“Who's the designated driver tonight?” I really couldn't take her anymore tonight.
“Uber, unless you want to be a good grandson and come get us?”
I hung up. I'd hit my limit of dealing with semi-inebriated grandmothers and their ridiculous frenemies. Sufficiently placated with a third glass of wine and Baxter curled up in the crook of my knees, I opened the latest mystery from my favorite author and began to read. Then, my phone buzzed again, leading me to mumble a few not-so-nice words. I'd turned the ringer off but accidentally left on the vibration mode. This time it was a text message from April, and as usual, I had no idea what to make of it. It wasn't a question or a suggestion. It was another order and the final nail in my coffin this evening.
April: My office at nine tomorrow morning. Need to discuss your 'role' in Quint's murder inquiry.
* * *
“Listen, I know I said to work directly with Connor on the cable car incident, but he's been pulled into another angle on this investigation and has gone out of town.” If April's furrowed brows weren't enough warning, her harried countenance indicated it'd already been a rough Thursday morning.
“I had to chat with you anyway. A few things came up regarding Las Vargas yesterday,” I confessed, checking what else I had to accomplish on this bright and sunny morning. I craved more coffee but wouldn't dare endure the nasty torture of the discarded remnants in April's office pot.
“By the way, your office is clear. We found no bugs,” April casually notified me before asking what had happened the day before with my missing wife drama.
It felt good to be able to speak freely inside my office without worrying about who snooped on my conversations. I let April know what Cristiano had told me and how Cecilia had reacted to his threats. “I'm not sure how much more I can take of this disruptive seesaw.”
“It's not easy, I understand. For what it's worth, you've handled this lunacy well. I've always admired how adept you are at keeping your cool and holding your own. Not many men could stand up to the mob, worm their way into a police investigation where they're almost killed, and push back on an amazing sheriff who threatens to arrest him for obstruction of justice nearly every day. You're a brave man, Kellan.” April laughed at her attempt to assuage my concerns and boost my ego.
“Those might be the nicest and strangest words you've ever said to me. I don't feel very brave but thank you for that compliment.”
April briefly dipped her head in my direction. “We've released Quint's body to the funeral home, and I'm under the impression it will be a quick service tomorrow evening.”
“Although Quint's mother has been sick, she'll be present. A group of us from the college will attend to pay our respects,” I declared. I'd never been fond of attending wakes, but they'd been prevalent in my life the last few months. Nana D and I had recently commiserated over watching some of her friends pass away. The sudden and wasted loss of life was both depressing and alarming, especially surrounding the current situation with Francesca's kidnapping. “Any leads on Quint's killer?”
“I'm the one asking the questions here, buddy. Tell me everything you remember about the time you spent with Quint Crawford,” she countered with an obsequious grin.
I updated April with every tidbit I could remember from my previous conversations with Quint between the moment I'd initially met him and when I'd found him dead in the cable car. “He was often aloof, and while he hadn't kick me out every time I visited him, I'd never felt fully welcomed. He seemed to have a knack for reading people and situations easily. At first, I'd only intended to verify his progress, but there were flashes when he got rather chatty. Or should I say, he asked a lot of questions.”
“About you or the college? Was he particularly angry toward anyone?” April asked, hoping I had more information than I knew I had.
“Not really. I didn't know much about him. He asked about my teaching schedule and my daughter. When he told me how sick his mother was, I mentioned how difficult it had been to lose my grandpop. Quint brought up Francesca's death once, but I couldn't say much about it.”
“Why did he ask about that?” April leaned in closer to focus on my response, a peculiar expression commandeering her face.
“Just said he'd heard about it from his mother, and he wanted to tell me how sorry he was that I'd lost a wife so young.” I barely recalled the specifics of the conversation that day as it had been shortly after I'd pieced together Francesca's kidnapping and could barely keep my own thoughts straight. “What have you learned about the ruby I found in the cable car? Is it from the jewelry thefts?”
“I'm not sure why that's anything you and I should be discussing, Kellan. I'm grateful you noticed it, and Connor is investigating that angle in San Francisco right now. I asked you here in case you knew anything else important enough to share with me about Quint. Not the other way around.” April was hesitant in her response, suggesting she'd learned something she didn't want to tell me.
“I'm only trying to help. I know some of the people involved. Maybe I'll discover a valuable connection, April.” Gabriel had lived in San Francisco when he'd left town eight years ago after the first set of burglaries had occurred; that was certainly a connection. “What's Connor in California for?”
“Fine, I'll share a bit. One of the originally stolen jewels was recovered there years ago. It'd been sold at a pawn shop on Mission Street. Of all the lost items, the Roarke ruby earrings were the only ones returned or found. Connor is seeking a better description of the person who sold them to the pawn shop.” April shifted in her seat and looked uncomfortable with our conversation's focal point.
“If they'd been recouped, wouldn't that information already be in the Wharton County police reports?” I knew I was pushing too deeply for answers, but I'd been willingly drawn into the enigma.
