by Leona Karr
Ashley’s temper flared. No telling what harm had been done to the fragile, yellowed garments handled by hasty rough hands. And what was worse, the woman might be responsible for removing items from the collection before they were catalogued.
Drawing in a deep breath to control her fury, Ashley sharply asked, “Looking for something, Mrs. Mertz? Something like a vintage necklace, perhaps?”
Chapter Six
Mrs. Mertz’s dark eyes bit into Ashley’s face as she replied haughtily, “Mr. Jonathan asked me to check on things.”
“Why?”
“There’s too much of value here to leave to chance,” the housekeeper replied as if the best defense was indeed a strong offense.
“I see. My integrity is being questioned, is that it?” Ashley asked, each word dripping with ice. “Or maybe this is a set-up? Could it be, Mrs. Mertz, that you, or someone in the house, has an interest in some of the items that might bring the most money on the market?”
Mrs. Mertz drew herself up. “I resent your insinuations, Ms. Davis.”
“And I, yours, Mrs. Mertz,” Ashley replied just as forcefully.
“Very well,” the housekeeper said stiffly as she put down the inventory sheets on the worktable. “Mr. Jonathan asked me to relay a message to you. He would like to see you before dinner in his private study. You can tell him yourself about your reluctance to honor his wishes.”
The woman’s narrow lips curved in a satisfied smile. Then she turned and marched out of the room, her back ramrod straight.
BRAD HAD WATCHED Paul Fontaine and Ashley drive away and disappear up the narrow road. He’d had plenty of run-ins with lawyers during his years on the mainland, and men like Fontaine always rankled him, especially when they stepped on his toes. Even though he wanted to deny it, sweeping Ashley away like that right under his nose was definitely personal. He couldn’t even lie to himself and claim his own interest in her was purely professional. Every time he saw her, he was aware of her arresting blue eyes, the appealing softness of her dark hair and the way her lips parted when she smiled. Somehow she had broken down all his barriers against any romantic involvement, and he knew what that meant—trouble!
“What’s the matter, boss?” his deputy asked Brad when he came into the office. “You look ready to wrestle a bear to the ground. Any luck today?”
Brad shook his head and dropped down into his office chair.
“Me, neither. I couldn’t find a single islander who’d been anywhere near the waters where we found the rowboat.” Bill’s round, ruddy face creased in a frown. “Nobody knows anything.”
“Somebody knows something,” Brad countered. “Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place.”
“What do you mean?”
Frowning, Brad said, “We’ve been expending our energies trying to get a handle on this thing by concentrating on what happened a few days ago.”
“So?” Bill replied, obviously puzzled. “After all, that’s when the crime occurred.”
“What if there’s something malignant inside the Langdon compound that festered up and Lorrie got caught in it?” Brad proposed thoughtfully.
“What are you getting at?”
“I’m not sure,” Brad admitted. “But at the moment, I’m ready to try a long shot. Let’s look at it this way. We know that there have been two tragic deaths in the family, Jonathan’s wife, Samantha, and his daughter, Pamela.”
“Both of them accidents.”
“So it would seem,” Brad said. “Samantha was killed when her car went off the road on the mainland during a bad storm, and the daughter was found dead in her bed from a presumed accidental lethal amount of drugs and alcohol.”
“So what’s to investigate?” Bill asked skeptically.
“Maybe nothing,” Brad conceded as he reached for the phone. “But I think I’ll have headquarters send me over some files.”
AFTER MRS. MERTZ had flounced out of the workroom, Ashley debated whether she’d been telling the truth. Was Jonathan Langdon really checking up on her? Why hadn’t he said something earlier? Had something in her behavior alerted his suspicions? Steaming over the implication that she had to be watched to make sure she didn’t make off with some of the merchandise, Ashley was ready to take on Jonathan Langdon and anyone else who questioned her honesty.
