by Lea Wait
“What happened?”
“I don’t know,” said Skye. “I don’t even know for sure Jasmine talked to Linda at the party. I never saw Linda after that night, and I never saw the photographs. But if Jasmine threatened Linda, and Linda got angry—”
“Linda might have killed Jasmine.”
“It’s possible. That’s why her name is on my list of possible suspects.”
“And I assume you wouldn’t want those photographs, if they still exist, to get out. Say, to the press.”
“Exactly. I don’t know if Linda kept the photos, or if she knows I became Skye West. She may have destroyed them all after Jasmine died. I hope so. But I don’t know.”
“So we have three reasons to talk with Linda. See if she still has the photographs she took of the party that night. See if she has the photographs of you and Jasmine.”
“And see if she’s a murderer,” said Skye.
Chapter 34
’Tis useless that the fingers learn to draw
And soaring reason scans all nature’s law
If innate virtue’s not a welcome guest
And pure religion glows not in the breast.
—Stitched by Betsey Hathaway, age fourteen, Freetown, Assonet Village, Massachusetts
I looked down at the list of possible suspects. “I can contact most of these people,” I said. “I know the Fitch family, at least slightly. They attend the same church my family does. I’d also like to talk with Ob Winslow again, and I’ll call Katie Titicomb, as you suggested, to check on the timeline.”
Skye nodded. “I’ll trust you on that. But what about Linda Zaharee and Sam Gould?”
“We could both talk with them. They should remember you if you tell them you’re Mary North. And having two of us there would mean there’d be a witness, in case the meetings turn out to be important.”
“I’d be happy to go with you on any of your interviews, Angie.” Patrick leaned forward. “That way you’d always have a witness.”
As though anyone in town would talk to me when Skye West’s son was hanging around in the background. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Patrick. But thank you. If one of these people did kill Jasmine, we don’t want to alert them.” I turned to Skye. “I’ll say you’re curious about the history of the house you’ve bought, and you’re trying to document it. Jasmine Gardener’s history is part of that.”
“Excellent,” agreed Skye, standing up dismissively. “When can you start?”
“I’ll make a few calls this afternoon,” I suggested.
“I’ll call Sam Gould and Linda Zaharee. Both of them,” Skye volunteered. “I’ll make up some story. My acting skills may come in handy. I’ll let you know when we can go to see them.”
I hoped Skye wouldn’t get her hopes up too high. If there was a killer, he or she had managed to keep quiet all these years. Why would the murderer suddenly open up to me or Skye now?
I stopped at Ob’s house, across the street from Aurora. No one was home. He and Josh were probably out on the Anna Mae. Anna could have been anywhere.
A wave of exhaustion hit me. I’d been working long hours for over a week, and had now taken on an investigation. What I needed more than anything else was quiet—and time away from everyone.
I drove to Pocket Cove Beach. I didn’t even get out of the car. I put my windows down and looked out at the sea.
Three lobster boats were working the pots in the harbor, and one sailboat was visible farther out. By next week, with schools ending and tourists arriving, there’d be more activity here. There’d be small sailboats, kayaks, and skiffs.
Waves broke over the rocky beach and below Haven Harbor Lighthouse, farther down the harbor. Those waves looked as they always did. Like snowflakes, no two were alike, but swirled in an endless pattern. I’d seen those waves when I’d come here as a child with Mama and I’d played in the sand. Even after Mama’d disappeared, they’d still been here, reminding me that life, and time, went on. And here they were again. They still calmed me. I felt my breaths coming easier.
Jasmine Gardener had been an unwed teenager, like Mama. Maybe she’d come to this same spot to watch the waves. Maybe she even dreamed of bringing her son or daughter here someday.
Had someone ended that dream? Skye West thought so.
I didn’t know. But I understood why Skye needed to know.
Jasmine’s death, like Mama’s, had been sudden, and undeserved.
I’d demanded justice for Mama. Skye wanted justice for her friend.
I sat for a while more, watching the waves break on the shore. Then I picked up my cell and called Mane Waves, Elsa Fitch’s salon, and made an appointment to have my hair trimmed.
It was time to start talking with the people on Skye’s list.
Chapter 35
Man for the field and woman for the hearth:
Man for the sword and for the needle she:
Man with the head and woman with the heart:
Man to command and woman to obey:
All else confusion.
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892) The king’s soliloquy from The Princess: A Medley, 1847
I slipped into a chair at Mane Waves Beauty Salon, Haven Harbor’s finest of its kind. (And only salon, too.) “Thank you for taking me on such short notice, Elsa,” I said. “I only need a trim.”
She picked up a piece of my hair and scrutinized it. “I’d suggest more than a trim, Angie. You need to let me cut off these split ends. They’re hiding the whole shape of your cut. That will mean taking off a couple of inches.”
I swallowed. Hard. It had taken me a while to grow my hair long enough to pin it up during the summer. But those had been Arizona summers. This was Maine. And my hair did look out of control.
“I use lots of conditioner,” I said, a defense I knew was lame.
“Maybe a little too much,” declared Elsa. Her own hair was cut short. I suspected it was never out of place. Messy hair wouldn’t have been good for business.
