Cold Path

by Melissa F. Miller

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I have your ring and Davina’s necklace. They’re a set.”

  “My ring? You stole my ring?”

  “I borrowed your ring to confirm a theory. I’m guessing whoever takes over for Chief Dexter will forgive me since they’ll be able to clear a murder and an attempted murder within the first hour of their tenure.”

  Eliza turned to them and wrinkled her brow. “What do you mean? You know who did this to me?”

  “Sure. So does Mrs. Sullivan. It was her grandson. With a little help from his friendly neighborhood police chief.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Are you sure about this, Dr. King?” Marvin wanted to know.

  “Pretty sure.”

  The security guard frowned. “Is there anyone at the station who you trust? I’d rather not have Chief Dexter show up here armed and looking for a fight if we can avoid it.”

  “Smart man. I don’t know for sure, but I think the rot is limited to the chief. Detective Valtri springs to mind.”

  “I’ll call and ask her to get over here ASAP.”

  “Thanks, Marvin.”

  He nodded and left the room. Bodhi hit his speakerphone button and dialed Bette’s number. She answered immediately.

  “We’re on our way. We’re just outside the entrance to the preserve. Some idiot wrapped his BMW around a tree and it’s blocking the . . .”

  Margot clutched her chest. “What color is the vehicle?”

  “Did you hear that, Bette?”

  “Uh, yeah. It’s silver. Why?”

  Margot swayed and grabbed on to the wall for support.

  Bodhi kept an eye on her to make sure she didn’t collapse while he answered. “I’m guessing it’s Sully’s car. Is the driver injured?”

  “He took off, actually. Into the woods that lead back to the lodge.”

  “Do you and Fred feel up to a cross-country run?”

  “Ah, crap. Really?”

  “I’m almost positive he killed Davina. And I think he and Dexter worked together to attack and abduct Eliza. Tell Fred she’s okay, by the way. I mean, a little worse for wear. But in one piece.”

  “Love you, Fred,” Eliza called hoarsely.

  “I’ll deliver that message. See you soon.”

  “Run like the wind.” He ended the call and turned to face Margot.

  “What the devil is going on?” she demanded.

  “Where’s the brooch?” he responded.

  “What business is that of yours?” She’d recovered from her initial shock and had drawn herself up. She was the perfect well-bred lady again.

  “Well, it doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to her.” He nodded toward Cassie’s corpse.

  Margot huffed through her nose. “She is Alice Catherine Rutherford. She’s my great, great, great-aunt. So, I feel justified in laying claim to the jewelry that was stolen off her corpse by Professor Jones.”

  “If you knew who she was, why didn’t you tell Davina?” Eliza asked.

  “Because it was none of her business. Just as it’s none of yours.”

  “You don’t care that your aunt was hanged?” Bodhi couldn’t help himself. The words just popped out.

  “You know she doesn’t. Only pretty history, remember?” Eliza must’ve been feeling better. Or her adrenaline had overwhelmed her fatigue. Either way, her eyes blazed.

  “That’s not how it is,” Margot insisted.

  “You’re the last living Rutherford woman. Or at least you are now. When you and Davina saw the brooch, she knew it matched her necklace, and you knew it matched your ring.”

  She sniffed.

  “But you had the advantage because you knew what it meant. She didn’t.”

  “Care to fill me in?” Eliza asked.

  “It’s how the Rutherford women established lineage and the right to take under the trust. Right, Mrs. Sullivan?”

  She exhaled. “Yes. Louisa Anne Rutherford established the trust and used a set of jewelry that her late husband had made for her to identify the original beneficiaries. The pin went to Alice, who mustn’t have had any female children, because, as we know, it was buried with her. The ring went to Alice’s only sister Deborah and was handed down through female children as follows: Deborah to Caroline to Eloise to Charlotte to me. I had two sons, both of whom are deceased, and my younger boy Paul had Eugene. So that’s the end of the line for the ring. I suppose I’ll be wearing it when I’m buried.” She rubbed her empty finger with an absent gesture.

