Finding Jessica Read online

  “He’ll be greatly missed by all of us.” Emily blinked back tears, then squared her shoulders. “Well, as you can see, I was just setting the table when you arrived.” She nodded to the bar. “But of course, no one cares about the food, just the drinks.” The consummate hostess, she smiled at someone behind Rose. “And here’s Chad Connor.”

  When Rose looked back, Chad was flashing Rocky a very white smile. He had dyed his short hair dark, and his long sideburns stood out like twin bookmarks on his face. There was something pitiful about a man in his fifties trying to act thirty years younger. When she stepped forward, he hardly looked at her, which surprised her. Men usually noticed her to the point of being annoying.

  “And Veronica Montrose,” Emily smiled at Rose, “his guest.”

  Nothing like robbing the cradle, Rose thought.

  “Hi,” Veronica said quietly. She held out a thin, pale hand. Rose shook it, suddenly recognizing her. She was a cook at Table Talk. When she shook Chad’s hand, she noticed his nails were manicured. He seemed less like a retired art teacher and more like someone who’d spent his life relaxing on a yacht in Monte Carlo. She wondered what he was doing with someone as mousy as Veronica.

  “Grab yourselves some drinks.” Rocky nodded to a cooler. “Wine and beer here, hard stuff over at the bar.”

  “What’s your poison?” Barrington asked Rose.

  She felt his warm hand touch the small of her back and glanced at the bottle in his hand. “You might pour a couple of glasses of what you brought.” When Barrington reached for the corkscrew, she had a quick, visceral memory of Hal popping a cork just a few weeks ago at the last cookout Rocky and Emily had hosted.

  “Can I help you set the table?” Veronica asked Emily.

  While Barrington poured, Rose watched how carefully Veronica placed each piece of silverware, her hands trembling slightly, jittery as a caged animal.

  She walked over and stood next to her. “Care for a glass of wine?” she asked Veronica, passing her one of the two Barrington had poured.

  Veronica took it timidly. “I don’t usually drink alcohol.” She took a tiny sip. “But this is nice, thank you.”

  Across the deck, Amber was sipping what looked like whiskey, Parker Prescott following like a dog right behind her. She wondered if he was still trying to get Amber to leave Mountain Arts and work for his gallery.

  “So how do you know Chad?”

  Veronica gave a quick, uncomfortable smile. “Oh, he’s just a friend.” Veronica glanced over at him. Chad was gesturing at Barrington like a conductor in front of an orchestra, talking about his early retirement and how difficult it was, because he loved teaching so much. So why do it early? Rose thought. He sounded so pompous, she pitied his students. Barrington appeared amused. “It’s not as if we’re dating or anything,” Veronica said. “He’s so sophisticated and I’m just … well, I’m too young for him.” Her voice trailed off. Rose saw she was actually pretty. What she needed was a big dose of self-confidence and a fashion makeover.

  “So, I hear you’re one of Table Talk’s best cooks.”

  Veronica blushed. “Heidi’s a good teacher.”

  “Have you been in Haven long?”

  “About five months,” Veronica looked into her wineglass as though searching for help. “I’m sorry, I’m really nervous. I’m not good at being social.”

  Rose set her glass down on the deck rail. “Yeah,” she said. “Most of the time I’d rather crawl into bed with a good book.” She glanced at the partygoers, working their way toward them for the food. Her sparring partner and friend, Autumn Raines, was the first to come over. Barely five feet tall, with long black hair and razor-cut bangs, she looked like a Japanese anime figure come to life. “My God, girl, I’m in shock,” Autumn hugged Rose hard. “Did you know I’d finally convinced him to take my tae kwon-do for dummies class?”

  For the first time since Hal had died, Rose laughed. “Hal in tae kwon-do?”

  Autumn grinned. “I told you I wasn’t going to give up.”

  “You never do,” Rose said. It was a trait she admired.

  “Is that Barrington Bigelow?” Autumn whispered. “The guy who sells paintings for a million bucks?”

  “Not a million,” Rose smiled, “but close. I’ll introduce you.”

