by Julie Hyzy
Instead I went out to the driveway to pick up the morning newspaper, surprised to see a familiar car parked out front. I walked down to the sidewalk and leaned in through Flynn’s open passenger-side window. “Were you here all night?”
He’d been hunched down in his seat, eyes closed, until I interrupted him. Blinking and sitting up, he rubbed his face. “A few hours last night and then a few more this morning,” he said, his voice gravelly from lack of use.
“Thank you. I didn’t expect you to do that.”
“Something is wrong with this guy. The killer,” he added as though I didn’t understand who he’d meant. “He’s brazen and cocky. I wouldn’t put it past him to come right up to your door and try to kill you in cold blood.”
Wasn’t that a pleasant thought to start a Saturday with. “This is all because I might have seen him?”
“Seems like.” Flynn faced me, one arm draped on his steering wheel. Wide awake now, he’d gone from zero to sixty in half that many seconds. “What I don’t understand is why he hasn’t attempted anything yet. He would have had ample opportunity yesterday when you left the wine shop. He could have even gotten you before you went in.”
“Geez, Flynn, you sure know how to cheer a girl up.”
He ignored that. “We’re missing a part of the puzzle. That’s my point.”
He’d echoed Tooney’s cogitations almost word for word. “How do we figure out what it is?”
He shook his head. “You got that lock fixed yet?”
“I called Larry this morning,” I said, gesturing toward town where Larry Langdon the locksmith had a shop. His alliterative name and occupation made him very easy to remember. “He wasn’t open yet, but I left a message.”
Flynn scowled. “His answering service could rouse him. You should have said it was an emergency.”
“I’ll be home all morning. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
My assertion didn’t help Flynn’s mood, but then again, nothing much did. “I have to shove off,” he said. “I don’t think he’s going to bug you. Not just because it’s daylight, but because I think we’re dealing with something bigger here. I wish I knew what it was. Either way, you keep us updated. You see anything, hear anything, you let us know, pronto.”
“Got it,” I said. “By the way, do you know if that photo I sent Detective Rodriguez has gotten any hits?”
“What, you think there’s some Bat-computer out there where we can slide in a photo and the criminal’s identity pops out?”
“I was just asking.”
After he’d vented further about my lack of forensic expertise, he said, “Rodriguez is getting in touch with John Kitts, the tour guide, to see if he recognizes the man, but even if he does, so what? We’re already pretty sure the guy is the killer. If Kitts and the other victim, Ellroy, recognize him, that will help when we make the case. What we need is to find out who he is, and—more important—where he is right now.”
I was about to ask him a question, but he anticipated and answered before I could get one word out. “Yes, Miss Nosy. We’ve gotten all we can from the Oak Tree Hotel. If he was staying there, he’s long gone.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“We got a photo from your security staff, though.”
“Of the killer?”
“The guy with the briefcase. Remember him?”
I did. He’d claimed to have been at Marshfield on business but Bennett hadn’t invited him. “What did you find out?”
“We talked again to the guard who’d stopped him and he verified it was the same guy. We’re sending that picture to Kitts, too, but I don’t think it will amount to anything.”
“Why not?”
“Murderers don’t walk around with gift-wrapped bottles of wine.”
“Come again?”
Flynn shifted. “That’s one of the things he had in his briefcase. The picture that security captured of him was when he’d pulled his stuff out for the guard. One of the items he was carrying was a fancy bottle of wine.”
“Hillary,” I said.
He looked confused.
“I don’t think he’s your killer, either. I have a feeling he was at Marshfield to visit Hillary.”
“The stepdaughter?”
I nodded. “It’s just a hunch. Let me check with her and get back to you.”
“You and your hunches.”
I patted the top of the passenger-side door with both hands. “Thank you very much, Detective. I really appreciate all you’re doing.”
With a nod of acknowledgment, he started the car and pulled away.
* * *
LARRY THE LOCKSMITH SHOWED UP AT MY front door about thirty minutes later. An affable man of about sixty, he told me he’d made my visit a priority this morning because of all the business Marshfield had provided over the years.
He and I made our way through the house, with him commenting about how pretty the inside was. He sounded surprised and I couldn’t blame him. Although the boys and I, with Bennett’s help, had grandiose plans for renovation, we hadn’t had the chance to really get started yet. “My son has a big house like this in Georgia,” he said. “Not exactly like yours, mind you, but roomy and good for the kids. I’ve got three grandkids, you know.” He proceeded to pull out his wallet and show me pictures of the little ones. “Look like their dad. And everybody says he looks like me. But look at these cuties. I don’t think there’s any resemblance, do you?”
I oohed and ahhed and assured him that all three cherubs looked just like their grandpa. They did have his chubby cheeks and turned-up nose. Larry beamed.
I made sure to lock Bootsie in the basement so that she couldn’t escape during the repair.
“So what have we got here?” Larry said when I showed him the back door.
“The lock doesn’t always catch,” I said. “We can jiggle to make sure, but sometimes . . .”
