Ornaments of Death (21 page)

“Okay,” I said, to appease him. I didn't want to think about it, but neither did I want to argue.

The two men from the security company, our regular account manager, Russ, and a helper named Terry, arrived eight minutes after they were called.

“Any chance one of the cameras is aimed at the road?” Ellis asked them.

“No,” Russ said. “The range stops at the perimeter of the parking lot.”

I listened in as Ellis described our publicity plan to Wes. I was relieved that my having sent Wes the photos didn't come up.

Half an hour later, the two men from the security company had finished changing the door locks, Fred was uploading the photos to the last of the stolen-art Web sites we subscribed to, Detective Brownley was working the crime scene, and Ellis had agreed to drive me to Zoë's.

*   *   *

“There is no number fourteen Rochand Road,” Ellis told me once we were under way. “There's no forty-one, either. I checked in case Pat Weston transposed the numbers by mistake.”

“And I bet there's no Pat Weston, either.”

“Not that we can find. We have officers canvassing door to door.”

“You won't find her because she doesn't exist.” I slapped my thigh. “I feel like such a fool.”

“I don't know why. You couldn't possibly have anticipated this, Josie.”

I turned to watch the night. It was so dark, I couldn't discern anything, not even the shape of a tree. I looked up. The sky was solid black; not a glimmer of moonlight shone through the cloud cover. “Is it supposed to snow?”

“I don't think so. Why?”

“The night is so black.”

“On cloudy nights, it's darker up here than anywhere I've ever lived before.”

We drove in silence for several minutes. As Ellis turned off the interstate, I asked, “Is there any word about Becca?”

“No.”

“We need to talk to the chair of the Marine Biology Department.”

“Dr. Bennett? I met him when I was at Reynard. What about?”

“Becca.”

He shot me a glance. “That's pretty broad.”

“She drives a silver car.”

“A 2008 Prius,” he said. “Not much of a car for a rich girl.”

“But perfect for a girl who cares about the environment and isn't materialistic.”

“True,” he said. “What do you think Dr. Bennett knows?”

“How Becca and Ethan get along.”

“You think there's some kind of conspiracy going on?” he asked.

“No. It's just, the more we know, the more we know, if you know what I mean.”

“And we don't know about their relationship.”

“I know Ethan told me they were not romantically involved.”

“You don't believe him?”

“I don't disbelieve him. I also wonder if he and Becca are fiercely competitive or friendly competitive. My dad had a friend who was the chair of the History Department at Hitchens years ago. He said his department was filled with well-wishers, colleagues determined to help one another succeed, whereas the Philosophy Department operated like scorpions in a bottle.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No.”

“Jesus. I'll set up a meeting tomorrow.” He glanced at me again. “In the afternoon, so you can sleep late.”

“I'm okay,” I said. “Just a little stiff.”

Ellis didn't comment, and I knew why. He thought that by morning I wouldn't be able to move.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Ellis ran into Zoë's place to get my new keys and kept me company as I gathered what I needed for the night. We walked across the icy driveway to Zoë's house. She had hearty chicken noodle soup warming on the stove and a pot of black currant tea steeping on the counter. I swallowed two painkillers with my first swallow of tea.

Later, after I'd taken a long hot lavender-scented bath, I put on my pink chenille robe and fuzzy slippers. Sitting in her comfy kitchen, I drank a second cup of tea and polished off two bowls of soup. Ellis, she told me, was in her den, working. She sat beside me, not talking unless I did. It was perfect.

I called good night to Ellis, blew Zoë a kiss, and climbed the stairs to her guest room, one stiff and painful step at a time. The room was painted sky blue. The wall-to-wall carpet was a deep, rich shade of blue, almost navy, but not. I used the phone Zoë kept on the bedside table to call Ty. He sounded worried about me. We told each other we loved one another; then I lay down, sighing with relief. Zoë had converted the Double Wedding Ring quilt her great-grandmother had sewn during the Depression into a duvet cover, creating the softest, most cuddly comforter ever. I snuggled my chin over the soft cotton and fell asleep within seconds.

