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Friday, September 17
Adam knew the summons to the chief’s office couldn’t be good news when he caught the chief popping some snuff. After a scare with mouth cancer a few years ago, the chief had sworn off all tobacco but imbibed whenever the stress ramped up to Defcon 3 territory. The smell of cloves that wafted in Adam’s direction didn’t go too well with the chocolate and raspberry cream cheese Danish that Adam had for breakfast.
Chief Quinn motioned toward a chair, but he stayed standing. Adam sat, trying to read between the frown lines on Quinn’s face. The chief snapped the snuff tin shut and thrust it into the back of a drawer on his desk. “Got a call from the PD in Hartford. Reggie Forsythe found his father’s body on the floor of the younger man’s dining room. Someone had bashed the old man’s head in with a candlestick.”
Adam leaned forward. “Any suspects?”
“Forsythe says he checked his CCTV tape and saw the blurred image of a woman in his yard right before his father was killed. He’s blaming it on the same woman who stole his Revere bowl.”
“Same description, red hair and all?”
“Not exactly. Brown curly hair, different dark glasses, a little shorter and either heavyset or wearing a bulky coat. The face looked different, too, but wore a hat that covered her eyes.”
“And yet he says it’s the same person.”
“He claims it’s the same woman, two different disguises.”
“Does he say why this woman would want his father dead?”
“He was vague on the motive but thinks it may have to do with the Revere bowl or some other antique doodad she was after.”
“Was anything missing from his house?”
“He said he hadn’t found anything. But he was too distraught to make a thorough review.”
“Did he call you, or did you call him?”
“He called us.”
“Other than rubbing this whole mess in our faces, what can we do? We’re working the theft case since it’s technically in our jurisdiction if this female thief is here in town. But Hartford isn’t our problem.”
“Part of his property lies in our county.”
“But his official address is in Hartford.”
Chief Quinn leaned on his desk. A fitting posture, since Adam had an idea the mayor was leaning on Quinn. The expression on that chief’s face looked like he’d swallowed some of that snuff as he said, “I want you to assist the PD in Hartford. Research, legwork, whatever they need. You know Detective Given, right?”
Yeah, Adam was familiar with Given. Nice guy, if you liked sharks and were willing to wear a chum suit. Adam stifled a groan. He knew what the chief was thinking. A relatively minor theft was one thing, but murder connected with such a high-profile person as Forsythe was a whole different can of “worm-snuff.” And that didn’t include the jurisdictional pissing contest. It was better to stay silent and do the job.
Adam asked, “What about Reggie Forsythe, the son? Does he have an alibi?”
“His secretary swears he was in his office in Hartford on a long conference call.”
“With whom? Got any names?”
“An attorney of his who vouches for him.”
“No surprise, there. And amazingly convenient.”
Jinks slipped into the office and flopped down on the other chair next to Adam. She avoided looking at him, but he didn’t take offense. The chief didn’t like it when he suspected his underlings were colluding behind his back, keeping him out of the loop.
Quinn said, “Jinks, as I was telling Dutton here, Reginald Forsythe, the elder, was murdered, and Dutton’s going to assist the Hartford PD as needed. I’m pulling you off the missing-person case so you can work with Dutton on this.”
If Adam dropped a bead of water on Jinks’ skin right then, he wouldn’t be surprised if it vaporized from the way she was radiating outrage. “Sir, I understand Mr. Forsythe is an important man, but I feel I’m close to a break in my case. And maybe this one wayward husband isn’t an important man, but he has a grieving wife and two innocent children who need closure. Sir.”
Quinn looked fixedly at her for a moment, and then his eyes dipped toward a photo on his desk. It was a photo of Quinn’s grandchildren taken at the department Christmas party last year. The chief rubbed his forehead as if trying to smooth out the throbbing vein visible at his temple. “I’ll let you continue the missing-person case, if, and only if, you help out Dutton with research or phone calls. It’ll mean extra work for you, and we don’t have the money for much overtime in the budget right now.”
Adam looked at Jinks, who offered a small smile. “Thank you, sir.” She added in the faux-polite voice Adam knew all too well, “Is that all for now, sir?”
The chief nodded, and Jinks quickly left the office. Adam got up to follow her, but Quinn held him back. “Dutton, there’s another thing I wanted to discuss with you. Make that two things.”
Adam waved his hand for the chief to continue but didn’t sit back down and kept one foot poised toward the door.
Quinn said, “The first is that Laborde woman. I want you to shadow her. Find out all you can. I want to know her childhood pet’s name, what she was like at Dartmouth, what she eats for breakfast.”
Adam didn’t reply that he knew for sure Beverly’s favorite breakfast wasn’t bachelor chow bars. He’d had time to get more perspective on his Quechee Gorge meeting with Beverly, but he still didn’t want Quinn to know about it. He felt a little silly just thinking about it, let along putting in a report.
