by Parker Riggs
“An art exhibit in New York a couple weeks ago. I ran into one of her old friends. She was pretty drunk, but she told me Jess called her about six months after she’d left me, and she’d had a baby.” He looked up at the sky. With the glare of the spotlights, it was impossible to see the stars. “I didn’t even know she was pregnant.” Behind him, he heard the coroner tell the men to put the body on the gurney. “Apparently she moved here, to Haven, New Hampshire.”
“Why’d her friend wait so long to tell you about the phone call?”
“Jess swore her to secrecy,” Barrington said, “but I think she didn’t tell me because she didn’t like me.”
“Oh,” Rocky raised his eyebrows.
“It’s okay,” Barrington said. “The feeling was mutual.”
Rose walked to the end of the deck. She watched the men load the gurney.
Rocky looked at her. “Did Hal have any luck?”
“Last time I spoke to him was yesterday afternoon.” Rose kept her back to them. “He didn’t have anything to report.”
Barrington could hear the gurney being wheeled over the gravel driveway. “I need a minute,” he said.
In the bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face, ran his hands through his wild hair and fixed the loose scarf around his neck, but he still looked as if he’d stepped out of a tornado. When he went back outside, Rose was talking to Rocky in a quiet voice.
“Mr. Bigelow, I’ll need to get your statement on record,” Rocky said, “but it’s late, so if you want to stop by the station in the morning, that’d be fine.”
“I’ll do that,” Barrington said.
“The crime scene techs will be here a while,” Rose said. “You’re welcome to spend the night at my house, if you like.”
“I don’t want to put anyone out,” Barrington said, but he was relieved when Rose insisted. He never could have slept in that cottage.
“Give him a ride,” Rocky said to Rose. “He looks exhausted.”
On the drive over, Barrington opened the window and sucked in the cool, fresh air. It helped ease his rolling stomach and felt good on his face. “The night I got here, he said he’d picked up some supplies for me. They were all unpacked, and the key was under the mat, but maybe when he was leaving ...”
“His car is missing.”
Barrington looked at her. “You’re wondering how he got to Solitude?”
“I’m wondering where it is,” Rose said. “It’s pretty isolated out here; he’d need his car.”
Barrington looked out the window at the passing woods. The branches made skeletal shadows on the road. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Do you think whoever murdered Hal did it because he’s been asking around about Jessica?”
“It might even be Jessica herself who did it,” Rose said.
“That’s impossible. She could never kill someone.”
Rose stared ahead at the empty road. “People change,” she said quietly.
Chapter Six
As soon as Rose settled Barrington in the guest room, she closed the door to her own bedroom and called Daniel Vargas. Daniel was the unattainable love of her life, but that’s not why she called him. She thought she should tell someone at the CIA about Hal’s death, and Daniel had worked with Hal even longer at The Company than she had.
“Hal was a retired operations tech. Who’d want to kill him?” Rose realized she was clenching the phone. She tried to relax. Hal is dead kept repeating like an unwanted mantra in her mind. He’s really dead. She kept seeing his body being wheeled away on that gurney. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the way she used to when she’d been in a hot situation on the job or, for that matter, whenever Daniel’s dark brown eyes had rested on her like a kiss. Yikes!
“Hal moved to Haven to work for you,” Daniel pointed out, “and in case you’ve forgotten, you’re a high value target for someone looking to settle an old score. He might have been killed to send you a message.”
“Well, I have no idea what the message is.” Rose was sitting cross-legged on her bed, stripped down to a pink cotton bra and panties. The windows were wide open, and she could feel the cool night air on her exposed skin, but Daniel’s deep voice made her feel as if she’d swallowed a ball of fire. She imagined him in sweat pants and a University of Virginia tee-shirt, his dark hair slightly disheveled and a little longer than most senior agents wore theirs.
“You’ve got to consider the possibility,” he said.