He’d tuned me out, already crouching to view the mechanism at eye level. He played with it at length, while Bootsie meowed pitifully from behind the basement door. “She wants out where all the action is, huh?” Larry asked.
So deep was the man’s concentration, I hadn’t realized he’d even noticed. “She’s a real people cat.”
He began to disassemble the lock onto the floor. “Give me a few minutes here.”
I did. First things first, I called Mark. I wasn’t disappointed when his phone went to voicemail. I was still considering how to broach the subject of last night’s excitement. “Hey, Mark,” I said at the tone. “I’ve got a few things going this morning, but I’d love to get together later, like we talked about. Let me know what’s up.”
I frowned as I hung up thinking that was an awkward message, but he would understand. After that, I wandered around the house, taking care of small tasks that I’d let pile up. I sorted through old magazines, cleared the dishes from the sink, and even traipsed upstairs to make my bed. When I returned, the lock was put back together.
“Fixed already?” I asked.
Larry had gotten to his feet and shut the door. “Not yet, but you can let the cat out.” The kitten scampered into the kitchen and hugged the far wall, watching Larry with sharp suspicion. “This is one old mechanism,” he said. “You can put a brand-new lock in, easy, but this door looks like an antique—a real beauty—and I don’t think you want to mess with drilling new holes into it. Your decision, of course.”
I tried to pick Bootsie up, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with that. “I worry about her getting out if the lock doesn’t catch.”
He made coaxing noises, but Bootsie arched her back and hissed at him. Larry laughed. “Cats don’t like me,” he said, then sobered. “Does she try to get out?”
I thought about it. “Not really. She seems curious about the outdoors though. She loves to sit in the window and stare out the screen.” I thought about it. “So, what are my options?”
“I can order replacement parts. They’ll be expensive, but not much more than
doing a full install. You’ve got a good lock, well made. Problem is you have a lot of wear and tear on it right now. If I were you, I’d try to maintain the door’s integrity and repair the lock you’ve got instead of replacing it with one that’s substandard.”
I thought about how happy Flynn would be at this turn of events. “How long will it take to get the parts?”
He made a so-so motion with his head. “I’ve got a supplier I’ve worked with for years, mostly for Marshfield’s locks. He’s good at rush orders. If I need it fast, they do their best. I can probably have it within a couple of days.”
“That’s not bad.”
“Business days, I mean,” he said. “I’ll get in touch with them first thing Monday morning. I bet I’ll have it in hand by Wednesday at the latest.”
I wasn’t thrilled. “Is there anything we can do to keep the back secure until then?”
“Keep doing what you’ve been doing. Wiggle it a little until it takes. Once the lock’s engaged, you’re good.”
I thanked him and told him to let me know the minute the new parts arrived.
I called Bennett to see if he had time to meet. He seemed less surprised than I’d expected to hear that I’d be coming in on a Saturday. He also sounded concerned. “I’ll have Theo set lunch for two, is that all right?”
Bennett often invited me to dine with him. I supposed it got boring, having every meal to yourself with only a few butlers for company. Most people envied his wealth and longed for his lifestyle. Over time, I’d come to realize how lonely he really was. “I would love that.”
“Excellent. I’ll see you shortly.”
* * *
“YOU LIKE THIS ROOM SO MUCH, I DECIDED we’d eat in here today,” Bennett said when I met him in the Sword Room. Theo had set up a linen-covered table for two right in front of the fireplace between the two tall columns of crisscrossed swords. “I have to tell you that neither of my wives cared overmuch for the décor in here, so I’m surprised to find that you do.”
With the faint memory of cigar smoke, burled wood furnishings, and reminders of wars gone by, this was a room that didn’t get much traffic. “I know this place is special to you,” I said. “That’s why I like it here.”
He chuckled. “The best part is that Hillary thinks of it much the way her mother did—boring, old, and devoid of treasures.” He glanced at the cherry wood chest across the room. “Little does she know.”
“It bothers me that you keep an item of such great value out in the open like that,” I said.
“The only people in this wing are employees I trust with my life. You. Frances.” He said her name with a trace of amusement. “Lois and the rest of the administrative staff. Most everyone has been with me for decades. You’re the new girl on the block.” He sat back. “Should I start suspecting you’ll break in here and steal the tiara? You do have access afterhours.”
I laughed.
He tapped a finger to his lips and squinted at me. “It would look good on you.” Sitting up again, he rang a bell to let the butler know we were ready to eat. “Let’s let Theo feed us before he has a coronary about the food getting cold. I have a great deal to discuss with you, my dear, and it will all be better on a full stomach.”
I had a lot to discuss with Bennett as well, but I decided to hold my tongue until after Theo had served lunch, poured coffee to enjoy along with our raspberry sorbet, and excused himself from the room.
Bennett took a final sip from his rose-covered coffee cup and returned it to its saucer with a delicate clink. “So, my girl, it seems you’ve been busy.”
I didn’t understand.
“Do you think word doesn’t reach the old man? I heard all about the killer visiting your friends’ store last night.” His silver brows came together, deep vertical creases running between them. Bennett rarely raised his voice to me, but his concern this time was tinged with anger. “You could have been killed. Have we not had this conversation before?”
