We bundle up and head out, Billy leading the way to Emelina’s cottage. Recent days of bright sun and temperatures above freezing have made the sidewalks slippery, then overnight the snowmelt has frozen into treacherous black ice. We slip-slide the few blocks to her cottage. Both of us always lived within walking distance of the now-shuttered Milford Elementary. I knew I could always count on her during times when I had nobody to talk to about a problem with a student, or more often, issues with school administrators.
I had stopped on my way home from Daniel’s office to confirm at the probate court that Truscott Daniels set up the Bloodstone Family Trust. I was told that a trust is a mechanism for wealth preservation and minimizing tax consequences for large sums being handed down to future generations. It is incumbent upon the trustee to carry out the expressed wishes of the trust. Benjamin Bloodstone holds the title of trustee. The Bloodstone Family Trust had their fingerprints on almost every philanthropic endeavor for as long as I’ve lived in Milford. Benjamin likes to work behind the scenes and does not seek the limelight.
We turn the corner and see a familiar sedan next to Emelina’s ancient Mercury.
“She has company,” Ken says.
We pick up our pace, and Billy senses that the hunt is on. Detective Shafer’s car hood is warm to the touch. He hasn’t been here long. I don’t always pick up on phone calls or text messages when I am out walking Billy. It’s not because I ignore them. It’s because I keep my phone on vibrate and don’t always feel it when my little canine buddy pulls me briskly around town. I grab my phone and see a text from Emelina. Detective Shafer is here at my house, come quick.
We stamp our feet on her porch, then Ken knocks on her front door. She peeks through the parlor window and opens the door. “What a nice surprise. I was just offering Detective Shafer some tea and cookies.”
Ken and the detective make eye contact. “You are about to have a real treat, sir. Emelina makes the best cookies in the county,” he says.
I realize that Ken and Shafer have met a couple of times now while standing over the dead. I help her with the tea service while she hands him a warm snickerdoodle on a napkin.
“Do you take your tea with milk or sugar?” I ask Shafer.
“Just honey,” he says. Milford has a few wonderful apiaries producing the best honey. We all buy local and eschew the store brands. One apiary has its own 24/7 livestream. I get mesmerized watching the beekeeper use the smoker around the hive. That’s good entertainment.
Shafer pours a teaspoon of liquid goodness onto his spoon and swirls it in his fine china cup.
Balancing the snickerdoodle on his knee, he sips the tea and closes his eyes. Next, he balances the saucer and cup on his other knee and pops the tasty treat into his mouth. He repeats the closed eyes routine while he chews slowly. I keep Billy on his leash. Snickerdoodles resting on knees around the living room can be too tempting for him.
We sip and chew expecting the explanation from Shafer for his unannounced visit to her home.
Finally, he clears his voice. “I appreciate your hospitality, Ms. Bidwell. I came by today because I have some news. I did not think it was appropriate to call you on the phone. The DNA tests came back last evening. The tests were expedited when Mr. Strong found the carpet in the coal furnace.” He is being discreet with Emelina. He looks over to me and returns his gaze to her. “Unfortunately, you were correct. The bodies in the Devlin mansion are of your nephew and his wife. I wanted to tell you first before we released this information to the public.”
“Thank you for your kindness, Detective Shafer. Will I be able to start the funeral process for them?” Emelina is not surprised by this news and seems ready to take the next steps in her grieving process.
“Doctor Cleary has the final say, but I think you can make arrangements with the funeral home for the pick-up and transfer.” He sips his tea. “We are treating both deaths as homicides, and I will continue consulting with cold case experts.”
“I don’t think you will have any more interference from Truscott Daniels and Mike Meade,” I say. “I made it clear to them this morning I won’t tolerate their interference in Ken’s ability to earn an income. I got their attention.”
“I’m sure you did, Mrs. Strong. I am sure you did.”
“Care for another cookie, Detective?” Emelina asks.
He nods.
“Have two,” she says.
He doesn’t protest and places one on his saucer while holding the other in his hand. “It was a good thing you called us before you carted away the furnace, Mr. Strong. We were able to find the cause of death for Mr. Bidwell.”
