Last Night, page 9
The pain of that thought was too much. She looked out the window. Incredibly, the snow had stopped, and there were breaks in the clouds. The ocean was actually visible, for the first time since she had arrived. It was silver green, filled with whitecaps, and spread out as far as she could see. Past Block Island, all the way to Portugal.
The blizzard was over. She’d thought it would never end. Claustrophobia had settled upon her, but it wasn’t about being trapped in the hotel—it was about being held hostage by her mind and emotions.
She checked with the front desk, and they said that Westerly town crews had cleared most local roads and that state plows were working on the interstate. Hadley asked for her truck, and Dermot brought it around. He gave her an insulated bottle full of spring water.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” Dermot asked.
“No, I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Ms. Cooke, I am so sorry about your sister. I don’t even know what to say. We’re all so sad. What a terrible thing. If there’s anything we can do, don’t hesitate. We are all here for you,” Dermot said.
“Thank you, Dermot,” Hadley said. “That means a lot.”
She glanced at the seat beside her, where Maddie and CeCe’s presents had been. Now they were up in the suite, and she tried not to think about how some of them—maybe all of them—would never be opened.
The roads had been plowed. There hadn’t been much traffic yet, so the banks and trees glistened white with pristine snow. Ice crunched under her tires. She fishtailed once, but when she hit I-95 north, the highway was sanded and clear, and she made good time up to Providence.
She lived in a Victorian house on College Hill, two blocks from the Brown campus. It was a two-unit condo, and Hadley had the top floor. She started to drive there, but she didn’t have the heart to go inside. There were photos of Maddie and CeCe everywhere; she had paintings by Maddie, a plaster-of-paris paperweight with CeCe’s handprint that she had made in preschool, and a small drawing by Sem that Bernard had given her before the wedding, when Hadley was Maddie’s maid of honor. She couldn’t bear the idea of seeing all that.
The studio she shared with Johnny was on Fox Point, where the city of Providence met Narragansett Bay. The candy-colored houses used to be inhabited mainly by Portuguese fishing families, but the last decade had brought gentrification to many streets, with properties being snapped up by Brown and Rhode Island School of Design professors and students, by lawyers and businesspeople who worked downtown.
Hadley pulled into the parking lot just across the Point Street Bridge. She and Johnny had their studio in the vast brick mill where, in the 1800s, hosiery had been produced. Now the building was called Silk Stocking Square. It was full of artists and small manufacturing companies; she and Johnny had their studio on the third floor.
She took the freight elevator up. It opened directly into their studio, so she inserted her key in the panel and slid open the metal gate. She smelled paint and turpentine, linseed oil and fixative. Her workbench was on the far side; Johnny’s was just inside the door. The Bose sound system was playing “Sing Sweetly” by Rosa Pullman. It was one of Hadley’s favorite songs, on a playlist Maddie had shared with her.
There was a small bedroom behind a partition, where either she or Johnny could sleep if they worked into the night, and Johnny walked out of it now. He looked ashen and walked straight to Hadley.
“Why are you playing this song?” Hadley asked.
“Because she loved it.”
Loved. Past tense.
“How did you hear?” Hadley asked.
“The police were here, questioning me, just an hour ago. I heard an Amber Alert in the background, but it was for ‘Cecelia Lafond’—I only knew her as CeCe. Maddie doesn’t use ‘Lafond,’ so it went over my head. And there was nothing about a murder—just a missing child.”
Johnny’s eyes were full of sorrow. He looked the way Hadley felt, so she walked straight to him, and they hugged. She was shaking.
“Oh my God,” she said, crying. “I can’t believe it. Oh, Maddie . . .”
Hadley had been holding it together the best she could, but here in her studio with Johnny, she could finally let go. She cried for a long time without saying anything, and when she broke away from him, she could see that his eyes were wet with tears, too.
“What did the police say to you?” she asked.