  “So, how did Davina end up with the necklace?” Eliza asked.

  “I have no idea,” Margot responded.

  They both turned to Bodhi. “I’m not sure. But I bet Micah Birch knows something. My phone’s been blowing up for the last hour with texts and calls from him.”

  “Why didn’t you answer?”

  “We’ve been a bit busy here.”

  “Fair point.”

  35

  Sully and Dexter were taken into custody without incident thanks to Bette’s fleet feet and Detective Valtri’s quick draw.

  Once the excitement died down, Marvin unlocked the doors to the board room and ushered Bodhi, Eliza, Bette, and Fred inside.

  Margot Rutherford Sullivan sat at the far end of the table. She looked like a pale replica of herself.

  “You sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?” Marvin asked Eliza.

  “Later. I don’t want to miss Micah’s presentation.”

  Marvin shook his head. “Mr. Birch should be here any minute. Anybody want anything else before he gets here?”

  Margot gestured toward the coffee, tea, and water that Marvin had procured as if by magic. “I think we’re covered, Mr. Washington. Thank you.”

  Marvin nodded and started for the door.

  “I thought you were a history buff. Don’t you want to stay and hear Micah lay out the whole story?” Bodhi asked.

  Joy lit Marvin’s eyes. “I really kind of do.”

  “Pull up a chair,” Fred boomed, his arm draped over Eliza’s shoulder. Eliza rested her head on his chest.

  Marvin took the seat next to Bette just as Micah appeared in the doorway.

  “Hi. That officer down at the front door—Kincaid? He said to just come on up. I hope that’s okay?”

  “It’s perfect,” Bodhi said.

  Micah walked into the room and rested a weathered leather briefcase on the gleaming conference table.

  “It sounds like you’ve had an exciting day already,” he began. “But buckle up.”

  He opened the bag and laid out photocopies of several letters. “So we were off by about a decade. Alice Catherine Rutherford died in 1871. She hanged herself.”

  “It was a suicide,” Eliza breathed.

  “She hanged herself because she had been working with Isaiah Bell to set up a school for free blacks, and the two of them fell in love.”

  “Star-crossed lovers?” Marvin asked.

  “And then some. The Rutherfords were wealthy and influential. They were also sympathetic to the plight of the newly emancipated slaves.”

  “Scalawags?” Bodhi remembered Davina’s explanation.

  “Up to a point. They were Southern Republicans, and they supported Isaiah’s bid for Congress. But when they found out he was sleeping with their daughter . . . that was another story entirely.”

  Margot dropped her eyes to the table.

  Micah went on, “It looks like they intercepted a letter from Alice to Isaiah arranging a meeting. They used to meet up at his cousin’s farm, under the tree where Davina found the coffin.”

  He spread out several more letters, poured himself a glass of water, and then continued, “In July of 1781, Isaiah arrived at the designated spot to find, not his beloved, but her shotgun-toting father. A month later, he was living in Wales.”

  “And that’s why Alice killed herself?” Bette hypothesized. “She thought he dumped her?”

  Micah frowned sadly. “Worse. She was pregnant
with Isaiah’s baby. Once he left town without so much as a see-ya-later, she was too hurt to try to send him word. The Rutherfords were scandalized. After she had the child . . .” He trailed off and passed around copies of Alice and Isaiah’s correspondence.

  “Anyway, the Rutherfords gave the baby away. It’s all in the last letter from Alice to Isaiah. She sent it, and then she hanged herself from the black cherry tree on Jonah’s farm.”

  A thick silence blanketed the room.

  Finally, Marvin said, “How does the necklace come into play?”

  “Alice killed herself the first week of December, so the baby was likely born in November. Alice must’ve somehow made sure the necklace went with the baby. Maybe she wrapped it in the blanket or tucked it in a diaper. I don’t know. But somehow, she made sure her daughter got part of her inheritance.”

  Comprehension dawned and spread across the room.

