The smartest thing would be to drive to the firehouse or even the police station so as not to risk a confrontation without a witness. Tom’s aggressive behavior yesterday and his physical act of taking my phone had left me rattled. Instead, I took the fastest route home. Brittany was alone and vulnerable at the cottage, and I had no other way to warn her.
I’d cut my driving teeth on the snarl of country roads I was now winding through. I was sure Tom, as a Ridgefield police officer, also knew the roads well, though he probably wasn’t as seasoned at driving them at a breakneck pace. I was counting on my head start and the fact that as a teen I had tested every speed limit on these back roads. But the urgency of teenage angst didn’t compare to the urgency I felt now as I pressed the pedal closer to the floor.
Finally, on Mamanasco Road, with no one in my rearview, I felt the tension in my shoulders ebb. My grip had been so tight on the wheel that my knuckles were white. I had worried with every corner that I might come upon some early riser out for a walk. I was finally home, safe, and relieved that I hadn’t taken any casualties along the way.
And then, as the garage door slid down behind me, I heard a vehicle racing toward the house. My heart picked up its pace when it screeched to a stop. As I launched myself inside, I called out to Brittany.
She emerged, looking sheepish. In one hand was one of the locomotives from the train room, in the other something small that must have broken off.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was admiring the trains, and when I picked this up …”
She didn’t finish, just held up a small metal rod.
This was no time to let her know that she had invaded my private place.
“It can be fixed.” I cut her off and pushed past her to make sure the front door was locked.
“I’m terribly sorry.” She stared at it mournfully as she laid the engine tenderly on a side table. A distant memory flicked through my brain as I set the alarm. Me standing in front of Richard with the remnants of his prize caboose, wheels dangling like broken limbs. Summer had done the damage, and I had been elected to tell our uncle.
“I’ll have it fixed,” said Brittany, as she registered the look on my face.
I cleared my head. “It’s not that. The train can be fixed,” I said. “Someone might be after us. Help me lock all the downstairs doors and windows.”
After last night’s conversation about my doomsday imagination, I wondered if she might think I was crying wolf. Before I could explain, both dogs came bounding out of the study to greet me. I was relieved that they were now getting along and marveled that Brittany had predicted it happening—how had she put it?—organically.
“We have to call for help,” I said, even as I heard the front doorknob jiggle and the doorbell blast as someone pushed and didn’t let up.
Pale yet efficient, Brittany didn’t question me. She clamored behind me as we hurried to the second floor to get her phone. I thought both dogs would follow, but Max stayed at the bottom step, alert to the sounds of the would-be intruder, and let out a thunderous growl.
Upstairs, I dialed 911, thinking how ironic it would be if Tom himself responded to Tom trying to break in. I blurted the address, the break-in attempt, and then called Kip. No answer. I realized he might not recognize Brittany’s phone. I texted him, Scoop, and Uncle Richard. It’s me, Winter. Someone trying to break into cottage. Maybe Tom.
The room where Brittany was staying had a small Juliet balcony that was the joy of the cozy space. It didn’t face the lake directly, but if you stepped out, you could crane your neck around and get a partial view of the water and also the deck below. I did that now. Sure enough, Tom was there, testing the sliders. I ducked back inside before he noticed me.
There was no way for him to see the inside of the garage, where my car was parked, so I’d hoped he would assume I’d gone elsewhere. What was on that iPad that he didn’t want me to see? Because, right now, I was sure he’d been searching for it.
“Brittany, see if you can open this thing,” I said, handing her the iPad.
She flipped open the magnetic cover and murmured something about a low battery. I was already heading to my room in search of my iPhone charger. No luck. It was downstairs, and I didn’t want to risk being seen through the wall of deckside windows.
Brittany’s phone pinged. Scoop and Kip were both on their way.
Richard texted. He’d also called the police. Keep doors locked. I’ll call Horace.
Great, that’s what we needed—a frail octogenarian confronting a workout buff who was also a cop.
“Have you gotten into that yet?” I asked Brittany.
Still tapping frantically, she shook her head. “None of the usual passwords work.”
“What have you tried?”
“Alarm code, her birthday, my birthday—her usual.”
“How about Roth or Henry’s birthday?”
