No Time for Goodbye - Linwood Barclay [69]
The ashes fell out and settled on the water, dissolved and dispersed. In a few seconds, what physically remained of Tess was gone. Cynthia handed the urn back to me, and for a moment appeared light-headed. Rolly went to support her, but then she held out her hand to indicate she was okay.
Grace had brought a rose—her own idea—which she cast upon the water.
“Goodbye, Aunt Tess,” she said. “Thank you for the book.”
Cynthia had said that morning that she wanted to say a few words, but when the time came, she didn’t have the strength. And I could find no words that I thought were any more meaningful, or heartfelt, than Grace’s simple farewell.
Coming back into the harbor, I saw a short black woman in a pair of jeans and tan leather jacket standing at the end of the dock as we came back into the harbor. She was nearly as round as she was short, but she showed grace and agility as she grabbed on to the boat as it drew close, and assisted in securing it. She said to me, “Terrence Archer?” There was a hint of Boston in her voice.
I said yes.
She flashed me a badge that identified herself as Rona Wedmore, a police detective. And not from Boston, but from Milford. She held out a hand to assist Cynthia onto the dock while I lifted Grace onto the weathered planking.
“I’d like to speak with you a moment,” she said, not asking.
Cynthia, who had Pam at her side, said she would watch Grace. Rolly stayed back with Millicent. Wedmore and I walked slowly along the dock toward a black unmarked cruiser.
“Is this about Tess?” I asked. “Has there been an arrest?”
“No, sir, there has not,” she said. “I’m sure every effort is being made to do just that, but that’s another detective’s case and I’m aware, one way or another, what progress is being made in that regard.” She spoke rapid-fire, the words coming at me like bullets. “I’m here to ask you about Denton Abagnall.”
I underwent a bit of mental whiplash. “Yes?”
“He’s missing. Two days now,” she said.
“I spoke to his wife the morning after he’d been to our home. I told her to call the police.”
“You haven’t seen him since then?”
“No.”
“Heard from him?” Ping, ping, ping.
“No,” I said. “I can’t help but think it might have something to do with the murder of my wife’s aunt. He’d been to see her not long before her death. He’d left her a business card, which she told me was pinned to the bulletin board by the phone. But it wasn’t there after she died.”
Wedmore wrote something down in her notebook. “He was working for you.”
“Yes.”
“At the time of his disappearance.” It wasn’t a question, so I simply nodded. “What do you think?”
“About?”
“What happened to him?” A glimpse of impatience. Like, What else do you think I mean? I paused and looked up at the cloudless blue sky. “I hate to let my mind go there,” I said. “But I think he’s dead. I think he may even have gotten a phone call from his killer while he was in our home, reviewing our case with us.”
“What time was that?”
“It was around five in the afternoon, something like that.”
“So was it before five, or after five, or five?”
“I’d say five.”
“Because we got in touch with his cell phone provider, had them check all his incoming and outgoing calls. There was a call at five, made from a pay phone in Milford. There was another one later, from another Milford pay phone, that went through, then later in the day, some calls from his wife that went unanswered.”
I had no idea what to make of that.
Cynthia and Grace were getting into the back of the funeral director’s Caddy.
Wedmore leaned toward me aggressively, and even though she was probably five inches shorter, she had presence. “Who’d want to kill your aunt, and Abagnall?” she asked.
“Someone who’s trying to make sure that the past stays in the past,” I said.
Millicent wanted to take us all out for lunch, but Cynthia said she’d prefer to go straight home, and that was where I took her. Grace had clearly been moved by the service, and