“That’s fine.”
“How rude of me, Chief Stone. Would you care for some refreshments?”
“No, thank you, Annette.”
She sat opposite him on a green leather wing chair. “How can I help you today?”
Jesse decided to play things a little differently with the Norths than he had with Etta and Moss Carpenter. He had felt comfortable with the Carpenters, knowing that they would eventually trust him enough to tell the truth. Although he liked Annette far more than he liked her husband, he wasn’t at all as confident in the answers he would receive in the North household.
“Several months ago, Ambrose filed a report concerning a stolen watch.”
Annette rolled her large brown eyes and looked up at the ornate plaster and woodwork on the ceiling. “That again! I told Ambrose he had simply misplaced the damn thing, yet he insisted on filing a report with your department. Would I be correct in assuming you’ve come as a courtesy to do your due diligence, to check to see if the watch has been recovered?” She leaned forward. “Thank you again, Chief, and please forgive Ambrose for wasting your department’s time.”
“So,” Jesse said, baiting the trap, “you’ve found the watch?”
Annette North opened her mouth to answer, then thought better of it. She was sharp and sensed that she may have misjudged Jesse’s reason for being there.
What she said was “No, unfortunately, the Rolex has yet to turn up. Why do you ask?”
Jesse removed the evidence bag from his pocket. It was barely detectable — a slight flinch, a twitch at the corner of her mouth, a fleeting widening of her eyes — but there was no denying the shock in Annette North’s reaction. She had clearly never again expected to see the Rolex she had purchased as a gift for her husband.
Jesse thought she might be tempted to push back because it was pretty obvious he had tried to trap her. Wisely, she didn’t go there.
“My goodness.” She shook her head. “I owe Ambrose an apology. I must have told him twenty times since he filed the report that he was foolish to do so. Now I may have to buy him another watch to make up for my wrongheadedness.”
“I don’t know, Annette. I think he’ll probably be happy enough to get this back.”
“May I ask where you found it?”
Now it was Jesse leaning forward. He spoke in a soft voice, as if he didn’t want anyone but Annette to hear. “In a drug dealer’s bedroom.”
That hit her a little harder than just showing her the watch, but instead of fighting it, she went with it, clapping her hand over her mouth.
“Goodness, no. How do you suppose it ended up there? Was this in Paradise?”
“I can’t discuss that, Annette. Sorry.”
She had regained her composure. “When may we retrieve the watch, Jesse?”
“A month, probably. I will let you know.”
Annette North stood, letting Jesse know she was ending the discussion before it went any further. She made that arm-sweeping gesture again. “You’ll excuse me, Chief, but I’ve got a meeting of the Paradise Women’s Club and I have to get ready.”
Jesse walked with her to the front door. “I saw your daughter today at school.”
“Petra? Why were you at the high school?” Her voice cracked, though she cleared her throat to try to cover it up.
“Drugs. Since Heather Mackey’s death, we’ve found there’s a problem at the high school. I’d hate to see any of the kids caught up in the net.” Jesse quickly said his goodbyes, not wanting to give Annette North any room to maneuver or to ask more questions.
He had little doubt that Django Carpenter’s list was accurate. Even Petra North had been forced to steal to support her addiction, and she’d done it with the complicity of her mother. But Jesse didn’t judge Annette any more harshly than he’d judge Etta or any other parent. As a drunk, he knew what the addict’s side of things felt like, and now, as a father, he understood the parents’ side, too.
Forty-nine
After his AA meeting that night in Salem, Jesse drove over to Maryglenn’s apartment above the warehouse. Although he was pretty much consumed with the drug dealing in town and finding Chris Grimm, Maryglenn’s reaction to his show at the high school had gnawed at him all day. It didn’t matter that Jesse didn’t see Maryglenn as his next great love. He wasn’t sure what they would ever be. What counted was that Jesse Stone was a changed man.
The old Jesse would have kept it to himself, would have let it fester. Or he would have gone home and polished off half a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black. If he discussed it at all, it wouldn’t have been with Maryglenn, but with his poster of Ozzie Smith. It had been a pattern that had persisted in spite of his years of therapy with Dix, in spite of breaking free of the destructive pas de deux he had done with Jenn, his ex. His relationship with Diana had helped open him up a little, but it was going through rehab and attending the AA meetings that allowed him to see how the old behaviors had been a trap.
He parked the Explorer and walked down Newton Alley. There was no parking on the alley, a narrow street that housed many of Paradise’s art galleries. As Jesse walked down the dimly lit, quiet street, he smelled the salt sea air blowing in off the Atlantic and listened to the wind rattling clapboards and whistling through the gaps between the buildings. He also listened to his thoughts, remembering how the white supremacists’ insane plan for a race war had begun with a murder here in Newton Alley, just a few feet from Maryglenn’s door, and how it had led to him meeting Maryglenn. Before stepping to the door, he stopped on the spot where the murder had occurred. He hesitated for only a moment and then pressed the buzzer.
She paced the motel carpeting again. Though she had done more with her hair and makeup tonight. Instead of wearing the robe, she dressed up for the girl. She wore leather and lace, her black stilettos. Wore the raw perfume that she had been told highlighted her own scent. Yet in spite of all she had done to seduce and manipulate Petra, she somehow knew that it was all going to fall apart. She had already spoken to Arakel Sarkassian and warned him that the girl was a risk.
“And before you start threatening me,” she’d said to Sarkassian, “know that this girl isn’t like Chris. You can’t just be rid of her. Her father is rich and powerful. If she wants out, we have to let her go. I will keep her under control as far as the cops go.”
“What about the cops there?” Sarkassian asked.
“Jesse...” She stopped, catching herself. “Jesse Stone, the chief, is very determined. He was once a homicide detective in L.A. He’s a serious man.”
Sarkassian had been silent for a moment and then said, “Yes, okay, let the girl go if you must, and do whatever it takes to keep her quiet.”
She wasn’t stupid. Even if Arakel hadn’t said it, she understood that if Petra refused to carry on and he decided to cut his losses in Paradise, she would also be cut out of the picture. And if she was no longer important to Sarkassian, her supply would dry up. She heard a car pull into the spot in front of the room. She peeked through the curtains and saw Petra getting out of her BMW.
Jesse pressed the buzzer for a third time, but there was no response. He stepped back and looked up at the one window that faced Newton Alley from Maryglenn’s apartment. It was only a small bathroom window, and it was dark. He was disappointed, not angry. He figured he’d try to call her and see where she was. If he got her on the phone and she was close by, he thought he might be able to join her and they could have that talk. His call went straight to voicemail. He left a message.
She saw the look on Petra’s face and knew she was right. The girl was going to back out. Inside, she was sick, her guts tying themselves into knots, tightening by the second, panicking about how she would stay healthy if Arakel cut her out. When she tried to kiss the girl, Petra turned away. When she reached out for the girl to stroke her hair, the girl pushed her hand away. Tears poured out of Petra’s eyes.