“And her name was Chloe Weber?” Lindsey grabbed a pen and wrote the name down. “When did that article get printed?”
“About a year ago,” Trudy said. She sounded as if she wasn’t sure. “No, wait—it was more than that. The article ran in June of last year, so about a year and a month.”
“Thank you, Trudy, you’ve been very helpful,” Lindsey said. “If you think of anything else or anyone else who might have more information about Aaron, please don’t hesitate to call me.”
“I will,” Trudy said. “You know, it’s such a shame. Aaron really did grow the most marvelous roses. Why, he had a Jude the Obscure, a fabulous peach-tinted rose, that was so round and fat with petals, you’d think it was a peony.” She sighed, and there was a slight hesitation in her voice when she added, “You know, there were some members of the rose club who didn’t care for Aaron.”
“Really?” Lindsey asked. She tried to sound encouraging.
“I hesitate to say anything, as I don’t like to gossip, but there was some bad blood about that article Ms. Weber wrote,” Trudy said. “Some of the club members felt that Aaron was pushy and that he monopolized her, making his garden the centerpiece of an article that was supposed to be about the whole club.”
“When you say he monopolized her, what do you mean exactly?” Lindsey asked. She felt her body grow tense. Could Aaron have been stalking Chloe Weber? And if so, how had that turned out? Maybe there was a police report.
“Oh, you know, she’d come to the meetings, and he’d greet her with big bouquets of roses from his garden,” Trudy said. “Some members felt that he was showing off and trying to impress her to make sure she wrote mostly about him.”
Roses. He had brought her roses. Lindsey felt her heart speed up in her chest. Had Aaron been watching Chloe like he’d been watching Lindsey? Had Chloe reported it? Maybe there was a record of it. Maybe there were even more women he had done this to. Lindsey forced her voice to remain calm and conversational.
“Was that it?” Lindsey asked. “What I mean is, was he only interested in her because of the article, or do you think he was interested in her as a person?”
“I . . . well . . . I’m not sure,” Trudy said. “I mean, he’s—he was—married. I thought he was only interested in making sure that Chloe wrote a positive piece about the club, but the last time I saw her, she said something that I found odd.”
“What was that?” Lindsey asked.
“I ran into her in the post office, and she was filling out a change-of-address slip,” Trudy said. “I assumed she was moving because she’d gotten a new job as Aaron had said, but when I asked about it, she said, ‘To put it in gardener speak, sometimes an invasive weed can’t be eradicated, and the only way to keep gardening is to find a new plot of land.’”
“What did you think of that?” Lindsey asked.
“I thought maybe she was unhappy at work or had a bad relationship,” Trudy said. “I didn’t think it had anything to do with Aaron Grady, but perhaps I was wrong. She left shortly after the article came out, and Aaron left the rose club a few weeks after that.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, clearly uncomfortable with gossiping. “Do you suppose they had an affair and it went wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Lindsey said. She doubted it was an affair. She had a feeling Aaron had driven Chloe away from her life, forcing her to flee to put some distance between her and him, just like Lindsey had been contemplating taking a new job when she thought she’d have to put up with him staring at her. Had Chloe tried to escape him? There was only one way to find out. She was going to have to follow this clue.
“Trudy, you don’t happen to have a phone number for Chloe Weber, do you?”
CHAPTER
10
Did the reporter call back?” Robbie asked. He had finished talking to all the local garden club members that he could find and was sitting back in the chair opposite Lindsey’s desk while they compared what they’d been able to uncover about Aaron Grady.
“No, the number was disconnected,” Lindsey said. “But I asked Charlene La Rue to use her journalist contacts to see if anyone at the TV station has heard of Chloe.” Violet’s daughter, Charlene, was also a crafternooner, as well as a television reporter in New Haven. “It’s a long shot, but I’ve checked all of the directories I can think of in-house. What about the garden club? Any leads?”
