Where Truth Lies (5 page)
“S
arah, please.” Grace switched her cell phone to her left ear as she stopped at a traffic light. “There is no need for you to come to New Hope. The gallery is fine. I’d like to tell you that nothing was taken, but the truth is, I haven’t had a chance to check the inventory yet. As soon as I do—”
“For heaven’s sake, Grace, I’m not worried about the inventory. Chief Nader told me you had a concussion. That’s why I called. I’m concerned about
you.
”
Was she? Really? “The doctor gave me a clean bill of health before I left the hospital.” The light turned green. “I’ve got to go, Sarah. I hate to talk on the phone while I drive. Is it okay if we talk later?”
“Call me anytime.”
After saying goodbye, Grace snapped her phone shut and dropped it on the seat next to her. Sarah had mellowed over the years, or maybe it was Steven’s death that had changed her. Grief had a way of doing that to people. Grace made a mental note to call her tonight, not because she had a sudden yearning to talk to the woman, but because she felt sorry for her. For all her money, her busy social life and a houseful of servants, Sarah was a very lonely woman.
Grace left the town behind and followed North River Road, a narrow, winding thoroughfare that led deeper into the heart of Bucks County. As the morning mist lifted, making way for bright sunshine, she understood why Steven, who had an eye for beauty, had chosen this part of Pennsylvania as his new home. And why local artists never tired of painting those magnificent landscapes.
Grace raised her visor so she could feast on the scenery. Ancient oaks and red maples bordered the road, forming a brilliant canopy of yellow, orange and russet. Tucked behind those majestic trees, centuries-old homes overlooked the Delaware River, one of the most historic waterways in the nation. It was difficult to look at this setting and not recall how history was made, right here in Bucks County.
Steven’s cottage, although small, took her breath away. Half-timbered and Northern European in style, it was barely fifteen feet wide, with wood beams on the exterior walls and cedar shingles on the roof. The windows, all leaded glass, were small, but in perfect balance with the rest of the house.
Grace pulled her car onto the graveled driveway, half of which was covered with dry leaves, and went to unlock the door. She found herself in an attractive living room with comfortable sofas and chairs in a plain navy fabric, and plush wall-to-wall carpeting in a neutral shade. A corner of the room had been made into a dining area, with a round maple table and four chairs. The high ceilings and natural flow from one room to the next made the cottage seem bigger than it was. A flight of stairs in the middle of the living room led to a second floor.
She put her suitcase down and took time to look at the mementos Steven had accumulated over the years—an antique peg hook where he had hung art work, a whimsical white gourd lamp and a garden urn that served as a side table. Family photographs were everywhere; some she had seen before, others she didn’t know. On the mantel, above the stone fireplace, was one photograph she knew very well. It had been taken in Santa Barbara, where she and Steven had attended an art festival a few months before their breakup.
The snapshot brought back vivid memories of their two years as a couple, the plans they had made to someday own an art gallery together and the young artists they hoped to discover, all in spite of Sarah’s strong objections.
As the wedding date drew near, however, Grace began to fear that as much as she tried to ignore her future mother-in-law’s criticism, the strain of that relationship would eventually affect her and Steven’s marriage.
“That’s what we call getting cold feet,” her father had cautioned. “If you’re not ready to get married, don’t do it.”
Maybe that’s why Steven’s betrayal hadn’t hurt her as deeply as she had expected. Although wounded at first, after a few days, she was able to look at the breakup as a blessing rather than a tragedy. A few months later, when Steven had called to ask if she could take a look at a sculpture he was thinking of buying, she had surprised herself by saying yes.
She was glad that he had fulfilled his dreams, Grace thought as she kept gazing at the photograph, and saddened that he had enjoyed his success for such a short time. She wasn’t sure why he had kept this snapshot, though. Sentimentality? A memento of what could have been?
After putting the snapshot back, she picked up her suitcase and carried it upstairs. The single bedroom was large and mostly white, with a four-poster brass bed and an adjoining bathroom in the same color scheme. The look was clean and uncluttered without being harsh.
Steven’s clothes hung neatly on the rack in the walk-in closet. There were shirts from Savile Row, cashmere jackets, custom-made suits and designer ties. Shoes and boots in various styles and colors were on an upper shelf.
Glad that she hadn’t packed much, she hung her clothes in the facing rack. Then, remembering that she had a date with Denise Baxter, she stripped and went into the bathroom to shower.
“Believe it or not,” Denise said, taking her role of tour guide seriously. “New Hope started as an industrial town, with mills that were busy manufacturing paper, quarrying stone and grinding grain.”