I gave in. “Then take off the ends. And reshape it.”
Elsa walked a couple of steps away and looked at my head. “A little layering would help.”
I nodded. “Do what you have to do. But not too short, please.”
“I’ve been doing your grandmother’s hair for thirty years. She never complained. Got her appointment all set for the day of the wedding. I suppose you’d like me to fit you in that day, too?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Gram’s hair looked okay, but Gram wasn’t me.
“Don’t be taking too long to make up your mind. This time of year, with all the summer folks wanting to be streaked and blown out, my time’s tight,” she reminded me.
“I’ll let you know,” I assured her.
I spent the next few minutes under the tap, being shampooed and (lightly) conditioned. I tried to think of a way to bring up a party forty-five years ago. But it turned out I didn’t have to; Elsa did.
“I was over to the old Gardener place Saturday.” Snip. Snip. “Saw you there, hobnobbing with that actress.”
“Sarah Byrne and I helped her run her lawn sale.”
“Humph. Not much of a sale, so far as I could see. A lot of junk. Nothing there worth buying.” Snip.
“Sorry you didn’t find any bargains.”
“Got a couple of things. But Millie Gardener’s been gone years now. You’d think someone would have had the sense to clean that place out before now. Millie always kept her home spotless. She’d turn over in her grave if she knew what it looked like now.”
“Then you knew Mrs. Gardener?”
“Did her hair all the years she lived here. At first, she’d come into the salon, like other folks. But at the end, when she was poorly, I went over to her place. Did her hair in her own bathroom. She was sweet. And generous.”
“Did she ever talk about her daughter?”
“Didn’t talk about much else.” Snip. That strand of hair that just hit the floor was
longer than two inches. “She had nothing else on her mind I could see. She’d watch the news on the television and Jeopardy!—she did love that Jeopardy!—and she thought about better times, when her Jasmine was little.” Snip. I couldn’t see what hit the floor that time.
“Did you know Jasmine?”
“Oh, Lordy, I did. Course, she was older than I was, by a couple of years. But she spent a lot of time with my brother, Jed, that last summer, and with me, and with Beth, after she got home.”
“What was she like? Jasmine?”
“Millie, may she rest in peace, didn’t see it, of course, but Jasmine was a rich tease. She knew she had more than the rest of us. She wanted Jed because he was a star. That year he was handsome, and good at football. But he wasn’t the brightest in the family. I wasn’t surprised he went for Jasmine.”
“So, who was the brightest in your family?”
“Well, Beth did well enough. Complete ride for college. She was only home for a month that summer before she headed to Guatemala in the Peace Corps. Taught English there a few years before she came back home and started teaching second grade. She wasn’t dumb. Not by a long shot. But I was the smartest back then, if I do say so.”
“You must have been fourteen or fifteen that summer, right?”
“Fifteen. Had won first place in the county science fair two years running. I couldn’t decide whether to be an astronaut or a marine biologist back in those days.” Elsa paused between clips. “Funny to think of that. It was so long ago.”
“But, instead, you decided to open your own business.”
“Went to beauty school down to Portland. I’ve done fine.”
“I don’t remember when there wasn’t a Mane Waves. Mama brought me here to have my hair done before my First Communion.”
“I’ve been here over thirty years now. I saved, and then I inherited a little. I’ve worked hard and made do.” She backed off a bit. “See how nice your hair’s falling now? A little more layering on the side and you’ll be ready for a blow-dry.”
“Were you at that party? The last party at Aurora?”
“I was.”
“What was it like?”
“Big and expensive, like every year. Nothing special or different about that last time.”
“Did you see Jasmine that night?”
“She was there, greeting people with her dad and Millie. Later she went with a group of us who took plates of food down to the back lawn to eat.”
“You were with her, then?”
“There was a whole crowd of us. Some friends of Jasmine’s I didn’t know, and Jed and Beth and Cindy and me.”
“Was she drinking?”
“I don’t tell tales. But we were all pretty happy that night. Jed and Jasmine, they’d had an argument earlier. But by the end of the evening, they seemed pretty cozy.”
“So you were with them the whole time?”
“When they were eating. Then Jed and Jasmine went for a walk, and Beth was talking to someone she’d gone to high school with. Carole tried to get me to talk about how Jed felt about Jasmine. Carole’d been his girl the year before that. But I didn’t think it was her business. I decided to go for a walk of my own.”
“Where did you go?”
“Around that back field. Waited for the fireworks to start. And they were right on time.”
“Did you see Jasmine after that?”
“Why’re you asking all these questions? Jasmine’s dead forty-five years now.” She pulled the black cape off my shoulders. “And your hair’s done.”
I looked in the mirror. My hair was a little shorter, about chin length, but it was no longer straight. Instead, it fell in loose waves around my face. I touched my hair lightly, to see if the curls would stay. They did. Not bad!
“Thanks, Elsa. You did a good job.”
“I do the best I can.”
Chapter 36
May your bobbin always be full.
