Truly, Madly (17 page)

''You knew Rachel well, then?'' Sean said.

''I was like an auntie to her. Like I said, no blood, but love doesn't know the difference.''

Very true. ''We're sorry for your loss.''

She nodded.

''I don't really know where to begin,'' I said, twisting my hands. ''We, Sean and I, were the ones who found Rachel's body.''

Her paper-thin eyelids drifted closed. ''It's still hard to believe it's her. She's been gone for so long. It's both a blessing and a curse,'' she said softly. ''How did you find her?''

Slowly, I went through what had happened with Michael and the ring, leading us to the body. It was surreal to be talking about my abilities out in the open.

Marilyn tipped her head, the wrinkles stretching into smooth skin along her jaw. ''I mourned her, years ago. I knew she was gone. She was an independent one, but her grandmother meant the world to her. When she didn't come calling at Christmas, I checked her apartment and reported her missing. The police never wanted to believe something may have happened to her, but I was certain.''

''Why?''

She blinked twice. ''I found her locket on the floor of her apartment—the clasp had been broken, as if someone ripped it from her neck. Rachel never removed that locket. It was a gift from her parents the Christmas before they died. She never would have willingly left it behind.''

''Did the police find any signs of a struggle?'' Sean asked.

''No. There weren't any. Except the locket. There was no evidence she was gone, none at all. But I knew . . .'' she said, trailing off.

''How old was Rachel when her parents passed?'' I asked.

''Six. A car accident. From then on she was a changed girl. Sullen, sad. It was to be expected, the psychiatrists said. As she grew into a teen, she became more withdrawn.'' She shook her head. ''If not for her friends, I'm not sure what might have happened to her.''

''Elena?'' I asked.

''And Jennifer,'' she said.

Coincidence? ''Jennifer Thompson?''

''Yes. Three peas in a pod, all through middle school.''

I was suddenly reminded of my friendship with Marisol and Em.

''Unfortunately, the girls' friendship with Jennifer fell apart in high school.''

''Over Michael,'' Sean stated.

She smiled. ''So silly. Jennifer had what Elena wanted. Elena never got over the supposed betrayal. And held on to her fixation of Michael much too long in response. There's nothing worse than being jealous of your best friend, or wishing for something that you felt should have been yours. Rachel sided with Elena, mostly because she didn't want Elena to have no one.''

Marisol, Em, and I had never let a boy come between us. I can only imagine the ugliness that would have ensued if one had.

''Do you know what happened to Jennifer?'' I asked.

She shook her head. ''Last I heard of her was when she and Michael had broken up. Rachel was ashamed of her role in that and eventually confessed to Michael.''

''You knew about the huge fight between Elena and Rachel?'' Sean asked.

She nodded. ''Elena moved out of their apartment that same night.''

''How did Rachel take it?''

''Devastated.'' She smoothed an already straight skirt. ''I have to be honest. I wanted to like Elena. But she was . . . hard. Raised by a single alcoholic father. Dirt-poor. I never could trust her. Her eyes. So very disturbing. She was clearly damaged, if that makes sense. Rachel, being of a kind heart, latched onto her. Was certain Elena was good underneath the surface, even though she continually tested that faith.''

''How so?'' Sean asked.

''You name it. Stealing, fraud, assault, harassment. Poor Jenny Thompson took the brunt of it. Elena held a mean grudge.''

''Do you think Elena would hurt Rachel?'' I asked.

''I'd like to think Rachel meant too much to her. But I also feel that Elena would lash out if she was hurt. All this I told the detectives from the state police.''

Sean asked, ''Is she an official suspect?''

''I don't know. The only name I heard mentioned was Michael's.''

Raindrops skimmed my spine. ''Does Elena's father still live around here?''

''Her father passed away when she was just eighteen, a fire. She had no other family that I know of.''

''What did you do with Rachel's belongings?'' Sean asked.

''They're in storage.''

''Did the detectives confiscate anything?''

''They never asked about her belongings. They looked through her things after the initial missing persons investigation, but not recently.''

Sean said, ''Do you mind if we have a look?''

''Why?'' she asked.

I explained about my ring theory. ''Therefore, Michael can't be guilty. And if he's innocent . . .''

''Rachel's killer is still out there.''

I nodded. ''Yes. There might be something in her things that will point us in the right direction. Do you happen to know why Rachel would have his ring?''

She shook her head. ''I honestly don't know. Are you sure you don't want something hot to drink?''

We shook our heads.

''I'll get the storage key for you,'' Marilyn said. ''I don't know why I kept her things. I suppose a part of me always hoped I was wrong. That one day Rachel would come home.'' She grabbed a key ring from a kitchen drawer and handed it to Sean.

