CHAPTER 10
“WE ARE ALL VICTIMS in the end.”
Des photographed Ada Geiger’s body from a dozen different angles with the digital camera that she kept in the trunk of her cruiser. She moved nothing as she snapped her pictures, and she touched nothing. That would be a job for the crime scene technicians when they got there—if they got there. For now, her job was to produce photos and protect the scene, even though what she really wanted to do was sit down with her 18-by-24-inch Strathmore 400 drawing pad and a piece of graphite stick. She yearned to capture the spirit of fight that remained in Ada’s ancient, intricately lined face. The absence of fear in that face despite the certainty of what was coming.
Acceptance without surrender.
This was the essence of Ada Geiger in death. Yes, there was the unfathomable stillness. But there were also courage, defiance. Even in death, Ada Geiger spolie. And Des felt a desperate need to listen with her graphite stick. But there was no time for that now. It would have to wait for later, when she could take heed in her studio with these photos pinned to her easel.
Right now, she had a killer to catch.
Des took a quick look around for the gloves that Ada’s killer must have worn, taking care not to disturb anything. She found none. She did take the time to glance under the bed for them—a ritual of hers that dated back to one of the first cases she’d caught as a rookie in uniform. She’d found an East Granby woman lying dead on the bedroom floor of her home, stabbed sixteen times in the chest and neck. Des did not see the murder weapon anywhere. She was just about to call it in when, strictly as an afterthought, she’d thought to glance under the bed. That was where she found the bloody knife. If she hadn’t done that, she would have looked like a consummate bimbo when the Major Crime Squad people got there and found it. She’d never have lived that down. So she always looked under the bed when she caught a murder. Call it a superstition.
There was nothing under Ada’s bed.
Des went back out in the hall now and locked the door behind her. She stretched a length of yellow crime scene tape across the doorframe, sealing it off.
“Find anything?” Mitch asked anxiously from his guard post at the top of the stairs.
“Not so much as a dust bunny.”
She unlocked the room next door and went in to photograph Norma, well aware that this crime scene had already been thoroughly compromised. Les had been alone in here with her before he’d called out to them. Hell, he had been in the damned bed with her. Ada had come in to say good-bye to Norma, as had Teddy.
When Des was done snapping her photographs, she slipped on a pair of latex gloves and had herself a closer look at Norma. Opened an eyelid, shining her flashlight into Norma’s eye. No hemorrhaging of the blood vessels. This told her that Norma had not been smothered with a pillow. Nor had she been strangled. Not that there was any obvious indication of strangulation. There was no bruising on her neck—or at least none that was visible to Des’s naked eye. An autopsy might prove otherwise, of course. She examined Norma’s scalp for wounds. Gently lifted her heavy head, fingering the back of it for welts or bruises. Nothing. There was no broken skin, no trace of blood on the pillow underneath. She examined the surface of the quilt that Norma lay under, searching for any hairs or fibers that might be foreign to her person. Nothing obvious jumped out at her. Carefully, she pulled the quilt back, followed by the blanket and sheet. Les had not neatened Norma’s flannel nightshirt when he’d tidied her. It was all bunched up around her thighs. Des pulled it up toward Norma’s neck, shining the light around on her mammoth, fleshy nakedness. A gross violation of the lady’s dignity, to be sure. But there was absolutely no way to be delicate when it came to examining the dead. Des found no obvious bruises or welts or cuts. The sheet underneath Norma appeared to be free of bloodstains. Also semen stains.
If the medical examiner and crime scene technicians had been standing right there alongside of her, Des would have flopped Norma over onto her stomach now and proceeded to check out her backside. But she was alone, and didn’t want to disturb the crime scene any further. So she stretched the quilt back over Norma, knowing full well that she’d already done quite a bit more than a first responder was typically supposed to do. There were two reasons for this. One was that she didn’t know when the crime scene technicians would get there. The other was that Des had been in the game. Once you have, it’s damned hard to pull yourself back.
Especially when it’s not in your nature to pull back
There was the half-empty water glass on Norma’s nightstand. Des bent down and sniffed at it. No odor. Not chlorine, not sulphur, not anything. And there was no mineral residue in the bottom of the glass. Still, she carefully bagged and tagged it. Norma’s copy of Ten North Frederick, the one that Teddy had given her, lay there on the nightstand, too. Recalling just how anxious he’d been to get it back, Des picked it up and flipped through the pages. About a third of the way in she found an Astrid’s Castle bookmark. Nothing else. Not until she glanced at the title page and found this inscription written lightly in pencil:
TO N—MTYK—T
Which explained why he wanted the book back. Because here it was for anyone, specifically Les, to see. Written proof of their secret love, signified by the initials of that song of theirs, “More Than You Know.” As Des stood there studying the inscription, she found herself wondering just how deeply Teddy might be involved in these deaths. She knew he had loved Norma. She knew he needed money. How did these two facts fit together? Did they fit together?
