by Jen J. Danna
“Here he is … Charles Ward. Born eighteen-ninety-six, no date of death. He was last seen by his wife on February fourth, nineteen-thirty-six. He went out that night and never came home. The wife had him legally declared dead in nineteen-forty-three but no trace of him was ever found. Look, here’s a picture of him with Babe Ruth in nineteen-thirty-five before Boston’s first home game of the season. That was Ruth’s last year playing.” He turned his laptop around to show Leigh the black and white picture of Babe Ruth in a Braves uniform and dark ball cap, holding the end of a bat and standing beside a man in a dark three-piece suit with slicked-back dark hair, oval spectacles, and a shrewd gleam in his eye.
Leigh paused in the process of loading the first plate into the microwave to squint at the screen. “He looks rich.”
“He was rich. Rich, and, for his time, famous. And if Rowe is right, tied to the Mob.” He turned the laptop back around and started to zoom in on the image. “Son of a bitch. Come look at this.”
Leigh started the microwave before crossing the room to join him. “What?”
“Does that look like the same ring to you?” Matt pointed to the now grainy blown-up image. A heavy ring with a dark, square-cut stone encircled the fourth finger of Ward’s right hand.
Leigh whistled and then glanced sideways to meet his gaze. “Could be. We’ll need to find some more pictures and I need to contact any remaining family. But that’ll have to wait until after I’ve informed Mr. Holt’s next of kin about his death. We had trouble tracking down his dentist over the weekend, but Rowe is expecting the dental charts first thing tomorrow. Once we have the ID confirmed, I’ll inform the family.”
“Guess you won’t need me this time? Since that’s not my case and all.”
“I’ve got this one, thanks. Coincidental locations don’t make for connected cases.”
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and giving her a measured look. “But you don’t believe in coincidences.”
“True. But you’re not going to tell me that the deaths of two unrelated people who died eighty years apart are connected, are you?”
“You have a point. Fact is stranger than fiction, but that one doesn’t make sense even to me.”
The microwave dinged. “Why don’t you put that away for now,” Leigh suggested. “Let’s take this into the living room. You’re going to drop if you try to push it much further. That way, if you doze off into your plate, you’re already on the couch.”
Matt closed the lid of his laptop and pushed it a few inches away. “Normally I’d be all for a few extra hours of work, but right now my concentration is shot.”
Leigh handed him a plate of steaming rice, stir-fried vegetables, and pepper steak. “Go on, I’ll warm up my plate and be there in a minute.”
Matt’s steps dragged as he wandered down the hallway. He misjudged the turn into the living room, scraping his shoulder against the door frame. Rolling his eyes at his uncharacteristic clumsiness, he set his plate down on the coffee table, pushing a large white envelope sealed in a clear plastic bag out of his way. He started to straighten and then paused, his gaze going back to the envelope. Looks like an evidence bag. Curious, he flipped it over.
Shock and disbelief left his mouth sagging slackly. Having seen the other envelopes, he knew exactly what it was. The end was ripped open—clearly Leigh already knew the contents—but she hadn’t felt it important enough to share with him? They’d been together all day. He could understand that she wouldn’t want to mention it in front of the students, but they were alone before starting the recovery. She could have mentioned it. Or after the drive back to Salem. There was more than enough time then.
Leigh’s uncharacteristic hesitation on the line during Friday night’s call suddenly sprang to mind. Surely this was the reason—this little emotional bomb that likely arrived in Friday’s mail. Which meant she’d left him in the dark on purpose.
An unexpected, illogical fury rushed through Matt, drowning exhaustion under a wave of temper. Gripping the envelope in a white-knuckled fist, he stormed back to the kitchen. Leigh’s back was to him as she took her plate out of the microwave. “What the hell is this?”
Leigh whirled, startled by his tone of voice. “What is wh—?” She stuttered to a halt at the evidence in his hands, color rising in her cheeks. “Oh … that. It came a few days ago.”
“And you weren’t going to tell me about it? I thought we were a team. Maybe even more than that.”
