A Bookmarked Death (9 page)

Chapter Seventeen

T
HE
IDEA
OF
a quantum leap has always intrigued me, the process of a jump from Point A to Point B without having to go through the steps in between. You were in some usual place, then suddenly somewhere else completely without knowing quite how you arrived there. As I crept down Route 95, reaching Connecticut as everyone was leaving work for home, I experienced my own quantum leap. Landing on Point B, I wouldn’t believe it at first.

That’s crazy.

But if it isn’t?

No, it’s impossible.

But around Hartford I began to believe it.

By the time I boarded the ferry at Bridgeport and settled into the dark red vinyl booth, I was sure.

I called Frank Marselli immediately.

As soon as he heard my voice, he said, “Ms. Laine, you’re putting me in an awkward spot.”

“But aren’t you part of the investigation?”

“That doesn’t mean I can discuss it with you. Especially since—”

My heart began pounding the way it had in Boston. “Since what?”

“Your husband was brought in for questioning. There’s an arraignment Monday morning.”

The ferry tilted suddenly to the right and I felt as if I would be pitched into the dark gray water. “But
why
?”

“You know that dinner he was attending?”

“Yes?” The retirement dinner for Clifford Mallow. A time of bonhomie, reminiscences, and gift certificates for golf clubs and local restaurants.

“Dr. Fitzhugh was there, but he left early. He told the people he was sitting with that he felt a cold coming on.”

“How early?”

“Before ten.”

I held on to my phone to keep it from sliding out of my hand. “But how does that prove anything? You said the fire was set in the early hours. Early in the morning.”

“It was. But the time of death for the bodies was before midnight. Detective Carew’s theory is that he went out there to talk to them and things got out of hand. Then he set the second fire to cover it up.”

“But why would he wait several hours?”

“Less chance of someone passing by and reporting the fire too soon? She didn’t explain why.”

I was going to be sick. I swallowed the pecan pancakes and orange juice that were threatening to erupt, and made myself speak calmly. “Do you have a positive identification?”

“No, but we’re getting a warrant in Rhode Island to check the DNA. We have no grounds to search the house otherwise.”

“But what about the bad teeth? Can’t you ask Elisa if Sheila was dental-phobic?”

Then I remembered. “That’s another thing! Elisa’s disappeared. She was supposed to graduate from college today and we went up to Boston. But she wasn’t at the ceremony.
Or
in her room. Some of her clothes and her laptop and printer were missing, as if she’d started to pack, but . . .” I couldn’t think of why she had been interrupted, Except—

He didn’t say anything.

“There’s only one reason that I can think of she would do that. And that’s if the Crosleys came up to get her.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Suppose the bodies were badly burned on purpose, so they couldn’t be identified and the police assumed it was the Crosleys. What if they staged their own deaths so they wouldn’t be arrested for kidnapping and murder?”

How’s that for a quantum leap, Frank?

Now that I’d said it aloud it was easy to see the Crosleys arriving in Boston Wednesday and confronting an amazed Elisa. Alive! Her parents alive! The eerie vision I’d had of her selecting clothes from her closet might be true. Of
course
they wouldn’t let her bring the photo of us or Sheepie. Perhaps not even her smartphone if they were on the run and did not want to be traced in any way.

“And where did these substitutes come from?” Frank was asking. “The bodies that were burned instead?”

“I don’t know. Have you checked for missing people in the area?”

“As a matter of fact, we have an extra body to account for, a man who was beaten and left in Mecox Woods. Let me tell you something, Ms. Laine—Delhi—even when a body is as badly burned as theirs are, the ME can still check out their skull structure, the distance between the eyes, and so on. The person’s approximate height.”

“You mean like
Gorky Park.
”

“
Gorky Park
,” he agreed, though I was snobbishly sure he was referring to the movie. “In this case, since we know who the victims were, we can use photographs and physical descriptions. We were able to find their doctor, the doctor who operated and placed two stents in Dr. Crosley’s chest three years ago. Everything matches up.”

I was stunned. There was no way to fake the results of heart surgery. We were back to the Crosleys lying in the morgue and Colin under suspicion.

“Even if your theory were true, it doesn’t let your husband off the hook. He could have set the fire when he thought they were the ones inside.”

