This Old Homicide (26 page)

I shook my head in disgust. “I have a feeling someone didn’t get the message, or if they heard it was found, they didn’t hear that it was safely locked up. They must’ve thought Jane had it here. I can’t think of any other explanation.”

Mac looked around. “Who would be brazen enough to walk into a fully staffed and occupied establishment and try to rip off the owner’s property?”

“Someone who’s desperate to find a priceless piece of jewelry,” I said, clenching my teeth to keep from screaming expletives up and down the hall. “The same person who would destroy Jesse’s house looking for the same thing.”

“Yeah,” Eric said, his jaw tightening. “Okay, everybody out. I’ve got to get my team in here and dust for fingerprints.”

“I wonder if they actually took anything,” I said. “If they didn’t find the necklace, maybe nothing’s actually missing.”

“We’ll still need fingerprints.”

“Okay.” I frowned at him. “Just… don’t leave, you know, that black powdery mess everywhere.”

“Out,” he said, pointing toward the hall.

Mac took my hand and pulled me away.

*   *   *

Mac and I stayed at Hennessey House until midnight, keeping Jane company while the police combed through her private suite and all her personal belongings. We started out in the communal living room downstairs, sharing a bottle of wine, and ended up in the kitchen eating ice cream. It was how all good parties progressed, except we weren’t exactly in a partying mood.

I invited Jane to come home with me, but she chose to spend the night alone in one of the unoccupied suites down the hall. Eric allowed her to grab only her nightgown and toothbrush from her suite. That was it.

The following afternoon, Eric gave the okay for me to return to Jane’s rooms and help her begin putting her things back in order. When I walked into her suite, I was dismayed to see almost nothing had been put away yet. And even worse, every surface was covered in that nasty black powder residue.

Jane was in the sitting room, standing by the entry to her bedroom. She looked up when I walked in and I was shocked by how pale and vulnerable she appeared.

“Oh, honey,” I murmured, and ran to give her a hug.

“Shannon.” She was shaking and I wanted to kill whoever had done this to her.

Something had occurred to me when I couldn’t fall asleep the night before. How had the intruder known that Jane wasn’t home last evening? Had he been watching the place? Or staying there? Had he been following her?

It was too soon after the break-in to mention my thoughts to Jane, but I intended to talk to Eric and Mac about them.

Jane was able to steady her nerves enough to start putting her rooms back together. I was in charge of wiping away that damn sticky fingerprint residue off the tables and shelves. Jane was in charge of putting her books and knickknacks and clothes back in their proper places. We’d been working for almost an hour when Althea rushed in, out of breath. “I came as soon as I heard. I can’t believe it. I want to help.”

Jane gaped at her. “You heard about my break-in all the way down in Blue Point?”

“Yes.” She tossed her bag and her sweater on the carpeted floor behind the door. “I have a number of customers from Lighthouse Cove. One of them was in this morning and told me about it.” She surveyed the mess. “How awful. You poor baby. What can I do to help?”

“Nobody was hurt,” Jane said, giving her a half smile. “I can’t even tell if anything was taken, so I refuse to wail and gnash my teeth. We’ll just clean up the mess and move forward.”

Althea walked over and gave her a crushing hug. “You are impossibly brave and sweet. Not everyone would be able to go through something as awful as this and still be smiling.”

“I’m faking the smile,” Jane said with a shrug. “But I’m okay. I was pretty upset last night, but this morning I woke up determined to snap out of it and just do what needs to be done.”

“Good,” Althea said, saluting her. “Let’s get to it.”

It was fun having Althea around. She kept up a steady, light conversation and two hours slipped by before I noticed. The easy chatting helped Jane relax a little, too.

“Well, this doesn’t look too bad.”

I glanced up. Stephen Darby and his father stood in the doorway, wide-eyed, watching us work.

“Hello, Ned,” Jane said, and walked across the room to give him a peck on his pale cheek. “It’s so good to see you. How’s Bob doing?”

“No change.” He shook his head. “He’s still in a coma, but they say his vital signs are good, so who knows? He could pull out of it.”

“I’m going to hope and pray that he does,” she said.

“I appreciate it. I already lost Jesse,” he said wistfully. “If I lose Bob, I’ll be one lonesome cowboy.”