I clasped my hands. ''I can't thank you enough, Miss Flynn, for speaking with us. I feel . . . almost responsible for what happens.''

She moved quickly, giving me a hug. ''Thank you for all you've done. I can now put her to rest properly.''

''If we find anything,'' Sean said, holding open the door. The rain had stopped. ''We'll let you know.''

''Wait!'' she said, grabbing my hand.

Images flew through my head. I swayed, grabbing onto the doorjamb. Through the swirling haze, I heard:

''When you're going through Rachel's things, if you find a small jewel-encrusted trinket box, will you please bring it to me? I couldn't find it when I went through her things before. It's the one thing I've given her that I'd like to keep.''

The images took me along highways, down back roads, over railroad tracks, finally stopping on a small yellow house. On a nightstand next to a queen-sized bed sat a small jewel-encrusted trinket box.

''We will,'' Sean said.

I pulled my hand loose, holding it close to my chest. The images stopped.

''Ruth Ann helped me choose the box as a gift for Rachel's high school graduation. I know she treasured it. I would love to give it to Ruth Ann. Perhaps it will spark a memory or two. Are you all right, dear?'' Marilyn asked me. ''You've gotten pale.''

''Yes, I'm fine, thank you. We'll be in touch.''

As soon as we were out of earshot, Sean wrapped his arm around me. ''What happened back there?''

''I saw the box. And it wasn't in storage.''

TWENTY

''How could you see the box,'' Sean asked, ''when it belonged to Rachel?''

''It was a gift from Marilyn. Gifts are the only time I can get a reading from two people. It's how I saw the diamond ring.''

''But wasn't it Michael's ring?'' Sean said, starting the car.

I smiled. ''Said like a man. Engagement rings belong to the woman after they're given. They're considered a gift and don't have to be given back if the relationship fails. The man is out of luck, unless the woman takes pity and gives it back.''

Sean's face clouded. He zoomed out of the parking lot, heading south, toward the highway.

I realized what I'd said. Nothing like sticking my foot in my mouth. He had to be thinking about his own failed engagement. ''I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. . . .''

''You were just answering a question.''

''I know, but . . .'' I bit my lip. ''I, ah . . . Shit. I don't know what to say.''

He suddenly laughed.

''What's so funny?''

''You. You're adorable when you swear.''

Sean took the Route 3 north ramp onto the highway. We were on our way to see Melissa Antonelli. I was hoping I'd be able to tug at her heartstrings a bit.

''I'm glad you think so.''

''I moved out of my house,'' he said suddenly. ''I'll stay with Sam until I can find a place.''

''Are you okay?''

''I'll get through it.''

I couldn't help the happiness that swept over me, though I'd like to think I was a better person than that. After all, he was hurting.

But he was free. Available. I didn't have to feel guilty if I flirted with him.

As if the heavens were giving me their blessing, the clouds parted. Thin sunbeams streamed down from the gloomy skies, dappling the road with light. I fully expected to hear the ''Hallelujah Chorus'' any second now.

Though I didn't want to hear all the details, I figured I'd be a good friend and ask, ''Do you want to talk about it?''

''No.''

Thank goodness. But . . . ''What about Thoreau?''

Sean smiled as he merged onto Route 93, heading into the city. ''I have him.''

''Good.''

''Tell me about the box,'' Sean said, clearly wanting to change the subject. ''Where is it?''

''I think it's with Elena.''

''What?''

''It's in Rhode Island. Where's the file you have on her?''

''Backseat.''

I reached back and grabbed a stack of manila folders, rifling through them until I found one with Elena's name.

I closed my eyes, letting myself see the images again, slowing them down. I blinked. ''I didn't see a house number, but the street is the same. Pawtucket, Rhode Island.''

''It can't be a coincidence.''

''No,'' I said. ''Which leads to the question—why does Elena have Rachel's box?''

''If it was as sentimental to Rachel as Marilyn believes, then she never would have given it away.''

''I have a hard time believing that, too.''

''Maybe she stole it?'' Sean ventured. ''When she moved out?''

''Maybe.''

''Or maybe she wanted a keepsake after she killed Rachel, and took something she knew Rachel treasured because Rachel took something she treasured—her trust? Am I reaching because I'm desperate to find out who killed Rachel?''

''Maybe a little,'' Sean said. ''But it's good to talk things out.''

The city loomed ahead, tall buildings scraping the clouds. Rough harbor water tossed boats against their moorings near the Dorchester Yacht Club. ''If Elena was as mad as we've been hearing, she was plenty angry.''

''Enough to kill?''

''Maybe. People have killed for less.''