“No one liked him, if that’s what you mean,” Robbie said. “Apparently, he exuded an arrogant yet needy vibe that was off-putting to the membership.”
“Sounds about right,” Lindsey said. She kept one eye on her computer, watching the database run the name Chloe Weber. “The rose club in Massachusetts had similar issues with him.”
“Any word on Water Boy?” Robbie asked. “Is he going to be allowed to leave the station?”
“Yes, in fact, he texted a little while ago that he expected to be out in time for dinner,” she said. “We’re going to head over to the Blue Anchor. Want to join us?”
“No, thanks,” Robbie said. “The third wheel is always the squeakiest.”
Lindsey was about to protest that he wasn’t a third wheel, but he held up his hand and said, “I’m going to pop in at the station and force Emma to eat some dinner. Maybe we’ll see you there, although knowing her, I’ll only be able to get her to slow down enough for a gourmet meal of Cheez-Its and Twix bars from the vending machine in the break room.”
“Well, that does cover all of the food groups,” Lindsey said. “You know, salty and sweet.”
Robbie smiled, but Lindsey’s phone rang, cutting off anything she would have said. She picked up, hoping it was Charlene. It was.
“Hello—”
“Lindsey, hey, I have to be on set in five minutes for the early news,” Charlene said. “Here’s what I’ve got. No one at the station had heard of Chloe Weber, so I reached out to some print-journalist friends at the Register, and sure enough, one of them went to journalism school with her.”
“Are they still in contact?”
“They weren’t, but Chloe recently reached out, looking for work. She’s been freelancing for the Associated Press but under a different name. She writes under the name Amanda Morgan for them as well as for some other small papers around the country.”
“That’s weird, isn’t it?” Lindsey asked. “I mean, it’s not like she’s a novelist needing a pen name.”
“Some journalists who work freelance take on multiple names so they can have many stories in print papers and online to increase their income streams,” Charlene said. “This is not a business a person goes into because they’re going to get rich.”
“Huh, I never knew that,” Lindsey said. “Do you have a number for her?”
“I do, but promise me you won’t share it,” Charlene said. “My friend said Chloe is hypervigilant about maintaining her privacy. Also, they asked that you not divulge who gave you her number. Grab a pen.”
Charlene read the number, and Lindsey jotted the numbers down on an old envelope.
“Got it,” Lindsey said. “Thanks, Charlene, you’re the best.”
“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” Charlene replied to some mumbled voice in the background. “See you at crafternoon next week.”
“Great, okay, bye,” Lindsey said. “And thanks.”
She hung up, and Robbie waited with one eyebrow quirked up in inquiry. “Well?”
“Chloe Weber has been a freelance writer working under the name Amanda Morgan,” she said. She went back to the database and changed her search. A flurry of articles from the Register and the Associated Press filled the screen. She did an image search to see whether there was a photo of Amanda Morgan, and while there were several Amanda Morgans listed—a hairstylist, a student and a teacher popped up first—there were none that matched the reporter’s bio.
Lindsey picked up the phone and called the nu
mber Charlene had given her. The phone rang four times, and then voice mail picked up. The voice was a mechanical man’s voice stating that Amanda was unavailable but would call back as soon as possible. Lindsey clutched the receiver. What message should she leave that would get Chloe/Amanda to call her back? She thought about pretending to be a newspaper looking to hire her, but she hated lying. She decided to go with the truth.
“Hi, Amanda, my name is Lindsey Norris, and I’m calling to talk to you about Aaron Grady. You wrote a piece about him under the name Chloe Weber—”
“Who are you?” a female voice interrupted.
Lindsey sent Robbie a surprised look. He leaned in closer so he could hear, too.
“My name is Lindsey Norris,” she said. “I—”
“How did you get this number?” the woman demanded.
“I’m a librarian,” Lindsey said, as if that was explanation enough. Apparently, it was.
“What do you want?”
