Briggs was standing in front of a bench, feeding corn to a flock of ducks when Addison arrived. The park he’d asked to meet at had a glassy lake in its center and was surrounded by sprawling, grassy hills. It was a picturesque spot to roll out a blanket, sip on a glass of wine, and look to the heavens, watching the sun’s pastel colors ripple through the sky. Addison stood for a moment, taking in the display, the canvas before her serving as a subtle reminder of how much she missed when she didn’t slow down enough to notice what was right in front of her.
Ever since Sara had appeared, Addison’s life had been thrust into fast-forward, the disarray and unrest causing her to lose the power and control she once had. Plates may have been spinning, but she didn’t need to spin with them. She needed to take them down, one by one, until they ceased to exist.
Briggs tossed a handful of corn and acknowledged Addison with a grin.
“Did you know you shouldn’t feed bread to these feathered beauties?” he asked.
“I didn’t,” Addison said. “Why not?”
He sat down. “Several reasons. When uneaten pieces of bread accumulate in a pond, it can create algae blooms and deplete oxygen from the water. The term for it is hypoxia. On land, uneaten bread can grow bits of mold. When the ducks find it after it’s been sitting for a while, if they eat it, they can get lung disease.”
Addison sat down, thinking Briggs had missed his calling. Perhaps he should have been a teacher.
“Next time I feed ducks, I’ll make sure to bring corn instead,” she said.
“Doesn’t just have to be corn. Oats, seeds, lettuce, duck pellets ... they’re all good.”
In a conversation she’d had with Luke right before she left for the park, she made a promise to arrive home within the next hour. She had no time for chitchat.
“I visited Theo Price today,” she said. “He’s the guy who survived the car crash. The crash Scarlett and Sara were—”
“Yup, I don’t need a reminder. I know who he is.”
“Did you ever meet with him after the accident?”
“Of course. Visited him while he was in the hospital. He was in bad shape. I wondered if he’d ever walk again. Been a long time since I’ve seen him. How’s he doing?”
“One of his legs still gives him trouble. He walks with a
slight limp. Otherwise, he seems to be doing well. Did Theo ever tell you the
reason Scarlett took the nanny job?
He nodded. “Not much I could do with the information. To my knowledge she never
found anything of importance, and the Belles seemed shocked when I told them
Scarlett and Libby knew each other.”
“In truth, I believe she did find something—a locket, the same locket taken into evidence after the car accident. Cecilia Belle told me Libby was wearing the locket the last day she was seen. What I’m wondering is, how did it end up in Scarlett’s car? She had to have found it at Belle Manor. Lawrence caught Scarlett milling around, and not long after, the car crash happened. Doesn’t it seem coincidental?”
He raised a brow. “It does, but without a body, there’s not much I can do.”
“The car crash was no accident.”
He stared at the shimmery colors the sun reflected off the lake. “Yup, I agree. Always assumed it was foul play.”
After all these years, he seemed a bit defeated. What small shred of optimism he still clung to had become a pipe dream, one he no longer expected to come to fruition. He had lost hope, but Addison hadn’t.
The truth was close.
She could feel it.
“Did you bring the file?” she asked.
He nodded. “Sure did.”
He reached into his paper sack and scooped another handful of corn into his palm. The ever-growing audience of ducks steadied themselves, then scattered as he flung his hand in the air, showering them with one last feed.
He addressed the ducks saying, “Ladies and gentleman, the show is now over. You can all go home. Meet back here tomorrow, same time, same place.”
He wiped his hands on his pant legs, reached for the file, and handed it over. “Don’t get too excited. You know we found a minute amount of evidence. The file’s rather thin.”
“I was hoping I could borrow it, if you don’t mind.”
He frowned. “Not trying to be rude, but I’d rather you didn’t. It’s an old case, I know, and you’re right to think I hold it too close to the vest. I spent more than a long time piecing together what little I could, and I—”
“You don’t need to explain,” Addison said, “I understand.”
She flipped open the file, her eyes coming to rest on a small stack of photos at the top. She unfastened them from the paperclip they’d been secured with and held the first one in front of her. A dapper group of men and women were standing in front of a grand staircase, glamming it up in their Sunday best.
