Blood Rubies (15 page)

“You weren't prepared to be a widow any more than Heather was prepared to lose her fiancé.”

“That's right.” She waved it away. “It's amazing what you can deal with if you have to. Women have great coping skills. More than men, I think.”

“My dad was widowed in his forties. He did all right.”

She held up her hand, signaling a mea culpa. “I withdraw my chauvinistic comment. Most people have great coping skills.”

“Some do. Some don't. I suspect the ability to cope is very individual.” I smiled again. “It seems to me that you're not giving yourself enough credit.”

“That's kind of you to say.”

A rat-a-tat-tat, shave-and-a-haircut knock sounded on the door, and she whip-turned, startled.

“My nerves are shot, still, after a year.” She exhaled, smiled, and stood up. “I'm sure it's the coffee.”

“Quick service,” I said, just for something to say.

Allison let the room service waiter in. He placed a brown plastic tray on the table, had her sign the check, and left.

“Have you known Ana for a long time?” I asked, watching her pour the coffee.

“Oh, my, yes! Since she was a little girl.”

The basket of rolls was covered with a cloth napkin. After she passed me a cup, she opened it. There were two croissants, two blueberry muffins, a huge cinnamon bun, and a cherry Danish. A tub of butter and one of strawberry jam were tucked in the middle.

She pointed to it. “Have one … or cut off a piece if you'd prefer.” She paused for a moment. “Our families had summer houses on the same street on Strawberry Hill. The girls were inseparable, as if they were twins. They were the same age, and they shared interests. They both swam like fish, loved clamming, and would talk and talk and talk about I don't know what for hours on end. They were both readers, too. Such special girls, both of them. I think they were shocked to learn they weren't actually related.”

I smiled. “Isn't it wonderful that they're still close. It doesn't always work out that way.”

“I agree. Our families, too, are still friends,” she said, taking a blueberry muffin from the basket and cutting it in quarters, “although we're not as close as we were when Maria was alive—that's Ana's mom.” She ate one of the muffin bits. “Ana went through some rocky patches, of course. Nothing is all smooth sailing.”

I tilted my head and opened my eyes a little wider, silently asking for details.

She laughed, a little embarrassed, and sipped her coffee. “I don't think I'm telling tales out of school if I tell you that Stefan can be a bit domineering. Maria mellowed him, and when she died … let's just say, I was thinking of Stefan when I said men didn't cope as well as women. After Maria's death, Stefan changed. He became snappish and quite controlling. He positively bullied Ana into going for her MBA. He wouldn't hear about culinary school, he just wouldn't listen, and she hadn't found her own strength yet.”

“I didn't know. I thought she did go to culinary school.”

“She did. But only after she finished business school and had a few years' experience under her belt.” She laughed a little. “It sounds absurd, doesn't it? What a mean dad, encouraging his daughter to get an MBA. Especially now that she's running her own business. I suspect she's glad she has some business expertise in her pocket.”

“Maybe, but a bully is a bully.”

Allison sighed. “I know. I wondered if I should have tried to help her, to reason with Stefan on her behalf, maybe.” She shrugged. “Shoulda, woulda, coulda.”

“What happened that made Ana decide to go back to culinary school, do you know?”

“Not really. She was working for some company in upstate New York. She had a very good job in marketing. She liked the owner very much, but I don't think she liked the work. She got some unexpected money, a bonus, I think—enough to pay for culinary school. I don't recall exactly. I'm just glad she finally went for it.”

“Did Stefan push Peter to be an engineer, or was that Peter's choice?”

“There was some arm-twisting. Peter wanted to be a photographer.” She paused to eat another piece of muffin. “I hear Peter is very happy in his career.”

I shook my head. “I'm so surprised to hear this. Never in a million years would I have pegged Stefan as a bully. I only met him briefly, but he seemed so kind and caring.”

“You're right … he is. During the last several months, he's changed back into sweet Stefan.” She laughed again, this one rueful. “It gives me hope that in a few years I, too, will regain my balance.” She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, they were moist. “I loved my husband very much.”

