Last Night, page 2
2
After a harrowing drive from Providence, Hadley Cooke pulled into the circular drive in front of the Ocean House and felt grateful for her good old reliable truck. Four-wheel drive had gotten her here safely in the wild storm, even though the highway was down to one lane, and cars had skidded into guardrails and barriers all along the way, a version of vehicular pinball. Twenty miles per hour with ten-foot visibility all the way from her studio on Fox Point, and now her hands were cramped from holding the wheel in a death grip.
“Hello, Ms. Cooke. You made it through the storm! So glad to see you again,” Dermot, the familiar valet said, opening her door and beaming at her as if she were visiting royalty instead of an itinerant artist in a rusty old Dodge. “Here to visit your sister! They told me you’d be arriving.”
“Oh, good. Thanks, Dermot.”
Hadley felt the tension leave her body, just as if she had come home. She and Maddie had stayed here as children and knew every inch of the property. Later, as teenagers, they would drive down to Watch Hill for the day—to go to the beach and have lemonade on the porch after swimming. The salty old Ocean House, built in 1868 and buffeted by over a hundred years of storms like this one, had been torn down and lovingly rebuilt with meticulous attention to every detail, making it the regal seaside retreat it was now. The owners treasured the hotel’s history, and it showed in every aspect of the architecture and decor.
The Ocean House was the perfect sanctuary for Maddie. She had bought Sea Garden, one of the Signature Suites, and it would be home for her and CeCe. Both Hadley and Maddie thought it was pretty great that CeCe could pretend to be Eloise, the little girl who grew up in a hotel. Only instead of the Plaza in New York, it was the Ocean House in Watch Hill.
“Ms. Cooke,” Dermot said, “let me walk you inside to reception, and then I will deliver your bags to Ms. Morrison’s suite. Are all of these going up?” He gestured at the overflowing passenger seat.
“Yes, thank you,” she said. One duffel held a change of clothes, her sketchpad, and her laptop. The others were shopping bags packed with Christmas gifts for Maddie and CeCe, 90 percent of them for her niece. She knew Maddie would scold her for spending so much money, but Hadley couldn’t resist spoiling CeCe.
Hadley texted Maddie: I’m here!
Then she preceded Dermot up the sweeping staircase to the grand yellow hotel. It had wings and turrets, and it was adorned for the season with wreaths, towering Christmas trees, pine-and-laurel garlands draped around the tall columns and the verandah’s ornate white railings. Twinkling white lights were everywhere. She walked inside to the sound of harp music. The lobby was decorated with evergreens and tiny lights. If a hotel could greet someone with a warm embrace, she decided it would be the Ocean House. Dermot walked her to the reception desk and told the friendly, chic young woman who Hadley was visiting. Hadley knew her from past visits.
“Hello, Isabel,” she said.
“Welcome, Ms. Cooke,” Isabel said. “How was your drive?”
“Intense,” Hadley said. “Especially when I got into Westerly.”
“Nor’easters come in off the ocean, so we get pretty fierce winter storms. Especially this blizzard. We won’t have as many guests in-house as we’d expected. I’m so glad you made it safely. May I get you a glass of champagne or sparkling water?”
“Oh, champagne, please!” Hadley said. They offered a glass to everyone who checked in, and although she was just visiting, she knew they treated Maddie like family and therefore Hadley, too. As beautiful as Maddie’s other homes were, Hadley thought she had finally found a place to be truly happy. She looked at her phone, but Maddie hadn’t replied to her text yet.
Isabel handed her a flute of bubbles. Hadley felt a little self-conscious in her down jacket and paint-flecked Joan of Arctic Sorel boots. But Isabel’s smile and graciousness reassured her that she was welcome and fit right in.
“Your sister stepped out, and I haven’t seen her come back yet,” Isabel said.
“Out in this storm?” Hadley asked, surprised.
