We sat on a couple of folding chairs. “You okay?” I said. “Can I get you some water?”
“No, thanks.” Tears spattered her cheeks. “To be honest, I didn’t even like her that much. That’s awful to say, isn’t it? But she was pushy. Well, maybe we’re all pushy. Right? To make it in this business?”
“What happened to her? After Mame?” Why did no one realize she was missing? A thought made me pause. Did Patrick know she was missing?
“After Mame?” She shook her head. “She never made it to opening night. She quit halfway through rehearsals in May. They’d already printed the programs, so her photo and bio were in it.” She jutted her chin at the television. “That’s the photo they just showed now on the news. She missed a couple of rehearsals and then pouf!”
The girl sniffed. “Most members of the cast left after Mame and joined a touring show, so everyone who knew her left town weeks ago. I stuck around here because I wanted to be in Ondine.” She inhaled shakily. “Hayley wanted to go to acting school. She talked a lot with Mac about it.”
“Where was she from?”
“Midwest, maybe? Hayley didn’t talk much about her personal life though she did mail a copy of the program back home.”
“To her family?”
She shrugged. “She just said she wanted her friends to be proud of her.”
“What was she planning to do next?” I asked.
“Said she had a gig that would pay enough for acting school.” The girl wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “She laughed when she said ‘gig.’ I asked her why she laughed and she said it was overseas. A once-in-a-lifetime role.”
Huh. I wondered what that meant. I thanked the girl, gathered my dance bag, and ran to the van. My hands shook so badly I could barely fit the key in the ignition.
That long blond hair. The stubborn chin. I’d seen her before in the portrait at Mac’s. Why didn’t he say anything to the police about this?
Questions buzzed through me like an electric charge as I sped through the quiet streets of Mystic Bay, humid air streaming in my open window, my hair whipping around my face. If Mac knew her he must have noticed the tattoo, right? I slowed. This girl just told me Hayley wore a flesh-tone wrist brace. Maybe Mac didn’t notice.
The van’s brakes squealed as I pulled in front of Mac’s house and walked toward his front door. My steps slowed. Every dumb slasher movie I’ve ever seen went through my mind.
Mac. I’d known him for years. His tweedy jackets and horn-rimmed glasses, his gorgeous silk ties. The caring way he listened made you feel like you were the only person in the room.
Afraid of Mac? You’re being ridiculous, Allie.
Before I could think, I pounded the door knocker, the noise shockingly loud in the quiet street.
Mac opened the door holding a tumbler of amber liquor. His eyebrows flew up over the rims of his glasses. “Allie! Is everything okay?”
I felt like a fool. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Of course. Drink?” He held up his glass. I shook my head and stepped into the hallway. The click of the door closing was loud in hallway, carpeted with antique oriental rugs.
“You heard the news? About Hayley Castle?” I said.
Mac bent his head. “I heard the news when I got home. I drove Eden back here, said good night to her, came in the house, and there it was on television.”
“You knew her.” My voice sounded too loud, strained.
Mac started down the hall. “Allie, come with me.”
I hesitated, my feet refused to move.
You don’t owe this girl Hayley anything. She ended up dead.
Come on, Allie, it’s Mac.
Still, I slid my cell phone out of my bag. I followed slowly into his studio.
His easel reflected in the black shine of the French doors. A jumble of paints, brushes, and a palette smeared with paints covered a worktable. A half-empty bottle of Scotch was on the floor next to a straight-backed chair by the easel.
I texted Verity. I’m at Macs.
“I’ve been going for something different.” Mac waved his glass at the portraits I’d seen from the patio.
“Mac, these are…” I groped for a word. They looked different now that I was better able to see them, instead of peering in through the French doors. “Striking.”
“I’ve been taking portraiture lessons.” Mac sat heavily in the chair by the easel. “Painting people from the theater.”
I stopped by the portrait with a haughty sculpted face and an exaggerated black ponytail. “Margot. You captured her.”
He smiled ruefully. “Sometimes, something comes out in the portrait that makes it, I don’t know. Maybe too honest, too close to the truth.”
