I woke up early Friday morning and glanced at my clock. It wasn’t quite six o’clock. I let Dylan sleep a while longer and got up to feed Smoky Joe. My heart thumped with excitement and anticipation. There had been so little evidence to follow up on regarding these murders. No clues to speak of. Of course, there was the chance that the forensic people would find fingerprints on Billy’s poisoned walnuts. But even if they did, that still didn’t link the poisoner to the three murders. Whatever Patricia Harper had to tell us could be important in solving all three homicides.
We’d decided to travel to Long Island by ferry. I was looking forward to the hour-and-a-quarter ride across Long Island Sound. I’d planned to sit outside and get a bit of a tan but had to give up that idea because it was drizzling, though sunny skies were in the afternoon’s weather forecast.
The traffic wasn’t too bad as we drove to catch the ferry in Bridgeport. Dylan kept the soft rock radio station on low so we could hear ourselves talk.
“Billy’s feeling much better this morning,” I said. “He thinks the doctor overseeing his case will let him go home later today or tomorrow morning.”
“I’m glad he didn’t end up being murder victim number four,” Dylan said.
“The killer was clearly trying to stop Billy from visiting his mother as planned,” I said.
“Let’s hope no one knows we’re on our way to see her now,” Dylan said. “Unfortunately, too many people knew you were planning to accompany him.”
“When my mother asked if I was going anyway, I said of course not. She would have passed that on to the movie people.” I chuckled. “Gossip spreads like wildfire among that group.”
“And if the murderer is one of Clover Ridge’s fine citizens, we have to hope he’ll assume you wouldn’t be going without Billy.”
That had me twisting my neck in every direction to see if a car was following us.
Dylan laughed and patted my leg. “No need to get nervous, babe. I’ve had my eyes peeled on the cars around us from the moment we left. Believe me, no one’s tailing us.”
Which reminded me. “Speaking of Clover Ridge’s fine citizens, Evelyn told me something interesting yesterday regarding Patricia Harper.”
Dylan glanced at me. “Your friend Evelyn the ghost?”
“Uh-huh.”
A few months ago I’d told Dylan about my relationship with Evelyn. We’d been driving home from a restaurant and almost crashed into some bushes on the side of the road. While Dylan accepted the fact that Evelyn often hovered around the library in her ghostly state and sometimes gave me helpful information regarding homicide investigations, it didn’t rest easily in his pragmatic, rational mind.
“If you’ll remember, Evelyn lived in Clover Ridge most of her life and knew most of the people in town,” I said.
“Go on.”
“She said two people tried to help Patricia—Aunt Harriet and Alvin Tripp.”
“Al Tripp, the mayor?”
“Uh-huh.” I smiled, picturing Uncle Bosco’s overweight friend who loved to make speeches. “Evelyn remembered that Al Tripp had a soft spot for Patricia.”
Dylan frowned. “And she first told you this yesterday, when Daphne was murdered weeks ago?”
I let out a huff of exasperation. “That’s Evelyn. I can’t squeeze information from her like a tube of toothpaste. She tells me what she feels like telling me, when she feels like sharing.”
Dylan made no comment, so I went on. “I suppose she didn’t mention Aunt Harriet and Al before because she didn’t think it was important. My great-aunt isn’t a serial killer, and Al’s too busy holding meetings to go around murdering people.” I giggled, then quickly covered my mouth. “I know it’s not a laughing matter, but can you see him tracking down women almost half his age? He’d be huffing and puffing.”
“I suppose John is aware that Al Tripp had a thing for Patricia Harper since he was on the force when Chet Harper was murdered. You might mention it, but then you’d have to explain how you found it out.” Dylan grinned. “That’s the problem with getting information from a ghost.”
I nodded. “I’ll think of something.”
We drove along in peaceful silence. I mused about Patricia Harper and how difficult it must have been to start over fresh with a new name and a new life.
“Tell me again about Patricia Harper’s new persona,” I said.
“She goes by the name of Sheila Rossetti. Sheila was her middle name. Rossetti is her husband Tony’s last name. They’ve been married twelve years now. Tony has two grown sons from his first marriage. They moved to Long Island a few years ago to be close to one of his sons.”
“I’ll never understand how she could leave Billy and Daphne,” I said. “Especially when she knew the police suspected Billy for his father’s murder.”
Dylan exhaled loudly. “I think she might have taken off before Mitch Flynn really got his claws into Billy. At any rate, I suspect she was too traumatized to be of any help to anyone.”
I felt a pang of anxiety. “What if she’s not home? Maybe they’re away on vacation?” I said.
“Relax, Carrie. I called last night asking for a bogus name. A woman answered the phone. When I apologized for dialing the wrong number, she said not to worry, her husband Tony did it all the time. When Rosalind called this morning, Mrs. Rossetti sounded annoyed and commented on the sudden spurt of wrong numbers.”
“I hope she doesn’t suspect we’re on her tail,” I said. “Or have any plans to go somewhere today.”