He really did look as though he’d lost his best friend. I said a silent prayer for Bob to wake up soon.

Eric walked into the room just then and looked around until he found Jane. “How’re you doing?”

If I hadn’t been looking toward the door, I would’ve missed Stephen’s reaction when Eric strolled in obviously in charge. The man flinched visibly. Was he just caught off guard or did he have something to fear from the cops?

It seemed that Eric noticed as well. He expanded his chest and stared at Stephen for a good, long moment while Stephen pretended to be invisible.

“I’m going to be fine,” Jane said, oblivious of the little drama. She stood up and gestured at me and Althea. “I have lots of great help, as you can see.”

“Anything missing?” he asked, walking with Jane into the bedroom to speak privately.

I already knew the answer. Jane hadn’t found anything missing. All of her important financial documents and legal papers had been placed inside her new safe-deposit box. Her jewelry had been tossed around, but nothing appeared to have been taken, thank goodness. I knew she owned some expensive pieces that her grandmother had given her.

Something occurred to me and I looked up at Ned. “Has Bob had diabetes for a long time?”

“Long as I’ve known him. He tests his blood and gives himself a shot every morning like clockwork.” He sent Stephen a queasy look. “Not sure I could do that myself.”

“You could do it if you knew it would save your life,” Stephen said, rubbing his dad’s arm affectionately.

Despite my wariness, Stephen was a decent son to Ned. The two got along well and Stephen appeared to be taking good care of his dad—even if he wasn’t eager to live in the same house with him.

A while later, Eric walked out of the bedroom and approached Stephen. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

“Me?” Stephen blinked a few times, clearly agitated.

“Yeah.” He pointed to the hall. “Let’s go find a quiet place. I just have a few questions. We can do it here or down at headquarters.”

“Uh, here is fine, but my father’s waiting for me. I’m taking him to lunch.”

Eric nodded at Ned. “Hello, Mr. Darby. We’ll just be a couple minutes. Why don’t we find you a comfortable chair until we’re finished?”

“I can wait downstairs in that library room,” Ned said.

“Okay. That’s good, Dad,” Stephen said. “I’ll meet you there in a little while.”

The three men left Jane’s rooms, and Althea, Jane, and I gazed at each other.

“Stephen didn’t look happy,” Althea whispered.

I bit back a smile. “Neither did Ned. But I’m sure they have nothing to worry about. Eric is probably interviewing everyone who’s staying here in case they saw or heard something last night.”

She sighed. “That police chief is awfully handsome, isn’t he?”

Now I did smile at her. “Oh yes.”

*   *   *

We continued for another two hours putting Jane’s rooms back in order. Tables were righted and beloved tchotchkes were placed where they’d been before. Althea eschewed the housekeeping staff and ran the vacuum cleaner herself over the area rugs and highly polished wooden floor. Pillows were fluffed and returned to the couches and chairs, books to their proper shelves, and eventually everything looked as pristine and perfect as it had before Jane’s world was turned upside down.

She thanked us both and promised that lunch was going on her tab next week.

“Don’t you worry about that,” Althea said. “Just take care of yourself.”

“I’m holding you to it,” I said.

Jane laughed. “Good, because I mean it. I owe you both.”

“When I get home, I’ll call Palmer at the newspaper,” I said. “I want to make sure everyone in town knows that the necklace is in the bank, okay? Like, put it in a headline so everybody gets it.”

“Good idea,” Jane said. “I don’t know how anyone could’ve gotten the idea that it might be here.”

“Whoever it is, they’re not paying attention. They were still looking for it Saturday night at Jesse’s house.”

“Still?” Jane said. “But I had the locks changed and the police are still cruising the area, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” I said. “We’ve got a determined intruder.”

“Where is this?” Althea asked.

Uh-oh. I had forgotten she didn’t know the whole story. I glanced at Jane. “Jesse’s house. Somebody broke in.”

“More than once,” Jane added.

“We think they were looking for an expensive necklace he found a few years ago.”

“Oh dear,” Althea cried. “Did they break anything?”

I exchanged another look with Jane, then shrugged. Might as well share the rest of the bad news with her. “The first time they smashed a hole in the wall and generally made a horrible mess.”

