A Denial of Death (24 page)

Ralph nodded. "A congenital heart defect. It was surgically repaired when she was a child, but it leaves her at risk for abnormal heart rhythms and heart infections. She's never had anything more than a few minor incidents, and she follows her doctor's orders religiously. Still, she wears a medical alert bracelet in case she ever does have a serious problem, so the paramedics would have an immediate diagnosis."

"I've been thinking about getting something like that myself," Helen said. "I understand some models have GPS trackers in them these days. There's even an option for family members to go online and get the exact location of the bracelet and its wearer."

"Angie would kill me if I tracked her down like that."

"It's too late to worry about her feelings," Helen said, running out of patience with his patience. "If there's any way to find her with the GPS tracker, you need to use it. If you can't access the information, the police could probably contact the monitoring company and get the GPS coordinates from them."

Ralph shook his head. "It's no use. She doesn't have that advanced a system. Just the old-fashioned bracelet she got years ago, plus a panic button for if she has an episode while she's here alone. It only works within a few hundred feet of the house, though, and she's certainly not within range now." Ralph picked up his planer again. "Did Charlene tell you anything else?"

"Not really." Helen wasn't as convinced as Charlene that Angie was in Mystic. Besides, mentioning it would just feed Ralph's delusion that Angie was safe, and he needed to be worried at least enough to insist that the police do their job. Helen was rapidly running out of leads, and, much as it pained her to acknowledge that Tate was right, it was probably time to do what he'd suggested: leave the investigation up to the police.

"Tracking the medical bracelet was a good idea." Ralph brushed a sliver of shingle off the planer. "I appreciate everything you're doing, but if Angie doesn't want to be found, there's nothing you or I can do about it. We're just going to have to wait until she's ready to come home." He gave her an encouraging smile. "One good thing is that I might actually have the gazebo done by then."

Judging by the strain in Ralph's smile, even he was starting to doubt Angie would ever see the gazebo. He just wasn't ready to admit it to himself, let alone to anyone else.

"I just have one more question, and then I'll let you get back to work," Helen said. "Did you know Angie was writing books for a publisher known as Scarlet Lipstick Press?"

"Angie? Writing books?" Ralph's surprise seemed genuine. "She doesn't even like to read."

That was what Terri Greene had said too, but it was becoming clear there was a lot that no one knew about Angie. "Apparently she liked to write, though, and was good at it. The extra money on your tax return came from a publisher. She had a laptop computer with her when she left, and I'm guessing that's what she used to write her books."

"Angie?" Ralph said, frowning and shaking his head. "She doesn't have a laptop."

"Maybe she borrowed it from someone. Her sister, perhaps. But she definitely had one with her the day she disappeared. The cabbie mentioned it, and so did…" Helen wasn't sure what Ralph's relationship with Francesca was, so it might be better not to name any names. "So did another witness who saw her getting into the cab."

Ralph stared down at his planer. "I can't believe she hid it from me. I will never, not in a million years, understand what Angie's thinking. We need to have a long talk when she gets home."

Helen left Ralph to resume his construction work without sharing her own suspicion that his wife wasn't ever coming home. That was one thing the police could handle far better than she could.

*  *  *

Francesca and her cat had braved the intense heat of the street to admire the Bentley. Today the cat's harness matched the bright turquoise of the flowers on its owner's Hawaiian-print housedress. The leash had tangled itself around the forearm crutches, but Francesca moved slowly and carefully enough to avoid tripping.

The cat ignored Helen's approach, but Francesca nodded a greeting. "I thought you were planning to get an inconspicuous car. Although, I have to say, I might not mind being stared at if it was because I was riding around in something like this."

"Would you like to take a test ride?" Helen said. "I'm sure Jack would be happy to drive you around the block."

"Oh, no," she said. "I never leave sight of my house. I just came out to tell you I remembered something about the day Angie disappeared. I didn't think of it before because it was earlier in the day, not when the taxi was here. Angie came out to get her mail, and she had her phone with her. She was yelling at someone."