  “I love New England, the small towns, the slower pace of life.” Chad was gesturing wildly, and Rose had to stay back, afraid he was going to spill his drink on her. “And now you’re here, selling at a local gallery.” He flashed those white teeth at Barrington. “I’m a huge fan.”

  “Well, I’m selling photography, not my paintings,” Barrington said.

  Chad’s hand flew to his chest. “I certainly hope you’re not going to give up painting.”

  Rose snapped her fingers. “Cosmo, don’t be a pest!” Cosmo and Rocky’s yellow Lab, Lucy, stood on either side of Rocky as he turned steaks on the grill. Cosmo glanced at Rose and then turned his attention back to Rocky.

  “Barrington Bigelow,” Veronica stepped forward. “Isn’t he the one you were talking about in the car?” she asked Chad.

  Chad took a long swallow of his drink.

  Veronica turned to Barrington. “Is it true you found a body over at Solitude?”

  “Yes, I did,” Barrington said quietly.

  “Your poor thing,” Veronica said.

  “Yes, indeed, poor thing.” Chad nodded and bit his lower lip. Rose wondered if he’d ever done any acting on the stage, he was so theatrical.

  “His name was Hal Cappodecci,” she said to Veronica. “He was looking for a missing woman.” She took out the photo of Jessica and passed it to Chad. “Do you recognize her?”

  Chad looked offended, but Rose couldn’t imagine why. It was a simple question. “No.”

  “What about you?”

  Rose passed the photo to Veronica. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the elderly Lamarche sisters standing by the picnic table, stuffing food into an oversized handbag. After they’d crashed the Rhodes’ Christmas party last year, Emily’s crystal vase had gone missing. “What the hell are they doing here?” she heard Rocky say. “You didn’t invite them, did you?”

  “No,” Emily whispered fiercely, “did you?”

  Veronica looked up at Rose and said breathlessly, “I met him.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked back at the picture. “He was at Table Talk and showed this to everyone. I had no idea he was the man who got killed.” She leaned against the railing as though to steady herself. “He was really nice.” Veronica spoke again so quietly, Rose had to lean over to hear her. “Are you helping the police find out who killed him?”

  “The police are going to find out who killed him.” Rose patted Veronica’s arm. She looked even paler than before, and Rose was afraid she’d faint. “I’m going to look for the woman in the photograph.”

  “I don’t get it.” Chad had stepped so close to Rose she could smell garlic on his breath. “I thought you worked at an art gallery.”

  “I also own Chandler Investigations,” she said evenly. “Hal worked for me.”

  Rocky set a large platter of steaks down on the table. “Chops are on the table!” he yelled over to the bar. “Come get your vittles.”

  “I’d really like to go home now.” Veronica looked up at Chad. “I – I’m just not feeling well all of a sudden.”

  “But we just got here.” Chad pressed his lips into a thin line.

  “I know,” Veronica looked around a little wildly. “I just, I don’t think I can eat anything.”

  For a moment Rose thought he was going to tell her to find her own ride home. Instead he said, “Fine. I’ll get the car.”

  After dinner, while flickering citronella candles kept the mosquitoes at bay and Emily passed around chocolate cake, Rose accepted a glass of cognac from Rocky. The Lamarche sisters had taken off around the same time as Chad and Veronica, and now it was only the people Rose knew best around the table: Amber and Autumn, Emily and Rocky, an
d the other artists and writers, teachers and doctors who made up Haven’s community. She realized now, as she felt the heaviness around her eyes, that she hadn’t taken the photograph out of her pocket all night, and she’d meant to show it around. But they’d spent the last hour reminiscing about Hal, and it had been a relief to laugh and forget about work for a while.

  “Barrington,” Emily said, resting her head against Rocky’s wide chest, “Amber told me you bought one of Cameron’s paintings.” She glanced at Rose.

  “It’s a beautiful piece,” Barrington said.

  Rose ran her thumb around the rim of her glass.