—Anonymous saying
Gram had outdone herself for dinner. Pan-fried scallops (in panko, light Japanese bread crumbs, to cut down on calories), homemade (of course) tartar sauce made with bread-and-butter pickles, and a salad. And, most important, generous slices of strawberry-rhubarb pie for dessert. “It’s the season,” she announced. “Fruit is healthy, right?”
“Absolutely,” I agreed, serving myself another slice.
Gram looked at me sidewise. “I like what Elsa Fitch did with your hair. It was getting a little straggly.”
I nodded, mouth full of pie.
“Elsa’s a mite strange, but she’s a good hairdresser.”
“You’ve been going to Mane Waves for years.”
“Ever since she opened her own place. She cut my hair before that, too, when she was at another salon. I can’t even remember the name of that place now.”
“She and her sister, Beth, my second-grade teacher, came to the sale Saturday,” I said. “And she told me she was at that last party the Gardeners had.”
Gram nodded absently. “Lots of people in town were there that night.”
“Do you remember seeing Elsa, or anyone in her family?”
Gram thought a minute. “Her brother, Jed, was a little younger that I was. He and Jasmine were together a lot that summer. I saw them at the yacht club. Beth was older than I was. She’d been away at college. Then she left for the Peace Corps. I didn’t really know her until after she came back and started teaching in town.”
“Jed went to college?”
“The next year. University of Maine. Football scholarship. He’d hoped to go to a Big Ten school, but the Black Bears offered him the best deal. He didn’t stay all four years, though. I vaguely remember hearing he’d lost his scholarship. Flunked out. For a while he went back to working for his dad as a stern man, but then he started doing small repairs for people in town. He still paints rooms and fixes drains and such for folks. But about ten years ago, Cindy, his wife, convinced him to get a real estate license, so now he sells real estate, too.”
“Those jobs go together. Help someone fix their house up to get it in shape to sell, and then do future repairs for the new owner.”
“True,” Gram acknowledged. “He’ll never make a fortune, but he’s a good, steady worker. Same as Elsa and Beth.”
“Elsa said she’d wanted to be a marine biologist or an astronaut,” I shared. “I wonder why she changed her mind and became a hairdresser, instead.”
“Simple answer to that,” said Gram. “Her mother was sickly. Migraines and stomach problems and such. Enough complaints to keep her to her bed a lot of the time. Today someone might say she was depressed. I’m no doctor. But she never seemed to get her life together. Elsa was the youngest. With Beth in the Peace Corps and Jed in college, their father expected Elsa to stay home and take care of their mother and the house. There was some talk about it at the time, but Elsa agreed to commute to beauty school in Portland instead of going to college. Once she got started in that direction, she didn’t turn around.”
“She seems to have done well enough.”
“True. Sometimes life interferes with the plans people have.”
I could tell she was thinking of other people, not just Elsa. Of Mama, who’d gotten pregnant too young? Or herself, who’d been widowed early? Or me, who’d had to cope with the fallout from Mama’s disappearance and never considered college? (Unless you counted the couple of courses I took at Arizona State, which bored me to death.) Would I have made different choices if I’d had a father, as well as a mother? Or if Mama hadn’t been murdered?
Maybe. But maybe not.
Gram finished stacking plates in the sink to wash and turned toward me. “Does your friend Skye really think she can find out about Jasmine all these years later?”
“She isn’t sure,” I said. “But she hopes so. It’s her house now, and she’s curious about what happened there.”
“Well, I have nothing more to add except what I told you the other day. I saw Jasmine earlier in the eveni
ng. She was playing with some of the toddlers at the party, handing out balloons and balls.” Gram stopped and smiled. “She had a dozen or so Hula-hoops, and she tried to show some of the six- or seven-year-old girls how to use them. I remember thinking it made a pretty picture—Jasmine with all the little girls and the Day-Glo Hula-hoops. In fact, I remember a woman taking pictures of them.”
“Did you know the woman?”
Gram shook her head. “It could have been anyone. I remember the flashes of Hula-hoops in the sun, and someone with a camera.”
Linda Zaharee, perhaps? Children and Hula-hoops might be a scene she’d have photographed.
“Then Jasmine wasn’t with her friends all the time.”
“I think one friend was with her. Another girl.” Gram frowned, trying to remember. “It was a long time ago, Angel. Jasmine was usually at the center of a group of young people. She wasn’t one to stay alone for long. Most of the time that summer she was with Jed Fitch and his friends.” She hung her dishcloth on a hook near the sink. “I told you. I wasn’t paying much attention to other people then.”
I nodded. Gram had remembered something new from that evening: Jasmine playing with Hula-hoops. And a photographer. But that wouldn’t have been in the last hour of the party. It would have been getting dark by eight-thirty at the beginning of September.
If Jasmine had been drinking heavily, she would have started earlier than the last hour of the party, though. Would she be playing with children and Hula-hoops if she was high? Who knew?
Too many unanswered questions.
Chapter 37
Useful and ornamental needlework, knitting, and netting are capable of being made, not only sources of personal gratification, but of high moral benefit, and the means of developing in surpassing loveliness and grace, some of the highest and noblest feelings of the soul.