“Rosalind didn’t get the impression she had a job, but I’m sure she has errands to run and the occasional lunch date with a friend.” Dylan shrugged. “In which case, we’ll wait. Pretend we’re on a stakeout.”
We drove onto the ferry and left the car to find seats on an upper level. There were more people on board than I’d expected, but then, ferries crossed the sound throughout the year. I gazed out at the water while Dylan spoke quietly on his cell to Rosalind about a few of his clients. When he was done, he reached for my hand and we sat quietly.
“Want some coffee?” he asked a few minutes later.
“No, but I wouldn’t mind some French fries.”
He laughed. “At eleven in the morning?”
“Why not? They smell delicious.”
“So they do.”
“Ask to make them well done,” I called after him.
Dylan returned a few minutes later. He handed me my fries, which were yummy, and sat beside me sipping his coffee.
“Mmm, these are delicious,” he said, sampling some of my fries.
“I’m a little nervous,” I admitted as the ferry approached Port Jefferson. “I’ve never questioned anyone who ran off and took on a new identity.”
“Go gently,” Dylan advised. “I think Sheila Rossetti will want to know what you can tell her about her children.”
“I wonder if she knows Daphne is dead,” I said. “She must have read about it in the papers.”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
We returned to our car and waited our turn to drive off. I was impressed by how quickly and smoothly the ferry emptied out.
“Let’s see,” Dylan said as he put Sheila Rossetti’s address in his GPS. “We should be there in twenty minutes.”
Traffic was light and we found the Rossettis’ house easily, a yellow, well-tended Cape Cod on a tree-lined street. The one-car driveway leading to the garage was empty.
“Shall we?” Dylan said, releasing his seat belt.
I stepped out of the car and accompanied him up the cement walkway. I pressed the bell. No one answered.
“She’s not home,” I said.
“Looks that way.”
We got back in the car. “We have two choices,” Dylan said. “We can get something to eat and come back in an hour, or sit here and wait.”
I thought a minute. “Let’s have lunch. Neighbors might find it suspicious if we stay here.”
“My thinking exactly, though I don’t see any neighbors out and about.”
We drove back to Route 112 and soon came upon a Turkish restaurant in a strip mall that looked appealing. The waitress sat us at a table by the window. I ordered a cup of red lentil soup and a chicken kabob pita sandwich. Dylan ordered a small spanakopita and Mediterranean lamb burger. We ate with gusto and plenty of yogurt sauce.
“Mmm, this is delicious,” I said, too full to eat more than half my sandwich.
Dylan finished everything on his plate. We ordered coffee, and I asked the waitress to wrap my sandwich.
“Bet you ten to one you eat that before we’re back home,” Dylan teased as we left the restaurant.
“You’re probably right,” I said. “We have to find a restaurant like this near us.”
“And if we can’t, we’ll hop in the car and come back here,” he said.
I squeezed his hand, appreciating the many days ahead that we’d be sharing. “I love you,” I said.
“Love you back. Now, let’s find out if Sheila-Patricia has returned from her outing.”
I giggled. “Let’s not get confused and call her Patricia Rossetti.”
“Or Sheila Harper.”
A few minutes later we were ringing the Rossettis’ doorbell once again. No one answered. We returned to the car. I was disappointed. It was two o’clock. For all we knew, she wouldn’t arrive home for another few hours.
“What should we do?” I asked Dylan.
“Well, if she went shopping, then met a friend for lunch, she could return in the next hour.”
“Or she could have met a friend for lunch, then went running some errands,” I said.
“That too.”
Two mothers, each with a child under three in a stroller, came walking toward us. They continued on as they passed by, never giving us a glance or pausing in their conversation.
“At least we’re not drawing attention,” I said.
“We don’t look very threatening,” Dylan said.
“I should hope not.”
“Would you like to get out and take a walk?” Dylan suggested.
“I would. We’ve been sitting all day.”
It felt good to stretch my legs in the warmth of the sun as I admired the flowers that adorned many of the lawns. Hand in hand we circled the block. A woman retrieving the mail from her mailbox at the curb waved to us. A man walking his bulldog commented on the lovely weather. As we turned the corner, a school bus stopped close to our car. Several elementary-age children exited the bus. A few dashed to the other side of the street. A pretty, diminutive woman about my age emerged from the house next to the Rossettis’ and reached for the hand of a blond boy. He shook his hand free, but continued to walk beside her up the front walk and into the house.
“I’m going to ask Sheila’s neighbor if she knows where she is or when she might be coming home,” I said.
“Good idea,” Dylan said. “I’ll wait in the car.”
I rang the bell and the door swung open. I found myself facing the little boy who had just come home from school.
“Hello,” I said.
“Oh,” he said, sounding very disappointed.
“Jamie, I told you not to open the door.”
“Well, I thought it was Brandon, but it isn’t.”