The nightstand had one drawer. She slid it open, found an assortment of hand creams inside, also Vaseline, Vicks VapoRub, nasal spray, a couple of old wristwatches, spare eyeglasses, key chains, a deck of playing cards. Nothing, in other words.
Norma’s prescription bottles were on the bottom shelf of the medicine chest over the bathroom sink. Here Des found the bottle of Synthroid tablets that Les had told her Norma took for her underactive thyroid. Also Norma’s two hormone-replacement drugs, Prometrium and Premarin. And her heart medication, digoxin, which was marketed under the brand name Lanoxicap. This prescription, like the others, had been filled at Dorset Pharmacy. It also came with a red flag of a warning label:
Be sure you understand how and when to take this medication. Do not change your dosage unless your doctor tells you to do so.
According to the label, Norma’s prescribed dosage of Lanoxicap was two capsules twice a day. The bottle had contained 120 capsules when it was full—a thirty-day supply. The label was dated twelve days ago. Therefore, Des figured, it should contain no less than seventy-two capsules. She opened the lid, poured the capsules out into her hand and counted them out, returning them to the bottle one by one. She arrived at a total of eighty capsules. Nothing out of the ordinary there.
Still, she bagged and tagged all of Norma’s meds, then went and asked Mitch to fetch Les from room ten. Quickly, she closed the door and scampered over to the bed and listened closely. From there, she could hear Mitch’s footsteps creak on the floorboards. Hear him tap on Les’s door. Hear the door open, the low murmur of voices, the door close, footsteps approach. She could hear it all, just as Teddy had told her he had heard it all in the night.
Les Josephson was continuing to diminish right before her eyes. The hale and hearty innkeeper looked positively ashen, his posture hunched, his movements slow and unsure as he shut the door behind him. It was beginning to dawn on Des just how much of his usual robust chestiness was sheer willpower on his part. Minus that willpower, he was rapidly turning into a sad little old man.
“How may I help you, Des?” he asked softly, his eyes carefully avoiding the bed.
“By telling me why you rearranged her, Les,” Des said to him, not unkindly.
“I told you, I wanted her to look nice.”
“And how did she look? What position did you find her lying in?”
Les considered this carefully, his eyes continuing to steer clear of Norma. He absolutely wouldn’t look at her. “She was on her side, kind of.”
“You mean like a prenatal position?”
“No, it was more like she was on her back with one leg thrown over the other. And her hair was quite messy and, well, clammy. So I combed it.”
“Which comb did you use?”
“The one that’s there on her dressing table,” he said, pointing to the small mirrored table by the bathroom door.
She went over to it and said, “This wooden comb?”
“Yes.”
Des bagged and tagged it and set it on the mantel next to Norma’s pills and water glass. She took her time doing this, watching Les shift his weight from one foot to the other, growing steadily more uncomfortable in the presence of his cold dead wife. This was not a very nice thing for her to do, but hers was not always a very nice job.
“Is there anything else I should know about, Les? Besides you rearranging her and combing her hair, I mean.”
“I don’t believe so, no.”
“You didn’t dispose of anything or pocket anything?”
Les frowned. “Such as what?”
“That’s what I’m asking you.”
“No, I didn’t,” he said distractedly, running a hand through his hair. “Look, could we talk about this somewhere else?”
“Les, I know you’ve suffered a real blow today, but this is official business. Questions need to be asked. And you need to answer them, okay?”
Les turned to face the windows, his back to the bed. “Okay,” he said dully.
“Are you sticking to your story that you slept straight through the night? Because if you want to change it, now is the time.”
“It’s not a story,” he protested. “It’s the truth.”
“You honestly didn’t hear Norma go downstairs in the middle of the night?”
“I honestly didn’t, I swear.”
“Take a minute, Les,” she cautioned him. “It’s possible that you remember something without realizing it. Like, say, Norma getting back into bed with you, snuggling up close. She would have been real cold from being downstairs, in need of warming up.”
“I don’t remember anything like that,” Les insisted, watching the swirling, windblown snowflakes smack against the window. Des was tired of looking out at the snow herself. In fact, she’d be happy if it never snowed again for as long as she lived. “And, quite frankly, I don’t see the point of this,” he added reproachfully.
“I’m trying to figure out what happened.”
“We know what happened. Norma ’s heart gave out. There’s nothing complicated or sinister about it. To suggest otherwise is a real reach. And I resent it.”
“Les, how much do you know about Ada’s finances?”
“I know the old girl never really cared much about money,” he answered. “She gave away most of her father’s fortune to various political causes over the years. She owned her villa in Italy, the town-house in London. And she still had a pretty steady royalty income. Those old plays of Luther’s are considered classics. They still study them in drama classes.”
“What about this remake of Ten Cent Dreams} How was she going to make out from that?”
“Quite well. It’s based on her original work, so they had to pay her a decent sum.”
“Are we talking six figures?”
“I’d imagine so, plus a percentage of the profits. Plus they’re reissuing the original. There’s a book of her photos coming out, too. There’s no question that Ada was looking at a lot of new income. I can’t tell you how much because I genuinely don’t know. But Ada did raise the subject with us the very first night she got here. She’d already been in contact with Bruce Nadel about it.”
