Sketcher in the Rye: (26 page)

“Come with me,” he said, heading off to another room in the apartment. Rory hoped he wasn't going for a gun. She had her Walther PPK in her purse. Given the tight quarters of most big-city apartments, she hadn't felt the need for more firepower. As she followed him through the dining room and into what appeared to be an office, she quietly opened her purse

Frank went straight to the computer on the desk and sat down in the padded swivel chair. A touch of the mouse brought the monitor back to life from sleep mode. Rory watched as Frank's fingers flew over the keyboard, the images on the screen rapidly changing. Then he got up and motioned for her to sit there. Although she was dying of curiosity, she didn't intend to turn her back on him.

“Go ahead,” he said, as if it were a dare. “Read it.”

“I need you to sit down right over there,” she said, nodding to a small sofa that probably converted into a sleeper. It was only a few feet to her left. That way she could keep an eye on him while she read what was on the screen. Frank did as he was told. With her purse in her lap and one hand resting on the Walther, Rory started reading.

Chapter 33

On the screen was a note card from an e-card company a lot like the one Anya had received from Matthew. But this one had shown up on Frank's computer a week after Matthew died. It wasn't bad enough that someone had killed him, but they'd gone one step farther in their cruelty by making it seem as if Matthew was reaching out to Frank from the grave. Rory clicked on the card to open it and immediately realized she was wrong

Frank—in the end, I had to come clean with you. I know you're going to be angry after you read this. You'll probably call me every name in the book, and I guess I deserve all of them. I hope you'll at least try to understand things from my point of view, the way you have in the past. You know how I've always felt about Lacey. Well, at least that's gone now. The only feeling I have left for her is anger. No, not anger, more like rage. For some time now, all I've been able to think about is how to hurt her, how to get back at her for the misery she's caused me over the years. I've even started dreaming about killing her. In some of the dreams, I grab her around the neck and squeeze until she begs me to stop, until I feel the life go out of her. In others I have a big kitchen knife that I plunge into her over and over. When I wake up I'm not revolted or horrified. Just the opposite—I'm relieved, satisfied. I'm afraid I'll eventually act out one of those scenarios. So when James threatened to fire my mother and take away her home if I ever bothered Lacey again, he made this decision easy for me. I came up with a plan to even the score and ensure that our paths would never cross again. I bet it makes her feel bad for everything she's done to me. Maybe she'll even realize what she's lost. I don't think it will be hard to do. After all the doses of insulin I've given myself over the years, this will simply be one more. I've even researched the right way to inject it, so it will appear as though someone else did it. One last thing—after I sent you this card, I trashed my computer so the police couldn't search it. I think that about covers everything. Now that I've unburdened my heart to you, Frank, I have to ask one last favor of you. You are my best friend, the one person I've entrusted with every secret of my life. I beg you now to keep this last secret for me. Matthew

Rory leaned back in the chair, feeling as if she'd been sucker punched. Zeke had nailed it when he'd said someone must have lied, but neither of them ever entertained the possibility that the lie had been staged by Matthew himself. When she turned the chair to face Frank, he was hunched over, his head in his hands, sobbing silently. After a minute, he composed himself enough to sit up.

“I keep wishing I'd never read that e-mail,” he said, his voice tight with anger. “Matthew was right about one thing. I don't think I've ever been angrier or more hurt. He should have come to me. Together we would have figured out some other way to deal with it all. And now he expects me to keep his damn secret, a secret that could wind up putting the wrong person away for life. I feel betrayed, and I feel used. He should have known that by unburdening his heart like that, he'd be shifting the burden to mine.” Frank slumped back against the sofa. “I haven't slept properly since the day that letter showed up. I have no appetite. I can't concentrate at work.” He looked at Rory. “If you were in my position, Ms. McCain, what would you do?”

While she'd been listening to Frank, Rory had begun to wonder that very thing herself. No easy answer sprang to mind. “It's hard to say, because imagining yourself in a situation like this is not the same as actually experiencing it. Having said that, here's what I think. Matthew made the choice to end his life, but you still have a long life ahead of you. You shouldn't be forced to carry such a terrible secret around with you for the next sixty or seventy years. It will eat away at you. Matthew may have been too distraught to fully understand the scope of his request. Knowing the truth, I don't think I could remain silent and let an innocent party be punished, regardless of my personal feelings for them.”

“Even if you took into account how much Lacey deserves to be punished for a long list of terribly cruel acts?” he asked, his voice thin and tortured.

“That's not your call,” Rory said. “Besides, with or without this letter, there's not enough evidence to indict her. If you want my advice you'll take the letter to the authorities as soon as possible. Matthew is past being hurt, but you could be facing charges of withholding evidence, interfering with a police investigation and conspiring to frame someone for murder.” She could see Frank blanch as she laid it out for him. “You need to let the police know about the devastating psychological stress you've been under since receiving the letter. I'll go with you if you'd like.”

