by Ellery Adams
Well, this is it, Molly thought. The conversation she had dreaded, but oddly, she found herself relaxing. Matt was right. She did need to do this. “Matt told me about your father, how he hurt you, and your mother, and sister. But what I don’t understand is why you didn’t even try to give fatherhood a chance. You knew what bad parenting was. You could have chosen to do the opposite of your father.”
Nathan nodded. “I know, you’re right. I should have stayed and tried. There is nothing I can say or do now that will make what I did acceptable, or take away the pain you felt growing up without a father. I’m not even going to try. All I can say, again, is how sorry I am, not only for the past, but for waiting so long to reach out to you.”
Molly suddenly felt on the verge of crying, but she refused to give in to it. “I suppose I should thank you for making sure we had enough money. She told me you helped her pay for my college education, and contributed to my trust fund. It’s been a big help.”
“It was the least I could do,” he said.
“What I’d like to know is what do you want? What’s this really all about? Are you having a midlife crisis, or are you looking for absolution?”
“I’d like to get to know you, and Matt, and Tyler.”
“So, just like that, suddenly you want a family?”
“Not suddenly.” He lowered his eyes to the floor. “I’ve been wanting to reach out to you for years, but I was too afraid.” He looked up. “I have to give Pamela the credit for giving me the courage to try. She convinced me it was now or never.” He paused. “I’ll understand if you say no.”
Time to make a decision, Molly thought. He stood there, waiting for an answer, looking a little sad, and a little afraid. She could stall, put it off for a while, say she’d get back to him, but what good would that be? She finally knew what she wanted.
“To err is human, to forgive, divine. So said Alexander Pope.”
He looked hopeful. “Does that mean you forgive me?”
“I’m not a hundred percent there, but I’m working on it,” she said. “I don’t mind, if you want to stay in touch, but let me be clear.” She stared at him. “If you come to my home to meet my son, you better be prepared to stick around for the rest of your life. There’s not going to be any second chances with Tyler. If you run away again, it’s over for good. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” He nodded firmly. “I do.”
“Good.” She smiled.
He smiled, too, and took a step toward her, and for a moment, she thought he was going to try to give her a hug. But he turned to the table where the cake was sitting in its box, and said over his shoulder, “I’ll get the cake. You can get the ice cream out of the freezer.”
Chapter 20
At eight thirty the next morning the doorbell rang. Molly wasn’t surprised to find Lombardi standing on the doorstep. He was the only person who ever rang the bell so early. He held up a paper bag with the Java Jitters logo. In his other hand, he was balancing a to-go tray with three coffees.
She let him into the house. “So, you’re back from Boston.”
“I got back late last night,” he said, “and this morning I picked up Jazzy’s coconut macaroons fresh out of the oven. Interested?”
“Give me that bag.” Molly grabbed it, and left him in the foyer to hang up his coat.
Tyler was in his booster seat eating scrambled eggs, and when he saw Lombardi, he held up his arms to be picked up. Lombardi set the coffee tray on the table, scooped him up, and gave him a big kiss.
“How are you this morning, little man?” Tyler giggled. “Well, I can see you’re in a fine mood. Very good.” He looked around. “Is Starling up? I got her a coffee, too.”
He asked the question in a nonchalant tone of voice, as if he didn’t really care if she was up or not. Molly almost laughed out loud. He had no idea she and Matt were aware of their engagement.
“I heard the shower running a while ago. She should be down soon.” Molly opened the bag and breathed in the aroma of fresh-baked macaroons. “These smell divine.” She put the macaroons on a plate, and Lombardi returned Tyler to his chair. He handed her a coffee that Jazzy had marked with her initials. “So, tell me about Boston. Did you solve Charlotte’s case?”
“I wish.” He took the lid off his coffee, but was staring at the macaroons.
“Are you going to take one?”
“I have to confess, I had two on the way over.”
“Have another. I won’t tell anyone.”
