House of Ashes

by Loretta Marion

  Evelyn started singing “Dream a Little Dream of Me” in her lovely soprano tone. George and Lizzie joined in, a flat tenor and pitchy alto.

  “Good old times.” George smiled broadly and clasped his hands. “If only Zoe were here.”

  Lizzie and Evelyn glanced furtively at each other. Did they know what was behind Zoe’s aversion to Whale Rock? I’d never felt comfortable broaching the subject with my sister’s friends, but maybe I should.

  “Why’ve you been such a stranger?” the oblivious George gently scolded.

  “It’s been … um …” I looked down at the table, not trusting my emotions. There were a number of people I’d avoided since Ethan left, especially after learning I’d been a favorite topic of Whale Rock gossip. But the warm welcome these kind old friends were extending made me regret cutting off what could have been a comforting support system during the challenging times.

  “Honey, you know Cassie avoids town like the plague, in season.” I blessed Evelyn for coming to my rescue as she whisked her husband through the archway into the kitchen. “Help me with the muffins?”

  Lizzie pulled out the antique rush-seat dining chair beside her own. “Take a load off, kid.”

  “I’m not such a kid anymore.” I gestured toward the beginnings of crow’s feet.

  “To us you’ll always seem that way.” She smiled affectionately. “So how are you managing?” It was a broad-reaching question. She could have been referring to any or all of my current troubles: my failed marriage, my financial woes, or the disappearance of Ashley and Vince.

  “As well as can be expected.” I offered an equally general answer and then decided to give Lizzie a shot. “Can I ask you something about Zoe?”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “How often do you talk with her?”

  “It’s been awhile. Ev and Lu check in on her pretty regularly. Why?”

  I decided to be direct. “Do you know why she won’t come home?”

  Lizzie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “What’s this about, Cass?”

  “She hasn’t come back home in years.”

  “I doubt she thinks of Whale Rock as home.” Not exactly an enlightening response.

  “Something must have happened to make her hate it here.”

  “Hate’s a strong word.” She finger-doodled on the tablecloth.

  “But accurate, wouldn’t you say?”

  But Lizzie did not yield, nor would she look at me.

  “Please tell me.”

  “Tell you what?” Evelyn asked, setting a tray with steaming bowls of chili on the table.

  Lizzie finally met my eyes, sending the clear message not to ask any more questions. Whether or not it was for Evelyn’s benefit, I couldn’t be certain.

  “Anything you can remember that might offer a clue about the Jacobsons?” I switched subjects quickly.

  Evelyn plopped herself down at the table and rested her head in her hands. “I’ve been racking my mind, trying to think of what I might have missed.”

  George held out a basket of corn muffins. I selected one and began removing the paper baking cup.

  “Brooks mentioned a hasty checkout?” I’d put it out of my head when he first told me, but maybe there was a clue hiding in the details.

  “Something had them spooked,” George offered after swallowing his first spoonful of chili. “One day they were talking about extending their rental, and the next day they checked out despite a week remaining on their reservation.”

  “I should have charged them for not giving notice,” Evelyn added, “but we guessed they were having money problems, and didn’t have the heart.”

  “What made you think they had money troubles?” I dipped my spoon into the thick and fragrant chili.

  “It was something the girl said about not having planned very well.”

  I was thinking the comment could have had many different meanings, but said nothing.

  “I’ll go get the registration book,” said Lizzie. “See if there’s anything in there.” She returned a moment later with the old-fashioned ledger they used for checking in guests.

  I laid my hands flat on either side of the book, surveying the dates and names. Brooks had mentioned earlier that they’d checked out a couple days before showing up at The Bluffs. I hadn’t given it much thought then, but now I was wondering, where had they stayed in those days between?

  “Where’s Fiona’s ring?” Evelyn asked.

  I pulled my hand back. “It’s become loose, so I’m not wearing it.”

  She accepted the lie and motioned for me to eat up. “You’ve lost too much weight.”

