It looked as if a night of dark intent
Was coming, and not only a night, an age
Someone had better be prepared for rage.
No one lit up Ned’s dark night and Rosalie was entirely unprepared for his rage. I wanted to be in Ty’s arms to chase away the haunting image of Rosalie all alone, hunted, and finally caught.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
T
hree days later, I was in a cab en route to Georgetown when my cell phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello.”
“It’s me. Paige,” she said.
“How are you?”
“Okay. That’s why I wanted to call. I wanted to let you know that I was okay. So far they seem really nice.”
I felt another weight fall from my shoulders. “I’m so glad to hear that, Paige.”
“My room faces west and if you squint you can sort of see the ocean.”
“That’s way cool.”
“Yeah, and tonight we’re going shopping for sheets and curtains. They said I can pick out whatever I want.”
“Fun! Do you know what you’ll choose?”
“I think maybe similar to Mackenzie. Her room is lavender and apple green. I love it.”
“Sounds like a really good choice. Paige, thank you for calling. You’ve made my day!”
“You’re welcome. This number is my cell phone. They got it for me.”
“Really?”
She giggled. “Yeah. Mackenzie said everyone has one. I don’t have all that many minutes, though, on the monthly plan.”
“Well, anytime you want to talk, you can call me and I’ll call you back.”
“Thanks.” Her voice cracked a bit as she went on. “Josie?”
“Yes?”
“You’re still coming for the funeral, right?”
“Absolutely. I miss her, too, Paige. And I want to see your new room.”
“Thank you.”
I smiled the rest of the way to the Holiday Inn where Ty was staying.
Ty had left a key for me at the front desk. He’d explained in a voice mail he’d be back by five or a little after, and dinner was at a restaurant within walking distance at six-thirty.
I stepped into the room and was greeted by a Bach concerto emanating from the radio. A bouquet of mixed flowers, still encased in plastic and bound by rubber bands, stood in the hotel room coffeepot. Nearby was a bottle of J sparkling wine chilling in an ice bucket. Next to it was a grocery-store container of grape tomatoes, one of my favorite nibbles. An envelope with my name on it rested against the makeshift vase.
I opened it. On the outside was a cartoon figure of a man, looking downcast, and the words, When I’m away from you . . . Inside it read, all of me misses you. Ty had added, I love you, Ty.
I clutched it to my chest, moved beyond words, heartened and overjoyed.
Showered and wrapped in my favorite pink chenille bathrobe, with my little black dress steam-pressed, hanging on the shower rod, I was sitting on the bed, eating grape tomatoes, reading my Rex Stout, when Ty came into the room.
I leaped out of bed exclaiming, “Ty!” and flew into his arms, nearly toppling him over.
“Whoa!” he said once he got purchase, holding me tight. “I ought to go away more often.”
“Thank you so much for the flowers and the card and the Champagne and the tomatoes.”
“It’s sparkling wine, and did you notice it has your initial on it?”
“Only fitting,” I said in a queenly tone.
I watched as he turned the bottle to ease out the cork and poured the wine into plastic cups that he found in the bathroom.
“Yum, this is delicious.” I smiled and raised my glass in a silent toast. “Any news about Ned?”
“Yeah. There’s confirmation that Ned is the secret admirer.”
I took a deep breath. “What is it?”
“The man who ordered the flowers—the homeless guy? He picked Anderson out of a lineup. Without hesitation.”
“Wow! I wonder why he didn’t pick him out from the photos?” Ty grinned. “Maybe ’cause we didn’t include Ned’s photo in the display.”
“Yeah, that would do it.” I laughed. “Ned sure operated under the radar. What else?”
“Ned’s fingerprints match some of the items Rosalie pasted into her scrapbook.”
“Wow.”
“And Rosalie’s fingerprints are on the walking stick—just the way they might be if she fended off a blow.”
“And the splinters?” I asked.
