“Now, Matt Wells is a different story than his cousin,” Purdue said. “You ladies probably know who he is. He does all the commercials for the Lance Wells Dance Studio. He has no trouble with boats. He only comes once in a while, but he always slips me a hundred when he does. Mary Beth was the one who used the place the most,” he added.
As I did my fake measuring, I commented on how it must have been lonely for her. Purdue shrugged. I thought he wasn’t going to comment further, but when Dinah and I didn’t say anything, he kept on talking.
“I think it was her getaway place. She said something once about him being very controlling, like he wouldn’t even let her do this crochet stuff in their mainland house.” He stopped for a moment and seemed to be thinking. I looked longingly at the row of photos on the mantel and the filet pieces on the wall. I wanted to get closer and examine them. Maybe they were a key to why Mary Beth had included the house in the crochet panel. But every time I made a move away from the center of the room, the caretaker corralled me back.
I noticed how Purdue’s voice softened when he talked about Mary Beth. He obviously felt something toward her.
“I’d forgotten,” he went on. “When she first started coming, she used to bring a woman with her. I barely knew her then. They kind of looked alike, but then maybe it was just that they both had long hair and wore baggy sweats all the time. Now that I think about it, they spent a lot of time here that year. First it was mostly just a few days, but then when it was really dead around here, they came for a month.”
By now Dinah had stopped writing her phoney notes and was pretending to be looking them over. I moved my camera hands so they framed Purdue.
“About how long ago was that?” I asked, hoping he would continue with his rambling and not realize the question had nothing to do with our purported purpose.
His eyes gazed at the ceiling, and he knit his brow in thought. Then he let out kind of a snort. “Time sure flies. It must have been around Christmas twenty some years ago.”
I felt a buzz of excitement; it sounded like he had just described the time mentioned in the diary entry.
I opened my mouth to ask him for more details, but he suddenly consulted his watch.
“Ladies, I have to get to my other job.” He rounded us up and directed us toward the door.
Not giving up, I asked him as we walked outside whether anything strange had happened during that month-long stay all those years ago.
He gave me an odd look, and I expected him to ask me what that had to do with the televison-show taping there, but instead, he shrugged and said, “I never exactly had the details, but I remember Delia—she works at the grocery store down yonder—saying there was something they wanted to hide.”
He pulled the door shut and locked it tight before herding us back into the fancy golf cart. Five minutes later, he stopped the golf cart in the business district. “Ladies, I have to get back to the plaza. I’m doing the city tour. You’re welcome to come. I give lots of background on the island,” he said, trying to sound tempting.
I thanked him for the offer but declined, and we got out.
As soon as he drove off, Dinah and I walked out to a bench and sat down. I opened my bag and pulled out the crochet piece. I moved right past the image of the casino and the house. Dinah and I both studied the other motifs and then had the same realization at the same time.
“It’s not the Arc de Triomphe,” I said, pointing at the panel done in tan thread.
“It’s the fireplace,” Dinah said with exasperation. “If only we’d looked at this while we were in there, we would have realized that’s what it was.”
“The Casino Building brought us here and led us to the house. And the house was supposed to lead us to the fireplace,” I said, sharing Dinah’s exasperation. “If only is right. Damn.” I pulled out the diary entry and read it over again. “It sounds like Mary Beth was saying good-bye to someone. Maybe the woman. Maybe she wasn’t her sister. Maybe their relationship was something altogether different,” I said in a hushed voice.
Dinah glanced down at her watch. “What time are we supposed to meet everyone?”
I shrugged off the question. “I have to go back in that house.”
CHAPTER 12
DINAH WINCED. “I SEE YOUR POINT ABOUT wanting to look inside the house again, but I don’t see how you’re going to do it. You heard the caretaker. He’s off to his next job, and if we catch up with him, I doubt even you could charm him into giving you the keys.”
“Don’t have to,” I said with a satisfied smile. “I can let us in myself.” I proceeded to explain that while I’d been admiring the window covering, I’d unlocked the window and opened it just a touch.
“You’re good. If the bookstore thing doesn’t work out, you could always try a life of crime,” Dinah said with a teasing smile.
Since we didn’t have the golf cart anymore we walked back to the house. We were all alone except for the occasional golf cart heading to Hamilton Cove. We quickly hatched a plan. Dinah would keep watch while I went inside. I promised to be quick so we could get back and meet the others in time for our boat trip back to the mainland.
I checked the area, and the only eyes watching me were those of a sleek gray tabby. The window opened with ease, and I slipped inside quickly. I made a beeline for the mantelpiece in the living room. I had never noticed before how much the Arc de Triomphe resembled a fireplace—well, if it were in the house of some giants.
My eyes swept the top. I stopped at each photo and knickknack, wondering if it was a clue. I was sure the first photo was of Mary Beth. I hadn’t seen her face in the Tarzana house, but I immediately recognized the long golden blond hair as what I’d seen spread over the bed. So this was Mary Beth. Her features were refined, and a touch of patrician arrogance showed in her expression. The familiar hair hung loose around her shoulders, and she was dressed in a scoop-neck top that accentuated her long neck. When I looked again, I noted that despite the coolness of her expression, there was a seductiveness to her smile.
I felt a rush of emotion—seeing what she looked like alive after having seen her dead. I thought of the crochet piece and how connected to her it was. And now I had it. Would it have made any difference if I had figured out where it belonged sooner? Whatever her secret was, Mary Beth had wanted to make right by it. I mouthed a promise that I would try to do it for her.
But first I had to find out what the secret was. I moved down the photos and doodads. Most of the pictures were of Mary Beth at different ages and in different locations. There was one taken in the living room of the Tarzana house. She was dressed in sparkly evening wear standing between two men in tuxes. They made a good-looking group, but who were the men? Lance Jr. and Matt?
I looked at every photo on the mantel twice and even slid the photos out of the frames in case there was something behind them, but I found nothing. Maybe the fireplace meant the area. I gazed up at the wall above and studied the filet pieces hanging there. Some were of people but because of the geometric quality of the designs, they weren’t recognizable.
Could there be another fireplace? I rushed into the hall to check the other rooms and came up empty. I took the stairs up and at the top, opened a door and found I was on the round porch. It did seem perfect for dancing, but it was empty of everything but a view. I saw the Catalina Express pulling into its dock and realized it was probably our boat.