After a few moments of silence, Marquetta said, “My mother and I spent a few months at the B&B after my father died.”
No, Rick thought. Neil Weiss had died when Marquetta was Alex’s age, not when she was six. He caught himself before he said anything further. Rather than asking more questions or contradicting Marquetta, Rick chose a more conciliatory path.
“I’m sorry about your dad. He must have been a wonderful father.” He added, “That doesn’t require a response. It was only an observation based on how well his daughter turned out.”
“He was.”
“Look, if you ever need to talk…I’m not trying to pressure you.”
There was another pause. A crack in her voice. “Not on the phone. And I’m not ready yet.”
Yet? So there was hope she might open up in the future. “Marquetta, we’re here for you. Both of us. Whenever you need us.”
The silence seemed to go on and on. While he waited, he stared at the chair in front of his desk. The hot seat is what Captain Jack had called it. But right now, the one he sat in felt like it was on fire. He opened the desk drawer in which he kept the strand of red yarn she’d given him more than a year ago. Pulled it out. Squeezed it tight in his palm.
It was Marquetta who broke the silence. “Good night” weren’t exactly the words he wanted to hear, but they were far better than what she might have said. He needed to think. Clear his head. He locked up his office and went downstairs, through the kitchen, and out to the back patio. Closing his eyes, he let the cool night air fill his lungs. When a sense of peace enveloped him, he opened his eyes and watched the night sky. Distant ocean waves murmured against the shore. An occasional breeze rustled through the trees. He had so much to think about. This might be the perfect place to find his answers.
Approaching footsteps behind him shattered the moment. He turned to see who was coming.
CHAPTER 32
ALEX
July 21
Hey Journal,
That was super scary in the attic. I thought for sure a spider was crawling on my face. Or a ghost grabbed me. I never believed in ghosts before. Maybe I still don’t. I don’t know.
Marquetta’s mom sure was pretty. I wonder what happened to her. I know her dad died, but she never said anything about her mom. Could she still be alive? How could I find out without getting in more trouble? Daddy’s gonna ground me for sure cause I broke the rules.
I got a million questions, Journal! How am I gonna sleep?
xoxo,
Alex
CHAPTER 33
RICK
Flynn O’Connor stood about five feet away from Rick. She had her arms clutched to her sides and watched him in silence. In addition to her usual dress, she’d added a single concession to the cold, a heavy sweatshirt. Rick acknowledged her with a nod and waited to see if she would join him. She did and came to stand next to him.
She blew out a long slow breath and stretched her neck. “This day officially sucks.”
“I agree with your assessment, Miss O’Connor.” Rick stopped and chuckled. “By the way, that sounds like my daughter talking.”
“It seems like the most accurate way to describe what’s happened.”
The breeze whispered through the fir trees overhead. Dark outlines of branches swayed against a moonlit sky. A heaviness built inside him. There was so much happening. “You’re right. Being questioned by the police about a murder has to rank right up there in the worst-day-ever category. They didn’t charge you with anything, did they?”
“No, but Deputy Cunningham did give me the don’t-leave-town warning.”
“Standard procedure,” Rick said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound cold.”
“I hate to admit it, but Reese might win this one.”
Rick turned back to watch the shoreline. Moonlight glinted off the black ocean while bands of surf walked their way toward shore. The gentle breeze carried a distinct chill. “What do you mean, she might win this one?”
She cocked her head to one side as she looked at him and said, “Just out of curiosity, is this in your Detective Innkeeper capacity, or are you one of those people who can’t stand to see others destroy themselves?”
“I am not wearing a badge, so this is definitely not official. I supposed that makes me the latter.” Rick raised his right hand. “I swear. I will not use this against you.”
“It doesn’t matter. I thought I could hide things, but I’ve realized if this goes to trial, Reese will somehow make sure all my mistakes come out. Did you know she started out as an amateur treasure hunter? Somehow, she got the attention of Exploration International. The last time we crossed swords, so to speak, she made some terrible strategic mistakes.”