“They didn’t say anything—they just asked questions. I’m her first husband; I guess I’m second on the list, after Bernard. Why didn’t you call me, Hads? Why did I have to hear about it from cops?”
“I should have called you,” she said. “I just couldn’t stand the idea of saying it out loud. I’m sorry.”
“When did you find out?” he asked.
“I found her body, Johnny,” Hadley said. “Not even twenty-four hours ago. Didn’t they tell you that?”
“They didn’t really tell me anything,” he said. “CeCe’s gone? And no one can find her. Are there any leads at all?”
“No,” Hadley said. “I can’t stop thinking about her—how terrified she must be, what whoever took her is doing to her . . .”
“Jesus, Hadley. The person must have left some trace.”
“In a blizzard? In three feet of snow? Any tracks were blown away. If anything was left behind, it hasn’t been uncovered yet. I’m sure the police are there now, looking for evidence.” She paused. “Conor found a key.”
“Who is Conor?”
“A detective staying at the hotel with his girlfriend. They were right behind me when I found Maddie. After we gave our statements, he went back to look. Johnny, he also found Star.”
“Star? CeCe’s blanket?” he asked.
“Yes,” Hadley said, feeling a wave of emotion so strong she thought her knees would give out.
“She always has it with her,” Johnny said. He saw that Hadley was ready to collapse, so he put his arm around her and led her to the daybed behind the partition and eased her down so she was sitting on the side. “Put your head down, between your knees.” He had his hand on the back of her neck. “Breathe. Are you going to faint?”
“I’m okay,” she said, but she felt as if every part of her was trembling. Her bones felt as if they had turned to ice.
“No one’s okay,” Johnny said.
“Who did this, Johnny? Who in Maddie’s life could have done it?”
“Bernard,” Johnny said.
Hadley didn’t reply.
“Love and money are the biggest motives there are,” Johnny said. “Besides, he didn’t love her, not really. He wanted to own her. She was his possession. It tortured him when she left. His ego couldn’t take it.”
“You don’t know that. You’ve never even met him.”
“She told me,” Johnny said.
“Really?” Hadley asked. Had he and Maddie had that drink after all? She was surprised that he would know anything about Bernard. “You and she talked about her marriage?”
“Some,” he said. “Since she got back to Rhode Island. She’d call late at night, once in a while, when she couldn’t sleep. She was wrecked about what the split was doing to CeCe.”
“I know,” Hadley said. “She did her best to shield her, but CeCe is smart. Bernard said some awful things over the phone that day when they came to Newport. She knew her parents were fighting.”
“Not just fighting. They were at war,” Johnny said.
Hadley’s antennae were up. He knew that? How often had he and Maddie spoken? How close had they become? She felt like an idiot for feeling hurt.
“Did you meet with her?” Hadley asked.
“Just the times she and CeCe came here, and to the site,” he said. “No, these were phone calls. And honestly, it wasn’t that often. I just know her well, Hadley. We were married.”
“A long time ago.”
“And I’m with someone now. You know that. I wouldn’t have seen Maddie, even if she wanted me to, out of respect for Donna.”
“But I thought she told me you and she might meet for a drink,” Hadley said. She had the impression that Donna was clingy.
“It never happened. That’s just something we said, being polite, I guess.”
“For old times’ sake?”
“Old times are in the past,” he said. “That’s why they call them old times. But now she’s gone, and that’s just wrong, Hads. I’m sad, just the way you are.”
He sat beside her on the bed, put his arm around her shoulder. He was the only person who called her Hads. He had said he was sad, and Hadley could feel the grief pouring out of him. She could only wish she were sad; that would be a huge step up—she felt eviscerated, as if someone had cut her heart out. As if the bullet that had murdered her sister had killed a part of her, too.
“What can I do for you?” Johnny asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “We just have to wait until they find CeCe.”
“They will,” he said. “They have to. What about arrangements? You know, for Maddie?”
“I haven’t thought about that,” Hadley said. “She never told me what she wanted.”