Traffic slowed to a near stop. We inched along.

He looked at me, his eyes searching. ''Could you?''

''What?''

''Kill someone in anger?''

''Until today, I would have said no, that there had to be something mentally off to kill. But since that article came out this morning, I've been fantasizing about that reporter having an unfortunate accident. Is that wrong?''

''I think we need to work on refocusing your fantasies.''

Heat shot through me like a bullet. My mouth went dry; my heart hummed with desire. ''What do you have in mind?''

Traffic lightened as we entered the tunnel. ''I think you've seen what I have in mind.''

If we'd been anywhere but the car, I probably would have thrown myself at him. As it was, I was grateful I couldn't.

Sean merged onto 1A, heading for Lynn. ''You're speechless. I see I've succeeded in refocusing your thoughts.''

''Preston who?'' I said, playing along.

''Exactly.''

He was single.

Officially.

It was a good day, all things considered.

Melissa Antonelli didn't live too far from her parents. We pulled to the curb in front of a lovely Cape Cod–style house with a brick walkway leading to the front door.

She opened the door before we even knocked. To my surprise, she said, ''You must be the PIs. Come on in.''

I didn't correct her. Sean was the PI. I was merely . . . what? A matchmaker on a quest?

I glanced back at Sean, who shrugged and nudged me toward the house.

Inside, the scent of a roast filled the air. My stomach rumbled. Two small boys chased each other up the stairs, nearly knocking us over.

''Hold on to the rail!'' Melissa yelled. Then sighed. ''They never listen. Come in, come in.''

''I'm Lucy,'' I said, holding out my hand to her. No images flashed.

''Sean,'' he said, shaking.

''You're here about Jenny.''

I nodded.

''My parents told me to be on the lookout for you. That you were looking for her and might stop by. They also told me not to talk to you, but I want to hear what you have to say. Sit, sit.''

Sean and I sat in matching club chairs. She sank into a floral couch. The room was tiny, with a huge TV taking up most of the space. Pictures cluttered the top of the TV set. A large Monet print hung above the sofa.

I stared at the photos on the TV. In one of them Melissa wore a wedding dress, and on one side of her stood her father and an older woman, and a young woman who looked a lot like Melissa stood on the other. Same long dark hair and dark eyes and tall, thin frame.

''Is that Jenny with you?'' I asked. ''On your wedding day?''

Melissa stood and went to the TV. She took down the frame, handed it to me. ''Seven years ago.''

Up close, I could see Jennifer's eyes were haunted. ''She's lovely.''

''Still is. Mom also said you were working for Michael. Is that true?'' From upstairs, a crash rang out. She tipped her head, listening. ''No crying. A good thing.''

''Michael is my client,'' I said, explaining how I worked for Valentine, Inc. ''When I interviewed him, one thing was clear. He's still very much in love with your sister. I offered to try and find her, see if she would speak to him.'' I told her what Michael had said about his night with Elena—how it had been a setup.

Melissa said, ''She's evil, that one.'' The two boys, about six and four, rushed back down the stairs.

''Let's go for a walk,'' she said, and shouted her plans toward the kitchen. ''He's watching football. Completely oblivious.''

The last of the leaves had been washed off the trees by the rain. They squished under our feet as we walked along, the muted oranges, reds, greens, and yellows blending together.

''Your parents are protecting Jennifer,'' Sean said. ''From Elena?''

''And Rachel Yurio. They put her through hell, those girls. And no matter how many times we went to the police, nothing could ever be proven.''

I walked in the middle, Melissa on my right, Sean on my left. ''What did they do?''

''Nasty phone calls, slashed her tires, followed her. Sent dirty e-mails to her professors posing as her. Jenny's cat disappeared and she found its bloody collar on the back step.''

I shuddered.

''Yeah,'' she said. ''Jenny loved Michael. With all her heart. But she couldn't take much more of the harassment. She felt like Elena would stop at nothing to get her out of the picture.''

''Including setting Michael up with those pictures,'' I said, wincing with each step I took.

''Those photos were the last straw. When Elena showed them to Jenny, she added a threat. That if she didn't break it off with Michael, then Jenny might disappear just like her cat.''

Sean must have sensed I was in pain, because he slowed his pace. Melissa was forced to fall back or walk way ahead of us. ''And she didn't go to the police?''

We'd made it to the end of the street. Melissa turned to head back. ''No. By that point she thought Michael had cheated on her. She just wanted to get on with her life. Even after she broke up with him, Elena would pop up here and there to taunt her. She's sick. After Jenny graduated, she decided to move west. And my family became very overprotective.''

''Understandable,'' Sean said.