“We are.” Her eyes went to slits as her voice rose. “But just because we’re a team doesn’t mean that I need to share every single thing that comes into my life.”
“That’s what partners do, Leigh. They help each other share the load. You shut me out.” His words lashed out, the tone razor-sharp.
“Give me some credit, will you?” She twisted her hands together, the skin mottling in patches of white and red under the growing pressure. “Maybe I was trying to do you a favor.”
“How, exactly?”
“Believe it or not, I was trying to respect the fact that you have a life and responsibilities of your own. You always make yourself available when I need you. This time, you had your own work.”
“I was three thousand miles away. I wasn’t going to just pop in,” he snarled. “You purposely kept me in the dark.”
“You know very well that you’d have come home if I’d asked. You probably would have come even if I said not to. You were willing to jump on a plane just because of the case. So if I’d told you that another package arrived, you’d have been on my doorstep for sure.”
“Wouldn’t it have been nice if you’d let me make that choice? Yes, my work is important to me. But apparently you think you aren’t?”
“That’s not what I’m saying!” In frustration, Leigh turned back toward the counter, bracing her hands against the edge and leaning on stiffly locked arms, pausing to take several deep breaths. “Look, this is getting us nowhere,” she said to the cupboards in an attempt at a more measured tone. “I made a judgment call, knowing that you were going to be coming back soon and I could show you then. But I wasn’t expecting you until tonight at the earliest, and I didn’t think I’d see you until tomorrow.”
“Which is why you carelessly left it on the table. Leigh, this came to your house.” He tossed the envelope onto her kitchen table with more force than necessary, and it slid nearly all the way to the far edge. “They know where you live. You shouldn’t be the only one who knows about this. You should have told me.”
She whirled on him, her eyes snapping with anger. But something else hidden behind the anger caught at him, something darker and heavier, something that weighed on the soul. “Don’t you understand that I wanted you here? That every time one of these packages shows up, the bottom drops out of my stomach and I break out in a cold sweat? That I’m afraid to open the package because I don’t know if I’m going to be able to breathe after seeing what’s inside? Do you know what it took for me not to call you and beg you to come home, to be with me when I opened it?”
Matt’s anger drained away in the face of such bleakly naked pain, leaving him hollowed out in its wake. He reached out a hand as if he could touch her through the fifteen feet separating them. “Leigh—”
But she continued as if she hadn’t heard him. She didn’t meet his eyes and her hands were clenched into fists at her side, her body stiff. “You were my courage the second time around. Having you beside me let me draw from your strength when it felt like I didn’t have any of my own. And there you were on the other side of the country and I was alone and I didn’t know if I could do it without you and—”
He simply couldn’t take any more and crossed the room to pull her against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, one hand cupping the back of her head, stilling her words as he pressed her face against his throat and rocked them both from side to side. “Leigh, no more. For the love of God, no more. I’m here now.” He closed his eyes, bending his head low to p
ress his cheek against hers. “Shhh …”
For a moment she stood rigid in his arms, and then hers wrapped around him, her hands catching great fistfuls of his shirt and hanging on. For long minutes he rocked her, holding tight and rubbing her back slowly with his free hand. Finally, a great warm sigh gusted against his throat and she started to pull back. He let her go, but only far enough to cup her face and search her expression.
Most of the color had left her face, accenting the dark shadings of stress and exhaustion under her eyes. He ran his thumbs softly over her cheekbones. “I’m sorry.” He bent and pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. “I’m overtired and I was way out of line.”
She sighed quietly, capitulation heavy in the sound. “I haven’t been sleeping well since this arrived and I’ve been feeling guilty about not filling you in on Friday night and—”
Matt laid an index finger over her lips. “No harm, no foul. But next time, give me the option. If you don’t want me to come, tell me and I won’t. But don’t leave me in the dark. You could have even had me on the phone with you. Or Skype. Anything. We can always find a way to work it out.”
Her head tipped downward and she nodded.