That sound, like Mac. But still, I stayed near the wall, close to the French doors. “Isn’t that what art does?”
“A comment right after my own heart, Allie.” He tilted his head at Margot’s painting. “I’m going to have to soften that somehow. She wants it.”
Another huge canvas was propped against the wall. I turned it around.
“That one turned out particularly well. Not to brag.” Mac loosened his tie.
Cold colors, gray-white, silver, and light green slashes formed the face but from them came strength, energy, and elegance. A chain of medallions around the neck. The white silver hair swept up into a loose bun.
“Stellene Lupo,” I whispered. My heart hammered. Mac. Stellene. Hayley. Was there a connection? I couldn’t see one.
Mac’s smile was pained. “I just put the finishing touches on it. I can’t wait for her to see it. I put it aside when I was, well…” His voice faltered.
“What did you want to show me?” I kept my distance from him, my back to the wall.
“Allie, when I heard about that girl. The one you found.” He put his glass on the floor, then straightened as if he’d come to a conclusion. “Hayley Castle was a girl in the chorus of Mame. She was something special. It wasn’t exactly charisma in her case, but a life force. I fell under her spell. I was bewitched,” he said in a quiet voice. “If I’m honest, I was a little afraid of her. Have you ever felt that way?”
He didn’t wait for an answer.
“I let her stay here for a bit. Then she left.” Mac’s eyes, warm brown, turned to me. “I’m not sure where she went.”
My eyes must have asked a question.
“It wasn’t romantic between us at all—not like that at all!” He held up his hands. “Allie. I was a fool. You’re familiar with the term ‘she played him like a violin’? Well, I was the violin. The first time she came here was during rehearsals for Mame. I’d had a root canal. We’d never talked much, so her visit was a surprise. She brought me a chocolate milkshake, and then told me she needed a place to crash for a few days. Well, I have this big house, and the guest apartment over the barn. She’d probably heard me talking about that. And she saw my studio and said I could paint her portrait.”
My heart was beating so hard I could barely hear him.
He went to a portrait on the easel and turned it so I could see. “This is Hayley Castle.”
It was the portrait I’d seen through the window, with the long blond hair, flames, and cuffs. For a moment water and seaweed cascaded from the easel. I took a deep breath to steady myself.
The girl in the portrait was not traditionally beautiful, and that probably wasn’t just because of Mac’s technique. Her jaw was strong and square, her eyes wide and circled with black. Long white-blond hair flowed over her naked shoulders. Mac had captured an energy that went beyond mere physical resemblance. Her chin tilted up, defiant. She wouldn’t blink first.
But now, instead of the black and pink slashes I’d seen before, her neck and the bottom of the painting were covered with blue gauze, like a scarf. Or water.
“Where are her tattoos?” I said.
Mac closed his eyes. “Hellion. In block letters. With the pitchfork.” He shook his head. “I got the impression that she
probably was one, especially when she was a teen.”
I visualized the tattoo. “When I saw it, I couldn’t make it out at first.”
Mac nodded. “She insisted that I add it to the painting. I didn’t want to. It’s so badly done, not centered on the wrist, the letters are blurry. I’m not proud, but I painted it out when I heard the news…”
Mac’s voice was pleading. “She often kept it covered with a wrap, like a bandage. Wore lots of bracelets. A tattoo was wrong for Mame. And then today I covered it all with blue. I’m not sure why.”
Hayley looked like a fighter who’d punch above her weight. Unlike Mac, who was hiding behind a thin layer of blue paint.
My fear dissolved, replaced by disappointment and disbelief. I folded my arms.
Mac stared at the portrait. “I felt used. She’d stolen from me.”
“Stolen?”
“Not money.” Sweat gleamed on Mac’s forehead despite the air-conditioning. He wiped his brow with a silk handkerchief. “That first visit. With the milkshake. She’d excused herself to, you know.” He waved.
“Powder her nose.”
He nodded. “Later, when I went to get some of my pain pills from my prescription, I noticed that, well, they were almost all gone. It was a brand-new prescription. I hadn’t taken any of the pills, so I knew how many were supposed to be in the bottle. And there were only two left.”
