Where Truth Lies (13 page)
“With gravy on the mashed potatoes?”
She heard Matt chuckle. “I didn’t have lunch,” she explained. “Or breakfast.”
Matt looked thoroughly entertained. “And you’re stocking up. I understand.” He gave the waiter his order—a sedate Caesar salad and the pan-seared salmon.
“Are you trying to shame me?” Grace asked when the waiter was gone.
“Not at all. I love a woman with a hearty appetite.”
“A former boyfriend told me once that I was an expensive date.”
“Is that why he’s now a
former
boyfriend?”
“No, I dumped him because he failed to tell me that he was married.”
“Oh.”
“You must think that I’m very stupid.”
“Everyone is entitled to one mistake.”
“How about four?”
Matt put his glass down. “Four?”
“Uh-huh. Before Preston there was Michael. He broke up with me when he found out that I was a Republican. My second boyfriend was a controlling freak, a flaw I first mistook for strength.”
“And the one after that?”
“A hypochondriac. Name an illness and he had it.”
Matt covered his mouth with his fist to conceal a chuckle.
Grace leaned back and folded her arms. “Are you rethinking the stupid part?”
“No. I think you’re just unlucky.”
“And you’re being polite.”
“Maybe number five will be the charm?”
“I don’t intend to find out.”
“Now
that
could be regarded as stupid.”
Grace quietly studied him for a moment. She had never revealed so much of herself in such a short time to any man before, and while she would have loved to keep this light, easy chatter going, she couldn’t allow herself to forget Bernie, especially now that
she
may have been the one to jeopardize his safety.
“Now that you know all my secrets,” she said, “could we change the subject?”
“You want to discuss
my
love life?”
She laughed and found herself flirting back. “How long would that take?”
“At least the rest of the night.”
“Then we’ll save that conversation for another time.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing, but if you insist, sure, we can change the subject. What did you have in mind?”
“Bernie. If the killer felt threatened by him, why didn’t he kill him at the same time he killed Steven?”
“It would have looked too suspicious. Or, he may not have grasped the extent of the threat until now.”
Grace felt the heavy pressure of guilt bearing down on her. “I feel terrible. This is all my fault.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“It doesn’t matter. I put Bernie in deadly danger and I don’t know what to do to fix it.”
“Would you feel better if I got him out of the way? Put him in a safe house until this investigation is over?”
“Yes, I would,” Grace said eagerly. “The problem is, I’m not sure Bernie will agree.”
“He will if he’s scared enough.”
M
att stood on the front porch of the home where he was raised, remembering the good times—Halloween, Christmas, birthday celebrations, Lucy’s much anticipated arrival and the bad—his mother’s illness, and death.
That time of their lives had been tough on all three of them, but particularly on his sister, who was only ten at the time. Giving Lucy the mother she needed may have been one of the reasons Fred had remarried only one year after his wife’s death. But when Matt pointed out the twenty-eight-year age difference, Fred had replied with a few sharp words.
“That’s
your
hang-up, son, not mine. I love Denise, but not for the reasons you stated. She is fun, she is kind and she has restored my zest in life. Now is that so wrong?”
But although Matt hadn’t been convinced, he’d had to admit that the former babysitter’s fondness for the Baxter family could not be disputed. At a time when Lucy and Fred had desperately tried to resume a seminormal life, Denise had been there for them. She had brought food to the house, had provided Fred with a list of housekeepers, and made sure that Lucy got to her ballet lessons on time. And when the ten-year-old had come home in tears because she no longer had a den mother, once again, Denise had come to the rescue.
Matt had no doubt that she had done it all from the goodness of her heart. That’s how the Newmans were—trusting, kind, selfless and generous.
Felicia had been the exception—the black sheep, as some liked to refer to her. Beautiful and popular with the boys, she enjoyed being the center of attention and seldom worried about others’ feelings. She was particularly spiteful to Dusty Colburn, the man who was eventually arrested for her kidnapping. Her lack of sensitivity, which most of the time she concealed very well, was the reason Matt had ended their relationship. Nonetheless, her disappearance had shaken him as much as it had the rest of the town.
