by Anne Canadeo
He stopped sketching and looked up at both of them. Maggie and Lucy didn’t say a word in answer.
Lucy’s thoughts were racing. Should they tell him about Mike Novak? He was bound to find out sooner or later if this private investigator did even half a decent job.
But Novak claimed he’d had no real contact with Gloria for months and had been at the club, in plain sight, the night she died. What good would disclosing their relationship to Jamie do now?
Maggie didn’t speak, either, but Jamie continued, “I guess a big part of me doesn’t really want to know the truth. I prefer to think of Gloria the way I knew her. Beautiful, strong, able to do anything she set her mind to. So loving and good-hearted. If she acted unethically in business, or was involved with some low people … I guess I don’t really want to face it,” he confessed quietly.
Maggie leaned forward, despite her orders to sit still for the sketch. “Of course not. We all have memories that we want to preserve of people we’ve loved and lost. But life is so complicated. No one is all good, or all bad. We still love them and we don’t stop when they disappoint us, or even after they’re gone. It’s hard. In a way, it’s a comfort, too.”
Maggie’s words were wise and sounded as if they’d been spoken from experience. Had Maggie found out something about her husband, Bill, after he’d died that had disappointed her? If she had, she’d never told Lucy. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.
Jamie swallowed hard and nodded. He rested the sketch pad on a tabletop and rubbed his eyes. “I do love her. I guess I always will,” he said with a sigh.
What could you say to a person after that? Maggie and Lucy didn’t say anything.
“You know when I first met Gloria, I was pretty down and out, working at some crummy, dead-end jobs,” he said, turning back to the sketch. “When she asked me to move in, I took a suitcase and a box of art supplies and a few canvases I didn’t want to chuck out with the rest. That was it. All I had in the world. If I have to go back to living like that again, I’m okay with it. It was never about the money,” he told the women, looking up at them again.
Maggie nodded, signaling she believed him, but she didn’t interrupt.
“Sure, I like a nice house, a nice car … all of that. But it seems pretty meaningless without her. Part of me never expected it to last. I see that now. I thought Gloria would get tired of me long before I ever lost interest in her. She could have had anyone. I was lucky to have been with her even for a short time. That was, like, a gift or something.” He shrugged and sighed. “Like a really beautiful flower. You enjoy it while it’s in bloom, but you don’t expect it to last forever.”
“Nothing ever does,” Maggie agreed with a sigh. “Our happiest days, or our saddest.” She picked up her knitting again, the pale pink shawl slipping gracefully around her shoulders. She did look worthy of a portrait, Lucy thought.
Lucy finished winding a ball of gold yarn and set it in the basket with the others. Then she stood up and picked up her purse. “I’ve got to go. See you later, Mag. So long, Jamie.”
“’Bye, Lucy. Good to see you.” He stopped sketching for a moment and looked up at her. “Now tonight, please tell the investigator all you know. Anything you can remember. And please let him take over now. That mess Maggie found at the front door this morning was a warning. I can’t stand the idea of any of you getting hurt.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll stay out of it now, I promise. I think we’ve gone as far as we could. And probably further than we should have,” Lucy admitted.
Chapter Thirteen
Lucy was the last to arrive at Suzanne’s house on Friday night. Suzanne’s thirteen-year-old daughter, Alexis, answered the door. She was almost as tall as Suzanne now, with the same rich dark hair and brown eyes, but a far lankier, flatter version. She stood barefoot, her long legs topped by short shorts under a baggy T-shirt that said “Harbor Sea Wolves.” With a bud from an iPod stuck in one ear and the other pressed to a cell phone, she communicated in sign language to Lucy, signaling that the rest of the group was out back.
Lucy walked through the rooms of the lovely old home, noticing some recent improvements. Suzanne had just started in real estate when she’d found the gracious colonial that was the perfect size for her family. The house’s run-down condition and desperate cry for TLC put most buyers off, but kept the price in reach. The place was perfect for Suzanne, who didn’t mind living in a constant state of renovation and for her husband, Kevin, who was a contractor and old home specialist.
