I wasn't sure why I was here, but something had drawn me here. On the other hand, I think I had geriatric overload, and the thought of talking to one more septuagenarian was more than I could handle. I should have opened the bottle of Tobin wine and chugged it before meeting Mrs. Whitestone.
Presently, I found the gift shop-Gift Shoppe-which had once been a summer kitchen, I think, and I went in. The lights were off, but sunlight came in through the windows.
The gifts ran the gamut from locally published books to local handicrafts, Indian crafts, needlepoint, dried herbs, pressed flowers, herbal teas, floral scents, candles (none black), watercolors, more painted tiles, seed packets, and so on. What do people do with all this crap?
I picked up a piece of weathered barn siding on which someone had painted an old sailing ship. As I studied the painting, I felt that someone was watching me.
I turned toward the entrance of the gift shop and a good-looking woman of about thirty-something was standing there, staring at me. I said, "I'm looking for Emma Whitestone."
"You must be John Corey."
"I must be. Do you know if she's in?"
"I'm Emma Whitestone."
The day was turning around. "Oh," I said. "I expected someone older."
"I expected someone younger."
"Oh…"
"Margaret said you were a young man. But you're closer to middle age, I think."
"Uh…"
She walked up to me and extended her hand. She said, "I'm president of the Peconic Historical Society. How can I help you?"
"Well… I don't know."
"Neither do I."
Okay, here's the deaclass="underline" she was tall-only an inch or so shorter than I am-thin but shapely, shoulder-length brown hair that was washed but not ironed, light makeup, no nail polish, no jewelry, no earrings, no wedding or engagement ring. And she wasn't wearing much clothing either. She had on a knee-length, beige cotton summer dress with itty-bitty shoulder straps holding it up. Beneath this scanty number was little in the way of underwear. Certainly no bra, but I could see bikini panty lines. Also, she was barefoot. If I pictured Ms. Whitestone dressing this morning, she had slipped on the panties and the dress, put on a touch of lipstick, sort of combed her hair, and that was it. She could conceivably get out of that outfit in four seconds. Less with my help.
"Mr. Corey? Are you thinking about how I can help you?"
"Yes, I am. Just a second." She was not overly built, but was designed for speed and perhaps endurance. She had nice gray-green eyes and her face, aside from being pretty, was, at first glance, innocent. She reminded me of photos I'd seen of 1960s flower children, but maybe I thought that because she was a florist. On second look, there was a quiet sexuality in her features. Really.
I should mention, too, that she had a nice, even tan, giving her skin a café au lait color. This was one good-looking and sensual woman. Emma Whitestone.
"This has to do with the Gordons?"
"Yes." I put down the piece of barn siding and asked, "Did you know them?"
"Yes. We were friendly, but not friends." She added, "It was awful."
"Yes."
"Do you have any… leads?"
"No."
"I heard on the radio that they may have stolen a vaccine."
"Looks that way."
She thought a moment, then said to me, "You knew them."
"That's right. How do you know?"
"Your name came up a few times."
"Did it? In a nice way, I hope."
"Very nice." She added, "Judy had a little crush on you."
"Really?"
"Didn't you know?"
"Maybe." I wanted to change this subject, so I said, "Do you have, like, a list of members here?"
"Sure. The office is upstairs. I was doing some paperwork there when you arrived. Follow me."
I followed her. She had on a lavender scent. As we made our way through the mansion, I said, "Beautiful house."
She glanced back at me and said, "I'll give you a personal tour later."
"Terrific. Wish I had my camera."
We went up the wide, sweeping stairs, me still slightly behind her. Her panties really were skimpy. Also, she had nice feet, if you're into that.
On the second floor, she led me into a room that she described as the upstairs parlor. She invited me to sit in a wingback chair near the fireplace, which I did.
She said, "Can I offer you a cup of herbal tea?"
"I've had several cups already, thank you."
She sat in a wooden rocker opposite me and crossed her long, long legs. She asked, "What exactly do you need, Mr. Corey?"
"John. Please call me John."
"John. Please call me Emma."
"Well, Emma," I began, "I'd first like to ask you a few questions about the Peconic Historical Society. What's it all about?"
"It's about history. The North Fork has a number of local historical societies, most housed in historic buildings. This is the largest of all the societies and is named Peconic, an Indian name for this region. We have about five hundred members. Some are very prominent, some are simple farmers. We are dedicated to preserving, recording, and passing on our heritage."
"And discovering more about that heritage."
"Yes."
"Through archaeology."
"Yes. And research. We have some interesting archives here."
"Could I see them later?"
"You can see whatever you'd like later." She smiled.
Oh, my heart. I mean, was this a tease, or was this for real? I smiled at her. She smiled again.
Back to the job. I asked her, "Were the Gordons active members?"
"They were."
"When did they join?"
"About a year and a half ago. They'd moved here from Washington, D.C. They were from the Midwest, but they'd worked for the government in Washington. I suppose you know that."
"Did they ever discuss their work with you?"
"Not really."
"Have you ever been to their house?"
"Once."
"Did you socialize with them?"
"Now and then. The Peconic Historical Society is very social. That's one of the reasons they enjoyed us."
I asked, with some subtlety, "Did Tom have the hots for you?"
Instead of being insulted or shocked, she replied, "Probably."
"But you were not sexually involved with him?"
"No. He never asked."
I cleared my throat. "I see…"
"Look, Mr. Corey-John. You're wasting your time and my time with those kinds of questions. I don't know why or who murdered the Gordons, but it had nothing to do with me or with a sexual triangle involving me."
"I didn't say it did. I'm just exploring any sexual angles as part of the larger investigation."
"Well, I wasn't sleeping with him. I think he was faithful. She was faithful, too, as far as I know. It's hard to have an affair around here without everyone knowing about it."
"That may be your perception."
She regarded me a moment, then asked me, "Were you and Judy involved?"
"No, we weren't, Ms. Whitestone. This is not the afternoon soaps. This is a murder investigation, and I'll ask the questions."
"Don't be so touchy."
I took a deep breath and said, "I apologize."
"I want you to find the murderer. Ask your questions."
"Right. Okay… let me ask you this… what was your first thought when you heard they'd been murdered?"
"I don't know. I suppose I thought it had to do with their jobs."
"Okay. What do you think now?"
"I have no opinions."
"I find that hard to believe." Let's come back to that."