The juicer silenced and Mum walked over to the back door and gave a sharp whistle. Thoreau froze, cocked his head. Mum whistled again. Thoreau suddenly took off for the door, practically flying across the yard. His little paws sent snow shooting behind him as he bounded over the threshold and into Mum’s arms.
I blinked. I couldn’t believe what I’d just seen. It was exactly the way Rufus had acted the night he took off. Except I hadn’t heard a whistle.…
Then I remembered the small silver dog whistle hanging in Mac’s apartment and knew immediately it had been used the night Rufus took off. That’s why Rufus acted so excited—he’d missed his master. That whistle meant he’d see him soon. But how did Mac know where Rufus was? And how was Mac getting around? Did he have a car?
I leaned back. Like a slap upside the head, everything suddenly made perfect sense.
But just to confirm, I said, “Can I ask you a favor, Jemima?”
“What kind of favor?”
Mum glanced at me as she dried off Thoreau’s paws. Jemima? she mouthed.
I nodded.
She whistled low as she set Thoreau down.
“Can you go down to Mac’s apartment and tell me if Rufus’s dog whistle is still hanging on the wall?”
She didn’t ask why, for which I was grateful. Grendel hopped down from the window, went over to Thoreau, and jumped on him. Subtlety wasn’t one of Grendel’s strengths. They tumbled across the floor.
“It’s not,” Jemima said. “It’s in Christa’s room—I saw it in there this morning when I woke her for school. Why?”
There went my gratitude. I thought fast. “I just thought it might help in the search for Rufus,” I lied. “I was going to walk through the woods today and thought he might be able to hear the whistle better than my voice.”
Tell me I’m not a good liar. Ha!
“I didn’t think of that, but I bet Christa had the same idea.”
I rather doubted that. I bet it was in her room because she’d used it the night Rufus went missing. Mac had an accomplice. It was why Christa didn’t want to do a reading with me. Because she knew I’d be able to find Rufus … and that he’d be with Mac.
“I can drop it off at your house,” Jemima offered. “I’m on my way out. Or I can leave it with Esme.”
Esme. Esmeralda. What to do, what to say?
“Lucy? You still there?”
“I’m here,” I said. I was weighing what to tell her. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“That depends.”
My call-waiting beeped. I let it go through to voice mail.
I wished I could see Jemima’s face, gauge her reactions. “How much do you know about Esme?”
“Esme? The housekeeper?”
“Yes.”
“Not much. Rick hired her about six months ago. She’s a little lazy, but we haven’t had any big issues. Are you looking to steal her away?”
She laughed. I didn’t.
“You may want to look into her background,” I finally said.
“Why?” Her voice was taut, on guard. “What do you know about her? Is she dangerous or something?”
I scrunched my nose. Why was I getting involved in this? I knew now Rick had nothing to do with Mac’s disappearance. Whatever Rick was doing with Esme wasn’t any of my business. And maybe it was all completely innocent. A woman down on her luck who needed a job; an ex-husband willing to help her out. Except Rick didn’t strike me as the charitable type. He struck me as a manipulative, selfish bastard.
Softly I said, “I know her real name is Esmeralda.”
I heard a sharp intake of breath. It was obvious Jemima was familiar with the name. “I have to go,” she said, and hung up on me.
I dialed into my voice mail and cringed as I watched my mother sip putrid-colored juice. Her lips pursed every time the liquid touched them.
The voice-mail message was from Marisol. “Aloha, Lucy!”
I listened to the rest of the message, smiling. Marisol had done a great job getting all the information we needed from Em. Now to put the rest of the plan into action.
I jumped up and poured my tea into a to-go container.
“Where are you off to?” Mum asked. “Going to talk to Mac?”
I wasn’t sure. “Maybe.”
“You look like you’re on a mission.”
“I am.” A mission to get Em and Aiden together once and for all. “Can I leave the critters with you a little while longer?”
