Shirl shrugged. “Couldn’t the same be said about Gretchen?”
“Yes, sort of, but with Gretchen, it was obvious she was hiding something. To be fair, I know Gretchen way better than Lina. Still, with Lina, I never suspected a thing. Lina even created a back story about how they met in a Laundromat, for example, and I never doubted it for a minute. Gretchen, on the other hand, wouldn’t talk about her past at all—you just hit a stone wall.” I took a deep breath. “I admire Lina’s performance, and from where I sit, she did nothing wrong. Her motive was all about self-preservation—she wasn’t trying to put one over on people for some nefarious reason.” I paused, trying to find a way to clarify my point. “If you hate mushrooms but eat all of your mushroom omelet because you don’t want to offend or upset your hostess, is that a lie? If Lina pretended to know nothing about Gretchen in order to save her life, is that a lie?”
“Ah, semantics!” Shirl said with a big smile. “A lawyer’s favorite playground.” She stood up. “I’m sure I’ll have more questions later, but you’ve been enormously helpful. To answer your question, yes to the omelet, no to the saving a life.”
“You wouldn’t eat the omelet to avoid hurting your hostess’s feelings?”
“Hell, no. Why would it hurt her feelings to learn that I hate mushrooms?”
I’d never thought of it that way, but immediately, I could see that Shirl was right. “What would you say so that she didn’t get upset?”
“I’d tell her the truth. I’d say, ‘I can’t believe how gorgeous this omelet looks, but I’ve got to confess that I hate mushrooms. Isn’t that appalling in a guest? You go ahead and don’t think anything about it. I’m perfectly fine with bread and butter. In fact, pass that puppy over here. I love your bread.’ ” She shrugged again and smiled wide enough to wow a crowd. “Telling the truth is an undervalued tactic.” She winked. “I use it all the time.”
She reminded me of my mother: strong and kind and as honest as the day is long. Good for Lina, I thought. Maybe she couldn’t have Max as her lawyer, but she got herself a prize in Shirl Sheriden.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
I
got to the tag sale to find Sasha working in the instant appraisal booth and Fred manning the phones.
“Everything under control?” I asked.
“Yup,” Fred said.
“Great. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”
As soon as I was settled behind my desk, I called Gretchen’s new flame, Jack, and got his voice mail. “I told Gretchen about the rain check. She said yes.”
I forced myself to work. There was nothing I could do until I heard from Max or Wes. I made an impressive dent in the pile of project updates, catalogue drafts, and consignment contracts awaiting attention, and took a stint in the instant appraisal booth. Just after noon, Fred buzzed up.
“It’s Wes Smith for you on line one. He says it’s urgent.”
“I got hot news,” he said, breathless with excitement. “We’ve got to meet. I’m around the corner. Outside your place in three minutes, okay?”
I agreed, told Fred I’d be back in a few, and dashed outside just as Wes was pulling into the lot. He jumped out of his car and ran to meet me. He looked tickled pink.
“I handed over the plastic sleeve before ten, and they ID’d the fingerprint within minutes. Mandy’s already in custody.”
“Oh, my God, Wes! That’s awful. Poor Mandy.”
“Poor Mandy? What if she’s the killer?”
I nodded, shaken. “You’re right, of course. It’s just such a shock.”
“Yeah, I guess. “Mandy’s clammed up again, but before she realized what she was saying, she told the police officer who picked her up—in front of everyone in the store—that she brought the milk over to Gretchen’s on her way into work, then lied about it because she thought it didn’t have anything to do with anything, and she didn’t want to get involved. What do you think? Does that have the ring of truth?”
I shook my head. “Not really. It’s more likely she lied because Vince told her to.”
Wes nodded. “That’s what I think, too. She said the Chevy with the Tennessee plates wasn’t there when she got there, that she went into the apartment, put the milk in the refrigerator, and left. She won’t confirm or deny that Vince was with her. She insists she knows nothing else.”
“Why did she wipe the milk carton down?”
Wes’s eyes sparkled. “She says she didn’t.”
“So either she’s lying about that part or someone else wiped it down to protect her—that must be Vince.” I nodded. “He’d know how to clean up a crime scene.”
“Vince,” Wes said, enthused, then shook his head. “It can’t be Vince. We already checked him out, remember? You said we’d worry about their alibis later, but the fact remains that Mandy got to her store by a quarter to ten the day Morgan was killed and was with customers or co-workers until she left at six. Vince was at work all day, too—except when he was off selling those architectural remnants, and then the timing was just too tight.”
“The timing could have been off,” I said, explaining how easily Ty introduced reasonable doubt to Vince’s minute-by-minute alibi. “Plus, if his employees lied for him about the architectural remnants, what’s to say they wouldn’t cover for him about when he actually showed up for that one o’clock meeting?”
“So how do we prove it?”
I thought about it, then shook my head. I was out of ideas. “Have the police finished searching his place?”
“Yes. Also the houses due to be demolished. And his Jeep. Why?”
“I was hoping they might locate Gretchen’s vase.”
“You think he stole it?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s Peter. Sometimes I think it’s Vince. Sometimes I think it’s someone else I haven’t thought of.” I sighed. “You said you had hot news.”