“And Bruce Nadel is…?”
“The fellow in New York who handled her legal affairs. He’s on West Fifty-sixth Street. His father, Bert, was Ada’s lawyer before him. She wanted us to know that she was leaving her entire estate to the American Civil Liberties Union. She claimed that the ACLU needed the money because our government was no longer protecting the rights of individuals, only those of corporations. Her words, not mine.”
“How was Norma with this news?”
“Fine. She certainly wasn’t surprised.”
“And Aaron, how was he?”
“Predictably furious. Not because she was giving it away, but because she was giving it to a gang of failed paleo-socialists. His words, not mine. My own view was that it was her money and she could do as she wished with it.”
“You weren’t worried?”
Les frowned at her. “What about?”
“Keeping this place afloat.”
“When you run a big place like Astrid’s, you never come out ahead,” he answered carefully. “Your profits, assuming you have any, get plowed right back into the business. Something always needs repairing or replacing. It’s a lot like running a farm, in that sense. But we’ve been keeping our heads above water. We do okay.”
“I know that Aaron comes into the castle now that Norma is gone,” Des stated. “As her executor, you’re in a position to know if she provided for anyone else, am I right?”
“You are. And she did. She made provisions in her will for several others.”
“Such as who?”
“Well, there’s Teddy. And the kids, Jory and Jase.”
“You didn’t mention that to Aaron this morning.”
“I know I didn’t. It’s none of his damned business.”
“May I ask you how much money we’re talking about?”
“Actually, I don’t think you have a right to ask me that. The terms of Norma ’s will are confidential until it’s been filed with the Court of Probate.”
“I have every right to ask. Just as you have every right to not answer. You’re not obligated to, but if you want to help me …”
“I do want to help. Really, I do.” Les fell silent a moment, making up his mind. “Strictly between us, Norma left fifty thousand apiece to Jory and Jase. Seed money, so they can start up a small business or buy a home or whatever. She wanted them to be provided for.”
“Are the two of them aware of this?”
“Norma asked me to keep it between us. She may have told them. I didn’t.”
“And Teddy?”
“The same amount, fifty thousand. The poor guy is always scuffing. She took pity on him. Norma had a soft heart. Too soft, if you ask me.”
“And what did she leave you?”
Les coughed uneasily. “She’d earmarked the money from Paul’s life insurance policy for me. She’d never touched it. It amounted to two hundred thousand.”
“A man can do a lot with that kind of money. What are your plans?”
“My plans?” he shot back incredulously. “I’m just trying to figure out how to get through this day. My entire life is in ruins.”
“Believe me, I understand.” Des counted to three, then squeezed a little harder. “How’s your personal debt situation, Les? Do you owe anyone a lot of money?”
Les didn’t respond. Just clenched his jaw muscles.
“If you do, I’ll find out. You may as well tell me now.”
“Tell you what? This is outrageous! First you drag me in here in front of my poor dead wife. Now you so much as accuse me of lying to you. How dare you? What do you think you are doing?”
“My job. I have to ask pretty harsh questions sometimes.”
“I noticed.”
“Les, you’ve been married before, am I right?”
“Twice,” he answered coldly. “And in answer to what is no doubt your next harsh question: Yes, I do still pay alimony and child support to my second wife, Janice, thereby leaving me penniless. I don’t even own the car I drive. The castle leases it for me.”
“How were you and Norma getting along?”
“We were happy together. I told you that this morning.”
“True enough,” she acknowledged. “But you didn’t tell me that you’re involved with another woman. Who is she, Les?”
Again, he fell silent. But this was not an angry silence. This was the last of his manly resolve leaking slowly out of him, like the air out of a worn-out radial tire. She could practically hear the hiss. And the physical change in the man was really quite startling. His skeletal structure seemed to give way from within, leaving behind only a limp, quivering meat sack. “You actually think I filled Norma, don’t you?” he said to her forlornly. “Well, I didn’t. And shame on you for even thinking it. Maybe I wasn’t altogether happy, but so what? Most of us aren’t altogether happy. That doesn’t make us killers. It just makes us normal.”
As Des studied Les’s sagging self there at the window, it occurred to her that he had not denied having a girlfriend. In fact, he had managed to avoid the question entirely. All of which translated to this: She could easily like him for plotting to kill Norma, and then killing Ada because she’d somehow stumbled upon what he’d done. Des could like him a lot. After all, $200,000 could buy a lot of happiness. And yet she also could not help shaking the nagging feeling that Les had been much better off with Norma alive than dead.
Her cell phone squawked now.
She thanked Les and asked him to return to his room. He did not pause on his way out to take one last look at Norma. Just oozed on out the door, shutting it softly behind him. He had not been able to look at her the whole time he was in there.
“Resident Trooper Mitry,” she said into her phone.
“Yo, Master Sergeant,” a voice exclaimed in her ear, the connection crackly but plenty audible. “I understand you’ve got yourself a situation.”
