by Casey Mayes
Barton looked genuinely surprised by that. “Am I that transparent? I thought I hid my grief better than that.”
“It’s okay to be sad,” I said. “You lost someone you cared about.”
“More than I can say,” he admitted.
As we drove across town, Barton said, “I tried to get her to move into the Belmont where there was at least a modicum of security, but she refused. Cindy prized her freedom more than that. When she was off work, she liked to live her own life. Here, she could lift a finger and have anything she wanted, but in her own place, she had autonomy.”
“I like her already,” I said.
He nodded. “I approve of strong, independent women, but I should have insisted. If I’d only known . . .”
“You can’t play that game,” I said, putting my hand on his arm. “Second-guessing yourself is worse than cruel; it’s pointless.”
“You’re right. I embrace that philosophy in business, but I can’t seem to accept it in my personal life.”
“Don’t think about her loss,” I said. “Celebrate who she was. Tell me about her.” I needed to get his mind focused on the good rather than the bad. If I could do that, he might be able to get through the painful task we had ahead of ourselves. There was also the slight chance I might learn something new about Zach’s case.
“She was sunshine personified,” he said simply. “The room lit up whenever she walked in, and faded a little when she left it. Not that she was some kind of Pollyanna,” he added hastily. “Cindy had a temper that could be quite fierce when she was challenged. There was spirit under that soft demeanor, and anyone who crossed her had to be sure they were right. She clashed with me more than a few times over the years, and I knew when she challenged me that I needed to rethink my position. I trusted her as my moral compass on tough decisions, and I changed my mind more than once when she pushed me.”
“She sounds like a great person,” I said.
“I never had a wife, or children of my own,” Barton said softly. “She was as close to family as I had since I was a teenager.” There were gentle tears tracking down his cheeks, and I could see that the topic of his own family was too painful to discuss. “I felt better having her be a part of my life,” he added. “Is there anything more you can ask of someone?”
“Not in my book,” I admitted. “I couldn’t imagine living if my husband was gone.”
“Nearly losing him must have been devastating for you. It was a miracle he survived that gunshot.”
“How did you know about that?”
“It was in all of the newspapers,” Barton said. “I just have to imagine how you must have felt.”
“Worse than I can ever describe,” I admitted. “But enough about me. What exactly are we going to do at Cindy’s place?”
“I want to collect a few personal things, and then I’ll have someone else go through the rest of it.” His voice choked a little. “This is probably a bad idea from every angle you examine it, but it’s something that I have to do. Thank you for going with me.”
“I’m honored you asked me,” I said.
He started to reach out to pat my hand, pulled back for a moment, and then lightly touched my fingers. No words were spoken, but a great deal was understood in that instant.
We reached an ordinary-looking apartment complex, and as the driver stopped the car and opened our door, Barton hesitated before getting out.
“I’ll do it myself, if it would help,” I said. “It can’t be easy for you to go inside.”
He took a deep breath, and then said, “No, I can manage it. I’m not at all certain how long I’ll be able to keep up my nerve, so let’s get this over with.”
I followed him out of the car, and as we stood at the apartment door, I saw that his hands were shaking as he held the key out toward the lock.
“Let me do that,” I said as I took the key from him.
“Thanks,” he answered, his voice barely above a whisper.
When I opened the door, a wave of disinfectant smell swept over me. I wasn’t sure that the odor was better than what it had disguised, but then again, I didn’t have any experience with dead bodies.
It was a typical young single woman’s place, decorated with a wide palette of oranges, browns, and greens. She had a framed Monet poster over her couch.
“I have the original at home,” he said softly as he studied it. “If I’d known she loved it, I would have given it to her.” He wiped away his tears, and then he said, “I’m being ridiculous, I know. I’ve got hundreds of people who work for me.”
“She was a lot more than just an employee to you. It hurts losing someone you care about.”
He nodded. “This is more difficult than I ever imagined. I’m sorry, Savannah. I just can’t do it.”
I hugged him, and though it was clear he wasn’t all that comfortable with anyone embracing him, he let me. When he pulled away, I said, “You don’t need to be here. I’ll go through and collect anything that looks like it might have sentimental value to you, and then I’ll bring it back to the hotel.”
“There was a necklace, sterling silver, with a cow pendant on it in black and white. She loved it, but it wasn’t found when her body was discovered.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open,” I said.
He nodded numbly, and then left without saying another word. After the car pulled away, I dead-bolted the door behind me and started digging into the apartment, and more importantly, Cindy Glass’s life.
CINDY WAS NEAT, WHICH WAS A REAL PLUS FOR ME, GIVEN the search I had ahead of me. Checking out her place was a lot easier because of it, but at the same time, it made me sad to think that this tidy young woman’s life was cut so short.
There was no way around it; I was going to have to pry into her most personal things if I was going to help Barton.