Slipping a finger under her chin, he angled her face back up toward him. “And I don’t want to hear you say you don’t have the strength to do it on your own. You’re one of the strongest people I know. Clearly, you did have the strength. But next time, don’t put yourself through it. Now, can you tell me what’s in the envelope?”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Nothing too horrifying this time, thank God. Three drug bust files, two from the Salem P.D. Criminal Investigation Division but there’s one file from the Essex Detective Unit involving Trooper First Class Robert Mercer.”
“You’ve never mentioned him.”
“That’s because he died in the line of duty shortly before I joined the unit three years ago.” She hesitated, gnawing on her bottom lip. “I know you want to see this stuff, but can it wait? I’m tired, and you’re exhausted. I’d rather look at it again when we’re both fresh. I promise we will. Just … not tonight.”
“All right, not tonight.” He glanced down the hallway toward the living room where his meal was getting cold. “Let’s eat and then grab a shower. We’re both covered in mortar dust. Then let’s relax for the evening and we’ll start again fresh tomorrow.”
“Sounds good. Go get your plate and I’ll warm it up again.”
At the doorway, Matt looked back into the kitchen, taking in Leigh’s pinched lips and furrowed brow. They needed to get to the bottom of this investigation into Leigh’s father. It was taking too much out of her, always catching her unawares and keeping her on edge.
Maybe it was time to pull in the big guns. And when it came to sneaky and under the radar, from what he’d heard, there was only one man for the job.
Rob Tucker.
Sunday, 4:36 p.m.
Abbott Residence
Salem, Massachusetts
“Now that you’re showered, would you like a glass of wine? As long as you don’t think it’ll make you fall—” Freshly showered and dressed casually in yoga pants and a fleece hoodie, Leigh stopped abruptly in the living room doorway, the words dying in her throat.
Across the room, Matt lay stretched out on the sofa, one of her throw pillows stuffed under his head and held in the crook of his arm. His eyes were closed, his lashes throwing shadows over the already dark smudges under his eyes as his chest rose and fell rhythmically.
The caffeine had run its course, and the last thirty-five hours plus their argument had finally caught up with him. He was asleep.
Tiptoeing across the room, Leigh lifted the warm woven throw blanket from the back of the couch. She shook it out and then gently laid it over him, tucking it around him. Bending down, she pushed his damp hair aside and dropped a light kiss onto his temple, just above the scar he acquired during a fire-fight in Afghanistan. He mumbled something unintelligible, the last word drifting off into a soft sigh.
Picking up her book from the end table, she sat down in a nearby wing chair, tucking her feet up under her. With one last look at her exhausted partner, she opened her book and settled in, keeping watch as he slept.
CHAPTER SEVEN: ROOT BEER
* * *
Root beer: a nonalcoholic beverage first developed in the eighteenth century by Temperance activists in the naïve hope that it would replace real beer in popularity.
Monday, 2:15 p.m.
Beacon Street
Boston, Massachusetts
The icy wind whipped the last of autumn’s dried leaves around Leigh’s feet as she climbed the front steps of the magnificent four-story brownstone. Here in Beacon Hill, she was surrounded by some of the grandest houses Boston had to offer. Hunching her shoulders against the cold, she knocked on the door and then quickly jammed her fists in her pockets. Winter’s chill was already in the air, and she regretted leaving her gloves behind on the kitchen counter when she left the house that morning.
As the seconds dragged by, she found her gaze drifting across the street to where the historic Boston Common stretched down the hill toward the Public Garden. Over the years, the Common had been a cow pasture, a gathering place, an execution site, an Army campground, and the Central Burying Ground dating from 1756. Now the oldest city park in the United States, it was nearly deserted on this gloomy, breezy afternoon with only a few lone figures hurrying through, stooped against the wind and clutching Starbucks coffees. Through the denuded trees, Leigh’s gaze found the soaring Soldiers and Sailors Monument, a tall neoclassical column dedicated to the men of Boston who lost their lives in the Civil War.