“You understand right, wow man,” Des responded, smiling. The voice belonged to Lieutenant Rico “Soave” Tedone, the stumpy young bodybuilder who had been her sergeant back when she was a lieutenant on the Major Crime Squad.
“If I didn’t know you better, I’d swear you’re glad to hear my voice.”
“Ultra-glad, Rico,” she said. Which, for a time, had not been true. They’d had their difficulties. But Soave had grown up a lot since then. They both had. “Is this your case?”
“Just got the call,” he confirmed. “Not that I can get to the damned case. What have you got for me, Des?”
“Two dead, Rico. A mother and daughter. One’s a strangulation, the other’s an I-don’t-know-what. But she was helped along, I’m sure of it.” Des walked him though the details, keeping her comments brief and precise. “I’ve got the situation under control. Witnesses are separated. I’m in the process of taking their statements now.”
“And maybe doing a little bit more, if I know you.”
“For backup, I’ve got Mitch.”
“Who, Berger? He’s up there?”
“He is,” she replied, knowing what this was all about. Soave was a happily married man these days—he and his high school sweetheart, Tawny, had finally tied the knot on their epic nine-year courtship. But he had been extremely warm for Des’s bootylicious form when they were teamed together, had gotten nowhere, and still could not believe that she had fallen for Mitch.
“And how’s that going?” he wondered.
“Why would you ask me that?”
“Because I’ve heard you sound happier in your day.”
“Rico, I’ve just lost two people I liked. I’m stranded, I’m cold, I could use a hot bath. What’s your situation? Where are you?”
“Trapped in fuzzy pink hell, that’s where.”
“Um, okay, you’ll have to translate that.”
“I’m home,” he said heavily. Home being the vinyl-sided raised ranch in Glastonbury that he and Tawny had just bought. Her parents lived right around the corner.
“And this is bad because …?”
“Tawny was having a baby shower here last night for her cousin Ashley.”
“Little Ashley or big Ashley?”
“Big Ashley. Little Ashley wouldn’t come. They don’t speak. Don’t ask me why. Anyway, I’m talking horror show, okay? Tawny’s three sisters, her eight cousins, another dozen friends. And about nine o’clock, when they’re deep into the banana daiquiris, this giant tree comes crashing down at the end of the cul-de-sac, okay? Street’s totally blocked off. No power, no heat…”
“Yeah, I’m familiar with this phenomenon.”
“A few of ’em live close by, thank God. The rest had to bunk here for the night. They’re still here, Des. It’s like one giant slumber party out there. You’ve never heard so much giggling and screaming in your life.”
“I have, too, Rico. I started out life as a girl, remember?”
“I’m hiding here in my weight room and praying for a break in the weather.”
“How about Yolie?” Yolie being Sergeant Yolanda Snipes, his half-black, half-Cuban partner.
“She’s at her apartment in Meriden, chewing on her hands and feet. That girl hates being on the sideline. We’re both raring to go. Soon as the plow comes through, she’ll pick me up at the end of my block in her Blazer. Route nine is supposed to be okay. Way slow, but we’ll get there. I just can’t promise when. We may be talking two, three hours.”
“Rico, you may want to rethink this plan.”
“Why?”
“For starters, because you’ll end up flipped over in a ditch somewhere.”
“No way. Yolie’s a sweet wheelman.”
“And even if you do get here, the private drive up to the castle is blocked off. You’ll have to hike three miles up a mountain, climb your way over dozens of downed trees. You’re looking at another hour on foot, easy.”
“Well, hell, that’s no good,” he admitted. “Time out, are you thinking what I’m thinking? Of course you are—SP-One, right?”
“Any chance we rate a fly-in?”
“Are you kidding me? The state police spent millions on that damned chopper. They’ll be thrilled to have any excuse to use it. Only, it’s grounded in this weather.”
“True, but if the snow and wind taper off in the next hour or two, you’ll still get here faster and safer than you will by car. What is it, a twenty-minute flight from headquarters?”
“Give or take. Is there a place to land up there?”
“A great big beautiful parking lot.”
“Excellent. I am on this, Des. I’ll find out what they need in terms of weather. But you got to give me something else to do, because I am going crazy here. Is there anyone I can call?”
“There is, Rico. See if you can track down a New Haven cardiologist named Lavin, first name Mark. He was treating Norma Josephson. Find out how serious her heart condition was. And see what you can learn about this digoxin he had her taking. As in what would happen to her if her dosage were dramatically altered without her knowledge. Or with her knowledge, for that matter.”
“You saying suicide is a possibility?”
“Rico, it’s all in play right now.”
“You think the digoxin is what did her in?”
“Call it my best guess, until an autopsy proves otherwise. The only hitch is that her pill intake seems to be right on schedule.”
“Maybe someone got a hold of some extra pills. Where did she fill her prescription?”
