They all murmured a hello back. Lana asked him how he was and invited him to sit with them.
"I can't stay, I'm late for a meeting now, maybe another time," Evan replied. "Did I see you talking to Lieutenant Sheski a few minutes ago?" he asked.
Lana's face reddened a little and she nodded her head. "Do you know him?" she asked, averting her eyes to look at the muffin she was eating.
"We've met professionally a couple of times. He's a good guy. Smart, too. I was part of the investigating team when his wife was killed." Pausing, he added, "Are you two seeing each other or something?"
Without answering him directly, Lana answered, "He's the investigator assigned to the Rose Stone murder." She wanted to ask him about Tommy's wife but decided against it.
"Oh yeah, I heard about that. Are you all right? That must have been terrible for you."
"It was. But I'm okay now."
"I'd gladly come over and help in any way I can," he offered, waiting for her response.
"You know I'd call if I needed to," Lana said.
Evan looked disappointed. "Well, I've gotta go," he said, looking at his watch. "Remember, if you need anything, some advice, or just to talk, just give me a call, okay?" he said to Lana, hopefully. Evan looked in her eyes for just a moment, turned to the others, and said, "I'll see ya" He then walked briskly through the same door that Sheski through which exited earlier.
Lana looked at her friends, who were looking back at her.
"He's still got it for you," Barbara said in a singsongy tone. "I can tell."
"I hope not," Lana countered. "He's really a nice guy and deserves someone who feels the same way about him."
"How about this Tommy guy," Barbara added. "What's he to you?"
"Nothing. We just met," she said, defending herself again. "Besides," she joked, "My personal life is none of your business anyway. Not that he's in my personal life ... Not that I have a personal life ... Not that I'm interested in him or anything." The hole Lana was digging got deeper and deeper.
SATURDAY EVENING
Gordon Ashman, great-grandson of Andrew Ashman, founder of the now-defunct Danville Iron Mill, had the same good business sense as the Ashman males before him. Educated at Harvard, the wealthy fifty-two-year-old collector of Civil War memorabilia had even managed to turn his hobby into a successful venture.
The gray granite Ashman mansion at the edge of Danville was stately and imposing in both size and style. It was unmistakable to visitors, though, that the house was a lived-in home. The furnishings, tasteful collectibles, were comfortable and inviting to those who came through the double walnut front doors. Civil War catalogs and history books were strewn about the den. The large home came complete with a ballroom that was built during the heyday of the iron industry by the company founder. In a gesture similar to those of great men before him, he erected the home as a tribute to his wife Ella, the love of his life. A large, ornate iron fence, decorated with peacocks, surrounded the property. The design was a one of a kind his foundry produced just for her, despite requests from other wealthy families.
"You can't have it," he would say. "That pattern is for my Ella" Then he would smile lovingly at her, and she at him.
In addition to inheriting the Ashman property, Gordon had inherited his great-grandfather's innate intelligence, good character, and wisdom. He was well-respected throughout his community, and for good reason. Gordon was what was once referred to as a gentleman. He was a kind, faithful husband to his wife Gladys, and a good father to their two sons and daughter.
Gordon was in the study reading a Civil War journal, trying to take his mind off the recent murder. Gladys quietly entered the room.
"We must be going, darling," she said gently to her husband. "I telephoned Lesley to let him know that we would soon be stopping by to spend some time with him. How awful for him and Karen. They must be so upset."
She touched his shoulder affectionately before leaving the room to get her coat.
Gladys, of average height and build with a pretty face framed by soft brown hair, moved about with the grace of a dancer. An avid golfer, she had spent some time at the club with Rose. They had also served on the boards of several local charities together. Gladys lacked Rose's pushiness and pomposity but they shared a fondness for the town. She was friendly to Dr. Stone's wife as she was to most people, but, because of their personality differences, didn't count Rose among her closest friends.
Gordon joined his wife in the foyer and helped her on with her coat. Standing under the brass chandelier centered near the doorway, he pulled her close and silently thanked God for her. He could feel her gentle warmth beneath the leather. He never tired of touching her.