The conversation was beginning to remind her of the ones they’d had after Cameron died. She couldn’t criticize Daniel for his suspicions. In the back of her own mind she knew some disenchanted nemesis might spring out of the shadows, gunning for a payback. “But I’ve been out more than five years.” She turned on her side and looked out at the trail the moon made on the water. “I can’t that imagine anyone in my past even thinks twice about me.”
“I think about you all the time.”
“You’re not in my past.” She pulled her hair away from her sweaty neck.
“I feel like I am.”
Rose bit her lip. He knew all the right buttons to push, but right now she wasn’t in the mood to get into the usual banter. She had enough on her mind, plus her body was being assaulted by a menopausal hot flash that had started ten minutes ago and seemingly had no end.
“Maybe this Jessica person is in Haven,” Daniel said, “and she killed Hal so he would stop looking for her.”
“If she is in Haven, she’s using a different name. For all we know, she’s living it up in Fiji.” They were quiet for a while. She rested her hand on Cosmo’s back. He was sound asleep and snoring. Lucky dog.
“What’s that Bigelow guy like?”
“A big teddy bear of a guy.”
“Bears are dangerous,” Daniel said. “That reminds me, there’s something else I have to talk to you about.”
Rose felt her stomach tighten.Sshe couldn’t help it. Even when she’d been married to Cameron, there had been a small part of her that was always hoping Daniel would tell her he was ready to change his life to be with her. But what he said next had nothing to do with that fantasy.
“I was talking to Agent Hammer this morning,” he said. “He was asking about you.”
“How is Hammer?”
“He’s good, but he told me the FBI’s got a case in Haven involving stolen paintings and a mob boss named Sandy Beach.”
Rose sat up in bed. “Sandy Beach? This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
“According to Brad, they think Beach has a contact in Haven who’s getting paintings across the Canadian border.”
“What? How long have they been here?”
“They think the mob scheme has been going on almost two years.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open.”
Daniel cleared his throat. “What are you going to do about funeral arrangements?”
A line of sweat trickled down the side of her face. Rose wiped it away. She wondered if talking to Daniel had escalated her hormones. “Hal told me once he wanted his ashes scattered on a hillside in Tuscany.”
“So you’ll go to Italy?”
“Eventually,” she rubbed her tired eyes.
“Want some company?”
As soon as you get a divorce, she wanted to say. Instead, she said, “First I’ve got to find a killer.”
Chapter Seven
The next morning Barrington sat in the conference room at Haven’s police headquarters with Rocky and Rose. Almost every guy in the squad room was straining to get a look at Rose through the conference room’s window. He couldn’t blame them. She reminded him of the retired models he liked to date, softer around the eyes and mouth than their younger counterparts but no less gorgeous.
“Let me be clear. It’s my job as the detective in charge of this case to find out who killed Hal, not find a missing woman.” Rocky tapped his pen on the open notebook in front of him. “I don’t have the manpower to look
for her.” He watched Barrington. “And anyway, Jessica Winters might have lied to that friend of hers about where she was going.” Barrington didn’t think his eyes seemed very sympathetic. “And have you considered she might be dead?”
“Of course,” Rose interjected. “We’ve also considered she might have changed her identity.”
Barrington felt his eyebrows shoot up. He didn’t realize she and Hal had been considering this.
“How’d you come up with that idea?” Rocky shifted his weight, and the chair creaked in protest.
“Well, it bothered us the way she fell off the face of the earth,” Rose said. “There’s no trace of her for thirty years, no car registration or Social Security, no record of employment.”
It hadn’t occurred to Barrington that Jess might have changed her identity to cover up her past. She seemed like one of those ethereal fairies who could disappear into the air at will.
“I understand you had a bad boy reputation,” Rocky said. Barrington noticed his shirt had a coffee stain on it. “Were you in trouble with the law?
“The only thing I’ve ever been guilty of is drinking too much,” Barrington said. “I’ve never been involved in anything criminal.”
“Domestic violence?” Rocky asked.
It was hard not to feel insulted, and Barrington felt himself puff up a little. “Nothing like that,” he said.
