When Charlotte returned, Aaron had gone, leaving a scribbled thank-you note on the kitchen table. She peered into the refrigerator to see what she had on hand in case Ray arrived hungry, as he usually did. Not much. A few eggs and a bit of cheddar cheese. But there was a bottle of wine. Maybe he’d settle for scrambled eggs, or if not, they’d have to go out.
But then Ray appeared a few minutes later with the problem solved.
“I brought some takeaway. We haven’t had Thai for a while, so I hope that’s okay.”
She gave him a big smile and reached out to hug him. “Perfect! I’ll set the table, and you can pour the wine. And then I want to hear all about it. Or at least, as much as you can tell me.”
She unwrapped the cartons and set them on the table. They helped themselves to spring rolls and pad thai, and when their plates were heaping, she took a sip of the wine he had poured for her and gestured at the bottle with a raised eyebrow. He shook his head. “Better not. I might get called back. Hope not, though. I’m exhausted.”
“So tell me,” said Charlotte. “Any progress on identifying the body?”
Ray shook his head.
“Well, I might have something for you. Rupert and I saw a man and woman standing outside the Middleton place, looking as if they were waiting for someone. Turns out the man was the Middleton’s lawyer, and the woman a local real estate agent. Lynda Flegg. You know who I mean. If you haven’t met her, you’ll have seen her For Sale signs all over town. Anyway, they were waiting for a real estate agent from New York who wanted to view the property in case it might be suitable for a client of his. But the real estate agent never showed. Lynda said his name was Hugh Hedley.”
Ray raised an eyebrow.
“Now, here’s the thing. While I was doing the dress fitting for Belinda, Mrs. Van Dusen came charging in, all in a flap because Hugh Hedley had decided not to attend the wedding, even though he would still be at the play, presumably out of respect for Mrs. Van Dusen. And since he was at the play, and didn’t show up for the appointment, I wondered if your man in Mrs. Van Dusen’s rosebushes could be Hugh Hedley.”
“It’s possible, that’s for sure,” Ray replied slowly, “although it does seem a bit of a stretch.”
“Why is it a bit of a stretch? Here, look at this.” She set the newspaper in front of him and pointed to the front-page photo. “There. See? That’s Hugh Hedley, and he’s wearing a suit like the one on the victim. Of course, by the time we saw it, it was very dirty from being in the garden. And I’m sure your Albany detectives will have thought of this, but I was close enough to tell that the fabric is expensive. I think you’ll find that the suit is custom made and the tailor’s label may help. They’ll probably be able to tell you the name of the man they made it for. And then you can check that against your victim’s measurements. It could help.”
“Let me make a quick call. I’ll pass that along to the Albany detectives,” he said, reaching for his phone. “It’s Walkers Ridge Police Chief Ray Nicholson here,” he said, “about the body found this morning up at the Van Dusen residence. Got a strong lead on the identity of the body. It might be a Hugh Hedley.” He spelled the last name and, keeping his eyes fixed on Charlotte as he listened, nodded a couple of times, mentioned Charlotte’s lead about the tailor, and then wrapped up the call.
“He hasn’t been identified yet. He didn’t have any identification on him, and his fingerprints aren’t on file, but we wouldn’t have expected them to be. He doesn’t look like someone who would be known to the police in the usual way. They’re doing forensics on the clothes now.” He gave her a warm smile. “That was very observant of you.”
Charlotte speared a shrimp with her fork and paused with it in midair. “Well, there’s one thing we do know about him.”
“What’s that?”
“Somebody thought he was an ass. Why else would they put the donkey’s head on him?”
Ray’s eyes drifted toward the window and studied the river flowing by. He said nothing.
“Ray? What is it?”
“The medical examiner says he died from compressive asphyxiation.”
“Compressive asphyxiation?”
“Yes, he was literally crushed to death.” Ray placed his hands on his chest. “Until he couldn’t breathe.”
Charlotte considered the implications of what she’d just heard, made a little noise of disgust, and set her fork down. “Oh, God, I’ve just lost my appetite. That’s really terrible. And then the donkey’s head placed on him. There’s just a really awful element of humiliation in that.”
Ray nodded.
Charlotte pushed her plate away while Ray finished his meal in silence. When he was done, he glanced out the window and then smiled at Charlotte.
“Let’s take Rupert for a walk. I sit too much on the job, and a little after-dinner stroll would be just the thing. Then maybe a cup of coffee when we come back.”
On hearing his name, Rupert climbed out of his basket and walked to the door. He stood quietly while Charlotte slipped on his harness and clipped on his leash. Then he led them away from the bungalow and in the direction of the road.
The evening air was vaguely scented with flowers, but Charlotte couldn’t have said which kind or where they came from. At moments like this, out of nowhere, she sometimes experienced a sudden, sharp longing for home—the familiar hedgerows of the Norfolk countryside, which at this time of year would be overgrown with wild honeysuckle, filling the air with a warm, diffused fragrance.
