I took in a couple more deep breaths and turned to the right, toward the bathroom.
“Could someone be hiding in the bathroom?” I asked Harry in a whisper.
He spun toward the open door and marched in, pausing at the threshold to peek behind the door. He stepped inside, and a moment later marched back. “All clear.”
In the living area, an off-white love seat and two butterscotch leather recliners faced a 50-inch flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. The bistro table and two chairs sat in a corner near the front windows, both of them open. A Rocky Point Computers–branded box, sized to hold a laptop, sat on a small desk. All the closet doors were ajar. The trunk was where I saw it last—positioned against the wall at the end of the tiny kitchen. Earlier, the lid had been closed. Now it was up. The Bible and ribbon-wrapped letters were intact, but there was no telltale glint of silver beneath it. I went up on tiptoe again so I could see farther inside. The presentation box wasn’t there.
The paramedics arrived within minutes. Carmen spoke to them briefly, then told Harry he could leave and asked him please not to say anything to anyone until Mr. Hannigan got back. As soon as Harry left, Carmen hustled Julie, Tom, and me back to the lobby to wait for the police. We huddled near Lainy’s desk. After a minute, Tom led Julie to the bench. She was still crying, her loud moans now hushed mewling. He stroked her hair with a tender, intimate touch. I sat on the other end of the bench, shocked and flustered, trying to harness my tumultuous thoughts into some semblance of rationality.
Carmen came into the lobby, her expression grim. She said something to Lainy, and Lainy stood so quickly that her desk chair skittled backward. Her leaping to action was an empathetic but misguided visceral reaction, and she must have realized it, because a moment later she sat back down. Carmen turned her back to Lainy’s desk, facing the three of us on the bench. She punched in a number on her cell phone. When she finished her call, she spoke briefly to Lainy, then left, walking to the same left-side corridor she’d come from earlier.
I approached Lainy’s desk. “Is Celia dead?” I asked.
Lainy nodded as tears trickled down her cheeks.
“Do you have any idea where Maudie might be?”
Her bottom lip quivered, and she turned away. “No.”
I didn’t know what to think. Celia was dead—and Maudie had vanished.
* * *
A tall ice-blond police officer named F. Meade was first on the scene, followed shortly by Officer Griffin. Officer Meade was the youngest officer on the force, in her early twenties. She was reserved, observant, and all business. Griff, the oldest, was close to retirement, a good cop, earnest, always ready to help.
“Where?” Officer Meade called.
Lainy told them, and they tramped down the corridor.
The phone rang. After pausing for a moment with her hand trembling over the unit, Lainy took the call. Her end of the brief conversation was comprised mostly of yeses and noes.
She pushed some buttons, transferring the call, then replaced her receiver and looked at me. “That was Mr. Hannigan. He should be here in about an hour and a half. He’s coming from North Conway. The conference center.”
I leaned against Lainy’s desk, trying to communicate calm despite the upset raging inside me. “I have a question. What time did Maudie sign out?”
“She didn’t. No one does, just in.”
“That’s right,” I said, recalling how I’d simply breezed out of the place the last time I was there. “And residents never sign in, only guests.”
“Right.”
“Wouldn’t you have seen Maudie when she left?”
“Only if she went out this way and I wasn’t busy with something else. I try to notice, but I can’t always. Anyway, Maudie probably went out the side door. It’s way closer to the parking lot. If you’re meeting someone who’s driving, it’s much more convenient to go out that way.”
“Is that exit limited to people who live on this side of the building?”
“Nope. Most of the staff use it, especially in winter. It’s the quickest way to the employee lot.”
“What employee lot?”
“You enter from Victory. It’s next to the main lot, but you wouldn’t have noticed it because tall hedges separate them.”
“What about security cameras?”
“There’s only one, at the front, facing out. There aren’t any cameras anywhere else.”
“Really? That’s a surprise, isn’t it?”
“The residents like their privacy.”
“Still, from a security perspective, I would have thought there’d be more.”