''I'm not sure if you're aware,'' I began, ''but Rachel Yurio is dead. And has been for over five years. Murdered.''

Shock widened her eyes. ''I didn't know. Did the police catch who did it? Was it Elena?''

I was beginning to suspect it was. ''By all appearances Elena has turned her life around. She's a social worker in Rhode Island. Has a husband and a couple of kids.''

Melissa shook her head. ''Those poor kids.''

''Michael is under suspicion for Rachel's death.''

She stopped suddenly. ''Michael? Why?''

I swallowed hard. ''It's complicated. Can I ask you something?''

''Sure.''

''Do you know what Jennifer did with her engagement ring?''

''She mailed it back to Michael. FedEx, I think. Why?''

A gust of wind sent leaves scrambling down the street. ''Rachel was wearing it when she died.''

''You didn't have to see me in,'' I said, passing Sean as he held my front door open.

I'd given Melissa Antonelli my cell phone number and asked her to pass my information along to Jennifer. Whether she would call me was anyone's guess. The more I heard about Elena Hart, the more I suspected she'd killed Rachel. I was exhausted, so Sean and I both agreed to put off seeing Elena until the next day.

''Do you want me to look at your feet? I do have paramedic training.''

''I'm okay. Em doctored them this morning. The antibiotics will kick in soon enough.''

''You sure?''

''Do you have a foot fetish?''

He laughed.

''Coffee?'' I asked, not wanting him to leave just yet.

''Sure.''

Grendel came streaking out of the bedroom, twisting himself around my feet until I picked him up. He pawed my face while I murmured sweet nothings to him, trying to soothe his injured feline feelings.

''He hates when I leave him,'' I explained.

Sean smirked.

''What?''

''Nothing. Nothing at all.''

I passed Grendel to Sean so I could make the coffee. Weak sunlight filtered through the living room windows. Outside, the ocean rose and fell with the steady rhythm of a sleeping chest.

''How long do you think the media will stay?'' Sean asked.

''Hopefully they'll go soon.'' I'd refused to shield my face from the flashbulbs and was still seeing spots because of it. ''But I have the sinking feeling they won't leave until I talk to them.''

''Are you going to?''

''I don't know.''

I'd like to get my parents' opinions on the matter, but they had yet to call.

I ground some coffee beans, watching Sean play with Grendel, who was lapping up the attention. We'd set our plans for the next day—early on we were going to head to Marilyn's storage unit and look through Rachel's belongings; with any luck we'd find a clue as to who killed her. After that, we were going to head to Elena's house in Pawtucket. I was curious to see what she had to say about the trinket box and about Rachel's death in general.

''This is a really nice place you have,'' Sean said, taking a look around.

''I love it here. My grandfather bought the estate for Dovie when they were first married. Dovie renovated about a decade ago, bringing back the original beauty of the place.''

''It's like something off of a postcard.''

I glanced at Dovie's enormous house on the bluff. Lights blazed from the downstairs windows. ''The main house is too much house for one woman, but she adores it too much to ever downsize.'' She'd grown up in a New York tenement, one of three kids who owned nothing but their names. She hadn't had an easy childhood, and I think the house represented security to her, more than anything sentimental. Even though my Grandpa Henry had given her the place as a wedding gift, the marriage was crumbling before the honeymoon was over.

''And she has me down here to keep her company. Which is one of the reasons rent is so cheap.''

''Rent?'' he asked, surprised.

The scent of freshly ground coffee beans filled the kitchen. ''About ten years ago, I renounced my trust fund, wanting to prove that I could make it on my own. I put myself through college, bought my own car, and pay my own bills.''

''Why?'' he asked, stroking Grendel's fur.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the room grew darker. Intimate. I tried not to think about him and me, me and him, all alone in my house. It was a hard thought to banish. I retrieved two mugs. ''At the time I was feeling guilty that I couldn't—''

I was about to say ''read auras.'' I'd gotten so comfortable sharing myself with Sean that I'd forgotten he didn't know the Valentine secret. I needed to be more careful.

''Couldn't what?''

I thought fast. '' ‘Couldn't' is the wrong word. Didn't want to go into the family business. I figured I didn't deserve the money and should make my own.''

''Noble. But crazy.''

I laughed. ''Trust me, I've kicked myself a thousand times since. But I like my life—for the most part. I like taking care of myself. I'm not going to lie—it helps that I know the money is still there, waiting for me.''

''Will you ever take it?''

I shrugged. ''Who knows?''

He set Grendel down as I turned on the coffeepot. I watched Sean wander through my living room, looking at the pictures on the mantel—of me, my parents, Raphael, Dovie, Em, Marisol, and Grendel. My family.