I didn't wake up until nine the next morning, Saturday, tag sale day, which meant I was super late. I reached for the phone, pausing with my arm in midair as knives pierced my shoulder. Ellis had been right. A night in bed was debilitating.

I sat up, ignoring the pain as best I could, and dialed my office. Cara answered with her usual cheery welcome.

“It's me,” I said, and licked my lips. I was parched.

“Oh, Josie,” she said. “Fred told us what happened. How are you?”

“Fine. A little stiff, that's all. I'm sorry I'm late.”

“You don't need to worry about anything. Fred is covering for you.”

We took turns working Saturdays, and today was Fred's day off. “Please thank him, and let him know I'll be in soon.”

“I'll tell him,” she said, her concern apparent, “but are you sure you should?”

“You know me—I hate coddling myself. Plus, there's nothing better for stiff muscles than moving around.”

As soon as I was off the phone, I stood up and tottered, hunched over like an old woman, to the bathroom. Moving around might hurt in the short run, but it was the quickest way to healing. I found painkillers in the medicine cabinet and took two with water I slurped from my hand.

Getting ready took twice as long as usual. Bending was a penance. Stretching was a nightmare. I was proud that I got myself clean and downstairs without crying. I didn't so much as whimper.

Zoë was at the sink rinsing breakfast dishes before sliding them into slots in the dishwasher.

“You're alive!” she said, drying her hands on a Santa Claus tea towel.

“Not really,” I said, easing myself into a chair. “I hurt.”

“My blueberry pancakes will set you back up. Want a cup of coffee while I get the griddle going?”

“I can't. I'm late.”

“A girl needs to eat.”

“True. Okay. Thanks. Coffee would be welcome.”

Zoë poured pineapple juice into a holly-decorated glass.

“Ouch,” she said, her eyes on my hands.

“I know. Scrapes hurt.”

“Can I take a peek at your bruises?”

“Why?”

“I want to see how badly you're hurt.”

“Let's not know. There's nothing to be done but let nature run its healing course, so why make an issue of it?”

“No open wounds that need attention?”

“None.”

“Okay, then pancakes are on their way.”

I watched her add butter to the griddle and lay partially cooked strips of bacon in a roasting pan.

“Is Ellis gone?” I asked.

“Yes. He wanted me to let you know that Wes has reported your attack and that the theft is the lead story everywhere. Wes is writing a feature for
New York Today
on the brazen nature of the attack and another for
Antiques Insights
magazine on the ease of stealing small objects.”

“Oh, joy. I'll be a laughingstock nationwide.”

“No one is laughing, Josie.”

I knew what I was in for. The press would be all over me hurling questions like bombs, hoping one would explode inside me, rattling me enough so they would get a juicy quote.

“What else did Ellis say?”

“No one has used your phone or credit cards.”

“I can't believe I forgot to worry about that.” I started to lift myself up and groaned. “I need to cancel them.”

“Ty took care of it last night.”

“Really?” I sank back down. “That's incredible.”

“You're the one who was so organized you gave him a list of your account numbers.”

“That's me. Little Miss Organized.”

Zoë turned toward me, her concern apparent. “What's wrong, Josie?”

“Nothing you don't know about.”

“I wish there was something I could do.”

“There is,” I said. “You're doing it.”

Zoë adjusted the flame under the griddle and put the bacon in the oven. She took a bowl of batter from the refrigerator and scooped a half-cupful onto the sizzling surface.

“What else do I need to know?” I asked.

“You have an appointment at the police station at three. To talk to someone named Dr. Bennett. I'll drive you to work. Ellis will send a car to get you at two thirty.”

“Thank you, Zoë.”

“Dr. Bennett is Becca's boss. Do I have that right?”

“I don't think ‘boss' is exactly the way to put it. He's the chair of the Marine Biology Department at the Boston campus of Reynard, but she's only here for a year on some kind of grant. She's based at their British campus.”

