“Ah, Kirkland told me you had this,” Emma said. She picked it up and studied it. “Fancy.”
“What did Steven tell you before he requested representation?” Sully asked.
“Not much,” Emma said. She put the key down and studied them. “Kirkland explained Rosen-Grant’s claim to be a relative. To my mind, it doesn’t make him less suspicious but more so.”
“Any idea what his background is?” Lindsey asked.
“I had Officer Trousdale run a quick background on him. A cursory check shows no priors, but he was raised by a low-income single mother much like his mother was before him,” Emma said. “Which is another fact that doesn’t help his case.”
“How do you figure?” Sully asked.
“If he really is a relative and what he says is true—that the Rosens’ mother cut his grandmother off without a cent when there was a fortune that was rightfully theirs—well, that’s a pretty big grudge to hold over the years and might make a person prone to murder,” Emma said.
“Do you think he killed Peter and planned to do the same to Stewart in an effort to gain the estate?” Lindsey asked.
“I don’t want to make any assumptions until I know more, but it certainly is one theory,” Emma said. “If we could just find Stewart and learn what he knows . . .”
Her voice trailed off, and Lindsey felt a flash of guilt. She’d had Stewart with her. This mess that was spiraling out of control was largely her fault.
“No, it isn’t,” Sully said. “Stop torturing yourself.”
She glanced at him in surprise. He shrugged.
“Guilt is written all over your face,” he said.
“He’s right,” Emma agreed. “And there’s no need. Whoever attacked Milton is to blame. I just wish we knew if they took Stewart or if he ran off on his own. Ah well, tell me your version of what happened today out on the island. Maybe there will be a clue in there somewhere.”
Emma enjoyed her soup as she listened to Sully and Lindsey describe the events on the island from their perspective. When Lindsey talked about ducking into the strange little tunnel to escape Steven, she felt Sully tense up beside her. When she got to the part about kicking herself free, he relaxed just a little, but she could tell he was unhappy about what had transpired.
They finished their story just as Emma finished her chowder. She put down her spoon and asked, “Can you think of anything else?”
Sully and Lindsey exchanged a look and said together, “No.”
“All right,” Emma said. “I have a meeting with Detective Trimble. We’re going to try to figure out how to proceed with Mr. Rosen-Grant. It would help us out if you’d both file charges. If he is our killer, I don’t want to let him slip away.”
“Of course,” Lindsey said, and Sully nodded.
“Great, I’ll send someone in to take your statements,” Emma said. She rolled back from the table and managed to turn her chair around. It only took her two tries to clear the door, and Lindsey heard her muttering mild profanity as she went.
* * *
It was another hour before Lindsey made it back to the library. An enormous bouquet of blue delphinium and yellow roses obscured the children’s desk from view. Feeling as if a glimpse of flowers might thaw the frosty edge of fear that still encrusted her psyche, Lindsey walked over and buried her face in the blooms.
“Aren’t they amazing?” Beth asked as she popped up behind the bouquet, making Lindsey yelp.
“They are lovely,” she said. “Aidan?”
Beth flushed a deep shade of pink. It made her look even younger than her small frame and pixie haircut already did.
“We have another date tonight,” Beth said. “I think things are getting serious.”
“That fast?” Lindsey asked. She knew she hadn’t cushioned the sound of her disapproval well when Beth crossed her arms over her chest and scowled, looking very defensive.
“When it’s right—” Beth began but was interrupted by two people who joined Lindsey in admiring the flowers.
“Your friends will be happy for you and approve.”
“And until we know it’s right, we’re tagging along to make sure you haven’t picked yourself a clunker.”
Lindsey turned around to find Violet and Nancy standing behind her. She raised her eyebrows at them and then turned back to look at Beth to see if she was okay with this. Beth sighed, and her shoulders slumped in resignation.
“I suppose it’s for the best,” Beth said. “My track record is pretty bad.”
Nancy moved in to smell a rose. She sighed. “He’s looking pretty good so far.”
