Ornaments of Death (22 page)

“Weak Nellie!” I said, laughing. “Where did that expression come from?”

“My mother from her grandmother. It was most decidedly not a compliment.”

“I can tell.” I pointed to the chairs surrounding the guest table. I got myself settled at Cara's desk, and with an impatient mew, Hank leapt up into my lap. “Have a seat. I'll stay here by the phone.”

“Are you all right?” he asked as he sat down near the window

“Just a little stiff.” I petted Hank. “A minor accident.”

“I read about it in the
Seacoast Star.
That's why I'm here. From what that reporter wrote, it wasn't an accident, and it wasn't minor.”

“Don't believe everything you read.” I smiled. “It's sweet of you to stop by, though.”

Ethan frowned at the floor for a moment. He raised his eyes to mine. “The police asked me where I was when you were attacked.”

“That would get my attention.”

“It sure got mine.”

“What did you tell them?”

“The truth. I was in my room at the institute, writing a paper on oysters and soil erosion.”

“Alone.”

He smiled, a crooked one, and I knew one of his trademark witty remarks was coming. “All night, I'm sorry to report. Want to hear about how oysters can save the world?”

“Another time, maybe.”

He looked at Hank, or maybe at me petting Hank, I couldn't be sure. He began an unconscious pitter-patter fingertip drumbeat on the tabletop.

“I'm worried about Becca,” he said after a few seconds. “I think she might be in danger.”

“Why?”

“Because she's disappeared. No way is she a killer, so the only alternative is that something bad has happened to her. What else could be going on?”

“And both her rooms have been broken into.”

“Exactly. Whatever is happening, she seems to be at the center of it.”

I couldn't tell if Ethan had come to check on me, like he said, or if he hoped that if I knew anything about Becca, I could be tricked into revealing it, as I feared. I stroked Hank's tummy, and his purrs grew louder.

“I've never met Becca,” I said.

“She's fun.”

“Really? I got the impression she was pretty serious.”

“Yeah, she's not real fun. I just said that 'cause, you know…”

I wondered what else Ethan had said just 'cause, you know.

“So,” he said, crossing his long legs at the ankles, leaning back comfortably, “what have the police discovered about your attack?”

“I don't know. I just got into work a few minutes before you arrived. I haven't heard a word.”

“It's a helluva thing.”

“What do you think might have happened?”

“What do I think?” he asked, taken aback at my question. “No clue.” He glanced at the wall clock and stood up. “I'm glad you're okay.”

“I appreciate it, Ethan.”

“Is there anything I can do? Can I bring you food or something? I do a mean takeout.”

“Thanks, but I'm all set.”

“Well, then,” he said, “you take care.” He left.

I sat where I was, fielding calls from customers asking for directions or for our hours of operation and thinking about Becca, a serious woman living with a humorous man, maybe as roommates, maybe as more than roommates.

Every Saturday, I provided pizza for all my staff, and when the delivery came just before noon, I relocated to the guest table and called Cara back in so she could organize everyone's lunch schedule.

I couldn't shake off a nebulous feeling that I was missing the significance of something I'd seen or heard. Finally, I gave up thinking about it and focused instead on mushroom pizza, my favorite.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Griff got me to the police station about ten to three. I thanked him for the ride and walked inside in time to hear Detective Brownley say, “Not along that stretch.”

“So you can get from the interstate to the church without seeing a security camera,” Ellis said.

“Right. If the car came from Main Street, there's a bank on the corner of Walnut that might capture an image, but there's no evidence that's the route the driver took.”

“Another dead end.” Ellis saw me, nodded thanks to the detective, and came out from behind the counter.

“Hey,” I said.

“How you holding up?”

“About as you'd expect.”

“I know you don't want me hovering over you or anything, but—”

“That's for sure,” I said, interrupting. I smiled, meaning it, and touched his forearm. “If I need anything, I'll ask. Actually, I'd love a cup of tea.”