  “Cameron was featured in Yankee Magazine as one of the ten most accomplished artists in New England,” Rocky said proudly, as if he’d had something to do with his success. “He was a free spirit, that one, real talented, and a confirmed bachelor until he met Rose. We’re not quite sure how she snagged him.”

  Emily hit him with her napkin, and everyone laughed.

  “I think Rose has done a fantastic job of keeping Cameron’s spirit alive,” Barrington said kindly. “Her gallery is one of the finest I’ve ever seen in New England.”

  “Thanks,” Rose said quietly. “As far as I’m concerned, it will always be Cameron’s gallery. I was just along for the ride, and Amber’s helped me keep it going.” She smiled across the table at Amber, who looked ethereal in the candlelight, her blonde hair glowing, the tiny bells in her ears catching glimpses of light. She was so grateful to Amber, who’d been so steady, so consistent, since that terrible morning when they’d gotten the news about the motorcycle crash.

  “Oh, you’ve done more than just tag along,” Emily said. “Cameron was a great artist, and he owned a nice gallery, but he needed your feminine charm to turn it into something special.”

  Barrington leaned toward her. “Sounds like you’ve planted roots here.”

  “Well, I didn’t just fall in love with Cameron.” Rose sipped her drink. “I fell in love with Haven.”

  “And we fell in love right back,” Emily said.

  “To Rose.” Rocky raised his glass, and Rose watched as everyone else lifted their glasses to toast her. She realized that she’d had fun that night. She’d been dreading it for nothing. She felt relaxed, happy. This, she thought suddenly, looking around at all the smiling faces, must be what Hal had been trying to tell her. This is what it’s like to have a home. A real home.

  On the drive back to Solitude, Cosmo insisted on sitting at Barrington’s feet, and Rose noticed he kept his hand protectively on the dog’s head.

  “I talked to Rocky,” she said. “I told him how Delores is married to the mobster, Sandy Beach. He’s willing to consider Beach might have something to do with Hal’s murder.”

  “Why would Beach kill Hal?” Barrington reached a big bear paw up and scratched his head.

  “What I’d really like to know is whether Jessica knew him, too.” She glanced at Barrington. He’d had a lot to drink and was watching her with puppy dog eyes, clearly smitten. The sooner she got him back to Solitude, the better. “Maybe she was hiding more from you than being pregnant. Did you ever suspect she was involved in anything illegal?”

  “No,” he shook his head,“that never occurred to me.”

  “I need to talk to Delores.”

  “Can Rocky interview her?”

  “He can’t get within twenty feet of her,” she said. “Beach and his family are surrounded by a bunch of guards with guns. There’s no way they’d let his wife near the police, not even to question her as a witness.” She watched the lines on the road, glowing in the headlights, leading them back to the cottage. “That’s why I told him I would do it.”

  “What?” Barrington almost jumped out of his seat. “How in the hell are you going to do that?”

  Rose was quiet. If only Barrington knew she’d dealt with far worse than Sandy Beach, but telling him would lead to questions she couldn’t answer. “Well, you talked to her at a gallery opening, so why can’t I talk to her? I’m not a cop,” she said. “Anyway, I did a little research. She throws lingerie parties, sells adult novelties, lotions, you know, that kind of thing.”

  “And you know this because?”

  “I have my ways.” Rose smiled coyly at him. “I’ll call her and tell her I’m interested in hosting a party.”

  “This doesn’t sound like such a good idea.”

  “Trust me,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

  They drove in silence for a while until Rose turned the car onto Lilac Lane.

  “If you’re going to New York, I’m going with you,” Barrington said finally.

  “I’m just going to fly down and do it. That’ll be faster.”

  “I’ll fly too, then.”

  Rose turned the car into Solitude’s driveway. “Really, I’d rather go alone.” When he looked at her, Barrington’s silver gray eyes glowed in the light from the porch. Despite his wild, bearish looks, he was handsome, and his artistic flare reminded her of Cameron. “It’s nothing personal,” she said. “It’s just that I’m used to working alone. I mean, except for Hal.”

  Barrington didn’t say anything. He turned and looked out at Solitude. “Tell me the truth,” he said. “Do you believe Jessica is here?”