“Perhaps she returned and I didn’t see. I’ll ring her now,” Isabel said and lifted a telephone receiver. Hadley looked around at the blazing fire in the massive stone fireplace, the harpist in her long black dress, the cozy seating nooks with sofas and armchairs, and the beautiful paintings in gilded frames on the walls. Some of the Christmas tree decorations were inspired by the sea: scallop shells, starfish, and sand dollars. The taste of champagne and the sense of being nurtured helped her relax even more.
“She’s not answering,” Isabel said. She slid an envelope across the highly polished desk. “She told me that if she wasn’t back when you arrived, I was to give you this.”
Hadley accepted it, wondering why Maddie hadn’t just texted her instead of leaving a note. She would read it when she was alone.
“You can wait in her suite until she and her daughter return.” Isabel’s eyes crinkled with a smile. “CeCe is the sweetest little girl.”
“Best niece in the world,” Hadley said.
“Dermot has already taken your bags upstairs. I know you know the way, but would you like me to walk up with you?”
Hadley looked around. The lobby was so festive. Even though the blizzard had no doubt kept many guests from arriving, there was a buzz of conversation, a sense of anticipation as the dinner hour approached.
“I think I’ll wait down here by the fire,” Hadley said.
“Of course,” Isabel said. “Please let me know if you need anything at all.”
“I will,” Hadley said, checking her phone again. Still no word from Maddie.
She sat on a window seat just in front of the fireplace. It was vast and made of round fieldstones, with an antique iron anchor set just above the wide mantel. She knew that when the owners had taken down the old hotel, they had dismantled the fireplace stone by stone, numbered and stored them in a bucket, and then put them back exactly as they had been. It threw good heat, warming her fingers and toes. She leaned into plush pillows. The sound of crashing waves came up the hill and harmonized with the harp’s gentle strings.
It was obvious why Maddie had chosen this hotel—it felt like a soothing oasis in the midst of the aggression and insanity of her perpetually ongoing divorce. Another sip of champagne and Hadley checked her phone. Still no word, so she opened the envelope, pulled out a folded piece of heavy-bond stationery, and read Maddie’s note:
Hi, H! I’m not going to text because you are driving and I don’t want you spinning out in the storm. I have a little errand to run, a very quick meeting on our favorite path. Sorry to be mysterious—I’ll explain when I get back. I’m taking CeCe, hoping a walk in the snow will tucker her out so you and I can have a good talk while she sleeps. Lots to tell you. Heading out now, be back in no time. XXXX M.
Hadley reread the note. How long ago had Maddie written it? The weather was getting worse—shouldn’t she be back by now? What meeting could possibly be worth heading into this storm?
She walked back to the front desk, waited for Isabel to finish helping a man and a woman, about Hadley’s age. She wanted to be patient, but the ferocity of the storm, and the fact that Maddie hadn’t returned yet, was making her uneasy. She shifted from one foot to the other, wishing Isabel would hurry up and send the couple on their way.
Conor Reid stood at the front desk of the Ocean House, his arm around his longtime girlfriend, Kate Woodward. The receptionist was telling them that dinner reservations were wide open; there’d been cancellations due to the storm, and they could have their choice of times.
“How about seven o’clock?” Kate asked Conor. “Is that okay with you?”
“That would be great,” Conor said. “Whatever you want.”
He had his hand in his right pocket, fingers closed around a small blue velvet box. Tonight was going to be the night. After they had been together for years, he had arranged the getaway he thought would make the stars align for him and Kate.
They were on vacation until after Christmas. They’d checked into the hotel earlier that day, before the gale cranked up into a blizzard. They both loved the beach, and he’d envisioned proposing on the sand, by the water’s edge. He had pictured constellations in the sky, or possibly moonlight glowing through clear, green waves. But with this snowfall, that wasn’t happening.
“Would you prefer to dine in Coast or the Bistro?” the receptionist asked. He heard her describing the offerings of the two different dining rooms, but he was distracted by a woman standing behind him. He sensed her anxiety—the way she was inching forward, wanting service right away.
“Let’s see,” Kate was saying. “Coast is lovely, but it’s more formal. I remember that from taking an artist to dinner last summer.” She glanced at Conor and didn’t even have to ask which he would prefer. “The Bistro,” she said, knowing he favored the more casual of the two.