He communicated my request to Cathy and led the way to his office. He pointed to the round guest table, and I took a seat near the window. A faint yellow glow radiated from behind the still-thick cloud cover. Sunlight was trying to nudge through. A thermometer Ellis had mounted outside the front window showed 41. A two-foot-tall pine tree in a red pot sat in the middle of the table. Little red and green shiny balls hung from the branches. A lacy angel perched on the top.

“This is new,” I said.

“Zoë insisted I had to have a little holiday cheer in my office.”

“It's cute.”

“We'll plant it out back in the spring.”

“That's a super idea. You can watch it grow.”

“Dr. Bennett was already in Rocky Point,” Ellis said, leaning back. “He's meeting with the Oceanographic Institute folks, developing a plan to carry on Becca's research—it seems someone needs to check on her clams and monitor her experiments or all her work to date will be lost. I told him you were helping us out with an antiques aspect to the case, so he won't be surprised to see you.” He glanced at his watch. “He'll be here in a few minutes.”

“I assume there's no news about the missing paintings or you would have told me.”

“Nothing definitive yet.”

“I'm still reeling at the loss.”

“Don't give up hope. We've just launched our investigation.”

“I know. I understand.” I pointed to a red tin with a sleigh on top. “Did Zoë bake cookies?”

“No, I did.” He smiled. “Not cookies. Brownies. You know me. I'm a brownie-making machine. Want one?”

“Heck, yes!”

Cathy came in with the tea, and while we waited for Dr. Bennett, I sat nibbling and sipping, as content as I could be under the circumstances. Ellis moved to his desk and began fussing with some papers.

“Can I use your phone to text Ty?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said, handing it over.

I texted Ty that I was with Ellis, using his phone, that I was fine, and that I loved him. He texted back that he'd definitely be home next Thursday.
Yay!
I typed.

Ellis came back to the guest table and sat across from me. I slid his phone back to him.

Cathy knocked once, opened the door without waiting for an invitation, and escorted Dr. Bennett into the room.

“Thanks,” Dr. Bennett told her, striding into the office with the confidence of a man used to being in charge.

Ellis stood, and the two men shook hands.

Josiah Bennett was a big man, taller than Ellis by several inches, and Ellis was a hair more than six feet tall. Bennett wore a tan corduroy sports coat, an ivory shirt with a blue and brown striped tie, dark blue jeans, and hiking boots. He was nice-looking, without any one feature standing out. His hair was brown and cut short. He had a small mole near his left ear. I guessed he was about sixty.

“Thanks for coming in,” Ellis said. “This is Josie Prescott.”

The professor reached across the table, and I raised my palms, showing him my wounds.

“Sorry,” I said.

“My God, are you all right?”

“I'm fine. Just a few minor scrapes.”

“Good, good,” Dr. Bennett said with jovial enthusiasm. “It's a real pleasure to meet you. My wife is a huge fan of your tag sale. She collects old picture frames.”

“Nice,” I said. “What kinds?”

“All kinds, but the old gilt ones are her favorites. Entire walls in our house are covered with them.”

“What does she display?”

“Family photos in the den,” he said, settling in between Ellis and me. “Nothing in the dining room. She says the empty frames let the viewer step inside.”

“I love that idea!” I said.

“Coffee?” Ellis asked him, ready to bring us back to business. “Tea?”

“Nothing, thanks.”

“As I told you, we're investigating several crimes, all of which seem to involve Rebecca Bennington. I've asked Josie to help out because of an antiques angle, and that's probably as good a place to start as any.”

Ellis nodded at me. Dr. Bennett cocked his head and looked at me, interested in what I might ask.

“Have you seen any small paintings Becca had?” I asked. “Miniatures, they're called. Oval-shaped portraits.”

“No.”

“Did she ever talk about them?”

“Not that I recall.” He opened his palms and turned to face Ellis. “I don't know Becca all that well, except by her reputation, which is extraordinary. I met her for the first time last August when she joined our department for a year's work. Before then, our contact was solely via e-mail.”