She unwrapped a sandwich and gave half to Grace. “But even in those early days,” she continued, “the beauty of Bucks County did not go unnoticed. Soon artists began settling along the Delaware River and New Hope became an artists’ colony.”
“I can see why,” Grace said. “The scenery from North River Road is nothing short of spectacular.”
“And it only gets better.”
As she ate her tuna salad on rye, Grace took in the many shops along Main Street, all filled with an assortment of merchandise—candy, antiques, rare books, gourmet food, garden decorations. Business owners had welcomed fall with planters of colorful mums outside their doors and huge corn stalks wrapped around the telephone poles.
“Some of the architecture is beautiful,” she remarked. “Do any of those buildings come with a pedigree?”
“Lots of them. For example, the Logan Inn we passed a moment ago is on the National Register of Historic Places. In fact, New Hope itself is registered as a National Historic Site. That big stone house over there—” she pointed “—is the Parry Mansion, and was once the home of Benjamin Parry, a wealthy mill owner.”
“I’ve already counted five art galleries. Wasn’t Steven worried about the competition?”
“All the time. The one that concerned him most, though, was the Haas-Muth Gallery, just up the street from the Hatfield Gallery. The owner is an artist, but he doesn’t just display paintings. He also sells Oriental rugs, which brings a lot of traffic. Steven was thinking of doing something similar, not with rugs, but maybe with antique clocks.” Her voice turned a little somber. “He never had the chance.”
“Who is that?” Grace asked, nodding in the direction of a twin-spiraled church.
“Father Donnelly. He’s our pastor. He first came here as a young priest many years ago, but the church likes to move their people around and he was sent to another parish. Now he’s back.”
She smiled at the handsome, fortysomething man watching them approach. He wore black pants and a black jacket with a white collar peeking through. “Hello, Father. Were your ears ringing? I was talking about you.”
“I’m flattered.” He rested his gaze on Grace. “You must be Miss McKenzie.”
She extended her hand. “I’m glad to meet you, Father.”
“Welcome to New Hope. I hope you’re recovered from that unfortunate incident last night.”
“Completely, thank you.”
“In that case, you might find time to attend Sunday mass?” His eyes shone with youthful mischief as he talked.
Grace wasn’t much of a churchgoer, but how could she refuse such a gracious request? “I’ll make a point to do that,” she promised.
“You’re incorrigible, Father,” Denise said. “Always trying to garner more parishioners.”
“That’s my job, Denise, as well as my pleasure. Now if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I have to make my hospital rounds. You both have a good day.”
“There goes a good man,” Denise said as the pastor walked away. “He’s been a huge comfort to me. He never preaches, never criticizes and he never pushes you to say anything you don’t want to say. He sits with me and we just talk. He gives me the strength I need to face the day.” She took a bite of her sandwich. “This morning I asked him to look at some earrings I made and give me his opinion.”
“Did he try them on, too?”
Denise laughed. “No, silly, but he would have if I had asked him to. That’s how he is. And speaking of earrings, here’s my shop.”
They had stopped in front of a store named, appropriately, Baubles. Denise unlocked the front door and Grace found herself in a bright, colorful store that was a perfect reflection of its owner. Two glass cases held an assortment of beaded necklaces, rings, bracelets and earrings of every shape and color. On the counters, yards of silver and gold chains hung on small racks, competing for space.
Grace walked around, admiring Denise’s work. “You’re very talented,” she said as she picked up a necklace with a small citrine pear hanging from it. “And very versatile. There’s something for every taste.”
“Thank you. I love my work. It keeps me busy, especially now that Fred is…away.”
Grace kept moving along the cases, studying the delicate workmanship. “How did you learn to do all this?”
“A friend of mine used to own this store. She gave me a job as a salesgirl the day I graduated from high school. I learned a lot from her over the years, not to mention that we got along like two sisters. That’s why I continued to work after I married Fred, for the love of it. Then one day, Alice announced that she was selling the store and moving to upstate New York. She was hoping I’d make her an offer, but I wasn’t about to ask Fred for that kind of money. A week later, Fred handed me the keys and told me the store was mine. I thought I would faint.”
“Seems to me like he made a sound investment.”
“Go ahead.” Denise came to stand behind her. “Pick something. As my welcome gift to you.”
“That’s very kind of you, Denise, but I can’t accept.”
“I insist.” She took the citrine necklace out of the case and held it against Grace’s neck. “This would go well with your hazel eyes. Unless you’d prefer something else. The coral bracelet maybe? I saw you looking at it.”
