Untimely Death (3 page)

“No, I haven’t. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that a lost passport would be the perfect excuse to ring them. Oh well. I’ll think of something. As you say, I can be very persuasive.”

As he stood up, she gave him a sly look and remarked, “You know, a party at the consulate would be just the thing. Give us the chance to mix with a better class of person. Not to mention a perfect opportunity to give a ring or brooch a bit of an airing. People do so enjoy seeing a little something from the splendid Roxborough collection every now and then.”

Brian hesitated for a moment in the doorway and then disappeared into the bedroom, chased by the sound of her shallow laughter.

A very tired Harvey Jacobs took off his rimless glasses and rubbed his eyes as his nephew entered his office. A robust man in his early fifties with a rather large waist, Harvey wore the same style of striped trousers as his father had, made by the same tailor. A pair of hardworking suspenders struggled to hold the trousers in place over his bulging stomach. His blue striped shirt had large wet patches under the arms, although his office was not particularly warm. He’d been told more than once that he bore an uncanny resemblance to Theodore Roosevelt. Harvey would laugh it off, but secretly he took it as a compliment.

A glass-fronted bookshelf filled with green ledgers, leather guest books, and black cloth binders covered one wall. Bankers boxes, some with lids askew, were piled against another wall. A silver desk set featuring a cut-glass inkwell and penholder on an inscribed silver tray
was almost lost in the clutter on the heavy oak desk. A green metal “in” tray on a wire stand was overflowing, while the “out” tray beneath it was empty.

Harvey gestured at the visitor’s chair.

“How are you, Aaron? Enjoying your first day on the job?”

“Don’t know if ‘enjoy’ is the right word, but yeah, it’s going okay. Not what I expected, though, and very busy.”

“Keeping you busy, are they? Good. What have you been doing?”

“Working with Charlotte in costumes, mostly. I offered to set up an Excel spreadsheet for her so she could track actors in their plays more easily.” Aaron cast an eye around his uncle’s office, thinking it would take more than a spreadsheet to clean up this mess.
There must be decades of papers here, all in apparently no order.
And the tax situation! If the IRS came calling . . . He shuddered.

“And don’t forget you’ve got the stage manager job to do, too,” his uncle said. “I guess Charlotte and Simon will have to work out a schedule for you. Or you can go where you’re needed, as and when. Up to them to make it work.”

“Yeah, okay. Listen, I can see you’re busy, so I won’t take too long. Charlotte asked me to make sure you know what happened today. With Lauren.”

“Who?”

“Lauren Richmond. This season’s ingenue.”

“Oh, right. What about her?”

“She didn’t show up for rehearsal on time, so Simon had Charlotte check on her, and she found her in her room, sick, so an ambulance was called and now she’s in the hospital.”

“Good Lord! Why am I just hearing about this now? Is she all right? What’s the matter with her?”

Aaron shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Did someone from the theater company go with her to the hospital?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Right, well, I’ll call the hospital and see if they’ll tell me how she’s doing.”

As he reached across his desk, a towering pile of documents toppled over, spewing file folders, booklets, newspaper cuttings, and invoices over the floor.

“Don’t worry about that. I know this looks like an awful mess, but I can put my finger on everything I need, when I need it. Just give me a moment and I’ll find her contract details.”

“Honestly, Harvey, I don’t see how you could have hired her.”

“Me? I didn’t hire her. What do I know about acting? Simon casts the actors he wants.” He gave his nephew a hard look. “Why? What’s the matter with her? Is she no good? A bimbo?”

“This isn’t about her acting ability. It’s about who she is.”

Jacobs frowned. “She’s Lauren Somebody-or-other. Can’t remember her last name.”

Aaron stood up. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Look, Aaron. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and frankly, I don’t have time for this right now. I’ve got to make some phone calls.” He picked up the telephone receiver and, realizing he didn’t have a number, set it back in its cradle with a defeated sigh. “I wish Nancy were still with me. It was a sad day when we had to let her go. She was always so resourceful—she’d have known how to handle a situation like this. Probably would have gone to the hospital with the girl, phoned the parents, done all the right things.”