“I understand,” Ellis said. “Nonetheless, we need to talk to everyone who knows her.”

“What crimes are we talking about?”

“The break-ins at her apartment and her room at the institute, and her dad's murder. Also, not that it's a crime, per se, but she seems to be missing.”

Professor Bennett leaned back, nodding slowly. “We're very concerned about that.”

“Have you heard anything that might shed some light on the situation?”

“No Just a lot of silly gossip.”

“Like what?”

Dr. Bennett shook his head. “I don't repeat rumors.”

“Good policy in most circumstances,” Ellis said. “This is different. Don't think of it as rumors or gossip. Think of it as potential leads. You know the old saying about how there's no smoke without fire. Sometimes, of course, what we perceive as smoke is really harmless steam. We need to look into everything so we can tell what we're dealing with, smoke or steam. We're discreet and circumspect and respectful, but we need to know.”

The professor pushed out his bottom lip out and nodded slightly. “Intriguing spin. It's all in how you position it. I study zooplankton, you know, diatoms, radiolarians, krill, and the like. They're weak swimmers, so people think they're weak. Hardly. The most prevalent rumor is that Becca has fled back to England.”

“Based on what?” Ellis asked.

“She's missing.”

“But why England?”

“It's her home.”

“What else have you heard?”

“From what she confided in a colleague, she's recently out of a bad marriage. Some people speculate that she went back to her husband.”

“Why?”

“Because women do that sort of thing.”

“So do men,” Ellis remarked, his tone dry.

“True.”

“Who's her ex?”

“I never heard the name.”

“Do different people hold different opinions or is there a consensus?”

“I try not to listen.” He smiled. “I'm simply passing on the remarks I've heard.”

“Understood. What else?”

“Nothing.”

I glanced at Ellis. His eyes were fixed on Dr. Bennett's face. I suspected he didn't believe that Bennett had fully emptied the bag and he was looking for a way to shake the rest loose.

“Chief Hunter mentioned you were up here to figure out how to protect Becca's research,” I said. “What have you come up with?”

“A colleague of hers has kindly stepped up. Ethan Ferguson. One of her large grants is from the Petro Group Foundation. We're meeting with them Monday. Everyone agrees that it's crucial her work continue uninterrupted.”

“Does that mean Ethan will take over her grant?”

“No. We've simply asked the foundation to let Dr. Ferguson be listed as ‘acting principal investigator.' They've told me they're receptive to the change—pending a meeting with him to hear his plans. It's pretty much pro forma. The foundation is excited about her findings to date. Her work focuses on breeding clams for harsher environments.”

“Like oil spills,” I said.

“Hopefully not that harsh, but certainly for surviving in less than pristine ocean waters.”

“How do Ethan and Becca get along?”

“Very well, I should think. They room together.”

“Are they romantically involved?” Ellis asked.

“Not that I know of, but I'm not sure I would.”

Ellis asked a few more questions, trying to ferret out additional nuggets of gossip, without success. I got the sense that Dr. Bennett had given us all he had. Ellis thanked him, I told him I hoped to see him and his wife at the tag sale soon, and Ellis walked him out.

I'd just finished my tea when Ellis returned.

“What do you think?” he asked me.

“I think Becca's disappearance gives Ethan what he has yet to achieve on his own—the opportunity to spearhead a major grant.”

“Let's talk to him about that.” Ellis reached for his desk phone and punched three buttons, an internal call. “Ethan Ferguson … he's up here, right?… Send someone to pick him up … Tell him we have a few questions and could really use his help … Get him settled in an interview room and let me know he's here.” He hung up and looked at me. “I'd like to ask you to sit in, Josie, in case the miniatures come up.”

“That's fine. I've met him several times, and we get along well.”

Ellis thanked me. I said I'd like to rest while we waited for Ethan, and he left me in his office. I took more painkillers and lay down on his couch, under a Christmas green snowflake-patterned cotton throw. I didn't sleep. I rested my eyes and thought about Becca.