  “Wait, Davina was right? She was related to Isaiah Bell?” Bodhi asked.

  “Isaiah and Alice. I’m still running this down, but in one of her letters, Alice mentions a former attendant named Rebekah.”

  Margot cleared her throat. “Rebekah Truth. She’s in the family records. And I don’t think Alice gave the piece to the baby. That would most likely have been Louisa Anne, securing the baby’s claim to the trust. There were always whispers, but never anything concrete.”

  Just then, Officer Kincaid stuck his head into the room. “Sorry to interrupt, but Detective Valtri wanted me to let you know Eugene Sullivan’s cooperating. He’ll admit his part and testify against Dexter in exchange for a quiet plea deal. He says he doesn’t want to embarrass his grandmother any more than he already has.”

  Margot closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose. When she regained her hold on her emotions and opened her eyes, Bodhi asked, “Do you have any idea why he killed Davina?”

  She paused for half a minute before answering.

  “He lacks the imagination to picture a life without the trust, without his status and his allowance. I blame myself. I told him to go talk to Davina. I wanted him to convince her to handle her claim, to the extent she had one, in a private manner. I think he saw an opportunity to remove her claim entirely and took it. With her dead, he likely thought I’d give in to his incessant requests to amend the trust.”

  She lifted her chin. “But what Eugene didn’t understand is that I would never do that.”

  “Why not?” Bette asked. “If it was in your power?”

  “Because the foundation was never about me. Or him. It was about Louisa Anne’s vision. My job was to see it through. I’ve made a mess of it, obviously. But I would never turn away from it.”

  She buried her face in her hands. She cried soundlessly, her shaking shoulders the only evidence of her distress.

  36

  Sunday evening

  Impromptu Q and A Session with Chief Clark and Chief Bolton Regarding Corruption in a Small-Town Department

  Bodhi and Eliza tiptoed into the standing room only session and pressed themselves against the back wall to listen to Bette and Fred field questions about the case from over a hundred excited police chiefs.

  Eliza leaned over and whispered, “Did you hear about Verna?”

  “Part of it. I guess Verna did go to Davina’s apartment that afternoon, and she ran into Sully coming out of the building on her way in.”

  “Yeah. I doubt he recognized her, but she knew him. He did notice the museum parking permit on her car and called to ask Marvin to run the plate.”

  “So he could frame her?”

  “Apparently. It was pretty clever, actually. But once Marvin gave his statement, Detective Valtri went back to the neighbor who made the bad identification. She folded like a piece of paper.”

  “Sully bribed her?”

  “Nope. Dexter threatened her with a drug charge. She says he planted the drugs in her place.”

  “He just gets dirtier and dirtier,” Bodhi remarked.

  “He must’ve really wanted Sully to take control of the foundation.”

  “Oh, I did hear one thing from Bette. Detective Valtri set the Chinese delivery guy up with a sketch artist and had him describe the man he saw in the lobby.”

  “Sully?”

  “Sully.”

  “Poor Verna. She almost went down for murder.” She clicked her tongue against her teeth in sympathy.

  “As far as I can tell, Sully wasn’t really even trying to frame her for that. He just wanted to be able to give his grandmother a story about how he got the brooch from Davina’s apartment. Dexter’s the one who realized Verna was the perfect patsy for Davina’s murder.”

  “So, Margot knew he’d been to the apartment. That’s why they hurried us out of there when we asked if they had alibis.”

  “Yeah. She claims she didn’t tell us because she believed Sully’s story about running into Verna and leaving without seeing Davina. I guess she figured why be truthful and risk being dragged into a scandal.” Bodhi suppressed a sigh.

  “Having gotten to know these people, does any of this surprise you?”

  “Actually, no,” he admitted.

  Just then, a tall, thin man wearing a tweed blazer popped to his feet. “This question is for Chief Bolton. Fred, I hear Lewis Dexter participated in the abduction of your . . . uh, girlfriend. Is that true?”