"She yells at everyone."

"Except for Ralph. She's got him convinced she's a sweet-natured angel. But I'm pretty sure it was him on the other end of the line because she started out all sweet, and she's only nice to him and her sister. I didn't catch everything she said, but she wanted to know when he'd be home, and she didn't seem happy with his answer. She'd gotten her mail by then and turned her back on me to go inside, so even though she was yelling into the phone, the words were muffled. All I got was that she was talking about money and how she'd had to get a job before they lost everything."

"That's interesting." It fit with what Charlene had said about the agency encountering some financial difficulties, and the timeframe when Angie had become interested in storytelling and digital publishing. Ralph had either lied about the financial stability of the agency, or he'd been oblivious to the financial struggles Angie's secret career had resolved. "Anything else?"

"Sorry. Right around then the summer-school bus came by, cutting off any chance of hearing the rest of the conversation. It stops in front of my house to drop off kids who live on either side of me. Angie was gone by the time it left." Francesca bent down to untangle the bright-colored leash from her right crutch and then leaned against the Bentley to catch her breath after the little bit of exertion in the direct sun. "I wish I could be more help. I don't like Angie, but I don't wish her any real harm. We all have our crosses to bear, and I'm sure she has her reasons for being so miserable to everyone."

"You've been very helpful," Helen said, humbled by the other woman's understanding nature. She herself would never have accepted Angie's bullying with such a forgiving attitude. It was probably a good thing Helen's cottage was sufficiently isolated that she couldn't see or hear her neighbors. Otherwise, Tate would be so busy keeping her out of neighborhood tiffs that he'd never get to enjoy a single minute of his retirement. "I wouldn't have known about the laptop if it weren't for you, and now I know a little bit more about Angie's day before she disappeared. At least now we know she was still here and being her usual nasty self at whatever time the bus comes through here."

"It would have been around 11:30," Francesca said. "Mel and me, we use it as the signal for making lunch. Mel usually goes to the window a few minutes before it's due and meows for me to join him. That's why I was there to see Angie going to the mailbox."

At the sound of her name, the cat demonstrated her piercing meow. Francesca struggled to straighten from her leaning position against the Bentley and reach down to pat her feline companion. "We should be going. The bus will be coming through here soon, and I make everyone uncomfortable if I'm outside."

Helen thanked Francesca again and waited to make sure she got home safely. The woman struggled across the street and up the very slight incline of the front path to her door. Judging by how winded she was by the time she'd gone those couple hundred feet, it was absurd to suspect Francesca of harming Angie. Even if every compassionate word Francesca had spoken was a lie and she did indeed wish someone would kill Angie, Francesca wasn't physically capable of doing it herself. Or at least she wasn't capable of moving the body after it was dead. She might perhaps have tripped Angie with one of the crutches, causing Angie to fall and hit her head in some fatal way, but Francesca could never have moved the body from wherever it had fallen into some hiding spot.

Francesca opened her front door just enough to sidle inside with her body blocking any view of the dim interior, as if she was afraid to let anyone see what was inside. Something like a dead body in the living room would certainly explain Francesca's terror at the prospect of the police visiting her even better than her claimed fear of strangers in her house.

Jack interrupted her thoughts. "Where to now, Ms. Binney?"

"I don't know." The idea that Francesca had killed Angie was improbable but not much more so than the possibility that Angie had finally revealed her nasty personality to Ralph, and he'd snapped, tracking her to the casino and killing her there. Neither theory felt even remotely plausible. She needed more information.

"Let's go see if Charlene can shed any light on Angie's career as a writer."

*  *  *

At Charlene's house Helen had Jack back into the driveway with the front wheels as close as possible to the street. She asked him to stay with the Bentley so he could deter anyone who might vandalize the car and also follow up on his attempts to locate the cabbie, Barry. Those were valid reasons for him to stay behind, but her real concern was that Jack remain out from the shadows of the property's overgrown shrubs and in full sight of anyone who might be watching the property. It was better if he wasn't seen approaching Charlene's front door. No one except Tate would ever accuse Helen of breaking and entering.

