Blood Rubies (24 page)

“Lots of people from Massachusetts drive into New Hampshire for the scenery,” I said.

“And the beaches.”

“Not in March.”

“And the cheap liquor.”

“All year round for that one.”

“Why did he get off the highway? How did he end up in Durham?”

“He was early and decided to take the scenic route.”

“I wonder if his GPS was activated.”

“The police can find that out.”

“How long was he in the water?” I asked.

“I don't know. I don't know anything, Josie.”

I finished my soup and shoved the tray a few inches away. “I'm frustrated. I want to know things.”

“Tomorrow.”

“I bet Drake was meeting someone.”

“Who?”

“Someone who didn't want him talking to the police. He had no reason to be on Love Lane, Ty, but it's a great place to hold a secret meeting. There's almost no traffic there.” I stared at the fire for a moment, watching as small peaks of blue flame teased the backside of a thick log. “The police need to let me look at his computer files. I can interpret the Fabergé egg appraisal.”

Ty leaned over and kissed the top of my head, then picked up the tray and headed for the kitchen. “I'm sure they will,” he said, “but not tonight.”

*   *   *

I awoke to a loud boom. For a moment I couldn't remember where I was. I was so disoriented, I nearly rolled off the couch. It was the phone. Ty's phone. The landline. I lurched across the floor and grabbed the portable unit standing upright in its cradle.

“This is Josie,” I answered from habit.

“It's Ellis. Are you all right? I've been calling your cell and you didn't answer.”

I glanced at my tote bag. My phone was half visible, poking out from its pocket.

“Maybe I ran out of battery. Or maybe I just slept through it.”

“How are you feeling?”

I took a survey. “Groggy. Fine. Hungry. How are you?”

Ellis laughed. “I'm okay. You don't sound like you had a near-death experience.”

“I got lucky. As of this moment, I'm not even cold, a major improvement from yesterday.”

I stumbled into the kitchen. Ty was long gone, but he'd filled the tea kettle with water and laid out tea bags.
What a guy
. A note on the counter read, “Call me when you're up. xxoo.”

“That's great news,” Ellis said. “And good for me. I need to talk to you.”

I turned the burner on high and opened the refrigerator. Jars of stone-ground and Dijon mustard. Garlic pickles. Half a store-bought container of hummus. An almost empty quart of milk. One egg.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Eleven. Two minutes to.”

I snapped alert. “Really? That's unbelievable! I need to go.”

“Why?”

The sun was summer bright, and rainbows glinted on the fast-melting snow.

“I don't know. 'Cause that's what you do. You get up and you go to work. By the time I'm dressed and ready to go, it will be noon. I've lost half a day.”

“Throw some water on your face. I'll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Make it thirty. And bring food.”

I went to retrieve my phone. The battery was low but not depleted, which meant I had, in fact, slept through Ellis's calls. Checking messages, I realized I'd slept through eighteen voice calls, Wes's three from last night and fifteen others in addition to Ellis's two messages. Shelley had called from New York, wanting to make sure I was all right. So had my employees, Gretchen, Sasha, Fred, and Eric. Both Ana and her dad, Stefan, had called, Ana wanting to know if there was anything she could do, Stefan to tell me that he hoped I was fully recovered from my ordeal and wondering if I'd known the man who'd died. Zoë, my best buddy, had called twice, offering food, blankets, care, and love. Two longtime clients expressed concern; another expressed admiration at what he called my heroism. And Tim, the pastor of the Congregational church next door, asked if I wanted to talk. There was a text message, too, from Cara, saying Mrs. Albert would be glad to see me next week, and I should call her directly when I knew my schedule. Cara had also passed along Mrs. Albert's concern and assurances that Prescott's was still in the running.

“Good,” I said aloud, then called Ty and got him. “Ellis is en route. He says he wants to talk to me.”

“What about?”

“I don't know. I didn't ask. He's bringing food.”

“Call me when he's gone. You can tell me what you want for dinner.”

“Why don't we eat at the Blue Dolphin? I have a meeting there at three. I'll just stay, and you can join me whenever.”