She had no idea where his private study might be. Better ask someone, she decided, instead of wandering through the maze of halls for who knew how long. Hurrying downstairs to the main floor, she found Clara in the dining room setting the table for the evening meal.
“Oh, Mr. Jonathan’s study is in his suite of rooms on the second floor, west wing,” she said. “Just take a left at the top of the main stairway, and keep going until you come to a large sitting room. His study is the door on the left. Just knock.”
“Thanks,” Ashley said, relieved that Clara’s directions seemed rather straightforward. She mentally thanked the maid when she found the study without any detours.
Her brisk knock was followed by a curt, “Come in.”
She took a deep breath as she opened the door, ready to state her objections to having someone monitor her work. If it hadn’t been for Lorrie’s investment in the job, she’d have walked away from the whole project.
Jonathan was sitting behind a desk placed in front of a bank of windows facing the mainland. He stood up at her entrance and nodded.
“Mrs. Mertz said you wanted to see me,” Ashley said in what she hoped was a congenial tone.
“I thought it time we had a private conversation,” he said in his usual sedate manner.
“Yes, I think so, too,” she replied just as formally.
“Let’s sit over here.” He motioned to two chairs and a coffee table at the other end of the room.
Above the fireplace was a large portrait of a woman in a familiar ivory chiffon and lace ball gown Ashley had recently packed for shipping. Her dark hair was swept up in a high fall of hair, with long ringlets framing her face. Ashley was stunned: she recognized the locket necklace around the woman’s neck. Her breath caught. It was the same one that had disappeared from the jewelry inventory!
Jonathan must have mistaken her reaction for artistic appreciation because he explained, “It’s a remarkable portrait of my late wife, Samantha. I didn’t know she’d secretly commissioned the portrait until after her death.” He swallowed hard as if trying to deny a surge of emotion. “Unfortunately, she lost her life in an automobile accident before she could give it to me.”
“She’s lovely,” Ashley said, using the present tense because there was so much life in the beautiful eyes, mouth and figure. Samantha seemed to be smiling at them as they stared up at her radiance. Ashley could understand why Jonathan had never married again. To have such a woman in his life must have diminished the possibility of his marrying anyone else.
“Shall we sit down?” he asked politely, motioning to the chairs. “I know you’ve been away for the afternoon. How is your sister?”
“Improving,” Ashley responded. “I’ve arranged for her to stay with friends while she recuperates.”
“Sounds like a wise decision.”
Cutting off any more polite conversation, Ashley plunged into the matter of Mrs. Mertz’s presence in the workroom. “Imagine my surprise to find her checking the inventory lists and examining contents of boxes and trunks that have not been opened before. May I ask why?”
“Did you ask her?” he responded as if the fault of any misunderstanding lay with Ashley’s handling of the situation.
“She said that she was overseeing the inventory at your request. Apparently you have some concern about my integrity, Mr. Langdon?”
“No, not at all, Miss Davis,” he quickly assured her. “I’ve already had my lawyer, Mr. Fontaine, run a background check. He has assured me that you are a very responsible and successful businesswoman. I apologize for my housekeeper’s misinterpretation of my directive. I simply asked Mrs. Mertz to be of service in the completion of the inv
entory.” He sighed. “I had no intention of her trying to supervise you. Please accept my apologies.”
Ashley wasn’t going to settle for an apology. “I don’t need or want Mrs. Mertz’s help or presence,” she said firmly.
“I understand, but when I checked the room after Lorrie was injured, it was obvious to me that completion was going to take a lot longer than planned. My father is the one who has been insisting that you take over.” He leaned forward. “You don’t have to continue with it, Miss Davis. It’s just an old man’s nostalgic whim.”
“I promised Lorrie—”
“We’ll gladly pay for the time your sister has invested in the project.”
On an intuitive level, an unspoken message came through loud and clear. He doesn’t want me to finish it. Why?