He sipped his drink. “I remember thinking, this girl’s not going to come to a good end.”
“Mac, you have to tell this to the police,” I said.
Again, he didn’t seem to hear me. Mac cradled his glass, staring at his reflection that looked back from the French doors. “I’m not proud, Allie, that I didn’t step forward when I heard about the tattoos. You, the news, they all said she had black hair, I just thought, it can’t be her. I didn’t want it to be her. And she’d told me she had no family, so…”
I could tell there was so much he wasn’t telling me. Did Hayley have something on Mac? Had he silenced her? What did I really know about Mac Macallen?
“Yes,” Mac said. “You’re right. I’ll go to the police. That’s the least I can do for her.”
I needed to get away from Mac, away from the portrait. “I’m going home. Good night, Mac.” Mac stayed seated, staring at the girl in the portrait, as I hurried from the room.
Mac’s front screen door banged shut behind me as I ran to the van and started the engine. Mac didn’t follow. I didn’t think he’d killed Hayley Castle, but the Mac I’d known was gone.
Lights glowed in the apartment above the barn. How long would Eden and Henry and Lars be able to hide out from their fans?
I turned toward home.
Hayley Castle. My overriding emotion for her had been pity. She hadn’t looked like the kind of person who’d steal drugs from someone who was trying to help her, a guy who seemed to be a teeny bit obsessed with her. The word echoed. Bewitched.
* * *
At home, Aunt Gully crocheted in Uncle Rocco’s big old recliner. I sat down on the arm of the chair and she set down her yarn. We put our arms around each other.
“You saw the news?” I said.
Aunt Gully sighed. “Now that girl can go home, Allie.”
We were quiet for a moment.
“Where’s Lorel?” I said.
“Bed.” Aunt Gully inclined her head toward two jewelry boxes on the coffee table. “Those gifts from Tinsley are beautiful, but I can’t keep them. I’m going to donate them to the women’s shelter fund raiser.”
“That’s a good idea.” I opened the square box, took out the bracelet, and held it to the light. The tiny medallions were etched with tiny wolves. A memory struggled to surface. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, Aunt Gully. I need a walk.”
Down on the beach, a bonfire flickered. Someone strummed a guitar. I walked toward the breakwater but turned away when I realized a couple was sitting there. I couldn’t wait for the summer people to leave, when the beach stretched out uninterrupted and peaceful for me and the other locals.
My toes slid into the sand. The murmuring ocean, soft music from the bonfire. My heart rate slowed. Sadness filled me.
With all that was happening, the fact that my sister wasn’t staying to see me dance pierced my heart most. I sank to the sand and let the tears flow.
The whoosh of the waves on the sand calmed me. Stop being a drama queen. I was being stupid about Lorel. There were bigger problems in the world. I threw a pebble into the water.
Hayley and Mac, Hayley and Patrick. Were they all connected? Did Mac know of Hayley’s relationship with Patrick? Was he jealous? The idea of Patrick being jealous of Mac was laughable.
I thought back to what Franque said about when he’d met Hayley. He said that she’d had a bag full of cash. The theater certainly didn’t pay well. Why did Hayley have so much cash?
I cast my mind back to the day I found Hayley, forced my mind to concentrate on the memory instead of pushing it away. The tattoo. Hellion. Why did it disturb me now even more than when I found her?
The pink bracelet that anchored Hayley to Bertha’s lobster pot. My heart thudded. The medallion on it was a wolf’s head, just like the ones on the gift bracelets from Tinsley. Hadn’t Stellene said that Tinsley’s jewelry line would be released in the fall? Hayley was dead long before the party. When had Hayley gotten her bracelet? Why had she gotten a bracelet?
I flashed back to Zoe Parker in the kitchen of Harmony Harbor as she handed me the beautifully wrapped gift box holding my bracelet. Tinsley wanted to thank you.
A snippet of conversation replayed in my mind. Kurt Lupo almost died because he let a gravely ill teen get the kidney that had been meant for him. Stellene was president of his foundation.
