I was just about to sit down on a nearby bench and sob when I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. "Are you Lexie Starr?" I heard a soft-spoken voice ask. I recognized the voice from our previous phone conversation and breathed a huge sigh of relief.
"Yes. Stone?"
"Uh-huh," he replied with a nod. He gave me a brief, casual embrace. "I was beginning to think we wouldn't be able to find each other in this swarm of people. You were standing there alone and looking as frustrated as I felt, so I took a chance and approached you. I'm sorry, I had no idea they hadn't reopened the statue to visitors since the nine-eleven attacks. I did manage to find a little out-of-the-way corner for us to have lunch. No picnic tables, but I guess we can make do with a bench."
With his arm draped loosely over my shoulder, he led me to the spot he'd found. As he unloaded a bag of sandwiches, cheese slices, grapes, and Diet Cokes, I checked him out as best I could without being obvious. I had to smile at his silly-looking Myrtle Beach T-shirt. He obviously had a fun sense of humor.
Stone wasn't a tall man, maybe five foot nine or ten, but he was still over a half-foot taller than I was. He carried an extra ten or fifteen pounds around his waist that I found rather comforting. Better to look slim next to a chunky guy than chunky next to a slim guy, I've always thought. His silver hair was fashionably cut and just beginning to recede a little on top. He had the lightest blue eyes I've ever seen, so light they were almost translucent. I felt that if I looked straight into Stone's eyes, I'd be able to see through the irises to a bank of information behind them. He spoke in an intelligent, articulate manner.
Stone also had a very small gap between his two front teeth, which were otherwise straight and extremely white. I thought he was one of the most handsome men I'd ever met. I thought this right after he commented that I was even prettier in person than I'd sounded on the phone. And younger than he'd anticipated. He said, "I would have guessed you'd be in your mid-forties, but you can't be out of your thirties yet." Right, Stone, I thought. And I can't be more than a hundred pounds, soaking wet, either. One of the things that impressed me most about Stone, aside from his expressions of adulation, was the fact that he was an excellent listener. Between bites of my lunch, I found myself telling him about my late husband, my daughter, my son-in-law, and my volunteer service at the library.
Eventually I explained the situation that had brought me back East to begin with and that had prompted the frantic phone call he'd received from Wendy. I even told him about my aversion to poached eggs and my allergies to bee stings and mushrooms. He seemed so sincerely interested in everything I had to say that I couldn't prevent myself from talking incessantly. It never occurred to me that a near stranger couldn't seriously care about my tendency to swell up like a hot air balloon after ingesting a truffle.
Now and then, when I stopped to breathe, I learned an interesting tidbit about Stone, as well. He told me he was fifty-five and widowed. Having both lost our spouses was something we had in common, he pointed out. He was financially able to retire, but was afraid he wouldn't know what to do with himself if he didn't have a job to go to each day. He wasn't a man who welcomed idle time, he said.
He'd never taken the time to cultivate any hobbies, to speak of; he didn't golf, fish, collect anything, or do woodworking. He read quite a bit, but he seldom watched television. I tried to visualize a man without an intense attachment to his remote control. Stone explained how he'd concentrated on his work the last few years. His wife, Diana, had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer shortly after they were married, and the necessary hysterectomy had prevented them from ever having children. The disease had come back in the form of colon cancer about six years ago, and he'd lost his partner of twenty-seven years. I could tell that he and Diana had shared a close and special relationship by the tenderness in his voice as he spoke of her.
After her death he'd moved into a small apartment in Myrtle Beach. He'd felt like he was rattling around in the large home they'd shared, and the home was too full of memories of Diana. To preserve his sanity, he'd chosen to relocate.