“But a nice bouquet does not a stellar boyfriend make,” Violet said. “Mary and Charlene will be joining us as well. Are you in?”
She looked at Lindsey with her most penetrating gaze. It was at moments like this one that Lindsey understood why Violet had been such a successful stage actress. She had no doubt that the woman could pierce the farthest corner of a dark theater with that intense, laserlike stare.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” she said.
Violet and Nancy nodded as if they had expected no less.
“Tonight at seven at the Anchor,” Nancy said. “Charlie is having band practice in his apartment, and you know how Heathcliff enjoys howling with the band.”
He certainly did. Lindsey often wondered if her puppy had been a rock singer in a former life.
Lindsey watched the two women walk away and felt sorry for Aidan. The poor man had no idea what he was getting into dating their Beth. Truly, the Spanish Inquisition had nothing on the crafternooners.
Lindsey spent the afternoon on the reference desk. Her inbox in her email was full to bursting, and she had orders backing up, minutes from the board meeting to proofread before sending them on to the mayor’s office and about a million other tasks that needed her attention. There was no more putting it off. She was going to have to hire a part-time library assistant ASAP.
She glanced up at the circulation desk and saw Ann Marie talking with a customer. The customer asked for something, and as Lindsey watched, Ann Marie walked the man over to one of the library computers and opened up the Zinio option. The man opened the messenger bag on his shoulder and pulled out a tablet computer. As Lindsey watched, it was clear that Ann Marie was helping him check out magazines to his tablet.
Ann Marie paused by Lindsey’s desk on her way back to the circulation desk. Again, Lindsey was struck by Ann Marie’s transformation from ponytailed mom in baggy sweaters to the sleek professional in front of her now.
“Hey, boss, I’m going to unload the book drop in the back parking lot,” Ann Marie said. “If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, assume I’ve succumbed to hypothermia and send a rescue dog, preferably the kind who carries a barrel of brandy on his collar.”
Lindsey smiled. “Well, here’s something to think about, while you’re out there,” she said. “I’m going to be advertising for a new part-time library assistant in reference, and I want you to apply for it if you’re interested.”
Ann Marie stared at her. “Huh?”
“I think you’d be perfect,” Lindsey said. “You have a great way with people, you know the library and our materials inside and out and I think you could give our adult programming a shot in the arm.”
“Me?” Ann Marie asked. “Sit out here?”
“If you’re interested,” Lindsey said.
“I . . . Yeah,” Ann Marie said.
“Great,” Lindsey said. “I’ll let you know when HR starts accepting applications.”
“Okay,” Ann Marie said. She grinned then frowned. “You’re not pranking me, are you?”
“Not even a little,” Lindsey said.
“But what about the circulation desk and Ms. Cole?” she asked.
“We’ll hire a new clerk to help her,” Lindsey said. “She could probably use some fresh meat, since you don’t intimidate so easily.”
Ann Marie grinned. “Now that’s going to be fun to watch.”
“No, no, I’m sure it will be fine,” Ann Marie said. She backed away from the desk. “No need for second thoughts. I’ll help the newb, I promise.”
Lindsey watched as she turned and hurried away from the area. She glanced at the desk where Ms. Cole was seated, fine-sorting a cart of books to get them ready to be shelved. Ms. Cole was still frosty with Lindsey, not that she could blame her, and Lindsey had a feeling it was going to get chillier when Ms. Cole found out that Lindsey was considering Ann Marie for the reference desk.
Ah well, the joys of small-town library administration. Lindsey wondered how Mr. Tupper would have handled it, then she wondered if he’d been a drinker, because his nonconfrontational history must have had an outlet somewhere. She shook her head. It wasn’t nice to think such things about her predecessor. Still, she was curious.
Curious. That reminded her of the safe-deposit key and the contents of the box. She wondered if Emma had figured out which bank it belonged to and if she’d managed to get a warrant to search it. If only they knew where Stewart was, they could ask him, as he was probably the only one who knew.
