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We followed Joe down a corridor of smoked glass doors with the names etched in gold letters on the outside. We stopped before one that said ‘Detective Joseph Connor’.
‘Impressive.’ Zeke ran his fingers over the gold lettering.
‘I’m glad you’ve come back, Zeke. I’m sorry about Hendrik Shrader and that you and Sarah are in danger, but something’s happened …’ Joe hesitated.
‘Out with it, Joe. What’s he done?’
We followed Joe into his office.
‘There have been a series of jewel heists in Millport. The thief – or thieves if you believe some people – targets the Millport elite. Initially the robberies occurred when no one was home. That, among other things, has led us to believe that whoever is doing these robberies is on familiar terms with the victims.’
A large map took up almost an entire wall, complete with pins with red flags, which were stuck in random places.
Joe opened a file cabinet and took out a stack of files. He reached inside one of them and handed Zeke a bunch of photos in various shapes and sizes.
‘Things have escalated lately. The burglar is taking more risks and has been entering the houses while people are there, usually while they are sleeping. He climbed up the Donaldsons’ drainpipe and stole Mrs Donaldson’s jewelry box, right out from under her nose.’
We thumbed through a stack of photographs, all depicting jewelry – diamond necklaces, earrings, bracelets, pearls – and a large quantity of sterling. The burglar had hit the motherload.
I moved over to the map on the wall.
‘I’ve put pins where the robberies have taken place. I was desperate to try something. As you can see, the victims are all concentrated in that eight-mile circumference. This guy is physically fit. He’s nimble, which also leads me to believe that he doesn’t live here. All the usual suspects enlisted and are no longer in Millport. So we’re looking for an outsider, which should help.’
‘Are you saying that Millport has a cat burglar?’ Zeke said.
‘Yes,’ Joe said.
‘Press?’ Zeke asked.
‘Haven’t gotten a hold of it yet,’ Joe said. ‘But it’s just a matter of time. The victims don’t want their names made public, and the various insurance companies are eager to recover the jewels so they don’t have to pay the claims. It’s a nightmare and of course, no one is happy with my efforts.’
‘Surely you don’t think my brother has been climbing into people’s homes and stealing their valuables?’
‘He’s recently paid off a large gambling debt. Where did he get the money? He won’t tell me. I’ve asked him repeatedly. There are some who believe that I am not objective because of my connection to your family. You know as well as I do that Simon has been headed for trouble.’
‘That doesn’t mean he has the emeralds, or that he had anything to do with Rachel’s death.’
‘I realize that. But an emerald turns up and all of a sudden Simon has the money to pay off his sizable gambling debts. The newspapers haven’t yet discovered that one of the emeralds has turned up. But they will. Everyone in town knows. Conclusions have been drawn. I will keep you informed as to what’s going on. You’re home now. We’ll sort this out. As for the other thing, I’ve spoken to Wade. A few of us in the department know what’s going on. If anyone comes after you, we’ll soon know about it.’
‘Who discovered the emerald in Portland?’
‘My father. Since he retired, he’s been obsessed with Rachel’s case. He claims that he will solve her murder before he dies, and if he doesn’t, he’ll come back from the grave to see justice done.’
‘Do you need my help? If my brother is a suspect …’ Zeke didn’t finish his sentence.
‘As of now, I don’t need your help. Since your brother is a potential suspect, your involvement would start speculation and rumor. I can promise to keep you informed, but that’s the extent of it. Wade has offered his services in tracing the emerald. That should help, but it’s going to take some time.’
‘I believe you have something for me?’ Zeke asked.
Joe took a black leather case the size of a large book out of his desk drawer.
‘I expect you to teach her to be safe with this,’ he said as he handed it to Zeke.
‘Sarah, this is for you,’ Zeke said. He laid the box on the desk and stepped aside. ‘Open it.’
I undid the brass latch and lifted the lid of the box. Inside lay a tiny gun made of gleaming silver, with a mother-of-pearl handle. I recoiled.
‘What am I going to do with that?’ I asked.
‘You are going to learn to use it to defend yourself,’ Zeke said.
‘I will not. I refuse. You know very well that I would never shoot anyone no matter what they were doing,’ I said.
Joe Connor intervened on Zeke’s behalf. ‘Sarah, the men who are after you and Zeke are dangerous. I usually do not condone civilians carrying guns, especially women, but I think in this instance Zeke’s right. Just take the gun, Sarah. Let Zeke show you how to use it. Practice a bit. When this man who is after you is back in custody, you can put it away.’