“We will gladly pay for any expenses you’ve incurred thus far.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m confident I can finish the entire inventory sooner than expected. If your father is set on offering the collection to the public, we wouldn’t want to disappoint him.”
After a heavy pause, he agreed, “No, of course not. My father doesn’t take disappointment well.”
“Will you advise Mrs. Mertz that her help isn’t needed?” At his nod, she added, “And I would appreciate it if no one else handles any of the items.”
Maybe the housekeeper had been in the habit of snooping through the collection even when Lorrie was in the house. Even as the thought crossed her mind, a possible explanation for the necklace being missing occurred to her. Mrs. Mertz could have taken it! Undoubtedly, the housekeeper would recognize it as the one in Samantha’s portrait. She might be the kind to bolster her own feelings of inadequacy by secretly possessing something that had belonged to the late Mrs. Jonathan Langdon. Or maybe Jonathan had taken it himself? She knew he had been in and out of the workroom. In any case, Ashley decided to keep mum about its disappearance until she’d finished the inventory.
“Please don’t hesitate to inform me if any problem arises,” he told her in an obvious tone of dismissal.
Returning to the workroom, she immediately gave her attention to some of the boxes that Mrs. Mertz had opened. One contained a variety of wide-brimmed ladies’ hats that flaunted huge ostrich feathers or clusters of velvet flowers in swirls of ribbon bows and streamers. Another hatbox was filled with various styles of blond and brunette false hair, some in pompadour style, chignons, and others in lengths of flowing tresses.
After laying everything out on the worktable, she carefully photographed and itemized each piece. By the time she’d finished, it was the dinner hour.
She groaned when she looked at her watch. She was too tired to clean up and go downstairs. Then she remembered Ellen saying that sometimes Lorrie had chosen to have a tray brought up when she was working. Ashley wasn’t quite sure how her sister had managed it. She looked around for an intercom but didn’t see one anywhere.
At that moment, fatigue overrode her need for food. She returned to her room and stretched out on the wide bed. The family would be at dinner for at least another hour. She’d better wait until they’d finished before setting out to find some food. Sighing, she closed her eyes and began to relax.
She must have been asleep for about an hour when she was awakened by a firm knock on her closed door.
“Yes?” she croaked sleepily as she sat up.
Clara poked her head in. “I brought you a tray,” she said, coming into the room. “Miss Lorrie used to expect one when she didn’t come down for dinner. I thought maybe it was the same with you?”
“Oh, yes, Clara. Thank you,” Ashley said, gratefully. “I wasn’t looking forward to making a safari to the kitchen.”
“Mr. Fontaine was asking about you,” the maid said as she set the tray on a bedside table.
“Oh?”
“He thought someone should check on you, but Mr. Jonathan told him you were working and didn’t want to be bothered. I don’t think the lawyer liked it much,” Clara admitted. “He kinda flushed, you know what I mean? Sometimes he and Mr. Jonathan really get into it.”
“About what?”
Clara shrugged. “Who knows? I guess Mr. Fontaine dated Jonathan’s late wife, Samantha, before they were married. The old man usually puts a stop to their arguing. I don’t think Mr. Jonathan really likes being on the island. He’s ready to close up the house and get back to New York. Luckily the staff’s got a job here year-round. Takes us all winter to get the place ready for spring and summer visitors.”
“I can believe it,” Ashley responded.
Clara chatted for a few more minutes before leaving, obviously reluctant to go back downstairs to Mrs. Mertz and her iron-fist supervision.
Ashley enjoyed a delicious meal of breaded chops, creamed asparagus and a baked potato, and then finished a carafe of coffee with a warm piece of caramel apple pie. It took all the energy she had to get up, shower and get ready for bed. Once settled in bed, she thought she wouldn’t stir until morning.
It was after midnight when a brush of cold air on her face jerked her awake. For a moment, she was completely disoriented. Even as she sat up and blinked to adjust her eyes, a blur of white and silver swept past the open bedroom door.
