A Denial of Death (15 page)

"That's a start," Tate said. "What about eyewitness statements?"

"Ralph wasn't sure when Angie left, but Charlene was. It was a Thursday, Charlene's day off."

"That's credible enough," Tate said. "I can't see any reason why they'd have gotten together and agreed on a story."

"You don't have as wild an imagination as Betty and Josie then," Helen said. "They suggested that Ralph and Charlene are in cahoots for some reason, perhaps an illicit romance, and they worked together to get rid of Angie."

"That would be a hard sell to a jury unless there's proof of Ralph's infidelity," Tate said. "Besides, you'd have noticed if the day of the disappearance wasn't consistent with the ATM and credit card charges, so there's sufficient evidence to establish the date Angie disappeared. Now, what about the next allegation, that Angie went to Charlene's house for a ride to the casino. How do you know she didn't go to the bus station?"

"Because Charlene said so."

"How do you know she isn't lying?"

Helen doubted Tate would be satisfied with something like
because she didn't seem like a psychopathic liar.
What would satisfy him? "She didn't have any reason to lie. She's devoted to her sister. You can see it in the picture she gave us, in the way she's holding onto Angie."

"That's pretty subjective."

"You saw the picture. Do you really think Charlene's a killer who hates her sister and is putting on a show of concern?"

"Not really," Tate said. "In fact, if she did kill her sister, and we assume she's acting rationally, it would be to her benefit to deny seeing Angie on the day she disappeared. As it is, Charlene's essentially admitted to being the last person to have seen her sister alive, which will make her a person of interest in the eyes of the police if Angie doesn't show up soon."

"We're right back where I started," Helen said. "We haven't figured out anything new."

"Yes, we have," Tate said. "Think about what you missed in Angie's itinerary. How did she get to Charlene's house? It's too far for her to walk, and she doesn't drive."

"She took a cab, of course." Comprehension dawned. "Oh. The driver might remember her, and Jack could probably use his connections to find him. I don't see what we could learn from the cabbie, though. We know Angie got to her sister's alive and well. Does it really matter how or when?"

"I learned early on in my career that it pays to be meticulous with trial preparation. I always checked every possible detail leading up to the crime and all the way through the investigation. More often than not, it was some little thing that didn't add up which eventually got me a judgment in my client's favor."

"I'll talk to Jack about checking with his fellow drivers," Helen said. "I can't just sit here and do nothing while I wait, though. There's got to be some lead I can be tracking down."

Tate twirled the ice cubes in his glass. "Let's say, hypothetically, the cabbie can confirm Angie went to her sister's house that Thursday. Then what happened? Before she went to the casino."

"Then Angie asked for a ride to the casino, and they went."

"An uneventful trip to the casino isn't the only possibility," he said. "What if Charlene said no to the ride, and now she's regretting it? Or what if—"

Helen finished for him: "What if Angie never left Charlene's house? Charlene could have gone to the casino and registered in her sister's name, while Angie went in another direction. It could have been a smokescreen for when Ralph started to look for his wife. That would explain why the desk clerk recognized Charlene and not Angie."

"It's not likely, though," Tate said. "She's taken these unannounced vacations before, right? Ralph didn't chase after her then, so why would she think he'd chase her now?"

"She could be hiding from someone other than Ralph," Helen said. "There's that seventy-five grand no one can explain. Maybe she's hiding from whoever gave her the money. Maybe it was a mistake, and someone wanted it back."

"Then all she had to do was return it."

"Unless she spent it or gambled it away." Helen really needed to know more about the entity that had given Angie the money. Helen pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked for messages, but there weren't any from either Lily or Laura. Her nieces were probably sulking over the last-minute cancellation of their weekly inspection of the cottage. "It's just speculation, anyway, until we know more about SLP."

"Back to the beginning, then," Tate said. "Angie went to Charlene's, and…what?"

"And never left?" Helen said. "You don't think Charlene would do anything to hurt her sister, do you? Everyone seems to think they were devoted to each other. Even Ralph thinks so, and if anyone had a reason to speak ill of Charlene, he does. Charlene is obviously a bit of an irritant in their marriage."