But while most of New Hope had accepted the police theory, Denise, only fifteen when her sister disappeared, hadn’t agreed with that scenario. “The police arrested the wrong man,” she told anyone who would listen. “We all know that Dusty doesn’t have a nasty bone in his body, and the fact that he can’t defend himself is no reason to lock him up.”
Because of her open criticism of the New Hope PD, many had expected the Baxters to fire her as their babysitter. They hadn’t, primarily because Lucy adored her, but also because she was one of the most caring, dependable babysitters in town.
Matt hadn’t felt the same way. In his opinion, Denise was much too young for a serious, settled man like Fred Baxter. How long would it be until his pretty young wife went looking for someone else?
Matt would have done anything not to be right. Unfortunately, his predictions had come true, and the consequences had been disastrous.
He rang the bell and within a few moments, Denise opened the door. Not shy when it came to colors, she wore a bright orange sweater with a sequined pumpkin on the front and tight black pants. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing black-and-white “ghost” earrings dangling from her ears.
There was a brief moment of surprise before the quick, friendly smile appeared. Denise had never been one to hold grudges. “Matt! What a pleasant surprise. Have you changed your mind?”
“About?”
“Staying with us.”
“No. I just stopped by to talk to you. You have a minute?”
“I do. Come in. What can I get you?” she asked as she walked ahead of him and into the familiar kitchen. “Beer? Soda? Coffee?”
“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. Her cheerfulness made his task a little more difficult. “Denise, this isn’t a social call.”
Far from stupid, she got the message instantly. “That’s right. You’ve been making the rounds, haven’t you? Talking to people, building a list of suspects. I was wondering when you’d get to me.”
“It’s nothing personal.”
“Of course not. You want to sit down? Or is that too…social?”
He sat down at the old table where his family had shared so many meals. Filled with nostalgia, he looked around him, noticing a pumpkin pie on the island—Lucy’s favorite.
“So.” Denise crossed her legs and wrapped her hands around her knees. “What do you want to know?”
“You could start by telling me where you were the night Steven was killed.”
If the blunt question offended her, she didn’t show it. “Didn’t you read the police report?”
He had read every page—the coroner’s and ballistic findings, statements from various witnesses at Pat’s Pub, as well as Denise’s. “I’d like to hear it directly from you. If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Under the nonchalance, however, he sensed a certain level of anxiety. “I was at the shop, working on a new design. I didn’t pay attention to the time until I looked up and saw that it was past seven. I’m sure that if you ask around, some of the other business owners will confirm that.”
“That’s where I’m having a little bit of a problem, Denise. Jay Dunn and Gloria Saunders don’t recall seeing you in your shop when they left. They’re not even certain the lights were on.”
“Can I help it if they’re not observant?” she asked defensively. “Does that make me a murderer?”
“No.”
“But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To pin this murder on me.”
“I’m not trying to
pin
a murder on anybody, Denise. I’m trying to get to the truth. And the only way I’m going to do that is if I get straight answers.”
“I didn’t kill Steven. Is that straight enough for you?”
Matt waited a beat before asking his next question. “Were you and Steven getting along?”
She laughed. “Lovers usually do.”
“Every relationship has its ups and downs, and we both know that Steven had a roving eye.”
“We were getting along just fine.” Her tone had sharpened slightly.
“You never had a spat? You didn’t resent his little escapades?”
“He didn’t have ‘little escapades.’”
“That’s not what I hear.”
“He was a flirt, Matt, that’s all. An incorrigible flirt. I knew that going in.”
“And it didn’t bother you?”
“Not as long as he didn’t act on it. Men are the way they are. No woman is going to change that.”
A door banged shut. “Matt, is that you?”
Seconds later, Lucy walked in, saw him and ran to give him a warm hug. “I didn’t know you were coming. Did you change your mind? Are you going to stay with us?”
“No, Luce.” He was suddenly uncomfortable. “I thought you had a morning class,” he said, hoping to change the conversation.
“It was cancelled.” That keen sixth sense he had always found so spooky suddenly kicked in. “What’s going on?” she asked, looking from him to Denise.
“Your brother just stopped by to say hello,” Denise said, bailing him out. “Isn’t that nice?” She laughed. “There’s hope for us after all.”
“Uh-uh.” Lucy shook her head. “I don’t believe it.” She dropped her books on the table. “Why are you really here, Matt?”