“I haven’t gone looking for trouble, I swear,” I said. “This time it seems to have come looking for me.”
His expression softened ever so slightly. “That’s what has me worried most of all. It’s as though you’re a magnet. Worse, you’re always caught in the crosshairs while doing your best to protect me.”
“The police are on top of this.”
He made an impolite noise. “It’s about time,” he said, then asked, “You have another reason for wanting to see me today, don’t you? You want to know what I thought of your young man.”
I felt my face redden. “Well, of course I’d like to know about that, but the real reason I wanted to meet was because I promised I’d talk with you about the investigation. But it seems you’re already completely up to speed.”
Fingers knotted across his middle, he settled himself as though to talk, but I detected a shrewd glint in his eyes. “For the record, I don’t believe he intends to sue. That’s unusual these days. Everyone looks for an excuse to demand a windfall, and frankly, I’m surprised.” I was digesting that when he asked, “Have you ever been to Colorado?”
“Except to change planes once, no.”
“Your Mark Ellroy seems like a very earnest fellow. Handsome, successful, and—although he took pains not to admit it to me—smitten with you.”
“I wouldn’t say smitten . . .” I protested, though inwardly I cheered.
Bennett grew serious. “You know I will never stand in the way of your happiness. Even if it comes at the expense of my own.”
I leaned forward to touch his arm. “Bennett—”
He clasped a hand over mine. “All I ask is that you slow it down. You have plenty of time to make decisions that could affect the rest of your life.”
“We’ve only gone out once.”
“And look at how you blush when we talk about him,” Bennett pointed out. “The few times we’ve discussed Jack, you’ve never had such a strong reaction.”
“That’s because Jack . . .” I stopped myself. I’d been about to say that my relationship with Jack had had a very slow start and had suffered delays, distractions, and detours.
“Because a relationship with Jack could be difficult and this new shiny attraction to Mark is easy?” he asked.
I didn’t answer.
“Your young man and I met in this very room.”
“Why here?”
“I don’t care to invite strangers into my personal living space. I don’t care for the assumptions people make, nor do I enjoy having my private rooms invaded.” He waved the air. “Call it a phobia, call it whatever you will, but I prefer to visit with new acquaintances elsewhere.”
“Why didn’t you have him to your office?” I asked.
“Too cold. I wanted the man to let his guard down. I wanted to see who you were attracted to, and why.”
“You liked him?” I asked, believing I was reading between the lines.
“I ‘like’ anyone who makes you happy. Mark Ellroy makes a good first impression. Let’s see how he holds up over time.”
Chapter 20
MARK HAD LEFT A MESSAGE ON MY CELL phone while I was meeting with Bennett. He told me that his arm was much better now. So much so that he’d jettisoned the sling and rented a car. He intended to pick me up tonight like a real gentleman ought to. He assured me he remembered where I lived, but promised to call in the event he got lost. Listening to his enthusiasm, I realized how much I was looking forward to tonight.
I thought about what Bennett had said about taking things slowly. I knew he worried that I’d follow Mark out West and that he’d never see me again. What Bennett didn’t realize was that he was as important to me as I was to him. That I loved my life here. That Emberstowne was home. I’d considered telling Bennett about how Mark confessed he was considering a career change. That maybe he wanted out of Colorado. But to share that would have been to admit that I was in deeper than I’d let on.
It was nice to have a man courting me, I thought as I prepared for o
ur evening. I donned my favorite sleeveless dress and spent extra time with my makeup.
As I was getting ready, I couldn’t help but think about the case. I felt certain that the photo I’d taken would help in identifying the killer. Flynn’s Bat-computer comment notwithstanding, I’d called Rodriguez to find out if he’d heard anything from John the tour guide. The news hadn’t been encouraging. Whether it was because he was viewing in an e-mail a photo taken with a phone, John couldn’t say for sure if my bald and threatening visitor was the guy he’d seen that day at Marshfield.
Flynn’s point that it didn’t really matter until they determined his identity crowed in my brain, but I’d wanted to hear John say yes, certainly, absolutely that was the guy. I felt as though it would bring us that much closer to a solution to the problem.
I was in the middle of twisting a lock of blonde hair around my curling iron when a thought occurred to me. “Tooney!” I said aloud.
Bootsie had taken up a position outside the bathroom and had fallen asleep. Her eyes opened again, pupils huge. I turned to her. “Why didn’t I think of this before?”
I ran over to my purse, grabbed my phone, and dialed Tooney’s number. Briefly, I explained.
“Say this again,” he said. “You’re sending me a photo of the possible killer? How did you get it?”
I didn’t have time to explain. “I happened to run into him yesterday,” I said. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Everything is fine. I’ve sent the photo to Rodriguez and Flynn, but it dawned on me that if you had it, you could use it when you ask about the blazers at the secondhand stores. Maybe seeing the guy’s face will jog their memory.”
“Good thinking,” he said.
“I wanted to get this to you so you could talk to them bright and early tomorrow.”
He hesitated. “Most of the secondhand shops are closed on Sundays.”