“Wait! You said that they had been badly burned before the fire outside was set. He wouldn’t go inside and incinerate two strangers.”

“Which is why it was probably the Crosleys.”

My head was spinning like the metal radar bar on deck. This was hopeless. “But in my theory it makes sense for Ethan to write a letter accusing Colin. He was deliberately setting him up to be blamed. They probably planted the boots!” I remembered the sound of a car door, someone walking on the driveway in the middle of the night. Someone returning the mud-caked boots to the back of the house.

“They’d have to know we’d find out eventually.”

“By then it wouldn’t matter. They’d be far away. With Elisa. You don’t understand how much money these people have.”

“We’re aware of their financial assets,” he said dryly. “Even so, why would they leave expensive wedding rings and a priceless watch behind? If they’d staged it, they would have at least taken the watch. Wouldn’t you?”

The ferry rocked rhythmically, hypnotically. Something about the Patek Philippe watch bothered me. “Are you sure the watch is genuine? Not a fake?”

That amused him. “You’re making a simple situation complicated.”

“That’s what I’d do. Get a fake watch in Times Square and save the real one.” I thought of something then that chilled me through my light cotton blazer. “They aren’t
holding
Colin, are they?”

“No. He’s no flight risk. They know he’ll show for the arraignment.”

“You’re making a terrible mistake!”

“That’s up to the judge.”

The world seemed to go dark. I mumbled good-bye, then dialed Colin’s phone immediately.

“Hello?” His voice was tired, cautious, even though caller ID undoubtedly told him that it was me.

“Colin, something terrible happened! Elisa wasn’t at graduation. We went to the stadium, but she wasn’t there. She wasn’t in her room either.” I described what we’d found and told him about my trip to the police station.

“She wouldn’t do anything to hurt herself, she’s much too feisty. Did I tell you how she attacked me when I tried to call her? How’s Hannah holding up? She’s the one you should be worried about.”

“Really? She’s upset, she’s sure Elisa hates us and never wants to see us again.”

Colin made a soft noise that I couldn’t identify. “Elisa probably went off to visit some friends. She wouldn’t think she owes
us
an explanation.”

“But we’re her parents!”

“Delhi . . .”

“Anyway, I’m worried about you too. There’s an arraignment scheduled? Do you have a lawyer?”

“Of course I have a lawyer. Stanton Miles. He thinks the whole thing is ridiculous.”

“I hope he’s right. Oh, God, Colin, how can this be happening to us? We’ve always been so careful to keep out of trouble. My father was a
minister.
We don’t even cheat on our income tax!”

“Easy, Del. It’s just a misunderstanding.”

“A
misunderstanding
?” All the shock and terror of the day, Elisa’s unexplainable absence, my guilt at failing her yet again, the stress of waiting in a police station to hear the worst, was converging into a whirlpool threatening to pull me under. “Why is everything I do the wrong thing? If I hadn’t gone looking for Elisa in the first place—”

“Delhi, stop. Stop that. That ship sailed a long time ago. It’s better to know the truth. We’ll get through this. I promise.”

Even though our relationship felt more like slogging through the dunes than frolicking on the beach, I loved Colin then. He was the only person on earth who loved our children the way I did. More than ever, I had to find out the truth of what had happened.

Chapter Eighteen

E
ARLY
THE
NEXT
morning, I drove back to Southampton. If there was any answer, it had to be there. I was not sure what I was looking for, but I knew I would recognize it when I found it. It was too early to knock on any doors, so I sat on Dune Road with a large cup of 7–Eleven coffee, watching the Atlantic Ocean. The sun on the water collected diamonds, then gambled them away. The surf smacking the sand left white leis of foam. The water was still too cold for swimming but a few recreational fishermen were standing in the surf casting out lines.

I rolled down my window to breathe in the fresh salt air and tried to create a scenario from the ragged pile of facts in front of me. My theory was right, I
knew
it was right, but I kept coming up against things I could not explain. Like two implanted stents. If what Frank had said was true about facial structure, it was another black mark.

At 8 a.m. I called Mairee Jontra, the Crosleys’ caretaker.

“Mairee here!”