I looked at my husband and his well-intentioned friend. Hendrik Shrader was a dangerous man. I knew that. But the question remained, would I actually be able to shoot him?
‘You’d shoot him if he was going to harm you,’ Zeke said, as if he could read my mind. ‘And I know you’d shoot him if he was going to harm me.’
He was right. With a sinking feeling, I acquiesced.
Chapter 2
‘I forgot about this oppressive heat.’ Zeke loosened his tie, removed it, and handed it to me. I rolled it up and tucked it into my purse, next to the case which held my gun.
‘The mill is about two miles that way,’ Zeke pointed as he turned onto a tree-lined dirt road, kicking up dust in our wake. We passed pastures with weather-beaten fences and tall golden grass shimmering in the afternoon heat. Horses grazed here, their coats glistening in the sun. A man on a tractor made tracks through the grass, waving at us as we drove by. We came to a pasture surrounded by a white fence, where four horses grazed. One of the horses, a giant red beast, pricked his ears and raised his head as the car approached.
‘Prepare yourself, my love,’ he said.
‘Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad,’ I said.
‘You’ve no idea,’ he said.
We drove on, following the white fence as it wove around the oak trees. The red horse broke away from the herd and ran toward us, keeping pace with our car. He kicked his heels a few times, before he lost interest in us and ran back to the others.
‘That’s Seadrift, Daphne’s horse,’ Zeke said.
We turned into a tree-lined driveway, which wove through a shady canopy for about a half mile before the house came into view – a two-story structure made of gray stone with a shale roof. A sloping flower bed abutted the driveway. Burgeoning blooms in a riot of color almost shielded the woman who squatted among them. She held a spray can and worked the beds with industry, deadheading blooms, spraying the plant when she finished, and scooting down the row. She had a rhythm and made quick work of the project. I recognized larkspur, foxglove, delphinium, sunflowers, all melded together in a vibrant burst of color.
When Zeke tooted the horn, the woman stood. When she took off her hat, a mass of auburn hair tumbled around her shoulders.
‘None of those flowers was here when I left.’ He turned off the ignition. ‘If we were to stay on this road, we’d run into the stables. All that grassland back there is where we get our hay. What Daphne doesn’t use for her horses, we sell.’
‘How much property is there?’ A fresh batch of sweat pooled between my shoulder blades and started to trickle down my back. I opened the passenger door, but the breeze did little to dispel the heat.
‘Three hundred and fifty acres,’ Zeke said. ‘I wanted to grow grapes for wine and start a vineyard – never mind. Let’s go in.’
The door burst open and a ginger-haired boy, who I guessed to be five or six, came tumbling down the stairs and running towards Zeke.
‘Uncle Zeke, Uncle Zeke!’ The boy launched himself at Zeke, who somehow managed to sweep the child up with one arm, while maintaining hold of his cane.
‘Toby!’ Zeke spun him around, hiding the pain that I was certain the activity caused. He set the boy down and leaned against the car.
‘You must be Sarah,’ Daphne said. She wiped her hands on her trousers and held one out for me to shake. She took my hand in a strong grip and shook it, then saw Zeke taking the bags out of the trunk and went to help him.
‘Give me a hug, brother-in-law,’ she said. She and Zeke hugged, and Daphne air-kissed his cheek. ‘Simon’s at the mill. He asked you to join him as soon as you got here. Why don’t you leave the bags, and I’ll get Sarah situated.’
‘We brought food, too,’ I said.
‘Perfect,’ Daphne said.
‘Uncle Zeke, I’m getting a pony.’ The boy still clambered over Zeke, who was taking our suitcases, my typewriter, and the box of food out of the trunk.
‘And Father?’ Zeke asked.
‘Running errands today,’ Daphne said. An unspoken current passed between my husband and Daphne, words unsaid, but their meaning conveyed nonetheless.
‘Toby, your uncle has a sore leg. He’s also trying to carry things. Please quit climbing all over him.’
‘I can help. Sometimes ponies carry things. I don’t know if they carry suitcases, but my pony will do anything I ask,’ the boy said.
‘That’s marvelous, old boy. I think you’d be great on a pony,’ Zeke said. He climbed the stone steps and set the box of food next to our suitcases on the front porch. When he walked back down the stairs, Daphne noticed the limp.