“Yup. A definite fit to slivers missing on the walking stick. We’ve sent out samples for DNA analysis. There’s more. We found four disposable cell phones in Ned’s office, all purchased in Maine. And, best of all, Edie confirmed that she followed Gerry to the restaurant and then followed Rosalie. She saw Ned and Rosalie stop near the jetty. Rosalie jumped out of the car and ran away, with Ned in pursuit. The moon was bright enough for her to see them tussle. She watched as Ned hit her, and she was there when Rosalie fell. And then she drove away.”
“Gotta love a good Samaritan who comes to the aid of a damsel in distress.”
“That pretty much sums up Edie.”
“I still can’t believe she didn’t come forward,” I said. “She must have known that Ned was the killer.”
“She says that she didn’t want to admit that she’d been following Gerry.”
I shrugged. “Maybe that’s true, but I can’t help thinking that she stayed quiet for another reason—she was happy Rosalie was dead.”
“Maybe,” Ty acknowledged, shaking his head.
“But wouldn’t Gerry have known she’d been up to something?” I asked. “Edie got home after him.”
“He says that he went straight to his study, poured himself a cognac, and did some work. Believe it or not, he says he didn’t notice that she, or her car, was gone. Really a testimony to their closeness. He just figured she was already asleep. When she got back, she found him in the study. She didn’t tell him where she’d been and he didn’t ask.”
What a ménage, I thought. Self-centered, self-serving, and self-absorbed.
“What do you think? Is Ned’s goose cooked?”
“Probably. The splinters from his cane are pretty damning.” He shrugged. “But there’s no proof he pushed her off of the jetty. She might have fallen.”
I nodded, thinking of the complexities of winning a conviction.
“Officer Brownley called this morning. Cooper is insisting that Rosalie gave him the copy of the journal, that they were going to coauthor a paper.”
“No way!” I objected.
“The cease-and-desist order she had her lawyer send pretty much takes the air out of that argument.”
“Good,” I said. “I hope he does jail time.”
Ty smiled. “He might, actually. And the Portsmouth police have picked up Lesha Moore for questioning,” he told me.
“Really?” I asked.
“Yeah. The ADA doesn’t think it’ll go to trial, but from what Officer Brownley told me, he was pretty outraged.”
“Understandable reaction—it’s outrageous.”
“They also thought it was pretty outrageous that you discuss the case with the press.”
I took a sip of wine and considered how to respond. I knew the police used the media when it was to their advantage by leaking stories, soliciting tips, and alerting them to upcoming events, but I also knew they resented it when private citizens did the same.
“Will I be hearing from them about it?” I asked.
“Probably not,” he said, half smiling. “It’s pretty hard to argue with the end result.”
We finished the sparkling wine and got ready for the evening’s festivities.
Later, back in the room, half asleep, after a tasty meal and silly toasts among the new hires who obviously enjoyed one another’s company, I asked, “Are you awake?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ve been thinking about Ros
alie.”
“And?”
“She wasn’t perfect, you know? But she was a really good sister. It matters so much. I think that Paige will have tons of good memories to sustain her.”
Ty reached out and stroked my check. “You’re a good friend to her.”
“Thanks,” I said, and snuggled close.
When I checked messages the next morning en route to the airport for my flight back to New Hampshire, there was one from Mrs. Woodricky.
“I asked my brother to see if he could find the palette, and he did. I don’t want it anymore. Please pick it up from him and sell it.”
She left his address and phone number. I was about to call her back when I decided to skip it. I’d need to talk to her about selling it, and the police about whether the real palette would be needed as evidence in Lesha’s trial, if there was one, but I didn’t need to do it now. Work could wait, I decided, until I was back at work.
Ty called on a break and caught me just before the plane took off.
“What’s for dinner?”
I laughed. “When?”
“Tonight. They’re letting us out at one, so I should be home by five or so.”
“Excellent. What do you want?”
“Let’s go out and celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?”
“My new job, our being together, and whatever else occurs to us.”