He appealed to his nephew. “Can you find me the number of the hospital?”

Aaron sat down again, tapped his phone, and then looked around for a something to write on. Seeing nothing, he held up the screen to his uncle.

“I don’t have my glasses on. Read it to me.”

Jacobs picked up a pencil with fingers that looked like sausages that had been thawed too quickly and scribbled the number on the back of a document that had fallen out of a file folder when the pile toppled over. And then, leaving his nephew to see himself out past the empty area where the highly efficient Nancy used to sit, and breathing a little heavily, Jacobs repeated the numbers under his breath as he punched them into his telephone.

*

Aaron entered the wardrobe room just as Charlotte picked up her ringing desk telephone. She listened for a few moments, made a few noises indicating agreement, and then said good-bye and put the phone down. Aaron raised an eyebrow.

“That was your uncle. He just spoke to the hospital. They did release some information on Lauren’s condition to him, as she has no next of kin available, and as her employer, he’s agreed to take on that role until her family can be located and notified. He offered to go to the hospital tonight.”

“Did he say what’s wrong with her?”

“They’re still running tests, but they said she is showing symptoms of having overdosed on something. They don’t know exactly what’s wrong with her yet.”

“Overdosed! What, like on drugs or something?”

“Could be, I suppose.”

She checked her watch. “Aaron, the afternoon is just about over. I don’t need you for anything more today, so why don’t you find Simon and see if he needs you. And if he doesn’t, you can start reading
Romeo and Juliet
.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

She laughed lightly. “No, of course not. But I am rather tired, and I’d like to get a walk in before dinner.”

“Oh, you like walking, do you?”

“I do. I find it clears my mind, and I feel so much better afterwards. And the exercise is good for my dog.”

“What kind of dog?”

Her face lit up at the very thought of Rupert. “He’s a corgi. The same kind of dog the Queen has, only mine’s got three colors and hers only have two. Her dogs are red and white. Mine has a mainly black coat with red and white points. I bring him to work every now and then, so you’ll meet him soon, I’m sure. Do you like dogs?”

After telling her he did, Aaron said good-night and left.

Charlotte entered a couple of reminders for tomorrow in her daybook, closed it, and switched off the desk lamp. The dress Lauren had tried on was still draped over the dressing screen, but Charlotte decided to leave it there and let Aaron deal with it in the morning. After one last look around to make sure everything was tidied away, she closed the door to her workroom and locked it.

Fifteen minutes later, she locked the door of her bungalow, and with Rupert on his leash, the two set off on the short walk into town.

Walkers Ridge had always depended on tourism, and now the tourists were starting to come back. The area had long been a popular destination for artists and musicians and was rediscovering and repositioning itself as a beacon for photographers, yoga enthusiasts, hikers, and antique collectors, as well as, because of its rich, fertile farmland, a Mecca for New York City foodies keen to experience the farm-to-table experience and devour vegetables so
fresh they’d been in the ground or on the vine until the very morning they were served.

Bentley’s Bistro featured daily specials showcasing local ingredients and served only craft beers from a Catskills brewery. Next door, the Upper Crust Bakery served warm croissants and freshly brewed specialty coffees, and further on down the street, an ice cream parlor offered homemade ice cream made with real cream from cows almost within walking distance. Boutiques sold vintage clothing like paisley-patterned peasant skirts and tie-dyed T-shirts, as well as handmade jewelry and candles. The heady smells of patchouli and incense wafted from some of the shops, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think it was 1968 all over again.

But Charlotte paid no attention to the stores as she and Rupert trotted along the back streets of the town until they reached Helm Street, the main thoroughfare. She slowed down to a walk and a few minutes later arrived at her destination. She pushed open the door to the police station, conveniently located beside the town hall; both were made of brick that had been painted white.