But several years later, they had not made much progress. Kevin’s clients always came first, and it seemed that one repair on the old house led to another. Still, the Cavanaugh crew managed to thrive in their chaotic, domestic work site, which blended in with the décor and general family confusion.
Lucy found her friends sitting at the big table on the cedar deck that adjoined the family room and kitchen, the area that Suzanne had made a priority for repair. The great room and kitchen had turned out beautifully and Suzanne was a spectacular cook who made the most of her professional quality kitchen.
Lucy wondered what was on the menu tonight. As her friends greeted her, she spied some tasty-looking appetizers on the table—tapas selections, it looked like—along with two bottles of wine.
Lucy took a seat near Dana and took out her knitting. “Where’s Phoebe?”
“She can’t make it. Josh’s band is playing somewhere. You know how loyal she is to the cause,” Dana replied.
“Is this his old band … or the new one?”
“The new one. Big Fat Babies,” Maggie replied in a serious tone. “He’s been writing a lot of music for them. They want to make a CD, not just stay a bar band. That’s one of the reasons he jumped ship on Error Messages.”
“How about Crystal? I guess she wouldn’t come without Phoebe,” Lucy added, answering her own question.
“Crystal is a Big Fat Babies fan, too. But she’s still working on her squares,” Maggie reported. “She’s definitely going to contribute.”
“That’s good. It’s always nice to turn someone on to knitting,” Lucy said. Though Crystal had seemed an unlikely candidate, it just went to show. You never know who’s going to get hooked, so to speak.
Suzanne came out to the deck wearing a bright red apron that complimented her dark hair. “Everything’s ready. I don’t want the food to dry up. I think we should eat and not worry about the investigator.”
“What did you make? It’s smells so good,” Lucy asked.
“Paella, with chicken, chorizo, shrimp, clams, and mussels.” She turned to Dana, who was a vegetarian. “Don’t worry, I made you a vegetable-and-seafood-only version.”
“Thanks,” Dana said, “you didn’t need to go to any trouble.”
“Hold the pickles, hold the lettuce. Special orders don’t upset us,” Suzanne sang. “Not in this house, anyway.”
Their hostess slipped back inside and Dana rose, too. “I’ll go see if she needs help.”
“I’ll come, too,” Lucy offered. She always liked to see how Suzanne prepared these dishes and picked up some cooking tips. The others got up, also, to clear and set the table. Suzanne, Lucy, and Dana soon returned with the paella and trimmings and Suzanne served.
“Hmm, delicious.” Maggie sighed, savoring a bite. “You used real saffron, I can tell. This part, the yummy crusty edge? They call that the sacarat. The best part of the dish. I haven’t had paella this good since Bill and I were in Spain.”
This sparked a flurry of fond memories of travel and foreign cuisine. Lucy had traveled through Europe and hoped to do more. She wished she was the type of person who could just grab a backpack and set off by herself into the unknown. No reservations, no schedules, just pure wanderlust.
But she wasn’t quite that type and did sometimes wish she had someone to share these experiences with. That was a good part of the joy for her, she wouldn’t deny it.
Maybe in Matt she had found that again. It was just
too soon to tell.
The doorbell rang and Suzanne rose to answer it. “Must be that guy,” she said and everyone understood what she meant.
Lucy didn’t know why, but she felt a little nervous to meet the investigator. She felt relieved, too. She’d been wondering if it was really right to keep what they knew from Jamie. Now they could share their suspicions and knowledge candidly with the PI and he’d have to follow through.
Suzanne soon returned, followed by a tall man who seemed to be in his late thirties or early forties. He looked fit, with a square jaw, close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair, and the overall look of a former policeman. He wore a striped polo shirt and neatly pressed khaki pants. He glanced around the table and offered the group a polite smile.
“Everybody, this is Richard Dolan. He’s the investigator helping Jamie,” Suzanne said smoothly. Everyone welcomed him and Suzanne made introductions.