Despite his wealth, Gordon knew his real treasure was his loved ones. He also knew that Lesley Stone did not feel the same about his family. He had heard the rumors about town, had seen the knowing looks amongst club members at their tables when Lesley and Kylie Burns were having lunch together. He was disgusted at the thought of Lesley carrying on with his own partner's wife. And Kylie was even one of Rose's friends. Twice he had accidentally walked in on them at Lesley's office, their clothes askew and her make-up smudged. Embarrassed, he had made hasty exits, promising to call Lesley later.
His own friend's wife. How could he do that? Gordon wondered. And what about Rose? He shuddered to think what Rose would have done had she known. Well, he didn't have to worry about that now. She would never know. At the thought of his friend's predicament, Gordon gave Gladys an extra strong hug. She smiled up at him, unaware of the source of her husband's tight embrace.
"We should be going now. Lesley and Karen will need to have friends with them at this time," she said, not really wanting to interrupt the moment.
EARLY SATURDAY EVENING
Lesley Stone had been receiving friends and neighbors at his home in the Sweetriver development all Saturday evening. They called or arrived to express their condolences and offer assistance. Some came hoping to get a glimpse of the now-sanitized crime scene. A few were disappointed to find that all traces of the murder had been cleansed from the kitchen.
A special cleaning crew had been dispatched by the Stones' house-cleaning service as soon as the police released the area back to the psychiatrist. Rose's lifeless body was now resting at the funeral home, awaiting private services and then burial.
Lesley gave a brief thought to how he would dispose of her belongings. I could probably sell them somewhere and make out pretty good, he thought. Rose always bought the best. He brushed it off, figuring he'd take care of that later, when he had some privacy.
Rose would have hated a public viewing, he thought. She never went anywhere unless she was meticulously groomed and dressed. With that damned diamond everpresent on her right hand. Where was that diamond? He wanted it back.
There was already a small gathering at the Stone residence when, at 6:15 P.M., on his way to Lana's, Lieutenant Sheski waved his badge at the Sweetriver guard shack. He knew that he could get to his date with Lana by 7 P.M., if he left here by 6:50.
Sheski drove his late model beige Cougar up to the front of the Stones' home and parked. He straightened his tie, cleared his throat, and walked toward the house. He could feel the crisp fall chill in the air and looked up at the clear, star-filled sky.
Approaching the sidewalk, he observed the beautiful tile and glass artwork beneath his feet. Looking down in awe, he understood what had entranced Lana the day of Rose's murder. The entire walkway was luminescent, lit up from some invisible light source beneath it. It enabled the visitors not only to see their way to the house but also to have something to admire. The effect was breathtaking.
Upon reaching the front door, Sheski took one last look back the way he came, rang the doorbell, and waited for an answer.
For the lieutenant, this was purely a social call, but if he observed anything that could be used in an official capacity, all the better.
It was not uncommon for detectives to make a so
cial call on a murder victim's family. After all, they would be working closely with them to bring the murderer to justice. Expressing condolences at a gathering such as this could aid in getting to know each other.
The door was opened with a "Good Evening" from a uniformed butler, who took the lieutenant's dark overcoat and motioned to the living room, where Dr. Stone was busy with friends.
Sheski walked slowly through the large rooms, past guests milling quietly about with porcelain cups and hors d'oeuvre plates in hand. He noticed that some were making small talk, heads close together, while others stood silently, unsure of what to say.
Sheski managed to overhear some conversations praising Dr. Stone for his commitment to his clients. They spoke of how brilliantly he managed the patients' dosage of psychiatric medications and therapy sessions. His dedication to their recovery and well-being was made a top priority.
Nearby, the lieutenant saw Jerry Smithson handing his business card to an uptight young couple. Jerry explained his firm's operation to the young man, patting him on the back for emphasis. The couple looked uncomfortable. Jerry appeared not to notice.