It was impossible to say no to this woman once she had made up her mind. “Are you in the habit of giving away merchandise, instead of selling it?”
“No, just you, because I like you. So?” She held the necklace in one hand and the bracelet in the other, moving them up and down. “What will it be?”
“The necklace. And thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome.” Denise walked back behind the case and started wrapping the necklace in white tissue. “You can wear it tonight.”
“I’m not going anywhere special, but I’ll still wear it.”
“You have somewhere to go now. Lucy is dying to meet you, so I thought I’d make us a nice home-cooked dinner. Do you like Italian food?”
Grace laughed. “Are you kidding? That’s my favorite kind.”
“Then you’re in luck, because I make the best lasagna this side of Napoli.” She fitted the narrow box with a lid and handed it to Grace with a flourish. “Seven o’clock. Our house is on Bridge Street, a couple of blocks from the gallery. You can’t miss it. It’s the blue Colonial with the American flag out on the front yard. Come hungry.”
D
uke Ridgeway had to be close to eighty by now, but the years didn’t seem to have slowed him one bit. After Pat’s Pub, New Hope Hardware was the busiest place in town, and Duke, who had owned the store for the last forty years, ran it like a finely tuned machine. Born and raised in Bucks County, he was a respected businessman and a fair and incorruptible member of the planning board.
“Well, if it isn’t little Matty,” he said, adopting the nickname only Matt’s father and his sister used from time to time. He made change for a customer, thanked him and closed the cash register. “How are you, my boy?”
“Not too bad. What about you, Duke?”
“Ah.” He made a disgusted gesture. “The old leg is starting to let me down.” He scratched his head, pretending to be puzzled. “You don’t suppose I’m getting old, do you?”
“You? Never. Besides, age is only a piece of paper.”
Duke laughed. “I’ll remember that. How’s your pop holding up?”
“Pretty good, considering.”
“You’ve got to get him out of that cage, Matty. It ain’t fair him being there.”
“I’m trying, Duke. In fact, that’s why I’m here. I was hoping you could help me with something.”
“I’ll do what I can, you know that, but if there was a way for me to clear your daddy, I’d have done so by now.”
“I know that, but something came up during a conversation with my father that still puzzles me. I’d have asked Buzz, but I understand that he won’t be back until the end of the week.”
Duke nodded. “He’s thinking of moving to the midwest.” He slid a cardboard ad for latex paint to the end of the counter. “So what brings you by, son?”
“You remember that application for the development of Buzz’s farm?”
“You bet I do. Kept us in session for months.”
“Do you have any idea why Steven opposed it so much?”
“Mostly because of the increase in taxes New Hope would have to shoulder. Now mind you, the developer presented a good case. He explained how self-sufficient that community was going to be, the economic growth for local businesses, a regulated traffic pattern and a homeowner association that would pay for many of the services the residents would need.”
“That didn’t satisfy Steven?”
“It wasn’t just Steven. A couple of other members agreed with him. When the developer failed to explain how he could keep the children from playing in the detention basins, Steven started getting a lot of support. Soon the entire town was determined to keep the developers away. From the way everyone was talking, you’d have thought there was gold buried in those woods.”
“Was the vote unanimous?”
“Not quite. I voted yes and so did Mel Frisk.”
“Was there any bad blood between Steven and Buzz? Or Steven and the developer?”
“Nobody knew the developer until he came to town, and as far as I know there was no bad blood between Steven and Buzz before then, but you can bet your last dollar that there was after that. Buzz hated his guts.”
He removed his glasses and started to wipe them with a corner of his flannel shirt. “You don’t think Buzz shot him, do you? Because I’ll tell you right now, Buzz could no more kill another human being than your pop could.”
“I know. I’m just trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.” He watched Duke put his glasses back on. “How did Steven get along with the other planning board members?”
“Good. I was the only one he socialized with, but they liked him okay. He was smart. Came to the meetings on time, didn’t talk down to people and expressed himself well. I know what some of the townspeople are saying about him, and maybe some of it is true, but as far as I’m concerned, he was just a good guy trying to fit in.”
“He didn’t flirt with some of the wives?”
Duke let out a hearty laugh. “Now, I don’t mean to be disrespectful of my fellow board members, but I can tell you that they had nothing to worry about. Steven wouldn’t have given any of those ladies a second look if they had been the last females on earth—and if you repeat that to anybody, I’ll call you a liar.”