“Locally, Dorset Pharmacy. It’s a one-man operation. Pharmacist’s name is Tom Maynard. I doubt he’ll be open, but you may be able to reach him by phone. If you do, find out if anything irregular has been going on lately with Norma’s prescriptions.”
“Des, you know we can’t access her medical records without a search warrant. And I can’t exactly get to no judge right now.”
“I hear you, but this is a small town, Rico. Everybody knows everybody. He might remember something and volunteer it. It’s worth a try.”
“Consider it done. And I’ll call Connecticut Light and Power’s war room. Let ’em know you have a police emergency up there. Maybe we can get you bumped up to a higher priority. I’ll call you back in a few. Hey, you wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”
“About what, Rico?”
“Having the situation under control.”
“Why would I do that?”
“You said it yourself—you started out life as a girl. Girls consider it a sign of weakness to ask anyone for help. Guys, we don’t have that problem. We need a hand, we say so right up front, on account of how we’re more secure about ourselves.”
“Wait, could you talk just a little bit slower? I want to make sure I write all of this down.”
“Go ahead and laugh. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
“Rico, I’m fine.”
She flicked off her phone and went back out into the hall, where Mitch glanced up at her alertly from his post. “All quiet?” she asked him.
“It’s so quiet I can hear the mice in the walls,” he replied, beaming at her.
“Gee, thanks large for sharing that with me, baby.”
“I share. That’s what I do.”
Hannah was in room four, next door to Teddy. She’d double-locked her door from the inside. Des had to wait for her to get up and let her in. After she had, Hannah burrowed back under the quilt on her bed, looking pale, cold and frightened. The large-format paperback she was clutching, Hollywood Dreams, was a collection of Ada Geiger’s screenplays, with an introduction by one Mitchell Berger.
“I’m still trying to figure that old woman out,” Hannah confessed, gazing down at it through her round glasses. “There was just such a difference between her work and her. I mean, her movies were so forgiving of human weakness. And Ada herself was just so not?
“She was young when she made those movies. Not much older than you and I are now.”
“True,” Hannah acknowledged. “But she just seemed so intolerant.”
“She was ninety-four. Her time was running short, and she didn’t want to waste any of it on people who weren’t worth the bother. Older people get impatient that way. I’ve encountered it before.” Des sat in the chair by the fireplace, stuffing her hands deep into her coat pockets. “Did you leave this room for any reason last night?”
“Are you kidding me? It was pitch-black, freezing cold. I didn’t so much as leave this bed. Why would I?”
“You tell me,” Des said, raising her chin at her.
Hannah reddened. “Oh, I see. You’re wondering about Aaron and me, aren’t you?”
Des didn’t answer, just gazed at her intently.
Hannah let her breath out slowly and said, “He told me that Carly is a very light sleeper, so I should just forget about us being together while we’re here. Which I am fine with. It would be totally disgusting for us to be doing anything with her right across the hall, don’t you think?”
“I wouldn’t know. My field is the law, not personal virtue.”
“Pretty much one and the same thing, aren’t they?”
“So you were alone all night?”
“Unless Danielle counts as company,” she replied, tugging a tattered Danielle Steele paperback romance novel out from under her quilt. “She’s gotten me through many a cold, lonely night. You’re probably surprised that I read her. I could tell you that it’s some kind of kitschy, ironic thing on my part, but it’s not. I just love her books. They’re so visual. I’d give anything to film one someday.”
“So why don’t you?”
Hannah stared at her. “Do you have any idea how much money that would cost? The rights alone would be huge. No one’s going to give me a project like that to direct.”
Then again, Des reflected, it might be another matter entirely if the young director were able to raise a lot of that money herself. Which she could do if she had herself a patron like Aaron Ackerman on the hook, a man who it so happened was just about to get way rich. Just exactly how ambitious was Hannah Lane? How hungry to succeed? She had no problem getting freaky for Aaron. Would she have any problem killing for him? “Hannah, did you hear anyone coming or going out in the hall last night?”
“I was asleep.”
“You didn’t hear any doors open or close?”
“I was asleep.” A defensive edge crept into her voice. “I just told you.
“That’s right, you did,” Des said, wondering whether Hannah was telling her the truth or not. Maybe she and Aaron were playing in the dirt together last night. Maybe they were doing a whole lot more than that together.
Des didn’t know. Not yet. She thanked Hannah Lane and went back out in the hall and tapped on the door to room nine.
Jory Hearn called out for her to come in. Jory was seated on the bed, propped up against the headboard, wearing the quilt like a poncho. Her arms were folded tightly in front of her chest, her chin stuck out.
Des stood there in the doorway watching her. The grim-faced young redhead wasn’t looking back at Des. She was busy gazing around at the room, as if she were trying to memorize every last detail of it while she still had the chance. She reminded Des of a high school girl taking stock of her old bedroom the night before she was to leave for college. Des had certainly done this in her own little bedroom in Kensington the night before she went off to West Point, one part excited, two parts scared to death.
“I understand that Norma was up and down a lot in the night,” Des said for starters. “That she didn’t sleep well as a rule.”
