Chương 3
“Why?”
“Things loosen.”
The detective glanced at the tool inside an evidence bag. “Caskets?”
“Window handles. Cabinet hinges. The brackets under the chapel candles.”
“What made you examine the casket?”
“The crest.”
“Explain that.”
Nora rubbed her thumb across her palm. A half-moon of silver polish remained near the base of her nail.
“The Vale crest on the lid was wrong. It had two pine trees beneath the crown. The real one has three. The center tree is taller.”
“You noticed that from the aisle?”
“I polished the family silver yesterday. The crest is on almost everything.”
“Did anyone ask you to polish the casket?”
“No.”
“So you walked up during the memorial because of a decorative mistake?”
“It wasn’t a mistake.”
Detective Singh waited.
Nora looked at the laundry schedules pinned behind the desk. Shirts on Mondays. Guest linens on Tuesdays. Chapel cloths after use, never before, because the altar lace had been damaged years ago by being folded damp.
“I thought it might be,” she said. “Then I saw scratches around the side panel. Fresh ones. Someone had opened it recently.”
“Did you know the panel contained a compartment?”
“No.”
“Did you know the case was inside?”
“No.”
“What was in the case?”
“I didn’t open the case.”
The detective’s eyebrows lifted. “Multiple witnesses said you removed something from it.”
Nora swallowed.
“The photograph was loose beneath the flap.”
“Where is it?”
Nora’s hand moved toward her apron and stopped.
Detective Singh followed the motion.
“May I see it?”
Nora removed the photograph.
The detective used a tissue to take it, though both of them had already touched it. She studied the front, then the back.
Arthur stood near the weathered boathouse with the unknown man. A date had been written in blue ink on the lower margin.
Six days earlier.
Three days before Arthur’s reported death.
“Do you know the other person?” the detective asked.
“No.”
“Do you know who took the picture?”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you give this to the deputy?”
“I was going to.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Nora looked down.
Detective Singh placed the photograph in a clear sleeve. “The document case is missing.”
“I know.”
“Did you take it?”
“No.”
“Did you see anyone take it?”
“No.”
“Who was nearest?”
“Mr. Vane. Mrs. Vale. Julian. Me.”
“You’re certain it was resting on the casket when you opened the lid?”
“Yes.”
“And after the ambulance left?”
“It was gone before the ambulance arrived.”
The detective leaned back. The laundry office chair complained under her with a dry squeak.
“Mrs. Vale says you have been acting strangely since Mr. Vale’s death.”
Nora let out a small breath through her nose. “I opened a coffin.”
“She mentioned that you asked to see his bedroom after the family had sealed the private wing.”
“I asked for my cleaning cart.”
“She says you were seen leaving his study two nights ago.”
“I was collecting cups.”
“After midnight?”
“He called me.”
The detective became still.
“When?”
“Tuesday night. A little after twelve.”
“Arthur Vale was reported dead Wednesday morning.”
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“Tea.”
Detective Singh watched her for a long moment. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
Nora had been asleep in her apartment above the estate’s old carriage house when the private line rang. Arthur sometimes called the kitchen by mistake, pressing buttons on the bedside telephone until someone answered. The night staff had been reduced after his stroke, and Nora covered the household line because Celeste disliked unfamiliar people sleeping in the main house.
Arthur’s breathing had sounded rough.
He asked for black tea with honey, then changed his mind and asked for hot water. When Nora brought it to his study, he was not in bed as Celeste had said he was supposed to be. He stood beside the desk in his robe, holding the leather document case.
His right hand shook. The stroke had left that side weaker, though he tried to conceal it by keeping the hand in his pocket.
“You’re awake,” Nora had said.
“A penetrating observation.”
“You shouldn’t be downstairs alone.”
“I’m not alone. You’re here.”
He had smiled, but his eyes kept moving toward the hallway.
Nora set the tray down. “Do you want me to call Mrs. Vale?”
“No.”
“Julian?”
“God, no.”
She had almost laughed. Arthur and Julian loved each other in the combative way of men who believed affection weakened an argument.
Arthur removed a brass key from his robe pocket and tried to fit it into the document case lock. His hand trembled too badly.
“Would you?” he asked.
Nora unlocked it.
She did not look inside. She saw papers, a small black drive, and the corner of the photograph. Arthur closed the lid quickly.
“If someone asks,” he said, “you brought hot water and found me asleep.”
“You’re not asleep.”
“I may have been. Memory becomes negotiable at my age.”
His attempt at humor failed. Sweat shone along his hairline.
“Are you sick?”
“Yes. It’s an appalling inconvenience.”
“I mean now.”
He sat down too heavily.
Nora reached for the house phone. Arthur caught her wrist. His grip was weak, but the fear in his face held her.
“Not Baird.”
“Your doctor?”
“Especially Baird.”
She had looked toward the closed study door.
“Who should I call?”
Arthur released her. “No one yet.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is the only one I have.”
A sound came from the corridor. Not footsteps. A soft scrape, followed by the muted click of a door settling into its frame.
Arthur shoved the document case toward Nora.
“Take this to the chapel.”
She stared at it. “Why?”
“The old memorial caskets have document recesses beneath the side panels.”
“What old caskets?”
He seemed irritated that she did not understand a fact no one had ever told her.
“The white one was delivered this afternoon.”
“For whose memorial?”
Arthur looked at her.
May you like
That was the moment she should have understood. Instead, she had thought his confusion had worsened.
“Mr. Vale, you need to lie down.”