“We have an intercom system. You can’t enter through any door, except the front one, without being buzzed in. There are cameras, but the system doesn’t take photos; it just lets me see who’s ringing. If I don’t recognize the person, I ask them to come to reception. We have a rule—we never buzz in strangers.”
I knew about rules. I’d followed a thousand of them in my day, and broken a bunch of others. “What’s to stop a staff member who’s passing by from opening the door and letting a person in?”
“It’s not allowed.”
“Even if you know the guy?”
“I suppose then it would be all right.”
“What if a resident is leaving as someone from outside walks up? I could see someone thinking that holding the door for a stranger is polite.”
Two older men, one leaning heavily on a wooden cane, walked by.
When they were out of earshot, Lainy said, “We call it piggybacking. We teach everyone never to do it at the new resident orientation.”
“I bet it still happens a lot. People are nice.”
“You’re right. We do everything to discourage it, but…” She flipped open her palms.
Before I could ask another question, Ellis walked in, followed by a uniformed police officer I didn’t recognize, a man about my age. Ellis took in the reception area with one sweeping look, then headed directly for me.
“Josie,” he said, “are you all right?”
My throat closed, and for a moment I couldn’t speak. I nodded. When I recovered my equilibrium, I introduced Ellis to Lainy, then wiggled my fingers at Tom and Julie, still nestled together on the bench, asking them to join us.
Ellis acknowledged the introductions and asked us all to wait for a few minutes. Then, following Lainy’s directions, he and the officer strode across the lobby toward Maudie’s unit. He reappeared ten minutes later, alone, thanked us for waiting, and asked us how we knew the victim, why we were at Belle Vista, when we’d arrived, and what we’d done and seen on-site. He had Tom and me check our phones to get the exact time we’d each spoken to Celia. She’d called me at 1:14 P.M. and Tom two minutes later. Tom had texted Julie at 1:20.
“Did any of you see Celia today?” Ellis asked.
Tom and I said no. Julie just shook her head. Lainy told him about Celia’s arrival and explained why Celia hadn’t signed in.
“How about Mrs. Wilson?”
Tom and I repeated our noes. Julie stated that she’d helped her sort through some things, and then they’d gone to Ellie’s for lunch.
“And she didn’t tell you anything about her plans?”
“Not a word.”
“Or that she expected Celia to arrive?”
“No.”
Julie patted her red and swollen eyes with a wadded-up tissue. Her shoulders were bowed. She looked like she’d just lost her best friend.
Tom rubbed her shoulder.
Griff turned into the lobby from the corridor.
“Officer Griffin will take you and Tom to the station so you can give official statements,” Ellis said.
Julie fussed a little about how long it would take since she had to get to her nanny job by six. Ellis promised that she’d get there on time, or if they needed additional time, they’d work it out with her boss, and the threesome left.
“I spoke to Mr. Hannigan,” Ellis told Lainy. “As soo
n as he gets here, he’ll get someone to cover for you. We’ll ask that you come to the station to give a statement, too.”
“Okay,” she said, her brows drawing together.
I couldn’t tell if she was feeling only the mild apprehension natural to someone told they had to give an official statement to the police, or if her expression indicated a deeper fear.
Ellis explained that crime scene technicians would be arriving soon, that Officer Meade would be staying for a while with another officer posted outside, and that Lainy wasn’t to talk to anyone about anything related to Celia’s death until she’d given her statement.
She agreed; then Ellis jerked his head toward the window by the meadow, indicating he wanted to talk to me privately. We crossed the lobby and stood by the bench, side by side, our backs to the room.
“What can you tell me?” he asked.
I kept my voice low. “I saw Maudie this morning. I didn’t mention it before because she asked me to keep it confidential.” I recounted our conversation. “I assumed it would be weeks before I heard anything else, so when Celia called, I was, as you might imagine, overjoyed. Overjoyed, but surprised.” I added that the box and cat were missing—or seemed to be missing. “Maudie told me she planned on moving the objects into storage. Maybe she already did.”
“I thought she was having them appraised.”