He grabbed a macaroon and took a bite. “Man, these things are addictive,” he said. “Anyway, Boston was worth the trip. I searched Charlotte’s condo. I didn’t find an emerald and diamond ring, in case you were wondering. Oh, and before I forget, I did send my team back to her shop to double-check we didn’t miss a ring matching that description. There’s nothing like it there either.”
“Too bad. If Charlotte had the ring, I’d be a hundred percent behind Shelly’s version of events.”
“Which is?”
“That Charlotte was fully responsible for what happened to Larry Pruett.” She didn’t want to say “murder” or “kill” in front of Tyler. He was little, and wouldn’t know what it meant, but he was also at the stage where he was parroting her and Matt. “She had the box of files picked up. She wants to close the case.”
“I know, we’ve talked.” He took another bite. “I told her not to be surprised if you turn up something else, because that’s what you do.” He grinned. “She told me all about your conversations with your other suspects.”
“Did she? I didn’t think she cared.”
“Shelly is a good cop. She cares. Anyway, back to Boston. I found copies of Charlotte’s bank statements, which immediately set off alarm bells when I noticed two unexplained monthly deposits for two thousand dollars each. The bank provided me with the names of the depositors. Rene wasn’t making up stories about Charlotte only dating married men. What she didn’t tell us, and I’m hoping for her sake she doesn’t know, is that Charlotte was also blackmailing them.”
Molly stared at him. “You talked to these men?”
“I did. Both are professionals with six-figure incomes, married with children. She threatened to tell their wives about the affairs, and ruin their lives, unless they paid her once a month to keep her mouth shut. She told them it would be easy to prove, said she kept proof—photographs, recordings. She wasn’t playing.”
“Did you find anything like that?”
“I didn’t. I think she lied to them.”
Molly sat back in her chair. “How long did this go on?”
“Both men said the affairs only lasted a few months, but the payments have been going on for years. Three for one, two for the other.”
“My goodness.” Molly shook her head. “How could she do that to them? Or maybe I should be asking, why did she do it?”
“Money, plain and simple. I spoke to the shop employee, Wendy Ross. I told her not to say a word to Rene about our meeting, and I don’t think she will. She was pretty upset about Charlotte’s death. She’s been working there for four years, and she’s the last one left on the payroll. They let everyone else go when they made the announcement they were going to close.”
“Rene told me Charlotte had been using her own money to keep the shop going. That’s probably why she blackmailed those men. She didn’t want the store to fail.”
“Yeah, but as Wendy said, it became obvious they had no choice. Sales had slowed way down, and they’re on Newbury Street, pricey real estate. She said she asked Charlotte, after they told her they were going to have to close, why they didn’t try moving the shop somewhere else in Boston that wasn’t as expensive. She said Charlotte insisted the store had to be on Newbury Street.”
“It was her dream.”
“Yeah, well, she let it fall apart by being stubborn. As for Rene’s role, Wendy said she spends her time between the office and ringing up customers. She isn’t into antiques the way Charlotte was, which she
thought was funny, since she’s co-owner. She said both women have always been very nice to her, and paid her a decent wage, which she appreciated.”
Molly ate a macaroon. “Yum. Thank you, Jazzy.” She took a sip of coffee. “Did Wyatt call you?”
He smiled. “He left me a very long message. Thanks for getting him to confess about the ten grand, and the in-person meeting.” He shook his head. “You know, he’s not helping himself.”
“I know. He’ll be lucky if Alison goes back to him. I spoke to her yesterday, and she’s struggling with it.” She sat back in her chair. “Do you want me to fill you in on my other interviews?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
Molly told him, and he listened, and drank his coffee, and had another macaroon. She ended with her short discussion with Rene outside the sports shop. “I still haven’t heard back from Quincy Clarke. He could be involved.”
“Or not. Tell you what . . . you talk to him, and let me know how it goes.”
“You don’t think you should bring him in?”
“If he’s guilty of anything, and he’s as wealthy as you say he is, I know what he’ll do. He’ll show up with a lawyer, and I won’t get anything out of him. You might have better luck.”
“Yeah, if I can ever get him to talk to me. What are you going to do about Rene?”
