairy Fay lived here, where was GD? Was it a place in St. George’s? A street? A store, perhaps? A hotel? A golf club of some kind? I studied the map, making a list of anything I thought might be helpful. There were quite a few
places that started with a G—Gibbs Hill Lighthouse, Grassy Bay, Gates Fort, Governor’s Island—but none that could be abbreviated GD. I was more successful in the restaurant listing. I found a place called Gardner’s Deli in Hamilton. I made a note to myself to stop in at Gardner’s Deli at two o’clock on Tuesday. Maybe Fairy Fay worked there, or perhaps someone knew where she could be found. I knew very little about Alicia’s activities outside her uncle’s house and it would be helpful to meet one of her friends.

I folded up the map, tucked Alicia’s book into my shoulder bag for safekeeping, and left the porch. There was still time before dinner and I took a chance that the crime scene was no longer cordoned off. Shoes were needed on the gravel path, but once I reached the beach they were more an encumbrance than a help. I slipped them off and walked barefoot in the sand, retracing my steps the night I arrived, but this time with the advantage of a sun, rather than a moon, hanging over the horizon.