“She was talking about it. I certainly encouraged her to get them under lock and key in the meantime.” I paused, wanting to choose my words carefully, to reveal my concern without sounding melodramatic. I’d only just met Maudie, yet her disappearance had hit me hard and left me weak and shaky. I had to clench my hands together to keep myself from trembling. “I know Lainy called around looking for Maudie at the wellness center and so on. I don’t know if she called whoever oversees the storage area.”
Ellis rubbed the side of his nose, a familiar gesture. He was thinking, and thinking hard. “You’re saying the box and cat are worth stealing.”
“I’m saying they might be. Maudie’s pretty independent. It’s possible she didn’t call for help to get things into storage. Maybe she wheeled the objects to her locker herself. If I was determined to get my hands on them, and if I knew she’d had a change of heart and was going to get them under lock and key without delay, I could come up with a scenario that ends in violence. I’m worried about her, Ellis. As far as I could tell, she’s completely mobile, but she did mention problems with her hips and knees, joking about it, you know. I don’t want to make a mountain out of a molehill, but she could be lying in her own storage unit, wounded … or worse.” At the word, my throat closed again, and I coughed.
“You’re right. Let’s check.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Harry refused to open Maudie’s storage unit without an order from Mr. Hannigan or a warrant.
When Mr. Hannigan arrived, he wouldn’t even discuss it. “Our residents’ privacy is one of our most cherished commitments.”
“This isn’t about privacy,” Ellis said. “This is about safety.”
“You have no reason to think Maudie Wilson is in any danger.”
“I know her niece was murdered in her residence and she’s nowhere to be found. That sounds like reason to be concerned to me.”
“Bring a warrant and I’ll be glad to open her storage unit. Without it, I won’t even consider it.”
“All I’m asking is to see if she’s in any kind of trouble.”
“The storage units have solid metal doors. You can’t see in.”
“Do you have a key?”
“No. Residents provide their own padlocks.”
“Do you know if her unit is padlocked?”
Hannigan turned to Harry, an interested observer. Harry shook his head.
“Let’s look,” Ellis said.
Mr. Hannigan didn’t want to do it, but he was running out of objections. He was tall and beefy, with scraggly strands of gray hair draped over his mostly bald pate. He wore a navy-blue blazer, a pale blue shirt, and pale gray slacks. From his pursed lips and general air of disapproval, I got the sense that he was a quintessential bureaucrat—he excelled at following rules but floundered when asked to step out of his lane.
“I can’t see any harm in checking whether her unit is locked,” Hannigan said, as if he were making a concession. “Harry, you come, too. I want a witness.”
“Thank you,” Ellis said. “I’m going to ask Ms. Prescott to join us. In case the antiques that seem to have gone missing are visible, she can identify them.”
Hannigan’s lips thinned still further, making his dissatisfaction evident, but he didn’t voice his opposition.
He led the way to a utilitarian staff elevator located at the garden end of Maudie’s wing. The lights came on automatically when we stepped out of the elevator, and again when we entered the room housing the storage units, which we accessed via a keycard. The keycard dangled from a retractable reel on the key chain attached to Harry’s belt.
“No keycards for residents’ rooms?” Ellis asked Hannigan.
“We surveyed them a few months ago. There was a fair amount of concern about privacy since keycard systems come with the ability to track usage. We decided to table the issue for the time being.”
“Do all residents have a keycard to this room?”
“Yes.”
“So you can tell if Mrs. Wilson entered earlier.”
“No. As we explained to the residents, we don’t track usage. Just because it can be done doesn’t mean we do it. We don’t.”
The space was as big as a school gym, with pale gray vinyl flooring and floor-to-ceiling iron-gray metal units arranged in rows. Corridors ran the length of the room between the banks of units. Maudie’s unit, labeled with her name and apartment number, was about halfway back. Most of the units were padlocked, securing the doors to the frames, but Maudie’s wasn’t.
“Since the unit isn’t locked, I’m going to ask to open it,” Ellis said.