“Hello, Gus,” she said to the front-desk officer seated behind the glass screen. “Is he in?”

“Sure is. He’s expecting you. Just knock and go on in.”

She knocked on the office door and poked her head around it. Walkers Ridge Chief of Police Ray Nicholson looked up from his computer and, with a confident smile,
came around the side of the desk and reached behind her to close the door.

“Afternoon, ma’am. What can I do for you?”

He was a couple of inches over six feet tall and well built. The definition of his biceps, visible even under his blue shirt, attested to hours in the gym lifting weights. His neatly trimmed dark hair was starting to grey at the temples, adding to his natural air of authority.

Charlotte put her arms around his neck, and he bent down and kissed her.

Charlotte and Ray had met about six months ago, when she and Rupert had found a small white dog running loose on the village green. Unsure if it was lost or abandoned, but certain it was in distress, Charlotte had offered it a few of Rupert’s dog treats, and not knowing what else to do, she had taken the dog to the nearby police station. Ray had seemed very interested in the dog’s welfare and promised he would make sure the little fellow was cared for. He’d taken Charlotte’s name and address for his report and two days later, when he just happened to be driving by the hotel, had dropped in to let her know the microchipped dog had been reunited with his relieved owner.

“Did he spend the night at the vet’s?” Charlotte asked.

Ray shook his head and gave her a sheepish grin. “I think he found my sofa quite comfortable.”

Charlotte laughed, and after a few minutes of easy conversation, Ray had invited her to meet for a coffee. They’d discovered they shared a love of films, especially 1940s and ’50s noir, and really good coffee.

Ray had moved to Walkers Ridge from Pennsylvania. He’d applied for the police chief job as a career move, but he was also looking for a fresh start following an amicable divorce. Meeting Charlotte had been an unexpected bonus.

“Something happened at the hotel today,” Charlotte said, after she’d settled into the chair across from his desk, with Rupert lying at her feet. “It may be nothing, but I thought you should know.” She described finding Lauren barely conscious in her bedroom, how the ambulance had been called, and finished up by telling him that a hospital nurse had told Harvey Jacobs that an overdose of some kind was suspected.

“Overdose?” Ray asked.

“They aren’t sure yet what’s wrong with her. Still running tests, apparently. But you know, when I saw her, I wondered if it might be something like that. She was so unresponsive—exactly like what you read about in the papers when someone has overdosed.”

“Did they say what kind of drug she might have taken?”

Charlotte shook her head. “If the nurse told him, Harvey didn’t say. I suppose it could be something she
took by mistake, but when you hear ‘drug overdose,’ you tend to think the worst, don’t you?”

“You do.” He thought for a moment. “Look, just to be on the safe side, I think I’ll take a run over to the hospital and see what’s going on. I’d send Phil, but he’s out on a call. Will you be home later? I’ll phone you.”

Charlotte gathered up Rupert and stood up. “That would be great. I’d love to know what you find out. If you can tell me, that is.”

“I’ll tell you what I can,” he replied as he also stood up. “Now, would you two like a ride home? It’s on my way.”

“No, we’re fine. We want to complete our walk, don’t we, Rupert?” The corgi raised his head slightly when he heard his name. Charlotte smiled at him and then turned to Ray. “Why don’t I pick up a few groceries, and if you don’t have other plans, you could come by later and we can talk over dinner.”

“Sounds great. I’ll call you and let you know when I’m on my way.”

Half an hour later, pleasantly out of breath, Charlotte let herself and Rupert into their bungalow, set down her small bag of shopping, peeled off her dog-walking clothes, and headed for the shower. Ten minutes later, wrapped in a fluffy white towel with another one on her head, turban style, she made her way to her bedroom. She chose clean, comfortable pants and a green and white striped Ralph Lauren top that she’d bought on sale at a
discount outlet. She was halfway to the kitchen to begin preparing dinner when her phone rang. It was Ray, telling her he’d be there in about forty-five minutes.