“Of course.” She kissed my cheek. “Dovie’s coming by later, so they’ll get lots of attention.”
I hadn’t really had a chance to talk to Dovie since Rufus went missing—she would be relieved to know he was okay. “You can go ahead and tell her about Rufus and Mac.”
“As if I could keep that kind of information to myself.”
“Well, beyond Dovie, try. I’m not sure how to go about letting the world know he’s alive. Or even if I should. He’s a grown man who can do what he wants with his life.”
“It’s an unusual situation, to say the least, but Dovie will be glad to hear the news.”
I grabbed my coat and my bag and headed for the door. “By the way, how did her date go the other night?”
“Fizzled. Surprisingly, Dr. Hot to Trot wants to settle down with a good woman by his side. Dovie was out of there before he could say ‘retirement community.’ ”
I smiled, but it was just another instance of Dovie’s commitment issues. Cursed by association, she had told me. I was beginning to believe it. I pulled open the door. “Tell her I said hi.”
“Oh, LucyD?”
“Yeah?”
She poured the rest of her juice into the kitchen sink. “I don’t suppose you know what happened to the cheesecake that was in the fridge?”
30
A bell jingled as I pulled open the door at I’ll Take Seconds.
“You’re back,” Madeline said. She set her book down and stood up. “Did you find the man?”
“Not yet,” I said uneasily. “But the information you gave us was extremely helpful.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Is there something else I can help you with?”
“Actually, yes.” I looked around. “There was a Hawaiian shirt in here yesterday … there it is.” Picking it up, I smiled. It was perfect.
I laid it on the counter and pulled out my wallet. I’d already made a stop at the Triple A office. Everything was coming together nicely.
The bell jangled. I glanced over my shoulder and my eyes widened. “What are you doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Preston carried a Filene’s Basement bag. She spotted my credit card. “Are you shopping?”
“A present for Aiden.”
“Big spender.”
“It’s the thought, right?” I signed the credit slip.
“I hope you think of me at Saks. No offense,” she said to Madeline. “You do still owe me some boots, Lucy.”
“I thought Maureen Rourke took care of you.”
Preston swiped her bangs out of her eyes. “You’re not getting out of buying me boots that easily.”
Madeline handed me a receipt and a bag. “Thank you,” I said to her.
Preston narrowed her eyes on me.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“There’s something about you that’s different.”
“I noticed, too,” Madeline said, nodding in agreement.
Preston looked at her. “Is it the hair, do you think?”
I touched my head. It was the same curly honey blond do I’ve had my whole life.
Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s not the makeup.” Preston scrutinized my face.
“You two are going to give me a complex.”
Preston snapped her fingers. “Your cheeks.”
“What about them?” I asked as they heated.
“They have color.”
“That’s it,” the w
oman said. “You look … healthy. Yesterday you looked a little pale, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Sickly,” Preston added.
“Gee, thanks.” I hadn’t looked that bad. Now this morning … I’d looked—and felt—like death warmed up, spit out. Until those tingles in Orlinda Batista’s office. There was no explaining that, so I said, “What are you doing here?”
Preston plopped her bag on the counter. “Remember how I went to see Eva Denham-Foster yesterday about the Lone Ranger’s hat and she sent me to see her son Matthias? Well, Matthias said he gave most of the things to his son, Craig, who didn’t want them and gave them to his pastor for the church bazaar.”
“You were busy yesterday,” I said.
Madeline nodded in agreement.
“Not as busy as you.” Preston crossed her arms. “I heard about the break-in and Tristan’s arrest. Why didn’t you call me?”
“When? In between finding Tristan in my bedroom, Sean’s heart attack, or the FBI questioning?”
“Oh my,” Madeline said.
The color drained from Preston’s face. “Sean had an attack? Oh my God. I didn’t know.”
She rushed forward and threw her arms around me in a bear hug I found oddly comforting.
“Are you okay? Is he? Is he in the hospital? What happened? Did you freak out?”
