Chương 9
Singh remained with Nora and Julian.
“How did you find him?”
Julian explained the boatyard and the camp.
“You drove three hours while a medical investigation and potential homicide inquiry were active because a man’s name appeared in private emails you were not authorized to see?”
“My father is in intensive care.”
“That is an explanation, not a defense.”
Nora looked at the detective. “Did you follow us?”
“No. Mr. Vane reported that Julian had taken estate files and might be attempting to intimidate a witness.”
Julian’s mouth fell open. “He reported me?”
“He also suggested Nora Keene had manipulated you.”
Nora folded her arms.
Singh looked at the ruined room. “Given what we found here, I am less interested in that suggestion than I was this morning.”
“Do you believe Owen?” Julian asked.
“I believe his camp was searched. I believe someone attempted to destroy records. I believe his criminal history makes him vulnerable and his claims difficult to use without corroboration.”
“The drive would corroborate them,” Nora said.
“Yes.”
“Malcolm has it.”
“Perhaps.”
“You keep saying perhaps.”
“I work in a profession damaged by certainty.”
One of the officers called Singh outside.
She returned a minute later carrying a clear plastic sleeve. Inside was a small brass key.
“Found beneath the stove,” she said.
Nora recognized it.
Arthur had used it to open the document case.
“He had that Tuesday night.”
“Arthur?”
“Yes.”
Singh turned it over. A strip of black adhesive covered one side. Beneath the tape was a tiny memory card.
Owen had hidden a backup after all.
Julian laughed once from pure relief.
Singh did not.
“This card could contain anything. It could be corrupted. It could have been placed here by anyone. Until it is examined, none of you discuss it.”
She looked directly at Julian.
“That includes your mother.”
On the drive back, Julian did not speak for nearly an hour.
Nora watched islands pass between the trees. The sea appeared and vanished, appeared and vanished.
At a roadside diner, Julian pulled into the parking lot without asking.
“I need food,” he said.
They sat in a booth beside a window overlooking stacked lobster traps. A waitress called both of them honey and poured coffee before they requested it.
Julian stared at the menu.
“My mother signed those authorizations.”
“We don’t know what she understood.”
“You said we should stop defending people.”
“I said you should.”
He looked up.
Nora added sugar to her coffee. “I’m inconsistent.”
“That may be the first reassuring thing about you.”
They ordered chowder. Julian ate three crackers and left the soup untouched.
“My sister died when I was fourteen,” he said.
Nora waited.
“Her name was Beatrice. She was nineteen. Car accident. My father blamed the driver, the road, the car manufacturer, her friends, the hospital. Anyone he could reach. My mother handled everything. Funeral, insurance, police, reporters. Malcolm handled the lawsuit.”
He folded the paper cracker wrapper into smaller and smaller squares.
“The chapel was renovated for Beatrice’s memorial. My mother chose the white stone. Dad hated the stained glass because the colors fell across her casket. He said it made the room look cheerful.”
Nora looked out at a pickup truck pulling a trailer through the parking lot.
“The casket compartment,” she said. “Was it hers?”
Julian nodded. “The ceremonial side panels were designed to hold letters and family documents. We placed some of her drawings inside before burial. Dad must have remembered.”
“And the wrong crest?”
“The original casket maker died years ago. Malcolm arranged a replacement through an antiques dealer.”
“He arranged Arthur’s casket before Arthur died.”
Julian’s hands stopped folding.
Arthur had told Nora the white casket was delivered Tuesday afternoon.
He was declared dead Wednesday morning.
The waitress arrived with chowder and looked between them.
“Everything okay?”
Julian gave her a strange smile. “No.”
She nodded as though this was common in roadside booths. “I’ll bring more crackers.”
They reached the hospital after dark.
Celeste had restricted Nora from Arthur’s floor. Julian argued with security until a hospital administrator arrived, then took Nora’s coat and disappeared through the locked doors while she waited in the lobby.
A television above the vending machines showed silent footage of Vale House. The headline beneath it called Arthur’s survival a “Maine estate mystery.” Nora’s old photograph appeared again, cropped so tightly that the beer in her hand looked like evidence of moral failure.
An elderly man beside her followed her gaze.
“That you?” he asked.
“No.”
He looked at her, then back at the screen.
“Good,” he said. “She looks troublesome.”
Nora almost smiled.
Julian returned twenty minutes later.
“He wrote something.”
Arthur’s left hand could hold a marker. A nurse had given him a pad, and he had produced three uneven words.
NOT CELESTE ALONE
Nora read the photograph Julian had taken.
“What did you ask him?”
“Who put him in the casket.”
“And that was his answer?”
“He became tired before I could clarify.”
“It could mean she wasn’t responsible alone.”
“I know.”
“Or that she shouldn’t be left alone.”
“I know.”
“Or that it wasn’t Celeste, only—”
“I know.”
Julian sat beside her.
For a while they listened to the vending machine’s compressor turn on and off.
“My mother hasn’t come back,” he said.
“Since he became agitated?”
“She left the hospital this afternoon.”
“Where did she go?”
“Home.”
“With Malcolm?”
“He left earlier.”
Nora looked at the locked doors.
“Call her.”
“She won’t answer.”
“Call the estate.”
He did.
The night receptionist said Celeste had gone to the chapel and asked not to be disturbed.
Nora stood.
Julian looked at her. “Detective Singh told us to stop.”
“She told us not to discuss the memory card.”
“She also used several other words.”
“Your father wrote your mother’s name.”
“That is not permission to break into my own house.”
“You have keys.”
“My mother controls the estate.”
“Then it will be a family disagreement.”
May you like
He stared at her.
“You’re very different without the apron.”