“Doing my job, Lucy.”
“By
interrogating
Denise?”
Again, Denise tried to intervene. “Lucy, please—”
Lucy cut her short. “No, I won’t let him do that to you. You leave her alone, do you hear me, Matt?”
Denise wrapped her arms around Lucy’s shoulders. “I really don’t mind, honey. I have nothing to hide.”
Matt would have been tempted to believe her if it hadn’t been for Lucy. Not nearly as practiced in the art of deception as an older person might be, she shot her stepmother a quick, fearful look that was a dead giveaway.
Something was going on between those two.
Denise gave Lucy’s shoulder a gentle shake. “I’m afraid you’ve got your little sister upset, Matt. Could we do this at some other time?”
What choice did he have? “Sure.” He stood up, his gaze on Lucy. Her eyes were heavy with resentment. “Are we still on for lunch?” he asked, rising.
She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I’ll let you know.”
“Good enough.” He walked over and kissed her cheek. For a moment, he expected her to pull away but she didn’t. Nor did she return the kiss. “’Bye, Luce.” Above the blond head, his eyes met Denise’s. Her eyes had filled with tears.
“I’ll see myself out,” he said.
C
oncerned that Chief Nader, who tended to dramatize, would call Steven’s mother and tell her about the events of the last twenty-four hours, Grace had called Sarah the next morning to give her a simpler version.
She didn’t get far. At the word
forgery,
Sarah became indignant.
“Dear Lord, Grace,” she said, her tone filled with reproach. “How can you remain so calm and matter-of-fact? This isn’t some trivial offense one can simply brush away. It’s a serious felony.”
Grace bit her lip before replying. “The crime and consequences have been thoroughly spelled out to me, Sarah. And if I gave you the impression that I’m treating this matter lightly, I apologize. I’m quite aware of the gravity of the situation. However, as I explained earlier, reimbursing Steven’s clients should minimize the problem. That’s entirely up to you. So, the question is, what do you want to do?”
There was a long silence. When Sarah spoke again, her querulous tone had mellowed considerably. “What would
you
do?”
Amazing. The woman could be reasoned with after all. “If I were in your shoes,” Grace replied, “I’d call each client personally, explain what happened and offer to reimburse them.”
“That’s all?”
Wealth
did
have its rewards. “It’ll be expensive, but yes, that should do it.”
“What will happen to the gallery?”
“To quote a friend of mine, it will survive. Thefts and forgeries are fairly common in the art world.”
“It’s so humiliating. How will I explain to my—”
“I’ve tracked down all seven clients,” Grace continued, determined to stay on track. “I’ll be glad to call them for you. Unless, of course, you’d rather do it.”
“Heavens no. I wouldn’t know what to say to them.” She paused. “Are you absolutely sure that Steven was not involved in this scam?”
“Steven was as much of a victim as the collectors who were swindled.” She didn’t have the heart to tell her about the money she had found, and where it may have come from. Sarah didn’t need to deal with hypotheses right now.
She heard a soft sigh at the end of the line. “All right, then, do what you have to do and let me know how much I owe.”
“It will take a couple of days, but I’ll get back to you.”
Grace hung up and returned to the list of names Victor Lorry had provided. In the next two hours, she was able to contact four of the seven clients, apologize to each one and assure them they would be fully reimbursed. Two of them had taken the news fairly well, the other two had required a little more diplomacy, a little more coaxing, but after dealing with temperamental museum directors for years, Grace knew exactly how to pacify an irate customer.
As she continued to make her calls, a few people, mostly fellow business owners, stopped by to say a few kind words, for which Grace was grateful. Being an outsider was bad enough, but finding yourself in the middle of a scandal seventy-two hours after arriving in town was depressing at best.
A little after noon, Denise called, inviting her to share another brown-bagged lunch. Looking forward to a well-deserved break, Grace accepted.
“What’s your pleasure?” Denise asked when Grace walked in, carrying two tall cups of Starbucks coffee. “Mortadella and provolone on pumpernickel? Or turkey and Swiss on a wheat bagel?”