“Date,” I said, and smiled the whole flight home.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
M
any thanks to Amy L., a forensic scientist from a state not far from New York, who researched trace evidence questions for me. While respecting her wish to remain anonymous, I want to express my appreciation for her detailed explanations. Other experts also generously provided information. I’m very appreciative to Kevin Berean, who answered a multitude of legal questions; Steven T. Campbell, who explained technical information about cell phones; and Dr. Douglas P. Lyle, who filled in some forensic blanks for me. Special thanks go to Leslie Hindman, who, with her team at Leslie Hindman Auctioneers, appraised scores of antiques. Thank you all for sharing your expertise; please note that any errors are mine alone.
I would also like to thank my good friend Jo-Ann Maude, who helps me keep everything organized; Katie Longhurst, with whom I share a love of words, for her careful reading; and Carol Novak, my Web queen, for overseeing all things technical.
Also, thanks to Dan and Linda Chessman, Linda Plastina, Rona Foster, Lee and Mike Temares, Sandy Baggelaar, Kathryn Engelhardt, Christine de los Reyes, Karen Roy, Liz Weiner, and Joanne Sieck for their assistance. Thanks also to P. J. Nunn and Ken Wilson, and to my good friends in the Wolfe Pack.
I’m thankful for the support—and the friendship—I’ve found in the mystery community. Many authors have been especially generous in sharing their knowledge, including Margaret Maron, Donna Andrews, Nora Charles, Karen Harper, Rosemary Harris, Elaine Viets, Nancy Martin, Steve Hamilton, Chris Grabenstein, M. J. Rose, Laura Lippman, and Julia Spencer-Fleming.
Independent mystery booksellers have been invaluable in helping me introduce Josie to their customers—thank you all. I want to acknowledge my special friends at these terrific mystery bookstores: the Poisoned Pen, Mysteries to Die For, BOOK’em Mysteries, Mystery Bookstore, Legends, Book Carnival, Mysterious Galaxy, San Francisco Mystery Bookstore, M Is for Mystery, Murder by the Book stores in Houston and Portland, Remember the Alibi Mystery Bookstore, Kate’s Mystery Books, Mystery Lovers Bookshop, the Mysterious Bookshop, Partners in Crime, Booked for Murder, Aunt Agatha’s, Foul Play, Uncle Edgar’s Mystery Bookstore, Seattle Mystery Bookstore, Centuries & Sleuths, and Once Upon a Crime.
Manhattan’s Black Orchid Bookstore will be sorely missed; Bonnie Claeson and Joe Guglielmelli helped me launch the Josie Prescott Antiques Mysteries at their charming shop. Many, many thanks to them.
Many independent and chain bookstores have been incredibly supportive as well—thank you to those many booksellers who’ve gone out of their way to become familiar with Josie. Special thanks go to my friend Dianne Defonce at the Borders in Fairfield, Connecticut.
Some of my favorite people are librarians! Sincere thanks to my librarian friends Doris Ann Norris, Mary Callahan Boone, Frances Mendelsohn, and Deborah Hirsch. Also thanks to Mary Russell, who, in her role as director of the New Hampshire Center for the Book at the New Hampshire State Library, chose Consigned to Death as its Book of the Week.
I am deeply grateful for the unerring guidance and acumen provided by my literary agent, Denise Marcil, and her entire team. Special thanks go to Michael Congdon, Cristina Concepcion, and Katie Kotchman.
Everyone at St. Martin’s Minotaur has been kind and supportive, including those I work with most closely, Hector De-Jean, Julie Gutin, Deborah Miller, Christina MacDonald, David Rotstein, and Laura Bourgeois, as well as those behind the scenes. My editor, executive editor Hope Dellon, offered detailed and insightful feedback about the manuscript, helping me add richness and complexity to the story. I’m indebted to her, and to the entire St. Martin’s Minotaur team.
Antiques to Die ForCover
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Acknowledgments
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Antiques to Die For Page 30