Hannigan nodded. “Yes, that seems all right.”
Ellis snapped on a plastic glove and swung the door wide. The room—five feet wide and eight deep, with a ten-foot ceiling—was empty.
I exhaled, and only then did I realize I’d been holding my breath.
Ellis took a small LED flashlight from his pocket and swept it across the floor in a steady back-and-forth motion, then moved to the walls, then the ceiling.
“All right, then,” Ellis said, clicking off the flashlight. “There’s no indication anyone or anything has been here.”
We trooped back to the lobby. Half a dozen people sat at a table in the café facing the reception desk, watching us and murmuring to one another.
Ellis asked me to wait for a few minutes, and I agreed. He asked Mr. Hannigan if there was someplace private they could talk, and the two men walked down the corridor opposite Maudie’s wing to Hannigan’s office.
Lainy seemed to have calmed down. Her smile wavered a bit but was more or less intact.
“Was the storage unit empty?” she asked in a near-whisper.
I couldn’t think of a reason to keep the information secret. “Yes.” I nodded toward the café. “I gather word has spread.”
“Like the measles. The crime scene team arrived ten minutes ago.”
I glanced at her clock. It was twenty-five past five.
“I’m surprised you’re still here. How late do you normally work?”
“Five. Mr. Hannigan wanted to talk to the night girl, Karin, before she’s inundated with questions, so he asked me to work until six. He wants to tell her what to say.”
“Did he tell you, too?”
“Did he ever!” She giggled, then seemed to recall the seriousness of the situation and stopped. “He told me I could only say one of these three things: I don’t know. You’ll have to ask the police about that. You’ll have to ask Mr. Hannigan about that.” She raised a hand. “I’m a quick study. Karin not so much. She’s very emotional. I guess I’m cold-blooded.”
“You’re not cold-blooded. You’re an actress. You’re approaching this like it’s a part you have to play.”
“Don’t tell anyone, but you’re exactly right.”
The phone rang, and while Lainy fielded the call, I walked over to the window, glad for the time to regroup. Jagged emotions I didn’t understand raged inside me. I felt raw, unable to focus, weighed down, almost feverish. My phone vibrated. It was Eric.
“Oh, God, Eric, I’m sorry—I completely forgot you were still waiting. Have you heard what happened?”
“Just now on the radio. The reason I’m calling … that reporter, you know, Wes … he just knocked on the van window and asked why I was here.”
Wes Smith, a reporter for our local paper, the Seacoast Star, was notorious. He had a nose for discord, connections up the wazoo, and no sense of restraint when it came to his job.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing, just like you told us—I never talk to reporters. He was awfully persistent, though. To get away from him, I had to leave. I’m parked around the corner on Victory.”
“Good thinking. You can call it a day, Eric. We won’t be picking anything up today. Take the van home if you want.”
“Are you okay?”
“More or less. I mean … I’m fine … just a little upset.”
I sent an email to my staff telling them what was going on and reminding them not to talk to the press. After I hit SEND, I swung around so I was facing the meadow. I felt as if I needed some time to think, to try to make sense of what had happened. From what I could tell, there were three separate but related issues: Celia’s murder, Maudie’s whereabouts, and the objects’ disappearance.
Celia must have interrupted someone who’d broken into Maudie’s apartment to steal the box and cat statue. Except there was no sign of a break-in. The windows were open, but the screens were down, which meant nothing. Screens were designed to keep bugs out, not people. From the outside, I knew, I’d be able to slip a penknife under the flange and force the screen up just enough to wiggle my fingers through and onto the lift tabs. From there, I could lever up the screen the rest of the way. Thirty seconds would be sufficient, maybe a minute. Not that I was an experienced burglar, but I knew my way around everyday products like window frames and screens. To close the screen from the outside, I’d simply repeat the process backward. Once I was outside, I’d lower the screen as far as I could, lacing my fingers under the frame, using the lift tabs. I’d pull my fingers clear, then force the screen down the rest of the way.
Hidden Treasure Page 9