In my world, which was so far from peaceful, to experience that view was like being at an oasis.
I won the first chess game. Sean won the second. We agreed to a rematch “really soon.”
* * *
BEFORE I STARTED HOME I phoned the hospital and spoke to Mrs. Stroebel. Paulie’s fever had broken, and he was feeling much better. “He wants to talk to you, Ellie.”
Forty minutes later I was at his bedside. “You look a lot better than you did yesterday,” I told him.
He was still very pale, but his eyes were clear and he was propped up with an extra pillow. He smiled shyly. “Ellie, Mama said you know that I saw the locket, too.”
“When did you see it, Paulie?”
“I worked at the service station. My first job there was just to wash and clean the cars after they were fixed. When I cleaned Rob’s car one day, I found the locket stuck in the front seat. The chain was broken.”
“You mean the day Andrea’s body was found?” But that doesn’t make sense, I thought. If Rob went back for the locket that morning, he never would have left it in his car. Or could he really have been that stupid?
Paulie looked at his mother. “Mama?” he appealed.
“It’s all right, Paulie,” she said soothingly. “You’ve had a lot of medicine, and it’s hard to keep track of everything. You told me you saw the locket twice.”
I looked sharply at Mrs. Stroebel, trying to decide if she was prompting him. But Paulie nodded.
“That’s right, Mama. I found it in the car. The chain was broken. I gave it to Rob, and he gave me a ten-dollar tip. I put it with the money I was saving for your fiftieth birthday present.”
“I remember, Paulie.”
“When was your fiftieth birthday, Mrs. Stroebel?” I asked.
“It was May first, the May before Andrea died.”
“The May before Andrea died!” I was absolutely shocked. Then he didn’t buy the locket for her, I thought. It was one that some girl may have lost in the car, and he had it initialed and gave it to Andrea.
“Paulie, do you remember the locket clearly?” I asked.
“Yes. It was nice. It was shaped like a heart and it was gold and it had little blue stones in it.”
That was exactly the way I had described it on the witness stand.
“Paulie, did you ever see the locket again?” I asked.
“Yes. Andrea was so nice to me. She came up and told me how good I was at football and that I’d won the game for the team. That was when I decided to ask her to go to the mixer with me.
“I walked over to your house, and I saw her going through the woods. I caught up with her outside Mrs. Westerfield’s house. She was wearing the locket, and I knew Rob must have given it to her. He’s not nice. He gave me that big tip, but he’s not nice. His car always had dents in it because he drove so fast.”
“Did you see him that day?”
“I asked Andrea if I could talk to her, but she said not then, that she was in a hurry. I went back into the woods and watched her go into the garage. A few minutes later, Rob Westerfield went in.”
“Tell Ellie when that was, Paulie.”
“It was one week before Andrea died in that garage.”
One week before.
“Then a couple of days before she died, I talked to her again. I told her Rob was a very bad person and that she shouldn’t meet him in the garage and that I knew her father would be very angry if he knew she went there with him.”
Paulie looked directly at me. “Your father was always so nice to me, Ellie. He always gave me a tip for filling the gas tank, and he always talked to me about football. He was very nice.”
“When you warned Andrea about Rob, was that the time you asked her to go to the mixer with you?”
“Yes, and she said she would, and she made me promise not to tell her father about Rob.”
“And you never saw the locket again?”
“No, Ellie.”
“And you never went to the garage again?”
“No, Ellie.”
Paulie closed his eyes, and I could see that he was becoming very tired. I covered his hand with mine.
“Paulie, I don’t want you to worry anymore. I promise you that it’s going to be all right, and before I’m finished, everyone will know how nice and kind and good you are. And you’re smart, too. When you were a kid, you could see how rotten Rob Westerfield was. A lot of people around here still can’t see through him.”
“Paulie thinks with his heart,” Mrs. Stroebel said softly.
Paulie opened his eyes. “I’m so sleepy. Did I tell you all about the locket?”
“Yes, you did.”
Mrs. Stroebel walked me to the elevator. “Ellie, even at the trial they were trying so hard to blame Paulie for Andrea’s death. I was so frightened. That was why I told him he must never talk about the locket.”
“I understand.”
“I hope you do. A special child will always need to be protected, even as a grown-up. You heard the West-erfield lawyer on television telling everyone that in a new trial he would prove Paulie killed Andrea. Can you imagine Paulie on the witness stand with that man hammering at him?”
That man. William Hamilton, Esquire.
“No, I can’t.”
I kissed her cheek. “Paulie is lucky he has you, Mrs. Stroebel.”
Her eyes lowered to meet mine. “He’s lucky he has you, Ellie.”
37
AT SEVEN O’CLOCK I was on my way to having dinner with Mrs. Hilmer. Of course that meant I had to pass our old house. Tonight it was brightly lit, and with the moon shining over the woods behind it, it could have been on the cover of a magazine. It was the house Mother had visualized, a perfect example of a lovingly restored and expanded farmhouse.
The windows of my room were over the front door, and I could see the outline of a figure moving between them. The Keltons, who now owned the house, were a couple in their early fifties. They were the only people from the house I saw the night of the fire, but they might have adolescent children who had slept through the wailing of the police and fire vehicles. I wondered if whoever had my room liked to wake up early and lie in bed watching the sunrise, the way I had.