“Tried them. I even reversed them all—something she was fond of doing,” she said, her face scrunched up in thought as she studied the iPad.
“Keep at it.”
Suddenly the loud, earsplitting blare of a vehicle alarm overpowered the persistent banging on the door. The sound was coming from the house next door. Horace, alerting the neighbors that he needed help. Horace’s own personal SOS.
Oh, how I loved that guy.
A moment later, all door pounding ceased. Brittany and I stayed frozen in place until we heard the doorbell blast again. Of course, I couldn’t check my Ring app to see who was there, because I had no phone. Talk about frustrating. I hadn’t been kidding when I said my phone was my life.
I told Brittany to stay upstairs while I crept down. Max was howling his version of barking. The insistent doorbell had been replaced with banging and calling out, voices I recognized.
Through the side windows of the front door, I could see Scoop pounding away. Horace, our key holder, had a huge chain with about a hundred keys jingling as he tried various ones. At the sliders in the back, Kip was knocking loudly on the hurricane glass. Diva, still upstairs with Brittany, was yapping, and I couldn’t decide who to respond to first.
The front door was closest, and while wrenching it open, I forgot to turn off the alarm, so the loud, steady blare competed with the rest of the noise. Max howled frantically at the high pitch, which no doubt hurt his sensitive ears. I yelled to Brittany to come downstairs. I shut off the alarm feeling some of the tension release from my shoulders as Horace and Scoop barreled through the front door. I then headed to the back sliders to let Kip inside.
Everyone crowded into the living room, including Brittany and the dogs, and for a brief moment I felt relief at the relative quiet.
“You have some explaining to do,” said Kip, breaking the calm. I could see the storm brewing in the slate sky of his eyes.
Brittany sank into one of the chairs, as did Scoop. Horace sat on the couch, and Max settled near his feet. That left Kip and me facing off.
“Well?” he said in a frigid tone.
“Well, what?”
“Do you want to explain why you ran away from a cop while you were trespassing? Why did you go back there? And what did you steal this time?”
I took a deep breath and felt all eyes on me. My scarlet face with prominent freckles wouldn’t allow for a lie. Just as I was about to explain, Uncle Richard rushed in the front door. The dogs went yapping and howling again, and my uncle almost tripped over them as he rushed into the room.
“Are you okay?” he asked, hurrying toward me.
“Fine, everything is fine,” I said, waving him off.
He looked around the room and registered the scene. Plenty of people had come to the rescue, and I could see him calculating. He got the tension. Attempting to disguise his relief, he held up a rumpled paper bag. “Bagels and cream cheese from Steve’s. I got smoked salmon too.” He then retreated to the kitchen.
Richard’s way of buying time until he figured out what was going on.
“I’ll help,” said Brittany, leaping up to follow.
Scoop looked back and forth between us, apparently trying to decide which way to go. The kitchen won out. Horace and the dogs quickly trailed behind him.
Kip stared at me with seamed lips.
“I went back to the house to get Mrs. Arlington’s iPad,” I confessed. “I thought it might have the information we were looking for.”
“I scoured that house and found no electronics,” Kip said with a frown.
I explained how I had slipped it under the seat cushion in the sunroom while he and Tom were upstairs checking the house on the day Mrs. Arlington fell down the stairs.
“Why didn’t you just tell us you thought it was important?” he asked incredulously.
“Because I didn’t trust either of you that day. And as time went on, I didn’t trust Tom. If I told you, you would have had to make it official or risk your job keeping it a secret.”
Kip paused, considering. “Tom says he was checking the house today when he saw you running across the lawn. He said he called after you, but you didn’t stop, so he came here to see what you were up to.”
I now registered that Kip was clean shaven and in uniform. It occurred to me that he might be here to arrest me. He pulled my burner phone from his pocket and handed it to me.
“Tom turned it in to the station last night. He said he originally thought it might hold vital information regarding the case on it. He’s returning it because there was nothing of interest.”
“He’s very good at covering his tracks, isn’t he?” I said angrily. “Did he tell you that he nearly broke my arm taking it from me? And bullied me into giving him the password?”
“I believe you, Winter,” said Kip, relenting slightly. “But that doesn’t explain you breaking and entering.”
“She didn’t break into the house,” said a voice behind me.