Charlene's mailbox was overflowing with the weekend junk mail preventing it from closing completely, and her distinctively painted VW Beetle wasn't in the driveway.

The summer sunshine faded as Helen entered the small yard, surrounded as it was by the towering shrubs and the neighboring houses. The deep shade should have been a welcome respite from the heat, but instead it just felt gloomy and isolating. Helen couldn't see the street from where she stood at the bottom of the porch steps and wasn't sure if Jack could hear her if she fell and needed help. This was just the sort of situation where she might actually find a use for a mobile medical alert system, but she couldn't wait until she had one before she talked to Charlene.

Helen resolutely continued up the three steps of the front porch and rang the doorbell. Not surprisingly, no one came to the door, and she heard no movement inside. She rang the bell again, but the absolute silence convinced her no one was home.

Helen accepted she'd hit yet another dead end and returned to the Bentley. Sliding inside, she couldn't help noticing the seats really were comfortable, neither too high nor too low, with plenty of room for her cane and yarn bag.

"That was quick," Jack said.

"Charlene's not home."

"I guess we both struck out then. No one seems to have seen or talked to Barry since Sunday."

She'd only been trying to be thorough by talking to him. The cabbie was an unlikely suspect and had probably already shared everything he knew about the day Angie disappeared, but his sudden change in behavior was suspicious. He could have become the victim of some foul play himself, if he wasn't simply hiding from more in-depth questioning about Angie's disappearance. "I'd appreciate it if you'd keep looking for him."

"I will," Jack said, "That's something I can do while I'm working on the clay figures that need to go into the mail later this week."

"If you need to work on them today, you can drop me off to visit Betty and Josie, and I'll get a cab home later."

"For the chance to drive this Bentley some more, I'd risk missing my shipping deadline." Jack pulled away from the curb and headed in the direction of the nursing home, the second planned stop on their itinerary. "But that shouldn't be necessary, as long as I can take tomorrow or the next day off to finish the orders."

With Barry's disappearance Helen had run out of leads to pursue. "I don't expect to go anywhere important the rest of this week. You can have both days off if you need them."

"Just one will do it," Jack said. "As long as you don't have other errands tomorrow, how about we use it to make a concerted effort to find the right car for you, and then I'll take Thursday off? I know this Bentley isn't really your style, but I'm glad I got a chance to drive it."

Helen still couldn't picture Martha Waddell owning a car like this either. As long as she was going to be at the nursing home for a visit anyway, she'd have to see for herself what was in the parking spot reserved for the assistant nursing home director.

There was nothing left for Helen to do except tell Betty and Josie she'd hit a complete dead end in her search for Angie. Everyone in town had wanted Angie gone, if not actually dead, and they all had good reason to hate her, if not to kill her. Angie was an awful person, no matter how many preemie caps she made for charity. She'd kept secrets from her husband, verbally abused a disabled person, and angered all the other volunteers she'd worked with. Martha Waddell probably wasn't the only competent, hard-working person Angie had threatened to get fired. It was a miracle Angie hadn't been killed years ago.

 Jack pulled the Bentley up to the front steps of the nursing home. "I’ll make some more calls to see if I can find Barry while you're visiting with Betty and Josie."

"Thanks. It’s probably a waste of time, just to confirm that he dropped her off at her sister’s, but I’d feel better if I checked everything."

Helen got out of the car just in time to see Geoff Loring appear in the front doorway. He paused on the top step, rubbing his arm where it had been broken four months ago by thugs trying to convince him to drop a story he'd been working on. His pale face was even whiter than usual, which she might have attributed to the unflattering burgundy red of his sport shirt except that his face had the dazed expression of someone who'd just received bad news. Never a good thing to see in a visitor to a nursing home.