“And the other thing?” he asked.
“Mayor Lehmann claims you’ve been harassing his wife.”
Adam sagged down against the top of the chairback and caught himself right before it fell over backward. “Does he now? On what evidence?”
“Said he caught the two of you the other day down on Main. And that you were holding on to her arm, and that you looked upset. He claims Zelda was upset after talking with you, too.”
The Zelda that Adam knew was always carefully controlled. No heart-on-your-sleeve woman, she. But this Zelda had seemed . . . not upset, but confused and troubled. Perhaps she wasn’t only trying to patch over the hole she’d carved in his heart. Maybe she really was having second thoughts? What the hell was he supposed to say about that?
Adam felt like he needed a good stiff drink. “As I recall that meeting, she approached me and grabbed my arm when she came out of the deli. Not the other way around.”
The chief studied his face. “It’s been, what, two years now since the divorce?”
“Just about.”
The chief picked up a pencil and stabbed the eraser end on the desk. “I don’t like to tell my people how to live their personal lives unless it reflects negatively on the department. Knowing Lehmann, I can believe it’s sour grapes. But I want you to try to stay as far away from Zelda as possible for now. Give it a few weeks, and this’ll all blow over.”
“Yeah. Sure, Chief.” Blow like a tornado blows a particle-board house high into the sky, dropping it a half-mile away.
Adam escaped from the chief’s office and headed for the safety of his own office. When he passed by Jinks, she made a time-out motion with her hands. They detoured to the coffee machine to load up on caffeine before their upcoming confab—it was going to be a long afternoon.
Jinks grabbed a bottle from her pocket and poured a few drops into Adam’s coffee before he could stop her. “What’s that?” he asked.
“Energy shots. Extra caffeine, B vitamins, guarana, taurine, and tyrosine. Looked like you need it. I’d have said Quinn kicked your dog if you had a dog.”
“Do exes count?”
Jinks tutted. “Zelda giving you grief? You know I can take her, right? Me, her, a pair of boxing gloves and a ring. I’d have her on a TKO in one round.”
Adam took a sip of the “energy” coffee and blinked his eyes as they watered. His heart started dancing the Lindy Hop. “I don’t know, Jinks. Zelda has a mean right hook.”
Jinks looked at him askance.
“She accidentally knocked me over once when we were cleaning out the garage.”
“Accidentally?”
“I believed so then. In retrospect, it was a sign of things to come.”
Not that they’d come to blows during the final year of their marriage. More like cold, dying embers than a fiery battle. His long hours were a problem, but she kept saying it wasn’t him, it was her, she needed something different. Someone different. Someone who didn’t listen to rockabilly CDs or wear an old pair of plaid fleece sweatpants to bed. Someone who knew the difference between Vucana wool and cashmere. Or so he’d thought.
He didn’t have the energy or brain cells to waste obsessing about Zelda. It was possible the Revere bowl theft and the elder Forsythe’s murder weren’t connected. But if they were, it meant their little problem was escalating into something bigger and far more complicated. Forsythe’s folly had just morphed into a political fiasco.
§ § §
Adam called the Apple Valley Resort to see if Beverly Laborde was in, but the front desk said they’d seen her leave earlier that morning, and she hadn’t returned. On the plus side, she hadn’t checked out. On the negative side, he had no idea where to find her.
They say patience is a virtue, but Adam didn’t want to hang around the resort and wait for her return. He needed to be proactive, not wasting more precious minutes in nature hikes.
Jinks volunteered to work the databases, her nod to helping Adam with his case to please the chief. Adam called Harlan, but he said Beverly hadn’t turned up at Harlan’s antiques store, either. Nor had she been seen at the Amtrak station or turned in her rental car.
She might be out with her damned treasure map again or maybe something even worse. He tried not to imagine what the “worse” might be. She gave off an air of being clever and fearless, something that impressed him more than he cared to admit, but he didn’t want her ending up like Reginald Forsythe, III.
Before he could do anything, however, he had to call the repair shop to see if his car was ready. When he dropped it off on his way to work, they’d said it would only take a couple of hours. Sure enough, after getting a lift from the shop, he was happy to see the old girl ready.
Petey Peeler, the shop manager, told him the good news, “This thing is built like a tank, Adam. You should hold on to it,” right before he gave him the bad news, the bill. For the fifteen hundred dollars Adam would have to fork over, he’d be able to buy a tank. A used one, anyway.
Armed with a newly fixed car, a newly purchased cheesesteak, and a newly emailed address, thanks to Jinks, he was ready to tackle this whole Laborde affair head-on. He only wished he knew what Beverly was up to right now.