Richard Dolan sat between Suzanne and Dana, but politely refused Suzanne’s offer of paella. “I’m good, thanks. But it looks delicious.”
“A glass of sangria, or a beer?” she offered.
“A beer would be fine.” He took a slim pad and pen from his breast pocket and set them on the table at his place. “I’m sure you all know why I’ve been hired by Mr. Barnett. He tells me that you were close friends with his late wife and have been concerned about the circumstances surrounding her death. I’m here to look into all of that and, hopefully, find some answers. Some answers the police may have missed in their rush to close this case.”
“That’s the way we feel, too. We think they just assumed it was an accident. A drunken women falls into her own swimming pool, home alone, late at night. Very cut and dry,” Maggie said.
“But we don’t think that’s what really happened. Or, that’s all that happened,” Lucy clarified.
“I understand. Okay, then, who wants to start?” Lucy watched him flip open the pad and note the date, time, and location at the top of the page.
“I guess I should,” Suzanne said and everyone knew why—because she had found Gloria’s body. She explained everything she’d seen at the house that day, the wineglasses, the magazine, even the length of orange yarn tangled around Gloria’s body.
She also described their phone call the night before, Gloria’s upbeat attitude and the sound of the doorbell that had interrupted the conversation.
Lucy went next, describing her meeting with Gloria at the Main Street Café, what she’d said about Jamie, calling so many times to have her join him, and how she’d said she didn’t want to cramp his style.
“But maybe she’d didn’t go because she had plans. Maybe she knew someone was coming to visit her while he was gone,” Lucy speculated. Richard Dolan didn’t reply. He nodded and made another note.
Then Dana spoke, explaining Gloria’s confession about her affair, how she broke up with Mike but had some conflict over that relationship once she’d returned to town. She also told him about the confrontation at the country club and Novak’s response to their questions.
“We’re not sure if Jamie knows about that relationship,” she added in a careful tone. “Gloria came to me in confidence and we didn’t think it was our place to tell him.”
“I understand. I work on a lot of matrimonial cases. This kind of information can be a heavy blow to a spouse.” He answered with a serious look. “I know how to handle it, don’t worry.”
“And I have something else to tell all of you,” Dana continued. “Jack told me just before I left the house.”
“Something about Novak?” Lucy asked.
“That’s right. You know how he claimed he’d been at the club most of the day and all night? Eating dinner and playing cards at the time Gloria died? Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had been there most of the day, but Jack says he saw Novak leave the club sometime between ten and eleven. Jack was having dinner with a client that night and he remembers seeing Mike out in the parking lot, picking up his car without waiting for the valet. Then he drove out from a side entrance of the lot. Didn’t pass the circle where everyone waits. Jack was sure it was him. He drives a silver Porsche, the only one at the club.”
The detective made careful notes. “And what time did your husband say this was, approximately?”
“About half past ten. It must have been around then because Jack got home before eleven and we live about twenty minutes away.”
“Very good recall, Dana,” he commended her. He turned to Suzanne. “And you say your phone call took place a little before eleven?”
“I’m pretty sure. Because I was afraid to call that late, but did want to get through to her, even to leave a message.”
“And it sounds like this club isn’t far from Mr. Barnett’s house, either,” he noted.
“No, not at all. It’s in the same neighborhood,” Lucy said.
“So Mr. Novak could have left the club briefly, visited Ms. Sterling, and returned to join the card game.”
“Easily,” Dana said. “The club is crowded on weekend nights in the summer, especially the bar and restaurant. He probably wouldn’t have been missed if he moved from one group of friends to another.”
“That’s just what I was thinking …” The detective was writing more notes. He looked up at them and finally offered a real smile. “You’re a pretty sharp group.” For amateurs, he meant. “I could use this kind of backup all the time,” he joked with them.
They were pretty sharp, Lucy agreed.