Matt laughed. “It will be our secret.” A customer walked in and Matt stuck out his hand. “Thanks a lot, Duke. I’ll give your regards to my father.”
“You do that. And be sure to have a little chat with Buzz. He might not feel like talking, because the pain of losing Alma is still so damn raw, but it’s worth a shot.”
Founded in 1893 by Everett J. Anderson, a wealthy mill owner, Anderson College was a private institution that offered a diverse range of degree programs, including a strong art department, which was the reason Lucy had chosen the local college. Located on Route 202, the sprawling campus now boasted more than a thousand students from all walks of life.
Finding a parking space was a challenge, but Matt lucked out when two male students jumped into a Nissan parked two spaces from the front entrance and drove away. Matt was leaning against the Durango, arms folded when a human wave of laughing, jean-clad young women poured out of the main building. With individuality practically nonexistent, picking out his sister among the crowd wasn’t easy. Not only did all the girls wear similar attire, they also wore their blond or brown hair long and straight.
At last he spotted Lucy, her blond locks bouncing with every step. But although she made an effort to keep up with her friends’ ebullient chatter, she seemed quieter, more subdued. Matt’s heart went out to her. Born when Matt was already in college, she had taken a special place in their parents’ heart, especially Fred, who adored his little girl. They had grown even closer after the death of their mother ten years ago.
“Luce!”
At the familiar nickname, she looked up and a huge grin split her pretty face. Her worries temporarily forgotten, she ran toward Matt and threw herself in his arms. “Oh, Matty, I’m so glad to see you.”
He caught her, trapping her books between the two of them, and held her tight for a moment before he put her down. “I’m glad to see you, too, Goldilocks. Let me take a good look at you.”
He held her at arm’s length and took a quick inventory. She had their late mother’s good looks—silky hair so pale it almost looked white, a fair complexion, large blue eyes and a small mouth that was made for smiling.
“You look good, kiddo.”
“You, too.”
As if to confirm her last statement, Lucy’s two friends came to stand beside her. Ginny Peruso, who had been Lucy’s soul mate since they were toddlers, smoothed down her brown hair while Barb, a stunning blonde, struck a pose. “Hi, Matt,” they said in unison.
Feeling suddenly very old at forty-one, Matt wrapped an arm around his sister. “Ladies.”
“Are you going to be in town long?” Barb had always been on the precocious side, but the coy looks and sexy tone were new. Matt reminded himself that they weren’t little girls anymore, or awkward teenagers. Almost overnight, they had become women. As had Lucy.
“I’m not sure yet.”
As though sensing that her big brother needed rescuing, Lucy took his arm. “Okay, guys, enough with the flirting already. Ginny, I’ll see you after dinner.” Then, not waiting for an answer and ignoring the two girls’ look of disappointment, she pointed at the Jeep. “Is this yours?”
“Yup.”
She jumped in and waited until he was behind the wheel before saying teasingly, “You took a huge chance coming here. You could have had all your clothes ripped off.”
Matt pulled out of the parking space. “By two nineteen-year-olds?”
“By a swarm of red-blooded females,” she corrected. “It isn’t every day that those hallowed halls are graced by the presence of a hunk like you.”
“I’m more than twice their age.”
“And therein lies the attraction, big brother.”
Matt threw his head back and let out a hearty laugh. “Okay, what’s with all the compliments? You need money? A new car?”
“I don’t need or want anything. I’m speaking the truth. Didn’t you notice the hungry looks you drew? Even Professor Adler couldn’t take her eyes off you.”
“Professor Adler can’t see farther than her nose.”
“She had laser surgery.
And
a boob job. Could you tell?”
It felt good to hear her giggle. “Now that you mention it,” he replied playfully. “She did seem…fuller.”
Lucy laughed and wrapped an arm around his shoulder as he drove. “Where are you staying?”
“The Centre Bridge Inn.”
“You know that you’re welcome to stay at the house, don’t you? Denise said to tell you that your old room is always ready.”
“Thanks, Luce, but I like it better this way. It’s easier to come and go without having to give anyone a lot of explanations.”
“That’s not why you’re staying away.”
He took the coward’s way out and ignored the comment. “How about some lunch?” he asked as he slid into a parking space in front of the Everything Goes Café. “I’m famished.”
“How about an answer to my question?”
He held her gaze for a moment and recognized in them their mother’s determination. “Okay, if you must know, my relationship with Denise wasn’t all that great before, and what she did to Dad didn’t do anything to improve it. Any way you look at it, he’s in this mess because of her.”