Brittany emerged from the doorway, carrying a tray with bagels and lox. A slab of cream cheese and a bowl of capers were also balanced on the tray. She placed it on the dining table and continued. “I gave Winter the key so she could get the iPad. Technically, I still live on the property and take care of the place, so I think I’m entitled to send someone there on my behalf.”
Kip did his brow rub. “There was a murder there. It’s a crime scene.”
“No one informed me that I wasn’t allowed to return,” Brittany said coolly, turning back toward the kitchen.
“If you hadn’t disappeared, we would have notified you,” Kip said loudly, to catch her on the retreat. He then turned to me. “Why did you run? Tom says several of the rooms downstairs were a mess and that you were searching the place.”
“Tom is lying,” I replied.
I explained what had happened from start to finish, leaving out nothing. “I had no need to ransack the house,” I added, “because I already knew where the iPad was hidden. When I heard an intruder tearing things apart, I took the first opportunity to run.”
Everyone was back in the living room, hovering around the dining table. Along with the bagels, smoked salmon, cream cheese, and capers, there was a fruit salad and a large platter of chocolate chip cookies. Forgoing Keurig cups, Richard had brewed a pot of fresh coffee, which sent an enticing aroma throughout the house. I stuck to chamomile—if ever there was a time for a stomach-soothing tea, it was now.
Kip spent some time on the phone, talking to his chief and the detectives assigned to the Goodwin murder investigation. When he hung up, he said he’d be back shortly and hurried out the door.
As we all ate, the dogs patrolled the perimeter, hoping one of us would drop a morsel. They needn’t have worried. On various occasions I saw Brittany, Scoop, Horace, and Richard sneak them bagel bites. Despite my hollow stomach, I had little appetite. The dogs would have a field day with my plate.
After cleanup, Horace and Richard took the dogs for a walk. Scoop lingered, seemingly in any area of the house where Brittany happened to be. She appeared to enjoy leading him around, so I gathered there was a huge mutual crush going on.
I retrieved the iPad from upstairs where we had left it, plugged it into the charger I kept in the kitchen, and watched in relief to see that it was working. As I listened to the telltale charging sound, Kip returned.
“Are you back to arrest me?” I asked. I was trying for levity, but I think part of me worried it might be the truth.
“No,” he said seriously. “But about that lawyer we talked about …”
I put my fingers to my lips and led Kip to the study for privacy. He began speaking the moment I closed the door.
“Winter, I have to ask you something.”
Whatever he was about to ask sent his hand darting back and forth between rubbing his brow and drumming on the arm of the chair he had slid into. His fidgeting made me nervous. I waited. Finally, he dove in.
“Is there anything you told me about Tom that might have been, well, exaggerated? Or assumed? Something open to interpretation? What I’m saying is, are all your memories of your interactions with him crystal clear?”
I knew these were questions he had to ask as a cop—even as a human being trying to understand a bizarre set of circumstances where people kept ending up dead. However, the idea that he thought I was lying cut deeply, and my natural defense mechanisms kicked in.
“I don’t lie,” I replied coldly. “Maybe I lie by omission on occasion, as with most people, but I am not a liar. Are you sure you’re not here to arrest me?”
Before meeting my eyes, he looked away, considering. “He’s building a convincing case against you.”
The wall I’d carefully built to protect myself from this type of feeling, the wall Kip had slowly been chipping away, suddenly felt as unbreachable as the Cliffs across the lake.
“It sounds like you’re the one building a case against me.”
“No,” he said sharply. “I just asked you a question … to see how you would react.”
He leaned toward me and reached for my hand. I pulled away and couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Look, Scoop told me that whenever you try to twist the truth, your freckles get more pronounced and give you away. I thought, well … Right now, though, your face just looks … sad.”
Scoop. Leave it to him to tell all my secrets.
Kip reached out, this time grabbing my shoulders.
“Full disclosure,” he said. “I wanted confirmation that you weren’t letting your imagination distort the truth. I’m sorry.”
I felt the punch of his words. He hadn’t believed me after all.
“I’ll call that lawyer now,” I said.
“Before you do that, can we try to figure out why Tom might be lying?” asked Kip. “He had to be looking for something when he tossed the cushions at the Arlington house. He also had to be looking for something on your phone, and I doubt this has anything to do with pill bottles.”