They continued to fill in Gloria’s story with all the information they had gathered, including the questionable property transfers and the strange, stabbed, ketchup-soaked stuffed sheep hanging in front of Maggie’s shop door the other morning.
He didn’t comment too much on that episode, but agreeded it didn’t sound too threatening.
The interview had taken a long time. Nobody noticed the evening passing. But they had all managed to pick up their needles and were knitting steadily through the conversation, so it wasn’t a wasted night.
Lucy sat back, feeling drained. Like a sponge that had been wrung out.
“So, what do you think?” Maggie asked. “Is there enough to get the attention of the police again?”
“You’ve given me a lot to go on. How it all shakes out is the question. I have to follow up on these leads before we know anything for sure. I’m going to give it my full attention,” he promised. “I can see that you all really cared about your friend.”
He smiled again and rose to go. “Thanks for speaking with me. I may be in touch with you again. Mr. Barnett knows where to reach all of you, right?”
“He has all of our phone numbers. And you can always call my shop, the Black Sheep, on Main Street.” Maggie reached out and handed him her card.
“That reminds me, let me give you a card in case you remember anything else important.” He reached in his wallet and handed cards out around the table.
“You’re all emotionally involved in this situation, I can see that. But you’ve done your part. Leave the rest to me. Further attempts to follow up on your own could really compromise my efforts. Mr. Barnett is paying me a fair wage,” he assured them with a small smile. “I don’t want to waste his money. More importantly, if anyone intentionally harmed Ms. Sterling, they could easily harm one of you. We don’t want to risk that, do we?”
Lucy glanced at her friends’ expressions and thought they were taking the warning to heart. She knew she was, too. Finally.
Lucy woke early on Saturday, feeling few effects of Suzanne’s sangria, which had gone down so easily at their get-together last night. She jumped in the shower, pulled on some sweats, and took Tink for a jog downtown.
She and Tink made it all the way to the harbor without mishap, coming to a full stop only once for Tink to check her messages on a favorite fire hydrant.
A farmers’ market was set up in the parking lot adjacent to the village green every Saturday morning in the summer. The area was packed with people, many toting good-smelling fo
ods too close to Tink’s sensitive nose. Lucy led the dog back up Main Street, tied her to a parking meter in clear sight, and stepped into the Schooner for a bottle of water and an iced coffee.
She took a seat at the counter, not far from the register where Edie Steiber watched over her enterprise with an eagle eye while making change at the cash register and processing credit cards.
“Table number five needs some more coffee, honey,” she reminded a waitress flying by.
Lucy had been coming into the Schooner since childhood. The diner had been one of her aunt Laura’s favorite places to dine out or treat her nieces to huge ice-cream sundaes on a hot summer afternoon.
Time was when Edie would be hopping around the place herself like the Energizer Bunny, a coffeepot dangling from one hand as she roamed from table to table. The way Maggie tended her garden with a watering can.
But the years of hard work—and eating from her own menu—had slowed her down considerably. She had become as much an icon and institution in the small town as the Schooner itself.
Despite her harsh opinion of Gloria, Lucy still liked Edie. Edie had lived a long time and clearly had her reasons for resenting Gloria, especially during the Thurman years. Lucy did wonder what she thought now. She hadn’t seen Edie at the memorial service, nor run into her at the knitting shop lately.
“Hey, Lucy.” Edie honored her arrival by leaving her post and walking over to chat. “Out getting some exercise today?”
“I’m trying. At least Tink gives me a walk every day.”
“Nice dog,” Edie said, glancing outside at Tink, who had sat down in the shade of a tall tree. “Do you want a little bowl to give her some water?”
“That would be great.” Lucy didn’t have Tink’s port-o-bowl and planned on giving the dog a drink from her hand.
Edie gave her a small plastic bowl used for takeout and filled it with cold water. Lucy also ordered an iced coffee and a water bottle for herself, to go.
“So … I bet all your friends are pretty broken up still about Gloria,” Edie said, broaching the touchy topic as she fixed Lucy’s coffee.