I thought of the grief I'd endured. “I don't know that you ever get over a loss, not really. It changes you.”

“I appreciate your saying that. Most people talk in platitudes.”

“They don't know what to say, so they fall back on clichés.”

She sighed and inhaled deeply. She used a napkin to pat the corners of her eyes. “I hate that I get emotional. I hate it. Enough of that. Tell me about yourself. Are you a native of Rocky Point?”

“No. I grew up in Wenton, outside of Boston, then lived in New York City for almost ten years after college. When I decided to open my own antiques appraisal and auction house, I knew I wanted to stay on the East Coast and that I needed to be near a major airport and highways. Rocky Point has a lot of charm, so that was a plus. When I saw the abandoned factory building—I don't know if you know Prescott's, or if you remember the place before I bought it. It used to house a canvas goods manufacturer. Well, it was the building itself that sealed the deal. It was perfect for the business model I had in mind, with room for high-end auctions on one side and a big tag sale venue on the other and storage galore in the middle. It was near the interstate and priced to sell. I bought the place the first day I saw it.”

“And a great tradition was born.”

“Thank you.” I stood up. “Thanks for the coffee, too. I need to go, but would you tell Heather I stopped by and pass along my sympathy?”

“Of course.” She walked me to the door. “Life keeps on coming at us, right?”

“It does. It surely does.”

I walked back toward the elevator and paused again in front of the big window. Wispy gray clouds hung low in a Delft blue sky. Traffic was steady along the interstate. A maintenance man in a navy blue jumpsuit was on his knees inside the pool work area looking at something on the ground.

Life does indeed keep coming at us.

*   *   *

I called Wes from the parking lot.

I repeated Allison's comments about the Yartsin family, then said, “There's nothing there, Wes. Just normal family angst and typical twists and turns … you know, life.”

“Did you get a photo of her?”

“God, Wes! Of course not.” I shook my head, constantly amazed at his seemingly unlimited chutzpah. “Did you hear anything about the soil from Ana's house or her key?”

“Yeah … nothing. No usable prints. No sign of nondirt material in the soil. No footprints. Nothing.”

“How about Jason's finances? Any news there?”

“Not yet. I'm still working on it. It's complicated because he set up several trusts and seems to have offshore accounts.”

“Shielding his assets from the IRS, probably.”

“Jeesh! What a joker.”

“How about alibis for the afternoon Jason was killed?”

“The police haven't finished, but here's what I have so far.” I heard rustling and could picture him flipping through his notebook. “From two thirty on, Ana was at the Blue Dolphin having coffee with Chef Ray in the lounge, then consulting with him in the kitchen. Maurice arrived around four forty-five, saw Ana in his kitchen, and went ballistic. Maurice called her a publicity whore, an inexperienced baker of gimmicks with no soul or heart. Is that a great quote, or what?”

“What a nightmare. Then what happened?”

“Ana turned her back to Maurice and continued her conversation with Ray in a normal voice, as if he wasn't there, shunning him, and Maurice stormed out. Ray rushed after him, leaving Ana in the middle of the kitchen. Impatient with Ray's apparent sanctioning of Maurice's high-maintenance behavior and mindful of her five-thirty appointment with you, she left. She stopped at a grocery store to pick up some tulips, arriving home a few minutes early. They have her on security cameras both at the restaurant and the florist, so her story checks out. She could have got home a few minutes ahead of when she said, though. Early enough to kill Jason.”

“I got to Ana's house at the same time as she did, which shows she's out of it.”

Wes chuckled. “Oh, paleeeze. She could have bashed Jason's head in, then driven around the block, timing her arrival to match yours.”

“We know there were no neighbors around to notice her—but she couldn't have known that.”

“If the police ever asked her about it, all she'd have to say is that since she was a few minutes early, she drove around looking for landscaping ideas.”

“You're right. Oh, God, Wes. It's so horrible to think about!” I sighed. “At some point, she and Ray made up. I just saw them, and they were very sweet together, all lovey-dovey. He seemed especially solicitous.”