“I was actually planning on having her picked up this morning and brought in for further questioning.” He took a sip of coffee. “By the way, I took your advice and checked to see if Rene has an electronic toll transponder for her car.” Molly had to work hard not to smile. It had been Starling, not her, who had suggested that Rene could have driven up Monday morning, killed Charlotte, and made it back to Boston by noon. She had discussed it with Molly, and then obviously mentioned it to Lombardi later. He’d simply forgotten who had suggested it. “Unfortunately, she doesn’t have one, and I can’t track her movements Monday morning. Wendy told me the shop is closed on Mondays. Since she wasn’t there, she has no idea if Rene came in.”
Tyler finished eating his eggs, and pointed at Molly’s macaroon. She cut off a small piece for him, and he shoved it into his mouth. His eyes suddenly widened. “I know, it’s good, right?” He smiled, and she turned back to Lombardi. “I wish we could find the ring. There could be a Mr. or Ms. X out there, someone Charlotte could have given the ring to, perhaps. But she didn’t seem to have many friends.” She snapped her fingers. “What about the Hendricks? The foster couple. Maybe she gave the ring to Mrs. Hendricks.”
“I ran a background check on them. They moved to Florida five years ago, but I’ve got their contact information. I’ll give them a call.” He stood up, and kissed the top of Tyler’s head. “I’ve got to get to work. Tell Starling I’m sorry I missed her. Oh, and she’ll need to heat up her coffee.”
Chapter 21
Molly wasn’t one to spend money on herself, especially when it came to clothes or makeup. There was one item, though, she was willing to spend money on, and that was her hair. When she had been in England on her honeymoon, she’d taken a side trip to London to interview a hairstylist while working on a murder case she’d gotten caught up in. The stylist owned an exclusive award-winning salon, and her hair had never looked better. When she got home, she made an appointment at the highest-rated salon in Burlington, Fringe, on Pine Street. They had a high price tag, but the precision cut she got every six weeks was worth every penny. She might have been busy trying to figure out who killed Charlotte, but she wasn’t going to miss her appointment.
The salon was owned by Noelle and Pierre Dubois. Molly’s stylist was Pierre. He was born in France, and came from a long line of hairstylists, going back to his grandfather. He had apprenticed with a high-end salon in Paris for two years before moving with Noelle and their child to Vermont, where they opened Fringe. Molly adored the couple. They were welcoming and always smiling, as was everyone who worked at the salon. They made you feel like you were part of their family.
Pierre served her sparkling water in a crystal goblet, and after a hair wash, which included a relaxing scalp massage, he trimmed and shaped her hair, and style-dried it with a round, fat brush. When he was done working his magic, he turned her chair around to face the mirror and said, “Voilà! You are beautiful, Molly.” He grinned. “But you already know that.”
Molly smiled. “Thanks for the compliment, but if my mother was here, she’d tell me I needed a fashion makeover. The hair is only the beginning, she’d say.”
He unclipped her gown. “Ah, yes. Your mother. She is a beautiful woman, too. She could walk the grand boulevards of Paris and blend in as a native.”
Yes, she could, Molly thought, as she got out of the chair. “See you in six weeks.” She paid at the receptionist’s desk. She didn’t have to book her next appointment. Pierre was in such high demand, appointments had to be booked well in advance. Molly was booked through April of next year.
As she headed to the door, she came to a sudden stop. Theodore van Wegberg was walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. She watched him turn into Coleman Jewelers, and immediately, she thought of the emerald and diamond ring.
“Ms. Appleby, are you all right?” The receptionist was wondering why she hadn’t left.
“Ah, yeah, I’m fine. I’m just going to sit here for a little while.” She grabbed a magazine off the table in the waiting area, and sat down. “I was reading this article before, and I want to finish it.”
The phone rang, and the receptionist answered it without giving Molly a second thought. She had already paid, and she had her next appointment booked. That’s all she needed to know.
From where Molly was sitting, she had a perfect view of Coleman Jewelers. She watched the time, and twenty minutes later, Theodore came out the door. He turned back in the direction from which he’d come, which was in the direction of the bank, two blocks over. Molly waited until he was out of sight before she went out, and crossed the street.
