Absolutely, Positively (22 page)

That’s right. He didn’t live far from Hingham Center, in a dilapidated old Victorian he was slowly putting back together. “How are your renovations going?”

“Slow. I have some vacation time I need to take or lose forever, so I’ve placed an order for hardwood flooring. As soon as it comes in, I’ll be calling in favors from friends to help me lay it.” He glanced at me. “And stain it. And varnish it.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll help.” He’d done more than enough for me. “And I can probably wrangle Sean to help, too. Maybe Cutter if he’s back in town. Marisol can swing a mean paintbrush, though if Butch will be there, she might suddenly have the flu.”

Marisol had dated Butch, Aiden’s roommate, for a month or so before Butch broke it off with her. She hated being dumped.

“Butch moved out.”

“When?”

“A couple of weeks ago. His family decided to expand their chain of markets and sent him to North Carolina to oversee the construction and running of the new store there.”

“Will you look for another roommate?” I was thinking of Sean. If he wouldn’t move in with me, at least he could be a little closer than the city.

“I don’t think so.”

Well, there went that idea.

“Butch and I went way back,” he said. “College buddies. Having anyone else there would be strange.”

His cheeks colored slightly, and I had the sudden feeling he was thinking about Em. Marisol was right. We had to do something soon to push them together.

In Hingham, Aiden took the farthest exit off the rotary. The town center was filled with every kind of business, from bookstores, to boutiques, to several coffee shops. We parked in a diagonal slot in front of shop with
I
’
LL TAKE SECONDS
written in bold font on an awning above a wide glass window. Written on the window itself, in small letters, was
A CONSIGNMENT SHOP
. I supposed the qualification was needed to avoid confusion with a clock shop—or a really good diner.

A bell jingled when we entered and a woman behind the counter looked up from her book. “May I help you?”

“I hope so,” I said. “We’re looking into the disappearance of Mac Gladstone.”

“The man with the dog,” she said, nodding. “I’ve been reading about the case. So sad. What brings you here?”

“Well, the day he went missing he was wearing a sweater he bought from this shop. We’re hoping to find the original owner of that sweater.”

The woman placed her book down, creasing the spine. “Oh my.” I put her to be early fifties, and I wasn’t sure if it was because she’d been reading, but she had a librarian air about her that reminded me of Abigail from the Thomas Crane library. Intelligence shone in her eyes, and she carried the same don’t-mess-with-me attitude that Abigail did. Unfortunately, Aiden didn’t have dimples to sway her.

“There are several problems here. First, I don’t keep records of those who
make
purchases, only clients who leave items for consignment.” Her eyes widened. “And second, even if I did know the original owner of the sweater Mr. Gladstone purchased, I couldn’t possibly give out personal information belonging to that client.”

I waited patiently for her to finish—quite a feat, as I was eager to get the information and go. I looked around for Aiden. This was where he needed to step in. He was standing at a rack of clothes, fingering a Hawaiian print shirt. I coughed. He looked up and the fabric slipped from his fingers.

Striding over, he introduced himself and let the woman examine his badge. He provided the dates Mac had been in the store and the fact that he’d used a credit card for his purchases. “There should be a trail, either electronic or paper. Or both.”

By the time Aiden was done, she was blushing to the tips of her frosted brown hair. He might not have the power of dimples, but he had a no-nonsense cop look about him that terrified many people into complying with his wishes.

“I can return with a warrant if you prefer,” he added gently, “if it would ease your conscience.”

Her hand fluttered over her chest. “There’s no need for formality. As this is a police request, I’m more than happy to do my part. It’ll take just a moment.”

When she turned, Aiden flashed me a triumphant smile. I thought he enjoyed throwing his power around.

The woman—her name was Madeline—alternated between tapping on her computer and checking a thick logbook.

I leaned toward her. “If it helps, I heard the sweater was absolutely hideous. Deep orange with confetti-like colored shapes all over it.”

She lifted her head from her computer. “
That
sweater?”

“You remember it?” I asked.

“Hard to forget. It was early December and a woman came in with all kinds of ugly clothes. Her brother had just passed on and she was looking to unload his wardrobe. There was a mound of items on the counter I just couldn’t accept. I have a reputation, you know.”

