She moved quickly, giving me a hug. “Thank you for all you’ve done. I can now put her to rest properly.”
“If we find anything,” Sean said, holding open the door. The rain had stopped. “We’ll let you know.”
“Wait!” she said, grabbing my hand.
Images flew through my head. I swayed, grabbing onto the doorjamb. Through the swirling haze, I heard:
“When you’re going through Rachel’s things, if you find a small jewel-encrusted trinket box, will you please bring it to me? I couldn’t find it when I went through her things before. It’s the one thing I’ve given her that I’d like to keep.”
The images took me along highways, down back roads, over railroad tracks, finally stopping on a small yellow house. On a nightstand next to a queen-sized bed sat a small jewel-encrusted trinket box.
“We will,” Sean said.
I pulled my hand loose, holding it close to my chest. The images stopped.
“Ruth Ann helped me choose the box as a gift for Rachel’s high school graduation. I know she treasured it. I would love to give it to Ruth Ann. Perhaps it will spark a memory or two. Are you all right, dear?” Marilyn asked me. “You’ve gotten pale.”
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you. We’ll be in touch.”
As soon as we were out of earshot, Sean wrapped his arm around me. “What happened back there?”
“I saw the box. And it wasn’t in storage.”
TWENTY
“How could you see the box,” Sean asked, “when it belonged to Rachel?”
“It was a gift from Marilyn. Gifts are the only time I can get a reading from two people. It’s how I saw the diamond ring.”
“But wasn’t it Michael’s ring?” Sean said, starting the car.
I smiled. “Said like a man. Engagement rings belong to the woman after they’re given. They’re considered a gift and don’t have to be given back if the relationship fails. The man is out of luck, unless the woman takes pity and gives it back.”
Sean’s face clouded. He zoomed out of the parking lot, heading south, toward the highway.
I realized what I’d said. Nothing like sticking my foot in my mouth. He had to be thinking about his own failed engagement. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. . . .”
“You were just answering a question.”
“I know, but . . .” I bit my lip. “I, ah . . . Shit. I don’t know what to say.”
He suddenly laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. You’re adorable when you swear.”
Sean took the Route 3 north ramp onto the highway. We were on our way to see Melissa Antonelli. I was hoping I’d be able to tug at her heartstrings a bit.
“I’m glad you think so.”
“I moved out of my house,” he said suddenly. “I’ll stay with Sam until I can find a place.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’ll get through it.”
I couldn’t help the happiness that swept over me, though I’d like to think I was a better person than that. After all, he was hurting.
But he was free. Available. I didn’t have to feel guilty if I flirted with him.
As if the heavens were giving me their blessing, the clouds parted. Thin sunbeams streamed down from the gloomy skies, dappling the road with light. I fully expected to hear the “Hallelujah Chorus” any second now.
Though I didn’t want to hear all the details, I figured I’d be a good friend and ask, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Thank goodness. But . . . “What about Thoreau?”
Sean smiled as he merged onto Route 93, heading into the city. “I have him.”
“Good.”
“Tell me about the box,” Sean said, clearly wanting to change the subject. “Where is it?”
“I think it’s with Elena.”
“What?”
“It’s in Rhode Island. Where’s the file you have on her?”
“Backseat.”
I reached back and grabbed a stack of manila folders, rifling through them until I found one with Elena’s name.
I closed my eyes, letting myself see the images again, slowing them down. I blinked. “I didn’t see a house number, but the street is the same. Pawtucket, Rhode Island.”
“It can’t be a coincidence.”
“No,” I said. “Which leads to the question—why does Elena have Rachel’s box?”
“If it was as sentimental to Rachel as Marilyn believes, then she never would have given it away.”
“I have a hard time believing that, too.”
“Maybe she stole it?” Sean ventured. “When she moved out?”
“Maybe.”
“Or maybe she wanted a keepsake after she killed Rachel, and took something she knew Rachel treasured because Rachel took something she treasured—her trust? Am I reaching because I’m desperate to find out who killed Rachel?”
“Maybe a little,” Sean said. “But it’s good to talk things out.”
The city loomed ahead, tall buildings scraping the clouds. Rough harbor water tossed boats against their moorings near the Dorchester Yacht Club. “If Elena was as mad as we’ve been hearing, she was plenty angry.”
“Enough to kill?”
“Maybe. People have killed for less.”
Traffic slowed to a near stop. We inched along.
He looked at me, his eyes searching. “Could you?”
“What?”
“Kill someone in anger?”
“Until today, I would have said no, that there had to be something mentally off to kill. But since that article came out this morning, I’ve been fantasizing about that reporter having an unfortunate accident. Is that wrong?”
“I think we need to work on refocusing your fantasies.”
Heat shot through me like a bullet. My mouth went dry; my heart hummed with desire. “What do you have in mind?”
Traffic lightened as we entered the tunnel. “I think you’ve seen what I have in mind.”
If we’d been anywhere but the car, I probably would have thrown myself at him. As it was, I was grateful I couldn’t.
Sean merged onto 1A, heading for Lynn. “You’re speechless. I see I’ve succeeded in refocusing your thoughts.”