Stone's father had been a jeweler by trade, and Stone had followed in his footsteps, eventually taking over ownership of Pawley's Island Jewelers when his father was stricken with Alzheimer's disease. His father now resided in an extended-care facility and Stone visited him as often as he could, even though his dad no longer recognized him most of the time. His mother had passed away a couple of years prior with heart failure. He was close to both his sister and brother and their families. Stone was particularly fond of his thirty-two-year-old nephew, Andrew, or Andy to his family and friends. Stone, by the way, was Stone's actual given name, he said. Because his father was also a jeweler, this name was perfectly logical to me. Stone's siblings, Sterling and Jewel, also had jewelry-related monikers. Jewel lived in North Carolina with her husband, Brady, who was a postal employee.
Two men worked for him at the jewelry store—Jack Weber and Lance Steiner. Lance wanted to purchase the business from Stone in about two years, and was saving money and building up a down payment in the meantime. Stone had offered to carry the mortgage when the time came to transfer ownership of the jewelry store. In just the last year or so, Stone had reformatted the business so that it was strictly an online jewelry source. He felt it gave him greater flexibility, and was less confining.
Before we knew it, several hours had passed. Stone knew I wanted to drive back to Schenectady before it grew dark, so he recommended that we catch the next ferry back to Battery Park. He paid for the two tickets and escorted me to a seat on the return ferry.
"Lexie, forgive me if I'm being too forward or presumptuous. I've really enjoyed myself today," Stone said.
"I have too. These last few hours have been delightful. And you aren't being too presumptuous at all."
"Well, I haven't actually got to the presumptuous part yet," he said good-naturedly.
"Oh," I said. "Then hurry up and get to it."
He laughed at my impatience and continued. "With Lance and Jack at the store I can get away about any time I want now. I think they actually prefer to have me out from under their feet as much as possible. I really need a break from the business too. I've gotten into a monotonous rut, I'm afraid.
"So, Lexie, I was thinking of getting away from Myrtle Beach for a while. If Harriet has a room available at the inn, I could rent it and spend a week or two helping you with your investigation. Only, of course, if you'd welcome the company. I'd enjoy the time with you, and I'd feel better knowing that you weren't tackling all this by yourself. You are involved in something that could become dangerous, you know."
"I don't think I'm apt to try anything too courageous or fraught with peril, but I'd be very appreciative of your company. Maybe an extra head at this point would be beneficial too. You might think of something that I'm not smart enough to think of or am just overlooking."
"So you don't think that's being too presumptuous?"
"Of course I do, Stone, and I adore you for it! I do know for a fact that Harriet has vacancies. I'm her only lodger at the moment. How do you feel about poached eggs on toast at six in the morning?"
He chuckled, and said, "I may have to come up with an allergy myself. I'm deathly allergic to eggs and getting up before seven a.m. gives me a migraine. How does that sound?"
"That just might work. But if you need any help lying, just ask, and I'll give you some pointers," I replied. "Although you did do pretty well with that 'you can't be out of your thirties' thing. Oh, and be prepared for an African gray parrot to swear at you every time you walk into Harriet's kitchen."
Chapter 11
After drinking several cups of Harriet's coffee on Friday morning, I checked my e-mail and found I had two messages. The first one was from Stone saying it hadn't taken long at all to tie up loose ends, like packing, changing the oil in his car, and notifying Lance Steiner that he'd be taking some time off. Stone would be arriving in Schenectady about six o'clock in the evening, if all went
as planned.
"Let's have dinner after I arrive," Stone suggested.
The other message was from Wendy. It was filled with chitchat and gossip and ended with a note of admonishment. "I hope you are using a little judgment and caution. Not everyone is as they appear to be."
"Not everyone is as they appear to be." Eight words of extremely good advice, I'd have to admit. In fact, those eight words pretty much summed up the reason that I was currently holed up in a bed and breakfast in New York.
I sent a quick reply, assuring Wendy that I would be careful. I didn't want her worrying about me, so I indicated in my message that there was a very good chance that I would opt not even to invite Stone to have supper with me.
"I'm enjoying myself," I wrote. "I just needed to get away for a little while. I'll probably decide not to complicate matters by meeting Mr. Van Patten, at all. So, you see, there is really no reason for you to be concerned."