Sheski approached the recently-widowed psychiatrist, and, with an outstretched hand, murmured, "Please accept my heartfelt condolences, Dr. Stone"
The doctor looked a little surprised to see him, but shook the offered hand warmly after assurances it was not a professional call, but strictly social.
"Thank you for coming, Lieutenant. It means a lot to me to know that you are on the case. Please, make yourself at home" He displayed the sad countenance of grieving. "You must come visit me again after all of this is over. I could show you around and we could talk about more pleasant topics then"
Sheski wordlessly nodded his head.
The doctor looked about self-consciously to see if others recognized the policeman. When apparently none did, the relieved host introduced Sheski to Dr. and Mrs. Richard Burns, who were standing near a lighted display case, and then went to greet some new arrivals.
Sheski observed uniformed help walking about offering refreshments to the many callers in the home. People from all walks of life were present. Most looked well-heeled, but some of Rose's acquaintances from her various charitable groups were also there.
Some guests talked in low tones amongst themselves regarding Rose's many contributions to her community, praising the deceased as if she were a saint. Others couldn't keep their eyes off the art deco treasures. Jade, onyx, and bronze pieces were tastefully arranged about the house. Carved ivory nudes from Wenzel in Berlin, Deckel in Munich, and Kempf in Taunis were displayed in a lit, black lacquered display cabinet. An enviable collection.
An original Dupas painting of an elaborately dressed woman clutching her jewelry box was featured in the formal dining room. While admiring it, Sheski felt a light touch on his back. He turned to see a familiar face smiling back.
"How have you been?" Evan Hayes asked.
"Well," replied Sheski.
"Good," Evan replied sincerely. "Here as a friend, or is this a fact-finding mission?"
"Looking for answers. I never knew these people before Rose Stone's murder. How about you?"
"Strictly social. Rose and I co-chaired a charity together. She was one of a kind."
"So I've heard," Sheski replied sarcastically.
"Oh yeah, I hear Lana Stahl discovered the body," Evan remarked casually, watching Sheski's expression.
Sheski sensed that Evan knew something. "Yes, she did. It was quite a shock for her. You know Lana?" he asked inquisitively.
"We use to go out together." He looked around before saying, "That was awhile ago. How about you? You seeing anyone?"
Sheski was unsure how to answer that but chose a truthful, though evasive reply. "Not really."
Before he could go on, Jerry Smithson walked by and, spying Evan, queried, "Where are you on the Courter divorce? I've been waiting for your reply on our proposal."
Sheski was glad for the interruption. He wasn't sure where Evan's questioning might head and didn't really want to discuss Lana with him.
Jerry had Evan on the defensive and Sheski said, "Later," to his old acquaintance and moved out into the foyer. Evan sighed and huddled with Smithson in a corner.
Despite the appeal of the many treasures, most peo ple eventually gravitated to a four-by-six oil on canvas in the foyer. It was a painting of three small, blond girls with sad little smiles. They were dressed in turn-ofthe-century finery and playing with porcelain-bodied dolls.
Sheski, too, was drawn to it. The angelic innocence of the young children, their fingernails painted daintily in bright colors, and the detail of the artwork were compelling. As his eyes crossed the picture he noticed, in the left corner, the unmistakable Pratt signature. A large P with a whimsical child's face in the loop.
"Do you like it?" a man's voice inquired from behind. Lieutenant Sheski turned and was surprised to see John Deadly eyeing him. The security man was absently manipulating some of the flowers in arrangements that had been sent to the home earlier in the day.
"Why, yes, I do," he replied evenly. "However, knowing the Pratt history, it seems a bit morbid."
Sheski saw Deadly's face cloud at his response.
"Do you know how rare a Pratt is?" Deadly said pompously. "Few are found outside the hospital walls. I could count on one hand the households that boast an original. None are in museums despite their attempts to get their hands on one. Pratts are passed from generation to generation in this town. Children fight over who will inherit them. Oliver Pratt took almost a year to paint each one, no matter the size. They are meticulous in design and detail." He paused. "Experts believe that the children he painted were his victims."