Wes grinned again. “Yeah. Very hot. According to my police source, they think there’s a better than even chance that Peter’s fled the country. Along with his entire family.”
“What?”
Wes nodded, his eyes feverishly bright. “Can you believe it? The Denver police went to talk to him in his hometown—Evergreen—and his wife and two kids have vamoosed. Gone. One neighbor said she saw them drive off over the weekend, their car loaded down with suitcases. They found the car parked at Denver International Airport and traced the family’s movements. Are you ready? They’ve gone to China!”
“So? Maybe they’re on vacation.”
“They withdrew their kids from school. They said they were moving overseas.”
I stared at him for several seconds. “China,” I said. “No extradition.”
“Right. The police think Peter’s probably already joined them. They can’t find any record of his flight, but they know that he carried faked papers once—Chip Davidson, right?—so they figure he might have another set of false documents, too.”
“What about his plane?” I asked.
“The police think he’s abandoned it. Same with his rental car.”
“Did they find his car at the airport?
Wes shook his head. “Nope. Not Logan. Not anywhere that they can find. As of about an hour ago, they issued a nationwide BOLO.”
“BOLO? Be on the lookout?” I confirmed. “Wow.”
Peter Boulanger is gone, I thought. I nodded. It made sense. As much as he wanted to exact revenge on Gretchen, he didn’t want to get caught. He must have learned that his real name was known. How did he learn that?
“If he’s after Gretchen, why would he leave town just when she resurfaces?” I asked.
“He knows the police are onto him.”
“How?”
Wes whistled. “You think that maybe he didn’t leave, that he’s just gone to ground?”
“I don’t know. What if he got his family out now so he didn’t have to worry about them later? Meanwhile, he’s just lying low, waiting for his chance to strike.
”
“So the first time Gretchen steps out in public, boom, you think he’ll try to get her?” Wes asked with morbid anticipation.
I looked into the woods, past the first lines of trees, over the thick tangle of Boston ferns, into the shadowy center. So many of the trees are evergreens, I thought, that even in early spring before the leaves are out, anyone could hide there and lie in wait. “I don’t think he’s gone,” I whispered. “I think he’s here.” I looked around again and shivered.
Max called as I was talking to Eric about an important auction of nineteenth-century European chairs coming up in two weeks. We were in the early stages of furniture arranging.
“It looks good, Josie,” Max told me. “We’re on a break now, but the Denver police are almost done questioning Gretchen, and they’ve expressed gratitude for her cooperation. I’m confident that we’ll get bail. We’re scheduled to meet with the judge at three.”
“That’s fantastic!”
I had Eric and Cara come with me to the front office. I wanted us all to share the excitement.
“I have good news,” I announced. “Nothing is definite yet, but it looks as if Gretchen may get bailed out—today!”
Sasha leapt up in a completely uncharacteristically demonstrative expression of joy. She clasped her hands against her chest. “Oh, Josie!”
Fred leaned back, his laid-back demeanor undisturbed. “Cool,” he said.
Eric smiled and nodded and said, “Good.”
“Oh, Josie!” Cara said, her voice cracking.
All in all, it was a moment of elation in the midst of turmoil.
As I was about to return upstairs, Jack called.
“Thanks for your message,” he told me. “Any news about bail?”
“Yes. A hearing is scheduled today at three.”
“Terrific. I’ll be there.”
“You will?” I asked, startled.
“Yeah. No time like the present, right? I figure that after being in jail, she’ll be ready for a good square meal, so I’m calling in my rain check right away.”
Wow, I thought. Decisive. Masterful.
I sat next to Jack Stene at the bail hearing. Wes sat on the other side of the room, furiously taking notes. Gretchen was led in by uniformed officers and sat next to Max. She was still wearing Ty’s sweatshirt. Her eyes stayed forward, and I couldn’t tell whether she was aware we were there. It was over in minutes. The ADA withdrew his objection to bail; Max stated that Gretchen was gainfully employed, with deep roots in the community, and that she would give up her passport.
“What about the passport in her other name, Marie Boulanger?” the judge asked.
“She never had a passport in that name.”
The judge turned to the ADA. “She’s not a suspect in any violent crime, is that right?”
“That’s correct, Your Honor. The charges of material witness relate to her fleeing the scene of a crime—twice, once in Denver and once here in Rocky Point. Both the Denver police and ours are satisfied that her actions resulted from a reasonable fear of reprisal. She’s been fully cooperative.”
“Give me a number,” the judge instructed.
“Twenty thousand.”
“Mr. Bixby?” he asked, turning to Max.
“No objection, Your Honor,” Max replied.
The judge issued a series of instructions. After he warned Gretchen that she couldn’t leave the jurisdiction, I stopped listening. My attention was on Wes. He slipped out of his seat and scooted out of the room. A reporter on deadline reacting to breaking news, I thought. The entire hearing lasted less than half an hour.
I signed a ream of documents guaranteeing that Gretchen wouldn’t skip town and stood by an unmarked door to wait. Jack stood next to me. Max had disappeared inside.