Tinsley had been ill. She’d had a transplant. She had a nurse.
Horror washed over me. I knew.
I knew why Zoe was at the police station dressed in an awful tunic top.
The bracelet was the key.
What role did Patrick play? That made me pause. Because it was so terrible.
Chapter 35
Opening Night of Ondine
Thursday, July 9
The next morning, I woke before my alarm. For the first time in days I felt my thoughts clear.
I had to talk to Tinsley Lupo.
I hurried downstairs to Lorel’s room and burst in. Lorel lay on her back, pink gingham sheet smooth and tucked under her chin. She even slept in an orderly and mature way. “Lorel, do you have Tinsley’s number? Or Stellene’s?”
“Would it kill you to knock?” Lorel groaned. She rubbed her eyes and mumbled, “Nobody has Tinsley’s or Stellene’s number.”
“Do you have Zoe Parker’s, then?”
She waved at her phone on the bedside table. I found Zoe’s number and dialed.
“Allie!” Lorel sat up and grabbed her bedside alarm clock. “It’s seven A.M.!”
Zoe didn’t pick up. No surprise. I considered what message I’d leave. Best not to. Not yet. I put the phone back. “Stellene’s check cleared, right?”
Lorel pulled the covers over her head. “Yes.”
Aunt Gully was in the kitchen doing the crossword puzzle. “Good morning! I’m so excited about opening night!”
“Tonight? Oh, yes.” I gave her a hug, trying to pull my whirling thoughts to the present. Aunt Gully had made a breakfast bake, a casserole stuffed with sausage, eggs, heirloom tomatoes from the garden, and cheese. “Mmm.” I helped myself and dug in.
Lorel came into the kitchen adjusting the belt on a beige sheath dress.
“Aren’t you a little overdressed for a shift at the Mermaid?” I said.
Lorel poured herself a cup of coffee. “It was only a matter of time.”
“What was?”
“I got a call last night asking me to meet Detective Rosato at the Plex,” she said.
“You didn’t mention that!” Aunt Gully exclaimed. I struggled to swallow my mouthful of eggs.
“I didn’t want to upset anyone.”
“I’m more upset that you didn’t say anything!” I said.
My mind flashed back to the police car I’d seen yesterday in front of Fast Times. The renters there must have reported the fight Lorel had with Patrick.
And maybe the police had gotten access to Patrick’s phone. I squeezed my eyes shut. God, I hoped there weren’t any photos of Lorel on it.
“Are you okay, Allie?” Aunt Gully said. I took a deep breath and nodded.
“It’s just a formality, Aunt Gully.” Lorel’s voice was flat. “I’ll park at the Mermaid, walk up to the Plex, do my interview, and walk back for lunch shift. Then I’ll take off for Boston.”
“I’ll walk up with you,” I said.
* * *
Lorel and I threaded through tourists snapping photos of the boats on the river as we walked from the Mermaid to the Plex. Lorel didn’t say a word all the way over from Gull’s Nest. She twisted her hands.
“Lorel, honestly, you have nothing to worry about.”
“Easy for you to say, Allie.”
“Actually, I’m getting a complex about why they haven’t interviewed me again. I feel like chopped liver.”
Lorel laughed. Even in the humid air her hair was smooth. Mine stuck to the nape of my neck. I twisted it into a bun.
“Let’s not fight.” Though I was still steamed that she was blowing off my opening night.
“It’s okay, Allie.” Lorel smoothed her already smooth hair. “I’m a big girl. Go back to the Mermaid and keep an eye on Aunt Gully. You can’t do anything here anyway.”
She was right. I swallowed. “Lorel, it’s going to be fine.”
“Right. It’s going to be fine.”
I gave her a quick hug, and then Lorel walked up the rest of the steps to the Plex, head held high. A cop held the door for her. I watched as the door closed, with what felt like a sickening finality.
* * *
I turned back to Pearl Street, my mind churning. Last night, I’d been so sure about who killed Patrick, but Mac Macallen haunted my thoughts. Perhaps he’d been obsessed with Hayley.
Against the Claw Page 21