Frank nodded. “Okay, you're right. I'll do it. I'll come down to Long Island and give the police the letter. I guess I should have a lawyer to contact if things go south for me.”

“If it comes to that,” Rory said, rising from the chair, “a New York lawyer would be your best bet. There are a few I can recommend.” She opened her purse and took out one of her business cards. “Let me know when you're coming to town, and I promise to do whatever I can to help.”

***

Rory was seated in Gil's office at Harper Farms. She'd asked for the entire family to be present when she came to discuss the resolution of the murder case. Gil was behind his desk as usual. Ellen and their three children were arrayed around the room. Ellen was fidgeting with a rubber band she'd picked up from the floor. James was beside her on the couch, as still as a mannequin. In her chair across the room, Lacey was wearing a sullen expression, angry that she was being forced to miss her regular mani-pedi. Luke slouched in the chair next to her, constantly checking his watch and yawning widely with unconcealed boredom. Every time he reached for his phone, his father glared at him, and he quickly put it away, apparently aware that he had to tow the line, at least temporarily. Gil had refused to press charges against him for the property damage to the farm. Although the assistant district attorney had tried to convince Gil that his son would learn more if he was forced to face the full consequences of his actions, Gil had told her point blank what she could do with her advice. She prosecuted the case anyway on behalf of the insurance company. The judge who heard the case told Luke he would have to make full financial restitution to the company for any money they had paid out to Harper Farms and then he sentenced Luke to one hundred hours of community service, which amounted to a slap on the wrist.

With the family all assembled, Rory began. After telling them that Matthew had taken his own life, she went on to detail how Lacey's actions had contributed to that decision and how James's threat was the proverbial final straw. Lacey didn't seem at all affected by the news.

“He left me no choice,” she said with a shrug. “Everything that happened was his own fault.” To James's credit, he squirmed in his seat when Rory spotlighted him in her narrative. Gil and Ellen had certainly raised a dandy crop of kids who were, at best, self-involved, and at worst, insensitive and downright cruel. And even though Gil and Ellen seemed truly stricken by her report, Rory suspected they were equally relieved to hear that none of their flock would have to stand trial.

When the briefing was over, Gil dismissed them all, but he asked Rory to stay so he could settle up with her. They went over the list of expenses she'd handed him earlier. He didn't try to argue his way out of any of them and wrote her a check on the spot.

“While you were in Boston,” he said, passing the check across the desk to her, “we plowed the corn maze under and in the process turned up a pair of those latex gloves, the kind doctors use. They were buried under a few inches of dirt in the area where the police found the discarded syringe. I don't think they have the DNA results back yet, but after what you told us today, I'm pretty sure they'll find out it was Matthew's.”

With the check and Gil's gratitude, Rory left the office and headed back to the parking lot. She was thrilled to finally be done with the Harpers, so she was surprised to see Ellen waiting at her car. “Could I have just a minute of your time? she asked, her voice riddled with anxiety. “There's something I need to tell you.”

“Sure,” Rory said. So much for being done with them.

“Thank you. Could we possibly sit in your car, though? It's freezing out here.”

Rory agreed, just as eager to get out of the biting wind. She unlocked the doors and they both jumped in. “What can I do for you?” she asked as she started the engine and turned on the heat. Even out of the wind, the cold was flesh numbing.

Ellen was sitting in the passenger seat, her arms crossed over her chest for warmth or comfort, or more likely both. “I have a confession to make,” she said. “I thought I could just live with it, but my conscience refuses to let it go.”

Rory was tempted to tell her how refreshing it was to hear that someone in the Harper clan actually had a conscience, but she let it go.

“I'm ashamed to say this,” Ellen went on, “but for quite a while I suspected Lacey might have killed Matthew.” She shook her head. “You have no idea how much she detested him. Not that that's an excuse for murder. But in spite of all of Lacey's shortcomings, she'll always be my baby. I
had
to do something to protect her. So I tried to scare you into dropping the case.”

Rory had been wondering if she'd ever find out who'd sent the anonymous note and arranged for the men who'd followed her. Yet she was confused by Ellen's admission. “Even if you'd succeeded in getting me to drop out, the police would still have been looking for Matthew's killer.”

“I know; that's the crazy part. I was still compelled to do it. I couldn't just twiddle my thumbs like Gil and wait for my baby to be arrested and carted off to jail for the rest of her life. I convinced myself that it might help Lacey's chances if I could eliminate even one of the investigators on the case. And whether you're aware of it or not, you have an impressive record for solving murders.”