“Preston who?” I said, playing along.
“Exactly.”
He was single.
Officially.
It was a good day, all things considered.
Melissa Antonelli didn’t live too far from her parents. We pulled to the curb in front of a lovely Cape Cod–style house with a brick walkway leading to the front door.
She opened the door before we even knocked. To my surprise, she said, “You must be the PIs. Come on in.”
I didn’t correct her. Sean was the PI. I was merely . . . what? A matchmaker on a quest?
I glanced back at Sean, who shrugged and nudged me toward the house.
Inside, the scent of a roast filled the air. My stomach rumbled. Two small boys chased each other up the stairs, nearly knocking us over.
“Hold on to the rail!” Melissa yelled. Then sighed. “They never listen. Come in, come in.”
“I’m Lucy,” I said, holding out my hand to her. No images flashed.
“Sean,” he said, shaking.
“You’re here about Jenny.”
I nodded.
“My parents told me to be on the lookout for you. That you were looking for her and might stop by. They also told me not to talk to you, but I want to hear what you have to say. Sit, sit.”
Sean and I sat in matching club chairs. She sank into a floral couch. The room was tiny, with a huge TV taking up most of the space. Pictures cluttered the top of the TV set. A large Monet print hung above the sofa.
I stared at the photos on the TV. In one of them Melissa wore a wedding dress, and on one side of her stood her father and an older woman, and a young woman who looked a lot like Melissa stood on the other. Same long dark hair and dark eyes and tall, th
in frame.
“Is that Jenny with you?” I asked. “On your wedding day?”
Melissa stood and went to the TV. She took down the frame, handed it to me. “Seven years ago.”
Up close, I could see Jennifer’s eyes were haunted. “She’s lovely.”
“Still is. Mom also said you were working for Michael. Is that true?” From upstairs, a crash rang out. She tipped her head, listening. “No crying. A good thing.”
“Michael is my client,” I said, explaining how I worked for Valentine, Inc. “When I interviewed him, one thing was clear. He’s still very much in love with your sister. I offered to try and find her, see if she would speak to him.” I told her what Michael had said about his night with Elena—how it had been a setup.
Melissa said, “She’s evil, that one.” The two boys, about six and four, rushed back down the stairs.
“Let’s go for a walk,” she said, and shouted her plans toward the kitchen. “He’s watching football. Completely oblivious.”
The last of the leaves had been washed off the trees by the rain. They squished under our feet as we walked along, the muted oranges, reds, greens, and yellows blending together.
“Your parents are protecting Jennifer,” Sean said. “From Elena?”
“And Rachel Yurio. They put her through hell, those girls. And no matter how many times we went to the police, nothing could ever be proven.”
I walked in the middle, Melissa on my right, Sean on my left. “What did they do?”
“Nasty phone calls, slashed her tires, followed her. Sent dirty e-mails to her professors posing as her. Jenny’s cat disappeared and she found its bloody collar on the back step.”
I shuddered.
“Yeah,” she said. “Jenny loved Michael. With all her heart. But she couldn’t take much more of the harassment. She felt like Elena would stop at nothing to get her out of the picture.”
“Including setting Michael up with those pictures,” I said, wincing with each step I took.
“Those photos were the last straw. When Elena showed them to Jenny, she added a threat. That if she didn’t break it off with Michael, then Jenny might disappear just like her cat.”
Sean must have sensed I was in pain, because he slowed his pace. Melissa was forced to fall back or walk way ahead of us. “And she didn’t go to the police?”
We’d made it to the end of the street. Melissa turned to head back. “No. By that point she thought Michael had cheated on her. She just wanted to get on with her life. Even after she broke up with him, Elena would pop up here and there to taunt her. She’s sick. After Jenny graduated, she decided to move west. And my family became very overprotective.”
“Understandable,” Sean said.
“I’m not sure if you’re aware,” I began, “but Rachel Yurio is dead. And has been for over five years. Murdered.”
Shock widened her eyes. “I didn’t know. Did the police catch who did it? Was it Elena?”
I was beginning to suspect it was. “By all appearances Elena has turned her life around. She’s a social worker in Rhode Island. Has a husband and a couple of kids.”
Melissa shook her head. “Those poor kids.”
“Michael is under suspicion for Rachel’s death.”
She stopped suddenly. “Michael? Why?”
I swallowed hard. “It’s complicated. Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Do you know what Jennifer did with her engagement ring?”
“She mailed it back to Michael. FedEx, I think. Why?”
A gust of wind sent leaves scrambling down the street. “Rachel was wearing it when she died.”
“You didn’t have to see me in,” I said, passing Sean as he held my front door open.
I’d given Melissa Antonelli my cell phone number and asked her to pass my information along to Jennifer. Whether she would call me was anyone’s guess. The more I heard about Elena Hart, the more I suspected she’d killed Rachel. I was exhausted, so Sean and I both agreed to put off seeing Elena until the next day.
“Do you want me to look at your feet? I do have paramedic training.”
“I’m okay. Em doctored them this morning. The antibiotics will kick in soon enough.”