Molly knew the owner of Coleman Jewelers. Geneva Alexander was one of the first people she had interviewed for the magazine when she’d moved to Vermont. She was not only a renowned gemologist but a master jeweler who specialized in antique jewelry. The shop had originally belonged to her father, and she had inherited it more than thirty years ago. Molly’s feature story had included photographs of her exquisite and unique jewelry designs.
Geneva was behind the glass display case, and when she saw Molly, she smiled widely, came around the counter, and stretched out her arms. “What a wonderful surprise!” She gave her a warm embrace. “How are you, dear?”
Geneva was in her late seventies, her hair a shock of white, her skin barely wrinkled. She wore jade earrings, red lipstick, and a colorful Hermes scarf with a butterfly pattern around her shoulders, and Molly thought she could join her mother walking down the grand boulevards of Paris.
“I’m very well,” Molly said. “You look terrific.”
“Thank you. How is your sweet little boy? Tyler must be getting big.”
“He’s growing like a weed.” Molly felt bad. She hadn’t visited Geneva in months. “I promise, I’ll bring him in soon to see you, but right now I’m on the job, and I have a question for you.”
“Oh, well, now I’m intrigued. What is this about?”
“Theodore van Wegberg. I saw him leave here a few minutes ago. Why was he here?”
Geneva’s smile quickly faded. “Why are you asking? Are you looking into the case of that antiques dealer who was killed? The minute I heard about it, I told my daughter, Molly will want in on that one. Is that it? Are you?”
Nothing got by Geneva. “Yes, I am,” Molly admitted. “So, Theodore was here because . . . ?”
“He came in for an appraisal.” Geneva went around the counter and reached beneath it. She pulled out a tray lined with black velvet. On top of the velvet was an emerald and diamond ring.
Molly’s jaw dropped. It seemed incredible that the ring was there, right in front of her. She cleared
her throat. There hadn’t been any photographs of the stolen ring in Schmitt’s files, but Larry Pruett’s son, Keith, had given him a description: emerald center stone, surrounded by diamonds.
Geneva said, “It’s a gemstone cocktail ring crafted in an old European square cut, circa 1880 to 1882. The band is yellow gold, the emerald, which displays a fine brilliance, is a little over two carats. The surrounding diamonds total one and a half. As I told Theodore, it’s an exceptional ring.”
“How much is it worth?”
“I could easily sell it for five thousand dollars.”
“Did Theodore want to sell it?”
“No, he wanted to make sure the stones were genuine, and when I assured him they were, he asked me if I could use the emerald and diamonds and create a necklace for his wife. Evidently, the ring had belonged to his wife’s late mother, but it’s been sitting unworn in her jewelry box for years. I told him I could reset the stones, although I believe it’s a shame to do so. I stressed to him that the ring is a lovely Victorian piece, and in excellent condition, but he was determined. He said their anniversary is coming up soon, and he wants to give her the necklace as a surprise.”
Molly couldn’t take her eyes off of it. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the day after she had talked to Janell and Theodore about the Pruett murder, Theodore had shown up at Geneva’s to “remake” a ring that perfectly matched the description of the one that was stolen.
Geneva said, “I agreed to do the work, because I was afraid he’d take it to someone not as accomplished as myself, and they’d make a mess of it. He gave me a deposit.”
“I hate to tell you this, but I think the ring could be stolen.”
Geneva’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, no.”
Molly told her about Larry Pruett’s murder, how his late wife’s ring had been stolen and never found. “It’s been missing for fifteen years,” she said. “If it turns out to be the same ring, then Theodore, and/or his wife, could be guilty of a crime.” Geneva had paled a little, and Molly hoped she wasn’t upsetting her. “I’m going to let Detective Lombardi know you have it.” She would let him decide whether to bring Shelly in on it. She didn’t want to make that decision, since Shelly hadn’t seemed interested in pursuing that case any further. “In the meantime, can you hold on to it, and whatever you do, don’t give it back to Theodore.”