She put out Rupert’s dinner and then seasoned the chicken breasts and put them in the oven while she prepared potatoes. Ray liked old-fashioned, plain cooking, and although she enjoyed good food, she wasn’t much into cooking anymore. Keeping things simple suited her just fine.

This bungalow on the grounds of Jacobs Grand Hotel had been her home for the past ten years. It was small, but it suited her perfectly, reminding her of the old tied cottages that used to house workers on great English estates. The only difference was that she paid Harvey Jacobs a fair market-value rent.

She’d placed her table in front of the sitting-room window, with its beautiful view of the local river. The natural light was good, and although she rarely brought work home, if she had some detailed stitching to do, it was in front of this window that she did it.

The summer season at Jacobs Grand Hotel kept her busy, but in the downtime of winter, she supplemented her income by creating costumes for New York productions on a short-term contract basis. It was easy enough to catch the bus that picked up passengers at the village green and continued on, stopping at small towns along the way, all the way to the Port Authority Bus Terminal at Forty-Second Street. She loved days out in New York,
the hustle of the city, the romance of the theater district, and the drive of the fashion district.

She finished setting the table, and a few minutes later, as Rupert’s barking warned of an approaching vehicle, she lit a couple of candles. Footsteps crunched across the gravel, and she opened the door for Ray, letting in a cool blast of fresh spring evening air.

After kissing her, he took off his coat and went to wash his hands in the kitchen sink.

“Are you off duty now for the rest of the evening?” she asked over the sound of running water. He nodded. “Hungry?” He nodded again as he hung up the towel. “Like a glass of wine?”

“That sounds good,” he replied.

“Dinner should be ready in a few minutes.” She handed him a glass of white wine and sat beside him on the couch, tucking one leg under her as she turned toward him.

“Tell me,” she said.

“Well, the good news is that Lauren has regained consciousness and is breathing on her own, but they wouldn’t let me speak to her. She’s not quite out of the woods yet but headed in the right direction. It was very lucky you found her when you did. The doctor said even five or ten minutes later and the outcome would most likely have been very different.”

“Do they know what she took?”

“They did a tox screen but haven’t got the results back yet. I hope to know more when we’re able to talk to her.”

He took a sip of wine.

“Now it’s your turn to tell me,” he said. “You said you thought something didn’t seem quite right when you found Lauren. What did you mean by that?”

“She seemed so limp and well, just out of it. I wondered if she’d taken something.”

“A suicide attempt, you mean?”

Charlotte nodded. “I had a cousin who tried to kill herself. My aunt found her passed out, and what she described looked a lot like Lauren.”

She glanced at Rupert lying beside them and then bent over and gave the fur on his back a friendly rub.

“But I wouldn’t have thought Lauren was the type to try to commit suicide. Of course, you can never really know what’s going on in someone’s mind, but she didn’t seem depressed or unhappy to me. Quite the opposite, in fact. She seemed very confident that she was on her way to bigger and better things.”

“But suicide attempts aren’t always what they seem,” Ray said. “Sometimes people do it to attract attention or to send a message to someone. You know—‘If you break up with me, I’ll kill myself, and you’ll be sorry.’”

Charlotte glanced up at him.

“I offered to ride in the ambulance to the hospital with Lauren,” she remarked as she straightened up, “but the paramedic said only family can do that. It occurred to me that Lauren didn’t take anything with her, so I thought I’d go back to her room tonight and choose a
few items that she’ll need while she’s in hospital. A bit of makeup, her own nightdress, that sort of thing.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Ray. “I’m sure she’d appreciate your thoughtfulness. We can walk over together after dinner.”

The oven timer dinged to let them know the chicken was done. Charlotte mashed the potatoes, and they worked together to plate the meal. Charlotte closed the curtains against the night while Ray set the plates on the table and Rupert kept a close eye on everything.