Aiden and I nodded so she’d keep talking.

“About the time I was telling her I couldn’t take any of her items, a very handsome, distinguished man came in. He saw the sweater on the counter and straight off asked if he could buy it. I certainly wasn’t going to turn down a sale, but I can’t express how shocked I was when he sorted through the entire pile on the counter and bought several of the items from that lot, including an equally ugly sky blue sweater with purple stripes, a ratty coat, and worn-out sneakers that barely had any sole left.”

I held in a smile. Mac really must have wanted to get under Jemima’s skin.

“I had a dickens of a time telling the woman I couldn’t take the rest of her clothing. She simply didn’t believe me when I said no one would buy them.”

“Do you have the woman’s name?”

Madeline flipped through the logbook until she found what she was looking for. “Orlinda Batista.”

“Do you have an address?” Aiden asked, pulling out a notebook.

“Only a phone number,” she said, reading it off the book.

Aiden jotted it down. “Thank you. We might be in touch if we need any more information.”

“If I can help,” she said, her eyes bright, “I’ll be glad to.”

She was so sincere I almost expected her to salute.

“Can I ask why you need to see the woman?” she asked. “How does the sweater factor in?”

Aiden glanced my way and must have seen the hesitation in my eyes. “Sorry, ma’am. That’s confidential.”

Her lips formed a little o, and she pressed her hands to her heart again.

Outside the shop, Aiden glanced at his watch. “I have to go back to work, and I need a little time to track down the address that goes with this phone number. Are you free tomorrow?”

“I’ll clear my schedule if I have to.”

I just hoped Orlinda Batista’s palm held the energy I needed to find Mac. Unfortunately, I was losing hope he was alive.

26

As soon as Aiden dropped me off at home, I dialed Marisol to run my plan past her.

“You’re brilliant,” she said, her voice light with laughter. “It will work. It has to work!”

I hoped it didn’t backfire. “So, whoever talks to Em first has to get the information out of her. Deal?”

“Deal. How did Dovie’s date go?”

My phone beeped with call-waiting, and I let it go through to voice mail. “I haven’t talked to her yet.” I explained about Rufus and the break-ins.

“Didn’t you say you found Thoreau by finding his leash? Can you do the same for Rufus?”

“I can’t. Mac bought Rufus’s leash. I remember Christa mentioning he special-ordered it.”

“Well, if it’s any peace of mind, I microchipped him yesterday. If someone finds him and brings him to a local vet’s, they’ll be able to track him back to me.”

“You’ll let me know if someone calls?”

“Right away.”

I didn’t feel much relief. I had the sinking feeling Rufus wasn’t running loose in the streets.

I’ll be in touch
.

I hung up with Marisol, and suddenly cold, I turned the heat up another two degrees. I made sure all my doors and windows were locked and the alarm set. Grendel watched me from atop the fridge as I poked around for something to eat. I nibbled on a cold slice of pizza, but my stomach wasn’t in it. In fact, it was getting worse. At this rate I was going to have to see a doctor.

My phone chimed that I had a voice-mail message waiting—I’d forgotten about the call that had come in while I was talking to Marisol.

It had been from Sean. “Ms. Valentine,” he said, causing warmth to chase away a lingering chill. “Bad news, good news. Bad news is I’m stuck in a traffic nightmare heading out of the city. Good news is I’m on my way to you. I should be there in an hour or so.”

Just enough time for a bath. Finally.

Grendel hid under my bed while I ran the water and dumped in bath salts. I lit candles and turned the lights off. I sank into the water, letting the heat work its magic on my muscles, my stress, my worries.

I thought about Mac and what might have happened to him. I had pretty much ruled out any kind of blackmail scheme. The money he’d been withdrawing every month had to have been going to Jemima and Rick, to keep them afloat. It seemed more and more likely he’d killed himself. He made sure Christa was taken care of financially, and he made sure Rufus had his morning walk. He probably assumed Jemima would let Christa keep the dog, and that had been a poor supposition on his part.