Lindsey made her voice calm, making sure she didn’t match the suspicion and hostility in Chloe’s tone. “I wanted to talk to you about Aaron Grady,” she said.
“Why?”
Lindsey glanced at Robbie and he nodded.
“Because he’s dead,” Lindsey said.
There was a gasp on the other end of the phone. A few seconds ticked by before Chloe spoke. Her voice was nervous when she said, “I don’t believe you. Prove it.”
“It’s all over the news,” Lindsey said. “He was found dead from a gunshot wound outside the Briar Creek Public Library early this morning.”
“Hold on,” Chloe said.
Lindsey heard the furious tapping of keys on a keyboard. There was no sound for a bit, and she wondered whether they’d been disconnected. Just when she was certain that they had, Chloe came back on the phone.
“Briar Creek?” Chloe’s voice was high pitched and sounded terrified. “What was he doing in Briar Creek?”
“From what I understand, he moved here a few months ago,” Lindsey said.
“Oh my God.” Chloe’s voice was faint. “He’s been living in Briar Creek for months?”
There was a note of hysteria in her voice, and Lindsey didn’t know what to say other than to confirm her question.
“From what he said, yes, I believe so,” she said.
“So he followed me,” Chloe said. Her voice sounded faint.
“Followed you?” Lindsey asked. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Who shot him?” Chloe asked, disregarding Lindsey’s words.
“They don’t know,” Lindsey said. “The police are investigating.”
There was silence for a moment, and then Chloe’s voice when she spoke was so soft Lindsey had to strain to hear her.
“But he’s definitely dead?” Chloe asked.
“Yes,” Lindsey said. “I saw him myself.”
There was a sigh, as if Chloe was relieved, but then her voice grew sharp and she said, “I don’t understand why you’re calling me.”
Again, Lindsey looked at Robbie, and again, he nodded.
“The truth is, Chloe, that I was having some problems with Mr. Grady,” she said. She blew out a breath. “From what I learned about his time in the Berkshire Rose Club, it occurred to me that you might have had a similar experience with him.”
Again, there was silence.
“Chloe, any information you have about him could help the police solve this case,” she said.
“What if I don’t care?” Chloe asked.
Robbie’s eyes went wide at that.
“So he did harass you,” Lindsey said. “Let me guess—he brought you large bouquets of roses, showed up at your house, started following you, sent you creepy text messages?”
“Emails,” Chloe said. “I got creepy emails. Pages of them. I assume he stalked you, too?”
“Yes,” Lindsey said. “And now my fiancé is being questioned in his murder, and he didn’t do it. I need your help, Chloe.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t—” she began, but Lindsey interrupted.
“If I found you, the police will, too,” she said. “Don’t you think it’s best if you come in and talk to them voluntarily before they treat you like a suspect?”
She was absolutely bluffing, but Chloe’s comment that Grady had “followed her,” after Lindsey had mentioned Briar Creek, meant that she was somewhere in the area. Lindsey would knock on every door in a five-town radius if she had to, but Chloe was going to come forward.
“A suspect?” Chloe snapped. “I had nothing to do with his shooting. I left Massachusetts and came to the Thumb Islands specifically to get away from him, but he must have figured it out and followed me.”
So she was on the islands. Lindsey felt her hope for Sully’s freedom surge.
“Which makes you look like a suspect,” Lindsey said. “Of course, if it was in self-defense—”
“I didn’t shoot him,” Chloe cried.
Robbie put his hand out flat in the air and lowered it, gesturing for Lindsey to take it down a notch. She nodded.
“Then come into town and talk to the police,” Lindsey said. “I’ll even go with you if you want, but we need any information you have.”
“I can’t help you,” Chloe said. “I didn’t even know he was here.” Her voice cracked, and Lindsey imagined she was having a reaction to the news that her stalker had been living nearby for months and she’d had no idea. Lindsey couldn’t fault her. She’d freak out, too.