Ray looked thoughtful as he piled mashed potatoes on his fork.

“Do you know if her room is locked now?” he asked.

“It wasn’t locked this morning when I found her, but I don’t know if someone locked the door after she was taken to hospital.”

He helped himself to a few more buttered carrots.

*

“This is her room, number fifteen here on the right,” Charlotte said in a stage whisper as the two made their way along the hotel’s second-floor corridor. They tried the door, and it opened. After closing it softly behind them and locking it, Ray flicked on the light switch by the door and then pulled a small a flashlight out of his pocket and shone it around the room.

“You’d be surprised how much better you can see with one of these, even with overhead lighting,” he said
in response to Charlotte’s quizzical look. The beam picked out the details of small things on the dresser: a little cut-glass dish containing a couple of pairs of dangly silver earrings and two quarters, a photo of a dark-haired woman holding a small dog, and several hair clips.

“It’s just the bedroom, is it?” he asked. “No bathroom?”

“She’d have used the communal one down the hall,” Charlotte said. She opened a bureau drawer and flipped through a few neatly folded sweaters and selected one.

She picked up a cell phone on the bedside table and showed it to Ray, who nodded.

“I’m sure she’d be glad to have that. What else do you think she’d like?”

“Probably some underclothes, sleepwear, toiletries, makeup. When she’s feeling better, she’ll definitely want to tidy herself up a bit. Oh, and we’d better send some street clothes so she’ll have something clean to wear home. Jeans and a sweater. And maybe a—”

“Where’s her purse?” Ray interrupted. “We haven’t seen her purse. Where would she be likely to keep it?”

“Could the ambulance people have picked it up and taken it with them?”

“Possibly, if there was time. Though I expect the paramedics’ priority was preparing her for transport and getting her on her way as soon as possible.”

Charlotte opened the door of the small closet and checked the floor. “It’s not here. Usually a woman sets it down someplace where it’s easy to get at, so you’d expect
it to be beside the little table or maybe by the bed or on the table.” She pointed to a small table, painted white, with a straight-backed, uncomfortable-looking chair in front of it.

“I’ll call the hospital and ask the nurse to check for it. Her room’s been left unlocked, so we want to make sure her bag hasn’t been stolen,” said Ray.

He surveyed the room with an experienced eye.

“Well, I don’t think there’s anything more to see here. Doesn’t look as if anything’s out of place. Let’s just gather up a few things for her and be on our way.”

Charlotte took a closer look at the rumpled bed where she had found Lauren. The bedding gave off a sour smell, and she thought she saw a damp patch on the coverlet.

“Ray, this bed needs changing. We can’t leave it like that. It should be nice for her when she returns. I’ll ask the housekeeper to take care of it tomorrow.”

Charlotte lifted the pillow to reveal a pair of pajama bottoms printed with a pink sheep pattern and a pink T-shirt.

“There’s a bag on the floor of her closet that’s probably for laundry. We’ll put these in there and see if we can find another bag to use for the things we want to bring to the hospital.” As she picked up the nightclothes, something fell to the floor. She bent over and retrieved a bright red box with the name “Garrard” on it.

“Oh my,” she said, turning to Ray and showing him the box. “Look at this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a Garrard jewelry box.” She snapped the lid open to reveal a ring set with a large blue stone surrounded by what looked like diamonds. She held it out to him, and he shone his flashlight on it as he peered at it. “If this is real, it’s worth thousands,” she said. “The box isn’t new, though. You can see it’s a little faded and frayed around the edges. This could be an heirloom or auction piece.”

“Now where would Lauren get something like that?”

Charlotte thought for a moment. “I think it’s likely this was a gift. I certainly can’t see her buying something like this for herself, can you? How could she possibly afford it? And as Garrard was the royal jeweler for centuries, I’d say this was almost certainly a gift from a British admirer.”