“My police source says that Ray called her around five twenty that day, after he finished hunting for Maurice. He apologized and promised it would never happen again.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing until later. His call went to voice mail. She kept the message, so the police were able to verify it.”

“What happened with Maurice?”

“Chef Ray says that he searched for Maurice everywhere he could think of, from a nearby bar that Maurice frequented to the central garage where he parked his car, without luck. Maurice's car was there, but he wasn't. After about half an hour, he returned to the Blue Dolphin to find Ana gone. It turns out that when Maurice left, he went straight to the beach, about a ten-minute walk, and sat on a dune watching the ocean. It calms him, he said. He saw no one, and evidently no one saw him. At least no one has come forward saying they did.”

“Maurice would have had plenty of time to get to Ana's house.”

“Why would he?”

“To have it out with her once and for all.”

“As far as he knew, she was at the Blue Dolphin.”

“Right, right. Oh, my … do you think he could have gone to her house not to confront her, but to do something to hurt her, to burn down the kitchen she built in her garage or something?”

“I can see that. He goes to Ana's place to do some damage. Jason was there to drop off the check. One thing led to another. They struggled. Jason died.”

“I can't fathom it.” I swallowed fear mixed with horror. “What about Peter?”

“He doesn't have an alibi. He says he was in his hotel's gym, working out, that he used the weights, then was in the steam room. The keycard records verify that he entered the gym at two forty-five, but there's no way to tell when he left. There is no attendant on duty, and none of the other guests using the facility reported noticing him come or go. The hotel is only a fifteen-minute drive from Ana's cottage.”

“Security cameras?”

“Easy to avoid, if you want to.”

“What was he doing at the gym?” I asked. “You told me Peter goes in the morning.”

“Just because he goes in the morning doesn't mean he couldn't go again in the afternoon. If he was creating an alibi for himself, he could have left one minute after he got there anyway.”

“True.”

“Stefan was at the Rocky Point library, reading investment reports and so on. One of the day librarians remembers seeing him there as she was finishing up around five. The evening librarian didn't notice him. The library is twenty minutes from Ana's place. Heather was alone, walking along the beach near Ana's cottage. She said she was taking a break from the commotion, just spending a little ‘me-time.'” Wes laughed, a tinny sound. “Have you ever noticed that girls seem to need a lot more me-time than guys? Why is that?”

“I don't know,” I said, thinking it was true. Women succored themselves; men sucked it up.

“I was thinking of getting Maggie a gift card to Lavinia's Day Spa for her birthday. What do you think?”

“I think she'll love it.”

“Thanks. So anyway, the police haven't found anyone who noticed Heather on the beach.”

“Too bad she and Maurice went to different sections of the beach.” Call waiting buzzed, and I asked Wes to hold on. It was Cara telling me that Ana had stopped by, hoping I might have time to talk. The dash clock read 10:40. I told Cara to let Ana know I would be back in ten minutes. I clicked back to Wes and asked if he had anything else, and when he said no, I thanked him for the info, said I had to go, and hung up.

*   *   *

Ana was standing by the front window staring at nothing. Ray stood close to her. She looked upset. Ray kept glancing at her as if he weren't sure what to do to help.

“I'm sorry to keep you waiting,” I said.

“I should have called ahead,” Ana said, stepping forward slowly, as if it took real effort to move. “Any chance we can talk for a few minutes?”

“Sure,” I said. Something in Ana's tone, a tightness, a clipped quality, told me all was not well. “We can go to my office.”

Hank meowed loudly as soon as we entered the warehouse, welcoming me back while also complaining about how long I'd been gone.

“Hi, Hank. Have you been a good boy?”

He scampered around my feet, wanting a cuddle.

“Sorry, Hank. Not now, baby.”

He ignored me and climbed the spiral steps alongside me, meowing the entire way.

Ray and Ana sat close to one another on the love seat. I sat on the wing chair. Hank jumped into my lap and starting purring, a husky manly purr. I rubbed under his chin, and he circled around, getting himself situated just as he liked.