“Hey Mairee, this is Delhi Laine. I talked to you about the Crosleys last week? Now I have a different kind of question,” I added before we could head back down that path.

“Fire away.”

“Are there agencies out here who specifically bring in people from other countries to work? You know, like waitstaff and summer help?”

“There’d have to be, wouldn’t there? Especially since so many come from Eastern Europe now. Some restaurants still hire local college kids for waitstaff, but mostly foreigners—pardon my French—for housekeeping and yard work. Are you looking for household help?”

In my next incarnation.
“No, I’m not hiring this month.”

“It’s so hard,” she agreed. “I had to let the butler go last week because he was sneaking Oreos.”

I laughed. “I have some general questions to ask an agency.”

“About the Crosleys?”

“No, this is something else.”

“I’ll tell you who the main ones are. Have a pen?”

“Sure. Are they out here?”

“Most are based in Manhattan, but they have local representatives who do the hands-on stuff. There is one guy who’s local.”

“Give me him.”

Mairee gave me his name and address, then added, “I doubt he’s there yet. How’s Elisa doing?”

“Holding up. It’s very hard.” I thought about telling her that Elisa had disappeared, then decided I wouldn’t.

“Poor kid.” She sounded as if she meant it.

I
DROVE
UP
South Main Street very slowly. This time I noticed that as the houses got closer to town they were nearer to the road. The dense hedges and large front yards gave way to sparser cover. Though still large enough to house several dozen people, they had less privacy.

I parked opposite the Crosley house but farther down the street in case the same town cop was on patrol. Being at the house again would be too hard to explain. The yellow tape was drooping, as if the party hadn’t been that much fun after all. I wondered if the town would decide the house was a hazard and tear it down.

I wasn’t sure what to do next. I could wait and see if anyone came out of the nearby houses or I could begin knocking on doors. This was the weekend, a better chance to find people out here. Yet I hesitated. What would I ask them other than whether they knew the Crosleys and had seen them last week? Had the Crosleys wanted to be seen? No, if they were afraid of being arrested, yes if they wanted people to know they had been here and died.

One decision was made for me when the door to a Tudor mansion across from the Crosley house opened and a miniature woman emerged. She was at least sixty with cropped gray hair, and rounded shoulders in a light blue windbreaker. She was being tugged along by a dancing white poodle.

I leaped out of the van. By the time she reached the sidewalk and turned toward town, I was there too. “Nice morning, isn’t it?” I said.

She looked up at me, her beaklike nose and squinting gray-green eyes reminding me of every teacher who had been sorry to have me in her class.

“I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“No.” She turned away, adding, “You are not permitted to accost residents on the street!”

Well, damn.
I had taken care to dress in a black turtleneck, embroidered denim jacket, and nearly new jeans. My hair was neatly brushed. At least the dog was sniffing, fascinated, at my leg, keeping her owner from moving ahead to the village.

She sighed. “What are you selling?”

“Nothing. I was a friend of the Crosleys. I’m trying to find out some information for their daughter.”

She looked beyond me as if I had not spoken.

“The people who lived across from you? Where the fire was?”

Now she finally turned. “I was not acquainted with them.” She gave each word its full value.
And I don’t want to be acquainted with you.

Well, we don’t have to exchange friendship rings.
“Did you see them here before the fire?”

“The police already asked me that. I did not.”

“Did you see anyone else around the house? People just loitering?”

“The only unusual thing—” She cut herself off.

I waited. Absently I reached down and stroked the dog’s eager head. It had a warm, matted feel like lambs in a petting zoo. I knew she was dying to tell me.

“The only unusual thing . . .” I prompted.

“I don’t know why I should tell
you
.” She was petulant now. “Where are you from, anyway?”

“Port Lewis.” It wasn’t the Hamptons, but it had a nice reputation.

“I saw a yellow Ryder truck backed into the driveway late Friday night. Two men were sneaking out items wrapped in quilting as if they didn’t want anyone to see. They didn’t even have their headlights on! I only saw them because Mimi has to go out one more time before bed.”

If it had been one of my neighbors’ homes, I would have crossed the road to make sure they were not thieves with a moving van stripping the house of valuables.

“Did they see you?” I reminded myself that confronting them would not have been the best idea.

