Hide Yourself Away (24 page)

“This is all we need,” groaned Detective Manzorella from the passenger seat. “The Sloane girl dead, now a student intern missing. If this one hits the local papers, we’re going to have the mayor barking at us again. Crime doesn’t foster summer tourism.”

Inside the ballroom, Mickey oversaw the buffet cleanup. He wanted to make sure that, start to finish, this first job for the TV network went well.

KEY News was a prestigious client to add to his roster. Though the news team might not be in Newport again to order from Seasons for a long time, Mickey wanted them to be satisfied.
He hoped to get a quote for the “Satisfied Customers” page in his brochure and website. That heavy woman who had placed the order had already offered to give him a rave. But Mickey was hoping for someone a little higher up the food chain than Beth Terry.

Constance Young hadn’t touched the buffet, but Harry Granger looked like he had enjoyed it. He had gone up to the serving table twice. Mickey was about to approach the
KTA
host with his request when he noticed the tall policeman standing in the doorway. Mickey had a visceral urge to flee.

Be calm,
he told himself. It was only Tommy James, and Al Manzorella along with him.
You’ve known these guys for years. They aren’t even looking for you. They couldn’t have known you’d be here.

But when you had a guilty conscience, you feared that anyone could discover your secret.

The detective and patrolman crossed the newsroom to the assignment desk.

“We’re looking for Beth Terry.”

“That’s me.”

Al and Tommy identified themselves. “Thanks for calling in with the information, Miss Terry,” said the detective. “We’d like to talk to anyone who might know anything about Sam Watkins. What he did that night, who he talked to.”

Beth glanced nervously around the newsroom to make sure Linus wasn’t there. “Well, I suppose the thing that stands out most for me is that Sam was scheduled to appear on
KTA
the next morning. His face had been shown on a promo, not identifying him by name but touting him as an eyewitness to Madeleine Sloane’s murder.”

So this was
that
kid, thought Tommy James with anger, recalling the resistance the night-shift guys had reported getting when they’d come here Sunday night. If they’d identified Sam Watkins then, they might not be in this mess now.

“We’d like a copy of that video of Sam, Miss Terry, so we can get a picture out of it for our investigation and search.” Detective Manzorella made a notation in his book.

“Certainly,” said Beth. “We have the equipment to isolate that picture for you here, Detective.”

“Can you suggest anyone else we should talk to?” asked Al.

“Scott Huffman, the satellite truck operator, was the last one I know of who saw him. Scott’s down at Bowen’s Wharf getting the truck in position for the broadcast tomorrow morning.” Beth bit her bottom lip, trying to think of who else might be able to help the police. “Maybe the other interns?” she offered, looking around the newsroom again. “But Joss Vickers is out on a shoot right now. I don’t know where Zoe Quigley has gone off to. And you just missed Grace Callahan. I know Grace said that she bumped into Sam outside on the porch just before he left to go over to The Breakers Sunday night.”

Hearing the name, Detective Manzorella made the connection.
Grace Callahan had come to the station the day before with the story about the dream Madeleine Sloane had confided to her shortly before she died. The same Grace Callahan had been the one to talk to Sam Watkins right before he disappeared. Maybe Grace Callahan was more involved in this than was healthy for her.

  CHAPTER  
83

“You better let me off here,” said Grace as the cab arrived at the gate to Shepherd’s Point. She paid the driver, suddenly realizing she’d have no way back to the hotel once he drove away. “If I call you later, will you come to pick me up?”

“Sure, but it might take a while for me to get back out here.”

“That’s fine. Thank you very much.”

Terence was not stationed at the entrance to the estate this afternoon, and Grace was glad. She didn’t want to have to talk her way onto the grounds. The gate was slightly ajar, as if no one cared enough anymore to bother trying to keep intruders away. As Grace entered, she was reminded of that first meeting with Madeleine at this gate just a few short days ago.

The cats lying in the sun glanced disinterestedly at Grace as she walked up the long driveway. Heat waves shimmered above the overgrown shrubs and uncut grass. She felt a bead of perspiration trickle down her side.

The shade of the porte cochere was a relief. Grace walked up the steps, took a deep breath, and knocked on the peeling door. After a few moments, a glowering elderly woman appeared.

“Hello. My name is Grace Callahan. Are you Miss Wagstaff?”

“No. I’m her housekeeper.”

“Oh. Well, I was hoping that Miss Wagstaff would be able to see me.”

“About what?” The housekeeper eyed Grace with suspicion.

“Actually, this is a condolence call about her niece.”

“Well, thank you very much for coming, but Miss Agatha isn’t receiving anyone right now.”