‘Oh dear,’ Daphne said.
‘I know,’ I answered, speaking just loud enough for her to hear.
The three of us stood for a moment, watching Toby run in circles as he pretended to ride an imaginary pony.
‘I should really go to Simon. You don’t mind if I leave you?’ Zeke asked.
‘I’ll be fine,’ I said.
‘I’ll show her around,’ Daphne said.
‘See you soon.’ He kissed my cheek, got in the car, and drove away.
‘Miss.’ The boy came up to me now, as if noticing me for the first time. ‘Do you like ponies? I’m getting one of my own.’
‘He’s not getting one until he can muck out a stall,’ Daphne said. ‘Toby, say hello to Sarah. She’s your aunt.’
Toby skewed up his face, processing this bit of news. In a brilliant flash of understanding, his face broke into a big smile.
‘That’s super.’ He took my hand.
‘Sarah is going to be here awhile, darling. Go find Granna, would you? She is waiting to read to you.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ the boy said. He waved at me and ran off.
‘What a bright child,’ I said.
‘He’s a handful,’ Daphne said. ‘Would you like to go inside and freshen up, or would you like the quick tour?’
‘Should we take the food inside?’
‘Don’t worry. By the time we get back, Mrs Griswold will have all that sorted out.’
‘Tour, please,’ I said to Daphne.
‘Fabulous.’ She hooked her arm in mine. ‘We’ll start with the gardens.’
* * *
‘I try to get out here and tend to these beds myself, but it has been so hot these past few weeks, I’ve only been able to work in the early morning.’
‘How many horses do you have?’ We had strolled among the gardens in front of the house, through a rose garden nestled in the middle of a grove of shade trees, and were now sitting on a bench under the gnarled limbs of a majestic oak tree amid ferns, hydrangea, and other shade-loving plants that I did not recognize.
‘I have four, all told. Seadrift is my favorite. I bought him when he was a two-year old and broke him myself. I give lessons to the local children.’ She stopped as I wiped the sweat which ran down my face. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m just not used to the heat,’ I explained. ‘Zeke and I live near the bay, so it doesn’t get this hot.’
‘Let’s head back,’ Daphne said. ‘We are desperate for rain. One of these days the sky will break open, and we will get a little relief.’
Daphne pointed out the various plants and trees as we walked.
‘It will be cool in the house,’ Daphne said. An elderly woman waited for us in the doorway. She wore a lightweight floral housedress – perfect for this scorching heat – with her silvery-blue hair tucked into a chignon at the nape of her neck. Sparkling eyes smiled out of her plump face.
‘Welcome, Mrs Caen,’ she said.
‘Please, call me Sarah.’
We were in a long entry hall. No rug graced the hardwood floor. The whitewashed walls made the room seem cool. Off to the right, a sweeping staircase led the way to the second storey. A cool breeze tickled my bare skin, as though a fan were blowing on us.
‘Sarah, meet Mrs Griswold. She takes care of us,’ Daphne said.
‘And you look like you’re about to have a heat stroke,’ Mrs Griswold said. ‘If you want to take her up, Daphne, I’ll bring lemonade.’
‘Is there a fan somewhere?’ I asked Daphne, after Mrs Griswold had left us.
‘No, but it feels like it. It’s the design of the house.’ We headed up the stairs, taking our time. Daphne kept her eye on me, as if she was afraid I’d keel over. ‘We have a cupola on the third floor. If we open the windows up there, and open the front and back door, the heat in the house gets sucked up the stairs. That, plus all the big oaks around the house, gives us shade. Simon has begged his father to install an air-conditioning system, but Will Sr won’t hear of it.’
The top of the stairs opened into a sitting area. A picture window overlooked the vast acreage surrounding the house, with a good view of the stables. Four chairs circled a low coffee table, with a sofa positioned under the window. Books and magazines, along with a few picture books and reading primers, were scattered about the room. In the corner, a toy train set waited for Toby.
‘What a charming room,’ I said.
‘Thanks,’ Daphne said.
‘Did you do the decorating?’
‘Yes,’ Daphne said. ‘I must confess I read lots of design books and magazines. If I were a career woman, I would be an interior decorator. I like studying people and creating their surroundings. Your room is this way.’ The hallway had windows along one wall with a narrow staircase in the middle of the landing. ‘That staircase leads to the cupola I was telling you about. The view from up there is stunning, but it is as hot as an oven.’