“It should have been, but my predecessor's files leave a lot to be desired,” April groused with obvious contempt for the man. “The former sheriff never put out an alert on the missing jewelry beyond Wharton County. All he'd documented about the recovered ruby was that a random caller had notified the pawn shop in San Francisco of the owner's identity.” After the pawn shop subsequently called Sheriff Crawford, he requested a picture and showed it to the Roarke family. Eventually, Lucy had been able to retrieve her family's precious gems. No other details had been included in the records.
“What happened to the rest of the jewelry and the money from eight years ago?”
“Why do you want to know?” April asked, narrowing her gaze as she stood to remove her blazer. Old Betsy, her prized threatening revolver, was strapped to her hip.
I didn't want to implicate my brother, but I couldn't lie to April any longer. I explained what I knew about Gabriel's disappearance and how there might be a link between him and the jewelry thefts. “Can you tell me anything about the past robberies and how they line up with the current ones?” I was focused on the missing jewelry because I now believed for certain the string of break-ins had something to do with Quint's death. There was little chance a bouquet of black calla lilies and a stolen ruby next to Quint's dead body were unrelated to the reason he'd been brutally murdered.
April considered my request, and by the pensive look in her eyes and the frequent crack of her knuckles, she wanted to alleviate my concerns yet also protect herself from revealing too much. “Most of this is public knowledge. I'll share the basics of what the newspapers had printed at the time. If I say something is confidential, please keep it that way.”
Once I agreed, April filled in the blanks Nana D hadn't remembered or been aware of. “In the first robbery, only four students confirmed seeing the stolen brooch at the Paddington Play House. There was a black calla lily left in Gwendolyn Paddington's bedroom, similar to the ones found by Quint's body and all the other robberies. The brooch has never been recovered, and Sheriff Crawford's details were erratic at best.”
“Bertha Crawford worked for the Paddingtons. Was she interviewed afte
rward?” There had to be an association if one of the filched gems was found near Quint and other jewelry had been stolen from the family who'd employed his mother.
“Not according to the files. Gwendolyn insisted she lost it at the estate and not the Play House. The report containing her input affirmed she'd personally interrogated her entire staff, but no one knew anything.” April resumed explaining the previous occurrences, eyeing me dubiously the whole time. While I doubted the ability to learn anything new from the previous jewelry thefts, some obscure minutiae might surprise us.
“What did the Nutberry family do after their diamond choker was stolen?”
“Agnes died a few weeks afterward, and the whole affair was relegated to the backstage. Everyone in her family had rock-solid alibis, thus proving they weren't responsible for stealing the jewelry.” The sheriff flipped to the next report in the file.
“I'm most familiar with the third victim, Lucy Roarke.” I planned to visit Maggie and Helena's mother to find out all I could in the next few days. I didn't want April to know I was separately investigating on the side, so I navigated the conversation along a different angle. “How did the thief get access to all the houses and jewelry without getting caught?”
“Unfortunately, in three of those cases, there was little security protecting the jewelry. I see how it could've been stolen without the thief being trapped on camera. Back then, people were more trusting. Even Braxton's administrative department admitted they were too lax. The key for the exhibit room where the Roarke rubies were on display had been sitting in a tray on the secretary's desk. Anyone could've walked in and taken it,” April complained. We agreed that the thief had to be clever enough to ensure never getting captured, but that he or she must've been someone whose presence people wouldn't have questioned for hanging out in all those places.
“You mentioned there was other jewelry on display, but only the Roarke rubies were stolen, right?” In the nine days between the burglaries and the specific targets who'd been chosen, there must've been a pattern we failed to distinguish—one that could lead to identifying Quint's killer.
April confirmed her agreement on my theory. “None of it makes sense. Could Gabriel have stolen the rubies, then tried to innocently return them to the Roarkes after a change of heart?”
“I suppose it's possible, but we'll have to ask him. San Francisco was one of the first places he'd visited and ultimately lived for two years.” I remembered Nana D wanted to know if I'd gotten my brother to talk, but I never updated her that he and I hadn't connected the previous day. While April rooted around for the next police report, I texted Nana D to fulfill my commitment.
“After the original fourth robbery, Lara Bouvier searched for the thief herself, which is what ultimately led her to convince WCLN to hire her as an investigative reporter for their news segments. She wasn't able to find the responsible party, and the rift between her and the Grey family widened immensely,” April explained, citing she'd already questioned Lara to obtain all the historical details.
“I met Imogene recently. She's spent a lot of time outside the country in France over the years. I can't imagine she had anything to do with it. Could the Greys have stolen back the jewelry and taken other things to avoid suspicion?” I worried that my brother had also known Imogene quite well back in the day. Had he been trying to help her get money for tuition since the Grey family wouldn't support her unless Lara returned the family necklace? Perhaps he was simply a modern-day 'Robin Hood.'
“The Greys have been out of town for weeks on business trips, so it's unlikely. Connor will interview everyone involved eight years ago to compile a list of suspects. Your brother will need to provide an alibi for each instance where jewelry was stolen, and possibly Quint's murder should it come to that,” April declared before mentioning we needed to tread carefully in that part of the investigation.
“What about the fifth and final burglary from eight years ago?”