“Who are these people?” Addison asked.
Briggs lifted his glasses out of his shirt pocket, slipped them on, and leaned in to get a better look. “Okay, so, the last night Libby was seen, the Belles premiered a new movie, and they invited the cast along.”
“What was the name of the movie?”
“A Night in Rio. Several cast members accepted the invitation along with a handful of Belle regulars. The people whose heads I circled in the photo attended the screening. Those I didn’t circle did not.”
Addison studied each face, scanning left to right. She looked for the man in the woods, the man who’d been chasing Libby. She was shocked to find he wasn’t there.”
“Did any cast members attend who are not pictured in this photo?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not to my knowledge.”
“You said the Belles also invited regulars. Who were they?”
Briggs thumbed through the pages in the file.
“I have a list. For the most part, those who weren’t part of the movie cast were friends, and a few family members. Let me see ... Here it is.”
He removed the list from the stack and handed it to her.
“Big list,” she said.
“The cast accounted for thirty-three of those invited, and the house guests added another fourteen.”
“Forty-seven guests plus Lawrence and Cecilia Belle.”
“They liked their soirees.”
“Do you mind if I take a photo of the attendee list?”
“Don’t see why not. Go right ahead.”
Addison snapped a photo, slid the list back into place, and shifted her attention to a series of pictures of Libby’s car being pulled from the lake. The car was dented, the onset of corrosion evident. It looked like a prop on a movie set—a prop that had been to hell and back.
“And there you have it,” Briggs said. “The infamous car with no tales to tell.”
“You didn’t learn anything from it? Nothing at all?”
“Aside from the fact it had been submerged in water for months, even if there was evidence, it wasn’t the same process back then. Maybe if it happened today, I would have had a better chance. Who knows? I was excited to find it. For the first time, I thought I was getting somewhere. It ended up being a huge disappointment and made the department look worse than it already did. People assumed we were incapable of solving the case. In ways, I suppose they were right.”
“I’m sure the public knew you did everything you could.”
“We were without a body or any decent clues. Libby existed one day and evaporated the next. My only option was to keep talking to those who saw her last until there was nothing more to say, and even that was disheartening.”
“Because they all kept saying they didn’t know anything?” Addison asked.
“The guests who attended the Belles’ party were stiff and robotic. It was like a meeting had been called before we pulled them in, and they’d been handed a script, the same script, with the same lines to say. Sure, most of them didn’t have a clue. But all of them? No way. Someone must have seen something.”
Addison glanced at her phone, closed the file, and handed it back to him. “I promised my husband I’d be home soon, and I’ve already stayed too long.”
“We’re not done going through it yet.”
She stood. “We’ll have to finish later, if you’re all right to meet again.”
“Sure,” he said. “I have time.”
Briggs pushed the file into his tote bag and a photo slipped out, fluttering to the ground. Addison reached down and picked it up. Staring at it, she said, “What’s this?”
Briggs leaned in. “Those two in the middle are the lead actor and actress in A Night in Rio.”
“And the other two? The woman looks like Cecilia. Who’s the man?”
“You’re right; it is Cecilia. The man is Lawrence Belle.”
“It can’t be,” Addison said.
“Can’t be what?”
Addison held the photo closer, studying one of the men’s faces. “I’ve met Lawrence Belle. This isn’t him.”
“Are you sure?”
“The man I met at the manor was my height. The guy in this photo is a lot taller.”
“People do shrink with age.”
“It’s not just the height. It’s his eyes. They’re ... I don’t know ... smaller. And his nose is more defined and pointy.”
Addison thought back to her visit.
The man she’d met at the manor said multiple times he wasn’t Lawrence Belle.
But Cecilia had said he was her husband—the night she’d visited the manor in her spirit animal form.
Addison had never seen his face that night, not all of it, but his voice was the same. She recognized it. She was certain.
“I’ve spoken to Lawrence Belle on several occasions,” Briggs said. “And I can confirm, this is him.”
If Briggs was right, if the man in the photo was Lawrence Belle, who the hell was living with Cecilia at Belle Manor?