Rory thanked her for owning up to what she'd done. To some small degree, she could even understand the need Ellen had felt to do something. Action was better than inaction.

“And I want you to know that when I hired the men to follow you, l made it clear that they were not to harm you in any way or they wouldn't be paid the rest of their retainer.”

Rory didn't know if Ellen was expecting another thank-you, but if so, she was going to be sadly disappointed.

“I know it may be too much to ask,” she went on when Rory remained silent, “but I'm hoping you'll accept my heartfelt apology and forgive me.”

“I accept your apology,” Rory said, but she couldn't bring herself to actually say the words “I forgive you.” Apparently the one Harper with a conscience saw nothing wrong about playing fast and loose with the law. Rory could turn her in, but that would mean more interaction with the family, which quite simply wasn't worth it. After Ellen left, Rory sat in the parking lot for a few more minutes thinking about how good and decent her own crazy family was compared to the Harpers. Then she backed out of the parking spot. She had one last stop to make before heading home, and she wasn't looking forward to it. Anya deserved to learn the truth about her son's death in person.

Chapter 34

Zeke was in the entry when Rory walked in. “How did it go?” he asked.

“Pretty much the way we both thought it would. Those Harpers are quite a crew. A psychiatrist would have a field day with them.” She set her purse and coat on the bench beneath the stairs, then sat down to tug off her boots. The entire way home she'd been craving a hot chocolate to kick the chill out of her bones. With that in mind, she padded off to the kitchen, Zeke right behind her. She set the kettle on the stove and poured the powdery contents of the just-add-water packet into a mug.

Zeke was leaning against the island watching her.

“By the way,” he said, “your mother stopped by while you were gone.”

“Did she leave something for me?” Rory asked. Her mother had said she might be by with the Bible.

“As a matter of fact she did. She left it at the door in a shopping bag.”

“There wasn't anything there when I came home.”

“After she drove off, I brought it in and put it in the study.”

“Okay, thanks.” The kettle was whistling, so she poured the water into her mug and stirred it until all the lumps were gone. The rich aroma finally awakened Hobo who'd been fast asleep beneath the table. When he saw that Rory was not only home, but preparing food, he jumped up so fast he banged his head on the underside of the table for what was easily the hundreth time. The sound made Rory wince and Zeke shake his head in sympathy, but Hobo didn't seem at all fazed by the impact. Shaking it off, he trotted up to her, tail wagging madly. Rory bent down to plant a kiss on his furry snout and massage his head. Hobo was completely focused on the steaming mug on the counter.

“Don't worry, I'm not going to forget you.” Already squirming with anticipation, he watched her take the can of whipped cream from the refrigerator. After shaking it, she squirted a swirl into her palm and held it out to him. Hobo lapped it up with relish. Then Rory topped off her cocoa with a tall mound of the cream, returned the can to the refrigerator and headed for the stairs, both of her housemates hard on her heels.

As promised, the bag her mother had left was waiting on her desk. She sat down and set the cocoa on the blotter.

“It's a Bible,” he said before she had a chance to look. “A really old Bible.”

“I know.”

“Then you've already seen it?”

“No, my mother told me about it,” she said, sliding it carefully out of the bag.

“Why are you so interested in it?”

“What's with all the questions?”

“Have I exceeded my limit?” he asked dryly.

Rory sighed. “No, of course not. “And to answer your previous question, I find it interesting, because it's my family's Bible that goes back generations. This and the old photo album are family heirlooms we didn't even know we had.” She opened the Bible, taking care not to put too much pressure on the spine, which was pulling away from the book. On the inside of the cover, in faded ink, she found a list of her ancestors on her mother's side. It appeared to go all the way back to the nineteenth century, if she was reading the date on the earliest entry correctly. But she wanted to start with the most recent one and follow the timeline back from there. The final entry listed her grandmother Betty, along with her five siblings. Moving up the list was Sarah, who would have been Rory's great-grandmother. Then Mary, her great-great-grandmother and on up to the first name on the list—Rory's great-grandmother four times over, who had begun the list with her marriage in 1880. “Wow!” Rory said, leaning back in her chair. “This is amazing, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Zeke replied solemnly. He'd settled himself in the reading chair while Rory was studying her ancestry.

She picked up her mug and sipped the cocoa. “Your enthusiasm is underwhelming, but I suppose that's because it's not your family's history.”

“Let me tell you a little story,” he said.

Rory barely managed to keep from groaning out loud. She really wasn't in the mood for one of the marshal's tales. She was still all wrapped up in thoughts of the women who'd preceded her.