“Yeah, she almost always got up.” Jory’s voice sounded hollow and rather small. “When I’d come in to start breakfast, I’d often find a list of chores on the kitchen table that she’d left for me at like four in the morning. ‘Norma’s Little Reminders,’ I called them.”
“Did she leave you one this morning?”
“Did she leave anything out for you this morning?”
Jory frowned, glancing at Des curiously. “Like what?”
“Like something to indicate that she’d been up in the night. A saucepan, maybe a mug. I’m told she liked to make herself a cup of cocoa.”
“It’s true, she did.”
“Did she make herself any last night?”
“I didn’t notice anything. But I’m not positive, in all honesty.”
“Let’s go down and take a look, okay?”
They took the narrow service stairs down to the mudroom, where the smell of bacon and coffee still lingered in the air. The stove was cluttered with the dirty pots and pans from their uneaten breakfast. The bacon fat had congealed to a waxy consistency in the skillet.
“Can you remember how this kitchen looked when you came in, Jory?”
Jory looked around, considering her answer carefully. “Well, the dishes from last night were all in the dishwasher, and the sink was clear. The counter was clear, too.”
“Was there a pot on the stove?”
Jory shook her head.
Des’s eyes fell on the box of kitchen matches that they’d used to light the burners for breakfast. “How about spent matches?”
“I don’t remember seeing any.”
“When Norma made herself cocoa, did she usually clean up afterward?”
“She was an innkeeper. She never left a mess behind. Not in her nature.”
“She would have put her dishes in the dishwasher?”
“Most likely.”
Des opened it up and looked around inside. There were lots of plates and glasses, the serving dishes from dinner, a roasting pan, several Astrid’s Castle mugs. “There’s no saucepan in here,” she said.
“Actually, this is the one she usually used,” Jory said, indicating a one-quart no-stick pan that was hanging from a rack over the stove, clean and dry.
“Did she have a favorite mug?”
“Not really, no.”
Des pulled the roll of yellow crime scene tape from her coat pocket and stretched a length of it over the dishwasher door. “I’ll need for you to steer clear of this, okay?” We’ll want to examine the contents.”
“Sure, whatever,” Jory said, sighing despondently. It seemed as if the weight of the future had fallen on her like an anvil.
Des glanced out the kitchen windows at the snow that was coming down out in the courtyard. The footpath from the kitchen door across to Jory and Jase’s cottage was buried so deep under the fresh snowfall that it was impossible to tell where it even was. “How about you, Jory? Did you get up in the night?”
“I woke up a lot, that’s for sure.” A strand of red hair had come loose from Jory’s topknot. She twirled it around her finger distractedly. “Every time that damned wind brought down another tree, I mean, it sounded like the end of the world, you know? But I didn’t get up.”
“You can see right in here from your front windows,” Des observed.
“Yes, we can.”
“You didn’t notice a light in here last night, did you? A candle, a flashlight—any sign that Norma or someone else might have been up?”
“Someone else?” Jory peered at her, confused. “Like who?”
“Like Ada.”
“No, I didn’t see anything.”
“Do you have any idea whether Jase was up?”
“I’m not sure. You’d have to ask him.”
“Is Jase generally a sound sleeper?”
“Very. He works long, hard days.”
“He didn’t have any issues with Norma, did he?”
“None. Jase loved her dearly. We both did.”
“And both of you were in here when we heard Hannah scream, am I right?”
“Pretty much. I’d just brought out the oatmeal, and I was on my way back in here for a fresh coffeepot. Jase was over there in the mudroom,” she said, glancing at the open doorway. ’Td given him some Handi Wipes so he could tidy up, since Carly was being such a—” Jory broke off, curling her lip. “She was not being very kind.”
“I forget, was Les in here with you, too?”
“Do you mean when Hannah screamed? No, Les was still out in the dining room with you folks. He was bringing out the eggs, remember?”
“Oh, that’s right.” This jibed with Des’s own recollection. Which, by the way, happened to be perfect. “So in the moments just prior to Hannah’s scream, you, Jase and Les were all in here together?”
“Yes.”
“Was there any point when Les wasn’t in here with you?”
“Not really. He did go down to the laundry room for a few seconds.”
“Why did he do that?”
“To fetch a pile of fresh napkins. We were running low.”
“How many seconds was he down there?”
Jory shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “Twenty, maybe thirty?”
“And Jase?”
“Jase never left the mudroom.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“I’m positive. Des, do you mind if I ask you something now?”
“Not at all. Go right ahead.”
“I sort of heard you guys talking before in the taproom, but I wanted to make sure I heard it right.” Jory hesitated, clearing her throat uneasily. “Aaron’s the new boss of us, isn’t he?”
“That’s something you ought to talk to Les about,” Des replied, since the details of Norma ’s last will and testament were not for public consumption. Then again, she reflected, the future of Astrid’s Castle did matter a great deal to this woman. Jory deserved to know the truth sooner rather than later. So the hell with it. “Apparently, Norma and Les signed a pre-nuptual agreement, whereby Les has no ownership rights to this place. Aaron gets it.”