Rick waited, hoping to learn more about how Reese operated. Wasn’t that what he needed to do? Know thine enemy? He asked, “Such as?”
“She hired a couple of goons in Mexico to intimidate one of the interns on my last dig. Her idea was to have the poor girl sabotage our work.”
“Was she working at Exploration International then?”
“No, no. This was before she went to work for them. Anyway, what she didn’t count on were the goons thinking they could make more money by trying to play both sides. Two of us went into town for supplies and these guys came to me and said they wanted money to protect the project. They both had been in and out of jail before, so it was easy to get the local cops to arrest them. They gave up Reese the minute they found out they could score their own deal. The problem was, she’d already left the country.”
“So she lost one battle. Has she tried anything like this before?”
Flynn shook her head. “I heard she was on a dig five or six years ago. A couple of artifacts went missing, but there was never any proof.”
“I had no idea she had such a technical background. She showed up here with a group of treasure hunters. She’s been a thorn in my side ever since.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
Rick looked at Flynn. Even in the moonlight, he could see she’d been crying. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket to fight off the chill brought on by the damp night air. “Be my guest.”
“Have you tried to verify the validity of the porcelain?”
“We have a local man, Howie Dockham, who is taking a stab at it. It’s difficult from what I understand.”
Flynn nodded. “It is. There are a couple of basic tests. For one, the ink can be checked. The design, also. There were certain defining characteristics. I might be able to shed some light on it. That is, if I’m allowed to take a look.”
“Might not be a good idea since you’re…”
“You can say it. Murder suspect. Look, I did not kill Dani.”
“I don’t think Deputy Cunningham would consider you a reliable witness.”
“You’re probably right. I guess I could only play one role at my own trial.”
“I also have a few questions about Dani.”
She chuckled. “Why not? Fire away.”
“How many times did you meet up with her?”
“I didn’t keep track,” she said. “Maybe a couple of dozen.”
“Did she spend much time in the sun?”
Flynn stared at him, then her brow furrowed as she looked into the distance. “Come to think of it, no. These past few years, Dani seemed to hate being in the sun. I never questioned why.”
“So this aversion was a new development?”
“Like I said, it’s been a couple of years.”
“Do you know what caused the change?”
“She never said.
“Could it have been a medication?”
“I suppose. She did have a heart arrhythmia. She told me her doctor tried a couple of different medications, but I don’t know what she was taking.” Flynn rubbed her shoulders with her hands and asked, “What’s behind all the questions?”
“The police told me she was taking a medication that caused a severe sensitivity to sunlight. I
was curious whether you knew about it. Has anyone told you how she died?”
Flynn shuddered and shook her head. “No. I hope it was quick.” She tried to manage a smile, but it came off as more of a grimace. “I’ve always said when it was my time I wanted to go fast.”
He held her gaze for a moment, wondering how much trouble he’d get in for revealing what he knew. It didn’t matter. Let the chief of police get angry. “Do you own a taser, Miss O’Connor?”
“The police asked me the same question. No, I don’t own one. Why—did someone use a taser on Dani?” She raised her hand and covered her mouth as tears filled her eyes. “How awful.”
Rick felt his nails biting into the palms of his hands. He wished he knew whether Flynn was innocent or guilty. Her reaction looked like that of a woman devastated by bad news about a dear friend. What a terrible crossroads he’d come to. Everyone he knew had their own opinion of what he should do, but the truth was he could no longer deny what made him tick. He had to find out who killed Dani Collins.
CHAPTER 34
RICK
Friday morning dawned bright and clear with the promise of a gorgeous summer day. When Marquetta showed up for work, she didn’t mention Rick’s late-night call. He opted to leave that discussion for another time. Alex’s mood was subdued, but as the morning continued her smile returned. The attic subject also felt like one best left for later.