That thought reminded Lindsey that she had a list of people who had attended Dr. Rosen’s funeral, people who had worked for the Rosens. Would one of them know about the safe-deposit key? It had been kept in a music box that probably belonged to Mrs. Rosen. Her maid would have known about it, wouldn’t she?
Lindsey darted into her office where she had left the printout from the microfilmed Gazette. She grabbed it from the top of her desk and took it back out to the reference desk. Now the dilemma was, who could she ask about the names?
Being the head of the historical society and a Briar Creek native, Milton was the obvious choice, but she just couldn’t get him any more involved in something that had already gotten him hurt. No, she needed someone else.
She glanced out the window at the pier. She could see Sully’s boats and his office. The lights were on in the office, as if putting up a small fight against the gloom of the day. Lindsey wondered how Sully’s visit with the doctor had gone. She thought he might know some of the names on her list but even better Ronnie, his octogenarian receptionist would know for sure since she had lived in Briar Creek her whole life.
She picked up the phone on the desk and dialed. Ronnie answered on the second ring.
“Thumb Island Tours and Taxi, how can I help you?”
“Hi, Ronnie, it’s Lindsey,” she said.
“Oh, hi,” Ronnie said. “The boss just checked in. His big, blocky head is fine.”
“Oh, I’m so glad,” Lindsey said. She paused. She wasn’t sure how to segue into the next part of her query.
“Was there something else? Do you need the taxi?”
“No, actually, I was wondering if I could ask you about some names.”
“Names? Of what?”
“More like who,” Lindsey said.
“I’m listening,” Ronnie said. She sounded intrigued, and Lindsey imagined her putting down her nail file and leaning in, fully engaged.
“I have to warn you, these are names from the past,” Lindsey said.
“That’s okay. I have an excellent memory.”
Lindsey didn’t doubt it. Ronnie ran Sully’s office with an efficiency that was unparalleled. Keeping track of taxi pickups, drop-offs, tours and her errant captains, she was amazing.
“All right,” Lindsey said. She glanced at her list. “Cletus Hargreaves.”
“Ah,” Ronnie said. “Butler to the Rosens, a mean old goat, he died of pneumonia in the early seventies. No wife or children.”
Lindsey took a pen out of the holder on the desk and drew a line through his name. She read off two more names. One was deceased with no family, like Hargreaves, and the other had relocated to South Carolina over thirty years ago.
“Can I ask you something?” Ronnie said.
“Sure,” Lindsey replied as she tried to decipher the next name, which was a bit smudgy.
“Where did you get this list and why are you asking me and not Milton? He’s the town historian. Wouldn’t he be better suited to answer these questions?”
“You’re doing just fine.”
“But that doesn’t answer my question,” Ronnie said. “Where did this list come from?”
“From the paper,” Lindsey said.
“Which paper?”
“That is way more than a question,” Lindsey said.
“It’s one long, extended question,” Ronnie said. “So?”
“Fine, but I would appreciate it if it went no further,” Lindsey said. Ronnie grunted, which she took as assent. “I have a list of names from Dr. Rosen’s funeral in nineteen sixty-one, and I’m checking to see if any of these people might still be alive and be someone Stewart would have reached out to if he was in trouble.”
Ronnie let out a low whistle. “Fifty-four years ago. That is a long shot. Okay, fire another name at me.”
“Beatrice Beller,” Lindsey said.
“Betty Beller,” Ronnie said. “Wow, I haven’t heard that name in years. She was the Rosens’ housemaid, a beautiful young woman both inside and out. I don’t think there was a person in Briar Creek who didn’t like Betty, especially Peter and Stewart Rosen. That was back when they would leave the island and come into town and be social. It seemed like whenever that girl left the island to run an errand, she had one or both of the Rosen boys hovering around her like puppies. Huh, I’d almost forgotten how they were back then, so funny and friendly. But Betty left to go marry a doctor, except . . .”
Her voice trailed off, and Lindsey could tell she was slipping into the past, remembering things that had been long forgotten over the past five decades.
“Except?”