  “Did they give any hint as to where they were headed?”

  George and Evelyn shared a look.

  “I get that you didn’t trust them, but as far as I’m concerned, they were my friends. They saved me.”

  That pretty much hushed them until George broke through the uneasy silence.

  “I offered them a ride, what with the two bikes and the dog and no car. But they declined.”

  I tried to imagine the scene of them donning their filled backpacks and walking the bikes with Whistler on his lead.

  “I got the impression they didn’t know where they were going.”

  I narrowed my eyes, and he held up his hands. “Just an impression.”

  “No … I was just thinking. What direction did they head?”

  “The last I saw them they were down at the harbor,” he answered, which essentially told me nothing.

  “Did Brooks question all of you?”

  “He did.” Lizzie answered. “So did the FBI.”

  “That Agent Benjamin.” Evelyn began to fan herself. “He’s quite the looker.”

  Lizzie rolled her eyes at Ev, but I suspected she was trying to lighten the mood.

  “Is he? I hadn’t noticed.” That should set some chins into motion. “Did Agent Benjamin or Brooks make a copy of your check-in log?”

  “The FBI agent did.” George frowned. “I thought Chuckles was off the case.”

  “It’s true, the FBI have taken over. Can I get a photocopy of the days leading up to their departure?” Maybe someone else who was staying here had spoken to them, and I could make a few calls to people who were guests at the same time.

  “Sure.” Lizzie left us briefly, then returned with the copy. “I had to black out the contact information.”

  So much for that plan. I folded up the copy and tucked it into my pocket.

  “So has the FBI made any progress?”

  “They don’t have a lot to go on. I thought I’d check with you to see if any details might have come to mind since you spoke with anyone officially. For instance, can you remember anything Vince or Ashley might have told you about their personal lives that didn’t come up when you were questioned?”

  “There wasn’t much opportunity,” Lizzie said, to which Evelyn nodded agreement.

  “Did they keep to themselves?” I continued to play with my chili.

  “They were with us in May when we were busy getting ready for the summer season,” George explained. “Besides, we usually don’t get to spend as much time with people who stay in the cottage, because they have their own kitchen.”

  “But they seemed like a nice couple, friendly and curious about Whale Rock,” Evelyn said.

  “And everyone loved the dog,” added George.

  “I didn’t love that dog,” a croaky voice came from the kitchen, and a woman I didn’t recognize shuffled through the archway in Uggs, an incongruous accessory to the shiny blue polyester two-piece outfit that might have been plucked from a museum of fast-food workers’ uniforms.

  “Cassie, this is Cindy.” George made the introduction. “She started working for us at the beginning of the season.”

  She nodded a hello in my direction.

  “Nice to meet you, Cindy.” I smiled. “Whistler lives with me now. Did he misbehave?”

  “Aw, he weren’t a bad dog. He was just a German shed
der.” She offered a goofy smile at the pun. “Took me near a day to vacuum up all that durn hair for the next guests.”

  “Did you ever talk with Ashley and Vince?”

  “Sure. Lotsa times. After they checked out, I even sometimes ran into them at Wizards.” Cindy cocked her head to inspect me more closely. Was she there the night they dragged me to that dive? If she’d witnessed my foolish behavior, I could only hope she’d been as drunk as I was.

  “Do you remember them saying anything about where they lived before coming here?”

  The housekeeper scrunched up her face, as if thinking was a painful business, then shook her head. “Nah.”

  “Well, if anything comes to mind, please let one of us know.” Lizzie was clearly dismissing the housekeeper.

  Cindy made to leave, then stopped and waved her finger. “What about that T-shirt they left behind?”

  “Something was left in their room?” Evelyn’s tone was reproachful. “Why didn’t you turn it in?”

  Cindy fidgeted, realizing her slip. But I didn’t want to lose the thread of a clue to a scolding.

  “No worries. It was just a T-shirt.” I sent a reassuring smile.