“And you think he might know something about where Becca is?” she asked, flipping the pancake.

“No, but it wouldn't surprise me one bit if he knows something about Becca's relationship with Ethan.”

“How does that figure into things?”

“I've wondered if Ethan was underplaying his relationship with Becca in the hopes that he might get over on me. He is pretty flirtatious.” I started to shrug, stopping when my muscles protested. “If they have an actual boyfriend-girlfriend relationship, it's worth considering how Ethan might have reacted if Ian didn't approve.”

“Why wouldn't he have approved?”

“I have no idea. It's all just speculation.”

“It always comes back to the boy-girl thing, doesn't it?” she asked.

“Or fear. Or greed. Or revenge.”

“Do you think Becca and Ethan are an item?”

“He's pretty charming.”

She turned toward me for a moment. “You don't say that about many men.”

“Not many men are charming.”

“Ain't that the truth,” she said, laughing.

She took the bacon from the oven, rolled it in a paper towel, and added it to my plate beside the pancake. I drizzled the warm maple syrup she'd poured into a jug over the pancake and took a bite. “Ummm. This is incredible. Are these the blueberries we picked last summer?”

“Yes.” She leaned back against the counter. “Freezing them works like a charm.”

“I'll say!” I finished my juice, weighing a new thought. “It doesn't have to be jealousy. It could be anger. What if Becca
doesn't
agree with me that Ethan is all that charming?”

“Lots of people don't take rejection well.”

“Ethan jokes a lot about how much better than him Becca is, you know, teasing in a sardonic kind of way. It's not snide. He really is funny and sort of cute about it. I'm betting Dr. Bennett will know if his humility is artifice or real.”

“I'll look forward to an update.”

Zoë wouldn't let me clean up, so I sat and kept her company while she did the work. I left Ty a voice mail, telling him I was stiff but fine.

Around ten thirty, Zoë dropped me at my office. “Call if you need me.”

I promised I would and, with doddering steps, made it inside. Gretchen, manning the phones so Cara got a break, leapt up from her desk and ran toward me, her beautiful green eyes communicating anxiety alongside the caring.

“You shouldn't be here,” she said, her hands extended.

“I'm okay. Thanks, Gretchen.” I raised my palms. “I'm sure you'll understand if I skip a handshake, though.”

“Of course.”

She tried to hustle me into a chair.

“Really,” I said sternly. “I'm fine.” I smiled to rob my words of surliness. “I appreciate your concern, Gretchen, you know I do. Tell me what's going on with the tag sale.”

“Things are good. People are three deep at the vintage ornament displays. Sasha told me the clip-on candle holders were all gone by ten.”

“It's all about stocking up, right?”

“And you start buying in January!”

“What are you talking about? I start buying the day after Christmas!”

The wind chimes tinkled, and we both turned toward the door. Ethan walked in. He smiled when he saw me, but it didn't reach his eyes. He looked upset.

“Hey,” he said. “It looks like I got lucky. Got a minute?”

“Sure.”

I introduced them, watching for Gretchen's reaction. She had a good nose for bad men, having dated more than her share before finally meeting her prince, her husband, Jack. From what I could see as they chatted easily about how today's forty-degree warm-up after yesterday's below-freezing temperatures proved the old saw about New Hampshire—if you don't like the weather, wait five minutes—she thought he was a keeper.

“You go help out at the tag sale,” I told her after a minute. “I'll cover the phones.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

I cringed at the picture climbing the spiral staircase conjured up in my mind's eye. Me clinging painfully to the banister as I lurched my way up one step at a time. No way.

“Yes,” I said. “I'll call when we're done, and you or Cara can come back. Tell Cara, okay?”

Gretchen didn't want to leave me, offering coffee or tea, suggesting a footstool, fussing and fretting until finally I shooed her away.

When she opened the door, Hank popped through.

“She sure thinks you're a weak Nellie, doesn't she?” Ethan asked once the door was closed behind her.