After I'd logged off the Internet, I was antsy and restless. I decided to burn off some of my excess energy by walking up the street for an English muffin. It was a beautiful morning, and the exercise would be good for me.
I didn't see one empty table when I stepped into the little cafe. I wasn't anxious to sit next to a stranger, nor did I want to stand around and wait for a table to open up. I kept walking down Union Street, turned left at the next intersection, headed south on Fourteenth Street, and before I knew it, I was walking past the Food Pantry grocery store where Eliza Pitt was last seen on April 12, 2001.
I walked into the store and wandered around, searching for the bakery department. A few minutes later I approached the checkout stand with a chocolate long john and a Diet Coke. I had theorized that the Diet Coke would cancel out the calories in the doughnut. I knew it didn't actually work that way, but it allowed me to enjoy the doughnut without guilt. As the cashier counted out my change, I thought back to the article I'd read earlier and tried to conjure up the name of the store's sacker who'd accompanied Eliza to the parking lot the day she disappeared.
After I paid the cashier, I casually asked, "Is Kyle here today, by any chance?"
"Kyle? Do you mean Kale?" the young female clerk replied. "Kale Miller?"
"Yes, that's who I meant, Kale Miller."
"No, ma'am. They let Kale go about a year ago, just a month or so after I started working here."
"Oh? Why'd they let him go? He seemed like such a nice young man whenever he loaded my groceries into my car for me."
"Yeah, I guess Kale was nice enough, but several customers complained to the manager about him. At least that's what I heard. He'd had one of his epileptic fits a few days before he was fired—he was epileptic, you know—"
"Uh-huh. Yes, uh, of course."
"But I really don't think that had anything to do with his getting fired."
"I wouldn't think so."
I thanked the young girl, walked outside to eat my doughnut, and gave some thought to what I'd just learned. I finished the pastry, tossed the wax paper tissue into the trash receptacle outside the store, and walked back into the Food Pantry. This time I headed straight for the customer service desk in the rear of the store.
"Is the manager in today?" I asked the man behind the counter.
He nodded, picked up the phone and spoke into it before pointing me back to a small office next to the employee restroom.
"Good morning. May I help you?" A pleasant, rosy-faced man, about my age, greeted me as he stood up behind his desk.
"Good morning. I'm Doctor Thelma Roush," I said.
"Nice to meet you, Doctor Roush. I'm Charlie Hickman. What can I do for you?"
"It's nice to meet you too. I'm with the research department at the hospital. I'm in charge of a team that's currently testing a new drug to help control epilepsy—we call it CT-43. 'CT' stands for clinical trial, of course."
"Okay, but—"
"I'm sure you're wondering what all this has to do with you?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact."
"Well, actually, it has to do with a former employee of yours, Kale Miller. He's epileptic, you know."
"Yes, I was aware of that, Doctor Roush."
"Then you were probably also aware that he was involved in this clinical trial, testing the new drug, CT-43, for FDA approval."
I really had no idea how new drugs were approved, but I doubted that the Food Pantry manager was familiar with the procedure either.
"No, I didn't know anything about Kale being involved in your clinical trial. But he hasn't been employed here for about a year, so I won't be able to help you."
"Do you know where I can locate Kale?"
"No. I think he still lives with his folks over on Terrace Lane, but I'm not certain."
"The problem is that Kale hasn't shown up for his last couple of appointments. Because of the potential side effects of any newly developed pharmaceutical product, he needs to be closely monitored. We're particularly concerned about the possibility of arrhythmia, abnormal heart palpitations, and liver damage."
Charlie seemed impressed with my knowledge and professionalism. I was impressed, myself, that I could come up with words like "pharmaceutical" and "arrhythmia" at the drop of a hat.
While I let Charlie absorb the seriousness of the situation, I continued, "Can you tell me why Kale is no longer employed at the Food Pantry? Was he exhibiting unpleasant side effects or having frequent epileptic seizures?"
"Actually, he did have a seizure not long before we had to let him go."