“You're not going out!”

“Why not? I'm fine.”

I could hear him breathing, and I knew he was controlling himself. He was an innate caretaker, and protective.

“Sure,” he said.

I told him I loved him and ran for the shower.

Wearing the comfy jeans, fisherman knit sweater, and warm woolly socks I stashed at Ty's, I was rinsing the teapot with boiling water when Ellis rang the doorbell. I took a few seconds to get the tea steeping, then hurried to the door.

“What did you bring?” I asked as I swung open the door.

Ellis held a large plastic bag from the best deli in Rocky Point shoulder high. “Everything. Sandwiches, salads, bagels.”

“Thanks so much.” I opened the bag and spread the options out across the counter, like a buffet. “Want some tea?”

“No, thanks.”

He leaned against the counter watching me load up a plate. I started with half a bagel topped with salmon cream cheese spread, and half a turkey and Swiss sandwich on whole wheat.

“I'm meeting the Boston police to go through Milner's condo and office,” he said. “I figure that I'll call or text you if there's anything I need help with.”

“Sure. I've got a three o'clock appointment. Other than that, nothing.”

“I'm due there at two. Keep your phone on, all right?”

“Will do. It's charging now.” I spread a spoonful of coleslaw onto my sandwich. “Do you have any idea why Milner would be on Love Lane?”

“Do you?” he asked, avoiding answering, as usual.

“Maybe he was meeting someone.”

“Who?”

“His client.”

“You're still thinking Ana.”

“It's hard not to.”

“Why would they be meeting?”

“Because he screwed her over and she caught him.”

“How?”

“The double cross we talked about. Once I examined the broken bits you gave me to look at, Milner's ruse was exposed. She met with him to give him a chance to make her whole.”

“Why wouldn't she just go to the police?”

I paused, thinking. “Maybe she paid him to inflate the appraisal so she could qualify for a larger loan, and he threatened that if she exposed him, he'd expose her.”

“Gotcha. It's complicated, all right. What should I be looking for?”

“The appraisal. A client list.”

Ellis grinned as I reached for half a roast beef sandwich on a baguette. “You were hungry.”

I smiled back. “Still am. You're a lifesaver, Ellis. Thank you.”

“I'll be in touch.”

Ellis let himself out. I finished eating standing at the counter. Without question Drake Milner knew more than he let on. I was willing to bet he knew who had replicated the Fabergé Spring Egg snow globe, and I wouldn't be a bit surprised to learn that he'd known who killed Jason.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I took a fresh cup of tea into Ty's living room, sat on the couch, and called Wes.

After a pointless two-minute conversation in which I refused to discuss anything about Drake Milner, Wes sighed to his toenails.

“I'll tell you what I found out—but I shouldn't. You're all take and no give.”

“Don't be silly, Wes. I give you plenty.”

He sighed again. “The ME is refusing to rule Milner's death an accident until she does more tests. The left side of his head is bashed in, maybe from hitting the doorframe when the car went into the pond. She's using imaging software to see if dents in the car match up.”

My mouth opened, then closed. “Are you telling me she's thinking it might be murder?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my. Wes, this is incredible. Shocking. Horrific.”

“
Now
will you tell me something I can print?”

I closed my eyes for a moment. “Here's a quote. ‘I'm saddened that I couldn't do more.'”

After a two-second pause, Wes asked, “That's it?”

“That's it. What about the other questions we were thinking about … like how likely is it that Peter would go to the gym twice in one day. You remember, right—his alibi for Jason's murder? Any new insights?”

“The answer is very likely. He often works out twice a day. At home, he runs two to five miles each morning before work, rain or shine, then goes to the gym after work. He alternates working the machines with a Zumba class. Machines on Tuesday and Thursday. Zumba on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Weekends he rides his bike.”

“Zumba? Peter?”

Wes chuckled. “I know. It's quite a picture, right? Usually, from what I hear, he's the only guy in the class. My source says he's great at it. He should be, right? He's a fitness junkie, for God's sake.”

“But why Zumba?”

Wes chuckled. “Maybe he does it to meet girls.”