“Which island are you on?” Lindsey asked. “I’ll have my friend Charlie, who works for the water taxi, come and get you.”
“That’s not necessary,” Chloe said. “I don’t like to ride in anyone else’s boat. I’ll come in on my own, but I’d appreciate it if you’d meet me at the Blue Anchor, the restaurant on the pier. Say, seven o’clock?”
“That’ll work,” Lindsey said.
“Thank you,” Chloe said.
“Sure.” Lindsey hesitated but then added, “He can’t hurt you anymore.”
A laugh with no humor greeted her words, and Chloe said, “Back at you.”
Lindsey hung up and slumped back in her seat. Robbie was studying her, and she shrugged.
“That was a bit more intense than I expected,” she said.
“Sounds like this woman may have had it even worse than you from Grady,” he said. “She quit her job and moved out onto an island. That’s a serious escape act.”
“I wonder why she didn’t go to the police.”
“Maybe she did. They’re not all as progressive as Emma. Your own mayor wanted you to do nothing,” he said.
“And some people wonder why women are fed up,” Lindsey said.
“Right. That whole ‘boys will be boys’ is a load of rubbish,” Robbie said. “As the son of a single mum who had to deal with gropers and perverts her whole working life and just smile through it or risk losing her livelihood, it makes me furious. Women are not possessions—why can’t these thickheads get that?”
Lindsey smiled at her friend. “Well, at least there are men like you and Sully to make up for it. I do believe there are more good men than bad ones. It’s just the bad ones get all the attention.”
“And in this case, he got shot,” Robbie said. “So there’s that.”
Lindsey studied him. “You know Emma isn’t going to be happy with us for contacting a prior stalking victim of Grady’s.”
“I was thinking that myself,” he said. “Especially if that call to Chloe makes her run again instead of, say, meeting you at the pier like she said she would. And if she was to run, it would probably entail bringing her boat in and then taking her car, assuming she has one parked in the island residents’ lot by the pier.”
“Are you willing to be the point man?”
“You mean to go sit in the Blue Anchor w
ith a view of the pier and see if she does a runner?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. She opened up a file on her computer that showed a picture of Chloe Weber when she was reporting for the Berkshire Day. She was younger than Lindsey by several years, and she had dark hair, so it seemed that Grady didn’t have a type. But there was a sparkle in Chloe’s eyes, and Lindsey guessed that she’d been friendly, just like Lindsey had been, and that had been enough to trigger Grady’s interest.
“This is an older picture, and she may have cut or dyed her hair, but at least you’ll have a general idea of who to look for,” she said.
Robbie took a picture with his phone and said, “Got it. I’ll go nurse a pint while I wait. Meet me there at seven? I’ll have Emma join us.”
“Yes, unless you see Chloe making a getaway first,” Lindsey said.
With a nod, Robbie hustled out of the library. Lindsey glanced at the wall clock. She had two hours to plow through as much work as she could before it was time to meet Chloe. She hoped the woman was telling the truth, and she really hoped she showed up at their appointed time. Lindsey did not want to face Emma with this information with no Chloe to show for it.
* * *
• • •
Sully arrived just as Lindsey was packing up her things. He stood in the doorway, his smile strained, and she rose from her desk to give him a hug.
“Long day?”
“And then some.” His tone was rueful. He hugged her tight and then let her go. “The state investigators wanted to keep me overnight, but Emma was the voice of reason. She said the only evidence they had was the gun, which they’ll have to run the serial numbers on before we know if it’s mine or not, and ballistics will still have to match it to the victim. She vouched for me.”
“Which was the right thing to do, since she knows you didn’t do it.”
“I love that there is not one bit of doubt in you,” he said. His smile this time reached his eyes, and Lindsey hugged him again.
“Of course I don’t doubt you,” she said. “I’m going to marry you. I would never marry someone I didn’t trust one hundred percent.”
Word to the Wise Page 11