“I'm waking you up?”
I told her she was. She, as it turned out, had taken her morning five-mile run, cleaned up, and had been wondering what was taking us so long to call her.
“Brunch?” I asked.
“What about brunch?” came from Harry in the next bed.
“You guys gotta come over here to eat,” said Hester. “Really. You gotta see this.”
That sounded really good to me. “Give us twenty minutes,” I said. I showered first, while Harry contacted a Walworth County detective named Jim Hawkins, and told him that we were going to have a bite at the Geneva Inn. He said he'd try to meet us within an hour.
I drove, while Harry navigated. All the way through a spot called Linton, on a county road, and then north on Highway 120. The real estate got progressively more upscale as we went. We turned left into a kind of obscure drive, and into the parking lot of a very beautiful hotel. Hester, it appeared, had scored big.
My favorite DCI agent met us in the lobby. It was beautifully done in light wood, natural lighting, with uniformed help who exuded confidence and capability. We continued on into the split-level dining room that had huge windows on three sides, with a fantastic view of Lake Geneva.
We sat at a table with real linen. Heavy silver. Quiet atmosphere. Elegant. Refined. Nice.
“Sleep well?” I asked Hester. She looked absolutely refreshed.
“Wonderful room,” she said. “Wet bar, Jacuzzi, balcony overlooking the lake… ”
“We,” said Harry, “are in the Bates Motel.”
“Poor dears,” said Hester.
A pretty, perky, and efficient waitress, in her twenties, offered us the breakfast buffet. We partook, as Old Knockle would have said. I never wanted to leave.
Over a great cup of coffee, we gazed out the windows at the huge homes on the lakefront. I thought I could make out a sliver of a rounded dome in the far distance, across the lake and in thick trees. As the waitress asked us if we needed more coffee, I pointed to the dome. “Is that Yerkes Observatory, do you know?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Wow,” I said. “We gotta try to get there.”
“What's there?” asked Harry.
“Enormous telescope, the biggest refractor in the world,” I said. “I'd really like to see that.”
“They have tours,” said the waitress, smiling.
“Excellent.” I shifted my gaze to the left a bit. “And that big gray building over there? That wouldn't be the courthouse, would it?”
The waitress giggled. She gestured to the enormous, pinkish gray building. “That one?”
“Yeah… ”
“That's the Hunley place,” she said.
It was a four-story building, although there didn't seem to be any windows on the fourth floor. It was absolutely huge. It made the Mansion in Nation County look like an outbuilding. Composed of a large central four-story block, with arched glass, flanked by two equally large sections with square windows, and flanked again by two wings with vast windows. I never would have thought it to be anything but a government office building or library.
“Whoa.” I was impressed. “That's not a public park, then?”
“No, that's the lawn. About three hundred yards of lakefront lawn. And it runs back to the highway at least that far. With a big stone wall, and a huge iron gate. You won't be able to miss it when you go by.”
“I'm impressed,” said Hester. “What does Mr. Hunley do, to be able to afford a four-story home like that?”
“It's Mrs. Bridgett Hunley,” said our waitress. “She's a widow. I don't think she does anything, really. My brother works for their landscaper. Full-time job, mowing that lawn and taking care of the grounds. All summer and into the fall. I'm not kidding. Every day but Sunday. Eight hours a day. Three of them working.”
As she left our table, we exchanged glances. “Holy shit,” said Harry, in as close to a sotto voce as he was capable of assuming, “maintenance on that sucker must cost close to a hundred thousand a year.”
“God bless waitresses,” said Hester. “Carl, why don't you leave a nice tip?”
About halfway through the second coffee, a thin, balding man dressed in slacks and a sweater came toward our table. Harry stood, and greeted him. “Guys,” he said, “this is Jimmy Hawkins, the best detective in this end of the state.” He introduced us.
After the waitress brought Hawkins a cup of coffee, Harry gave him the ten-cent brief, including both murders, some details, the window peeking incident, and the disappearance of Alicia.
Hawkins listened very intently. “Glad those aren't my cases,” he said, when Harry had ffnished. “I just wish they weren't connected to my town. So, what can I do for you?”
“We need a little background,” said Hester.
“On Jessica Hunley, for instance,” I said.
Hawkins told us a lot. Jessica was something of a ffxture in the community, and a welcome one. She did lots of charity work, arts oriented, and spent a lot of time working on community projects that furthered music and dance. She was well known, and highly regarded. There was nothing, as far as he knew, that had ever indicated she might have any criminal involvement of any sort.
“Besides,” he said, “her Aunt Bridgett Hunley would have a fit if she thought Jessica was into anything that might damage the family reputation.”
Bridgett Hunley was a “mega-millionaire,” according to Hawkins. He looked very serious, and said, “I mean 'mega,' too. Really one of the wealthiest women going.”
Jessica lived with her Aunt Bridgett. We sort of knew that already. “I understand she might have taken ill recently,” I said.
“I hadn't heard that, but I'll check,” he said. “She's always struck me as being healthy as a horse.”
“And that,” I said, indicating the four-story building across the lake, “is her house?”
“Yeah, it is. Good size, isn't it? There are about a hundred places with about that much property, or more, around here,” said Hawkins. “But that's the biggest house. Well, the biggest stone house, I should say. Lots of the upper crust from Chicago, years ago, discovered Lake Geneva. People like Wrigley, and Marshall Field, and people like that. Large money. They built summer homes here.”
“That's not a summer home?”
“Not today. But it was in the twenties.” He sipped his coffee. “Today, I think Bridgett and Jessica own four or five places, in fact. But this is the main place.”
“How did they make their money, do you know?” asked Hester.
“Meat packing and railroads, I think. And one of their ancestors married into lumber, as well.” He held his cup up in a “toast” gesture. “Here's to diversification.”
“It's going to be a little intimidating just going to the door for an interview,” I said.
“You can probably find Jessica at her studio during the day,” he said. “That's right at the end of the lake, here, in Lake Geneva. Got a map?”
I was disappointed, I have to admit. I'd had hopes of getting inside the estate.
Hawkins smiled. “Unless you'd care to wait until this evening.” My disappointment must have showed.
“No, that's okay. Some things are just best left to the imagination.” But I felt pretty certain that the residents of the Mansion in Nation County had been guests at the Hunley estate, at the invitation of Jessica. No wonder they were impressed. Just being ushered in there must have been an event.
Hawkins led us to Jessica's dance studio, on Geneva Street, just about downtown Lake Geneva. We all parked, and got out, except for Hawkins. He stayed in his car, with the engine running. He pointed to a door between two stores. “The dark red one, there. The studio is upstairs. Only thing up there.”
“Thanks.”
“You want company? If you do, I could make the time.”
I shook my head. “No, that's okay. We can piss her off all by ourselves.”
“Well, feel free to keep in touch. You need anything, just let me know.”
We squared ourselves, and walked across the street to the dark red door.
“You all set?” I asked.