Four guests showed up early for breakfast. They were soon joined by others and everything went smoothly for the first hour. Marcus’s parents paid attention to both boys and Marcus behaved himself and best of all he didn’t try to scare the other guests.
Even the Washingtons, who had shown up early to grab a window seat, seemed to have a better understanding of individual orders this morning. Their almost sickeningly sweet treatment of each other had Rick wondering who’d done what to the honeymooners.
Rick was doing refills on their coffee when Flynn O’Connor walked into the room. She no longer wore the heavy sweatshirt from the night before, but was back to her customary attire of camp shirt and shorts. Rick gestured for her to wait as he finished.
Mr. Washington tilted his head in Flynn’s direction and whispered, “That’s her! The murderer.”
Rick nearly splashed coffee on his guest. He turned to see who the man was pointing at. It was Flynn. “Mr. Washington, please. She’s only been questioned. The police have not charged Miss O’Connor with any crime.”
“Everybody in town says she did it,” Washington shot back. “She must be guilty.”
Rick licked his lips as he blocked Washington’s view of Flynn with his body. “Please, we have other guests to consider.”
“You’re acting like a child, Mike,” said Washington’s wife. “She’s innocent until proven guilty.”
“She looks like she did it. I can tell!”
Mrs. Washington glanced at the other tables, then up at Rick. She winced and lowered her voice. “He tends to make snap judgments.”
“I do not! I’m just a good judge of character.”
“Mr. Washington, she is one of our guests. I’m hoping you’ll allow her the benefit of the doubt.”
“What’s she doing here, anyway?” Washington hissed. “She should be in jail.”
“Mike, stop it!” Mrs. Washington demanded. “You heard him. The poor woman hasn’t even been charged.”
“Poor woman? How can you take her side?”
Rick leaned forward on the table and did his best to keep his voice controlled but firm. “Mr. and Mrs. Washington. You are disrupting my entire dining room. If you persist in this argument, I will need to escort you out. Do I make myself clear?”
They both peered up at Rick. The look on Mr. Washington’s face was one of begrudging agreement, hers was one of relief. Rick straightened up and backed away.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have other guests to attend to.” As Rick crossed the room to seat Flynn, he saw signs of the argument returning. He took a slow breath to steady himself and stared at the two of them.
A moment later, Mrs. Washington threw down her napkin and marched out of the room, her face flushed and her cheeks damp with tears. Rick seated Flynn on the opposite side of the room, as far from Mr. Washington as he could.
As Flynn sat, she looked up at Rick with moist eyes. “Am I imagining things or is everyone looking at me?”
It only took a quick visual survey of the room to see Flynn was correct. The argument between the Washingtons had triggered murmurs at the other tables. It was like watching fallen leaves tumble across a manicured lawn on a windy day. He turned back to her and said, “I’m sorry. It appears a couple of my guests have made you the center of attention.”
“It’s the Salem witch trials all over again,” Flynn muttered.
Rick winced. “I’m sorry.”
She stared at the cream and sugar in the middle of the table for a moment, then stood, and muttered, “I’ve lost my appetite.”
Anger burned within Rick at how one guest had disrupted an entire room. He stared at Mike Washington as Flynn stood and left. The man held Rick’s scrutiny for only a moment, then put his head down and focused his attention on breakfast.
CHAPTER 35
RICK
When all the guests were gone and the cleanup had been completed, Rick checked the time. It was nearly ten and Howie Dockham would be opening up soon. He told Marquetta he was going to see Howie and took his time on the walk to Howie’s Collectibles. He entered and wove his way through the various cases and tables stocked with a variety of antiques.
Howie, a thin man with graying hair and spectacles, sat behind the counter. He was, in some ways, the picture of a nerdy stamp collector, but his adventurous side, that of wheelchair demon, always made Rick chuckle.
“Morning, Howie. Run down any tourists lately?”