“I’m mad at her, too, Matt, and it may take me a long time to forgive her, but she’s truly sorry. I hear her cry sometimes at night, and I have to admit that it breaks my heart.”
That was Lucy, tenderhearted and always ready to go to bat for the underdog. “I can understand that. She’s been like a mother to you over the years. Just don’t expect me to be as kindhearted, that’s all.”
But Lucy wasn’t ready to give up just yet. As they stepped onto the sidewalk, she said, “Did Dad tell you that she attacked Josh when he came to arrest him?”
“Attacked him? Physically?”
“When Josh tried to put the cuffs on Dad, Denise pushed him against the wall and told him to ‘put his handcuffs where the sun don’t shine’—her words, not mine. Josh was so intimidated, he tucked the handcuffs back in his pockets and told Dad to get in the car.”
Matt chuckled at the image. “I’ll say this for her, the woman has guts.” He opened the door to the café. “Now, about that lunch?”
Although the lunch hour was over, the brightly lit café was packed with college students nibbling on cheese fries and thick slices of Lorraine’s mile-high apple pie. Delighted to see Matt, Lorraine quickly cleared a table for them and handed them a menu. “I put aside a little care package for your dad,” she told Matt. “I was going to deliver it in person, but since you’re here, you might as well take it to him. Is that all right?”
“You’re a doll, Lorraine. Thank you. I’m sure my father will be thrilled.” He waited until she had moved away before asking, “Does she do that often?”
“Send Dad his favorite food?” Lucy opened her menu. “Every day. She worships him.” She leaned over the table. “I think she had designs on him,” she whispered. “But then Denise came along.”
“Really?” He watched Lorraine lift a tray over her shoulder and carry it across the room. “I never knew that.”
“You were in some other part of the world, chasing bad guys.”
“How did she take it? Denise coming into the picture, I mean.”
“She was a good sport about it. She didn’t hold a grudge against Denise or anything. In fact, she’s one of the few people in town who still speaks to Denise.”
“Did she know Steven well?”
Lucy looked surprised at the question. “Lorraine? I don’t think so. Why?”
“Just curious. How about the rest of the town? How did everyone react when they heard that Steven Hatfield had died?”
Lucy put her fist on her hip and pretended to be upset. “Matthew Frederick Baxter. Are you pumping me for information?”
“How else are you going to earn your lunch?”
She hit him with her menu. “You rat.”
“The more I know, the better I can help Dad.”
“True.” She looked around her and lowered her voice a little. “There were mixed reactions. I guess Dad told you that Steven wasn’t very well-liked.”
Matt nodded. “Did anyone go to his funeral?”
A busboy placed two tall glasses of water in front of them and disappeared. “A few members of the planning board went,” Lucy replied. “One professor from the college, a few students. The rest of us attended a mass conducted by Father Donnelly here in town. Several people showed up, other business owners, suppliers, town officials.”
“What about Denise?”
“She didn’t go.” Lucy looked suddenly uncomfortable as she started reading her menu, but Matt had perfected the art of observing people over the years, and he could read Lucy like a book. She was hiding something.
He took a sip of his water. “Why do you think that is?” he pressed.
“I don’t know.” She kept her eyes downcast.
“That’s odd, don’t you think? Considering her relationship with Steven?”
“The people in this town haven’t been very nice to her these past couple of weeks. That’s why she thought it best to stay away.”
A waitress stopped by their table and greeted Lucy by name. Although Matt had never seen her before, she seemed to know him quite well. “You’re Matt, aren’t you? I’d recognize you anywhere.” She gave him an enticing smile. “Did anyone ever tell you that you look like George Clooney?”
“Who?”
“George Clooney. The actor?”
Matt unfolded his paper napkin. “Never heard of him.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Lucy was laughing softly. “You must forgive my brother, Renée. He doesn’t get around much, but she’s right,” she told Matt. “You do look like George Clooney. Especially when you smile.”
Matt cut short the conversation by handing Renée his menu. “We’ll have two BLTs on wheat toast and two Cokes. Is that okay with you, Luce?”
“Sure.” As soon as the waitress was gone, Lucy’s face turned serious again. “How are you going to help Dad?”
“By talking to people, poking around, that kind of stuff.”
“What do you hope to find out?”
“If Steven was expecting someone the night he was killed, and if he or she showed up. The problem is, at this time of year, the downtown businesses start to wind down at about four. I’ve talked to a few people so far, and everyone closes at six sharp, if not sooner, which means they didn’t see or hear anything.”