He awaited the effect of this last statement on the lieutenant. Sheski's flat expression did not change.
"His scenes of early life on the Susquehanna river show extraordinary detail," Deadly went on. "The details document the minutiae of his time. Look how beautifully he captures the landscaping along the waterway" His eyes glistened, transfixed on the canvas. He beamed with pride, which Sheski believed was due to his knowledge of art.
"Pratt must have had some mobility during his hospitalization in order to accomplish all that," Sheski said.
Studying the smaller man, the detective observed that this was the first time he had seen him out of uniform. And in a suit, no less, and without that tam. He looked smaller than his already diminutive size but no less intimidating. He had an air of calm authority which he wore brazenly. This is a man who is used to telling people what to do and knowing how to get them to do it, Sheski observed. It probably has something to do with his military background.
"What did this guy look like?" asked Sheski quizzically. "Did he ever paint his own picture?"
"Pratt wrote in his journal that he only painted one self-portrait. He considered himself a small, unattractive man and didn't like mirrors or his picture taken."
Sheski looked sharply at Deadly, realizing that the man must had read the dilapidated Pratt journal.
Deadly's voice then took on an unmistakable edge. "Not to change the subject, but is this a social call, or professional?"
The quick change of tone and subject surprised Sheski, who quickly, too quickly, replied, "Strictly social. This was a cold-blooded murder of a woman and I just wanted to pay my respects to the family."
Sheski wondered to himself why he felt as if he had to answer Deadly. He had been caught off guard. That didn't happen too often, and he didn't like it when it did.
He glanced at his watch, met Deadly's stern gaze, and said, "I must be going. It's been interesting. Oh, I'll be coming around to see you soon" He paused. "Professionally. I have some questions to ask you ... on the record"
"I'll be ready," Deadly said, bristling.
A casual observer couldn't have missed the animosity between the two.
Sheski despised Deadly's air of superiority and threatening looks, his strut, and his cold, knowing stare.
/> Deadly viewed Sheski as an enemy. Someone who was bullying his way into his turf. After all, he was the head of security at Stone Haven. I probably make more money than that gumshoe could dream of, Deadly thought cockily. And I'm worth it.
Sheski was walking toward the library to retrieve his coat when he caught sight of Dr. Stone and Kylie Burns huddled behind one of the etched blue-glass library doors. Whispering intently, they did not see him coming. The taller psychiatrist was affectionately looking down at the smaller, attractive woman. His right arm was around her tiny waist, though he quickly drew it away when he sensed someone was nearby.
"Excuse me," Sheski said noncommittally to both Lesley and Kylie. "I was just leaving. Again, please accept my condolences, Dr. Stone. I'll be in touch."
The doctor self-consciously replied, "Thank you, I'll look forward to hearing from you"
Kylie stepped back and gave neither man eye contact.
The Ashmans arrived shortly before 7 P.M. as Sheski was leaving. They came through the door, were introduced to him, and asked if there was anything they could do to assist with the investigation.
"If so, please call anytime," Gordon instructed him.
Sheski assured the couple that if he needed them, they would be contacted. They then turned their attention to their bereaved friend.
Gordon and Gladys hugged their friend, murmuring words of sorrow and offering to help in any way. Lesley thanked the couple, turned to scrutinize Sheski's departure, and invited them into his living room.
"We're so sorry," Gladys murmured. "It's such a tragedy. How is Karen? Is she here yet?"
"She won't be coming. This has been overwhelming for her and she is at her home trying to cope," he replied tonelessly.
Neither of the Ashmans believed him. They knew of the Stones' estrangement from their daughter and the circumstances surrounding it.
Gordon had tried unsuccessfully to talk sense into Lesley and Rose about their daughter's engagement right after it happened. Rose wouldn't even discuss it. She indicated her confidence that Karen would come to her senses, knowing she would get nothing further from them unless she did. Rose even went so far as to say that she would soon be consulting a lawyer to make some changes in her will.
Stone Haven Page 7