He squeezed her shoulders. He was thinking that since the storm-swept beach might be too rugged tonight for what he had in mind, she deserved the second-most special setting he could come up with.
“How about Coast?” he asked, looking into Kate’s eyes. He saw her big smile, and that’s all he needed.
“Really?” Kate asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “Seven p.m. in Coast.”
He saw the receptionist note the reservation, and he took Kate’s hand. The woman standing behind them was edging forward, seeming impatient. He wanted to let her have her turn. Even more, he wanted to go outside and stand on the hotel’s verandah, his arms around Kate, feeling the storm’s energy.
As fierce as the weather might be, it was no match for his emotions. Did she have any idea why he had brought her here? They were so close they could sometimes read each other’s minds. But his years in law enforcement had honed his talent for keeping a poker face. He wanted tonight to be a surprise for her, and he hoped he could hold back until they were sitting at the table.
“Excuse me,” Hadley said to Isabel when the couple finally stepped away from the desk and headed outside. “What time did my sister leave?”
“Let’s see,” Isabel said, tilting her head and calculating time. “It was getting dark . . . maybe about four thirty?”
Hadley checked her phone. Now it was five thirty. Maddie and CeCe had been out for an hour. She felt a flutter inside as worry crept in. But she told herself to knock it off and thought of times when she and Maddie had gone out adventuring in storms. Ever since they were kids, they had loved wild weather, swum in hurricanes, skied in driving snow. It made sense to Hadley that Maddie would take advantage of being right on the ocean, to feel the force of the wind.
But would she stay out this long with CeCe?
Hadley knew there were two beach paths—the private one in front of the hotel and the public one a short walk away. The latter ran from Bluff Avenue down to the sea, right next to a storied white mansion on the highest point of land.
She pulled on her down jacket, zipped it all the way up, tugged on her black wool watch cap, and headed out the front door. Dermot asked if she needed her truck, but she said no.
The couple in front of her at the front desk were standing on the verandah, gazing out. She wondered what they could possibly be seeing through the curtain of snow, but then she saw: the beam of the lighthouse. It flashed almost imperceptibly through the snow, red alternating with white, every five seconds. The foghorn sounded beneath the wind, and she could barely hear the bell buoy’s mournful toll. Hadley felt the couple watching her as she ran down the steps onto Bluff Avenue. She slipped on a slick patch, lost her balance, went down hard.
She heard the woman ask: “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Hadley called over her shoulder. She brushed herself off and kept going. Faster. Snow stung her eyes, blinded her. She passed a driveway, then another. She had to slow down to make sure she didn’t miss the path. Here it was, adjacent to the majestic Holiday House, marked with a tidy sign:
WELCOME TO THE EAST BEACH!
YOU ARE ENTERING ONE OF THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BEACHES ON THE EASTERN SEABOARD!
The streetlights had illuminated Bluff Avenue, at least a little, but their glow was no help here as Hadley began to make her way down the narrow path. She pulled out her iPhone to turn on the flashlight. She looked for footprints, but the deep snow was smooth and pristine, like a ski trail before the first run. Gorse hedges lined the way, heavy with snow. A tree branch overhead creaked under the weight of it.
Hadley was about to turn around. Maddie must have met whomever she’d come to see and gone somewhere warm. Was the Olympia Tea Room, just down the hill on Bay Street, open for the holiday season? She doubted it, because the town basically closed at the end of October.
Could they be having hot chocolate somewhere? Was it possible Maddie and CeCe had been heading back to the hotel and Hadley had missed them, stumbled right past them in the thick snow? Two ships—I mean sisters—who passed in the night, she’d say when they finally met.
Then her foot caught something under a high drift, and for the second time, Hadley fell. She’d tripped over a rock, perhaps. Maybe one of the tree limbs had fallen and gotten covered again. Brushing snow off her boot, she uncovered whatever lay beneath. It wasn’t a rock or a log. She caught sight of a black sleeve. There was a patch on the shoulder: Moncler, the fancy brand of winter coat that Maddie wore.