Jory nodded her head glumly. “I guess that means all three of us are out. Aaron and Les can barely tolerate each other. And there’s no way Jase or I will ever work a single day for Carly.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Carly may not be in the picture for long.”
“Well, that much is true,” Jory agreed, brightening a little.
“Besides, Aaron said he had no intention of making any changes.”
Jory let out a short laugh. “Sure, that’s what they always say—just before they shut down the factory and move all of the jobs to Malaysia or somewhere.”
Des’s cell phone squawked again.
She answered it and heard an excited Soave blurt out, “Des, you have not lost your touch.”
“What have you got for me, Rico?” she asked him as Jory started for the service stairs. Des didn’t want anyone wandering around the castle alone, so she motioned for her to sit. Jory flopped down at the kitchen table, puffing out her cheeks.
“Well, for starters,” Soave reported, “Dr. Lavin is in Aruba for two weeks.”
“Dumb he’s not. And …?”
“And the doctor who’s covering for him is going to look into Norma Josephson’s records and get back to me.”
“And…?”
“And I bounced your theory off of the medical examiner. He said that if somebody ODs on digoxin it can trigger, wait a sec, I wrote all of this down … ‘Excessive slowing of the pulse, thereby leading to atrio-ventricular blockage. Which, if someone is elderly or has a heart condition, can lead to complete cardiac arrest within a half hour.’ That’s an induced heart attack, in dumbo English. Which is to say, ka-ching.”
“That’s good work, Rico,” she said, her mind starting to race. Whoever killed Norma had known more than a little about her heart condition. Meaning it was someone close to her as opposed to, say, Spence or Hannah. Although Hannah could have known about it by way of Aaron.
“Yolie’s reaching out to your local pharmacist. And I just spoke to the Connecticut Light and Power people.”
“This news is not so good. I hear it in your voice, Rico.”
“Hey, I got you bumped to a high priority, right behind the hospitals, schools and the governor’s mother’s house. But they still can’t promise anything before the end of tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Rico, we will freeze to death by then.”
At the table, Jory nodded her head solemnly.
“Hey, at my house we’re looking at seventy-two hours,” he complained. “So consider yourself lucky.”
“What did the SP-One people say?”
“According to the latest forecast, the snow and wind are supposed to taper off early this afternoon. They think we might be able to land up there maybe one, two o’clock. I’ve got the authorization.”
Des glanced at her watch. It was not quite eleven now.
“Des, I’m still willing to do it the old-fashioned way. Just say the word and me and Yolie will be on the road in ten minutes.”
“No, take the chopper, Rico. You’re a bigger help to me right where you are. And you’ll get here faster.”
“Deal. Back at you when I know more.”
Des rang off and she and Jory started back upstairs.
“Would it be okay if we looked in on Jase?” Jory asked her as they climbed. “I want to make sure he’s okay.”
“Any reason he wouldn’t be?”
“He doesn’t do well under certain circumstances.”
“None of us are doing particularly well right now.”
“I know, but he’s real sensitive, and he can get kind of …”
“Kind of what, Jory?”
“Upset,” she said quietly.
“Sure, okay,” Des said, pushing open the steel door to the second-floor corridor. Mitch was still at his post at the top of the main stairs. “I need to talk to him anyway.”
“Can I come in with you?” Jory asked, somewhat pleadingly.
“Then I’ll wait right out here in the hallway, if you don’t mind. Just in case you need me.”
“That’ll be fine.” Des tapped on the door to room eleven. It wasn’t bolted. She opened it and went inside, shutting it behind her.
Jase sat hunched on the edge of the bed, facing the windows. The unheated room was beginning to smell of his unwashed presence.
“How’s it going, Jase?” she asked, starting toward him.
He didn’t respond. Didn’t so much as acknowledge her presence.
When she made her way around the bed to face him, Des found Jase Hearn to be perspiring heavily despite the chill. He was nodding his head up and down, wringing his hands, jiggling his knee.
Jory knew her brother, all right. He was definitely upset.
“It won’t open,” he said suddenly. “The window won’t open.”
Indeed not. The deep granite sill was heavily encrusted with ice, frozen solidly shut.
“Are you going somewhere, Jase?” she asked him, keeping her voice low.
“I have to work on the driveway,” he replied, his voice rising with urgency. “Trees are down.”
“In a while, Jase.”
“No, that’s no good,” he protested. “I take care of things. I’m supposed to be out there, not sitting here doing nothing.”
“Soon, okay?” Des perched on the bed next to him. “And you’re not here doing nothing. You’re helping me out.”
He turned and looked at her blankly. “I am?”
“Absolutely. I need to ask you some questions about last night, okay?”
“I guess,” he said, relaxing a little. “I mean, sure.”
“Did you get up at all during the night? I’m wondering if you might have seen anything going on downstairs in the kitchen.”
Jase cocked his head at her curiously. “Like what?”