“Wendy Stanton, Marcus's late wife. Same timing except it was a bag of cash instead of jewelry. Her story is an interesting one. She'd been married to Marcus for five years, but there was a rumor she'd been looking for a divorce. During his reelection campaign, she suspected he'd skimmed money from alumni donors,” April revealed. His opponent had been a no-name from the rural parts of town who'd little chance of winning, which meant Marcus didn't need to use the donations for marketing and advertising. Wendy confirmed Marcus had kept fifty-thousand dollars in cash from a recent fundraiser in the Braxton alumni office that weekend.
“I read that newspaper article. Marcus indicated he planned to bring the money to the bank the following Monday, but then it disappeared when the power went out during the thunderstorm. Wendy claimed her husband had stolen the cash and ratted him out to the erstwhile sheriff,” I replied.
“Of course, that deadbeat didn't do anything to investigate if Marcus had been skimming money from the alumni event for personal gain. Our soon-to-be-former town councilman must've paid off the sheriff to focus only on finding the money.” April closed the report and slammed her fist on the desk.
Wendy and Marcus reconciled after his subsequent reelection win eight years ago. Wendy also revealed that Marcus had found a calla lily when he went to retrieve the money. I asked, “Does anyone know if she was covering up her husband's dirty laundry or whether there really was a calla lily?”
April grunted. “Surprisingly, the one thing Sheriff Crawford did correctly was not immediately divulge to the public that a calla lily had been left at every theft. Wendy and Marcus had no way of knowing there was one present at the other crimes unless they'd spoken to those victims. Nobody publicly acknowledged that they'd been robbed at first.” Silas Crawford had been smart enough to keep that calling card close to the vest until the burglaries ceased. He wanted to find the responsible thief, but when it looked to be an impossible feat, he slipped details to the public to trigger the memory of anyone who might've seen someone walking around with calla lilies.
“No one offered up anything?”
“Not according to the original reports. Based on the new interviews we've conducted thus far, either everyone's memory is a bit hazy or they throw out so many names that we'd have to haul in the entire town for questioning.” While shaking her head in disgust, April indicated she'd only focus on the current round of thefts, hoping those would be more effective in determining the identity of the thief and Quint's murderer. “There's nothing worse than solving a crime someone covered up years ago.”
“I agree, it's probably the same thief. You should be able to crack the current robberies and discover how they tie to Quint's murder. We're probably missing something simple and obvious,” I said, worrying that it only made things look worse for my brother if his exit and reentry into Braxton coincided with the time frames of all the missing jewelry.
“It's possible. So far, there have been four thefts with nine days between each one.” April opened a cabinet on her wall to reveal a whiteboard listing the dates, locations, and items stolen during the last month.
“Any theories on why nine days?”
“Not yet. It gets weirder with the way these crimes have now been repeated,” April said before explaining the basic facts associated with the current robberies. “Could be an accomplice or a copycat.”
The first victim had been Jennifer Paddington, who indicated a watch made of crystal and diamonds was stolen from the family estate the weekend of the costume extravaganza. Nine days later, Lydia Nutberry lost a pair of sapphire earrings while attending her sister-in-law's funeral. Eight-thousand dollars in the mortuary safe was also pilfered that evening. Another nine days passed before the matching ruby necklace and the same original pair of ruby earrings were stolen from Maggie Roarke's home. After they'd been returned to Lucy, she'd gifted them to her eldest daughter rather than leave them locked away in a safe, never to be used by anyone. Then, just a few days ago, Imogene Grey was attacked when she caught the thief robbing her mother's home.
While she'd been sleeping, a diamond tiara, a present from her grandfather that'd been handed down from an ancestor who'd married into royalty, went missing.
“Let me guess. In all four instances, a black calla lily was left behind?” I knew the truth already but wanted indisputable confirmation.
April replied, “Yes. If the pattern continues, the Stanton household will be the next one hit in four days. Therefore, I need to speak with your brother to find out what he knows.”
“It doesn't explain why one of the Roarke rubies was found in the cable car near Quint Crawford's dead body with a bouquet of spray-painted black calla lilies.”
“I shouldn't tell you, but perhaps you'll have an explanation. The bouquet of calla lilies left near Quint's body wasn't spray-painted. Those were actual black calla lilies. Only the individual flowers left at the locations where jewelry was stolen were white ones that had been spray-painted.”
“That's unusual,” I remarked, not sure what the distinction meant. “Hopefully, Connor will find a lead while he's in San Francisco. Maybe he'll get a description or name from the pawn shop owner, indicating who'd sold them the ruby and who'd told them that it belonged to the Roarke family. Perhaps something will explain the calla lily connections. Can you tell me anything about those red marks around Quint's neck?”
April closed the whiteboard and glanced back at me. “That's one of those confidential things, Kellan. I've said enough for today, especially if your brother is somehow mixed up in this situation. He has a knack for getting close to criminals.”
“I know my brother. He's acting strange, and I admit, he might've had something to do with the jewelry thefts. But he's not a murderer. He wouldn't hurt anyone, April. You have to believe me.”
Mistaken Identity Crisis: Death On The Cable Car (Braxton Campus Mysteries Book 4) Page 9