"It's still worth considering," Tate said. "The police certainly will, if they ever get around to believing Angie's missing. Ralph and Charlene will be the prime suspects. The spouse and the last person to see Angie alive."

"But neither of them has any reason to hurt Angie. Ralph clearly loves her, and he doesn't seem all that interested in money, or it would have been a lot harder for Angie to hide that seventy-five thousand dollars from him. Charlene loves her too, although she loves money too. When I was at her house, she was wearing designer clothes, her furnishings were all expensive brands, and she has several times more pieces of art glass than most people have cheap vases."

"Killing Angie wouldn't get her much, though," Tate said. "A surviving spouse gets the bulk of the estate, according to Massachusetts probate law. Charlene wouldn't inherit much unless she killed Ralph first, so Angie inherited everything before she died, and then Charlene inherited everything as the only relative of her sister. But that's assuming she wasn't charged with killing them, since a killer can't inherit from her victim. Even if the police couldn't prove she'd killed Ralph and her sister, the assets could be tied up in court for years. Murder really isn't a reliable get-rich-quick scheme."

Helen still wasn't prepared to let Charlene off the hook entirely. "She isn't a lawyer, though, and doesn't have one practically living in her garage. She might have thought she'd inherit a good bit of money. Or she could have taken out a life insurance policy on her sister. Charlene mentioned buying a life insurance policy from Ralph. I'd assumed it was on her own life, but it could have been on Angie's. Maybe they each bought a policy on the other's life."

"It's as likely as any other theory." Tate stood up and carried the empty glasses over to the sink. "If Angie doesn't show up soon, I'll have a word with Peterson, and suggest he look into Charlene's finances. If you think of anything else that might help the police find the two sisters, I expect you to call me before you do anything crazy."

"If I call you, will you yell at me?"

"That's what you pay me for," he said on his way to the front door. "But when I'm done yelling, I'll probably ignore my better instincts and come along as back-up. Unlike most of my previous clients, you do manage to keep things interesting."

*  *  *

By the time Tate left, it was too late to go to the nursing home and tell Betty and Josie what Helen had—and, more importantly—hadn't found out at the casino. Visiting hours ended at 7:00 on Saturdays, and Martha Waddell was very strict about enforcing the closing time.

Helen rummaged around in her refrigerator to collect the fixings for a salad for dinner. While she chopped peppers and cucumbers, she couldn't stop thinking about the seventy-five thousand dollar payment to Angie. If she could just figure out where that had come from, she was certain it would lead her to wherever Angie was.

Helen carried her salad over to the desk built into one wall of the great room. She checked her phone and her email, but there was still nothing from Lily. She should have heard something by now. Lily wouldn't have needed to do more than make a few phone calls to get a full report on SLP.

Helen reached for her phone again, planning to call Lily to find out what was taking so long. Her common sense kicked in before she actually dialed. She was being unreasonable, expecting Lily to drop everything to do her aunt a favor. Lily had a full schedule, with work and a social life. Lily even had a hobby, if a torturous sport like mountain-biking could be considered a hobby.

Helen set her phone down again, close enough that she could answer it if it rang, but not so close it would be an irresistible temptation to pick it up again to pester her nieces. Lily would call when she had some information, and until then Helen would have to be patient.

When the next morning came and there was still no response from Lily, Helen decided she'd waited long enough. The call went to voicemail, so Helen left a brief message. Helen also called Laura, to pry her sister's whereabouts out of her, and got voicemail again.

Jack was due to pick her up at 10:00 to go see Betty and Josie and let them know the search for Angie had hit a dead end. While Helen waited she looked over the brochures Rebecca had given her from the medical alert device company. The idea of being tethered to an electronic leash was annoying, but she didn't want her nieces to worry unnecessarily. There had to be some sort of compromise that would reassure them without being too much of a burden on her.