Hadley tugged at the arm in the sleeve. It was stiffer than a branch. She began to dig madly. She heard sounds coming out of her own mouth. When she got to the person’s head, to the face, when she saw the blue eyes and the hole in the forehead, the sounds became screams. She threw her arms around her sister. “No, no, Maddie, no! MADDIE!”
She rocked back and forth, then felt arms around her from behind. She half turned, tears already frozen to her cheeks.
“My sister,” Hadley said to the woman standing there, the woman who had been at the hotel. “Help my sister!”
“We will,” the woman said. The man stood beside her. He reached out a hand. Hadley hesitated. She couldn’t let him pull her up; she couldn’t leave Maddie.
“Where is CeCe?” Hadley asked.
“Who is CeCe?” the man asked.
“My niece,” Hadley said. “Where is she?”
3
Conor held the woman’s hand and helped her to her feet. She strained against him, obviously wanting to stay crouched down beside the body under the snow. Kate put her arms around the woman’s shoulders, helped to ease her away, just a few steps. The woman wailed, staring down at the body. A question tumbled out, her voice shaking so hard Conor could barely understand: “Tell me, oh God, is my niece under there, too?” she asked.
“Your niece?” Kate asked.
“She’s only six,” the woman said, the words tearing out of her.
Conor didn’t want to disturb the victim, but he knew that if there were a chance a child was buried there as well, he had to. He knelt down and, as carefully as he could, felt under the snow. The woman’s body was cold and stiff, and there was no sign of a girl. He saw the bullet wound in the center of the woman’s forehead.
“Tell me your name,” Kate said to the woman’s sister. “I’m Kate, and this is Conor.”
“Hadley.”
“Okay, Hadley. Let’s go back to the hotel,” Kate said. “In case CeCe is there.”
“CeCe wouldn’t have left her mother.”
“Maybe she would have if she thought she could get help,” Kate said.
Hadley’s expression changed. She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “She might have.” She began walking, then running, up the path.
“I’ll go with her,” Kate said to Conor.
“Good,” Conor said. “I’ll stay here. I’ll call this in.”
Kate hurried away, after Hadley. Conor pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and dialed 911. He identified himself to the Westerly, Rhode Island, emergency dispatcher and gave the location. He had to repeat himself to be heard over the wind. Then he hung up and waited.
The snow was falling so fast and heavy it had already covered the body. He realized that he didn’t know the victim’s name. He texted Kate to request that she ask Hadley for it, as well as a description of CeCe and Hadley’s last name.
The response came quickly: Hadley Cooke. Her sister is Madeleine (“Maddie”) Morrison. And CeCe isn’t here. Six years old, about three feet tall, light brownish-blonde hair, blue eyes. Full name is Cecelia Lafond.
So a missing child with a different last name than her mother. Conor immediately called the dispatcher back and told her that information, along with CeCe’s description, so they could initiate an Amber Alert right away. Conor was a detective with the Major Crime Squad of the Connecticut State Police. Although he was out of his jurisdiction, he often worked closely with detectives in the neighboring state of Rhode Island, so he made a direct call to his friend Detective Joe Harrigan.
“Already got the word, and I’m on my way, Conor,” Joe said as soon as he answered. “Stick around.”
“I will,” Conor said.
Conor waited, standing still so he wouldn’t disturb the crime scene more than he, Kate, and Hadley already had. It was pitch dark. He heard the foghorn and the clang of the bell buoy marking the treacherous shoals of Watch Hill Passage.
Within minutes he heard sirens and saw blue-and-red strobe lights. Two uniformed officers came down the path. Conor told them what he knew. Together they waited until a four-wheel drive state police vehicle pulled up and Joe Harrigan joined them.
“Hey, Conor,” Joe said, walking over, looking past Conor toward the spot where Maddie lay. “Tell me what you know.”
“Her name is Madeleine Morrison, according to her sister, Hadley Cooke, who found her. One bullet wound, forehead. All I could see, anyway,” Conor said.