“So why do you think she ditched you?” Rocky asked.
The question stung. Barrington thought back to that day at the Met. You’re going to be a master one day. “Maybe she didn’t want me to know she was pregnant.”
Rose took off her jacket and threw it over the back of her chair. Barrington couldn’t help looking at her toned arms. “Was she afraid you’d make her get rid of it?”
“God, no,” Barrington said, but right after he said it, he realized he didn’t know what he would have done back then. The room felt close, hot suddenly, the fluorescent lights too bright.
Rocky scratched his uneven crew cut. “Let’s move on,” he said, and Barrington felt grateful to the big, gruff detective. “You got any evidence she’s in Haven?”
Rose shook her head, and her small diamond nose stud sparkled in the light. “Hal was looking for her, but I’m not sure he turned anything up. He was showing this photo around.” She passed Rocky a copy of that old photo of Jess standing on her tiptoes in Times Square, her arms outstretched as if she were getting ready to dance, her long brown hair spilling over her shoulders.
Rocky rubbed his forehead and stared at the photograph. “She looks like half the girls I went to high school with,” he said.
“If you don’t have the manpower to keep looking for her,” Rose said, “we will, Barrington and I.”
“All right,” Rocky said. “If you find her, I’ll bring her in for questioning.”
“Fair enough.” Rose looked triumphant, and the smattering of freckles across her cheeks seemed to brighten.
“I’m having some people over for a cookout tonight.” Rocky turned to Barrington. “You’re welcome to come along. I’m sure Rose will be happy to offer you a ride.” He stood, and the chair sprang up. “Now I’ve got to run to another meeting, but help yourself to coffee, and I think there might be some donuts in the squad room.” He smiled at Rose. “Just beware of the wolf pack out there.”
After the door closed Barrington turned to Rose. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
He wasn’t sure how he was going to deal with those eyes of hers. “Before I hired you, my attorney insisted I let him check your credentials.” He was trying hard to relax. He’d never had such a strong reaction to a woman before, not even Jessica. “He couldn’t find anything on you, nothing at all.”
“You’re curious about what I did before I opened Chandler Investigations.” Rose crossed her legs, which Barrington saw were long and very bare. He thought of his wild hair, faded blue jeans and the Oxford shirt he’d forgotten to press that morning. “I was a private investigator for a law firm in Washington, D.C.,” she said.
Barrington waited for her to say more until he realized she was done. He cleared his throat. “Well, where’s the best place to start looking for Jessica?”
“Hal wasn’t much of a note-taker.” Rose took an iPad out of her bag and turned it on. “I have no idea what he was doing on this case, so let me take some notes. Where did you meet her?”
“She was a sales clerk at Artsy Phartsy, the art gallery that first showed my work,” he said. “She moved in with me. She didn’t have any money, so I paid for everything.”
“Family?”
He shook his head. “She hated her parents, had nothing to do with them.” Barrington was afraid to take a drink of water, his throat felt so tight.
“And who’s the woman you talked to at that art exhibit?”
“Delores Keen when I knew her. Now she’s married to a guy named Beach.”
Rose stared at him. “Sandy Beach?”
Barrington nodded. “Yeah, Sandy.”
“Sandy Beach, the head of the organized crime syndicate?”
Barrington had some vague recollection of this, but he’d never really considered it.
“He’s the focus of an FBI investigation going on in Haven right now,” Rose continued. “Quite a few valuable paintings have been stolen, and the feds think he’s behind it.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m not a big fan of coincidence,” she said. “Hal was gunned down, and Beach’s name has turned up in an FBI investigation and now your case.” She uncrossed her legs, shoved her iPad in her bag and picked up her phone. “I’ll talk to Rocky about this tonight, but right now I’ve got to go.”
“You sure you don’t mind giving me a ride?”
“I don’t mind,” she said.
Barrington swallowed hard. He knew it was business, but he felt like he was asking her out on a date. Or had she just asked him?