Before long he pushed open the door, smiling, and then, finally, Gretchen appeared. She saw me, and her lips quivered.
“Gretchen,” I said softly, opening my arms, offering a hug.
She stepped forward and allowed me to hug her. She was rippling with tension. “Thank you so much,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
“It’s okay,” I murmured.
She stepped back, her eyes moist, and noticed Jack. “I can’t believe you’re here!”
“Josie said you’d give me a rain check for dinner. I’m hungry. How about you?”
She burst into tears and melted into his arms. Max and I stood and watched Gretchen’s shoulders shake. Jack patted and stroked her back. His head was bowed and curled into her neck. He was whispering something I couldn’t hear.
She raised her head and tried to wipe away her tears, but they kept coming. I dug a packet of tissues out of my tote bag and handed it to her.
She thanked me and gulped. “I’m just a mess. How can you stand to look at me?” she said, mopping up her tears, turning her face away.
Gretchen looked gorgeous, as always. Her titian hair fell in stately waves below her shoulders. Her eyes were as dark a green as jade, and flecked with gold. Her skin was a rich ivory, the color of Devonshire cream. The stress and weepiness of her ghastly experience seemed to have taken no toll on her appearance. I opened my mouth to reassure her, but Jack spoke first.
“Now I know to expect you to look a little ragged when you get out of jail. Next time, I’ll be prepared.”
She chuckled. “There won’t be a next time.”
“Never say never,” he teased.
I grinned, enjoying his lighthearted approach.
Gretchen smiled up at him, then turned to Max. “Now what?” she asked.
“Now you go and do as you choose so long as you don’t leave the jurisdiction. There’s something else you need to be aware of, though—Peter Boulanger may be nearby.”
Her joy shifted to fear immediately. “Is that why the police were asking me about him?” she asked Max.
“Yes.”
“What does he want?”
“To talk to you, apparently.”
“I don’t want to see him,” she insisted.
“You don’t have to,” Max reassured her.
“Who’s Peter?” Jack asked.
“Morgan’s brother. My brother-in-law.” She turned to me and asked, “Have you seen him?”
“He’s stopped by Prescott’s several times asking for you,” I told her. “From what I hear, he may be with his family in China. No one knows.”
“I’ll take care of you—you’ll be safe at my place,” Jack said.
“You live in Maine, right?” Max asked.
“Yeah.”
“No way. Gretchen can’t leave the county, let alone the state.”
“You can stay at my house,” I offered. “He’ll never know you’re there.”
“I’m running out of ways to say thank you,” Gretchen said softly.
I smiled. “I’m glad to help, Gretchen. I’ll take you over now and get you situated.”
I eased my spare key from its nook in my tote bag and handed it to her.
She smiled and took in a bushel of air. “Any news about Lina?” she asked Max.
Max shook his head. “Josie? Have you heard anything?”
“I met her new lawyer this morning. Shirl Sheriden. As of then, she hadn’t decided whether to press for bail, but I think you can relax. I get the sense that Lina’s in really good legal hands. I was impressed.”
“Thank you,” Gretchen whispered.
Max said, “You’ll need this.” He handed Gretchen a slip of paper listing the police impound unit’s address and hours of operation. “The police are releasing your vehicle as we speak. They found nothing incriminating in it.”
She half-smiled. “That’s a relief.”
“I can take you now or in the morning,” I volunteered.
Gretchen smiled again. “Thank you. I vote for morning. What I want now is a shower.”
Max reminded her to bring ID, and we walked to the parking lot together.
“I’ll ride with Jack, if that’s right,” Gretchen s
aid shyly.
“Sure,” I said. Max and I stood watching as they walked to his car. The last thing I heard Gretchen say was, “The only clothes I packed were vacation outfits, and there’s no way I’m going back to my place, even if the police would let me. I guess I need to go shopping.”
“After your shower, why don’t we go to the mall, then grab dinner?” Jack responded.
“He seems like a great guy,” I remarked to Max.
“About time she caught a break.”
We left Jack in the kitchen pouring himself some ginger ale while Gretchen and I went upstairs. I showed her where everything was, put out fresh sheets and towels, told her to raid the refrigerator and cupboards at will, and asked if there was anything else I could do at this point.
“I have everything I need, and then some.” She smiled as she spoke and hugged me again. It felt like she was relaxing in front of my eyes.
“I overheard you guys planning on eating out, but I’ll be cooking dinner in case you change your minds. No need to call or anything. Just know that food will be available!”
I heard the shower running as I walked down the stairs. Zoë’s car wasn’t in the driveway, so I called and left her a message explaining that Gretchen would be staying at my house for a while. I mentioned that Jack might be around as well. With no expectation of actually getting him, I called Ty, planning to leave him a quick good-news update, and was lucky enough to catch him between training exercises. “At least I have some good news on this end—Gretchen’s out on bail!”
“That’s great! Tell me how it went.”
I gave him the details and explained that she’d be staying at my place.
“You’re a good friend, Josie,” he remarked.
“Thanks,” I said, pleased at the compliment.
I said I felt like making Thyme Chicken for dinner, and Ty said that sounded perfect.
Killer Keepsakes Page 24