“Oh, sorry, I was just remembering that Betty left the Rosen household shortly after Dr. Rosen’s death,” she said. “We all knew she had a doctor boyfriend in New Haven, and we assumed she had finally decided to marry him. She was young, in her early twenties, but . . .”
“But?” Lindsey asked.
“But I remember seeing her leaving Briar Creek. I was working at Sammy’s Fish and Chips, before it became the Blue Anchor, as a hostess, and I remember watching her leave, thinking that she looked sad and a little lost, not like someone about to run off and get married,” Ronnie said. “Hmm, I haven’t thought of her in years and years.”
“So, no idea what happened to her?” Lindsey circled the woman’s name. If Betty was sad about leaving, she might have been close to the family and be someone who Stewart would turn to if he needed help.
“None,” Ronnie said.
“How about Allison Alston?” Lindsey said. “Oh, and her husband Brent Alston?”
“Ugh,” Ronnie said. “Who could forget them? They lived in Manhattan but came up on weekends and for long stretches during the summer. They parked their yacht smack in the middle of the bay and had the loudest, most over-the-top parties.”
There was such annoyance in her tone, Lindsey had a feeling it was a resentment born of not being on the guest list.
“They didn’t mingle with the locals, did they?” she asked.
“Not at all,” Ronnie said. “They clearly thought they were above us. So rude.”
“Did they own any of the islands?” Lindsey asked.
“Several, but then there was a terrible scandal involving Mr. Alston and an underage girl. He went into exile in Europe, and the family was forced to sell everything, including the islands,” Ronnie said. She was quiet for a moment, and then she gasped. “Huh, I just realized the first three islands that Evelyn Dewhurst bought were originally owned by the Alstons.”
“Interesting,” Lindsey said. She wondered if it was a coincidence worth mentioning to Emma.
They ran through the rest of the names, and Ronnie was helpful with all but two of them, as she didn’t know what had become of George Marzkie or Philip Carver.
Lindsey circled their names and p
ut question marks beside them. She thanked Ronnie for her time.
“You’ll let me know if you find any of these people, won’t you?” Ronnie asked. “I’d be curious to know what happened to some of them, especially that George Marzkie. If I remember right, he was a hottie.”
Lindsey smiled. “I’ll let you know.”
She stared at the list in front of her. All of these people had been close enough to the Rosen family to attend Dr. Rosen’s service. Some were their house staff, some were neighbors, some were people of their elevated social set, but had any of them kept in touch after Dr. Rosen’s passing?
Tragedy had a way of making people flee the scene, as if the death of Dr. Rosen or the paralysis of Peter Rosen were contagious conditions that could be spread by human contact. Lindsey wondered if the Rosens had found themselves even more isolated in the aftermath of Dr. Rosen’s tragic death.
She glanced at the window that overlooked the bay. She could just see a few of the islands, rising out of the silver body of water as if they could glide across the smooth surface and relocate anyplace they wanted. She wondered if Peter or Stewart had ever wanted to relocate or leave their island. What might their lives have been like if they had?
Lindsey walked to the Anchor mentally reviewing the list. It seemed to her that the person most likely to have kept contact with Stewart was the housemaid Beatrice Beller. According to Ronnie, she had been young, so she would only be in her seventies now. Maybe, just maybe, Lindsey would be able to find her.
As she stepped into the Anchor, she saw the crafternooners had poor Aidan surrounded. He was a bit wide-eyed, and Lindsey wondered if he’d feel more comfortable if she tossed him a picture book and a puppet, so he could tame the crowd.
“Now, Aidan, can you tell us a little bit about yourself?” Violet asked.
She was perched on one side of him while Nancy bookended him on the other. The poor bastard had no chance at escape. Mary was standing beside the table with her tray tucked under her arm, while Charlene and Beth sat across from the others. Lindsey noted that Beth was biting her thumbnail.
She gently pushed her friend’s hand away from her mouth. When Beth glanced at her, she whispered, “You told me to stop you if I saw you biting.”
A Likely Story Page 20