“Seven o’clock?”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll be waiting,” but she was already heading out the door.
Barrington couldn’t remember a woman ever ignoring him like that. Ever.
Chapter Eight
Rose and Barrington walked across the back lawn to the party. Cosmo trotted a few steps behind them. It was odd, arriving with Barrington. Usually she and Hal rode out to parties together, Hal driving one-handed in a kind of slouch that said, “piece of cake,” and Rose pressed up to the windshield as if she were about to get shot at.
Pretty much everyone who’d arrived had already congregated on the far side of the deck by the bar. Rose saw the women were in summer pants and cotton shirts. She felt overdressed in her Armani dress and spiky heels that kept sinking into the grass. She always felt overdressed in Haven. There would probably be talk, too, that she was with Barrington. When she looked over at him, he was trying to smooth his hair, and she realized he was probably as nervous as she was, an outcast just like her.
She thought of what Daniel had said the night before. She wished he were here. He was always comfortable at big parties like this. It put her at ease. He was like Hal, could walk right up to people, slap a few backs and blend into a group like he’d been part of them forever, but making idle chitchat had never been easy for her. She had to prepare for it mentally, and she always felt drained afterwards. She’d rather be kickboxing at Ernie’s gym or shopping for shoes in Tilton and sipping a hot latte. She’d rather be working on Barrington’s case or doing really anything other than having to make small talk. She felt in her pocket for Jessica’s photograph and reminded herself she was here for more than socializing.
Cosmo darted up the steps to Rocky, who was standing at the grill with his wife, wearing an apron that said dinner’s ready when the smoke alarm goes off. “Hey, kids.” Rocky flipped a burger. “Barrington,” he said, “this is Emily.” He beamed down at his wife.
“We’re so happy you could both come.” Emily had pulled her blonde hair into a little ponytail that stuck straight out th
e back of her head. “Oh, honey,” she said to Rose, standing on her tiptoes to hug her, a bunch of silverware still in her hand. “I’m so sorry about Hal.”
When she pulled away, Rose saw her eyes were filled with tears, and Rose felt that familiar lump rise in her throat. Emily’s pixie face and bright blue eyes always made her feel as if she might be able to curl up in a ball, like one of her kids, and cry.
“I keep saying to Rocky, I think he’s just going to walk in and grab a beer.” Emily wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Seems like yesterday he was watching baseball from our couch.” She squeezed Rose’s hand. “I can hardly believe it.”
“I can’t either,” Rose said. She was just about to say she was going to find the son of a bitch who killed him when she remembered she had to leave that to Rocky. She watched Janie run up, her blonde curls bobbing, her Minnie Mouse T-shirt stained with what looked like chocolate ice cream. She was five, their youngest, and secretly Rose’s favorite. “Auntie Rose, you look so pretty,” Janie said, pulling at her dress with her sticky hands. “Mommy, I want a dress like this one.”
“I don’t think they make dresses like that in your size,” Emily said, “and anyway, it would probably bankrupt me.” She smiled at Rose.
“Is that a bear?” Janie whispered. Rose followed her gaze to Barrington, who was pulling a beer out of the ice chest.
“No, sweetheart,” Emily said, putting the silverware in a silver bucket. “That’s a famous artist.”
“Where’s Uncle Hal?” Janie asked. Rose looked down at her blue eyes, miniature replicas of Emily’s, and felt herself go completely mute.
“Go play with Lily.” Emily gave her daughter a gentle push. “Show her your new Barbie.”
Emily and Rose watched her go. “We haven’t told the kids yet. It seems so unreal, and you know how they loved Hal.”
“Oh, God,” Rose said, “I don’t envy you.” She could feel the guests on the far side of the deck watching her. They’d be asking for details; they’d want to know about funeral arrangements. Suddenly she felt very, very tired. All she could think about was how much she missed Hal’s laugh, his easy way in a crowd, how he winked at her across a party, letting her know she was safe. Only sixty-five, she’d kept thinking all day. Too young to die.