“Maybe,” I said, not convinced.

“From all accounts, he's pretty much a loner but good at the dance moves. Probably he does it because he likes it.”

“What about his story that they showed the Fabergé egg to their neighbor? Toni, her name was, I think.”

“Yeah, Toni and her friend Carly. I spoke to Toni myself. The story is confirmed. The egg was real at Christmas. Or she's lying for some reason. She insists she'd recognize shoddy workmanship a mile away. She's a master carpenter, very uppity about it. She fabricates wooden embellishments like missing drawer pulls for historical renovations.”

“Get out. You talk to the most interesting people, Wes.”

“I do, don't I? Anyway, I believed her.”

“Which means we have a definite time frame when the theft occurred. The fact that Peter told the police about it doesn't eliminate him as a suspect.”

“Just like everyone else.”

*   *   *

I'd been in the manager's office in the Blue Dolphin once before, years earlier, back when the Blue Dolphin was owned by a man named Bobby Jordan.
*
Suzanne had redone the space completely. The walls were painted a pale cranberry with glossy white trim, and the drapes featured a cranberry and gold floral pattern. Her desk and credenza were made of mahogany. The guest chairs were upholstered in a dark cranberry nubby fabric. Lighting came from a crystal chandelier, her cut-glass desk lamp, and three matching cut-glass wall sconces. The overall feel was super luxe.

Suzanne sat behind her desk, with Chef Ray off to the side, using the end of her desk as his own. He had a sheaf of papers and kept flipping through them, stopping to read for a few seconds, then turning to another page and reading a bit there, as if he were a student cramming for a final. The rest of us sat in a line facing Suzanne. Maurice sat next to Ray, then me, then Ana.

Suzanne smiled. “Thank you for coming, Ana. And of course, I'm always glad to see Josie. What a terrible experience, coming upon that accident. Are you all right?”

“Yes, thanks. I'm fine. I just wish I could have done more.”

“I'm sure you did all you could.” Suzanne turned to Ray and Maurice. “Ana asked Josie to join the meeting. As a new business owner, Ana felt the need to have some guidance. Since Josie's success with Prescott's could serve as an entrepreneurial tutorial, I'd say she made a good choice.” Suzanne turned back to me. “Welcome.”

Maurice crossed his arms and tightened his lips. I didn't know why Maurice was angry. Maybe it was that the meeting had been called in the first place. Possibly he was just an angry guy. Lots of people walked around with chips on their shoulders for no discernible reason. I tried hard to avoid them.

“I thought we might begin by—” Suzanne stopped talking midsentence as a knock sounded on the door.

Ray looked up, startled. Suzanne exhaled loudly, miffed at the interruption. Maurice looked down his nose. Ana looked at me, her eyes reflecting anxiety, I couldn't imagine why. I shrugged and made a “who knows—no biggie” face, hoping to reassure her.

“Come in,” Suzanne called.

The door opened, and Stefan stepped into the room. “I'm sorry I'm late.” He closed the door.

Ana swiveled to face her father but didn't speak. She looked stunned.

Ray frowned at Stefan, then resumed flipping through his papers. Maurice glanced at Stefan, then turned toward the window, communicating that none of this was of much interest or importance.

Suzanne smiled, despite her annoyance. “I don't believe we've met. I'm Suzanne Dyre, the Blue Dolphin's general manager.”

“How do you do?” Stefan gave a little bow. “I'm Stefan Yartsin, Ana's father and an investor in her company. Ana mentioned you were going to have a conversation about partnering, and I thought I might be able to contribute something. May I join you?”

Suzanne's eyes moved to Ana's.

Ana took in a deep breath and sidled around to face her father. “Thanks, Dad, but no. I'm fine.”

Stefan's eyes pierced mine, a sharp angry glare, then returned to Ana's for long enough to create an awkward moment.

“You're making a mistake,” he said.

I glanced at Suzanne to gauge her reaction to whatever was occurring—a power struggle, perhaps, or a fight for autonomy. Suzanne's expression revealed nothing beyond polite interest.