I could hold a grudge with the best of them, but right now, I swallowed my anger. Once we figured this out and I cleared my name, I could fast-track it to New York and erase Kip Michaels from my life.
“Please make sure Tom doesn’t have access to my phone at the police station,” I said.
“He doesn’t,” said Kip, and he pulled my iPhone from his pocket. “You’ll have to get Verizon to stop forwarding your calls to the burner. And before you ask, there were no identifiable prints besides yours. Now, let’s see if we can’t open that iPad before I have to confiscate that too.”
Shoulders sagging and distracted, I took stock. In that moment, I noticed I was no longer hearing chatter from Scoop and Brittany.
I went into the other room and immediately saw why. A note was taped to the slider door where I couldn’t miss it.
Heading down to talk to David and Bitsy. Scoop is coming. Dogs with Horace.
Brit
With the iPad sufficiently charged, I returned to the study to find Kip eyeing the train room from the open doorway. I felt my temper rise. He had no right to invade my space, especially after his lie-detector test. Why should I trust him if he didn’t trust me?
He turned to me with an unexpected smile. “It’s amazing. When we have more time, I’d like a tour.”
“Sure,” I said, though both of us knew I didn’t mean it.
I handed him the note from Brittany. He read and frowned.
“Dammit, I told her to stay put. It’s not safe for her to be running around.” He looked at his watch and sighed. “I’m sure David and Bitsy will be relieved to have Brittany there to hold their hands when I question them. I should get going.”
“Is it official this time?” I asked, nodding at his uniform.
“Not really, though appearing official might shake some answers out of them.”
“So, you’re lying by omission?”
He ignored the jab. “What did Brittany say about passwords?” he asked, glancing toward the iPad I still held.
“Apparently Lottie liked to use birthdays. She would sometimes reverse them, like if you were born in 2001, she’d use 1002. Brittany tried all the scenarios she could think of, including Grandma Alice’s birthday.”
Kip’s sigh came out more like a groan. “Maybe the station will have ideas, though I don’t have a lot of hope that we can get any fast answers. In fact, you and Brittany are as good a bet as any at the moment. Why don’t you ride with me to Stamford and keep trying?”
My anger at Kip paled in comparison to my desire to solve this riddle.
I raced upstairs while Kip made some calls and changed into the same outfit I’d worn for the last visit, this time replacing the white jeans that had been lost in the fire with black ones. I checked the mirror and stopped short. My hair was flying all over the place. I had no makeup on, and I’d never even doused myself in the shower after my sweaty run from Tom Bellini. I quickly stripped, tied my hair atop my head, and rinsed off in the shower. After redressing, I applied eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss and combed my hair. I looked better, though the ends of my hair were damp from the spray and steam. At least I smelled clean.
As Kip drove the unmarked car, I opened the iPad cover and stared.
“This looks fairly new,” he said, reaching over to tap the black magnetic cover.
“It is. Brittany mentioned that Mrs. Arlington had recently updated her electronics.”
We traveled in silence, him navigating the roads, me trying to navigate the iPad.
“New iPad, new pet—it’s too bad we don’t know Diva’s birthday,” he said.
“But I do,” I said, suddenly excited. “Names I forget. Numbers I remember. It was in her file.”
I entered the four digits of Diva’s birthday. The screen did its little dance, followed by its pop-out window: Incorrect password. I reversed the numbers.
And suddenly I was in.
“Wahoo! Photos or email first?”
“Start with photos. And also check to see if there’s a copy of her memoir on that thing.”
Mrs. Arlington had organized the photos into albums. I opened Home and scrolled through a picture of Brittany with Diva, probably taken when they’d first adopted the dog. The look of pure joy on Brittany’s face made me smile. The date stamp said it had been taken three weeks ago. I couldn’t believe how much bigger Diva had grown in that short time. How big was this dog going to get? I skipped the older pictures and jumped to Recents. Just more of Brittany, Diva, and one with Mrs. Arlington and Mark Goodwin. A video of Burton petting the puppy made it obvious why Mrs. Arlington had been so worried. His face was pasty, his body all bones, his voice barely audible.