The little bracelet or necklace version that worked around the house wasn't so bad, but Rebecca had recommended the larger device, the size of a cell phone, that allowed her to call the monitoring company for help from anywhere in the world with just the push of a single button. It wasn't all that big, but it was still one more thing to fuss with whenever she went out. Helen already felt encumbered by too much stuff whenever she left the house: cell phone, pill bottles, and all the usual contents of a purse. To complicate matters, she needed to be able to carry everything in just one hand, since the other one held her cane. With both hands occupied, she couldn't easily open a door for herself, or do other routine things like pick up items from a grocery store shelf or sign a credit card slip. She could stuff everything into her yarn bag and sling it over her shoulder, she supposed, but she had enough trouble getting people to take her seriously without giving them the impression she was a bag lady, carrying all her worldly possessions in a lumpy, over-filled tote.

The sound of a car engine out front announced Jack's arrival. Helen tossed aside the brochures and reached for her yarn bag. Everyone at the nursing home already knew her, and either already respected her or ignored her, so there was no point in worrying about the impression her bag made on them. She hung her cane over her wrist so she could close her front door behind her.

When she reached the driveway, Jack was getting out of his own car, a beat-up fifteen-year-old sedan. "Sorry, Ms. Binney. I lost track of time this morning while I was working on some pieces that need to get mailed later this week and didn't have time to swing by Ed's place before I came here. We can go there now, if you want, but if you need to be somewhere else right away, we can take my car."

Helen was grateful to Jack for letting her use his car the last few months, but her desire for independence wasn't the only reason she was buying her own car. She didn't like to complain, but after even a short ride in his old car, she felt like every joint in her body was experiencing an inflammatory flare from the rough ride. Besides, it might be nice to test a vehicle she had picked out herself, instead of one chosen for her.

"We've got plenty of time. Let's stop by the car lot first."

*  *  *

Jack parked in front of the sales office and went inside to find his cousin. Helen wandered off to see if she could spot a vehicle she might be interested in. Once she crossed off the ones that were obviously too big or too small or too expensive, she couldn't tell any of the others apart.

She'd only had enough time to get overwhelmed by all the possibilities, without narrowing down her options, when Jack and his cousin joined her in the sea of cars.

Ed started to hold out his hand to shake hers but then glanced down, taking in the dark grease his rag hadn't removed, and pulled his arm back. "Sorry. Dirty hands are an occupational hazard. Jack tells me you haven't been impressed by our suggestions, so you want to choose your own car this time."

The family resemblance between Jack and his cousin was unmistakable and explained a little about the clan's notoriety in the area if all members were that easily recognized. It wasn't just their broad, open faces that matched but their skeletal structure—short and wiry—and their bald heads, which she supposed was limited to the males. Perhaps not, though, given the tight-knit and quirky nature of the family.

Ed was wearing a standard blue mechanic's uniform, even though he owned the car lot. When they first met he'd explained that he liked to be able to dive into an engine on a moment's notice, and his wife had gotten tired of trying to get grease out of business suits. Today's uniform already had several dark streaks on the sleeves, and the rag hanging out of his pocket was well-used.

"Someone suggested I might like a Subaru Forester," Helen said. "Do you have one of them?"

"Oh, you don't want a boring vehicle like that," Ed insisted. "It's not your style at all. I'm sure we can find you something sweet."

"I don't want sweet," Helen said. "I want comfortable."

"No reason why you can't have both." Ed started walking along the nearest row of cars. "You've already rejected our biggest and smallest cars, so let's see what we've got in the middle."

"I'd rather look around on my own for a while longer. I'll send up a flag when I find something."

He ignored her and kept walking, pointing out the virtues of each vehicle they passed, each of which had some "sweet" feature or another. The specs didn't mean much to her; she needed to get in and try them on for size, but she couldn't do that at the speed he was leading her down the lot.

She couldn't keep up with him, thanks to her limp, which was worsened by some small irritant that had gotten into her right shoe. It felt like a piece of gravel from her driveway, but she hadn't noticed it until just now, and she doubted it was really that big.