The memory of a ghostlike figure on the widow’s walk instantly brought Ashley out of bed and into the hall. As the wispy figure moved quickly down the shadowy corridor, Ashley stubbornly darted after it. More than anything, she wanted to validate her own senses. She wasn’t imagining! She wasn’t dreaming!
If she’d had a better handle on her surroundings, she might have navigated the labyrinth of halls and rooms quickly enough to overtake it. But as she raced through the darkened house, trying to keep the apparition in sight, the distance between them lengthened.
Suddenly the specter seemed to float down a series of twisting stairs, and Ashley lost sight of it. She bounded down after it and found herself at a dead-end staircase. No exit. No sign of the figure.
Where had it gone?
A sudden bone-deep chill replaced the fiery heat of her pursuit.
Chapter Seven
Brad arrived at the Langdon house about lunchtime. He’d called Ashley earlier and told her he was going to the mainland that afternoon. She accepted his offer to drive her to the ferry.
He’d been busy that morning lining up an appointment with a retired officer, Jim Mayberry, who had investigated the automobile accident that killed Samantha Langdon. After going over the official report he’d received from Portland police headquarters, he still wasn’t satisfied.
Police investigations had changed a lot in some twenty years, and sometimes “cold cases” turned fiery hot when new evidence revived them. Brad was hoping that a face-to-face rehashing of the accident with someone who had been on the scene might offer some new insight.
Ashley was ready and waiting for him on the front steps of the house. The weather was turning stormy again, and he saw she was wearing jeans, sweater, a warm jacket and some new walking shoes. As he brought the police car to a stop, she stood up with a hint of weariness in her movements. He had to control an impulse to ask immediately what was the matter. He knew the wrong approach could spark fire in those dazzling blue eyes of hers. Easy does it, he told himself.
“I like a woman who doesn’t keep me waiting,” he offered with a smile as he opened the door for her. “Have you had lunch?”
She shook her head. “I’ll get a sandwich on the ferry.”
“Good, I’ll join you.” He closed her door, went around the car, and slid into the driver’s seat. “How’s the work going?” he asked as they headed down the cliff road.
“Slowly, I’m afraid. In addition to all the clothing, there’s an amazing assortment of other collectibles. There’s a wealth of false hair pieces in various styles, pompadours, chignons, and long, flowing tresses.”
“And they’re worth something?” Brad asked skeptically.
“They’ll bring a good price. Museums that have vintage disp
lays would snap them up in a minute for their mannequins. I can’t even imagine what else I’ll find when I open some of the wooden chests,” she said in leaden tone.
He gave her a searching look. “The last time we talked, you were excited about doing the collection.”
“I guess I’m tired, and a little strung out,” she admitted.
“Care to tell me why?” he asked politely. With anyone else, he would have bluntly demanded to know what was the matter.
She looked out the window for a long minute before she turned in the seat to face him. “Something happened last night. And don’t tell me I was seeing things!”
“All right, I won’t,” he said, raising an eyebrow slightly at her fiery command. “What did you see?”
“I’m not sure.” She told him about chasing a fleeing figure through the house in the middle of the night. “I had the impression it was a woman in a white flowing dress.”
“And you never caught up with it…her?”
She shook her head. “I felt a brush of cold air when she disappeared at the foot of some stairs. I thought that there must be an outside door there, but I couldn’t find one.”
“So it must have been someone who knew the house well.”
Her expression was one of relief, as if she had been prepared for his making some doubtful response. “Aren’t you going to tell me I was just seeing things the way I did on the widow’s walk?”
“No, that could have been an illusion of light and shadows,” he replied. “Obviously, your fleeing figure was not an illusion. Let’s assume it was a woman who knew her way around the house. There aren’t many possibilities. Ellen Brenden, Mrs. Mertz, Clara, and one part-time older kitchen maid.”
“What about the guest house? I’m pretty sure I saw someone waiting for Fontaine when we arrived yesterday.”