“Preston, breathe!”
She gulped air.
“That,” Madeline said, pointing at Preston, “is how you looked yesterday. Well, without the hyperventilating and the … are those hives?”
Preston scratched. “I get them when I’m upset.”
“I looked that bad yesterday?” I asked.
Madeline nodded.
“Hey!” Preston cried, scratching her neck.
This time I hugged her. “Everything’s fine. Sean’s fine.” Kind of. For now. “And you’ll be your pretty self again as soon as the splotches go away.”
Looking up at me, she said, “You think I’m pretty?”
“Yes.” Smiling, I added, “What happened with the hat, Preston?”
She pulled it from the bag. The hives were already fading. “I went and talked to the church pastor, and he actually remembered the hat. When it was donated, he recognized the Medford Millinery tag and knew it would do better at a consignment shop than at the bazaar. He brought it here.”
Madeline had picked up the hat. “It was right after Thanksgiving. I remember it well because it’s not often we get custom-made hats in stock and I was thinking, ha ha, that I was thankful it would bring in a big profit.”
“Do you recall who purchased it?” Preston asked.
Madeline looked at me, and chills slid down my spine. I knew what she was going to say before the words came out of her mouth.
“It was Mac Gladstone.”
* * *
I found a parking spot on Beacon, not far from the office. I took this to be an omen that the rest of my day would be trouble free for a change. I fed the meter and crossed the street to walk the sidewalk along the Common perimeter.
Squirrels bustled about, mostly chasing after unsuspecting tourists with food in their hands. There were dozens of people roaming around, a good majority of them homeless. I paused along the iron fence and searched the crowd for anyone who looked like Mac.
Surreptitiously I looked over my shoulder. A car with dark windows had parked a block away. I’d picked up the tail as soon as I hit the highway. Agents Thomas and St. John weren’t being very careful about following me, and I had to wonder what they wanted. Tristan was already behind bars. Unless he was now Houdini, he wouldn’t be bothering me anymore.
As the wind whipped my hair into a frenzy, I drew the collar of my coat up and walked slowly along, wishing I suddenly heard the squeals of an excited crowd, saw twenty-dollar bills rustling along the ground like dried-out leaves.
Mac was the Lone Ranger.
It had been hard to believe at first. I thought I was going to have to take Preston to the hospital when she made the connection. Then, when I told her about my reading with Orlinda, Preston had broken out in hives again.
But the more I thought about it, I kept coming back to why not Mac? He was rich, dying, and living his final days the way he wanted—by giving his money away. When Rick Hayes found out what Mac had been doing, he was going to go, as Preston would say, apeshit. I was rather looking forward to that.
The hives had lasted until she received a phone call from the South Shore Beacon that sent her running for her car.
There had been a federal raid at A Clean Start this morning. SWAT teams, tear gas, the whole shebang. When no stolen goods were found, the FBI still closed the Laundromat until further notice. Preston was on her way to cover the protests that had broken out in Roxbury, where thousands of people had taken to the streets to support A Clean Start and its attempts to revitalize the neighborhood when no one else seemed to care. The mayor had already held a news conference about working with the people to get the situation resolved as soon as possible, mentioning that A Clean Start had broken some zoning laws and lacked proper permits, which only fueled the crowd’s fire. Preston couldn’t wait to jump into the thick of things.
As I walked along, I pictured little Nessie’s face and my heart hurt. What would the neighborhood do without A Clean Start helping them out? I held on to a tiny thread of hope that the protests would bring the kind of publicity the neighborhood needed. More people would want to help, to step up in Tristan’s stead. I hoped via legitimate means.
I took one more look around. I didn’t see Mac, and the homeless man who liked to rhyme wasn’t around, either.
Tucking my head against the cold, I headed to the office. Suz was at the window, binoculars in hand. “I’ve been watching all day. No sign of the Lone Ranger. Teddy and I talked about it, and we’re going to start saving the money I catch for a down payment on a house. We’re tired of renting.”