This evening’s light, the kind favored by artists, was of that magic hour just before sunset, when it slanted and intensified, bathing everything it touched in a golden glow before fading and dying. They walked in appreciative, companionable silence down the drive that would bring them to the main road. Ray took her hand, and she moved a little closer to him.
As they approached the main road, a white police SUV pulled over and stopped. Letting go of Charlotte’s hand, Ray walked up to the driver.
“What is it, Phil?” he asked his sergeant.
“Just had a call about some vandalism on the sign at the vacant property,” he said. “Someone driving by called it in. Thought I’d check it out before I head home for dinner.”
“Well, it was fine this afternoon when I saw it,” Charlotte said. “I even took a photo of it, if you want to see it.”
“We might,” said Ray. Turning to Phil, he told him to pull up in front of the property, and they’d all have a look at it.
Phil drove slowly on ahead as Ray and Charlotte followed with Rupert.
The large foam-board sign announcing the condominium development now had the word “scum” written across it in bright-red paint and the name of the company partially painted over.
“Probably just kids,” said Ray. “Who called it in?”
“Didn’t say.”
“Well, there’s not much we can do until we hear from the owner,” said Ray. “We’ll wait and see if the owner of the property files a complaint.”
Charlotte had been wondering if she should say something to Ray about the development, to try to get a sense of what his feelings might be about the two of them moving in together, but she wasn’t sure how or when to broach the subject.
The light was slipping away, and she made a remark about returning home; so with Rupert leading the way, they retraced their steps. Ray was quiet as they walked up the drive, and she wondered what he was thinking.
“Do you like where you’re living?” she blurted out.
“Like it?” Ray thought for a moment. “I don’t really like it or dislike it. I needed a place to live when I took the job here, and there wasn’t much to choose from at the time. Although I suppose if I’d put more effort into it, I could have found something better.” He shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess. I haven’t spent much time there lately. I seem to spend more time here with you.”
“Yes,” said Charlotte. “And that’s got me thinking . . .”
“I’m not wearing out my welcome, I hope,” said Ray anxiously. “If I am, just say so.”
She laughed lightly. “No, no, not at all. I want you here. I love having you here.”
“Well, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to drive over to my house and pick up a few things.” He kissed her. “Won’t be long.”
As he drove through the quiet, orderly streets to the house he rented not far from the police station, he mulled over Charlotte’s question about whether he liked where he lived. She had visited the house only a handful of times and refused to eat there or spend the night. He had rented it furnished, and she might be right when she said it looked as if it hadn’t been updated since hippies lived in it in the 1960s.
He pulled a couple of flyers out of the mailbox and threw them in the recycling bin that sat on the wooden porch, unlocked the door, and let himself in. The hall smelled old and musty. He switched on the light in the living room. The sofa was such a nondescript gray that it was hard to tell if gray was its original color or the color it had acquired. A mousehole had been gnawed into the base, and it was anybody’s guess if a family of mice were still living there.
He entered his bedroom, pulled a clean shirt out of the dresser drawer, added a few toiletries, and threw everything into a plastic bag. He’d moved to Walkers Ridge from Pennsylvania after his divorce and taken the first accommodation he could find. But now, he realized he didn’t want to live like this anymore. He wanted better, and he wanted it with Charlotte. He thought about her in her cozy bungalow, the way she kept everything so clean and orderly, how homey it was. He wondered what she would think if he suggested they moved in together. Would she want that? Would she want to just live together, or would she want him to marry her? He wanted her to be part of his future, but no matter what happened, he realized it was long past time when he should have moved out of this place. Maybe he and Charlotte should check out those new condominiums. But first, maybe he should see about an engagement ring. But not here in Walkers Ridge. News that he was ring shopping would be all over town in no time. He could take a day off and go to New York. There was bound to be something beautiful in the jewelry district. But what about size? That could be tricky, and he wanted to get it right. The first time he’d been married, his wife had chosen the ring, and he hadn’t had to think about it.
He threw the bag with his overnight things in the back of the patrol car and drove slowly through town, glancing out the window occasionally and gesturing to some teen boys on skateboards to get off the road. As he passed the police station, an idea came to him. Not so long ago, Charlotte had “borrowed” a ring that was in his custody for safekeeping, so why couldn’t he “borrow” a ring of hers to get the sizing off it? She didn’t wear a ring day to day, but surely every woman had a ring somewhere in her jewelry case, didn’t she?
He turned off the main road onto the hotel’s gravel driveway and parked outside Charlotte’s bungalow. He was about to let himself in when the door opened, and there, framed in the doorway with the light behind her, stood Charlotte, holding out Rupert’s lead. “Here, before you take your boots off, would you mind taking Rupert for his last walk?” Rupert grinned up at him and wiggled in excitement as she handed Ray a small bag and added, “Just in case you need one.”
Ray took the bag and burst out laughing.
“What are you laughing at?” she asked.
“I was just about to ask you something romantic.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“What you asked me earlier: ‘Do I like where I’m living?’ No, as a matter of fact, I hate it. I’ve just been there and decided I’m going to find a much nicer place and move. How about you? Do you like where you’re living? Because I think it’s time we talked about moving in together.”