“Somebody’s flashlight. Somebody moving around in there.”
Jase shook his head. “Jory gave me my pill.”
“What pill is that, Jase?”
“You take one every night?”
“I do,” he said, scratching at his beard. “If I don’t I can’t stop thinking about stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Stuff I need to do. There’s just so much stuff.”
“Okay, sure,” she said easily. “Jase, I’d like to go over what happened this morning. Where were you when Ada got strangled?”
“I don’t know,” he answered flatly.
Des frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know when it happened. I only know when I heard that girl scream.”
“You’re right. That wasn’t a very precise question. My bad. Where were you when you heard Hannah scream?”
“Washing my hands,” he said, staring down at them as if they belonged to someone else. “In the mud room.”
“And Jory was in the kitchen?”
“Yeah.”
“And where was Les?”
“With her, serving breakfast.”
“Okay, that’s good. Very good.” Des stood back up, her hamstrings and calves starting to ache from the cold. “Thank you, Jase.”
“Can I go outside now?” he asked her.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to stay put.”
“How much longer?” he wondered, squirming around on the edge of the bed.
“A little while. Can you do that for me?”
“Sure. I’ll stay right here,” he promised, nodding his head—up, down, up, down.
Des went back out in the hallway, closing the door softly behind her.
A very anxious Jory stood right there before her, eyes searching Des’s face. “Is he okay?”
“A little twitchy, but hanging in there,” Des replied. “Tell me, what’s his story?”
“He doesn’t like to be cooped up. It makes him very uncomfortable.”
“I noticed.” Des also noticed that Jory was highly protective of her brother. This was to be expected. She was several years older than he. Their mother had died giving birth to him. So Jory had had to raise him herself, with an assist from Norma. Still, she seemed particularly worried. Des wondered if she had a reason to be. “He’s not going to throw a chair through the window or anything, is he?”
“No, nothing like that. He’s a good, sweet boy. Just emotionally fragile.”
“I told him to stay put.”
“If that’s what you told him, that’s what he’ll do.”
“He said you gave him a sleeping pill last night.”
“I did,” Jory admitted. “He has nightmares. They’re anxiety-related. His doctor at the family practice here in town prescribed a mild sedative called diazepam a couple of years ago.”
“His name is …?”
“Dr. Dillon,” Jory replied. “Why?”
“Just being thorough.”
“Honestly, Jase is fine. It’s not like he’s seeing a shrink or anything.”
“I understand. Except for one thing, Jory. When we were downstairs just now, you told me he slept well because he worked so hard. You didn’t say anything about meds.”
“I know I didn’t. And I’m sorry. I was afraid that, see, if Aaron thinks Jase is drug-dependent, that would give him just the excuse he needs to get rid of us.”
“Is Jase drug-dependent?”
“Totally not. Dr. Dillon said it isn’t strong or habit-forming or …” Jory trailed off, scrunching her mouth nervously. “Des, does Aaron have to know about this?”
“He won’t hear about it from me,” Des promised her.
Jory’s face broke into a dimply, pink-cheeked smile. “Thanks. You’re a real friend.”
Mitch moseyed toward them from the top of the stairs and said, “Les wants to know if he can go down and stoke the fires.”
“Not now,” Des replied. “I want everyone right where they are.”
“He needs to keep those fireplaces going, Des,” Mitch pointed out. “Otherwise the pipes might freeze.”
“You do have a point there,” she conceded, shoving her heavy horn-rimmed glasses up her nose. “Okay, go ahead and take him downstairs. Feed the fires—and yourselves while you’re at it.”
“I am liking this plan,” he said, grinning at her.
“Somehow I thought you would. And take Teddy, why don’t you?”
“Safety in numbers?”
“Something like that.”
“May I join them, too?” Jory asked.
“I may need to ask you some more questions.”
“But I don’t know anything else.”
“Jory, please return to your room.”
Sullenly the housekeeper went back into room nine, closing the door behind her.
“How will you keep tabs on everyone while I’m downstairs?” Mitch asked.
“I can move a second chair out to your sentry post and conduct my interviews there.” Des ducked into their room, grabbed their desk chair and brought it out with her. “Be careful while you’re down there. Keep them in front of you at all times.”
“Not to worry,” he said over the sound of his growling stomach. “You can count on me.”
Les was exceedingly grateful to be sprung from his room. “Norma would never, ever forgive me if our pipes froze,” he told Des, his eyes moistening. “I may have to go get more firewood from the woodshed. Is that okay?”
“Do what you have to do, Les. Just don’t do it alone.”
Teddy seemed plenty thrilled himself. “I’m so hungry I’m ready to start gnawing on the wallpaper,” he exulted.
The three of them started down the center stairs immediately, Mitch bringing up the rear.
Des watched them go, mulling over her next move. She’d made a bit of progress, she believed. She knew what had gone down, and pretty much how. But she still didn’t know the why. Or the who. Or what kind of a crowbar would pry this damned thing open. Or how to …
Actually, come to think of it, she still didn’t know a damned thing.