I shook my head in dismay. This was obviously not good news for the future of the drug, CT-43. And that, naturally, was my main concern as far as Charlie was concerned.
"Why was he let go? Do you mind sharing that with me?"
"Oh, it had nothing to do with his epilepsy, Doctor Roush," he said. "We'd had several complaints that Kale was making some of our female customers uncomfortable."
"How was he doing that, may I ask?"
"He was insisting on carrying their bags out, even when they had requested to do it themselves. Then he apparently propositioned a few of them outside the store."
"Was he showing an indication of aggression toward them? Another potential side effect, I'm afraid," I said, in my best physician's voice.
"No, not really, doctor. It wasn't like he was accosting them in the parking lot or anything of that nature. It was more of an overly flirtatious manner than aggression. He's basically just a harmless young guy, with a tendency to be a little too forward at times. Well, I'm sure you know how it is with Kale."
"Of course."
"I spoke to him several times about it, and yet he continued to make unwelcome advances to the ladies. Kale's a good kid, with a lot of strikes against him, so I hated to let him go. But I couldn't have him distressing my customers, as I'm sure you can understand. Keeping my head above water—with that new market over on Twelfth Street, and all—is tough enough without having problems like that."
"Of course," I said again.
"I'm sure it had nothing to do with your CT-43 drug, Doctor Roush. If anything, it probably had more to do with that schizophrenia he was diagnosed with last year."
* * *
Schizophrenia? Oh good grief, I thought, as I left the Food Pantry. I pondered the implications as I walked back toward the Camelot B&B. Could one of Kale's multiple personalities be that of a harmless flirt, and another one a homicidal maniac? Had he been thoroughly investigated by the authorities? I came to the conclusion that it wouldn't hurt to check it out. I stopped at a pay phone outside a convenience store, removed Detective Glick's business card from my fanny pack, and dialed his number.
"Detective Glick." I heard his voice on the handset.
"Good morning, detective. This is Lexie Starr again. I have some information that might possibly have some bearing on the Eliza Pitt case."
"And what would that be, Ms. Starr?" he asked, with a lot of impatience, and a touch of annoyance in his tone.
"Are you aware that Kale Mill
er, the sacker at Food—"
"I know who he is," Detective Glick cut in.
"—Pantry, suffers from schizophrenia?"
"Yes, I'm aware of that discovery."
"Oh. Well, did you consider all the ramifications of that discovery?"
"As much as we felt necessary," he said. "Have a good day, Ms. Starr."
Unfortunately, Detective Glick had disconnected the call before I could respond and slam the phone down in his ear.
"Arrogant jerk!" I said into the phone anyway. At least I had found out that Kale's affliction had been scrutinized to the satisfaction of the homicide detectives. I'd have to be content knowing that the team of investigators felt Kale Miller was un-involved in the disappearance and murder of Eliza Pitt. And it didn't hurt to let Detective Glick know that I was still on the case, despite his lack of cooperation and his condescending attitude.
Chapter 12
Stone registered for the room down the hall from me early Friday evening. I'm not sure what reason he gave Harriet for not wanting any morning meals cooked for him, but from the top of the stairs I heard Harriet respond, "Price be the same, with or without breakfast, ya know." I then heard Stone chuckle and agree. I smiled to myself at the exchange. I'd warned him of Harriet's eccentric, but enchanting, personality.
Stone's room had its own bathroom, which was a great relief to me. After an offhand remark he'd made Thursday about my "natural beauty," I didn't want him to see how much paraphernalia, and how many potions, it took to look this naturally beautiful. I had toiletries strung from one end of my bathroom to the other. Stone was a flatterer, or possibly just a gifted BS'er, but he knew how to make a woman feel good about herself. I was eating up the praise and attention, and I'm the first to admit that I was enjoying it.
After Stone settled into his room, the two of us walked across the street to the Union Street Diner for supper. At our table in the corner, Stone admitted that he needed to drop a little weight, and I told him that I also had picked up some extra, unwanted pounds.
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