  Fred nodded. “Well, Tony, Dexter isn’t talking. But the uniformed officers who were guarding the scene confirm he’s the one who sent them away on an errand so that his co-conspirator, Eugene Sullivan, could access the scene. Sullivan is cooperating. He claims that after he attacked Dr. Rollins, he called Dexter for help. Dexter met him at the front gate of the museum and helped him carry Dr. Rollins, who was unconscious and bleeding, into the building and stuff her into a coffin . . .” His voice cracked.

  Bette jumped in. “So, you can connect the dots yourself, Tony. Suffice it to say, Lewis Dexter was into this up to his neck.”

  Eliza leaned over again. “Fred and I are leaving tonight.”

  “Not sticking around until tomorrow?”

  “No, we have to get back. We’re actually taking off right after this session. So, if I don’t see . . . well, thanks.”

  “Please stop thanking me.”

  She grinned. “Nope.”

  “In that case, you’re welcome. Let’s hope the next time we meet up, it’s not at a conference.”

  She pulled a face. “It’ll probably be to testify.”

  He nodded. “Probably.”

  “That’s okay. I’ve decided I hate conferences.”

  Bodhi didn’t try to hide his grin.

  They turned their attention back to the questions being lobbed at Fred and Bette for a while.

  After a few moments, Eliza whispered, “I don’t want to hear anymore. I’m going to go check out so we can leave as soon as he finishes up. You take care of yourself, okay?”

  “Yeah. You, too.”

  “And Bodhi? Leave the past in the past. You’ll be happier if you do.” She picked up her bag and edged her way out of the room.

  37

  Huntsville, December 2, 1871

  Dear Isaiah,

  I hear you are still abroad. How lovely for you. I trust you are well.

  I am not.

  I would say I have my memories to console me, but it would be a lie. My memories torment me. And it is a torment I cannot bear.

  The past is one sort of torture, and the thought of the future another. I think of what might have been and what will never be. And I cannot feel any hope or any happiness.

  Farewell,

  Alice

  Monday morning

  Bodhi and Bette said their goodbyes sitting on the same glider in the same gazebo where they’d stargazed only a few nights earlier. It felt like it had been years, though.

  Her flight was scheduled to depart hours earlier than his. He’d imagined they’d share a ride to the airport anyway, and he’d hang out there and wait. But she’d said no.


  The ‘no,’ really told him everything he needed to know. But he sensed that it was important to her to speak her piece, so here they were.

  The glider creaked. Forward, back. Forward, back.

  Bette sighed and stood up.

  He stopped the glider’s movement with his feet and waited.

  She stared at him, dry-eyed but sad. “Here’s the deal. I don’t care about your past. And I don’t even really care about our future. But I do care about the present, the now. Us. And for all your Buddhisting about mindfulness and presence, it doesn’t feel like it matters to you. Or at least not enough.”

  “Bette, I—"

  “Please don’t. Just let me say what I need to say. I’m supposed to leave for the airport in five minutes.”

  He clamped his mouth shut.

  She gave him a wan smile. “Thanks. I want to be with you. Now. Without your worrying about whether it’s right action to have sex with me unless you first tell me every crappy thing you did in college or med school. Without your wondering whether it’s right speech to let me know it drives you bonkers when I leave cabinet doors hanging open. When—if—you’re ready for a real relationship, with all the messiness and imperfection that entails, you know where to find me.”

  She turned and glanced at the driveway, where Jason waited, engine idling. Her bags were already in the trunk of the car.

  Her words were a gut punch. He sat there for a moment and absorbed it all. Then he stood.

  “Can I say goodbye?”

  She nodded mutely.

  He hugged her tight and smoothed her hair while she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “I know,” she mumbled into his throat. “Me, too.”

  And then, she gently pulled away and walked toward the waiting car. She didn’t turn around.

  He lowered himself back on to the glider and creaked, forward, back, forward, back, until Jason returned hours later to tell him they had to leave if he was going to make his flight.