“No, I don’t think so. They were busy with what they were doing.”

I realized we were whispering. “Could you see what they looked like?”

“It was too dark. At first, after the fire, I thought it was fortunate that they had removed the valuables the day before. Then I realized it was part of an insurance scam.” Her eyes held mine, indicating that people were no better than she imagined them to be.

Mimi had abandoned my leg and was now tugging her leash in the original direction of town.

“But you didn’t mention it to the police?”

She looked affronted. “I answered the questions I was asked.”

Then she and Mimi were gone.

A
T
NINE
I drove to At Your Service. If Mairee were any example, year-rounders started their days early. The agency was located in a clapboard house, gray boards with white trim. The only decoration was on a sign in the yard, the silhouette of a butler bowing.

I thought of how Poodle Lady had been scornful of my attire and wondered if I should have phoned instead.

Too late. I had already knocked on the white wooden door. Maybe they would think I was looking for a job in service.

The man who opened the door would never have been mistaken for the butler. He was about fifty and had the confidence of someone who, though not wealthy himself, would be comfortable around the likes of Ralph Lauren or Donald Trump. More than comfortable, because he understood them a lot better than they did him.

I liked his smile and his perfectly woven fair hair. He looked relaxed in a kelly green Izod polo shirt and khaki chinos.

“How can I help you? You’re a reporter from
Dan’s Papers
?”

He was good. “No, but I did come for some information. Can you tell my age too?”

He laughed. “I didn’t figure you for someone needing a pool man. But I’ve been wrong before.”

He introduced himself as Patrick Leahy, brought me into a dollhouse-sized living room, and gestured me onto an apricot-striped settee. Then he took a down-filled chair across the way and looked interested. This was not a man needing customers. Instead he seemed to welcome my visit as a break from his routine.

“How did you find me?” he asked.

Were you lost?
“Mairee Jontra gave me your information.”

“Mairee. What a pet. Really. How can I help you?”

“Do you place a lot of foreign students in summer jobs?”

He shook his head. “Not really. They can only get a three-month visa so they don’t get here until Memorial Day and leave before Labor Day.”

“But there must be people who are here for a longer time,” I said.

“Of course. Permanent workers have green cards. Life doesn’t shut down out here in September.”

“How would I find out if any of them had stopped showing up at work?”

He laughed then, a short bark like a seal who has seen a woman in a funny hat. “Seriously? You’d have to canvass a thousand restaurants, nurseries, and motels. Even then you wouldn’t know the real story, whether they’d gone back home or just gotten fed up. They aren’t known for giving two weeks’ notice. Are you looking for someone in particular?”

“No. Just . . .” Suddenly it seemed hopeless. I’d thought the Crosleys might have picked someone transient, someone who would not be easily missed. If the people were here illegally, their disappearance might not even be reported to the police. Even if I came across two people who had gone missing around the time of the Crosley fire, that did not mean they had been used as sacrificial lambs. “Do workers live in special areas?”

He looked at me thoughtfully and I realized it was a touchy question. Rents on Long Island were high and wages tiny. It was a pretty thought that each did his or her fair share, rich and poor living together as cozily as an Amish community. A pretty thought and a pretty fiction.

“Some places like Gurney’s Inn provide their own housing, dormitory style. And people can always rent places together in Springs or Riverhead. Converted summer bungalows or motels that went belly-up.”

“Do the people who work here really live an hour away? Isn’t there anywhere around Southampton?”

He sighed. “There’s some Section 8 housing off Route 27.” I knew he was referring to program that provided rent subsidies for low-income families. “It’s just a few blocks where landlords have agreed to the program and a place where other workers rent rooms in houses.” He described where it was. “It would help if I knew what you wanted.”

“It would help if
I
knew what I wanted. Businesses who hired workers from you wouldn’t contact you if any of them went missing?”

“Not after the first week or two. We’re basically an employment agency.” He reconsidered. “We might hear from private individuals where we placed a nanny or cook. They’d be upset and blaming us.” He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically. “I detest nannies! Give me an illegal gardener any time.”

Something stirred at his comment. “Any nanny problems recently?”

“No. Not since last Christmas.”

False alarm.