We stopped before a large door, with a heavy brass handle and a skeleton key – also of brass – in the lock. Daphne unlocked the door, handed the key to me, and led me into a spacious sitting room decorated in earth tones. A well-worn rug covered the wood floors, and the French doors, which stood open now, allowed the summer breeze to flow through the room. More French doors opened into the bedroom, which held a four-poster bed set high off the ground. This room also had access to the covered porch.
‘I recommend closing the doors and curtains that lead to the porch by ten o’clock in the morning. We’ve left them open today to air the room. You don’t realize how precious this cool air is until afternoon, when the heat can be a bit stifling.’ She shut the doors and closed the curtains. ‘This was Zeke’s room,’ Daphne said. ‘I’ve changed it up a bit, painted it, new furniture, curtains and the like.’ A small fireplace with a white marble hearth was set in the middle of the wall. On one side, a work table held my typewriter and office supplies, all unpacked and ready for me to use.
Daphne spoke, but her words faded into the background. Above the fireplace hung a portrait of Rachel Caen. She wore the same dress she had on when she appeared before me just a few hours before at our flat in Sausalito. The emeralds sparkled around her neck as though they had a life of their own. Her hair flowed over her shoulders in honey-colored waves. Her expression suggested hidden mirth, as though she thought the whole idea of the portrait a joke. I could not take my eyes away.
‘That’s my sister-in-law, Rachel. She’s gone now, but she was very dear to me. The artist captured her expression so well, it’s almost as if Rachel … Forgive me. I’m getting maudlin.’ She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and turned her attention to the small round table with two chairs nestled in the corner, topped with a tablecloth and empty cups and saucers.
‘I thought you and Zeke might want coffee in here in the morning.’ Daphne wouldn’t meet my eyes. She twisted her hair into a bun and surveyed the room. ‘Is the room okay? I want you to be comfortable.’
‘Everything is perfect,’ I said. ‘Thanks so much.’
‘I’m so envious that you are able to actually have a meaningful job,’ Daphne said. ‘I would love to work, but Mother forbade me to even think of it as a child. Simon wouldn’t care if I got a job, but Will Sr would not approve.’
‘Well, I was forced into it,’ I said. ‘I had to earn my living.’
‘I know. I read about you in the papers, starting with Jack Bennett, and then that woman who wanted to kill her husband. Are you a detective, too?’
‘Some people say a proper lady’s name should appear in the newspaper three times: upon her birth, her marriage and her death.’ I met Daphne’s gaze head on. ‘I have given up any notion of being a proper lady.’
‘I like to think you’ve paved the way, made it a little easier for those who are coming behind you. But enough of that. I want to hear about your job. Surely you don’t need to earn your living now?’
‘I like to work,’ I said.
‘Ah, an independent streak.’ The smile had come back into Daphne’s eyes. ‘I’m glad you’ve come. I hope we shall be great friends.’
‘Do you dress for dinner?’ I opened the wardrobe. Daphne and I surveyed my meager collection of clothes, which now hung on cedar hangers.
‘These are lovely.’ She ran her fingers over the fabric of my emerald dress and the black Lanvin gown. ‘They’ll be perfect for dinner, but if you need anything else, I’ve got things you can borrow.’
I longed for Daphne to say goodbye and leave me alone, but she didn’t leave. Instead, she moved around the room, fluffing pillows, fiddling with the lamps, straightening a picture that didn’t need it.
‘Sarah, are you and Zeke planning on staying here? Simon thinks Zeke is going to take over the business. He’s not very happy that Zeke’s come back.’
‘Oh, no. We have a business and a home in Sausalito. We just needed to get away. It’s a long story, and I think Zeke should be the one to tell you why we came.’
‘That’s a relief. My husband has the ridiculous idea that Zeke intends on taking over the business and ousting him in the process. Simon’s been a bit of a drifter, but he’s trying so hard to do the right thing, at least for Toby’s sake, if not for mine. I tried to explain that Zeke isn’t like that, wouldn’t do that. Simon is stubborn, and he’s also a bit jealous of Zeke.’
There was a soft rapping at the door.
‘Come in,’ I said.
A young girl came in carrying a tray.
‘Ah, Helen. Lemonade. Good. Sarah, meet Helen Dickenson.’ We said our hellos.