“How much do you need?” Would Mac even make another appearance as the Lone Ranger now that he had Rufus? I imagined the rambunctious retriever chasing the pigeons in the park and smiled. He’d have a blast. But there was no disguising the coppery dog as a horse named Silver.
“About ten thousand.”
I sat on the sofa. “That’s a lot of twenties.”
“I know, so don’t expect me to give any more of it away to panhandlers.”
“He wasn’t panhandling. He was observing.”
She set the binoculars down and turned. Her prepare-for-a-lecture scowl quickly faded when she took a good look at me. “Wow,” she said. “You look great. Did you just get a facial?”
“No.”
“Did you get lucky last night?”
“Suz!”
“Well, if not, then you must just be relieved that Tristan Rourke is in jail.”
At first I was, but now … I wasn’t as relieved as I should have been. Mostly for one reason only. Sean. Now that I knew why he took Meaghan’s case, I wanted a happy ending for Tristan Rourke. Which was impossible. One way or another, he was staying in jail for a long, long time.
“I can’t believe Meaghan Archibald is offering to post his bail,” Suz said.
“She’s what?” I couldn’t have heard her right.
Suz grabbed the binoculars for a quick check of the Common and then turned back to me. “Well, you know how Andrew and I take our coffee breaks together?”
I nodded.
“According to him, Meaghan was waiting for Sean this morning when he opened the office. She’d heard Tristan had been arrested and demanded to know if Sean had proved him innocent yet. When Sean admitted he couldn’t find any evidence to clear Tristan, she was on the phone in an instant, securing one of the best defense attorneys in the city to represent Tristan. Then she set off for the jail to see if she could visit him.”
So much for my effort to keep them apart, protect her. “How did Andrew know all this?”
“Overheard it. The walls are apparently pretty thin up there.”
I blushed. I’d have to remember that. “There’s no way Tristan will get bail. Not with his history.”
“I agree,” Suz said, “but Meaghan is a determined woman. Plus, she has the money to back her up.”
“She does?” I asked.
“Her adopted father is Martin Archibald. He’s a doctor, but his family owns Archibald Industries, who, as you know, could give the Wal-Mart Waltons a run for their money.”
I let that sink in. Meaghan had never said a word. “How did you know?”
“Andrew.”
“He’s just a font of information.”
“Cute, too, with that little lock of hair that falls onto his forehead. Anyway, he was a business major at BU—he recognized the name and had a hunch. He Googled Meaghan, and sure enough there she was. She’s an heiress worth billions.”
The phone rang and Suz jumped up from her perch on the windowsill to answer it.
As I listened to her make an appointment for a new client, I thought about Meaghan and felt a deep sadness settle over me like a heavy blanket. In her case, love wouldn’t conquer all. Life’s little twists of fate were sometimes so cruel. If not for Meaghan’s suicide attempt, she never would have met Martin Archibald and would not be one of the richest young women in America. If not for Anthony Spero lying to Tristan about Meaghan’s “death,” he never would have lashed out, which had earned him a stint in a maximum-security prison and fueled a career as a lifetime criminal.
One was adopted into a loving, wealthy family.
One became a criminal mastermind who robbed the rich to help the poor.
Love wasn’t enough to bring them back together.
Maybe Preston was right—Tristan and Meaghan’s story was more like Romeo and Juliet than I wanted to believe.
Suz hung up. She checked the Common again before saying, “Sean came down a little bit ago to see if you were in yet. He’s in a bad, bad mood. Do you want some coffee?” Suz asked me on her way to the kitchenette.
“No thanks. I’m cutting back.”
Her eyes widened. “One night at your mother’s and now you’ve gone all health-food nut on me, too?”
“Not quite.”
“Well, I might be gung ho for that Zumba class, but I draw the line at coffee,” she mumbled as she walked away.
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