“You sure?”
“Do you have a foot fetish?”
He laughed.
“Coffee?” I asked, not wanting him to leave just yet.
“Sure.”
Grendel came streaking out of the bedroom, twisting himself around my feet until I picked him up. He pawed my face while I murmured sweet nothings to him, trying to soothe his injured feline feelings.
“He hates when I leave him,” I explained.
Sean smirked.
“What?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
I passed Grendel to Sean so I could make the coffee. Weak sunlight filtered through the living room windows. Outside, the ocean rose and fell with the steady rhythm of a sleeping chest.
“How long do you think the media will stay?” Sean asked.
“Hopefully they’ll go soon.” I’d refused to shield my face from the flashbulbs and was still seeing spots because of it. “But I have the sinking feeling they won’t leave until I talk to them.”
“Are you going to?”
“I don’t know.”
I’d like to get my parents’ opinions on the matter, but they had yet to call.
I ground some coffee beans, watching Sean play with Grendel, who was lapping up the attention. We’d set our plans for the next day—early on we were going to head to Marilyn’s storage unit and look through Rachel’s belongings; with any luck we’d find a clue as to who killed her. After that, we were going to head to Elena’s house in Pawtucket. I was curious to see what she had to say about the trinket box and about Rachel’s death in general.
“This is a really nice place you have,” Sean said, taking a look around.
“I love it here. My grandfather bought the estate for Dovie when they were first married. Dovie renovated about a decade ago, bringing back the original beauty of the place.”
“It’s like something off of a postcard.”
I glanced at Dovie’s enormous house on the bluff. Lights blazed from the downstairs windows. “The main house is too much house for one woman, but she adores it too much to ever downsize.” She’d grown up in a New York tenement, one of three kids who owned nothing but their names. She hadn’t had an easy childhood, and I think the house represented security to her, more than anything sentimental. Even though my Grandpa Henry had given her the place as a wedding gift, the marriage was crumbling before the honeymoon was over.
“And she has me down here to keep her company. Which is one of the reasons rent is so cheap.”
“Rent?” he asked, surprised.
The scent of freshly ground coffee beans filled the kitchen. “About ten years ago, I renounced my trust fund, wanting to prove that I could make it on my own. I put myself through college, bought my own car, and pay my own bills.”
“Why?” he asked, stroking Grendel’s fur.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the room grew darker. Intimate. I tried not to think about him and me, me and him, all alone in my house. It was a hard thought to banish. I retrieved two mugs. “At the time I was feeling guilty that I couldn’t—”
I was about to say “read auras.” I’d gotten so comfortable sharing myself with Sean that I’d forgotten he didn’t know the Valentine secret. I needed to be more careful.
“Couldn’t what?”
I thought fast. “ ‘Couldn’t’ is the wrong word. Didn’t want to go into the family business. I figured I didn’t deserve the money and should make my own.”
“Noble. But crazy.”
I laughed. “Trust me, I’ve kicked myself a thousand times since. But I like my life—for the most part. I like taking care of myself. I’m not going to lie—it helps that I know the money is still there, waiting for me.”
“Will you ever ta
ke it?”
I shrugged. “Who knows?”
He set Grendel down as I turned on the coffeepot. I watched Sean wander through my living room, looking at the pictures on the mantel—of me, my parents, Raphael, Dovie, Em, Marisol, and Grendel. My family.
“Is this you?” he asked, holding up a shot of me at four, pigtails flying in the wind as I built a sand castle.
“Yes.”
“Adorable.”
“Thanks.”
“Is that Dovie?”
“Which shot?” I asked, coming around the island.
“No.” He pointed out the window. “Is that Dovie headed this way?”
Darkness cloaked a silhouetted figure walking down the slope toward the cottage.
“Yep. Probably making sure I took my medicine.”
“Should I prepare for twenty questions?” he asked, smiling.
“I’d forgotten! She’s going to quiz you until you break. Maybe you should go.”
His gray eyes glinted flirtatiously. “Do you want me to?”
“No, but Dovie—” I had a sudden thought.
“What?” he asked. “What’s that devilish look in your eye?”
“I know a way to get her off our backs.”
“How?”
I hooked my thumbs in my pockets and rocked on my sore heels. “Prove to her that we are together.”
“And how do we do that?” he asked, a grin curving the edge of his mouth.
Very deliberately, I turned to look at my bed, just visible through the bedroom doorway.
“You’re not suggesting . . .”
“I’m suggesting we pretend—to get Dovie to leave us alone. Are you in?” I asked.
His eyes darkened, and he looked at me in a way that suggested he’d been thinking of more than just pretending. “I’m in.”
My mouth went dry as heat pulsed through my body.
It was going to be easy to fake it.
“Come on! We’ve got to hurry. She’ll be here in a minute.” I tugged him toward my bedroom.
My heart beat wildly. This was a dangerous game.
“Shirts,” I said, slipping my sweater over my head.
Sean stared at me, eyes hooded, as I pulled back the covers on the bed.
“Your shirt! Hurry!”
Truly, Madly Page 18