“Did enough of the bullet survive to be able to determine its caliber?” I ask.
“Mrs. Strong, you continue to amaze me. I cannot confirm or deny the presence of a 158-gram .38 caliber slug found in excellent condition in the bottom of the furnace.” He talks as if he is just discussing baseball scores. I realize which cold case experts he is consulting with now. Now it’s my turn.
“If you visit Truscott Daniels in his offices, you will find an old photo on the wall of him standing next to Burgess Bloodstone. Michael Meade was in the same photo. Daniels’ law firm handles the Bloodstone Family Trust, and Meade is the executive director of the board overseeing the Bloodstone Museum of Commerce and Industry,” I say.
“I see,” he says.
“The photo was from the time period in question. He could tell you who all the movers and shakers were back in the day. It would save you a ton of time,” I say.
Almost on cue, Emelina says. “T.J. Mardell was new money back then. He had one of the first Japanese car dealerships in town. He wanted so badly to be accepted by the rich and powerful folks. He tried cozying up to them at the country club and at charity events. He thought that by buying the Devlin Mansion and fixing it up, it would make him one of them.”
“You have to wonder what other favors he would do for them,” Ken says nonchalantly while petting our doggie. “As a remodeler, I can only think of one reason for that partition.”
Shafer enjoys the cookies, tea, and intel in equal measures. The last cookie leaves a little sugar on his lips. He finishes the tea and swipes the crumbs from his slacks before standing. “I will keep you apprised of any developments. It’s been fifty years since they were killed, but I promised you I would do my best, and I will.”
He nods to all of us and lets Billy sniff his hand before he pets him on the head. We are all good with this exchange.
His V-8 rumbles to life and the gravel crunches under his wheels to signal his departure.
“Sorry, I didn’t get your message right away, but we were on our way over here anyway,” I say to Emelina.
She turns to me. “Deep in my heart, I was hoping that the person wearing my niece’s necklace wasn’t her and that somebody else was rolled up in that carpet.”
“By coming forward as you did, Emelina, the police have identified them quickly and can get started on finding their killers,” Ken says.
“I have to plan two funerals, so I may not be able to help much,” she says.
“We have two funerals to plan, Emelina. You are not alone.” I get up from the couch, cross the room, and lift her from her favorite chair into my arms. Ken and Billy stand as silent witnesses to our bond.
“Detective Shafer told you about the slug they found at the bottom of the coal furnace?” Erin asks me.
My adorable grandchildren are in bed and Erin is getting ready for her work as a civilian contractor to the FBI. We use this window of time to catch up. We use an app where we can see each other and share screens on our laptops. “Yes, and I reciprocated with him about how Meade and Daniels are connected to the Bloodstones. What is their professional interest in two murders from five decades ago?”
“I think we should explore that connection and see how it bears on Antoinette,” she says.
“I agree, but why only Antoinette?”
“We can assume that Andrew was killed when he started to suspect what happened to her. Find her killer, and that will lead us to his.”
“I see your logic. Still don’t know why she was killed, though.”
“It doesn’t have to be complicated. The more we learn about Antoinette and who was in her circle of acquaintances, the better idea we will have about her life and why someone felt the need to end it.”
“I’ll be busy for the next several days helping Emelina with funeral arrangements,” I tell her.
“That’s okay. I will keep you posted in CaseSoft. We learned about many people for that time period from the telephone directory, newspaper accounts, and yearbooks. I have to run them through all the online newspaper archives and social media aggregators. That will take time. Let’s figure out who is alive and who can we talk to.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say.
“You don’t sound so certain, Mom.”
“Fifty years is a long time, honey.”
“Yeah, but look how you have already poked a few bears. Watch and see.”
“Just having those two guys wanting to slow us down gives me enough motivation to see this thing through to the end. Telling me that I have no business looking into the deaths of my best friend’s family members and threatening your father’s business are enough to light my fire.”
She gets busy sharing a screen with me. This time it’s The Doors’ “Light My Fire” video.
I love this girl.