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Thanks to Jinks and their combined research—starting with antiques stores shut down seven years ago due to “code violations”—Adam had a pretty good idea where Miss Beverly Laborde’s grandmother used to have her store. If he was right, her name wasn’t Laborde, but Gras.
Ordinarily, the drive to Lakeford would be relaxing. A chance to get away from office stress, especially when the leaves were exploding with color like a fireworks chain reaction from one tree to the next.
Adam usually liked the smells of fall, too, the tobacco-like odor of brown leaves, the straggler apples on the ground fermenting their version of cider. Today, it all smelled like death.
Now the chief wanted him to stay away from Zelda and stick close to Beverly? Like the chief was some sort of dating advisor, if it weren’t for the gravity of the situation. Zelda and Beverly, both potential mankillers in their own way.
Thanks to Beverly, Adam was doing more research on the Natick Indians, who viewed women as equals. Caregivers, yes, but adept at making weapons and assisting in warfare when required. Sometimes Adam felt the relationships between the sexes were a series of war games.
Adam pulled up in front of the address from the file he’d made, but a hardware store now stood on the site where Beverly’s grandmother’s antiques store once had. He tucked a small notepad into his pocket and strolled into the store. After locating a clerk, he asked for the manager and was pointed toward a man who looked to be in his 80s even though he was lifting boxes onto a shelf unaided.
Adam pulled out his badge and introduced himself. “You’re the manager?”
“Manager and owner. Name’s Strickland. One of my employees in some trouble? Jimmy Grayson is a handful, but he’s a hard-working kid.”
“Actually, I hoped you could tell me about the woman who ran the antiques store here. Her name was Guinevere Glas, I believe.”
“Guinevere’s misfortune was my gain in a way. But I hated to see her close up shop. She had an eye for antiques and was as honest as a cliché.” At Adam’s puzzled look, the man added, “You know, as the day is long.”
“She had a granddaughter. A girl named Beverly.”
“Beverly Glas. Yes, I remember her, a pretty young thing. But I think she goes by another name now. My grandson went to school with her. A bit of a loner, that Beverly. Had one friend, as I recall. Kora Waide.”
“Were there any hints of crime or scandal with Beverly or her grandmother?”
“Not scandal per se, no. Tragic loss of the girl’s parents in an accident. Drunk driver. I believe he only got a three-year sentence.” Strickland picked up another box and nodded toward the front of the store. Adam took the hint and followed him.
“What about Beverly’s grandfather? What was he like?”
“That man,” Strickland dropped the package behind the counter with a thud, “Was a monster. Still is. She never shoulda married him. But divorcing him wasn’t a picnic either. She got custody of the daughter, he the son. I don’t think the pair of them, father nor son, saw or spoke with Guinevere or Beverly again. But rumor has it they had a hand in shutting down Mrs. Gras’s business.”
A ripple of excitement pulsed through Adam’s veins, but it was accompanied by a side order of an acidic taste in his mouth. He knew where this was headed, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Not at all. “The grandfather’s name wouldn’t be Forsythe, would it?”
“That’s the one. Guinevere took her maiden name back, and I guess young Beverly decided to change the whole of it, even her birth name of Zayette, her Dad’s name.”
Adam pulled out his notebook to jot down a few notes but was stopped by Strickland tapping on his arm. “And talk of the devil, there she is.”
Adam’s jerked his head up, expecting to see Beverly. But it was another woman, about Beverly’s age and height. The store manager added, “That’s Kora Waide. Beverly’s friend when they were kids. Except she’s Kora Gilmore now.”
Kora Gilmore was not only the same age and height as Beverly, but if you squinted, her profile wasn’t too much different from Beverly’s. Had they remained close? Adam got another unpleasant idea. Beverly said her alibi the night of the Forsythe bowl switcheroo was a theater play she attended, even showing Adam the ticket. But could she have sent Kora in her stead?
Adam hurriedly thanked Strickland and headed out to catch up with Kora, whose dimpled cheeks and laugh lines around her eyes didn’t change one whit when he pulled out his ID. Chalk up one for her not having anything to hide.
As Adam got a closer look at Kora, he could tell the differences between her and Beverly. They had the same basic shape and height. But whereas Beverly’s blue eyes always had a haunted look to them, Kora’s were bright and clear. Too bright and clear. And green. Probably contact lenses. Kora was pleasant-looking, but compared to Beverly, it was no contest.
He asked her, “I hate to bother you, Mrs. Gilmore, but Mr. Strickland over there said you were friends with Beverly Glas?”
“We were blood sisters.” She laughed at his reaction, adding, “You know how kids are. We pricked the tips of our fingers with a pin and pressed mine to hers. Feels like a lifetime ago.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“At my sister’s wedding.”
“And that was . . . ?”
“Five years plus change. I’ve been thinking of her lately, so it’s funny you should ask about her now. I mean, out of the blue, I get a letter from her with a ticket to the Chevron Playhouse production of The Fantasticks. She said she couldn’t go, and she knew I loved theater, so she hoped I could take her place.”
“And you haven’t heard from her since?”
“No, but thanks for the reminder. I really need to give her a call. Do you have her number? She didn’t list any. Or an address.”
“I might be able to get that for you,” Adam hemmed. He didn’t want Beverly to know he’d tracked Kora down. “Is there somewhere I could reach you?”
Kora pulled her wallet out and handed over a business card for an accounting firm. She tapped it with her finger. “I’m there most days. Weekends, sometimes.”
Kora hesitated a moment. “Beverly’s not in any trouble, is she?”
Adam lied, “No, it’s just related to a case I’m working on. Thanks very much for speaking with me. And I appreciate your help.”
He watched her drive away, then leaned on his car window, thinking. It wasn’t damning evidence, but it made Beverly look more like she’d been setting up an alibi. He was finding it harder to wrap his head around the fact that Beverly Laborde was the granddaughter of Reginald Forsythe, III. The late, murdered Reginald Forsythe, III. Which made Reggie Forsythe her estranged uncle.
If Reggie never had any further contact with her or her grandmother, he wouldn’t have recognized his now-grown-up niece if she came to his house—posing as a Revere silver collector with a piece to sell. Doubly so if she was in disguise as the man himself had suspected.
Maybe Adam was right when he told Beverly that Reggie’s forcing her grandmother out of business was a strong motive for Beverly being the con woman. Her way of getting back at him. But if true, how deep did her hatred lie? And how far would she go to get back at both Forsythes? Murder, perhaps?
His next thought plunged him in the middle of a dilemma. Did she know how dangerous this man was? If Adam went back to the chief with this intel, Beverly would be hauled in as a person of interest and thrown into jail as the primary suspect if Reggie Forsythe had his way. And if he found out she was his niece . . . He and his father had shown their true colors when they ruined Beverly’s grandmother’s antiques business.
Adam decided to drive by Forsythe’s office to take a quick look. It was in a one-story building that took up a city block with a parking lot in back. The man had said he was on a conference call while the murder was taking place, but it wouldn’t be hard to slip in and out of a window. Especially if the man lied and if his attorney and possibly his secretary were in on the charade.
Plenty of “if’s” there. Yet, plenty of “real” proof for a mystery-woman intruder on the security footage. And he had a pretty good feeling who a judge and jury would likely believe.
What he needed was a man-to-man with Beverly’s uncle. Adam climbed into the car and headed toward another address in his folder. Hopefully, the guy would call off his attack dogs long enough for Adam to have a little “friendly” chat.