“Nearly got myself one this morning,” Howie laughed. “He was a little too quick for me though. Let me guess, you’re here in your Detective Innkeeper capacity.” Howie raised the jewelers loupe affixed to his glasses and smiled at Rick, his eyes swimming behind the coke-bottle lenses.
“How did you hear that name? Was Flynn O’Connor here?”
One of the giant eyes winked. “She said you were a sharp one.”
There was nothing he could do about Flynn now except hope Deputy Cunningham didn’t hear about her visit. “You can’t tell anyone she was here, Howie. Adam would not be happy.”
“No worries, Rick.” Howie made a zipping motion across his pursed lips and winked again. “Now, you want me to tell you what I told her?”
“Yes, but first I want to know what kind of contraption you’re working on.” Rick stared at the mystery device Howie had before him. A conglomeration of wires and small tubes all connected to a large metal ring of some sort. “What kind of torture device is that?”
“This is an old permanent wave machine. Hairdressers used it to curl women’s hair. By today’s standards it’s quite…um, bulky.”
“Good choice of words. It looks more like something from a horror movie. You’re restoring it?”
“For the San Ladron Museum. It was recently donated through an estate.”
“Thanks for satisfying my curiosity,” Rick said. “What did you talk about with Flynn?”
“Very nice lady—and quite knowledgeable.”
“You’re right. By the way, I’m not working with the police.”
“It doesn’t matter to me. In my opinion, there’s nothing confidential about the results. The bottom line is Miss O’Connor nailed it. The porcelain fragment from the beach was once part of a rice bowl. It’s a very good forgery.”
Rick hung his head and tried to block out the rush of thoughts cascading through his mind. Dani Collins died for a fake artifact? Why? Was this Reese’s doing?
“A lot to take in, isn’t it?” Howie asked.
“What led you to this conclusion?”
Howie picked up the piece of porcelain and handed it to Rick. Look a
t the design. See anything unusual?”
“I’m not an expert, Howie. I have no idea what it should look like.”
“No worries,” Howie said. “The broken edges are very sharp, indicating this piece was part of something larger. The shape suggests a rice bowl. Our first thought was to look at the figures in the sketch.”
He rolled himself over to a computer and turned the screen so Rick could see it. “Can you see the similarities? The fragment from the beach is a typical Ming dynasty rice bowl. It contains a long-necked bird in a stand of reeds. Miss O’Connor suggested we check the sketch itself. Her suggestion was that a forgery might not have the same figures used during the Ming era. But look at how closely the fragment matches this one.” He pointed at the monitor. “All the lines have a curve to them. The bird has the correct amount of detail. And those clouds on the horizon? Those are consistent with other known and validated pieces.”
“So the design itself contained nothing unusual?”
“Correct. And look at the brush strokes of the underglazing. Not too heavy. There’s nice shading. Somebody who had some familiarity with the work of that era made this. In other words, everything appears to be chronologically appropriate. So, based on the design, our cursory review led us to conclude the bowl was authentic.”
“I don’t understand. You just said it was a fake.”
“It is. I said the design appeared to be authentic. This was a clever forgery, Rick. Most forgers don’t get the design right. They might use an incorrect number of brush strokes for the origin markings on the back, or they get heavy-handed with their brush strokes. Not this one. Which is why we had to dig deeper. We were so caught up in looking at little details, the things we thought would reveal a forgery, that we missed the most obvious sign of all.”
Rick’s neck muscles tightened and he leaned forward. “You’re killing me, Howie.”
The man’s eyes swam behind his thick lenses. He shook his head and snickered. “Okay. I’ll cut to the chase. The underglaze is the wrong color. We had to take a step back and look at the entire piece as a whole. We don’t have the equipment for thermoluminescence testing, so all we could do was eyeball it. And, to be fair, the porcelain itself is slightly discolored. We suspected that could have been the result of natural aging.”
Clues in the Sand Page 14