“Before my death here, in 1878,” Zeke said, “I'd been keeping company with a woman from Tucson. Given my line of work, I'd never considered the prospect of marriage. But all that changed when I met Celeste. I was head over heels in love with her. She made me happier than I'd ever thought I could be.” His mouth curved into a bittersweet smile. “Even after her father caught us foolin' around in the back of the barn and tried to keep us apart, she found ways to sneak off and meet me. It would have been hard to say which one of us was the more smitten. I'd even planned to ask for her hand when I returned home. But as it happened, I never saw her again.”

“I'm so sorry,” Rory said, touched by his loss. Out of respect for the sensitive nature of his revelation, she waited a minute before pointing out what had immediately occurred to her. “Celeste is the same name as my—”

“As your great-grandmother four times over,” he said, finishing the sentence for her.

She set her mug down half finished. “Come on, I know what you're thinking, but it can't be,” she said with a little laugh. “Celeste was probably just a popular name at the time.”

“My Celeste had the last name of Higgs, not the sort of name you often come across. Take another look at that Bible.”

Rory looked down at the Bible, which was still lying open on the desk. Surely the marshal was mistaken. She hadn't paid much attention to the surnames on the list in her first run-through, because they didn't hold any particular meaning for her. Now, as she read Celeste's full name, her breath caught in her throat. Celeste's last name was Landour, but that was her married name, since the date of her wedding to Robert Landour was noted right beside it. But in lieu of a middle name she'd written her maiden name, “Higgs.” The letters were so faded and difficult to make out that Rory studied the entry to be sure.

“Celeste Higgs Landour,” Zeke said, when she looked up at him, her eyes filled with questions she couldn't begin to form into words.

No wonder he'd been in such a peculiar mood lately. If the realization had hit her this hard, how must he have felt? “You'd already figured it out before seeing the Bible?” she asked.

“The photograph in that old album started me thinking, but it was in such bad shape I couldn't tell for sure. It wasn't until I saw your drawing that I was just about positive.” His lips canted up in a nostalgic smile. “You did a great job of capturing her. Anyway, Eloise confirmed it for me.”

“Was that the day you and she were arguing?”

“Yes. As it happened, she was about to come over here with the news when you called her for me. And she intended to tell you right then and there, but I couldn't let her do that. Not while I was still so overwhelmed by the news. I needed a little time to absorb it and make peace with it first.”

“
Are
you okay?” Rory asked, unable to come up with anything better to say. She wished she could put her arms around him and console him.

“Much better than I've been in quite a while. I think learnin' that Celeste married and had a family with another man was the most difficult part. Not that I would have wanted her to waste her life pinin' over me. But it brought back all the old feelin's I thought I'd exorcised a long time ago.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Great. Talk about inane questions. Unless she had a time machine and the power to change history, what
could
she do for him?

“Actually you've already done a lot,” he replied, to her surprise.

“I don't understand. I haven't done anything.”

Zeke's mouth turned up in a genuine smile. “You've helped just by bein' you,” he said. “Toleratin' my moods, keepin' me busy with good, honest work.” He paused for a moment. “Now I hope what I'm about to say doesn't hit you the wrong way, but it also dawned on me that to some degree Celeste still resides in you. You are her livin' legacy.”

Rory understood why he'd struggled with how to say that last part. At worst, it could be construed to mean her only value to him was as a link to his past. If this conversation had taken place early on, when their relationship was more contentious, there was a good chance she might have taken it exactly that way. But as things stood now, she was fine with it. She didn't begrudge him the feeling of connection she provided. “Glad to be of help,” she said, smiling back at him. “Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anythin'.”

Well that was a new one. “When Eloise was here that day, did she mention how Celeste came to live in New York?'

“Her husband was offered a high-payin' position here. So they packed up their family and came east. They even persuaded her father to move with them. Eloise told me that Celeste had a good life with Robert, even though he never took my place in her heart. Of course she might have added that part just to make me feel better.”

Rory shook head. “I've never known Eloise to editorialize.”

“Thank you for that,” Zeke said, the light in his eyes glowing more brightly.

“Did Eloise happen to say why Celeste's daughter reached out to her, instead of Celeste herself?”

“No, she never mentioned that at all, but it is curious.”

“When I asked Eloise about it, she didn't seem to know.”

“Then it's not likely to be of any immediate consequence,” he said. “For better or worse, the woman is downright obsessed with deliverin' those messages as soon as she gets them. Now, I can't speak for you, but I could do with some rest before she hits us with the next one.”

At that moment, the phone rang, and Rory excused herself to answer it. She was on the line for a while, and when she hung up, she turned to the marshal. “We've been hired to solve another murder. If it's too soon for you to jump back in with both feet, just say so. I can manage on my own until you're ready.”

“Darlin',” Zeke said, his face stretching into a grin, “I was born ready.”