Johnny smiled a little wickedly. “Well, maybe her wishes changed along the way, but I know what she wanted back when we were together.”
“What?”
“To be cremated and have her ashes scattered in museums. She wanted me to take a little of her to the Louvre, some to the Prado, some to the Frick, enough to the Mystic Museum of Art to fertilize the roses, some in Venice—during the Biennale, of course—and split the rest between the Whitney and the Met. She told me, ‘This is the only way I’ll ever get into a museum as an artist.’ That was before she became MC.”
“Leave it to her to come up with a plan like that,” Hadley said, smiling. “She’d probably see it as performance art. Or an installation.”
“She totally did. She wanted me to document it on video and in still shots, and to publish a book about it, about her.”
“What about us, the people who loved her? If that was to be her memorial, where would we be? Wouldn’t she want me there?”
“You more than anyone, Hadley. You were going to be the lookout while I strewed her about. Then we were supposed to dance on her grave. Right in the middle of the museums.”
“Seriously, she said that?”
“Actually, I did. She made the whole thing sound like an art project, but I thought it was morbid. I guess it was my feeble attempt at humor.”
“Feeble, good word—that’s about what it is,” Hadley said, and Johnny fake-elbowed her in the ribs.
“What are we going to do?” Johnny asked.
“You mean about her memorial?”
“I mean without her in the world.”
“I don’t know,” Hadley said. She saw that his eyes were wet, and she felt like telling him that he sounded, for all the world, like someone in love. They held each other for a long time and didn’t break away until his phone rang. He gave her an apologetic look and answered.
“Hey, Donna,” he said, listened, then spoke. “Yes, I know. The police were here; they told me. I should have called you—I’m so sorry, baby. How did you hear?”
When he hung up, he turned back to Hadley. “It’s all over the news,” he said.
14
Conor wasn’t used to being off to the side on an investigation, but he felt that way now. Joe and Garrett had dropped Bernard off after questioning him, and Joe found Conor in the bar, looking up MC on the internet and drinking club soda.
“Okay, so tell me everything,” Joe said.
“Well, it was snowing like crazy. The items were under the hedge opposite Maddie’s body. Your guys had left—nobody was processing the scene. Understandable, given the conditions. With CeCe missing, I thought it was important to secure everything and get it all to you as soon as possible.”
“Well, thanks for that,” Joe said. “We don’t know what any of them mean. A strange collection. The blankie, I get that. But the Christmas decoration? And the ribbon? What’s that about?”
“Things little girls put in their pockets,” Conor said, thinking of Tom’s stepdaughters, Hunter and Riley. How they had loved to collect odd, random objects when they were younger. Maybe they still did. He thought of Claire Beaudry Chase, the subject of a recent case, and how she had filled shadow boxes with things she had found—picked up on the beach, in the woods. “Maddie was an artist. Maybe CeCe had her mother’s eye, was taking after her.”
“That’s not art,” Joe said. “It’s just a jumble.”
Conor wasn’t going to argue with him. People either saw it or they didn’t, and maybe Joe was right.
“Here,” Conor said. “I’m texting you photos I took under the hedge.”
He opened his phone and texted Joe the pictures he had taken. Joe’s phone buzzed, and he looked.
“Kind of blurry,” he said.
“The snow was blowing,” Conor said.
The two men peered at the same image on their separate phones.
“What does it look like to you?” Joe asked. “How did those things get there? Are you saying you think someone did some artistic whatever and placed them in that pile? The mother, the child, who?”
“I think CeCe was in that hollow under the shrubbery,” Conor said. “The fact that Star—her name for the square of baby blanket—was there. Hadley says CeCe took it with her everywhere. So it wouldn’t have been Maddie.”
“What’s your theory on why CeCe was in there?” Joe asked.
“You have to see the spot, to put it in context,” Conor said.
“Let’s go. You can show me,” Joe said.