‘Helen is going to make sure you and Zeke have everything you need. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. See you later,’ Daphne said.
‘Thanks,’ I called after her.
Helen Dickenson was a sturdy girl, with brown eyes and a quiet way about her that I liked right away.
‘I’ve taken a few of your things to be ironed. And I’m quite handy with the comb, miss. I can come back before dinner and fix you up real nice, if you’d like.’
‘Thank you, Helen.’
‘My room is just next door. If you need me, that’s where I’ll be, or downstairs in the kitchen. We’re all glad that Mr Zeke has come home, miss. I hope you’ll be happy here.’ With that, she walked down the corridor toward the staircase.
‘Oh, but we won’t be staying that …’ My words trailed off. Helen had disappeared.
* * *
I lay down on the sofa in the sitting area and soon fell asleep, Rachel Caen’s portrait the last thing I saw before my eyes shut. Daphne was right. The afternoon heat was relentless. I woke up groggy, damp with sweat, and parched. The sun had started to set, leaving the room bathed in a soft light that pierced the heavy curtains. The iced lemonade that Helen had brought up earlier had melted. I poured a glass of the watered-down stuff and chugged it, then poured another and sipped. A fan sat in the corner of the room. I propped it up on the desk, turned it on, and headed into the bathroom.
I took a cold bath and had just buttoned my blouse when Zeke came into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. ‘Just me,’ Zeke said. ‘I’ve had a—’
Someone banged on the bedroom door.
Was there no privacy to be had in this house? I smoothed my hair and hurried out to meet whoever had come to speak to Zeke.
‘Simon, what do you want? If it’s about what happened at the mill, now isn’t the time.’ Zeke’s tone was so sharp, I stopped in my tracks.
‘No, we are talking about this now,’ the other voice said.
I stayed hidden in the bathroom, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, not quite sure if I should make my presence known.
‘You seem to think that you can come home, the prodigal son, and waltz into a position of authority at the mill,’ Simon said. ‘How dare you? You’ve always been arrogant, but don’t you think this is pushing it just a little bit? I’ve actually done a good job, made a difference to the workers’ lives, and have increased the profit margins. Not that Father would notice. He hasn’t said a kind word to me in years.’
‘Simon, we aren’t going to stay here. We have a life in Sausalito, a home, a business.’
‘Why should I believe you?’ Simon asked.
This had gone far enough. I knocked on the door between the bathroom and bedroom, and opened it, like a lamb going to slaughter.
Zeke leaned on his cane. His eyes flashed with fury as he faced off with his brother. Simon Caen, for his part, seemed just as angry. He shared Zeke’s flashing eyes, although his were blue. Both men were tall and lean, but the resemblance ended there. Where Zeke’s jaw was determined, Simon’s was soft. Where Zeke’s eyes held your gaze, never breaking contact, Simon’s flitted around. He had the countenance of a spoiled boy, and I judged him to be weak within seconds of laying eyes on him.
‘You must be Simon,’ I said, forcing a smile.
‘So this is the psychic wife,’ Simon said. He surveyed me, not bothering to hide his distaste.
‘You will address my wife with respect,’ Zeke growled.
‘Simon, I overheard what you said. We’re not staying here. Believe me.’
Simon smirked. ‘You’re up to something, both of you. I would like to know what it is. Why in the hell are you two here?’
Zeke hobbled over to the table and poured himself a glass of watered-down lemonade. He drank it in one gulp.
‘I’ve come to clean up your mess, Simon.’
‘I don’t have a mess, brother, and if I did, I wouldn’t want your help.’
‘Are you aware of Millport’s resident thief? Ah, I didn’t think so. Are you aware that one of Rachel’s emeralds has surfaced?’
Simon’s face paled.
‘They’ve been reworking the autopsy and other evidence. What do you say about that?’ Simon’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth and shut it again, without uttering a word. ‘And it seems that you’ve somehow come up with the money to pay off your gambling debts,’ Zeke said. ‘So how did you get the money?’
‘Are you saying that Joe Connor thinks I had something to do with Rachel’s … My god, I cannot even fathom this,’ Simon said. He started pacing the floor beneath Rachel’s picture. The irony of this was not lost on me.
‘Where did you get the money?’ Zeke asked again.
‘None of your business,’ Simon snapped. ‘I’ll discuss it with Joe Connor. That’s all you need to know.’ He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
I stood behind Zeke and started to knead the muscles in his shoulders.