The first place I looked was her lingerie drawer, knowing that many women liked to hide things there. She had a great deal of conservatively cut panties for the week, but there were also a few brightly colored pairs that had to be reserved for the weekend. Under it all, wedged into the back of the drawer, I found a photograph of Cindy and a young man that couldn’t be identified by the snapshot. They’d been skiing, and he had a fit build, but his face had been haphazardly torn out of the photograph, leaving nothing really identifying in what was left behind. Who had it been, I wondered, and how long ago had she and he broken up? From the way the photograph was torn, I was guessing that the breakup hadn’t been Cindy’s decision. I took the picture and put it on the bed where I was starting a pile of things to take to Barton. I’d have to go over everything I collected again to make sure it wasn’t a clue before I turned anything over to him. Barton had asked me to take my time, and I was going to honor that request.
There were a few more photographs scattered throughout the apartment, mostly of Cindy and her friends, and then I found one I was certain Barton would want. It showed the two of them together, standing side by side and smiling broadly. In the background was a sign hanging from the ceiling proclaiming “Happy St. Patrick’s Day.” I wasn’t sure where it had been taken, but I put it on the growing pile and moved on.
As I searched the small apartment, I kept my eyes open for the cow pendant necklace Barton had mentioned. There wasn’t much in the place in the way of jewelry, just some oversized earrings and a few glittering peace symbol necklaces housed in a small wooden box that appeared to have been made at summer camp a long time ago. Cindy had retro tastes in her jewelry as well as her curtains and bedspread. The material in her bedroom for both sported a matching pattern of brown, gold, and green rings on an orange background. I wondered what her clothes were like. As I opened the small closet door, I found mostly work clothes, but among her prim business suits, I found another section of the closet filled with flared blue jeans and bright tops. Cindy was clearly button-down at work, but when she played, it was obvious that she enjoyed casual comfort. In the kitchen, I searched each drawer and cabinet in turn,
but it was so generic that it could have been anyone’s place, so there was nothing to add to the pile. The living room, the only other room in the apartment besides the tiny bathroom, had few things of a personal nature in it. All I could come up with was a half-finished crossword puzzle, and a well-read copy of Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. I was about to leave it on the table, but then I spontaneously added it to the pile.
As I walked back into the living room, I saw that there was a blinking light on her answering machine. Out of habit, I hit the play button and heard a man’s voice say, “Cin? Are you there? Call me, this fight is ridiculous.” Who was she fighting with, and why? Hadn’t he heard that she was dead?
This sounded like something Zach should know. I picked up my cell phone and dialed my husband’s number.
He picked up on the fourth ring, just before it went to voice mail. “’Lo?”
“Hey, did I call at a bad time?” I asked.
“No, I was digging into one of the last boxes of evidence, and I couldn’t hear my phone. What’s up? Are you still at the Glass place?”
“I am,” I said. “I promised Barton I’d stay as long as I needed to.”
“Is he there with you?”
“No, he came in with me, but he couldn’t take it. I’m collecting a few things for him, and I was walking past the answering machine when I noticed that the light was blinking, so I hit the play button.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “We’re in the middle of an active police investigation.”
“You’re the one who gave me permission to come here, remember?” If he was going to use that tone of voice with me, he was going to get it right back.
“Sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I’m just tired, I guess. What did it say?”
“Evidently she was fighting with someone, and he called to make up with her.”
“If he killed her, he had to know she wouldn’t be getting the message.”
“I thought of that.” I said. “But what if he’s trying to make it look like he’s innocent? That call might help him, if a jury hears it. Shouldn’t you trace it?”
“It’s probably innocent enough, but I’ll have Joe look into it. He’s the guy who drove me over here today. Hang on.” He covered the mouthpiece, but I could still hear some of his conversation.
A minute later, he asked, “Is there anything else?” “I’m not sure I want to share the rest of it with you,” I said.
“Come on, give me a break, Savannah. I’m up against the wall here.”
My voice softened. “Did Davis give you a hard time today?”
Zach snorted. “He never showed up for our meeting, and no one’s seen him around here all day.”
“That’s a good thing then, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know about that. When the police chief bails out on you, it can’t be good.”
“How about Grady? Have you spoken with him?”
“Nobody knows where he is, either. He told his assistant that he was taking the day off. Who knows, maybe the two of them are off somewhere conspiring.”
“Slow down, Zach. Don’t let the paranoia get to you.”
He sighed. “I know. I’m just whipped.”
“I am, too. I found a photo of Cindy and a man in her lingerie drawer.”
“Really? I looked there, but I didn’t see anything.”
I kept my comment about my husband going through a woman’s lingerie drawer to myself. He didn’t need to hear me teasing him at the moment. “It was in the back, wedged in. I’m not sure it means anything. The guy’s face has been ripped out of the picture.”
“Wrap it up in your handkerchief and don’t touch it any more than you have to. I’ll get it from you tonight. What else did you find?”
“It’s what I didn’t find that’s bothering me. Do you know if the investigating officers collected any personal correspondence from her place?”
“Sure, I don’t even have to look. There’s a box of letters she kept, along with some photos that might be significant, and a few other things. Why?”