“Sorry to disturb you.” I smiled at the woman who came to stand beside her son. “And I’m sorry that I’m not Brandon,” I said to the boy, “but I was hoping you might be able to tell me if you have any idea when your neighbor—Sheila Rossetti—might be coming home. My boyfriend and I are from her hometown. We happened to be spending the day on Long Island, so we thought we’d stop by and say hello.”
“That’s sweet of you,” the woman said.
“Mom, my snack,” Jamie said.
“I thought you wanted to have it when Brandon comes.”
“I’m hungry. I want some of it now.”
“One minute, Jamie.” I heard loud barking coming from the back of the house. “Please let Rudolf in. He’s been missing you all day. And feed him, okay?”
Jamie disappeared, only to return a minute later followed by the largest black-and-white Harlequin Great Dane I’d ever seen.
“Wow! What a beauty!” I said.
“That’s Rudolf. And I’m Jeannette. Rudy, get down!” Jeannette shouted as the dog jumped up and put his paws on her shoulders. “He’s hungry, Jamie. Please feed him now.”
Boy and dog disappeared in what I figured was the direction of the kitchen. Jeannette was shaking her head. “We’ve had several trainers come to the house, but we’ve yet to find one who can break him of the habit of jumping up on me.” She sighed. “You’d think Rudy would know by now that I hate when he does it.”
“Maybe it’s his way of showing affection,” I said.
Jeannette grimaced. “That’s what my husband says. As for Sheila next door, I don’t really know her very well. Her husband Tony’s a friendly guy. He and my husband often chat over the fence—mostly sports and how to deal with the awful crabgrass we all have. But Sheila’s kind of reserved. Was she like that—where did you say she comes from?”
I felt uncomfortable telling this woman anything about Billy’s mother, but I had no choice. “A little town in Connecticut called Clover Ridge. I suppose we should have called before stopping by,” I said. “Does she go to work? In which case we’ll take off.”
“I don’t think so. I’ve always gotten the impression that Sheila spends a good deal of her time at home—fixing up their house, I imagine. It was in pretty bad shape when they bought it, but Tony’s a carpenter and did some major repairs when they first moved in two years ago. I suppose Sheila’s doing the decorating now, judging from the deliveries they get.” She shot me a sideways glance. “Not that I’ve ever been invited inside their house. We had them over for coffee and cake when they first moved in. Sheila didn’t say much. I got the feeling she couldn’t wait to leave.”
“She’s shy,” I said. “Do you think she might have gone out for lunch with someone?”
“I doubt it. I don’t think she’s made any friends. At least I haven’t noticed anyone dropping by during the day. Though I have seen her and Tony in church a few Sunday mornings.”
I sighed. “Well, maybe she went shopping.”
Jeannette’s face lit up. “She probably went to Bed Bath and Beyond. And to the library. I’ve seen her there a few times. I’ve noticed she’s usually back home by three, three thirty. That time we had them over for coffee, Sheila told me she always likes to be home in plenty of time to make Tony a good dinner.”
I thanked Jeannette and returned to the car. I told Dylan what she’d told me. He glanced at his watch. “Okay, it’s two fifteen. I’ll check the GPS, see if there’s a mall around here. We can wander around till three ten and come back here.”
“I can’t see what else we can do,” I said. “But what if she’s not back by then?”
“Let’s decide that when the time comes.”
We found a nearby mall to explore while we waited.
“Great, they have an Apple store here,” Dylan said, reading the directory. “I’ll stop in, see if they can help me with a problem I’m having with my iPhone. Why don’t you do some shopping?” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s meet back here in forty-five minutes, then head back to Sheila’s house.”
Music to my ears! I breezed through Macy’s, then checked out Banana Republic, one of my favorites, and bought a colorful top on sale. I had just enough time to scoot outside to Barnes and Noble and buy a paperback mystery. I hurried back through the mall and found Dylan waiting for me, a Macy’s bag in his hand.
“The tech solved my problem, and I found a shirt on sale.”
“I bought a few things too,” I said.
Dylan put his arm around me, and we walked out to the car. “If she doesn’t show up soon after we get there, we’ll head for home. At least we had a nice day out.”
“I suppose.” I was disappointed. Talking to Billy’s mother was the best and only chance we had of finding a possible suspect.
The traffic had built up, so it took a while longer for us to return to Sheila Rossetti’s house. I rang the bell again. But still no one came to the door.
“On TV shows, the detective knocks on the front door of a suspect or a person of interest and he or she is always home,” I groused.
“It’s almost three thirty,” Dylan said as we climbed back into the car. “We’ll give it a few more minutes, then head back. We’re bound to hit traffic on the drive to Port Jefferson. I hope we can make the four forty-five ferry. The one after that leaves at six thirty. Both will be crowded.”
More people were around now, mostly mothers with young children and middle school kids riding bicycles in the street. Jeannette drove her car out of the garage and passed us. I waved, but she pretended not to see me.
“She probably thinks it’s weird that we’re back here, waiting for Sheila,” I said.
A few minutes later I was proven right. A police car pulled behind our car and an officer stepped out to talk to us.