Mrs. Hilmer’s house was well lit, too. I turned into her driveway, which now had only one destination. My headlights picked up the charred remains of the garage and apartment. For some incongruous reason I thought of the candlesticks and decorative fruit bowl that had graced the apartment’s dining room table. They were not valuable, but they obviously had been chosen with taste and care.
Everything in the apartment had been chosen with care. If Mrs. Hilmer chose to rebuild, those were the kinds of items that required time and effort to replace.
With that thought in mind, I entered her home with apologies on my lips, but she would have none of it. “Will you stop worrying about the garage?” she sighed as she pulled my face down for a kiss. “Ellie, that fire was deliberately set.”
“I know it. You don’t think I was responsible, do you?”
“Good Lord, no! Ellie, when I got back and Brian White came marching in here practically accusing you of being a pyromaniac, I gave him a real piece of my mind. If it makes you feel better, he as much as told me that I only imagined I was followed back and forth to the library that day. I set him straight on that, too. But I tell you, Ellie, it’s terrible to think that whoever got into the apartment when you were here for dinner that night actually stole towels from it to make it look as if you set the fire.”
“I took towels from the linen closet every day. I never noticed that five or six bath towels were missing.”
“How could you? The shelves were stacked with them. I went through a period of not being able to resist a bargain, and now I have enough towels to last me till kingdom come. Well, dinner is ready, and you must be hungry. Let’s go right to the table.”
Dinner consisted of shrimp creole, followed by a Bibb lettuce salad. It was delicious. “Two
good meals in one day,” I said. “I’m getting spoiled.”
I asked about her granddaughter and learned that her broken wrist was mending nicely.
“It was wonderful to spend time with Janey, and the new baby is adorable. But, Ellie, let me tell you, after a week I was ready to go home. The spirit is willing, but it’s a long time since I had to get up to heat a bottle at five A.M.”
She said she had been watching my Website, and I could see that any feeling of sympathy she had for Rob Westerfield was crumbling. “When I read that statement from the psychologist, telling how Rob twisted her arm in the restaurant, I was shocked. Janey used to waitress when she was in college, and the thought of some bully manhandling her like that made my blood boil.”
“Wait till you read what’s coming. He also did quite a job on a fellow student when he was only a sophomore in prep school.”
“It just keeps getting worse. I was heartsick to hear about Paulie. How is he doing?”
“He’s mending. I went to see him this afternoon.” I hesitated, not sure that I wanted to share with her Paulie’s revelations about the locket. But then I decided to go ahead. Mrs. Hilmer was absolutely trustworthy and a very good barometer of local opinion. I knew she had always firmly believed that the locket was a figment of my imagination. It would be both interesting and helpful to get her reaction about it now.
Her tea cooled as she listened, and her face became grave. “Ellie, it’s no wonder Mrs. Stroebel didn’t want Paulie to talk about the locket. That story could easily be turned around so that it hurts Paulie.”
“I know that. Paulie admitted having the locket in his possession, giving it to Rob, being upset when he saw Andrea wearing it, and following her to the garage.” I paused and looked at her. “Mrs. Hilmer, do you believe it happened like that?”
“What I believe is that with all the Westerfield money, Rob Westerfield is cheap as well as vicious. He gave a gift to Andrea that another girl probably lost in his car. I’ll bet he took it to one of those malls, paid a couple of dollars to have it engraved, and then made a big show of it.”
“I thought about trying to trace whoever engraved it, but after all these years, that’s almost impossible. They do that kind of engraving in those jewelry places in shopping malls all the time.”
“So you don’t know how to use your information about the locket?”
“No, I don’t. I was so happy to have my memory of the locket veri-fied that I haven’t even thought that through. The locket is a double-edged sword, and in court Paulie could be the one hurt by it.”
I told Mrs. Hilmer about Alfie and the diagram.
“We all felt the attack on Mrs. Westerfield was an inside job,” she said, her expression an odd mixture of sympathy and disgust. “Mrs. Dorothy Westerfield is kind, elegant, and gracious. To think that her only grandchild would plan her murder goes beyond belief. I’d see her sometimes in town with Rob before he was arrested. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, he was so solicitous of her.”
“That story and the diagram go on the Internet if Alfie agrees,” I said. “When Mrs. Westerfield sees the diagram, it may help to convince her.”
My description of Will Nebels’s drunken pawing of me in the restaurant reduced Mrs. Hilmer to sputtering indignation. “You mean to say a man like that would be considered a reliable witness in a new trial?”
“Not necessarily reliable, but he could still do a ton of damage in swaying public opinion against Paulie.”
Despite her protests, we cleared the table together and tidied up the kitchen. “Are you going to rebuild the garage and replace the apartment?” I asked.
As she popped plates into the dishwasher, she smiled. “Ellie, I wouldn’t want the insurance company to hear me, but that fire turned out to be a good thing. I was well insured, and now I have an empty second building lot where the garage was located. Janey would love to live up here. She thinks it’s a wonderful place to raise her baby. If I give them the lot, they’ll build a house, and I’ll have my family right next door.”