Wind buffeted the cottage. The old wood within the walls creaked and shifted. Water splashed as I sat up, listening, straining to hear any noise out of place. The creaking had been louder than usual, but after listening intently for a moment, I relaxed. Tristan Rourke had made me completely paranoid.

I closed my eyes and wondered how Preston had fared with the Lone Ranger’s hat. She was absolutely tenacious when she was tracking a story. I sank deeper into the water as I worried about her discovering the truth about the auras. I hadn’t called Cutter yet—a mistake on my part. I’d do it as soon as I got out of the tub.

I heard another sharp creak and sat up again, every sense on alert. After a few seconds of listening to the wind, I sank back into the heat of the water. This bath wasn’t as relaxing as I thought it would be.

Focusing on a water droplet stubbornly clinging to the curved faucet, I let my head fall back onto the bath pillow. Candlelight flickered against the travertine tiles, and I allowed myself to remember a vision I’d had just before Christmas. It had been of Sean and me, him in a fancy black suit, me in a white sleeveless dress. A tropical flower had been tucked behind my ear, and my curls had been styled so they flowed over my shoulders. It had been a wedding—I was sure of that. It was all I had seen—and it had yet to come true. Between that vision and the one I’d had yesterday of us in Hawaii, my concerns about our future rose on the thin spirals of steam from the tub, vanishing somewhere high above me. I wasn’t sure how we’d get there, and I had a feeling we had quite a few roadblocks ahead—but we
would
get there. Now if only I’d be able to stop worrying about what came
after.

Using my toe, I dropped the lever to release the water from the tub. I dried off, moisturized, and wrapped my hair in a towel, turban-style. I grabbed my robe from the back of the door and was grateful to have the night alone with Sean. I’d try to block out the strains and stresses of my life right now and just focus on us.

I blew out the candles, opened the bathroom door, and screamed.

Tristan Rourke was sitting on my bed. Grendel was in his lap, and I could hear his purrs from across the room. Apparently, I’d been wrong. He had no pride at all. Not even a tiny iota.

“Did you have a nice bath?” Tristan asked.

I kept my back pressed to the wall. I looked to my left, out the bedroom. The alarm was off and the front door was open. “How’d you get in?”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he said, scratching under Grendel’s chin before setting him aside and standing up.

I was glancing around for some kind of weapon when Tristan said, “I think you know what I want. Are you in the mood to trade?” He kept his distance, which was good, because the only weapon I could lay eyes on was Grendel’s feather-on-a-stick. Which would do me no good whatsoever unless I wanted to tickle Tristan to death.

“Your father has excellent taste in art, by the way.” He chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“I wonder if your father knows who originally stole those paintings.”

I gasped. “You?”

“I’d call that making a full circle, wouldn’t you? Now how about a trade? The paintings for Meaghan’s file.”

“What about Rufus?”

He cocked his head. “Rufus? I only took the Vermeer and the Gandolfi.”

“The dog,” I clarified.

“What dog? Oh, you mean the sweetheart from the mailbox yesterday?”

“That’s him.”

“Sorry. If the pooch is missing, it’s not by my hand. Can’t you do your little magic thing with your hands and find him like you did the other little dog?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Too bad. The file?” he asked.

A flash of light caught my eye. Headlights. A car was turning down the lane. Sean.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have that information anymore.”

“I’d hate to sell those paintings.…”

I bit my lip. In my head I heard my father saying they were worth millions. “Can I think about it?”

I could now hear the crunch of tires on the snow-packed lane. Tristan heard it, too. He sprinted to the front door and looked back at me.

“One more day, Lucy Valentine. I’m losing patience.”

Then he was gone, out the door and down the steps. I ran to the doorway.

Sean had just opened the car door when Tristan went running out. He looked at me, then at Tristan, and ran after him. Thoreau barked from the safety of the car. I grabbed my cell phone from the counter and dialed 911 as Sean chased Tristan toward the bluff.

I could hardly believe my eyes when Tristan reached the edge, bent down, and disappeared over the edge into the darkness. Sean skidded to a stop before falling after him.

He was breathing hard when he met me on the porch.

“What happened to him?” I asked, still seeing him going over the cliff in my mind’s eye.