  “That’s right. And it weren’t new or nothin’ nice. It was behind the garbage can in their room, like they meant to toss it,” Cindy added defiantly and stepped closer to the table. “I’d thought to use it as a rag.”

  Thought to, but my guess was it ended up in her own wardrobe instead.

  “Do you still have it?” Proverbial fingers crossed.

  She shook her head. “I gave it to the cops.”

  “That’s odd,” George puzzled. “Brooks never mentioned anything about it.”

  “It weren’t Chief Kincaid. The other’n took it.”

  “Agent Benjamin?” I asked.

  Cindy’s expression clouded.

  “The man who came to talk to us after the chief was here,” Lizzie offered helpfully. “He wore a navy windbreaker.”

  The housekeeper’s face lit up. “He’s the one who took it.”

  A swift queasiness descended upon me to learn Daniel had been withholding information.

  “What did the T-shirt look like?”

  “It was gray. Had some writing on the front.” Again the painfully scrunched face as she pointed to the upper left side of her chest. “And the back had this great big head of a red bird with an angry look.”

  My thoughts went straight to a phoenix.

  “Do you remember the words on the front?”

  “I can’t be sure. Some sorta Jewish school, maybe?” An exaggerated lift to her shoulders followed by a muttered, “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay.” I reached over and touched her arm. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  And I was thrilled for a new clue to pursue.

  She shuffled an Ugg. “They were always nice to me.”

  “If you think of anything else—”

  “—or find anything,” Evelyn interrupted with a stern warning.

  “—please be sure to tell one of us,” I finished more kindly.

  Cindy gave me a quick smile, nodded contritely at her employer, and trudged out.

  George leaned in and told me in a hushed tone, “We’re not sure what Cindy’s story is. Maybe she smoked a little too much weed in her youth, or it could be she’s just naturally a little off.”

  “But she’s a super cleaner,” Lizzie added. “And we can always count on her to show up.”

  “I can’t be happy about her keeping that shirt, though.” Evelyn tossed down her napkin. “Now we’ll have to keep an extra eye on her.”

  “To be fair, she did come clean.” I tried to mitigate Evelyn’s distrust. “And she did the right thing by turning the shirt over to the authorities.”

  But Evelyn’s lemon-sucking expression proved she remained unconvinced.

  “It was just a ratty old T-shirt,” Lizzie said, and then as an afterthought, “Who knows? Maybe they did leave it behind on purpose.”

  * * *

  On the drive home, Lizzie’s last comment was a persistent nudging. An uneasy feeling came over me to think Ashley and Vince had ditched the shirt intentionally. Unlike most twenty-somethings, I couldn’t recall either of them wearing anything of a personal nature—nothing that advertised schools, favorite sports teams, bars, etcetera—nothing that offered a glimpse into their pasts. Theirs was a generic wardrobe: jeans, khaki shorts, plain T-shirts or hoodies.

  I noticed a missed call and message from Daniel.

  “Cassie, it’s Daniel. We’re still coming up blank on the rope. No message or code there. And my guy who’s examining the photo is out sick today. I presume he took the file home by mistake, because we can’t locate it.” His voice had been all business to this point, but then, “If he’s not in tomorrow, I promise to go pick up the file myself. And I would love to see you this week.”

  It suddenly struck me as odd for Daniel to risk a personal relationship with someone so closely connected to the victims of a case he was working on. Maybe with retirement nearing he felt he had little to lose. Otherwise, he probably shouldn’t be sleeping with me. Unless …? No. I could not go there. If I learned Daniel was somehow using me in this case, I’d never hold it together. A creepy image of myself sporting Raggedy Ann togs flickered into my mind. Perhaps I did need to grow a spine. I’d be more selective in what I chose to share with him in the future.

  As I passed through the library, my laptop came whirring to life.