Grace had no intention of forcing herself on the grieving woman. “All right,” she said. “But would you please tell Miss Wagstaff how sorry I am and that I was with her niece the night she died. Madeleine spoke of how much she loved her aunt. I hope Miss Wagstaff will find some comfort in that.”

The housekeeper nodded and started to shut the door as Grace turned to leave. She had reached the bottom step when she heard the aristocratic voice.

“Let the young woman in, Finola.”

The stench of cat urine was nauseating. As Grace followed Agatha into the darkened deck room, she stifled a gag. Didn’t they smell it? If Grace stayed in this house, she was afraid she was going to vomit all over the worn carpet.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Wagstaff, but I have a cat dander allergy,” Grace fibbed. “Is there any possibility that we could speak outside?”

If once Agatha would have balked, today she didn’t care. “Finola,” she called. “Please bring me my parasol.”

“This was one of Madeleine’s favorite spots,” Agatha murmured as they walked down the fieldstone steps from the veranda into the terraced garden. “She loved to play here as a child. She’d sit on that bench over there and play with her dolls and sing songs by the hour. Madeleine was such a joy to have around. Such a comfort.”

With sympathy, Grace gazed at the older woman. Despite the shade afforded by the faded parasol, the afternoon light was unforgiving. Agatha’s wrinkles were etched deeply in her almost translucent skin. Grace marveled that, in spite of her grief, Agatha had still managed to apply her crimson lipstick.

“Should we sit on Madeleine’s bench?” Agatha asked.

“Yes. That would be nice.”

As they sat side by side, Grace began to recount her story,
but found herself editing out the part about Madeleine’s dream. She didn’t want to upset the old lady further by bringing up her sister’s murder.

“Madeleine told me that you had showered her with affection and that she loved you very, very much.”

Agatha reached over and took hold of Grace’s arm. “You don’t know how much it means to me to hear that. I did my best to care for Madeleine, especially after her mother wasn’t here anymore. I came to despise Oliver after Charlotte disappeared and all the talk was that he had killed my sister. But, to his credit, he didn’t keep Madeleine from me. I’m so grateful for that.”

Loosening her grasp on Grace’s arm, Agatha got up from the bench. “I want to show you something.”

On her spindly legs, Agatha stepped gingerly into the brambles at the center of the garden. She pulled back some overgrown brush. “Come look at this, Grace.”

Beneath the weeds, Grace could make out the shape of an iron circle. A thin triangle projected from the face of a clock. A sundial.

“See the inscription? It says ‘Time Flies, Love Stays.’ That’s what I will try to remember, Grace. Love stays.”

“That’s a beautiful sentiment,” Grace whispered.

“I know it is. Madeleine’s mother loved it, as did our mother before her. My father had earrings made for my mother, tiny versions of this sundial. I gave them to Charlotte. After everything happened, I asked Oliver for them back, but
he said Charlotte was wearing them the night she disappeared.”

Grace recalled the single earring Charlotte was wearing in Madeleine’s dream. So, this was the design of that earring. What had happened to its mate? she wondered.

  CHAPTER  
84

Lifting the heavy iron seagull door knocker, Mickey was relieved to have gotten away from the hotel and the police, but he was not exactly looking forward to his meeting with Elsa Gravell to go over the last-minute details for the Ball Bleu. He thought her obsession with birds bordered on weird. It was one thing to have a hobby, but Elsa had taken her fascination to another level.

Elsa answered the door, wearing a pale green linen dress with a canary pin attached at the shoulder. “Mr. Hager, please come in.”

He followed her into the parlor noticing, as he had the first time he had come here to make plans for the party, the pains to which Elsa had gone to implement her bird theme. The sofas and club chairs were covered with fabrics printed with parrots
and cockatoos in vibrant colors. Antique brass cages, with tiny glass birds sitting on wooden perches, were displayed on tables and on the fireplace mantel. Every lamp had some sort of bird included in the motif on its porcelain base. The large round coffee table was stacked with heavy books on birding. Audubon prints of owls, seagulls, hawks, and woodpeckers hung from the walls. The place was bright enough, Mickey thought, taking a seat on top of a parrot-covered cushion, but it creeped him out.

“I have the final head count for you here,” said Elsa, handing Mickey a sheet of paper. “The turnout is gratifying.”

Mickey glanced at the sheet. “Fine. This is just about what we were expecting.”

“I suppose you want the next-to-last payment now,” said Elsa.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Elsa went to the desk, took the checkbook from the drawer, and after writing out the agreed amount, handed the check to him. “I’ll have the rest of it for you Thursday morning, provided, of course, all goes well.”