  “If she is,” Rose hit the button to unlock the doors, “I’m going to find her.”

  Barrington nodded and Rose watched him lift the door handle. “When will you leave for New York?”

  “As soon as I set something up with Delores.”

  “I’m going to call you while you’re there to make sure you’re all right.”

  “Okay,” she said. Just don’t expect me to answer on the first ring.

  He studied her for a minute, then got out quietly and closed the door. She watched him walk up the steps to the front door and waited until he was safely inside before she drove away.

  Chapter Nine

  Rose was up early the next morning, relaxing on the deck with a cup of coffee and the newspaper, when her cell phone rang. “Rocky,” she said. “Didn’t we talk enough last night? Or was I dreaming?”

  “That was no dream, my friend,” Rocky said, “but this is your wake-up nightmare.”

  “What?”

  “Barrington was attacked at Solitude an hour ago.”

  Rose sat up. “Is he all right?”

  “Pretty good blow to the head, a little concussion,” he said. “I’m heading over to the hospital right now.”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  Pulling on her jeans and a B-52 T-shirt, Rose hastily tied her hair back and rushed to the hospital. Barrington was propped up on a pile of pillows, his untamed hair sticking out of a tightly wrapped bandage around his head, his forehead purple and bruised. Rocky loomed at the foot of the bed. After pulling a chair up beside Barrington, Rose said, “How are you feeling?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  Rocky clicked his pen. “Keep talking.”

  Barrington leaned back and closed his eyes. “I went out around six to take some photos,” he said. “I’d packed a breakfast to take with me, but I forgot it, so I turned around and came back.”

  Rocky scribbled. “How long before you turned around?”

  “Maybe five, ten minutes,” Barrington said, “and as soon as I walked into the kitchen, I got slammed in the head.” He touched his forehead and winced. “Last thing I remember, the floor was coming at me.”

  Rocky’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary when you went in?”

  “When I woke up, the cottage had been trashed.”

  Rocky tapped his pen on the notebook. “Anything valuable in there?”

  “There’s a flat-screen in the living room,” Barrington said. “That’s about the most expensive thing in the house.” He stretched his arm out. “I wear the Rolex all the time, and I’ve got three rings and four necklaces in the bedroom dresser.”

  “What about your paintings?”

  “All my painting
s are in my studio in Soho.” Barrington ran a hand through his crazy hair. It looked rough and dirty. “My cameras were locked in the trunk of my car.”

  “I’m heading over there now to check it out,” Rocky said. “I’ll let you know.”

  Barrington glanced at Rose. She knew what it felt like to get hit hard in the head. He looked as if he could barely keep his eyes open. “Maybe you can help figure out who did this.”

  Rose squeezed his hand. “Get better,” she said.

  At Solitude, Debbie Lambert, the crime scene technician, was in the living room, wearing a Haven PD baseball cap and dusting for fingerprints.

  “Point of entry?” Rocky asked.

  Debbie pointed to the back of the house. “Slider,” she said.

  All the kitchen drawers had been dumped on the floor. A hole had been cut through the glass in the dining room slider.

  “No trouble for a thief to put a hand inside and open that door,” Rocky said.

  Rose nodded. “Looks like someone knew what they were doing.”

  Debbie came up behind them. “If you want to check out the rest of the house, use these.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of gloves. “I already took pictures, but I only just started lifting prints.”

  The living room rugs had been pushed aside, seat cushions thrown, tables knocked over. Sheets and towels had been thrown between the two bedrooms. Rose stood in Barrington’s bedroom. “Every picture’s been destroyed,” she said. Rocky came in behind her. His head almost hit the lintel above the door. “They’re just inexpensive prints.” Rose bent over a smashed print and broken frame. “Nothing worth stealing.”

  “That night Hal was murdered,” Rocky said, “there wasn’t any sign of robbery. Barrington interrupted a robbery here, no doubt about it.” He leaned against the jamb and looked around. “Could be the guy who came that first night was going to rob the place, but he found Hal before he could break in.”