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“I’ve missed you horribly as well.”

“Really?” Diantha, spoke with an edge to her voice I recognized with a touch of alarm. “Merissa let it slip that you and she … hooked up.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” I admitted, surprised to find myself scarcely embarrassed. I wondered if my afternoon with Merissa had helped in Diantha’s change of heart.

“How was … it?”

I smiled. “I’m afraid she was a Joe DiMaggio.”

She mock-frowned. “But we’re even.”

“We’re even.”

“Can you stay?”

I was afraid she would ask that. I grimaced. “I should go back soon.”

She grimaced back. “Because of your friend?”

“No. I need to find out who murdered Heinie.”

“Oh, Norman, let the police figure that out. It’s their job. You’ve done enough for them.”

“It’s not just that.”

“Then what else?”

“As I told you before, I’m afraid that I may have murdered Heinie.”

“But, Norman, if you shot him, you would remember doing it.”

“I know. But I need to make absolutely sure. I not only want to clear my name, I need to clear my conscience. If I don’t, I’ll be haunted by this thing the rest of my life.”

22

I might not have learned about Shetland Falls had the weather not turned unseasonably chilly a few days after the meeting of the Governing Board. In dressing that morning, I put on the jacket I had worn the day I discovered Heinie’s body and accompanied Lieutenant Tracy to Kestrel Meadows to tell Merissa the news. In the side pocket I came across the piece of notepaper I had lifted from the telephone pad in their kitchen.

I doubted it signified much as I lay it on a flat surface and shadowed it lightly with a soft pencil. What looked like a telephone number emerged. I noticed a crossed seven, which had been one of Heinie’s smaller affectations. The area code was 413, which I quickly learned was in western Massachusetts.

I called Di at the cottage and asked her to do a reverse lookup for me. She’s a whiz at that sort of thing. We chatted as she keystroked in real time. Nice phrase, that, real time.

“It’s in Shetland Falls. It’s registered to one Alain LeBlanc. Hold on, there’s a business listing. Antique Valuables, Jewelry, Coins, Objects, Assessed, Repaired, Reproduced …”

“Would you fancy a drive to the Berkshires?” I asked.

“It’s more like the northern Berkshires.”

“Better still. I can’t stand all that artsy stuff around Lenox. We’ll have to take an overnight.”

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. When?”

“Wednesday. We leave in the morning and return Thursday afternoon.”

“Good. I’ll get Bella to stay with Elsie and you’ll find someone to stay with your … friend.”

The prospect filled me with a zeal and an energy I had not felt in months. I yearned for action, for resolution. Still, I did not try the number I had lifted from the pad. I wanted an excuse to get away with Diantha. I also wanted to show up unannounced. I had a broken brooch of amber and pearl set in silver and gold that my mother wore for years. I knew the pearls were worth stealing and faking, and I wanted to test this Mr. LeBlanc.

I thought of calling Lieutenant Tracy and telling him what I had found. That would have been the sensible thing to do. But I felt that this was my case. It involved personal demons that I and I alone could vanquish.

We planned originally to drive via Boston, mostly for the roads, but decided instead on a cross-country route in Diantha’s APC — armored personnel carrier. I suggested she call it Bigfoot given how few miles it got to the gallon. Still, it is comfortable. Di drove and I relaxed, taking in the scenery. It was reassuring to see that much of New England appears to have escaped the sprawl of malls that have disfigured so much of America the Beautiful.

We stopped for lunch at a country inn run by a couple who had left the rat race of New York’s financial world. A more harried-looking pair I have seldom seen. Karl and Nance skittered hither and yon, scarcely stopping to say hi to Diantha, who knew them when. Apparently, they have to do much of the work themselves to make ends meet.

We arrived in Shetland Falls by midafternoon.