“That’s disgusting.” She pressed shaking fingers to her lips. “Oh my goodness. Poor Jesse.”

“I’m sorry, Althea. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No. Don’t worry about me. I’m not as fragile as all that. I’m just sorry to think of someone hounding Jesse even after his death.”

“It’s been pretty bad,” I admitted. “And they keep getting away before we can catch them.”

Jane punched her fist against her palm. “You’d think the word would’ve gotten out a long time ago, after we told our friends at our girls’ night dinner.”

“And you living right next door, Shannon.” Althea gave me a worried look. “You must be scared to death.”

“I have plenty of friends looking out for me.”

Althea sighed. “You’re very lucky to have so many friends.”

“We both grew up here, so, you know, that’s life in a small town.”

“I grew up in a big city,” Althea said. “Never thought I’d leave it. But now I love living in a small community.”

“It grows on you,” I said, and started itching, which made Althea giggle.

“I think our work here is done,” Jane announced. “I’m so grateful to you both.”

We had a sentimental group hug and then I took off to check out the Stansburys’ home to see how the last segment of the roof was coming along.

*   *   *

That evening, Mac offered to grill steaks if I would make the salad. I hadn’t had steak in a while, so of course I said yes, immediately.

We dined at my house because it was roomier and closer to the grill. Two baked potatoes were roasting in the toaster oven and the salad was made, so Robbie and I joined him outside at the grill. While we chatted, Mac tossed a ball for Robbie, melting my heart. Of course, Robbie wasn’t all that interested in the “bringing it back” part of the game, so it petered out rather quickly.

After Mac regaled me with the latest gossip in the fascinating world of New York publishing, the conversation naturally drifted back around to Jesse’s murder and the subsequent break-ins and oddities that some of us had experienced.

“Whatever happened with that hotel suicide?” he wondered. “How does that fit in with Jesse’s overdose?”

“You mean Jesse’s murder?”

“The cops are still calling it an overdose.”

“They’re being ultracareful,” I said, “but I know it was murder and Jane agrees. And even if he won’t admit it, Eric agrees, too.”

“Interesting,” Mac said, sipping his wine. “And the hotel suicide?”

“Murder.” I told him how all the fingerprints in the room were wiped clean. “How can that be suicide? Why would he wipe away his own fingerprints?”

“Good question.”

“Because someone killed him,” I said easily.

“Just like Jesse?” He flipped the two rib eyes over and I watched the meat sizzle and the fire spark. “Two homicides meant to look like suicides? That’s quite a coincidence.”

“I guess.” I frowned. “I was suspicious of Andrew when he was hanging around Jane, but I can’t really see a tie-in with the two deaths, can you?”

“If I were writing this as a book, there would absolutely be a tie-in. I try to avoid writing actual coincidences. Everything’s got to count for something, and each action needs to be meaningful. So let’s talk it out. You’ve got two people dead within a few weeks of each other. Both of them supposedly committed suicide. In one small town. What’s the connection? Because there’s got to be one.”

“Okay. Jesse died of an apparent overdose, Andrew of an apparent suicide by some kind of drug administered by syringe. Oh, and there’s Bob. Not that it’s connected, but he slipped into a diabetic coma yesterday.”

“Bob? Jesse’s friend? He’s in a coma?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.” Mac scratched his head. “Well, there’s your third suspicious event. That can’t be a coincidence. And look at the similarities. Nobody was killed in a truly brutal or ‘in your face’ manner,” he said. “No gunshots, no strangulations. They’re all nuanced attacks.”

“Nuanced,” I said, liking the word.

“Subtle,” he added. “Their deaths could skim under the wire, be accepted as accidental. And the killer could get away with murder.”

“Until you put them all together in one small town in the span of a few weeks,” I said, getting angrier. “And then it’s not nuanced at all.”

“No. It’s bold.”

“It’s ‘in your face.’”

“Yeah.” He sipped his wine. “I wouldn’t actually write something like that, because it becomes obvious to the reader. The killer isn’t necessarily obvious, of course, but the crimes are beginning to stack up. And still, it could just be a coincidence.”

“But you don’t honestly think so,” I said.

“Nope, given the fact that there’s somebody digging through Jesse’s house and trashing Jane’s hotel rooms, that pretty much adds up to
foul play
in my book.”