As I flipped through the memories, I scanned the albums listed along the sidebar: Fundraisers, Art Collection, New Year’s, a rather OCD compilation titled Home Repairs … and then jumping out at me, Great Dames Book Club. Subcategories of that album read Members and Players. Under Players, I found the photos that had no doubt led to Mrs. Arlington’s fears and Mark Goodwin’s death.
The first was of two people kissing in the shade of the gazebo. The angle of the picture made it clear it had been taken unbeknownst to the subjects: Marietta and Tom. In the next photo, they were locked in an embrace, Marietta pressed against a tree. Tom had one hand placed on her butt like he owned it. The date stamps on the photos showed they had all been taken within the last two months. Mrs. Arlington had probably tried to blackmail Marietta—“Get Burton help, or else.” Something had happened in the last three weeks that had shifted the tide and made Marietta the alpha dog.
If Burton’s son found out about Marietta’s infidelity, the prenuptial agreement would allow him to cut her out of the will. Tom must have been searching for any evidence that would void the prenuptial. He must have assumed that Mark also had photos, and because I’d met with Mark, he might have assumed that Mark had sent the photos to me. Was that why he’d taken my cell phone?
“Maybe Tom and Marietta plotted to make sure Burton didn’t get his medications,” I said. “They could be in this together and that’s why Tom was tearing the house apart. He was looking for whatever photo evidence there might be that the two were having an affair. Maybe they stole her computer and her iPhone. Tom was probably searching for her remaining device—the iPad.”
“How would Tom know Mrs. Arlington had an iPad??
“I told you both, remember? The day we met?”
I reminded Kip that we had been sitting at Gallo discussing the messed-up file drawers when I mentioned that she might have had some information on her computer, iPhone, or iPad. It was at the mention of her electronics that Tom had perked up.
“You might not remember because it wouldn’t be on your radar to worry about what kind of electronics Mrs. Arlington had. Even in his inebriated state, however, Tom was paying attention.”
Kip nodded. “Tom and Marietta might have been getting paranoid, and their judgment might have been tainted.”
“The stakes were getting higher. If they were plotting to get rid of Burton by holding back his pills and Mrs. Arlington suspected, Marietta could be charged with caretaker neglect. In some states that’s a felony,” said Kip.
“Who knows? Lottie might have opened the cabinet in the Jack and Jill bathroom, just as I did. If she used the information against Marietta, maybe Marietta threatened her and that’s why she became afraid enough to request an obituary.”
“But why kill Goodwin?” asked Kip. “He told you he didn’t know anything, and you believed him.”
I had wondered about that, and then I remembered that Brittany had said Mark was clearing the path for Burton and Lottie to take their walks. Mark could have seen Tom on the property. He might not have registered why Tom was there and might not have been aware of the prenuptial, but Tom wouldn’t have known that. And in their paranoid state, Tom and Marietta might have thought of Mark as a threat. I relayed all of that to Kip, whose head was now bobbing up and down like a Texas oil drill.
“They might have thought he was sent by Mrs. Arlington to take photos,” he said, following the thread. “We need more information. Right after we talk to Bitsy and David, let’s go through Mrs. Arlington’s email.”
While he drove, I opened the photos titled Family. Feeling like a peeping Tom, I scanned through pictures that recorded Mrs. Arlington’s life with Roth and Henry. I was surprised at how many showed her laughing. That didn’t sync with the stern woman I had met, and I suddenly realized just how troubled she must have been.
I recognized David Wysocki in what was obviously a holiday photo card that had been scanned. Across the front read Happy 2022 from Sunny Florida. It was hard to make out a lot behind the writing that ran diagonally across the card, though I could see he was with a pretty woman about his own age with a gray-streaked bob. She was posing for the camera with her arms around his neck and one foot bent back in a swooning position. They were both in summer garb, and as I took in the details, my breath caught.
“Oh no!” I said, so loudly that Kip hit the brakes and we jolted to a stop.
“What’s wrong?”
“How far are we from the Wysocki house?”
He stared at the device in my hand, eyes widening as I spread-eagled my fingers to expand the photo.
“Cinderella’s shoe,” we both said in unison.
Kip slammed the gas, hurtling us toward a far more unsettling version of the dreaded truth.
In the photo, Bitsy Wysocki was wearing the same kind of blue sneaker with sparkles that Diva had carried around for days.
And that was where Brittany and Scoop had been headed.