“Did they find a silver chain with a cow pendant on it?”
He paused, and then said, “I don’t think so. Hang on; let me grab the inventory list.” I could hear him pull out some papers, and then he said, “No, nothing here about that. They took some photos of her jewelry box, but they didn’t take it as evidence. Does it matter?”
“It must to Barton. It’s the main reason he wanted to come here tonight.”
“Well, we don’t have it,” Zach said. “How much longer are you going to be?”
“I’m just about finished. Why? Are you ready to come back to the hotel?”
“I wish I were, but I’m afraid I’ll be here half the night.”
“Should I come join you?” I asked.
“No, I’m not going to be very good company. Why don’t you go back to the hotel, and I’ll see you sometime later?”
I thought about telling him about the box Uncle Thomas had given me, but if I did that, I knew Zach would insist on being by my side when I opened it, and he was needed right where he was. I’d deal with it—or not—by myself, one way or the other.
“Don’t stay there too late,” I said.
“I’ll try not to fall asleep on the table, but I’m not making any promises. Call me later, okay?”
“You know I will.”
After I got off the telephone with Zach, I took one last look around the apartment. There might be something there that had value to Barton, but without knowing what it was, I couldn’t say. I was certain he’d have a crew come in after me and bag, tag, and catalogue the apartment’s contents, so I didn’t worry too much about missing anything.
That wasn’t why I’d been there.
I looked at the paltry selection and frowned. What was I missing? Cindy hadn’t been all that sentimental, if the limited personalized things before me were any indication.
I hated to go back to Barton so empty-handed, but I didn’t have much choice. I couldn’t manufacture sentiment out of thin air.
I finally picked up my cell phone and called the hotel.
“Garrett, it’s Savannah Stone. I’m ready for my ride back to the hotel.”
“Yes, ma’am. The driver is waiting for you outside.”
I hadn’t expected that. “Barton’s not still here, is he?”
“No, he’s in his penthouse suite here. As soon as you arrive, I’ll escort you there.”
“I thought we had the top floor.”
“Of the public rooms, yes, but there is one more floor above you.”
“Then I’ll see you in a few minutes,” I said.
I found the driver out front, but before I walked to the limousine, I locked the door to Cindy’s apartment behind me.
“I’ll take the key, if you don’t mind,” the driver said.
“Oh. Of course,” I answered as I handed it to him. “I’m Savannah.”
“I’m Henry,” he replied, and then he smiled brightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Don’t tell me you’re a puzzle fan, too.”
He looked surprised by the question. “No, ma’am, I’m not exactly sure what that is, but you’ve done a service for my employer, and I greatly appreciate it. He hasn’t asked anyone for help as long as I’ve known him. You should feel honored.”
“I do, but I’m not sure I did much good.” I had collected the few things I’d managed to find in a paper grocery bag, and it felt too light in my hands.
“You helped, trust me.”
As he drove us back to the hotel, I asked from the back, “Did you know Cindy Glass?”
He nodded, and I could see a tear in the corner of one eye. “She was special; there was no doubt about that. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to harm her. I thought it was going to kill Mr. Lane. He didn’t leave the penthouse for five days, but talking to you on the telephone when you and your husband first arrived seemed to revive him.
Today, I finally believe that he is beginning to mend.”
“I wish I could take credit for it, but I haven’t really done anything.”
Henry shrugged. “Sometimes three quarters of the battle is just showing up and trying your best. At least that’s what my grandmother used to say.”
“She was a smart lady,” I said.
As we drove through traffic to the hotel, I leaned back in my seat, trying to get a handle on what I’d seen. I wanted to go through the letters the police had taken from Cindy Glass’s apartment. More than that, I needed to. Before, she’d just been a name to me.
Now she was a real person.
And if there was anything I could do to help Zach find her killer, I was going to do it.
Chapter 13
“SAVANNAH. WELCOME BACK.”
Garrett had evidently been waiting for me by the front of the Belmont, and he opened the door to the limo for me, but I didn’t leave until I spoke to Henry first. “Thank you for the ride.”
“It was my pleasure.”
“Mine, too,” I said.
“Ms. Stone, would you do me a kindness?”
“If I can,” I replied.
“Tell your husband a great many people are pulling for him. He’s got an army at his disposal. All he need do is ask.”
“I’ll let him know.”
Garrett raised an eyebrow as I got out.
“Something to say, Garrett?” I asked him.
“You seem to make friends wherever you go,” he said.
“I just listen to people when they talk to me,” I said.
“That explains a great deal. You have a tendency to make the person you’re with the center of your universe. It’s quite intoxicating.”
That wasn’t the first time I’d been told that I was a good listener. “My mom always told me that there was more skill in listening than there was in speaking, and that she never learned anything by running her mouth.”
“It’s an admirable ability, but one that I’m afraid is becoming a lost art in this day of technology.”
“There are always people behind emails and text messages,” I said. “It just takes a different kind of listening to hear what’s being said.”