They bundled up and walked the short distance to the crime scene. It felt like a different world with the sky clearing. Conor assumed the forensics team would be back, now that the blizzard had passed. It was still frigid. The wind whipped fallen snow and ice crystals up from the ground and off the trees. It stung his face, so he kept his head down, chin tucked into his jacket collar.
Conor led Joe toward the beach on the far side of the hedge that abutted the path where Maddie had been shot. When he got to the break in the shrubbery, he motioned for Joe to crouch down beside him. They both studied the enclosure without speaking for a few minutes. Conor saw things he had missed the first time: two broken branches, a bittersweet vine that had become disentangled from the brambles.
“Okay, tell me your theory,” Joe said.
“I think Maddie and CeCe walked down the path together. And I think Maddie had plans to meet someone.”
“Out here? In a blizzard?” Joe asked. “Why not in the hotel?”
“Because she didn’t want to be seen with the person—or the other way around. It was a secret meeting. And the timing must have been critical, or they could have waited for the storm to let up,” Conor said.
“Well, we’re thinking alike,” Joe said. “That’s what Garrett and I came up with, too. Now show me exactly where you picked up the trinkets.”
“There,” Conor said, pointing. Even though the hollow was protected, snow had drifted inside, most likely obliterating any trace evidence.
“How did they get there?”
“I think Maddie told CeCe to hide. Or CeCe heard someone coming and was afraid.”
“So, before Maddie was shot?” Joe asked.
“Yeah. Maddie obviously wasn’t expecting an attack, but the meeting may have been with someone she didn’t want CeCe to see.”
“Or someone who had an interest in CeCe.”
“The father?” Conor asked.
“I don’t know about that,” Joe said. “He seemed genuinely shocked to hear that Maddie was dead. We’ll polygraph him, of course. He claims he didn’t even know she was staying in the hotel.”
Conor thought about that. While his first impression had been that Bernard had no clue, he’d started thinking about acting skills, how Bernard could probably conceal his emotions better than anyone.
“He told us he’s staying in Watch Hill to scout locations for a film,” Conor said. “But seriously—he ends up at the Ocean House at the same time his wife and daughter are staying there? Hiding out from him?”
“Wicked coincidence,” Joe said. “But he did agree to take the polygraph, and we’re setting it up for this afternoon. In fact, I’d better get back so I can be there when he’s in the hot seat.”
They stood up and began walking back toward the Ocean House. The great yellow hotel rose out of the snowy landscape, the majestic tower looking out at a three-state view, promising shelter that Maddie would never have again. Conor wondered if CeCe would.
“Are there any leads on CeCe?” Conor asked.
“No sightings have been reported, and the storm obviously covered any tracks out of here.”
“Maddie had sole custody,” Conor said. “Could Bernard have come here to grab his daughter?”
“Everything is on the table. What about the aunt?” Joe asked.
“My instinct is no. But like you said, everything is on the table.”
“Where is she now? I had a few more questions, but she wasn’t in the suite. And the valet said he brought her truck and she drove off.”
“Not sure. She was talking with me and Kate, then she left rather abruptly. Kate thought she was just overwhelmed with everything that’s happening. Maybe she needed to shake the cobwebs out.”
“If it was my niece missing and my sister murdered, I’d stay at ground zero to keep track of what’s going on,” Joe said.
Conor had felt the same way—he’d been critical about Hadley leaving. But Kate had said he was wrong. When her sister, Beth, was found strangled and her niece, Sam, was far away, at camp on an island off the Maine coast, Kate had gotten into her Cessna and flown north to Maine to pick up Sam. Conor trusted Kate—she had incredible intuition about people, and her experience as a woman dealing with a sister’s murder made her ideas invaluable.
Halfway between the hedge and the hotel, Conor spotted something shiny in the snow. He bent down and saw a key chain. One key dangled from it; the fob was made of foam, shaped like a buoy, striped red and white. The letter G was scratched into the soft material. Conor had been out on the water often enough to know that this was the kind of thing boaters carried. If it fell overboard, it would float.