The sound of a lock sliding back caused Leigh to turn back toward the house. The heavy green door opened to reveal a young woman in neat black pants and a tailored white shirt, her hair in a perfectly coiffed, conservative bob. “May I help you?”
Leigh proffered her badge. “Trooper Abbott of the Massachusetts State Police out of Essex. I’d like to speak with Evelyn Holt.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Holt is not receiving callers this afternoon.”
The woman started to close the door and Leigh slapped her palm against it, holding it open. “I’m sorry, perhaps I wasn’t clear. This isn’t a social call. I’m here on police business and need to see Mrs. Holt immediately.”
Leigh watched the internal struggle reflected in every nuance of the other woman’s expression, but she held her ground. She wasn’t leaving until she had informed next of kin.
With a restrained sigh, the other woman stepped back, opening the door wide. “Come in. I’ll see if Mrs. Holt is available.”
She will be, Leigh thought as she entered a foyer of elegant Venetian plastered walls, rich hardwood floors, and a sweeping mahogany staircase. She tried to not look awed by her surroundings, but the moment the woman disappeared down the hallway, Leigh spun in a slow circle, goggling at the quiet opulence. Easily one hundred and fifty years old, the house’s owners had meticulously maintained the nineteenth-century accents—high ceilings, ornate crown moldings, intricate wainscoting, and gleaming wood as far as the eye could see.
Leigh managed to close her mouth and stop gaping like a tourist just before the woman returned.
“Madam will see you now. She’s working in the library, but has consented to a short visit.”
Leigh followed the other woman down the hall, past a richly furnished living room that looked out over the street and the green space beyond. They continued down the corridor until they reached a closed door. The other woman opened the door just far enough to lean in. “Trooper Abbott, ma’am.”
The older woman didn’t even raise her head from where she bent over her writing desk. “Thank you, Hilary. You may bring the tea now.”
Hilary waved a hand for Leigh to enter and she stepped into the room. The door closed behind her with a quiet click.
For a moment, the room remained silent except for the scratch of pen on paper as the
older woman continued her writing. Trying not to grow impatient at the obvious slight, Leigh let her gaze drift over the room. It was a classic English library, paneled in satiny dark wood. Mrs. Holt’s wide writing desk sat before the window, the late afternoon light falling over neat stacks of cards and envelopes. A fireplace of gold marble stood between towering built-in bookcases crammed with leather-bound books, and a heavy iron chandelier hung from the ceiling, filling the room with a subtle glow enhanced by pairs of sconces on each side of the mantel. When she continued to be ignored, Leigh wandered over to the classically styled globe mounted on a tall wood pedestal and gave it a gentle spin with her fingers.
Mrs. Holt set down her pen and turned slightly in her chair. “My apologies, Trooper. We had a charity fundraiser for the Boston Children’s Hospital and I’m still writing thank you notes for organizers and contributors a week later. Now, what can I do for you?”
Leigh took a seat in an overstuffed armchair near the desk, finally getting her first real look at the older woman. Mrs. Holt appeared to be in her mid-seventies, but the brightness in her eyes reflected a much younger mind. She wore an elegant silk blouse and her steel-gray hair was swept back into a neat chignon. Clearly an afternoon at home was cause to dress formally, even when company wasn’t expected. “Ma’am, I’m sorry to bring bad news, but your son’s body was discovered in an abandoned storage space in downtown Lynn on Friday. My condolences on your loss.”
Mrs. Holt’s face pursed with confusion. “I’m afraid that you must be mistaken, my dear. Peter is fine. In fact, he’s meeting me at L’Espalier for dinner tomorrow night.”
Leigh leaned forward, the insistence in her tone punctuating the serious nature of her message. “I’m afraid there’s no mistake, Mrs. Holt. We’ve confirmed identification by dental records.” The woman froze in apparent shock, and Leigh forced herself to gentle her voice, to soften the blow. “But you’re more than welcome to identify the deceased. Some victims’ families find it gives them closure when such a sudden death occurs. I can arrange that for you.”