Grace put the coffee on the counter. “You’re spoiling me. How will I be able to readjust to Boston and
my
cooking, after gorging myself on this wonderful food for a week?” She pointed at one of the unwrapped sandwiches. “The mortadella and provolone sounds great.”
Denise slowly handed it to her. “Readjust to Boston? What are you talking about?”
Oops.
She hadn’t meant to let the truth slip out, but now that it had, she was glad. Denise had become a good and trusted friend, and deserved the truth. “I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you,” she said.
“In what way?”
“I’ll be returning to Boston in another few days.”
“No, you won’t. You’ve inherited Steven’s gallery.”
“I’m turning down the inheritance.”
There was a short silence, during which Denise seemed to process the news. “Did you just decide that?”
“No. I knew it all along. I told Sarah when she first came to see me in Boston.”
“Then what are you doing here, running the gallery as if you were the owner?”
Once again, Grace explained the terms of Steven’s will. “I didn’t have to honor that request,” she said when she was finished. “But it meant a lot to Sarah, and I had time on my hands, so I thought, why not.”
She saw the dispirited look on Denise’s face and felt bad. “I’m sorry if I misled you. It seemed easier at the time.”
“Isn’t that just my luck.” Denise put her bagel down. “I make a new friend, someone I can finally trust, someone who understands me, and what happens? I lose her, all in the space of a week.”
“You’re not losing me. You can come up to Boston and visit me anytime you want.”
“You’ll forget me.”
Grace laughed. “I don’t think so, Denise. You’re not someone who can be easily forgotten.”
Denise picked up her sandwich again. “This town isn’t going to be the same without you.
I
won’t be the same without you.”
“We’ll talk on the phone every day. I’ll even call you from California.”
“You swear?”
“Cross my heart, hope to die.” She made a cross sign on her chest.
Denise shivered. “Don’t say that, not after everything that’s already happened.” She started to eat. “Does anyone else know that you won’t be staying?”
“Matt.”
Denise’s sunken spirits seemed to lift a little. “You two seem to have hit it off.”
“I like him. He’s straightforward, fun to be with and devoted to his family.”
“Present company excepted.”
“Don’t lose hope. Men have been known to be just as unpredictable as women.”
“I hope so. Whenever I feel down, I try to think about others with more serious problems, like Bernie. It can’t be easy knowing that someone is trying to kill you, having to look over your shoulder all the time, wondering where and when the killer will strike again.”
“If this is how you cheer yourself up, you might want to think about something else.”
“I thought you were worried about Bernie, too.”
“I am, but I won’t agonize over it. Matt offered to put him in a safe house, but he won’t go. He doesn’t want to leave his sister or his job, even for a short time. Matt had no idea Bernie could be so stubborn.”
“Does that mean that whoever tried to kill him will try again?”
“Hopefully not. Matt thinks that after the attempt on his life the other night, another one would be too risky.”
“What do you suppose he knows that makes him such a threat?”
“Matt is trying to find out, but he’s not getting anywhere.”
“Maybe Father Donnelly should have a try. He and Bernie used to be close. But that was a long time ago. Then Bernie’s mom died and the poor kid was never the same after that. Not even Father Donnelly could help him. Still, it’s worth a try.”
Grace wiped her fingers on a tissue and Denise immediately jumped off her stool. “I’m sorry. I forgot the napkins. I’ll get some in the back. In the meantime, why don’t you take a look at my new design?” She pointed at a wall-mounted glass case on the other side of the counter.
Grace approached the display. “I like it,” she said. “It’s very different from what you’ve been doing.”
“I’m trying to branch in a different direction.” Denise disappeared behind a beaded curtain. “I have a couple of other items in progress in that shoe box under the cash register. Check them out.”
Grace found the box, put it on the counter and opened it. On top of several layers of pink tissue was a necklace made of freshwater pearls from which hung a lovely pear-shape purple stone. “That necklace is stunning. Is that an amethyst?”
“Alexandrite,” Denise said from the other room. “They’re cheaper than amethysts but just as pretty.”
Grace pushed aside the wad of tissue and gazed at another piece, a gold bracelet, one half of which was studded with small diamonds. Curious because it didn’t look like one of Denise’s designs, she picked it up.
Attached to the bracelet was a small card with the handwritten words:
Forgive me. And come back to me.
It was signed,
Steven.