I laughed. “You’ve made me feel a lot better.” I folded the dish towel. “And now I have to be on my way. I’m driving to Carrington Academy in Maine tomorrow, digging up more of Rob Westerfield’s glorious past.”
“Janey and I read those papers and the trial transcript. It brings back how dreadful that time was for all of you.” Mrs. Hilmer walked to the closet with me to retrieve my leather jacket. As I buttoned it, I realized I had not thought to ask her if the name Phil meant anything to her.
“Mrs. Hilmer, in prison, apparently while he was high on drugs, Rob Westerfield may have confessed to beating a man named Phil to death. Did you ever know or hear about anyone by that name from around here who might have disappeared or been the victim of a homicide?”
“Phil,” she repeated, looking past me and frowning in concentration. “There was Phil Oliver who had a terrible run-in with the Westerfields when they wouldn’t renew his lease. But he moved away.”
“Do you know what became of him?”
“No, but I can find out. He and his family had a couple of good friends here who are probably still in touch.”
“Will you check for me?”
“Of course.”
She opened the door, then hesitated. “I know something or read something about a young person named Phil who died a while ago . . . I can’t remember where I heard about it, but it was very sad.”
“Mrs. Hilmer, think. This is so terribly important.”
“Phil . . . Phil . . . Oh Ellie, it’s just not coming to me.”
Of course I had to settle for that. But when I left Mrs. Hilmer a few minutes later, I urged her to stop actively trying to remember the connection, and let her subconscious work on it.
I was closing in on Rob Westerfield. I could feel it in my bones.
The car that was following me tonight was much more subtle than the one Teddy had driven. He rode without lights. I only became aware of his presence when I had to stop to let traffic pass before I could turn into the driveway of the inn, and he was forced to stop directly behind me.
I turned, trying to get a look at the driver. The car was heavy and dark, and I knew it wasn’t Teddy.
Another car was coming up the driveway, leaving the inn, and its headlights illuminated the face in the car behind me.
Tonight it was my father who wanted to be sure that I got back to the inn safely. For a split second we looked at each other, then I turned left into the driveway and he kept going down the road.
38
ALFIE PHONED ME at seven o’clock Monday morning. “You still wanna buy it?”
“Yes, I do. My bank is Oldham-Hudson on Main Street. I’ll be there at nine o’clock, and you can meet me in the parking lot at five after nine.”
“Okay.”
As I was leaving the bank, he drove up and parked next to my car. From the street no one would have been able to see what was taking place.
He opened the window. “Let’s have the money.”
I handed it to him.
After he had counted it, he said, “Okay, here’s the diagram.”
I examined it carefully. In the daylight it seemed even more chilling when I considered that it had been commissioned by the seventeen-year-old grandson of the potential victim. I knew that I would pay anything Alfie asked to have his permission to put it on my Website.
“Alfie, you know that the statute of limitations has expired. If the cops knew about this, you wouldn’t get into any trouble. But if I show it on the Website and write about what you told me, it might make the difference between Mrs. Westerfield leaving her money to charities or to Rob.”
I was standing outside the van. He was sitting in it, his hand on the wheel. He looked like what he had become: a hardworking guy who never had much of a break.
“Listen, I’d rather take my chances on Westerfield coming after me than think of him rolling in big bucks. Go for it.”
“You’re sure?”
* * *
AFTER THE EXPERIENCE of driving to Boston and getting caught in heavy traffic, I allowed plenty of travel time for the drive to Maine when I rescheduled my appointment with Jane Bostrom, director of admissions at Carrington Academy.
That was why I was in Rockport long enough to stop for a grilled cheese sandwich and Coke at a coffee shop a mile from the school. I now felt prepared to take her on.
When I was escorted into her office, her greeting to me was cordial but reserved, and I was certain that she was going to be less than cooperative in releasing information to me. She was at her desk and offered me the seat facing it. Like many executives she had a visiting area with a couch and several chairs, but I was not invited to join her there.
She was younger than I had expected, about thirty-five, with dark hair and large gray eyes that seemed to be somewhat wary. From our brief conversation on the phone it was evident that she was proud of her school and was not about to have an investigative reporter trash it because of one student.
“Dr. Bostrom,” I said, “let me put my cards on the table. Rob Westerfield spent his junior and senior years in Carrington. He was kicked out of his former prep school because he viciously assaulted another student. He was fourteen years old when that incident occurred.
“At seventeen he planned the murder of his grandmother. She was shot three times, and it is a miracle that she survived. At nineteen he bludgeoned my sister to death. I am at present tracking down the probability that there is at least one more person whose life he has taken.”
I watched as her expression became dismayed and distressed. She took a long moment before she spoke. “Ms. Cavanaugh, that information about Rob Westerfield is horrifying, but please understand something. I have his file in front of me, and there is absolutely nothing in it that indicates a serious behavior problem while he was here.”
“I find it hard to believe that with the violent history I’ve been uncovering, he was able to spend two years without a major infraction on his record. May I ask how long you have been employed at Carrington, Dr. Bostrom?”
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