  “What the devil?” I’d shut it down before leaving this morning. The screen displayed an image of Ashley and Vince taken the day we visited the Mitchell family cemetery. Their heads nearly touched over one of the gravestones. I was curious to see which one and zoomed in on the photo and saw it was Robert Toomey’s: “Thief of life, with burning strife, actions caused for mourning rife.”

  “Percy, I do not need any of your technical pranks today.” And not giving much more thought to the photo, I shut down the laptop and closed the lid.

  My head was crowded with questions, so I called Brooks to try to answer one of them.

  “I forgot to ask if you ever learned anything about that receipt the FBI took from the guest room.”

  Daniel had said the FBI hadn’t turned up anything concrete, but I was hoping Brooks and his team might have had better luck.

  “Oh yeah. You had the name wrong.” I could hear him flipping through papers. “It was from Sinclair House, a pawnshop in Orleans.”

  A pawnshop? “Did you follow up?”

  “I was about to, but then your Agent Benjamin took control.”

  “He’s not my agent.” Annoying as he was, it wouldn’t be productive to pick a fight. “Can you do a little digging?”

  I held my breath until he said, “The owner’s helped me on some other cases. I’ll see what I can find out from him.”

  “Bless you.”

  When Brooks called back an hour later, I regretted having asked him to get involved.

  “They pawned a ring.”

  My heart sank as I rubbed the empty space on my right ring finger. Preparing myself for more bad news, I closed my eyes and asked, “What kind?”

  “The guy doesn’t know. He was on vacation when they brought it in and never got a look at the item.”

  “It’s not still at the shop?”

  “Nope. And the gal who was working for him has gone back to school.”

  “Is there any way we can get a description of the ring?”

  “What’s going on?”

  I must have sounded panicked, which I was. “Nothing. Just thinking it might provide a clue.”

  “It might have, if they hadn’t reclaimed it.”

  “Ashley and Vince?”

  “According to the owner’s records, the same people who pawned the item came back in for it.” He let that sink in a minute before adding, “The day before the Jacobsons disappeared.”

  “How much did they get when they pawned it?”

  “Two
hundred dollars.”

  It was worth much more than that. The words almost slipped out before I caught myself.

  “People are never given the real value for their items and then they have to pay more to get them back. It’s basically a loan with high interest.”

  If they’d pawned Fiona’s emerald ring and then bought it back, where was it now?

  “You still there?”

  “Just thinking.”

  “Well here’s something else to chew on. It seems Agent Benjamin went straight to Sinclair House after he first discovered the receipt.”

  “He never mentioned it to you?”

  “No. And that was before I’d been asked to step down from the case.” He paused a moment. “I don’t know what his game is, Cass.”

  “You’re assuming he has a game.” I found myself suddenly defensive.

  “Trust me, he’s playing at something, and he’s keeping his cards close to the vest.”

  After we hung up I contemplated Brooks’s mistrust of Daniel. Was it sour grapes for having lost control of the investigation? Or were they legitimate misgivings?

  19

  Three weeks following the disappearance

  I was putting the last touches on the canvases Lu had selected for the exhibit when her lilting “Yoo-hoo!” filled the air. In her red mega pumps and zebra wrap dress, she looked as out of place in the barn as a ballerina in the midst of an ice hockey game, but effortlessly breezed through an agility course of sawhorses and easels. She was all grace gliding across the uneven planks of the rustic wood floor.

  “Hi, hon.” She sent an air kiss, smart enough to avoid a hug and certain smudges of paint on her expensive outfit. “Are we almost finished?”

  “Soon.” A perfectionist I was not, but I did have my standards.

  “It’s getting down to crunch time, baby.”

  “I know.” I set down my brush and wiped my hands on a rag. “When’s the deadline for these last paintings?”

  “I’ll need a couple days to figure out the design of the exhibit once we have the final list. Add in the framing time. End of the week?”

  “Then I guess you’ll have them by Friday.” What choice did I have? “But I’m done for today. Join me for a glass of wine?”